So I'm at the beginning of episode like 32 of the Mighty Nein where they're back in Alfield and all I can think about are the differences between who they were the first time they were in Alfield and who they are now.
And how they were practically strangers and anyone with eyes could see they didn't like or trust each other and now they're returning actually as the heroes that the stories the people of Alfield probably still tell over their ale.
And I want to write something about it (not necessarily about them but about adventurers returning to one of the first towns on their journey) but the process breaks down where I start to describe the way they look now because I wanted to keep it poetic (and relatively vague like it could fit in multiple places) but all my brain wants to do is hyper focus on Caleb.
But hey... I liked the beginning so have rough opening.
It was good to see them. No. It was fantastic to see them. Their deeds were still murmured over tankards and spun wild in front of roaring fires. Only, perhaps, a little exaggerated from what he knew.
From the trophies and the stories brought back from bloodied mouths that day.
Yet it hadn't taken a practiced eye to see the obvious.
The sharp words and sunken shoulders. Their eyes moving over each other, even as they relaxed in one of the town's many taverns afterwards. A word would see them splintered apart, fractured with distrust and suspicion.
In the stillness of the night, his whisper might as well have been a shout.
Obi-Wan swallowed, "Of course."
He took a moment before his lips parted, choosing his song. But there was only one that fit.
His warm voice filled the air.
In his lap, Anakin relaxed. Obi-Wan's fingers trembled as they brushed through dark blond hair. He was only smearing more red through the stands but he couldn't bring himself to stop.
The words in his throat wavered as each breath from Anakin's throat grew more shallow.
His song was as much prayer as it was comfort.
"Paiben juvetho seka ibli deoj forpai."
He could feel the sting of tears on his face in the wind.
Hold on just a little while longer.
The notes still hung in the air when Anakin breathed his last.
The room was dark as she entered; the twins asleep in their bed. It was well past their bedtime. Padme sighed. That meeting had gone on far too long. Creeping on silent feet, she carefully shut the door between their room and the main room before turning the lights on low. She still had reports to read before she could turn in.
In the back of her mind, she could hear Anakin groan at her. Telling her she worked too hard -- too long -- and that she needed sleep like a normal person. She closed her eyes and let the memory wash over her. She could see him, chest bare and gleaming in the pale lights of Coruscant filtering in from the windows. That mischievous smirk twisting his lips.
She missed him so much.
She missed who he had been.
With a sigh, she flopped down on the chair and immediately rose, muffling a yelp. Looking down at the seat, Padme picked up the offending object. The sense of displacement rose. She looked around the room to remind herself where she was. When she was.
This was one of Anakin's toys.
One of the little things he'd made from spare parts and circuitry aboard his warship, scurried away in the voluminous pockets of his robes to hand out to refugee children. The small joys he handed out to the little ones. Minuscule comforts, he'd said, could mean the world.
Where had it come from?
A shape, tall and dark, rose at the back of her mind. Her suspicions gnawing at her heart. She bit her lip.
"Mama?" A sleepy head poked out of the room.
Padme shook herself and smiled at her daughter. "Leia, sweetheart, what are you doing up?"
"Thirsty." The little girl mumbled.
"Well, let's get you something to drink." The woman gently set the toy down on the side table and scooped up her daughter. She'd worry about it in the morning. There were more important concerns.
So I had an idea...
I came across that Empire Era story idea on Pinterest today -- the one about Padme surviving and thinking Anakin died on Mustafar yet rising the Rebellion, and Vader thinking Padme still died -- them being trapped somewhere and arguing -- Padme masked -- and Padme slinging something she had said as Queen Amidala or senator and Vader being like “Don’t you dare bring her up--” and Padme ripping off the mask and throwing in his face like “I’ll bring myself into this argument if I kriffing want to!”
anyway, I had ideas for that..
That Vader, in that instant that she throws her mask as him and tells him she'll use herself in her own arguments all she kriffing likes, thank you, his heart breaks all over again. The lies he's told himself shatter around him, lying in pieces. And he know that the rebel leader -- Padme -- hates him and that he deserves it all.
That he’s burned with his hate for her, too. Why she got to live when his angel died.
And now all his illusions are shattered and he sees the monster that he is. He falls to his knees. He would cry if he could but he can’t.
But he does not call her anything Anakin would call her; he doesn’t permit himself the privilege of that familiarity.
Instead he swears himself to the service of his queen.
Padme stands baffled over her greatest nightmare, holding a lightsaber that sings mournfully, familiarly, over the feeling of its own pain. And she's never told anyone she came out the other side of Luke and Leia perhaps a little more sensitive than she went into it.
What can she do but bring him home. In chains, of course, because she’s not stupid. They have cuffs to hold Inquisitors and dark force sensitives. They have ways of containing him. She doesn’t yet trust that she doesn’t have to.
But he makes not a single aggressive move, not even a snarky word, to her or the Rebellion personnel that come to rescue her.
When they make it back to the base, him in chains and her with her head held high, the twins rush to greet them despite the clear orders she sent ahead
and he just freezes. Something in her freezes, too. She's kept their existence a secret all these years for a reason.
He wants, for a split second to believe that they are children from a second marriage or a later lover but the boy looks just like him and Vader mourns again.
Padme refuses to so much as look at him as he's escorted to the cells but the children peek at him behind their mother's limbs. Curious faces gleaming in the light of the hanger. Interrogation follows. Sometimes Padme, sometimes others, but he tells them everything he knows. He has no reason to hold it back. His angel is alive and he is hers. Has always been hers. He owes loyalty to no other.
Something happens. The base is attacked or the children are kidnapped -- pirates, not the Empire -- and Padme has no choice but to test the loyalty that Vader swears. The sets him loose and he proves it.
He is devastating.
Slowly they build trust -- and Padme's not stupid. The Emperor's right hand man doesn't just come from nowhere and swear their loyalty to her. She digs...
and she doesn't like what she finds. Nothing. There’s nothing. There’s nothing more suspicious than nothing.
Little toys, made from loose parts and spare circuitry begin to pop up in Padme and the twins' quarters. The kind Anakin used to make for the children of refugees when they were on the Resolute, to keep his hands occupied, the kind he'd bring home absently, a couple in his pockets every time.
The children aren’t afraid of him. They sense that he won’t hurt them. When he’s sitting somewhere, meditating or just watching, they treat him like a jungle gym.
Suspicion blooms at the back of her mind. One day, as he’s leaving on a mission, Vader slips and calls her Angel. He doesn’t notice but she does and it’s all the terrible confirmation she needs.
When he returns, exhausted and hurt, and still in that broken down kriffing suit he won’t let anyone touch, she plonks the kids down in front of him and tells him to start their training.
Anakin panics.
"I can't teach them, I know only of the dark"
And she argues with him.
"Surely floating a feather can't be dark, Lord Vader. A little push pull a too light for you?"
Padme taunts him into starting the twins off on their control while she goes to talk to medical and engineering about that suit.
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If anyone knows the original OP of the original idea, please tag me so I can reblog them.
If the fucking cancer didn’t kill him, she was going to do it.
Leaving in the middle of the night… his side of the bed cold and his stuff gone like she was some kind of fucking one night stand. Like she didn’t mean anything after the time they had been together.
Emotions turned inside her, rearing their ugly heads. Emotions and trauma she had thought burned and buried after so many nights in Wade's arms.
The scent of that old apartment in the Alley and the taste of cigarette smoke burned at the back of her throat.
With a snarl, she shoved them away.
Her hands moved, dancing over keypads she hadn’t accessed in over a year.
She had learned — the painful way, as it always was — you don’t shit where you eat. And you don’t bring the job home to civilians. Even mercenaries like Wade-fucking-Wilson.
Green flickered at the edges of her vision and fire built at the base of her spine, resting between her shoulders.
Violence — just waiting to be unleashed.
She breathed. She reminded herself that she wasn’t actually going to kill her fiancé. Closing her eyes, the quirk of his smile bloomed in her mind. The mirth of his laugh. The whip-fast crack of his wit, that made her blush and burn in equal measure. The way his gaze raked over her body, the way his lips lingered over her scars — loving them just as much as he loved the rest of her.
Opening her eyes again, one hand reached for the grip of her favorite gun and the other slid a communicator into her pocket… just in case. She shouldn’t need it. One man wouldn’t be too hard to find on the streets of New York City, after all.
No need to pull out the big guns.
She shook her head and reached again, fingers brushing almost lovingly over cherry red fiberglass. Then, Jacen Todd closed the panel, hiding it within the wall again. There was work to do and an idiot to bring home.
And, perhaps, a call to Talia to make.
She would not lose Wade. Especially not to some stupid disease.
The door slammed closed behind her, leaving the apartment cold... and empty.
The duracrete felt solid beneath her boots as they echoed along the halls, in time with the beating of her heart in her ears.
Thump-dub. Thump-dub.
It almost drowned everything else out. Nonsensically, she thought about how much easier it was to move around, these days, without the yards and swathes of silks and linens she used to wear. The clothing that used to be her armor; the senate that was her battleground.
Now her battleground was a little more literal.
But today…
For a moment she almost felt the wisp of a cloak trailing behind her as she stormed through the halls — a sense-memory of purpose as she held only one destination on her mind. Only one goal.
Whether it was the look on her face or the news spreading through the base, everyone scrambled to clear her path. She barely paid them any mind. Though she traveled deep into the mountain, it felt like only moments before she stood before her destination.
The wheezing cycle of the respirator was harsh in her ears and the crack of his vocoder still haunted her dreams.
“My queen.” The figure in black stood in front of the glowing ray shields. Unmoving and deadly patient.
“Did you mean it?” The words ripped themselves out of her mouth before she realized she was going to voice them. She almost wanted to take them back but it didn’t matter. At this point, nothing mattered.
The helmet — the visage of nightmares to many of her man, the herald of death to even more — tilted, confused.
“Every word I have spoken since we were trapped within the temple has been sincere.”
The air around them rang with truth. She didn’t understand how she knew that; she didn’t even care anymore. Something loosened in her chest and she could breathe again. She hadn’t even realized she had been struggling, her chest heaving as she took her first full breaths since the had news come in.
Her fist slammed into the panel next to the cell, bringing the shields down. Setting him loose. Her other hand curled around a blade, still humming that mournful — frighteningly familiar — tone.
“If you meant it,” she bit out, furious at the pirates, at the situation, at him, “bring them back.”
“I am yours.” He went to kneel but she stopped him, shoving the saber at his chest.
“Just find my children!”
He seemed to ripple. Not something physical; more like a feeling. An energy shot through him she didn’t understand. Couldn’t name. Didn’t want to name.
“The twins?”
“Pirates!” She hissed.
“They will die.” She could here the metal in Vader’s prosthetic squeal in protest as he clenched his fist. “I will bring your children home to you.”
For some reason, everything in Padme believed him.
He could hear the growl of Anakin's voice, tinged with something else. Something dark — other — and the soft pleading of Padme as she begged him to see reason.
Obi-Wan's heart ached. His stomach twisted. He still couldn't believe...
The voices rose — in anger, in fear — and the Force crackled with anticipation. He moved quickly, slipping from his hiding place and striding onto the landing ramp.
Drawing the gaze of those golden eyes.
Something in his chest clenched at the sight.
Oh, Anakin.
His former padawan growled, snapping at their senator. Blood rushing in his ears, Obi-Wan couldn’t make it out. He just strode forward.
It was easy to slip between them.
The work of long practice.
A snarl and a torrent of vitriol spewed from Anakin's lips.
Words he barely understood as they spilled out. Words of hate and betrayal. Words of anger. All covering the fear the boy had spent so long hiding.
Fear.
And hunger.
Hunger Obi-Wan could see now, gleaming in those golden eyes.
He sighed and pulled something from his robe pocket, practically slamming it against the other man's chest.
"Eat this."
"What?" Anakin stumbled, mouth moving over empty words.
If the situation hadn't been so dire, the look on his face would have made Obi-Wan laugh.
"I'm not talking to you until you finish it."
Perhaps it was the non sequitur, or the long ingrained practice of obeying his master, but Anakin did as asked. The silver wrapper peeled back, parting from the bar underneath, and he shoved the treat into his mouth.
If anyone could chew indignantly it was Anakin.
After a moment, he slowed — eating a little more carefully. When it was gone, a smear of chocolate decorating the side of his mouth, he slumped. where he stood.
Then, he tilted his head, looking sheepishly at his master, and asked, "What was that all about?"
Blue eyes met blue once more.
"You get a little sithly when you're hungry." Obi-Wan drawled.
The world swims and he’s on his knees and Obi-Wan’s not sure how he got there. Around him, the Council chamber echoes with grunts of pain as others find themselves in similar positions. Half the Council is slumped in their chairs, hands to their head.
Even Qui-Gon, standing next to him, with perhaps only a few days of new memories is not unaffected.
And once again Anakin blazes, bright as a star. Whole and young and —
The boy is curled up on the marble, arms over his head, sobbing.
Kriff.
He reaches for his padawan. Twenty years and death sacrifice not enough to dull the love and protection he feels for Anakin. A century wouldn’t be enough. Millennia.
He pulls him into his arms, startled when the boy fights him.
“No!” Anakin tumbles to the floor again, a consequence of his own struggle. “Don’t!”
Tears shine in bright blue — blue — eyes. Obi-Wan’s heart aches to see them.
“Anakin—”
The boy looks away.
“You can’t—”
The doors to the Council chamber crash open and others spill into the room. Pale and trembling, obviously the victims of the same event. Quinlan leads the charge.
He stalks right towards Obi-Wan and Anakin. The hiss of a lightsaber igniting makes everyone freeze.
The bright green of the blade glows as the kriffar holds it at Anakin’s neck. A threat or a promise, Obi-Wan doesn’t know. But Anakin only kneels.
“Do it.” He says, voice broken. His chin lifts. A challenge or a request? It makes Obi-Wan’s stomach turn to see.
There’s a flash of something in Quin’s eyes as he stares at the child that was once his nephew. That could be again. The boy he had helped sneak out for ice cream. Whose hand he had held when sick. The boy that he had taught Djem So.
The boy they had all failed.
The lightsaber died.
Anakin snarled, anger and pain swirling in the Force around them.
“Do it!” Desperation coating his voice, “You know I deserve it! Get it over with! Save this timeline before it falls again! Before I Fall again!”
“Anakin.” Obi-Wan wants to reach for him again but can’t bring himself to make contact. Not after being denied.
“Do you know how she died?” The boy gasps, around his tears. “All alone on an empty planet. The men she loved pointing blasters at her back. At the command of the Sith Lord?”
A muscle in Quin’s jaw clenches and gasps echo through the hall.
Aayla.
He would bring her up. Anakin always knew where to hit the hardest.
“Shut up, cousin.” A soft voice calls from the doorway. Aayla rolls her eyes as she comes to stand next to her master.
“Do better this time, we will.” Yoda states firmly, hobbling up next to the group. He looks compassionately at the kneeling boy.
“Master Windu?” Anakin tears his gaze away and turns haunted eyes on the other Master. “Please.”
The man rises painfully from his seat and walks over to the boy, kneeling next to him. A serious look in his eyes as his gaze rakes over the mess of a child in front of him.
“Master Yoda is right. We’ll do better this time, padawan.” Anakin slumps, falling back on his heels. “Come get your kid, Kenobi.”
Obi-Wan reaches down and scoops Anakin into his arms again. This time, Anakin clings.
Fear and sorrow laid thick in the room, heavy in the air and in the Force. It almost knocked Obi-Wan over with the power of it. But his padawan barely stumbled, mouth pulled in a grim line.
At least a dozen beings flinched back from them.
Slaves.
Kriff.
Pressing his lips together, already knowing that Anakin was going to refuse to leave without them — knowing his own conscience wouldn’t allow it, either — Obi-Wan just sighed.
Anakin turned to him, mouth open but a wave of his master’s hand cut him off.
“Alright, padawan, but we must hurry.”
He stepped forward, palms out to show peace, “We are Jedi. Please, come with us. We shall insure your freedom.”
“Leave!” Someone hissed. “Before you kill us all!”
Obi-Wan took a step back, surprised at the venom in the voice — the haterejectionfear directed at him.
“Jaieh.” Anakin touched his arm.
Eyebrows raised, Obi-Wan stepped aside.
Moving forward slowly, the teenager slid off his outer robe, softly speaking in a language that he had always refused to translate. A moment later, the robe was wrapped around the shoulders of a thinly clothed youngling.
If there was a single trait that Obi-Wan wouldn’t have attached to his young apprentice, it would have been social. Not that Anakin didn’t need human connection. If anything he craved it. Always having to be near those he claimed as his. Always being in their space. Always chattering or begging for a story. But he had always struggled with making friends and charming other sentients.
Watching him easily slip among the slaves and integrate among them in moments made Obi-Wan wonder if there wasn’t a failing of his own in that. Something he could have — should have — done.
While more at ease, they still wouldn’t go.
Anakin shed another layer, handing the robe off to another child and bearing the intricate tattoos that laced up his arms to the room. Obi-Wan felt his lip twitch, trying to draw into a frown.
The art was something of a point of contention. The teenager refused to talk about them. Refused to even acknowledge them, save to accept whatever consequence his master handed out. Every few months, Obi-Wan would discover new ones, spread across his padawan’s skin, obtained Force knows when.
He never caught Anakin leaving the Temple but there was nowhere inside that he could get them.
It drove his master crazy.
The sudden hushed silence caught Obi-Wan’s attention. He refocused back on the group in front of him and blinked.
A female twi’lek reached out almost compulsively and brushed her fingers gently over the blue band weaved around Anakin’s bicep.
Protection surged through Obi-Wan but Anakin sent a wave of reassurance through their bond.
The girl looked up and murmured a word.
Anakin nodded.
It spread from mouth to mouth, relief and hope leaching into the Force.
Grasping all of their hands in turn, Anakin glowed.
Something told Obi-Wan that they could make their escape now.
Hours later and finally in hyperspace, everyone — down to the smallest child — was piled in the small shuttle. The former slaves leaned against themselves, sitting together on the floor and drawing his padawan among them. Whispering in their tongue and gently exploring the bold lines on his skin.
Obi-Wan had never seen his apprentice so docile… or so quietly confident.
The more he watched, the more he began to understand that the designs of Anakin’s tattoos were important. They weren’t just decoration, they had real meaning. Not just to Anakin but to the slaves they had rescued.
The words flowing from lips were jubilant but just as elusive as they had always been. Words Anakin had never shared with him. They rang in the Force with a meaning in a way that Obi-Wan suddenly knew that he could never understand.
He turned back to instrument panels, checking their flight path and pulling out a datapad. Obi-Wan slowly began to compile the mission report for the near disaster they just escaped, mind tracing back the events of the day.
At least some good had come out of it, even if they didn’t manage their objective.
Thinking about the quiet revelations he had had about his padawan so far and the few he could feel waiting for him, expectation hanging at the edge of the Force… eager for the next meditation session… More good than he could predict, he was sure.
Something had changed.
Sensing his uncertainty, Anakin tentatively reached out to him. The Jedi master sent back a wave of reassurance and warmth before refocusing on the datapad in front of him.
Whatever the future and the Force had in store, they would weather it together. Stronger in a greater understanding.
Jaieh - Master in Dai Bendu - Conlang Created and expanded by @jasontoddiefor and @ghostwriterofthemachine. Please check out @dai-bendu-conlang and their Pragmatics of the Jedi series where they are exploring Dai Bendu on AO3. Beginning with Heart Language for more information on Dai Bendu.
