Post by kenobifan on Feb 14, 2007 1:01:45 GMT -5
checked on 26 Oct 2011
Title: The Path Not Taken
Author: NoobianRose
Rating: G
AN: Some would call this bit of fiction A.U.; I prefer to refer to it, quite lovingly, as an expansion of the story not told. Then again, most people think that Obidala in general is A.U., though that’s beside the point. This story takes place after the scene in Padmé’s apartment that got cut from “Revenge of the Sith”; a strong example of Obidala in the Star Wars “cannon.” Thanks to the novel I was able to better follow this scene. If a stronger context is needed, please refer to the book.
Enjoy! Remember that pretty much everything in this document, except the specific order of the words, belong to George Lucas and Lucasfilm Ltd.
~NoobianRose
***
He smiled at her sadly, almost with regret. Deciding at last to question him about the unspoken words behind the expression, Padmé opened her mouth to speak. Only a soft chime, coming from the Jedi’s inner-robe, stilled her voice.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Obi-Wan said politely, turning from her to answer his comlink.
“Yes?” he asked into the small metal device.
“We have just received word,” the low and powerful monotone voice of Mace Windu responded, “General Grievous has been located.”
An odd expression came over the Jedi’s face as he listened to the news, one that Padmé was unable to decipher. “Very good Master,” he replied with his usual calm and gentility, “I will return to the Temple at once.”
Shutting down the comlink and returning it to the safety of his robes, the Jedi turned to address her once more. But Padmé’s mind was elsewhere. Finding Grievous meant only one thing to her: Anakin would leave . . . again. Each time went off to war, the chances of him returning to her safely became smaller. How many more times could he cheat death?
And it wouldn’t just be Padmé he would be leaving this time . . . but their unborn child as well.
Before Master Kenobi could speak, Senator Amidala stated, with the propriety only a politician could muster, “The capture of Grievous will bring an end to this war . . . The thoughts and wishes of the whole Republic are with the brave individual sent to bring him back.”
“Well Milady,” he replied gently with another somber, but knowing smile. “I am sure that he is grateful for your support.”
Padmé’s heart began to quicken. Though, to her credit, she hid her nervousness well. “Then the Council already has someone in mind to head this mission?”
Anyone else would have been completely put on by the Senator’s cool exterior. But she knew, just by looking into those deep eyes of his, that Master Kenobi could not be fooled. “Don’t worry Padmé, Anakin will not be leaving you, at least not for this assignment.”
“But who would they send if not Anakin,” she asked, her own curiosity now getting the better of her.
“I thought you would be pleased to hear that it would, indeed, be someone else. Am I mistaken?”
“No,” Padmé answered quickly, “I was just surprised, that’s all.”
Obi-Wan looked at her thoughtfully, eyes of blue boring into hers. “Well, Milady, though the Council has not yet officially given the assignment, I believe that since I was asked to lead the Jedi search for the General . . . I will be the one to bring him to Coruscant.”
A large knot formed in the pit of the Senator’s stomach as his words began to register. They hardly filled her with the comfort she thought they would. Padmé was glad, so very grateful, that Anakin would not be sent to deal with Grievous. But now, knowing that it would be Obi-Wan instead? She simply did not know what to think.
There was no elation, only confusion, only concern. She should be happy. Not only was the Council not sending her husband, they were sending a Jedi Master. A Master who was, as Anakin himself had once described, “As wise as Master Yoda and as powerful as Master Windu.” Obi-Wan was quite the combination, and would certainly be able to get the job done.
But the Jedi and the Senator had been through much in their lives. They had always fought the same battle, though sometimes on different fronts. It was only on a few, rare, occasions that they had faced the front line side by side. Yet, during all that time, the pair had remained connected. Their lives seemed to be bound together; bound by something greater. To what end Padmé didn’t know, but she had always felt it.
Since meeting Padawan Kenobi for the first time, all those years ago, she had felt at ease in his presence. She had felt safe. And the Queen had known, even as she watched him leave Naboo with Anakin, that they would meet again.
The Senator was proud to count the Jedi Master as a dear friend. But now, the Queen gone and the Senator forgotten, Padmé regretted so much. It occurred to her, as they stood there in her apartment, that this may very well be the last time she saw him alive.
There was so much about Obi-Wan that she had never learned, so much she had never thought to ask. But, as Padmé pondered the reasons for this discrepancy, she already knew the answer.
For some reason, she had simply assumed that he would always be there. She had taken his presence in her life for granted. And, despite the dangers of combat and the war, Padmé had never before imagined her life without him.
His gentle voice brought her back to the room, “I’m very sorry Padmé, but I really must be going . . . The Council is waiting.”
“Why you?” she called after him suddenly, the sound of her words: harsh and quick.
He turned to her, somewhat puzzled by the outburst. “As I said earlier, I had been heading the Council’s search for General Grievous. It is only logical that the Council would ask me to bring him back.” He smiled at her teasingly, “Though, as I believe I said also, it is unlikely that they have already made their final decision.”
The face of the Jedi, as he looked at her now, sent her mind reeling. His eyes: so gentle, so easily able to reveal any truths hidden within her. His smile: so soft and subtle, and so able to make her feel at home. Padmé was completely disarmed, she felt naked before him.
Eyes of chocolate brown fell to the floor, blinking back the tears that had, inexplicably, began to well within them. “Obi-Wan,” she said, voice shaking, barely above a whisper, “I don’t want you to go.”
The gentle smile faded as he watched her close inspection of the billowing folds at the bottom of her green velvet gown. The carpet darkened as, one by one, the Senator’s tears fell and were absorbed by the material of the floor.
“What is it Padmé?”
How could she possibly explain? It was confusing enough to even think about, much less attempt to express in words. She began slowly, finally meeting his eyes. “We’ve lost so much time, you and I.”
Obi-Wan closed the gap between them. Putting a gentle hand to her cheek he brushed the tears away, remaining silent to allow her to continue.
“How long have we been friends?” Padmé asked. “For years. And I have always felt extremely close to you . . . to be honest, I still don’t quite understand it . . . And now I truly regret not taking the time to know you better.”
She paused for a moment, taking his hand from her face and holding it tenderly in her own, “Obi-Wan, you have always been there for me. And you have always held a dear place in my heart.”
It was now the Master’s turn to inspect the floor. As he so often did, when his words failed him, he ran his free hand through his thick hair. It was difficult to respond to such a compliment . . . especially when it came from her.
No matter how many conflicting thoughts tumbled through his head one thing was clear, Padmé’s presence in his life had meant just as much to him as he had to hers. If not more, the Jedi thought to himself suddenly.
Though she could never know it, Padmé had always been something of a reminder. She represented the path not taken. She reminded him of how different his life could have been, were he more like his Padawan.
The Jedi Master had never entertained the notion of spending his life with anyone, especially Padmé. She was a friend after all, and he could spend his life with no one. But still, as he kept his knowledge of Anakin and Padmé’s relationship a secret, even from them, there were times he had wondered “What if.”
The truth is that he, too, regretted not having spent more time with her. They had been friends for so very long. Obi-Wan wished he had taken the time to see what Anakin had in her all those years ago.
Not since he was a Padawan had Obi-Wan been so conscious of his own mortality. Not since he stood face to face with the lone Sith Lord that had slain the only father he had ever known. Though he felt he had grown much since then, Padmé’s words took him right back to that energy room, in the bowels of Theed’s Royal Palace.
Suddenly, The Jedi Master became painfully aware that his life on this plane may soon come to an end. And with that realization, came the knowledge that he may never see her again.
“It’s quite remarkable really,” Obi-Wan observed.
She looked at him quizzically, “What’s remarkable?”
“I find it astonishing that I know as little about you personally as I do. I feel quite close to you, too, Padmé . . . Closer than I should.”
“I – I’m not sure I understand.”
Though she said the words, there was no truth in them. She understood completely what the Master had said, as well as the feeling that may lay behind the statement. What Padmé had a difficult time comprehending is why she understood it . . . and why it rang true for her as well.
“I didn’t want Anakin to face Grievous,” Padmé confessed, her words becoming choked slightly, “I still don’t. But knowing that you would be sent instead- . . . I don’t think I’m ready to make that kind of choice.”
“Padmé,” he began tentatively, almost at a whisper, “I know that my particular brand of Jedi rhetoric probably won’t be of comfort to you now, but . . . no one knows along what path their final destiny will lie.”
Gently, the Jedi brought the Lady to him, enfolding her in his strong arms. She willingly snuggled in his robes, laying her head in the warm crook of his neck and breathing deeply. She became intoxicated by his scent; a smell, musky and masculine, which triggered memories from long ago.
“Though I do not fear death,” he continued, “I want you to know that I hardly welcome it openly . . . You must know that I will do all within my power to return.”
Lifting her head from the shelter of his neck, Padmé stared into his eyes. “See that you do,” she replied, “I don’t know what I would do without you Obi-Wan.”
He stared back at her for many moments, saying nothing. He wanted to remember everything he could about her face. Intently, he studied the color of her eyes and how it beautifully matched her hair, the unique arch of her eyebrows, the mole in the centre of her left cheek and the fullness of her lips. Obi-Wan’s gaze lingered there for some time as he debated the wisdom of his next move.
Softly, he caressed her cheek again, running his thumb along the small mole that he had committed to memory. The Jedi then urged her face to his, kissing her for the very first time.
It was so unlike the kisses of her husband. The contact had none urgency and none of the almost debilitating intensity. This one was soft and sweet, full of love as Obi-Wan’s lips played on hers, almost lazily. Perhaps it was not the kind of love that was between her and Anakin. This seemed different; deeper somehow. So far beyond “romantic” love and impossible to describe.
Even as he kissed her, he knew he shouldn’t. But should he fail to return, he had this last chance to say goodbye; this final moment to spend with a dear friend. A friend that he not only respected and admired on a professional level, but a friend that he had truly come to love.
Their contact began to deepen. Padmé opened her mouth to him, allowing him better access and wrapped her arms around him tightly, almost as if her life depended on it. But the moment ended.
Though it broke his heart, Obi-Wan pulled from her, afraid that he would never be able to let her go if they continued. Carefully, as if she were made of glass, he wiped the last remaining tear-drops from her cheeks; he could still taste the salt of them on his lips.
“I have to go,” he said sadly.
“I know,” she replied, “Goodbye, Obi-Wan.”
With a small smile, the Jedi brought her hand to his lips. Looking into her eyes, one last time, he turned and walked away.
She gazed downward at her own body, taking in the bulge of her belly, the child as yet unborn that she shared with Anakin. And, for the first time since her marriage, the Senator came to question herself. Just as Obi-Wan had so many times before, Padmé realized how different her life could have been.
If only she had chosen a different path.
Title: The Path Not Taken
Author: NoobianRose
Rating: G
AN: Some would call this bit of fiction A.U.; I prefer to refer to it, quite lovingly, as an expansion of the story not told. Then again, most people think that Obidala in general is A.U., though that’s beside the point. This story takes place after the scene in Padmé’s apartment that got cut from “Revenge of the Sith”; a strong example of Obidala in the Star Wars “cannon.” Thanks to the novel I was able to better follow this scene. If a stronger context is needed, please refer to the book.
Enjoy! Remember that pretty much everything in this document, except the specific order of the words, belong to George Lucas and Lucasfilm Ltd.
~NoobianRose
***
He smiled at her sadly, almost with regret. Deciding at last to question him about the unspoken words behind the expression, Padmé opened her mouth to speak. Only a soft chime, coming from the Jedi’s inner-robe, stilled her voice.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Obi-Wan said politely, turning from her to answer his comlink.
“Yes?” he asked into the small metal device.
“We have just received word,” the low and powerful monotone voice of Mace Windu responded, “General Grievous has been located.”
An odd expression came over the Jedi’s face as he listened to the news, one that Padmé was unable to decipher. “Very good Master,” he replied with his usual calm and gentility, “I will return to the Temple at once.”
Shutting down the comlink and returning it to the safety of his robes, the Jedi turned to address her once more. But Padmé’s mind was elsewhere. Finding Grievous meant only one thing to her: Anakin would leave . . . again. Each time went off to war, the chances of him returning to her safely became smaller. How many more times could he cheat death?
And it wouldn’t just be Padmé he would be leaving this time . . . but their unborn child as well.
Before Master Kenobi could speak, Senator Amidala stated, with the propriety only a politician could muster, “The capture of Grievous will bring an end to this war . . . The thoughts and wishes of the whole Republic are with the brave individual sent to bring him back.”
“Well Milady,” he replied gently with another somber, but knowing smile. “I am sure that he is grateful for your support.”
Padmé’s heart began to quicken. Though, to her credit, she hid her nervousness well. “Then the Council already has someone in mind to head this mission?”
Anyone else would have been completely put on by the Senator’s cool exterior. But she knew, just by looking into those deep eyes of his, that Master Kenobi could not be fooled. “Don’t worry Padmé, Anakin will not be leaving you, at least not for this assignment.”
“But who would they send if not Anakin,” she asked, her own curiosity now getting the better of her.
“I thought you would be pleased to hear that it would, indeed, be someone else. Am I mistaken?”
“No,” Padmé answered quickly, “I was just surprised, that’s all.”
Obi-Wan looked at her thoughtfully, eyes of blue boring into hers. “Well, Milady, though the Council has not yet officially given the assignment, I believe that since I was asked to lead the Jedi search for the General . . . I will be the one to bring him to Coruscant.”
A large knot formed in the pit of the Senator’s stomach as his words began to register. They hardly filled her with the comfort she thought they would. Padmé was glad, so very grateful, that Anakin would not be sent to deal with Grievous. But now, knowing that it would be Obi-Wan instead? She simply did not know what to think.
There was no elation, only confusion, only concern. She should be happy. Not only was the Council not sending her husband, they were sending a Jedi Master. A Master who was, as Anakin himself had once described, “As wise as Master Yoda and as powerful as Master Windu.” Obi-Wan was quite the combination, and would certainly be able to get the job done.
But the Jedi and the Senator had been through much in their lives. They had always fought the same battle, though sometimes on different fronts. It was only on a few, rare, occasions that they had faced the front line side by side. Yet, during all that time, the pair had remained connected. Their lives seemed to be bound together; bound by something greater. To what end Padmé didn’t know, but she had always felt it.
Since meeting Padawan Kenobi for the first time, all those years ago, she had felt at ease in his presence. She had felt safe. And the Queen had known, even as she watched him leave Naboo with Anakin, that they would meet again.
The Senator was proud to count the Jedi Master as a dear friend. But now, the Queen gone and the Senator forgotten, Padmé regretted so much. It occurred to her, as they stood there in her apartment, that this may very well be the last time she saw him alive.
There was so much about Obi-Wan that she had never learned, so much she had never thought to ask. But, as Padmé pondered the reasons for this discrepancy, she already knew the answer.
For some reason, she had simply assumed that he would always be there. She had taken his presence in her life for granted. And, despite the dangers of combat and the war, Padmé had never before imagined her life without him.
His gentle voice brought her back to the room, “I’m very sorry Padmé, but I really must be going . . . The Council is waiting.”
“Why you?” she called after him suddenly, the sound of her words: harsh and quick.
He turned to her, somewhat puzzled by the outburst. “As I said earlier, I had been heading the Council’s search for General Grievous. It is only logical that the Council would ask me to bring him back.” He smiled at her teasingly, “Though, as I believe I said also, it is unlikely that they have already made their final decision.”
The face of the Jedi, as he looked at her now, sent her mind reeling. His eyes: so gentle, so easily able to reveal any truths hidden within her. His smile: so soft and subtle, and so able to make her feel at home. Padmé was completely disarmed, she felt naked before him.
Eyes of chocolate brown fell to the floor, blinking back the tears that had, inexplicably, began to well within them. “Obi-Wan,” she said, voice shaking, barely above a whisper, “I don’t want you to go.”
The gentle smile faded as he watched her close inspection of the billowing folds at the bottom of her green velvet gown. The carpet darkened as, one by one, the Senator’s tears fell and were absorbed by the material of the floor.
“What is it Padmé?”
How could she possibly explain? It was confusing enough to even think about, much less attempt to express in words. She began slowly, finally meeting his eyes. “We’ve lost so much time, you and I.”
Obi-Wan closed the gap between them. Putting a gentle hand to her cheek he brushed the tears away, remaining silent to allow her to continue.
“How long have we been friends?” Padmé asked. “For years. And I have always felt extremely close to you . . . to be honest, I still don’t quite understand it . . . And now I truly regret not taking the time to know you better.”
She paused for a moment, taking his hand from her face and holding it tenderly in her own, “Obi-Wan, you have always been there for me. And you have always held a dear place in my heart.”
It was now the Master’s turn to inspect the floor. As he so often did, when his words failed him, he ran his free hand through his thick hair. It was difficult to respond to such a compliment . . . especially when it came from her.
No matter how many conflicting thoughts tumbled through his head one thing was clear, Padmé’s presence in his life had meant just as much to him as he had to hers. If not more, the Jedi thought to himself suddenly.
Though she could never know it, Padmé had always been something of a reminder. She represented the path not taken. She reminded him of how different his life could have been, were he more like his Padawan.
The Jedi Master had never entertained the notion of spending his life with anyone, especially Padmé. She was a friend after all, and he could spend his life with no one. But still, as he kept his knowledge of Anakin and Padmé’s relationship a secret, even from them, there were times he had wondered “What if.”
The truth is that he, too, regretted not having spent more time with her. They had been friends for so very long. Obi-Wan wished he had taken the time to see what Anakin had in her all those years ago.
Not since he was a Padawan had Obi-Wan been so conscious of his own mortality. Not since he stood face to face with the lone Sith Lord that had slain the only father he had ever known. Though he felt he had grown much since then, Padmé’s words took him right back to that energy room, in the bowels of Theed’s Royal Palace.
Suddenly, The Jedi Master became painfully aware that his life on this plane may soon come to an end. And with that realization, came the knowledge that he may never see her again.
“It’s quite remarkable really,” Obi-Wan observed.
She looked at him quizzically, “What’s remarkable?”
“I find it astonishing that I know as little about you personally as I do. I feel quite close to you, too, Padmé . . . Closer than I should.”
“I – I’m not sure I understand.”
Though she said the words, there was no truth in them. She understood completely what the Master had said, as well as the feeling that may lay behind the statement. What Padmé had a difficult time comprehending is why she understood it . . . and why it rang true for her as well.
“I didn’t want Anakin to face Grievous,” Padmé confessed, her words becoming choked slightly, “I still don’t. But knowing that you would be sent instead- . . . I don’t think I’m ready to make that kind of choice.”
“Padmé,” he began tentatively, almost at a whisper, “I know that my particular brand of Jedi rhetoric probably won’t be of comfort to you now, but . . . no one knows along what path their final destiny will lie.”
Gently, the Jedi brought the Lady to him, enfolding her in his strong arms. She willingly snuggled in his robes, laying her head in the warm crook of his neck and breathing deeply. She became intoxicated by his scent; a smell, musky and masculine, which triggered memories from long ago.
“Though I do not fear death,” he continued, “I want you to know that I hardly welcome it openly . . . You must know that I will do all within my power to return.”
Lifting her head from the shelter of his neck, Padmé stared into his eyes. “See that you do,” she replied, “I don’t know what I would do without you Obi-Wan.”
He stared back at her for many moments, saying nothing. He wanted to remember everything he could about her face. Intently, he studied the color of her eyes and how it beautifully matched her hair, the unique arch of her eyebrows, the mole in the centre of her left cheek and the fullness of her lips. Obi-Wan’s gaze lingered there for some time as he debated the wisdom of his next move.
Softly, he caressed her cheek again, running his thumb along the small mole that he had committed to memory. The Jedi then urged her face to his, kissing her for the very first time.
It was so unlike the kisses of her husband. The contact had none urgency and none of the almost debilitating intensity. This one was soft and sweet, full of love as Obi-Wan’s lips played on hers, almost lazily. Perhaps it was not the kind of love that was between her and Anakin. This seemed different; deeper somehow. So far beyond “romantic” love and impossible to describe.
Even as he kissed her, he knew he shouldn’t. But should he fail to return, he had this last chance to say goodbye; this final moment to spend with a dear friend. A friend that he not only respected and admired on a professional level, but a friend that he had truly come to love.
Their contact began to deepen. Padmé opened her mouth to him, allowing him better access and wrapped her arms around him tightly, almost as if her life depended on it. But the moment ended.
Though it broke his heart, Obi-Wan pulled from her, afraid that he would never be able to let her go if they continued. Carefully, as if she were made of glass, he wiped the last remaining tear-drops from her cheeks; he could still taste the salt of them on his lips.
“I have to go,” he said sadly.
“I know,” she replied, “Goodbye, Obi-Wan.”
With a small smile, the Jedi brought her hand to his lips. Looking into her eyes, one last time, he turned and walked away.
She gazed downward at her own body, taking in the bulge of her belly, the child as yet unborn that she shared with Anakin. And, for the first time since her marriage, the Senator came to question herself. Just as Obi-Wan had so many times before, Padmé realized how different her life could have been.
If only she had chosen a different path.