Liz (amidala_thrace) wrote,
Liz
amidala_thrace

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The Jedi's Code

Okay, so I'm about ready to kill TVS, the local Christmas programming station. Or at least they turn into a Christmas programming station on Christmas Eve. USUALLY. Not this year, though, apparently. This year they're carrying on as if nothing is happening, not showing A Christmas Story or anything like that. Ugh. Came home from the family celebration hoping to see it, because typically TVS runs it on a loop for 24 hours, but no dice. Siiiigh.

So to console myself, I'm posting the fic I wrote for imadra_blue, as part of my participation in this year's jedi_mistletoe fic exchange. I know many of you will already have read it, but I like to archive all my work in this journal, so here goes. Feel free to skip if you're sick of it or would prefer not to read it again, I won't mind. ^_^ I'm also adjusting this to fit a fanfic50 prompt, as is usual with all my shortfics.

Title: The Jedi's Code
Fandom/Pairing: Star Wars/Obidala (Obi-Wan Kenobi/Padmé Amidala)
Written For: imadra_blue @ jedi_mistletoe, applied to fanfic50
Prompt: #014 Sacrifice
Characters: Obi-Wan, Padmé, Anakin
Word Count: 2,028
Rating: NC-17 for a sexual scene
Summary: While watching Padmé's funeral, Obi-Wan cannot help but think back to the times he shared with her - as her friend, and as her lover.
Author’s Notes: This went through many incarnations before being submitted to jedi_mistletoe. I was about to rip my hair out over it until Katie got on AIM and consoled me, tossing out a few simple suggestions which I hadn't thought of, but that really made this fic what it ended up being. That's why I'm dedicating it to her, and indeed to all beta readers everywhere. The finished product may look as though it was easy as pie to write, but behind every awesome writer stands an even more awesome beta. In my case, I'm supremely lucky that my beta reader also happens to be my best friend in the world. Without her, this journal, and all of the fic in it, would not exist. You rock, Katie! ^_^



A Jedi Shall Not Know Anger.
Nor Hatred.
Nor Love.

- The Jedi Code


He tells himself he will not watch.

There is too much to be done, anyway, for Obi-Wan’s absence to be justified. The babies must be fed and cared for, and although Bail Organa has offered to tend to his new adopted daughter, the care of the boy, Luke, appears to have fallen to Obi-Wan almost by default. He never knew just how much babies cannot do for themselves. Luke must be fed, and changed, and comforted, and burped, and bathed. Some Jedi volunteered in the crèche while the Temple was still standing, but Obi-Wan was not one of them. All of this is new to him.

Other tasks require his attention as well. The meeting with Yoda and Bail to decide the fate of the galaxy. The plans for when they will leave Naboo, what random hyperspace jumps the Tantive IV will perform, how to operate the simple controls of the escape pods, which supplies need to be taken and which can be purchased at a later time. Obi-Wan is kept busy from morning to night.

But all of that is a distraction.

All of that is a distraction with which he can numb himself to the feelings bubbling beneath the surface. The feelings which will explode if he stops to think even for a moment.

Obi-Wan’s charade ends when Yoda tells him to watch the funeral.

“Master Yoda, with respect, there is too much that needs to be done,” Obi-Wan replies when the aged Jedi Master reminds him that Padmé’s service will begin in ten minutes. “The twins, the hyperspace calculations, the escape pods –”

“Handle that, Senator Organa and I will,” Yoda interrupts gently. “At Senator Amidala’s funeral your place is.”

Handle that, your Padawan will …

Yoda spoke those words three years ago, and try as he might, Obi-Wan cannot stop the flood.

He should have objected. Why didn’t he speak up?

In point of fact, Obi-Wan remembers that he did. After Anakin and Padmé left, before he went to see Dexter about the saberdart. Obi-Wan spoke with Yoda and Mace Windu, both of whom expressed great confidence in Anakin’s abilities.

But then, this was precisely the area of concern on which Obi-Wan focused.

“His abilities have made him … well, arrogant,” the Knight confessed as they walked down a Temple hallway.

“A flaw more and more common among Jedi,” Yoda reminded him. “Too sure of themselves they are. Even the older, more experienced ones.”

Arrogance was not, however, Obi-Wan’s primary concern.

In his room that night, mysteriously empty without the warm Force signatures of his Padawan, Obi-Wan was able to admit to himself the true problem.

Padmé.

He was afraid of losing her. Losing her to Anakin. But he brushed that concern aside.

A Jedi shall not know anger. Nor hatred. Nor love.

And Obi-Wan was a Jedi.


Obi-Wan finds himself back in the present, at the funeral.

He is concealed behind a pillar along the parade route, and as long as he does not make any sudden movements, no being – whether Force-sensitive or not – will know he is there.

The funeral is late in starting. It was supposed to take place in the late afternoon, but the sun is beginning to set by the time Obi-Wan finally sees the cortege beginning to make its way down the parade route.

He cannot see Padmé. Not yet, anyway.

He tells himself firmly that when the casket passes his hiding place, he will look away. He does not want to see Padmé in death. He wants to remember her as she was in life – vibrant, her face full of laughter, an independent, strong young woman. But in the very next second Obi-Wan chastises himself for even thinking it, and convinces himself that to look away would be an insult to her memory.

What would she want? Would she want him to look away? Or would she want him to meet the truth head-on?

He wishes she was still alive, so he could ask her.

The last time Obi-Wan saw her on Coruscant, Padmé was not smiling.

Her shock was evident. She had just witnessed her beloved Republic, for which she had fought so hard, be transformed into an Empire. Obi-Wan did not relish the additional news that he would be forced to give her.

For the first time he noticed the significant change in her form. Padmé, who had always been lithe and slender, was suddenly possessed of a very large belly. She could barely belt her dressing gown over it. He knew that only her surprise at the timing of his visit, and the rules of decorum for meeting guests, had prevented her from concealing it further.

Cautiously Obi-Wan stretched out in the Force, feeling Padmé’s life essence. It stood out as brightly as Tatooine’s primary, as it always had to him. He could read concern for herself, fear for Anakin and – happiness? About –?

The truth was staring him right in the face, but he did not want to believe it.

Twins.

Fathered by Anakin Skywalker.

Only then, at the end, did Obi-Wan understand the depth of her feeling for his friend. Only then did he understand how far she had gone for him, how much she had risked, what she was yet to sacrifice.

Only then did his heart break.

But he did not show it.

A Jedi shall not know anger. Nor hatred. Nor love.

And Obi-Wan was a Jedi.


The cortege is getting closer. Obi-Wan can see the six beautiful creatures pulling the casket. He can see the figure inside it, though not in detail. He can see the beings marching behind it. Padmé’s parents, her sister and her nieces. Queen Apailana. Jar-Jar Binks.

He doesn’t see the Emperor, and is glad of that.

But suddenly time seems to be slowing down. Time is slowing down because the casket is approaching, and will in fact pass much closer to Obi-Wan than he previously expected. His breath catches in his throat, for he knows what he will see next.

She is dressed in blue, a full-length garment speckled with white. Rather like the Nubian waterfalls she loved so much in life. The swell of her pregnancy arches sharply, her hands crossed over it as if in prayer. The japor snippet clutched in her fingers as a final tribute to her husband. Padmé’s hair is splayed out across the pillow of the casket, white flowers weaved intricately into the strands.

She looks peaceful, at rest. He is more glad of that than he can express.

The only problem is that her countenance reminds him sharply of the last time she looked like that. The last time she told him she loved him.

“Obi-Wan … we can’t do this anymore.”

Padmé didn’t want to face him. In fact, she was standing on her balcony when she spoke the words, looking out at the Coruscanti night.

“I know,” Obi-Wan murmured. His voice did not seem to belong to him anymore. It appeared to be someone else’s.

“You’re too well-respected in the Order, and Anakin … Anakin is growing up. He’s going to start asking you about our relationship.”

“I know,” he said again. There were other things he wanted to say, other points he should have made, but the words were getting lost on their way to his mouth. And he couldn’t seem to make his legs work. Couldn’t make his body do what he wanted.

Padmé came to him then, raising her palm to run four fingers softly along his jawline.

“Padmé …” Obi-Wan whispered, his voice low and breathy. If they had agreed they should part, why was she initiating this?

“One more time, darling,” she replied. “Just one more time. To give us a last memory.”

With those words, she had given him permission, and his mouth soon found hers. They kissed, gently but fiercely, their tongues mingling as Obi-Wan wrapped her in an embrace. If this was indeed to be the last time – and his feelings told him it would – he wanted to make the most of it.

They didn’t bother to move to her bed. His arms went around her and he used a combination of the Force and his own strength to lower her gently to the floor. Clothing was peeled off, robes tossed aside, and behind the shelter of Padmé’s couch, Obi-Wan explored his partner’s body.

He wanted to memorize everything about her, because he knew he would not get another chance.

Padmé contorted and moaned with pleasure underneath Obi-Wan’s fingertips as he ran them lightly down her neck, then to her chest, pausing at each breast to encircle and gently massage her nipples. Her breath caught as his fingers moved again, swirling once around her navel before reaching the apex of dark curls below. Unconsciously Padmé spread her legs, inviting him to proceed.

She was invitingly wet and slick. With a soft whisper of love, Obi-Wan lay next to her and pulled himself close, sliding his member inside her as they clutched at each other. Rhythmically he began to move, savouring the look in her eyes. She was focused only on him. Right now, she was his galaxy.

He held her as her climax passed over her with a soft gasp. She did the same moments later when a shudder rippled through Obi-Wan’s body. He clenched and relaxed, then slowly withdrew.

After, he reflected on what had brought them together. How they had grown close after Qui-Gon’s death, the times they had eaten together and danced together in her apartment, just the two of them. How their friendship had grown into something more. How Obi-Wan broke the Code because he could not fathom using a woman purely for pleasure, and wanted to make love to someone he actually had feelings for. How there was no choice but for the relationship to end, because Anakin was indeed growing older and beginning to ask questions. How Obi-Wan wanted to be the perfect role model to his young Padawan, and how a relationship with Padmé did not fit with his image of the perfect role model.

How in the end, it had not mattered.

In the end, Padmé had fallen in love with the very person Obi-Wan had been attempting to protect.

Obi-Wan wanted to feel rage when he learned that Anakin had claimed Padmé for his own. He wanted to feel contempt at Padmé’s disregard for Anakin’s future. He wanted to feel love for Padmé, even though she was no longer rightfully his.

But he felt none of those things.

A Jedi shall not know anger. Nor hatred. Nor love.

And Obi-Wan was a Jedi.


The casket passes. The moment seems interminable, and yet for Obi-Wan, it has gone by too quickly.

He will never see her again. He wants to see her.

He brushes the tears impatiently from his cheeks, but more come. He can sense his emotional control slipping and he sinks down behind the pillar, wrapping his arms around his knees, bombarded by memories that should not surface. Memories of Anakin. Memories of Qui-Gon.

Memories of Padmé.

A soft, final gasp, and Obi-Wan finally breaks. He has spent a lifetime holding it in. Now, there is so much of it that the sobs make their way out. Some part of him begs for the deluge to stop, knows that this is not behaviour befitting a Jedi Master, but the rest of him is convulsing with grief. Thirty-nine years’ worth of sorrows comprise a large damp patch on the front of his robes, and a larger patch on the permacrete behind the pillar.

Long after the funeral is over, Obi-Wan returns to the Tantive IV. His red-rimmed eyes are the only sign that something out of the ordinary has occurred.

Yoda sees that sign and smiles approvingly.

The aged Jedi Master was right. After that day, Obi-Wan does not cry.

He feels melancholy. There are days when depression gets the better of him.

But he does not cry.

A Jedi shall not know anger. Nor hatred. Nor love.

And Obi-Wan is a Jedi.

Tags: fanfic50, nc17 ratings, obi-wan/padmé, star wars
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