Feedback is always appreciated! Please, I beg of you, tell me what you think. ^_^
Also, please note that this story was originally posted on the 'Skywalking' mailing
list, under the title 'Hourglass'.
~Meredith
Legal Disclaimer: Do I look like I'm in charge? ... Didn't think so.
Personal Disclaimer: You mean you *don't* hear the voices? ^_~
"If you go forward, I will meet you there..." - "Frozen Love" by Buckingham Nicks
-------------------------------------------
Faces in the Passageway
Prologue/?
by Meredith Bronwen Mallory
[email protected]
http://www.demando.net/
-------------------------------------------
"Ever thought about dying?" It was a strange question, asked by a voice strangled in the back of his throat, but Anakin was in a strange mood. He somehow felt it needed to be asked.
It was one of those days when such a question could be posed- the wind
moved lazily, and the sun was not a single point of light but a sort of
diffused illumination. Quiet rested over the small veranda where Anakin and
his wife had ensconced themselves after lunch, comfortable that -- at least
for today-- there were no obligations to fulfill, no appointments to attend.
He smiled just a little as he turned from the work bench, interested in her
reaction. Padme` was a woman who used her whole body for expression, and
Anakin found it fascinating to watch.
"It's funny you ask that," her face was relaxed, smiling without actually
doing so, but he saw curiosity in the shift of her posture.
"Oh?" he asked, absently placing his tools back in their proper order.
From her place on the lounge nearby, Padme` nodded and held up the book she
was reading. "The Nubian Holy Text," Anakin read, laughing, "I sure
know how to pick 'em, huh?"
"You do," her face sobered a bit, and she closed the book completely. "I
have thought about death. A lot, actually," her voice was quiet, her eyes
staring into his own, "What about you?"
"Not much, to tell the truth," he replied, resisting the urge to move from
the bench to the lounge. From the corner of his mind, the Dark perked up and
began its usual little whispers. Anakin flinched inwardly; and here he
thought he was having a good day. "But recently-- I don't know. A young
Padawan died in an accident the other day, and I suppose it affected me more
than I realized."
His wife's face was genuinely sympathetic as she rested her chin in her
hands, "I hadn't heard about it, Ani. I'm sorry."
He shook his head, "It was no one I knew, at least not that well. But it
was a messy death, nothing I'd wish for anybody." For a brief moment, every
line in Padme's body was unreadable, and he wondered in a panic if perhaps
she *could* hear that natering little shadow in his mind. Could she know?
"What *do* the Jedi believe, anyway?" she asked, immediately setting his
fears to rest. To Anakin, the relief was as tangible as the small breeze.
Certainly, he didn't what her to know about the Dark, the shadows. He didn't
want them anywhere *near* her.
"Mostly that, after you die, you become one with the living Force," the
response was correct, rote and memorized. He heard it almost every day.
"And then?" Padme inquired innocently.
"What do you mean 'then'?" Even through his confusion, Anakin felt a
curious warmth wind itself through him. Padme was resting herself against
the arm of the lounge, brown eyes wide, mouth partly open, her attention
completely focused on Anakin alone. He loved moments like these, when he
felt he had her all to himself. For just a minute, the Dark quieted and the
shadows scattered, only to come back together again.
"You become one with the living Force, and then what happens?"
His brow furrowed, "That's it, I guess."
"Wow," she said, considering. "There's something... I'm surprised the Jedi
don't have a more defined belief."
"What do *you* believe?" he inquired, suddenly realizing that was the
question he'd been meaning to ask the entire time. He wondered why it seemed
so important now.
"You'll think it's strange," Padme's smile was small as she sat up,
stretching. Silently, Anakin willed her to stay on the lounge. If she were
to come over, hair down and lips parted, they might get distracted.
"No, really," he insisted, "I want to know." There was an overwhelming
urge to understand this part of her, but it didn't particularly alert him.
Early in their marriage he'd nearly driven her crazy with questions, wanting
to know everything about her. And yet he found that the more he seemingly
uncovered, the more uncharted territory rolled out before him, beckoning.
Padme was a mystery; a loving, comfortable, familiar mystery.
"I think we come back," she stated simply. Her head tilted to the side,
awaiting his reaction.
"Come back?" he managed.
"As someone new," her voice was excited, her hands moving to illustrate
the point, "Of course, you don't remember what happened before, but that's
the point."
"The point of what?"
"Coming back, of course."
"But..." he closed his eyes briefly, "Why come back at all?"
"So you can do it over again. Fix the mistakes you made before, make new
ones, have different experiences," her eyes were closed as she leaned back
against the lounge, and he realized that she really did believe what she was
saying. "And... and maybe see people again."
"If I have to fix my mistakes, I think I'll be at this a while," he joked
lightly, then allowed his voice to take on a serious note. "But how would
you know if you don't remember?" he asked. His logical mind kicked in,
wanting to examine the belief system as one would the engine of a podracer.
To make sure it worked.
"Some people think little children remember, bits and pieces. My
grandmother told me once about a girl she knew as a child. The girl insisted
for the longest time that she was waiting for her Ara to come be with her."
"Her Ara?"
"Her husband," Padme clarified, "But most children forget by the time they
hit seven or eight. At least, clearly- some people think even adults
remember a little." Silence hovered between them, loose and comfortable like
the barest touch. The Dark began its insane mouthings, but Anakin ignored
it, focusing his attention on his tools. He felt Padme's eyes on him, but it
was a while before he said anything. He almost thought she went back to her
reading.
"Have you ever remembered anything?" he asked as soon as it occurred to
him. He frowned the minute the words left his lips, shaking his head before
looking up at his wife.
"Not really," she licked her lips, lightly, "At least not that I can
recall now. Though, when I was little, I had a horrible fear of the harvest
droids. I used to have this nightmare that I was an older woman and had
gotten my hand caught in one. That might have been something," she shrugged,
"then again, maybe not. Have you ever remembered anything?"
"No," he said with certainty, though he really had no memory either way.
"Assuming there is such a thing, I think people *should* remember."
"Really?" her brown eyes held the barest note of sadness, "Would you want
to remember all the times *you've* messed it up?"
"On second thought..." he laughed, throwing his hands up. "Why haven't we
talked about this before?"
"I suppose after all the *other* trouble we went through to get married,
it didn't really seem like an issue."
"I suppose not."
"Besides, I don't think we'd let a little thing like this get between us,"
her eyes held a slight naughty smile.
"Definitely not." He winked back at her, before turning back to his tool
bench.
The conversation died painlessly, replaced by the slight hum of her presence and the sound of distant wind-chimes. Internally, Anakin turned her words over. The more he thought about it, the more the idea fascinated him, and the less he paid attention to his work on the small speeder engine stacked beside him. Slowly, the Dark began gnawing away at the happiness, as it always did. Sighing, Anakin turned his focus to combating its ever increasing monopoly on his mind, frustrated with his inability to keep control. Such infirmity in a Padawan was understandable, but a full grown Knight should not loose his grasp so completely. It frightened him more than he cared to admit, souring the brilliant Nubian afternoon. He swallowed hard, bitting his lip slightly as he dodged the Dark and tried to occupy his mind with other things. There was some question he still needed to ask, but he was unsure of how to word it.
"Would you wait for me?" again, it came out without a thought, but Anakin
was suddenly grateful. He might not have asked it otherwise.
"Pardon?"
"If what you say is true-- would you come back for me, or wait for me?"
His eyes swept over Padme's form, trying to read her response. He'd never
questioned their love before, and he certainly wasn't doing so now, but this
seemed of an entirely different order. At first he thought it might be a
question of loyalty, but he realized it wasn't that either. His wife rose
from the lounge, her hair and waist swaying ever so slightly before she
slipped into his lap. It seemed to him that her smile, now wide and full,
held all the mysteries in creation. Lightly, she brushed her hand across his
brow, and he stared up at her silently.
"Of course I'd wait," her voice was low, the voice she used when swearing
promises as Amidala. He understood that she took this just as seriously,
indeed, more so. "I'd come back for you, if you took too long." Absurdly
relieved, he held her loosely for the longest time, resting his head on her
shoulder.
He forgot about the promise, of course. A lifetime passed and he became someone else without dying entirely. The fire, the pit on Sullust and the ultimate betrayal swept the peace of that Nubian afternoon away. He was a different man, a man who held only the smallest shards of what he'd been prior, and if he thought of Padme at all it was always in pieces. Broken moments.
He only remembered when he saw her die.