If everything had gone according to plan when Anakin and Padme got married in AotC then:

Padme wouldn't have gotten pregnant

Anakin would have been a jedi all his life

Anakin wouldn't have gone to the dark side

Anakin and Padme's marriage would have remained a secret until the day they died.

In my fanfic, Anakin defeated Dooku and Palpatine at the battle scene at the beginning of RotS when Obi-wan was knocked out.

There is no emotion, there is peace.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

There is no death, there is the Force.

Jedi Master Obi-wan Kenobi closed his eyes for a moment and meditated on his sadness and his mourning over a life lost too early. He opened his mind to his surroundings and became aware of the soft green grass beneath his feet, of the cool mountain air that filled his lungs, of the lake water as it rippled a few feet away from his fingertips. He ignored the pain in his hip and the aching of his aging bones as he sat on his knees before his friend's grave and tried to let his emotions escape from his body and disappear in the vastness of the Force.

The Jedi Code stated that attachment was forbidden, love was forbidden. For the Jedi who had always lived by the Code, who would die by the Code, attachment was something he frowned upon and love was a thing he did not welcome in his own life. For this Jedi, the last eighty-three years had been spent in pursuit of an isolated and unemotional life. But for the man who had seen the destruction that war and slavery brought, who had spent his life fighting so that justice could prevail, that man understood that attachment was something that worth protecting and love was a thing worth dying for. For this man, the death of Anakin Skywalker was something he could never forget.

Obi-wan felt his breathing become more even and steady and resisted the urge to fidget in his scratchy robes. Instead, he gave into the force and felt its tug into his memories. He followed it, for a moment losing himself in his own mind. He half-smiled as he remembered the slave boy from Tatooine. That smile became a frown as he watched that slave boy grow up over countless missions and mandates. That frown disappeared into a thin line as he recalled the day that should have given him his first warning.

"Anakin, we have to leave in the morning for the Corellian system," he had said.

"Already, Master?" Anakin had asked as he looked over to where the contents of his suitcase had lain all over his bunk.

"I know," Obi-wan had replied sadly. "But we are needed to help with the hostage situation. The current high command of Corellia is in critical danger from General Grievous's forces. We leave at 0700."

Suddenly, Anakin had been pulling on his boots, and practically running out of their quarters at the Jedi Temple. They only had had less than ten hours before they were leaving Coruscant again.

"Where are you going?" Obi-wan had questioned. "Right now, we should be preparing for our mission."

Anakin had avoided his master's penetrating gaze when he answered, "There's someone I need to say good-bye to, Master." Suddenly, with the blink of an eye he had been gone.

That Anakin had felt the need to say good-bye was something that went against every fiber of Obi-wan's being as a Jedi. For a Jedi there were no good-byes. Good-byes were reserved for people you were afraid of never seeing again. And fear was forbidden. Fear led to hatred which led to the dark side. But the second warning had not gone against the Jedi Code. The second warning was an act which had saved Jedi from extinction. As Obi-wan's memories sped ahead they found the moment of burning flesh and sickly yellow eyes. Obi-wan would never forget that moment.

He was standing over the bodies of Count Dooku and Chancellor Palpatine. He had still felt slightly disoriented and groggy when he found his former apprentice, surveying the bodies.

"What happened?" Obi-wan had asked.

Anakin, who had been looking down at the dead men, had suddenly turned his eyes to Obi-wan. His gaze was piercing. "Palpatine was the sith we had been looking for."

Rendered speechless, Obi-wan had only looked at Anakin. For a moment, he had forgotten the throbbing pain in his head, had ignored the sudden realization that Grievous and his army would be looking for them, and had not been able to comprehend the view of Coruscant as it loomed before him. "How?" had been the only question he could ask.

Anakin had looked out the window to where Coruscant orbited and the battle that continued to rage and then had explained, "I couldn't let him destroy everything I love."Later on, Anakin would relay the events in great detail both to Obi-wan and the Jedi Council and describe how Dooku, when confronted with betrayal by his master, had admitted the truth of the matter, how Anakin killed them both, urged on by the Force and a desire for survival.

Kneeling in the soft green grass, his eyes closed as he surveyed his memories, Obi-wan reminded himself that Anakin had been the Chosen One, that he had indeed brought balance to the Force, even at the cost of balance to his own life. After the Clone Wars had come to an abrupt end, and Palpatine had been replaced as chancellor by Senator Mon Mothma and she had been replaced by Senator Amidala who served as chancellor for ten years, Anakin would become a pillar of the Jedi Order. Eventually attaining the rank of Master, he would not only accomplish his missions with great success, but he would do so in such unconventional ways as to frustrate the Council to no end, causing Master Yoda to shake his head and Master Windu to throw his hands in the air. But Anakin could get away with such controversy, for although Anakin hadn't always obeyed, Anakin had always believed.

Anakin, who as a slave boy believed in the power of hope, had as a Jedi believed in the Order and in the Republic. The older he grew, the more his temper grew with him, but so did his insatiable desire to end injustice and promote peace. Even as he was placed on the Council, even as his number of missions lessoned as his other, more formal duties became greater, it had been whispered among the younger Jedi that Master Skywalker no longer slept at his Temple quarters. He was too busy following leads and ferreting out information. Suddenly Obi-wan's mind picked up on another memory, another moment that should have warned him.

"Anakin, where are you going?" he had asked, nearly running to catch up with his hurried friend.

Anakin had jumped into a speeder in the Temple's hanger and had powered it up before answering, "I'm late for an appointment with Chancellor Amidala."

"At this hour?" Obi-wan had asked, eyeing the lights that illuminated Coruscant's dark skies.

"She's the chancellor," Anakin had responded. "I'm sure what hours she keeps would be odd to anyone."

"I wasn't aware that Chancellor Amidala was in the habit making appointments with Jedi who were not official representatives sent by the Council," Obi-wan had stated pointedly.

"This is a personal matter," Anakin had admitted reluctantly.

"I see," Obi-wan had responded carefully. "I was not aware that you and Chancellor Amidala still retained your friendship after all these years."

"I have not been your padawan for nearly twenty years, Master, yet you still lecture me about my attachments," Anakin had said, careful to hide his exasperation.

But Obi-wan had caught that emotion anyway. He had also sensed frustration from Anakin. And nervousness. He decided to let it go. "She is the chancellor now, Anakin. Be careful."

Anakin had rolled his eyes. "I know. You don't trust politicians."On that note, had had left, maneuvering his speeder into the Coruscanti traffic.

Thirty-twoyears later, Obi-w still didn't trust politicians, and with good reason. They were liars, schemers, manipulators. There wasn't one politician he trusted. And although he hadn't disliked Chancellor Amidala, in fact he had rather liked her, he refused to do let his history with her get in the way of his principles. Chancellor Amidala was a strong woman who had helped to rebuild the galaxy after the disastrous monstrosity of the Clone Wars. She had even put the surviving clones to good use, sending them to war-torn planets to aid and assist those who were still suffering and recovering from the effects of war. But Obi-wan had sensed a weakness in her, a weakness that he could not place.

In her later years, after she had retired from public life and made a home for herself on Naboo in the lake country that she had loved so dearly, Obi-wan had become sensitive enough to realize that her weakness was somehow linked to Anakin. Surrounded by her family of nieces and grandnephews on Naboo, the former Chancellor of the Galactic Republic still had a thin veil of sadness that hung over her. Loneliness, Obi-wan had thought at the time. He had always wondered why a woman as beautiful and accomplished as the former Queen of Naboo had not married, why she had sentenced herself to eternal spinsterhood. To those who were blind to the ways of the Force, attachment was not forbidden. In fact, for them attachment was encouraged. After her death, Obi-wan would learn that her private attachments were what gave her her strength. He remembered the moment he had learned of her death.

Anakin had been staring out a window of the Jedi Temple, looking across the city to the apartments Obi-wan knew the former chancellor occupied during her time on-planet. "What is it, Anakin?" Obi-wan had asked softly.

"Padmé," he had whispered in a strangled voice, "She's gone."

Obi-wan had bristled. "Surely, if a former Chancellor of the Galatic Republic had died, the whole galaxy would know, and we would be informed."

Anakin's gaze had moved from the window to Obi-wan, and Obi-wan had seen that his eyes were moist with tears, that his gray hair had been pulled in agitation. For a moment, he had felt a gut-wrenching and unbearable pain as if his heart had been pulled from his chest. Suddenly, it had been gone, and Obi-wan had realized that this pain emanated from Anakin himself. "She's dead, Master," Anakin confirmed, "I can feel it." He paused for a moment before continuing. "They'll make a great memorial to her on Naboo. Her body will buried in a magnificent tomb."

"I take it you don't agree," Obi-wan had replied carefully.

"She wanted to be buried at the lake country, a few feet from the lake. She already had the spot picked out, and had already ordered a tombstone of white marble," Anakin's voice could barely be heard as he continued, "I will make sure that she is buried there in peace."

Obi-wan had forced Anakin to meet his gaze, to answer his unspoken question. Something so intimate about a former Galactic Chancellor was not a thing a Jedi Master should know. Anakin's eyes had told Obi-wan all he needed to know. Obi-wan Kenobi's former padawan had still not learned the dangers of attachment and of love.

As he sat in the grass and thought about that moment. The moment that Anakin Skywalker, a member of the Jedi Council, the Chosen One, the Balancer of the Force had become merely a shadow of his former self had been the moment that Padmé Amidala had died. Obi-wan would later learn that she had suffered from a heart attack that so swiftly overcame her not even Master Skywalker would have been able to save her from certain death. The whole galaxy had mourned.

But no one had mourned as much as Anakin. He hid emotions well. But everyone had sensed a change in Anakin, including the Temple's boisterous younglings who had delighted in his once vibrant presence. Most people assumed his age had caught up with him. At nearly seventy-years-old, Anakin was not the young man he had once been. Only Obi-wan and Master Yoda who had seen more in his nine centuries than most beings realized, saw that Anakin's problem had nothing to do with his body or his mind. It was his heart that was the trouble.

One year to the day after Chancellor Amidala's death, Anakin let himself go into the force, to disappear into is vastness, to find her on the other side. And Obi-wan had come to bury him beside the woman he loved, to save his body from the fires of Jedi custom, so they could lay beside each other for an eternity, so they could finally find a measure of peace together.

In his meditation and his thoughts, Obi-wan could sense the living things that surrounded him. He felt the wetness as the fish swam in the lake. He felt himself soar as the birds took flight from their nests. He felt the flowers as they absorbed the Nubian sun. He felt a presence as it neared him and then stopped. Baffled for a moment at who could know about this secret place, understanding came to him as he probed into the Force signature of this particular person.

Obi-wan opened his eyes and eased himself out of mediation and his memories. He blinked his eyes several times, readjusting himself to the bright light of the Nubian sun and the realization of the truth. He got up from his kneeling position carefully, wincing as his bones made cracking sounds. When he was fully upright, he straightened his robes, and smoothed his white hair before turning to the white-haired woman who stood respectfully behind him.

"Sabé," he greeted carefully, inclining his head as he did so.

"Master Jedi," she bowed, a painstaking gesture considering she was not the young woman she once was. "I hope I am not disturbing you," Sabé continued.

"Not at all," said Obi-wan pleasantly albeit sadly. "I was just saying good-bye to an old friend."

"As was I," Sabé answered. Obi-wan noticed she carried a bouquet of flowers in her hands. They were the bright red Nubian roses that Anakin had kept a pot of in his quarters. Obi-wan watched as she placed to flowers on one of the two graves, mouthed a prayer for the dead, and then retreated back to his side. The two people looked at the twin graves.

"For forty-one years they hid their love from the galaxy," murmured Sabé. "What a great burden they bore."

"Attachment is forbidden for the Jedi," interjected Obi-wan. "Love is forbidden. Love leads to fear. Fear leads to hate. Hate leads to the dark side."

"How ironic, then," said Sabé softly, almost reverently, "that his love for her is what pulled him into the light and kept her from succumbing to despair."

"Perhaps the Jedi Code is flawed," admitted Obi-wan. "Perhaps Anakin was called not only to restore balance to the Force, but to restore balance to the Order itself. Love is the life force of all beings. Maybe such a thing should be nourished among Jedi and not be forbidden."

"Do you love, Master Jedi?" Sabé asked suddenly. "Have you ever loved another being?"

"I loved, Anakin," breathed Obi-wan softly. "He was my brother."

"Perhaps," continued Sabé, "it is your task to change the foundation of the Jedi Order as it was his calling to bring balance. Perhaps this is the legacy he left to you."

"Perhaps," echoed Obi-wan, "but perhaps such things are better left in the hands of a younger generation." Without warning, a female face swam into his mind, a face he had not see in many years, urging him, encouraging him to accomplish this task. He pushed the face away.

"I apologize, Master Jedi," said Sabé, "These are merely the musings of an old woman."

Obi-wan waved away her apology. "They are also the thoughts of an old man," he confessed.

They stood there for a moment in silence, saying good-bye to their friends before, by unspoken agreement, they walked away together. Obi-wan took a moment to look over his shoulder to the identical headstones of white Nubian marble. While the one read simply read Anakin Skywalker, the other bore the name Padmé Naberrie Skywalker, it was a name that Chancellor Amidala could not have claimed in life. It was not one she could claim in death either.

They hid their love from the world, they sacrificed themselves. They saved the galaxy from itself. How ironic that the galaxy could never honor them for it or appreciate in a way that was highly deserved. How incredible that even after his death, the Jedi Order would damn Anakin Skywalker for breaking the Code. How amazing that Naboo would curse its beloved Amidala for doing something so taboo and forbidden if such things were made public. What Obi-wan had once mistaken for weakness had actually been a strength he could not understand.

The Jedi Code states that attachment is forbidden, that love is forbidden, that Jedi should be emotionless yet somehow in tune with the rest of nature. Such a thing was impossible. Jedi must form attachments in order to survive. They must love in order to save. They must be a part of nature to be in tune with it. The Force encompasses all. The Force is all. The Force whispers its will into the minds of its servants and defenders. The Force had written Anakin's destiny and his fate. The Force had given him Padmé. And the will of the Force could not be questioned, for it is never wrong.

As he walked away from the graves, a still, small voice whispered in the back of Obi-wan's mind:

Emotion, yet peace.

Ignorance, yet knowledge.

Passion, yet serenity.

Chaos, yet harmony.

Death, yet the Force.