Sacrifices

Prelude

Of Heaven and Hell

The mind is its own place and in itself, can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.

John Milton

There was a single moment after Padmé woke, where she could pretend it had all been a horrible nightmare. Where she could pretend that Anakin hadn't ripped her heart out with his betrayal of her and everything they stood for—fought for—but that moment did not last. As she looked at the world around her, she quickly came to the conclusion that she hadn't, in fact, woken from her dreams. The setting had merely shifted from one of fire and soot to something much more pleasant.

There was no other way she could have found herself standing on the very same balcony in Varykino where she and Anakin promised themselves to each other just three years ago.

A part of her wanted to play dumb—to convince herself that this was the reality and that the hell she had come from was nothing but a bad dream, but something inside her would not allow it. The part of her that knew better would not allow it.

It was a small detail that tipped her off; a detail so miniscule, she could have almost pushed those doubts deep into the farthest corners of her mind, but she knew her home better than anywhere else. The fact that the cool night air did not have the same chilly bite that so defined it during winter, spoke volumes to her.

This was not her home. It couldn't be.

She shivered, remembering her last few conscious moments. An invisible hand gripped her neck in its vice like grasp. A hand controlled by someone who once loved her: someone who wore her husband's face.

She knew that until the day she died, she would never forget the horror and confusion that had overtaken her as hands that once caressed her so gently, now turned on her in unfathomable rage. She would never understand what had truly happened to her beloved; what had happened to turn her Ani into the kind of monster that would slaughter younglings.

A large part of her wanted to believe that Obi-wan had been lying; that for some cruel reason he was trying to destroy everything she and Ani had built together. And for a time she had. Padmé had known from the beginning that Anakin was many things, but a murder of younglings was never one of them…

Except it was. Had he not confessed to the very sin as he was shaking with grief over his mother's death? "…even the women and the children…?"

After that singular moment in the garage of the small adobe home, she hadn't mentioned it. Not once. She had, perhaps mistakenly, seen shades of remorse hiding behind his grief, and, because she had already loved him so, that had been enough to offer absolution in her eyes.

If she had done something—told someone—perhaps they could have intervened. Perhaps they could have caught him before he fell so far into the abyss that not even those closest to him could recognize the man he had become.

She had been selfish and afraid. She could not bear to draw the council's attention to their relationship—she had been too afraid of him being expelled from the order. It had not been difficult to see that he was born to be a Jedi; a life of stationary monotony would have quickly driven him mad. He needed to be on the move, helping people.

And yet, even that hadn't saved him from being consumed by his own demons.

There would never be a question in her mind as to whether or not there was still good in him. It was impossible to take a light that luminous and snuff it out like a candle, but there were innumerable ways to hide it until one could question if it had even existed at all.

The sound of a small gasp pulled her out of her thoughts, and she turned on her heals towards the noise. What she saw made her heart contract in a painful mingling of euphoria and agony that was nothing but salt rubbed against the open wounds of her broken and festering heart.

I single figure stood just down the corridor and, despite the poor lighting, Padmé recognized the man instantly.

"Where are you?" he called in a playful, sing-song voice.

"Here, Anakin, here!" She called out instinctually, but he didn't answer. He merely began to look around pillars and behind statues as if he were playing some sort of hiding game with a child. She called his name again but he could not hear her in the silence of the night.

A small giggle from beside her caught her attention and she looked down. There, hiding behind the pillar next to her, was a small red-haired boy, no older than about four. He smiled in excitement as Anakin stalked towards him and started tickling him mercilessly.

The child let out a peal of laughter and Ani's smile spread.

"Come now, Ben," he said, picking the child up, "if you aren't going to sleep, then you might as well stay in the living room with the rest of us. No wandering around the house, alright?"

Ben frowned, but gave a pouting little nod.

As the duo stepped into a narrow beam of moonlight, Padmé noticed something. This Ani was much older than he should be. Laugh lines framed his blue eyes, crisscrossing over the thin scar that danced across the side of his face and a generous dusting of gray was speckled into his dark blond hair.

Padmé's heart ached at the sight, wondering if it could possibly be the future that she was seeing. But deep down, she knew better. How could it be when her Anakin…?

She shook her head and tried to stop her thoughts before they could go to that dark place but, as much as she tried to tell her mind that it did not want to go there, it would not listen. A vivid image of her Anakin's bloodshot eyes, and terrifying joy when he spoke of the lengths he had gone to 'to bring peace to the galaxy' juxtaposed upon the scene, shattering any shred of hope that rested within her heart..

Was this place real at all, or was it the product of her weary mind and broken heart? Was she trying to somehow convince herself that the events of that hellish day had never really happened? More importantly, did she even want to know? This world did seem, after all, so much kinder then the one she called home.

The Anakin of this world did not see her as he and the boy walked past, and she was struck with a disturbing truth: this vision was not haunting her; she was haunting it.

Despite that unnerving epiphany, Padmé's curiosity got the better of her and she followed them down the dark hall until they reached one of the many small sitting rooms that Varykino housed.

The small space was packed with at least thirty people, all enjoying themselves; some of whom Padmé recognized, but most of whom she did not. Besides the older versions of Obi-wan, Anakin, Ashoka, and herself, she recognized none of them outright, although a great many of them did look familiar.

It was not hard to see that this gathering was not business related. All these people were close; they were either related or intimately connected to each other. Strangers wouldn't be so comfortable sitting so close, or so at ease in each other's company.

A part of her knew that she should turn and run, that what she was seeing could only bring her more pain. How could it not, when all she saw was what she could no longer have? Anakin had seen to that. He had cast her entire world into darkness just as swiftly as his love had brought its blinding light into her life three years ago.

She stood peaking around the door frame like a small child watching to see if they can catch Dua' Sol sneaking in to deliver presents during the winter festival. It was a childish action, especially given that none could see her, but she was unwilling to take the chance that her presence could somehow disturb them, thus scattering the beautiful moment like a colony of pitter-flies.

"Lev you spaz, there is no way that could top the day dad found contraceptives in Lor's room," a man in his mid-thirties said, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth.

Padmé watched Anakin cringe at the memory and her future self put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He wasn't the only one who was putt off at the thought; several of the younger ones rolled their eyes and a dark haired young man in his late twenties even went as far as to mimic retching, which seemed to garner quite a few more laughs from the crowd.

"You shouldn't tease her like that," The blond girl beside the retching young man said, smacking him on the back of the head playfully, before grabbing his face and kissing it passionately.

Padmé closed her eyes to avoid the site. It was too much like what she had with Anakin for it not to be agony to see. But even if she could bring herself to say something, there was no one around who could hear the agonized cries of an undead ghost.

"Ewww Canaan… no one wants to see that!" A boy, slightly younger than Canaan, said sparing Padmé anymore torture.

"Well then Ani, close your eyes," Canaan said breaking the kiss. As he turned his head to look at the boy, his gaze lingered on Padmé for the briefest second, sending chills down her spine. Had she not spent years in politics learning to read every micro expression, she never would have noticed it, and yet there was no doubt about what it meant. He could see her.

He turned to look at a much older and scruffier man, not giving Padmé any other sign that she had been seen, but something deep within her told her that the action was not a figment of her imagination.

"So Canaan, what's the big surprise?" the scruffy man asked, "You said you weren't going to say anything until everyone was here and, well…we're all here."

Canaan took a sip of his drink before letting the corners of his lips twitch upwards in a playful and unsurprised little smile.

"What does the betting pool say it is Han? And don't try and tell me there's not one—I know how this family works; someone started playing bookie the moment I said something."

Several of the more likely candidates had the decency to at least look sheepish, but one didn't even bother with the ruse.

"Well the consensus seems to be that you already knocked up that pretty little wife of yours, but I think it has something to do with your other nighttime adventures." Lev said putting his hands behind his head and grinning.

Kali looked at her husband with a single brow raised, but said nothing.

"It's not near as dirty as sounds, Kali, I swear," Canaan muttered as an aside to his beloved before turning his attention back to Lev, "and for that Lev, you're all going to have to wait a little longer to find out. Now if you'll excuse me—" he said, stepping over the tangle of people sitting on the floor and ignoring the myriad sounds of protest at the lack of a true answer.

When he got to the door he slipped two fingers into her sleeve and tugged. It was covert enough that no one else should have seen it, but it was just enough to let her know that she had been seen and that she should follow him.

"—I have business to attend to," Canaan continued over his shoulder, trying to give an excuse for his abrupt departure. The way Lev and a few others were looking at him spoke volumes: they weren't fooled but no one called him out on it and Padmé couldn't help but wonder if it was out of respect for him, or an attempt not to let him know just how much they suspected.

Canaan looked back at his wife and they shared a fleeting look that spoke more than words. Padmé knew they were communicating in the silent way only lovers could. It was a language she and Anakin had perfected over the years of secrecy.

Kali blinked her eyes infinitesimally in acknowledgment before standing on the table and calling the room's attention back to her.

"Alright, you caught us," she said putting her hands on her hips, "But if I hear that you guys started betting on the sex of the baby, someone is going to be in considerable pain. It's bad enough the kid has to be born into this group of idiots. The last thing it needs is to be the center of your decrepit ways before it's even born."

Canaan used the momentary distraction to slip away, dragging Padmé with him. She could have stayed and watched the morbidly perfect parody of her life, but she didn't. She didn't have the strength and, as much as she wanted to deny it, she knew that to stay would only bring her more pain and she was already so close to her breaking point.

He led them down a dark, deserted hallway and onto the singular balcony that offered an unobstructed view of the moonlight glimmering off the lake. Her family had often spent the summers here, so it was easier for her to ignore the breath taking sight and focus more on the matter at hand.

The boy sighed and ran his hand through his dark brown hair, tense, as if this was a conversation he despised having to have.

"Where am I?" Padmé asked, desperate to get answers.

Canaan propped his arms on the railing, and rested his hands in his palms. He didn't look at her for a moment as he considered his answer, and Padmé got the distinct impression that there was a lot he did not want to say.

Canaan sighed and turned his face away from the water. There was something in his eyes that unnerved Padmé—a familiarity she just couldn't place. A great deal of guilt and secrecy was eating him, but there was a spark of strength—or perhaps defiance—there that told her he would not let it consume him. Not like—

"About fifty years in the future and down the nuna whole," he muttered, saving her from finishing the thought.

"What?" Padmé asked, her mind racing with the implications. So she was in the future…but that still didn't make sense.

"It's complicated. Let's just say that this is both the prelude and the epilogue to a very long and convoluted story. I don't know why the Force would choose to send you here, but it's cruel." He muttered and Padmé couldn't help but wonder if he was being deliberately vague or if that was just part of his natural disposition.

Either way, getting a straight answer out of him was going to be like pulling teeth. But then again, Padmé had been a politician for most of her life—making sense of dodgy answers was a big part of her life's work.

"I still don't understand."

Canaan gripped the edge of the stone balcony and sighed, obviously still uncomfortable with the situation he found himself in. He took a moment to compose himself before slowly turning to look at her.

"The future is not linier," he said, licking his lips in a combination of confusion and frustration that could only come when one did not know exactly how to explain an important concept. "It's like when you travel. Just because you chose one path over the other, does not mean it ceases to exist."

"So this world is what could have been if Anakin…" she trailed off and looked around.

"Yes and no. Our worlds are intimately linked—braided together—so that what happens in one affects the other…and vice versa."

"I still don't understand."

"I don't completely understand it myself, and I've lived it. All I can say is that, if you want that to be possible," he said, motioning down the hall to the room full of happy, laughing people who had never seen the horrors she knew were destined to come, "then things in your world have to happen a certain way."

She gazed down the hall; unsure why this meant so much to her if it was a future she could never see. But for some reason that didn't seem to matter to her.

"What do I have to do?" she asked, her voice stronger and more sure then it had been since Obi-wan had spoken those horrible words in her living room.

Canaan looked up, clearly surprised at her reaction, but he said nothing. He just smiled and gave a slow, appreciative nod.

"You know, I wondered why the Force would send you here. It's cruel beyond all measure…but perhaps it was just what you needed to gain the strength to fight."

"What? Fight against the empire—fight against—"she could not bear to say his name but she had to. She had to admit to herself, if to no one else, that he had become the enemy; that he had become the very thing he had once hated. The very thing they all had once hated. "To fight against Anakin?"

He scoffed. "A rebellion in that world will only succeed if it's born of irony and not born out of a betrayed lover."

"Can't I just stay here?" the words came tumbling out of her mouth faster than she could think to catch them. The desire to stay was not something she had even articulated to herself before, but now that she had said it, it made sense. This was after all, the life she had often dreamed during the few moments of peace granted during the war. This was her paradise.

"Why would you want to?" He asked softly and without judgment.

A part of Padmé couldn't help but be annoyed at him. The true question was why wouldn't she prefer this idyllic place to the hell she had come from. By what stretch of the imagination was that better than this?

"If there were a way for you to stay," he said, answering her unspoken thoughts, "then I would do everything I could to help you, but I'm afraid it's just not possible. Besides, why would you want to live in a world that does nothing but taunt you with that which you can never have? A world where you would be nothing but a specter seen only by a few? What kind of life is that?"

"It's probably better than the one I would live in my world." It was a harsh, yet honest truth. If Anakin had died in the war, she would have been in agony, but this…well, this was a whole new level of hell.

Canaan covered her hand with his and gave her a small, compassionate smile. It wasn't really enough to make her feel any better, but she appreciated the gesture.

"Your children need you, now. Without you, they will be separated; spread to all corners of the galaxy, never to know each other but for a cruel twist of fate. Is that what you want for them?"

"Of course not." Padmé whispered, automatically. She must not have put enough emotion behind her words, because Canaan furrowed his brow and grabbed her shoulders in a hard, but not painful, grasp. Padmé looked up, shocked. She had not thought him the kind of man to grab someone like that, but she was beginning to learn that she wasn't as good at trusting the right people as she once thought.

"Listen to me, and listen well. Your Anakin has already abandoned those children for his own selfish reasons. Don't you do the same. They need you." He hissed, for the first time showing anything but compassion for her plight.

She didn't feel threatened, just uncomfortable. As much as she wanted to argue like a selfish child, he did have a point and she was ashamed for not seeing it earlier.

The set of Canaan's face didn't waver from the intense and slightly angry look that had crossed his face as he accused her of following in her wayward husband's footsteps. Again she was struck by the subtle sense of familiarity that she could not place.

His silence spoke volumes. He was waiting for an answer and there was really only one to give.

"You're right," she whispered, almost grudgingly.

His eyes widened for a brief second before a small, boyish grin spread across his face.

"You'll stay?" He whispered, almost in wonder. "For them?"

She nodded once and opened her mouth to say something, but the only sound to escape her lips was a choked gasp. Padmé pulled her arms across her abdomen, knowing instinctually what that feeling meant. The baby was coming.

She looked up at Canaan, begging for answers. It seemed unlikely that she would be able to give birth to her child in the real world when she was trapped in this fairy tale land. And as much as she wanted to stay, he was right: the child was infinitely more important.

"How do I get back?" She begged.

"If I told you all you had to do is tap your heals three times, would you believe me?" He replied with a smirk, but she was not amused. The life of her child was too important to laugh about.

Canaan sighed, seeing her harsh expression. "Just will it Padmé. You might be surprised what a bit of stubbornness and a good deal of the right attitude can accomplish in this world."

It seemed almost stupid and overly simplistic, but she had long ago learned that with the Force, things could often be that way for those who could touch it. Padmé concentrated on what she knew to be real. Her pain (both physical and mental), her love for her child and fallen husband, her dedication to democracy, and the stirrings of the life growing inside of her that was so ready to see the dark and broken world it would inherit.

"I'll come and check up on you as much as I can," Canaan said, but his voice sounded far and detached, as if she were hearing it echoed down a long tunnel, "but I can't always control—"

His voice completely faded out, replaced with the rhythmic beeping and bright lights of a birthing room.

The next few hours were some of the most physically painful in her life—as she had been told they would be—but when she heard the cries of her firstborn, and moments later learned it was not the singular child she was expecting, her resolve only hardened. Canaan was right. She had to survive for them. Even though they deserved so much more, it was all she could give.

Canaan did not rejoin the party that night. He stood in the same spot on the balcony, looking out over the water, not really seeing anything, until well past everyone else's bedtime. Only part of his delay could be blamed on his wondering thoughts. The truth was that a good portion of him just wanted to avoid his family.

For the most part, they would not ask, no matter how much they wanted to. They knew, the force-sensitive among them at least, that he would speak about his adventures on his own time. The peculiar gift he had—the one that allowed him to understand, perhaps better than anyone else, just how the two worlds fit together—was sometimes more curse than blessing.

He had learned that long ago as he discovered the limits of what he could do to help those touched by his ability, and what he had to do (no matter how unpleasant) with the opportunities that gift afforded him.

Canaan didn't turn on the light as he entered the room he and Kali shared for the remainder of the retreat. He did not want to wake her.

"Who was it?" she asked, not even opening her eyes as he slid into bed next to her.

He sighed, knowing that although his beloved would not ask again, she would not let the matter drop until she had an answer.

"The chancellor."

"From the other world?" She asked, turning to look at him, studying the way the few beams of moonlight that danced through the blinds fell onto his face.

"I think I'm going to hell." He said, stroking a fine, white scar along her collar bone.

She scoffed. "Life is hell. But what makes you say that?"

"Maybe it would have been kinder to let her die. Force only knows, it would save a lot of pain." He murmured.

Canaan could practically hear her rolling her eyes at him, but he didn't say anything. His mind was too preoccupied with his guilt and anguish.

"But it would have had less of a reward. You've told me what happens in every world in which she dies."

"I know but—"

She grabbed his hand, stilling it, but did not push it away. "Pain is what turns us into who we need to be to face the world and, yes, it may consume us for a time, but when we emerge, we emerge stronger than ever. Padmé is a strong woman. She can handle it. I'm not saying it will be easy—from what I've heard of that world, nothing is—but it will be worth it."

Canaan stared at her, wide eyed. He had been around enough politicians to hear the words lingering just under the surface. Kali wasn't just talking about Padmé, even if she didn't know it. Canaan had known he was going to marry her since he was four years old, but he had also understood for just as long, that, in a lot of ways, she was broken, probably never to completely heal.

But this, the way she was speaking now, was a good thing. It was the first time she had ever shown any sign of truly putting her troubled past behind her.

"They all get their paradise," she finished, bringing his mind back to the moment.

Now it was his turn to scoff. "It's not like they even know it in the end."

Canaan propped himself on one elbow to watch as he wife started laughing, completely confused as to what was so funny.

"You really think that?" she asked, when her laughs had died down some. "Next time you get a chance ask Lori, or Nari…or hell, even Galen and see just how true that is."

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice laced with a reserved kind of horror.

Kali just gave a final chuckle and turned over, pulling the covers tight. "Goodnight Canaan."

He knew he would get no more from her. She liked her secrets just as much as him, albeit for much different reasons, and so he was left once more that night, with a wondering mind and sinking feeling deep in his gut that maybe—just maybe—his so called gift really sucked rancor balls.

Expect a new chapter every Monday, also due to more then one request, a small glossary of characters has been added to the bottom of my profile. Don't worry, there's not any real spoilers there, but I figured that it would help those of you who didn't realize that most were OC's rather then EU alumni. I will be adding to it and expanding it as the story goes on.