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A maelstrom of emotions flickered by, most too fast to properly name. Loss, hurt, hope, longing... guilt. Overwhelming guilt. A wave of devastation rippled across the battlefield, practically halting the bloody battle in its tracks. Soldiers, Rebels and Imperials alike, stumbled unsteadily on their feet as the sheer weight of emotion hit them like a runaway speeder. Hairs stood on end, goosebumps formed on skin, an icy chill suffused the bloodstained ground as frost formed over the earth. The sound of blaster fire ceased, and all present held their breath as a dark figure made itself known.
Darth Vader stood, a monument to the brutality of the Empire, motionless in the mouth of a recently landed transport ship. The audible rasping that followed him like a shroud could scarcely be heard over the roaring, pounding heartbeats that buzzed through the ears of all that bore witness.
Before them stood Death, motionless and perfectly poised, ready to strike down any that stood in his way. And yet when the first step was taken, a large durasteel boot that squelched in the blood-soaked soil, it was with a stumble.
The Imperial troopers surrounding the area flinched at the misstep, something completely out of character for the terrifying force of nature that was Darth Vader. This picture of their Lord shook them. This was their Supreme Commander, their impassive and invincible leader in battle; for him to react this way, something truly horrifying must have happened. A shaken Lord Vader was a paradoxical situation; it was impossible. It did not happen.
Yet the proof stood before them, making its way across the battlefield to some undefined point in the distance. Those closest to the Sith as he walked could see the minute tremble in his hands as he trekked forward, the ever so slightly disjointed movement of his legs. His saber was undrawn, no familiar red glow of incoming death present at his side. The Force, the galaxy, the air screamed in some indescribable emotion, apparent even to those without the sensitivity to it. There had been such a shift, such a disturbance, that the galaxy itself had been forced to take notice.
There was only one thought on Vader's mind.
Padmè.
He'd come out of meditation that morning... off, in a way. The Force shimmered its tendrils around him as it usually did, ready to obey at a single thought. But today it held an especially mischievous air to it- an air that, no matter how hard he pushed or how much he opened himself up to its influence, did not dissipate and did not reveal itself to him.
For obvious reasons this troubled him. Angered him, caused him to be short with his crew and have less mercy for their mistakes. The Force denying him knowledge rarely happened, and this time he had a strong suspicion it was at his own expense. He'd left his chambers that morning knowing deep inside that something big, whether it be for better or worse, would happen today.
It was supposed to be a minor skirmish. A small battle, one not even history books would bother recording in the far future. He was supposed to watch from orbit, manage the battle from his position on the SSD Executor. He was supposed to, yet he did not. The Force, like it had so many times before, was pulling him elsewhere.
It urged Vader to go to the battlefield. Down to the fighting, down to the sounds of soldiers killing and being killed. The will of the Force spoke, and as always, he listened. The compulsion grew stronger as the ship neared a particular area, and with a wave of his hand he signaled the pilot to land. The Dark was almost giddy with how it writhed around him. Excited, like a child showing off, "look what I found!"
As the ramp lowered and his eyes surveyed the battle, the Force whispered to him again. Guided his eyes to where they were needed, what they wanted him to see. And when they landed on what they'd been directed to, he froze.
"...Padmé?"
It was said in a whisper, or at least as much of a whisper as his vocoder could produce. He would recognize her anywhere, in any form. Her signature was as familiar to him as the Force itself. Time itself slowed to a crawl as his mind kicked into overdrive, rapid-fire thoughts filling every crevice of his mind. How? She was gone, had been gone for years! He'd seen the body, he'd seen the tomb- how did he not know, how did he not realize? Why did she not reach out, let him kn-?
The strength with which his own emotions struck him was nearly enough to send him to a knee, but the most prevalent of all threatened to stop his heart completely- It was only the artificial pacemaker in his chest that prevented it.
Guilt.
He'd hurt her. He'd hurt her and their child, strangled her and left them both to die. Accused her of betraying him, of lying to him even when he knew in his heart it was not true. When Obi-wan had come out of that ship behind her, all those years ago, he'd been so overcome with the coercion of the Dark that he hadn't looked, not truly, at her intentions. By the time he did, it had been too late; she'd been dead and buried, that beloved presence whisked away like it had never existed to begin with. Every moment since had been nothing but untold sorrow, grief hanging like a funeral shroud over his every thought.
But now, oh now, as Vader slowly made his way to her, she felt like coming home. She felt like warm winds in his hair; hair that he no longer possessed yet felt brush against his face regardless. She felt like thousands of lovestruck kisses, pressed into his cheeks and forehead as if he'd never stopped receiving them in the first place.
She felt like Padmé, his Angel, his love- the one being he would sacrifice himself for in an instant if she asked him to. She was a beacon on a stormy night, shining bright amongst the dirt and grime surrounding her.
He'd thought her lost, gone forever. Sidious told him Padmé died due to his anger. He should have seen through the lie. Everything Vader- Anakin- had done was to protect her, up to and including Falling, just to save her. He hated to admit he would have, but even though may have lashed out, may have caused perhaps irreparable harm- he never would have killed her. Not when he'd sacrificed so much for her.
He stood before her now, and she trembled with barely restrained fear, resolutely not showing it as best she could. It flickered around her violently, corrupting the brightness and light of her signature. It confused Vader briefly; this fear. What did Padmé have to be afraid of? He would move planets if she asked, would kill and destroy and do it all over again if she even hinted at wanting him to. He was hers, his Angel, his Padmé, love of his life and beyond even that-
Him. She was... she was scared of him. Padmé was looking at him with fear in her eyes, and it was him that put it there, just like he had on Mustafar.
No sooner had the realization crossed his mind was he dropping to his knees. He felt the twinge of pain in the connection ports of his prosthetics, could hear the servos strain under the sudden movement and rough handling but he did not care. This was Padmé, his wife, and he would do anything for her without hesitation. He felt more than heard the dismayed gasps and shock of his troops and officers as he knelt in the mud, their dismay felt keenly through the Force.
Did they not understand? This was his wife. This was his wife, and she was alive and healthy and looking straight at him, at where he was kneeling on the ground before her. She was confused. He could feel it, projected into the Force for him to see. He too felt confusion for a second, but then realization struck. She did not recognize him.
He could hardly blame her. He barely recognized himself anymore. The Anakin she knew and the Sith Lord in front of her were as far apart as one could get. Vader was not what he used to be, what she fell in love with, and for a brief moment he felt a bone chilling fear leech down his spine. Would she accept him? Welcome him back like he desperately hoped she would? He'd changed so much since she'd last seen him and if... if she decided she wanted nothing to do with him, then so be it. He did not get to demand reciprocity after what he'd done.
He'd caused her enough pain and hurt to last a lifetime. He would not cause her more. But he would offer himself up, everything he was, is, and ever would be, just for a chance at forgiveness. A chance to be held in her arms again, knowing that with her he would find salvation.
A sudden thought crossed Vader's mind. His men; they still had weapons and orders to kill the Rebels. Seeing as Padmé would have never sided with anything but democracy, it was likely that she was a Rebel herself. This- his men- they could hurt her, they had weapons and orders to kill-
He dove deep into himself and pulled up the strongest compulsion he could manage, broadcasting it to every soldier that bore the mark of the Empire.
KNEEL.
At once, blasters were ripped out of hands by an unseen force; the noise produced by thousands of knees hitting the ground filled the air. Each and every Imperial soldier present had been disarmed and made to surrender. The silence accompanied by the nervous shuffling of Rebel soldiers was deafening.
Padmé had been experiencing a niggling feeling at the back of her mind for some time now. She wasn't quite sure what to think of it... but it strangely reminded her of how Luke would describe his interactions with the Force; an urging, not particularly intense but foreign enough to register as not from her own mind.
He and Leia had been sent to stay on Naboo with Obi-wan due to a similar event. Obi-wan, seeing as he rarely experienced the Force influencing events this directly, was inclined to follow its will if it told him to keep Luke and Leia back from their mothers' side.
He'd wanted Padmé to stay on Naboo as well, despite the Force insisting on the opposite, but she had a job to do. She'd been leading the Alliance, hiding in the background since the Jedi Order fell, always managing to stay one step ahead of the Empire despite her prevalence as a moral figurehead amongst the Rebel forces. This battle was a prime opportunity to show her face and inspire her troops.
There was one problem: Vader. The Executor, according to their intelligence, was currently supposed to be occupying the Trilon sector as part of their regular patrol route- nowhere near this region of the galaxy.
It was why Obi-wan hadn't fought her too much on her idea of appearing in this battle. There weren't many risks inherent here, but her showing up would have spread through the Alliances ranks and boosted morale considerably. Simple, in and out, as long as everything went to plan.
Which, of course, it didn't. The moment their scanners had gotten readings of a large Imperial ship (in particular which large Imperial ship) they'd immediately started a tactical retreat. It'd been well controlled, up until he showed up as well.
The single unassuming transport ship had gone largely undetected in the commotion. The retreat hadn't been easy; their enemies hadn't wanted to let them go without a fight. They were having a bit of trouble with getting everyone back to their personnel transports.
It was only when the ship had landed and the mouth opened like some great beast did the battle cease. She watched from afar as the dark behemoth of a figure made itself known. The soulless eyes of his skull-like mask seemed to search the battlefield, as if looking for something in particular amongst the frozen masses.
Then the most curious yet terrifying thing happened; the lenses of Vader's helmet met with her eyes, and her perception of time slowed to a crawl. She wasn't sure how, but she knew they'd made eye contact. An unknowable wave spread across the battlefield, reaching her just as the figure took a single step. Then another.
Padmé watched as he made his way across the battlefield, seemingly as much in a trance as she was. She knew somewhere in the back of her mind that she should be running, trying to get as far away as possible from the Sith, but something (The Force?) calmed her nerves and told her wait.
So she did.
It was still a challenge to control her body's physical reactions to fear, but she figured she had a good enough reason behind that. Having the man known for atrocities that put even the Hutt syndicates to shame marching directly towards you, without even seeming to notice the battle around him, would put fear into the heart of any person.
When he came closer still, Padmé could see that her earlier observation had been untrue. While before she would have called it a march, Vader's gait could be more accurately described as a... shamble? A shuffle? Whatever it was, it was certainly less threatening than a march.
Soon he'd come to stand directly before her, and in the absence of his earlier disarray, her fear came back full force. She noted the lightsaber clipped to his belt, the steady krrrhk-khu, krrrhk-khu of regulated breathing. The way he towered a full head and shoulders taller, looking down at her like one might examine a particularly interesting lab specimen.
She steeled herself. If he was to strike her down now, at least her children would be safe and the Rebels would have time to evacuate. On Naboo with Obi-wan, her children could live and train with her handmaidens and the Jedi. The Rebels may take a loss, but aside from troop morale, she was not strategically vital. They could function without her.
Just as she was resigning herself to her fate- her death- a sudden movement from the black mass in front of her snapped her attention back to the present. But the movement wasn't him reaching for his weapon, nor was it even aggressive. Padmé wasn't sure what was going on, but he was-? Kneeling?
She carefully hid any visible sign of her surprise. Was he surrendering? No. Padmé knew there was no way Darth Vader would ever surrender to anyone. He'd routinely summarily executed his own officers that even suggested such things, based on their implanted agents reports. The Sith had been a thorn in the Alliance's side for years and had never once shown any inclination to be merciful, let alone surrender.
Was it possible that Vader... was Nubian? There were many Naboo natives amongst the Alliance that had sworn themselves to her once they'd found her to be alive. Padmé Amidala was a revered Senator and Queen, one that made waves across the Senate with her own brand of decision-making. It could be that seeing a beloved leader of his people may cause him to do such a thing, yet something told her this wasn't right.
Vader was not born of Naboo blood, of that she was certain. So then why would he kneel? He was still looking at her, seemingly content to let her think or perhaps wait until she'd figured it out to finally cut her down. It could be a ruse, but then why-
A slight twitch from Vader, the creaking of his leather gloves as they tightened into fists over armor-clad thighs was her only warning. She flinched, breaking out of her thoughts only to step back as the clatter of thousands of weapons being dropped filled the air. The dull thumping of knees hitting the ground followed shortly after.
Padmé was left shaken at the show of force. It clearly had come from Vader, whatever this was. Had he been able to do such a thing this whole time? What would have stopped him from doing it to Rebel soldiers? What was his reason for-
"Padme..."
The voice took her by surprise. For a moment, she'd thought it'd perhaps belonged to one of her men, but only a voice modulator could have produced such a mechanical monotone. It had come from Vader.
Vader watched the emotions flicker across his wife's face as she tried to make sense of what was happening. He could tell she was failing. Carefully telegraphing his movement, he slowly reached to pull at the clasps that secured one leather gauntlet to his right hand. Padmé watched him cautiously, but made no move to flee and projected more curiosity than fear, so he continued his ministrations.
Once he’d gotten the clasps free, he paused a moment, steeling himself. Padmé would either accept or reject him once he took the protective glove off. Was he ready to face her?
He found the answer to be yes. He owed her as much. Even then, this was less about him being ready and more about her deserving to know. With the soft sound of shifting fabric, he removed the glove. The gold and black of his prosthetic arm was exposed to the world for the first time in a decade. He looked at it, aware of the eyes watching- of Padmé's rapidly dawning realization of what this meant-
He could not bear to look her in the eye as he held it up to her, palm outstretched, asking. Waiting for a response.
He did not receive one. He took a chance and peered up at her, taking in her wide-eyed and frozen appearance. Padmé stared unwaveringly at the golden prosthetic, recognizing it for what it was. It was the one thing he'd kept from before, the one thing that could have been used to link him back to his past life. The one thing she could recognize as belonging to her husband.
She moved abruptly, and though he could have avoided it he made no motion to do so. She grabbed at his wrist, tugging on it and turning it. Tears were forming in her eyes as she examined the intricate golden metalwork, just as she had when he'd first lost it. Her fingers trailed along the delicate wiring, marking out familiar scuffs and marks where it had been damaged and repaired, oftentimes by her own hand.
His other hand closed tightly into a fist over his thigh, apprehension and shame filling him. Normally he would have used those emotions, funneled them in to the Force to give himself power, but all he could do now was let himself feel the full brunt of their impact. It was the least he deserved for what he'd done to forsake her and what she stood for. It didn't matter if he'd thought her dead; if anything, that made the whole situation worse.
Padmé was trembling as she looked at him, and though he longed to take her in his arms and comfort her, Vader knew better than to even try. He walked a tenuous path, one that would crumble under him if he so much as looked at her wrong. He expected her to be furious, enraged over the brutality of his actions, perhaps force him to stand trial and be executed for what he'd done. Vader had knelt knowing he deserved nothing less than such a fate.
He'd slaughtered the Jedi, paved the road for a complete dictatorship and placed himself near the top. He'd subjugated and destroyed and killed, all because he'd had nothing left after he thought she and their child were gone. Vader had betrayed everything his wife stood for, consciously and without remorse. Which was why he'd never been more surprised than in the moment that came next.
A sudden, long familiar weight crashed into his chest, and Vader froze instantly. Could not believe what was happening. She'd- There- her arms were looped around his neck, and she was crying into his chest despite the control panel for the armor-
Haltingly, he wrapped his arms around her in return. Softly at first like he couldn't believe what was happening, then a tight, almost desperate embrace as the full weight of the situation set in. The manner in which he did so Vader knew could best be described as reverent. Her sobs increased at his actions, the tremors that wracked her shoulders intensifying as she clutched her husband in her arms for the first time in a decade.
Even though his body could no longer produce its own tears, he still felt a burning in his eyes as if he was crying alongside her. He pulled her more firmly into his arms in an effort to make her more comfortable. As he did, Padmé buried her face into his neck as best she could with the suit in the way, muffling her tears. Even as she was now, sitting in the mud on a bloodstained battlefield, tears running down her face as she cried; he'd never seen her look so beautiful.
Vader's knee joints were beginning to seize, but he could not bring himself to care. He'd spend a millenia like this if it meant he could hold her again. A sudden noise to his left caught his attention as he again shifted to make her more comfortable- his helmet snapped in the direction of whatever thought it was a good idea to interrupt their reunion.
The Dark slithered around him, sensing his discontent and ready to erase the source, already reaching to coil around a vulnerable throat as something predatory made itself known-
A sudden hand pressed warmly to his chest made him stop. Instantly, the malicious atmosphere he'd been unknowingly projecting vanished, the coils falling away from the trespassers windpipe. They would live for now, and they had only his wife to thank for it.
"Ani," She said softly, and the black eyes of his mask darted down to meet hers, "Let's go home."