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padmeonpaper2009-05-05 09:39 pm
padme_kenobi) wrote in padmeonpaper2009-05-05 09:39 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: "To Ignite the Stars" (Star Wars, Obi-Wan/Padmé, 39/?)
Title: The Boy I'm Going to Marry
Author:padme_kenobi
Previous Chapters: Can be read here.
Characters/Pairings: Obi-Wan/Padmé, others
Word Count: 5,538
Rating: PG
Summary: “You’ve taught me so much.”
Author's Notes: Okay, so it's a little later than I said it would be, but better late than never, I guess. ;) This chapter was an absolute joy to write, particularly after all the angst we've had lately. (But for you angst fans - don't worry, more is coming. Heh.) I smiled pretty much all the way through it and the next. :D After all, it's the wedding. More need not be said, I think. As a point of interest, I actually wrote their entire wedding ceremony in a separate document (from various websites on writing your own vows), just so I'd know myself how it went and be able to incorporate snippets of it into this chapter. I should post it sometime, hehe.
Hours later a flurry of last-minute preparations was in full swing, though Padmé remained largely unaware of this, sequestered as she was in her room. Her family had told her that all she need do was concentrate on getting dressed and readying herself mentally for what was to come. She had the usual attack of nerves, most pronounced as she stood in front of the full-length mirror in her wedding dress, a veil covering her hair and two long braids hanging down to frame her face and shoulders. This was it. She was getting married — married to a man she never thought would want her, but whom she knew felt as deeply for her as she did for him, and had done so for largely the same number of years. So why was she suddenly so afraid he might change his mind?
“Sola?” Padmé bit her lip, trying to take deep breaths. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Her sister looked up from where she was adjusting the dress’s train. Her smile was gentle. “No, you’re not. You’re just nervous. Try to relax, and it will pass.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because the same thing happened to me, baby sister. It probably happened to Mom, too, and to every other woman who has ever gotten married. You’re taking a big step, so it’s natural to be a little afraid. But I think in your heart you know you’re making the right decision.”
“Yes, but …” She swallowed. “What if he doesn’t turn up?”
“He will. He loves you very much, Padmé. I can see that every time he sets eyes on you. He looks at you so adoringly, like you’re the centre of his universe. Like all his dreams are being fulfilled just by seeing you alive and well and happy. And you know what?”
“What?”
“He’s probably wondering the exact same thing — whether you’ll get cold feet and decide you don’t want to go through with it.”
Padmé thought about that. Yes, it would be very like Obi-Wan to work himself into a guilty frenzy over her arrival, and his bond was probably driving him to distraction in any case. She felt a little better now.
There was a soft knock on the door, and presently Ruwee and Jobal peered through.
“Everything is set up and in place,” Jobal announced. “Father Proxollo has arrived, and he knows at whose ceremony he’ll be officiating. He’s surprised, but he doesn’t mind and he’s promised to keep the secret. Nandi and Teckla are downstairs with the twins. All we need now is …”
“The bride,” Ruwee completed.
Padmé turned back to face the mirror. She felt vaguely queasy again.
“She’s ready,” Sola said. “A bit nervous, but ready. How’s the groom doing?”
“More nervous,” Ruwee chuckled. “Much more, in fact. He seems to think you won’t turn up, dear.”
Sola glanced at Padmé. “You see?”
That at least brought a smile to Padmé’s face. “I guess I’d better go reassure him, then.”
“Yes, I think you’d better.” Jobal came fully into the room and made some adjustments of her own to both her children’s outfits, straightening the shoulders on Sola’s gown and fluffing out one of Padmé’s braids. “Sola, you should go. Nandi and Teckla are by the veranda entrance. You’ll walk out behind them in the processional.”
“Right.” Sola gave her sister a quick hug. “Good luck. You’ll be great, I know it.”
“Thanks,” Padmé replied a little shakily.
Jobal and Ruwee regarded their youngest daughter, warm smiles lighting their eyes. “Well, sweetheart, I guess this is it,” Ruwee said. “I’m sure there are things I’m supposed to say to you, but now the time has come I seem to have forgotten my lines.”
“Me too,” Jobal confessed.
Padmé turned away from the mirror at last, a smile creasing her features. “That’s all right. I don’t think I remember mine either.”
“My beautiful, grown-up girl,” Ruwee sighed. “And now I’ve got to give you away. It doesn’t seem fair.”
“Obi-Wan will take care of me, Dad,” Padmé said. “I promise. Just as I’ll take care of him.”
“I know. And it’s time for your mother and me to let you go — well past that time, as a matter of fact. But I never realized how difficult it would be.”
“Dear, we’ve got to stop, I’m going to cry,” Jobal chided her husband. “And you know how long it took me to do my makeup.”
“As if I could forget. One hour, fifty-six minutes.”
“And twenty-three seconds,” said Jobal.
Padmé laughed at the interplay. Goddesses, she was going to miss this.
Both parents kissed the top of their daughter’s head, then offered their arms to her. They walked from the room linked together, Jobal and Ruwee trying to understand how this moment could have come so quickly, while Padmé marveled at the fact that they were actually going to give her away, to Obi-Wan. She hadn’t been lying when she told her mother she was forgiven, but it was still hard to believe that after all those years of strife, they now approved heartily of the union.
They made their way down the central staircase, at Padmé’s careful pace. Near the bottom were the two cooks, the twins supported in their arms, and Sola standing next to them. Luke and Leia were surprisingly silent, their attention now riveted on their mother as though they realized the gravity of the occasion.
“All right, I think we’re ready,” Jobal informed the assemblage. “Nandi, the music, if you please.”
Nandi nodded and hurried over to the HoloNet music receiver, switching it on. A light, airy fugue filled the room and the veranda beyond it, part of the songs the Naberrie family had chosen for the wedding.
“Remember the processional routine, just as we practiced,” Jobal said. “Teckla, Nandi, you go first with the babies, then let a few seconds pass, then Sola, you go, and we’ll enter at the crescendo. Don’t forget to walk slowly, in time to the music.”
Everyone nodded, and the two cooks proceeded through the double doors.
“Good luck, baby sister,” Sola smiled over her shoulder, grasping her small flower bouquet and following after a beat.
“Take a deep breath, sweetheart,” Ruwee advised. “There’s no need to be nervous.”
“You’ve never been more beautiful than you are today,” Jobal added. “Never.”
“Thanks,” Padmé whispered.
The music swelled and her parents led her forward into the warm sunshine. She could see flowers arrayed around the balcony, with a big pot of leias nestling on the rail behind the holy man and Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan.
Oh, he looked magnificent. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in his form, lithe and slender, dressed in his full robes complete with cloak and lightsaber. His hood was down, and his coppery brown hair gleamed in the sunlight. His blue eyes were wide with the sight of her, and she suddenly imagined that they must have similar expressions of awe and amazement on their faces.
The Naberries continued slowly down the aisle at a pace that seemed interminable to Padmé. When they reached the row of chairs set a little back from the holy man, where Teckla and Nandi were now sitting with the twins, Ruwee took Padmé’s hand in his and kissed it softly before taking a seat. She was left to proceed with Jobal alone.
“Ah-ma-ma!” Luke shrieked, and everyone laughed. The baby was stretching his arms toward Padmé, straining against Nandi’s grasp. Padmé grinned affectionately at him.
They reached the holy man and Jobal took both the bride and the groom’s arms. She kissed Padmé’s fingers and stroked them softly, then pressed her hand into Obi-Wan’s and closed his around his love’s. Jobal then stepped back with a broad smile. Again Padmé felt warmth spreading from the place where their skin touched. Obi-Wan draped his arm about her shoulder in a brief embrace, then took her hand again as they faced the holy man.
Father Proxollo smiled at the couple, opening his book to read the service. “We are gathered here today to witness the coming together of two people, Padmé Amidala and Obi-Wan Kenobi, whose hearts and spirits are entwined as one,” he began. “They now desire to profess before the galaxy their intention henceforth to walk the road of life together.”
There was a sniffle from the audience; Padmé was quite sure it had come from either her mother or her sister.
“To these two young people, this marriage signifies the birth of a new spirit, a spirit which is a part of each of us, yet not of any one of us alone,” the holy man continued. “This ‘birth of spirit’ reminds us of spring, the season when all life is reborn and looms again. It is appropriate, therefore, that this wedding of Padmé and Obi-Wan be in the spring, and that it be under the open sky, where we are close to the earth and to the unity of life, the totality of living things of which we are a part.”
She smiled as she listened to the words they had chosen, the words which seemed to resonate so deeply for both herself and her partner. He had added the parts about the earth and unity, parts which most likely came from his Jedi teachings about the Living Force. It was a tribute to Qui-Gon as well.
Father Proxollo now addressed the couple directly, reading a poem they had chosen. “You were born to be together, and together you shall be forevermore. You shall be together when the wings of death scatter your days. Ay, you shall be together even in your silent memory. But let there be spaces in your togetherness, and let the winds of the goddesses dance between you …”
A soft breeze rustled the flowers, and Padmé looked over to see that Obi-Wan’s eyes were closed, a small smile on his face, as though he were meditating. But why, during their wedding …?
And then, as there was a soft flicker near the leias, she understood. The shape did not quite have form, nor did it have substance, but there was clearly something there, and Padmé thought she knew what. Surely Qui-Gon himself wouldn’t miss this; Obi-Wan had spoken to her many times of his relationship with the elder, and it seemed that they considered each other as close to father and son as a Master and Padawan could. That would explain the gentle meditative state being held by her partner, and also the look on his face. She squeezed his hand and smiled broadly at the shape; just once, it winked.
Ruwee and Jobal recited two poems, hugging each of the couple after they did so. The holy man reopened his book and read, “Love is patient; love is kind. Love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way. It is not irritable or resentful. It does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things and endures all things. And now faith, and hope, and love abide, and the greatest of these is love.”
He stepped back, allowing Padmé and Obi-Wan to face each other. Her partner began, in his lilting accent, to say the words they had written and memorized for each other.
“There was darkness for a long time and then there was light, and that light was you. Your love has given me wings, and our journey continues today. I pledge before this assembled company to be your husband from this day forward. Let us make of our two lives one life. I want you for today, tomorrow, and forever.”
Padmé replied, grasping his hands firmly. “I will cherish our union and I love you more each day than I did the day before. I trust you and respect you, laugh with you and cry with you, love you faithfully through good times and bad, regardless of the obstacles we may face together. I give you my hand, my heart and my love, from this day forward so long as we both shall live, and beyond.”
They repeated several other platitudes, designed to reinforce the strength of their love for each other. She understood that in any other situation, those words would probably have seemed trite and clichéd, but now, somehow, they took on an added meaning, a deeper significance of commitment and love.
“Padmé, please repeat after me,” Father Proxollo said.
She felt her heart leap in her chest as she recited the vows. “I, Padmé, take you, Obi-Wan, as my friend and love, beside me and apart from me, in laughter and in tears. In conflict and tranquility, asking that you be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, trusting what I do not know yet, in all the ways that life may find me.”
“Place the ring on his finger,” the holy man instructed.
She took Obi-Wan’s hand and slid the slim circle of bronzium onto its digit, unable to stop a wide grin from spreading over her face. He smiled back, equal parts disbelief and utter, trusting love. Padmé in turn saw nothing but Obi-Wan, nothing but his blue eyes, when he began to repeat the same vows.
“I, Obi-Wan, take you, Padmé, as my friend and love, beside me and apart from me, in laughter and in tears. In conflict and tranquility, asking that you be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, trusting what I do not know yet, in all the ways that life may find me.”
Padmé held her breath as the ring slipped onto her finger, feeling the touch of his callused hands upon her skin. She barely heard Father Proxollo’s next words, so lost was she in his eyes and their hands clasped together. Obi-Wan seemed similarly disoriented, smiling in a way that indicated he couldn’t quite believe what they’d just done. But neither did he seem to be entertaining any regrets; it was just that the situation was so discordantly unfamiliar to him.
She came back to herself just in time to hear the holy man intone, “Now you are two, but there is only one life ahead of you. Go now and enter into the days of your togetherness, as I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Obi-Wan placed gentle hands on her shoulders, drawing her towards him, and the outside world was obviated instantly as their lips met. There might have been applause in the background, applause mingled with Sola’s cheers and the twins’ happy shrieks, but neither husband nor wife took any notice. Their universe contained only each other, only his warmth and her perfume and the light prickle of his beard against the softness of her skin.
She was his. He was hers.
And now, more than ever, they were one.
***
Bride and groom pulled each other into the sitting room, laughing and talking, buoyant with excitement. They were husband and wife now, not mere partners but actually linked physically and psychically in all the ways that seemed to matter. Padmé kept looking down at her hand, at her wedding ring, to make sure it still existed and that this was not just some fantastic dream.
She was glad that tradition dictated they exchange their devotion gifts in private, for she felt she needed a few moments with Obi-Wan for this all to become real. They sat on one of the couches, side by side, and each retrieved their offering from where it had been placed by the Naberrie family on the table prior to the ceremony.
“You go first,” they both said, and laughed.
“It’s all right, I can go first if you like,” Padmé said when they had recovered.
“Of course, just so long as you open my present first,” Obi-Wan replied. “Here.” He handed her a small wooden box.
“You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?” she teased.
“Perhaps.” He blushed slightly.
Padmé smiled and held up the box curiously. It reminded her vaguely of the container in which he kept Qui-Gon’s lightsaber, Anakin’s Padawan braid and their letters, but this one was different. More compact, for one thing, made of another material and intricately carved. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “Did you make this yourself?”
“Well, I found the wood,” he admitted. “But the rest is my work. Open it.”
“Oh —” Now it was Padmé’s turn to go red; she had assumed the box itself was the gift. But no: as she tilted it to find the small catch, she could hear something rattling around inside.
Her fingers fumbled with the box’s edge and she drew open the lid, slowly, tenderly. She could sense Obi-Wan watching her closely, even though she did not look up. The top came undone, and Padmé gasped.
Inside, on the familiar length of jerba leather cord, sat a small carved charm. It had worn smooth very gradually over the years, but the minute symbols etched into it were still plainly visible. She closed her eyes against a sudden flood of memories … memories of being fourteen, just barely out of childhood herself, the weight of an entire planet on her shoulders as she bent to comfort the nine-year-old boy crouched on the floor of the Royal Nubian craft. He had handed her this tiny necklace, and his words reverberated in her mind, as clearly as if he’d just said them.
I made this for you, so you can remember me. I carved it out of a japor snippet. It will bring you good fortune.
And her response: It’s beautiful, but I don’t need this to remember you by. Many things will change when we reach the capital, Ani. My caring for you will not be one of them.
She could feel tears filling her eyes as she handled the tiny charm. “Where did you — how did you — I thought we had to leave it behind —”
“We did, but … I went back for it,” he explained, suddenly unable to look at her. “A couple of months ago, when you first talked about devotion gifts. I snuck out one night, took the boat to the mainland. No one saw me. I’d carved a replacement, a decoy, so when I got to the crypt, I switched them. Then I took the real one and came back here before morning. You never knew.”
Padmé became aware that her mouth was hanging open and closed it quickly. She couldn’t decide whether to be happy, thankful, sad, infuriated or some bizarre combination of all of those. “I — but — the risk, Obi-Wan — what were you thinking?”
His face fell a little. “I know how difficult it was for you to leave it behind, and — I regret asking you to do that. So I thought, if you could have it back … it’s like … a bit of Anakin, perhaps …”
“Of course.” She cradled the necklace in her fingers, thinking, remembering. “I just miss him. I miss him so much.”
He looked away again, seeming suddenly embarrassed. “I — I’m sorry, I should have thought of something else.”
“No, Obi-Wan, don’t apologize!” she exclaimed. “Don’t, I just — I was just surprised, that’s all. I worry about you, your safety, and going into Theed like that —”
“It was all right, actually.” He still wouldn’t make eye contact, staring into his lap instead. “No one saw me, I’d have known if they had. And I did it at night because I knew you’d worry otherwise.”
“I certainly would have.” Padmé ran her fingertips over the intricate little carvings. “But … but I am glad you got it back. I missed it a lot.”
“Oh. Well — erm — I’m glad too, then,” Obi-Wan said. “I just wondered — maybe it wasn’t the right thing after all —”
“Of course it was.” She reached down and took his hand. “I can’t imagine a more thoughtful gift. Thank you.”
Finally he met her gaze. “You’re welcome.”
“Here, help me put it on.” She lifted the back of her veil and turned, allowing him to drape the jerba cord around her neck. She then cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, long and slow and deep. Padmé knew they were both thinking of Anakin, but she didn’t want the moment to be ruined by bad memories.
He embraced her gently, whispering against her cheek. “So, what do you have for me?”
Padmé laughed. “Impatient, aren’t we?”
“Just curious. Can’t I be curious?”
“Of course you can! I just thought it wouldn’t matter, since you’ve renounced material possessions.”
“That’s not fair,” Obi-Wan said, a mock pout creasing his features.
“I know.” Both were laughing by then.
Padmé reached for a small flimsiplast envelope on the table, drawing in a deep breath for courage. She checked it one last time to be sure everything was in order, then handed it to her husband.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Open it and see,” Padmé suggested.
Carefully he slit the top of the envelope with his index finger, reaching inside to pull out a thin set of sheets. His breath caught in his throat as he unfolded them and saw official lettering across the top reading FROM THE DESK OF PADME AMIDALA. The familiar picture of her was right next to it, affixing him with her imperious politician’s stare.
“What …?” he whispered.
“Read it,” she said nervously.
His eyes scanned over the first page, her neat inked handwriting as familiar and comforting to him as her touch. The letter read:
Dear Obi-Wan,
By the time you read this, we will be linked as husband and wife, forever, and I will have been able to deliver it to you freely instead of with fright, wondering if I would be disciplined for merely associating with you. How grateful I am that those days are long past! And ever since we began planning our wedding, I wondered what I ought to give you as a devotion gift. Though the tradition belongs to my people, I nonetheless puzzled over the possibilities — or really, lack thereof. What to give a man who has spent most of his life in monastic contemplation, eschewing all objects? Certainly, no simple material possession would suffice.
But I recalled then how our relationship began, how it blossomed from friendship to something more, and how it did so through the very format in which I communicate with you now. Letters. Words on flimsiplast, so archaic now in most circles. But to me, and I imagine to you, they eventually ended up meaning so much more.
I remember very well what it was like to wait for one of your letters. It was foolish of me, but somehow I always expected an instantaneous response even though in most cases this was impossible. One day after I’d mailed a letter I’d be down in the courier’s room, demanding to know if anything had arrived for me, when odds were my letter had not even left Naboo yet. This didn’t matter, though. I’d wait and wait and wait with the fervor of a youngling expecting gifts on my lifeday, so that when your response came at last, it would be a major event. I’d close myself into my bedroom, if I could, and slowly unfold the letter from its envelope. Sometimes, I’m embarrassed to admit, I would even sniff the flimsi to see if any of your scent remained — though I only clearly recall doing this later, when I knew I loved you.
Your words sustained me. It is never easy for a child to make the transition from youth to teen to adult, and even less so when the focus of an entire planet is placed upon that child. My every move and action was scrutinized by analysts and HoloNet reporters, and even such mundane details as my outfits and my favourite foods were gobbled up by a public hungry for information about their heroic monarch. I lived my life under the most minute of magnifications, and for the most part I simply accepted this as a necessary byproduct of my duty. But some part of me still wished for anonymity, for a little of my old life to return to me if only momentarily.
Your letters represented that life. They were so … normal. You spoke of day-to-day business at the Temple, the missions you had undertaken, any frustrations you might be experiencing, and Anakin. Of course, Anakin.
I hesitated over whether to include him in this letter, because he has of late caused us both so much pain. But I feel it is impossible to ignore his impact on both our lives. He represented an area of common ground between us, as your apprentice, my good friend and later, your brother. I eagerly awaited the parts of your letters which discussed Ani and his latest exploits.
I’m not sure I can adequately communicate to you the importance of your letters in my life. I have tried, but somehow it is much more difficult than I had thought it would be. I suppose a major signal of how crucial they were could be my reaction when they were cut off, when I could no longer look forward to them.
I have long since forgiven my parents for their attitude with regards to our relationship. They were doing only what they thought was best, and they acted entirely without malice. Now that I’m a mother myself, I finally understand this. There is an overwhelming desire to protect your children, not only from outside dangers but also from harm that they might cause to themselves. My parents couldn’t have known that the Jedi Council would make a special exception to its rule of non-attachment; they saw only that my love for you could not possibly be consummated, nor could you marry me, and therefore you had little to offer. They tried to tempt me with other men, any one of whom would have made a very suitable partner and with whom I could probably have fallen in love had my heart not belonged to another. I do not hold this against them.
Nevertheless, I found their actions insulting and stifling. As I have already said, your letters were a bright spot in my life, and as a politician I had no other friends who were not simply hangers-on hoping for a favourable policy decision. You didn’t want anything from me. And so, for that reason and a thousand others besides, I loved you.
And again, a letter served me. I will never forget how I felt as I sat down to write the one which I gave you at the Coruscanti freighter docks. I was taking a huge risk, perhaps the largest emotional risk of my life. Nubian children do not disobey their parents, as I believe I wrote to you. It simply isn’t done. Even when younglings become older, family is extremely important, and anyone who went against the wishes of their family would be marked as cruel and bizarre. For a former Queen and current Senator, any such disobedience on my part would have severe, public, consequences.
But I wrote the letter, because I was tired of hiding and because I felt you deserved some sort of explanation. We’d been friends for too long, and now that I felt something more, I couldn’t possibly keep it inside. We all reach a certain point when we can no longer stomach the demands imposed upon us, and this was mine.
Of course, so much has happened since then. I think back to that early hug at the loading docks and I hardly recognize myself. But for you, my feelings have not changed. I know you’re probably surprised at this, and you may be shaking your head even as you read these words. But it is the truth, as simply as I can tell it.
I loved you, even when I thought I would need to do so from a distance. After I wrote the last letter, I had no idea how you might receive it, but I was determined not to let that change anything. This determination lingered after the Battle of Geonosis, through my pregnancy and miscarriage, and our first tentative steps toward following through on our feelings. It hardened when I found out the twins were coming, through the end of the war, and all the trials we have endured since then.
And because you are so naturally self-effacing and giving of yourself, I can see you shaking your head again. I can see you questioning how this could be possible. Perhaps by all rights it should not be, but it is. The conflicts and trials we have had can only strengthen us in the long run if we allow them to do so. Of course I wish that the war and all its consequences didn’t have to occur. I wish that every night when I hold you and we cry together, and I wish it when I realize we will need to leave this place one day for a greater unknown. But as I have often told you, wishing does little good when the act of doing so will not produce appreciable results. We must look to the future, and we must o so together.
We are linked now in another sense, through the bonds of marriage. This, in my view, changes little about the essence of our relationship, except to make it visible in a way it has not been before. My love for you will remain the same. My desire for you will remain the same. My wish to help you, to comfort you, to be there for you as you have been for me, will remain. I cannot put it in language any plainer than this.
I love you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. I have loved you since I was eighteen years old and we communicated in this very fashion. And I will continue to love you when the universe is but dust.
Padmé
He took a deep breath and carefully refolded the flimsiplast, placing it back inside its envelope. She was watching him closely, but he wasn’t yet sure how to respond to such devout declarations.
“Too much?” Padmé asked softly. “I probably overdid it a little.”
“No —” His voice cracked, and he had to begin again. “I just — I’m still not used to it. Even after all this time. I don’t know how you can possibly still feel the way you do. After everything.”
“Well, so do you,” she pointed out reasonably. “Falling in or out of love isn’t a conscious decision one chooses to make. It just … is. Believe me, there were many people much more suitable than a Jedi for me to love, yet here we sit. It’s not something I can control any more than you can control your bond.”
Obi-Wan clasped her hand, feeling the contours and weight of the ring he had placed there. “You’ve taught me so much.”
“No more than you have taught me,” Padmé said quietly.
By unspoken consent they inched closer, arms encircling one another until they were wrapped in a firm embrace, an embrace from which Obi-Wan did not want to release her. She continued to mean so much to him, faith and hope and love and security and a thousand other things besides which did not even begin to capture the truth of her. When everything else had changed, she remained the one constant, the one implacable person he could always count on. And even when the nature of their relationship had changed, so that he was to some extent as reliant on her as on the Force, she had never wavered in her devotion. He couldn’t imagine coping with the events of Mustafar without her. And now, her warm presence in his arms, the soft rhythm of her breath, and the beat of her heart — all were tangible reminders of his love.
Padmé drew back a little, her brown eyes alight with longing, and next second he had pressed his lips to hers in a silent but fervent kiss. It was far more passionate than the one they had exchanged at the ceremony, more demanding, more desperate. His hands circled her shoulders and trailed downwards, along her side, to briefly brush her breasts. She moaned breathily, then chuckled against his mouth.
“We should save this for tonight.”
Obi-Wan smiled sheepishly. “I know. But I didn’t see you last night.”
Padmé laughed; something about his statement seemed to amuse her. “I guess Sola was right after all.”
He blinked. “What about?”
“Oh, nothing. Something very silly. I’ll tell you later.” She took his hand again and stood, grinning. “Come on, Husband. We’re due back outside.”
“Right, Wife.” He got to his feet, shaking his head. “Wife. I suppose I’ll have to get used to that term now.”
“You will, darling.” She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “But you’ll have time. Forever and ever, as a matter of fact.”
“And ever,” he echoed.
Author:
padme_kenobiPrevious Chapters: Can be read here.
Characters/Pairings: Obi-Wan/Padmé, others
Word Count: 5,538
Rating: PG
Summary: “You’ve taught me so much.”
Author's Notes: Okay, so it's a little later than I said it would be, but better late than never, I guess. ;) This chapter was an absolute joy to write, particularly after all the angst we've had lately. (But for you angst fans - don't worry, more is coming. Heh.) I smiled pretty much all the way through it and the next. :D After all, it's the wedding. More need not be said, I think. As a point of interest, I actually wrote their entire wedding ceremony in a separate document (from various websites on writing your own vows), just so I'd know myself how it went and be able to incorporate snippets of it into this chapter. I should post it sometime, hehe.
Hours later a flurry of last-minute preparations was in full swing, though Padmé remained largely unaware of this, sequestered as she was in her room. Her family had told her that all she need do was concentrate on getting dressed and readying herself mentally for what was to come. She had the usual attack of nerves, most pronounced as she stood in front of the full-length mirror in her wedding dress, a veil covering her hair and two long braids hanging down to frame her face and shoulders. This was it. She was getting married — married to a man she never thought would want her, but whom she knew felt as deeply for her as she did for him, and had done so for largely the same number of years. So why was she suddenly so afraid he might change his mind?
“Sola?” Padmé bit her lip, trying to take deep breaths. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Her sister looked up from where she was adjusting the dress’s train. Her smile was gentle. “No, you’re not. You’re just nervous. Try to relax, and it will pass.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because the same thing happened to me, baby sister. It probably happened to Mom, too, and to every other woman who has ever gotten married. You’re taking a big step, so it’s natural to be a little afraid. But I think in your heart you know you’re making the right decision.”
“Yes, but …” She swallowed. “What if he doesn’t turn up?”
“He will. He loves you very much, Padmé. I can see that every time he sets eyes on you. He looks at you so adoringly, like you’re the centre of his universe. Like all his dreams are being fulfilled just by seeing you alive and well and happy. And you know what?”
“What?”
“He’s probably wondering the exact same thing — whether you’ll get cold feet and decide you don’t want to go through with it.”
Padmé thought about that. Yes, it would be very like Obi-Wan to work himself into a guilty frenzy over her arrival, and his bond was probably driving him to distraction in any case. She felt a little better now.
There was a soft knock on the door, and presently Ruwee and Jobal peered through.
“Everything is set up and in place,” Jobal announced. “Father Proxollo has arrived, and he knows at whose ceremony he’ll be officiating. He’s surprised, but he doesn’t mind and he’s promised to keep the secret. Nandi and Teckla are downstairs with the twins. All we need now is …”
“The bride,” Ruwee completed.
Padmé turned back to face the mirror. She felt vaguely queasy again.
“She’s ready,” Sola said. “A bit nervous, but ready. How’s the groom doing?”
“More nervous,” Ruwee chuckled. “Much more, in fact. He seems to think you won’t turn up, dear.”
Sola glanced at Padmé. “You see?”
That at least brought a smile to Padmé’s face. “I guess I’d better go reassure him, then.”
“Yes, I think you’d better.” Jobal came fully into the room and made some adjustments of her own to both her children’s outfits, straightening the shoulders on Sola’s gown and fluffing out one of Padmé’s braids. “Sola, you should go. Nandi and Teckla are by the veranda entrance. You’ll walk out behind them in the processional.”
“Right.” Sola gave her sister a quick hug. “Good luck. You’ll be great, I know it.”
“Thanks,” Padmé replied a little shakily.
Jobal and Ruwee regarded their youngest daughter, warm smiles lighting their eyes. “Well, sweetheart, I guess this is it,” Ruwee said. “I’m sure there are things I’m supposed to say to you, but now the time has come I seem to have forgotten my lines.”
“Me too,” Jobal confessed.
Padmé turned away from the mirror at last, a smile creasing her features. “That’s all right. I don’t think I remember mine either.”
“My beautiful, grown-up girl,” Ruwee sighed. “And now I’ve got to give you away. It doesn’t seem fair.”
“Obi-Wan will take care of me, Dad,” Padmé said. “I promise. Just as I’ll take care of him.”
“I know. And it’s time for your mother and me to let you go — well past that time, as a matter of fact. But I never realized how difficult it would be.”
“Dear, we’ve got to stop, I’m going to cry,” Jobal chided her husband. “And you know how long it took me to do my makeup.”
“As if I could forget. One hour, fifty-six minutes.”
“And twenty-three seconds,” said Jobal.
Padmé laughed at the interplay. Goddesses, she was going to miss this.
Both parents kissed the top of their daughter’s head, then offered their arms to her. They walked from the room linked together, Jobal and Ruwee trying to understand how this moment could have come so quickly, while Padmé marveled at the fact that they were actually going to give her away, to Obi-Wan. She hadn’t been lying when she told her mother she was forgiven, but it was still hard to believe that after all those years of strife, they now approved heartily of the union.
They made their way down the central staircase, at Padmé’s careful pace. Near the bottom were the two cooks, the twins supported in their arms, and Sola standing next to them. Luke and Leia were surprisingly silent, their attention now riveted on their mother as though they realized the gravity of the occasion.
“All right, I think we’re ready,” Jobal informed the assemblage. “Nandi, the music, if you please.”
Nandi nodded and hurried over to the HoloNet music receiver, switching it on. A light, airy fugue filled the room and the veranda beyond it, part of the songs the Naberrie family had chosen for the wedding.
“Remember the processional routine, just as we practiced,” Jobal said. “Teckla, Nandi, you go first with the babies, then let a few seconds pass, then Sola, you go, and we’ll enter at the crescendo. Don’t forget to walk slowly, in time to the music.”
Everyone nodded, and the two cooks proceeded through the double doors.
“Good luck, baby sister,” Sola smiled over her shoulder, grasping her small flower bouquet and following after a beat.
“Take a deep breath, sweetheart,” Ruwee advised. “There’s no need to be nervous.”
“You’ve never been more beautiful than you are today,” Jobal added. “Never.”
“Thanks,” Padmé whispered.
The music swelled and her parents led her forward into the warm sunshine. She could see flowers arrayed around the balcony, with a big pot of leias nestling on the rail behind the holy man and Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan.
Oh, he looked magnificent. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in his form, lithe and slender, dressed in his full robes complete with cloak and lightsaber. His hood was down, and his coppery brown hair gleamed in the sunlight. His blue eyes were wide with the sight of her, and she suddenly imagined that they must have similar expressions of awe and amazement on their faces.
The Naberries continued slowly down the aisle at a pace that seemed interminable to Padmé. When they reached the row of chairs set a little back from the holy man, where Teckla and Nandi were now sitting with the twins, Ruwee took Padmé’s hand in his and kissed it softly before taking a seat. She was left to proceed with Jobal alone.
“Ah-ma-ma!” Luke shrieked, and everyone laughed. The baby was stretching his arms toward Padmé, straining against Nandi’s grasp. Padmé grinned affectionately at him.
They reached the holy man and Jobal took both the bride and the groom’s arms. She kissed Padmé’s fingers and stroked them softly, then pressed her hand into Obi-Wan’s and closed his around his love’s. Jobal then stepped back with a broad smile. Again Padmé felt warmth spreading from the place where their skin touched. Obi-Wan draped his arm about her shoulder in a brief embrace, then took her hand again as they faced the holy man.
Father Proxollo smiled at the couple, opening his book to read the service. “We are gathered here today to witness the coming together of two people, Padmé Amidala and Obi-Wan Kenobi, whose hearts and spirits are entwined as one,” he began. “They now desire to profess before the galaxy their intention henceforth to walk the road of life together.”
There was a sniffle from the audience; Padmé was quite sure it had come from either her mother or her sister.
“To these two young people, this marriage signifies the birth of a new spirit, a spirit which is a part of each of us, yet not of any one of us alone,” the holy man continued. “This ‘birth of spirit’ reminds us of spring, the season when all life is reborn and looms again. It is appropriate, therefore, that this wedding of Padmé and Obi-Wan be in the spring, and that it be under the open sky, where we are close to the earth and to the unity of life, the totality of living things of which we are a part.”
She smiled as she listened to the words they had chosen, the words which seemed to resonate so deeply for both herself and her partner. He had added the parts about the earth and unity, parts which most likely came from his Jedi teachings about the Living Force. It was a tribute to Qui-Gon as well.
Father Proxollo now addressed the couple directly, reading a poem they had chosen. “You were born to be together, and together you shall be forevermore. You shall be together when the wings of death scatter your days. Ay, you shall be together even in your silent memory. But let there be spaces in your togetherness, and let the winds of the goddesses dance between you …”
A soft breeze rustled the flowers, and Padmé looked over to see that Obi-Wan’s eyes were closed, a small smile on his face, as though he were meditating. But why, during their wedding …?
And then, as there was a soft flicker near the leias, she understood. The shape did not quite have form, nor did it have substance, but there was clearly something there, and Padmé thought she knew what. Surely Qui-Gon himself wouldn’t miss this; Obi-Wan had spoken to her many times of his relationship with the elder, and it seemed that they considered each other as close to father and son as a Master and Padawan could. That would explain the gentle meditative state being held by her partner, and also the look on his face. She squeezed his hand and smiled broadly at the shape; just once, it winked.
Ruwee and Jobal recited two poems, hugging each of the couple after they did so. The holy man reopened his book and read, “Love is patient; love is kind. Love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way. It is not irritable or resentful. It does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things and endures all things. And now faith, and hope, and love abide, and the greatest of these is love.”
He stepped back, allowing Padmé and Obi-Wan to face each other. Her partner began, in his lilting accent, to say the words they had written and memorized for each other.
“There was darkness for a long time and then there was light, and that light was you. Your love has given me wings, and our journey continues today. I pledge before this assembled company to be your husband from this day forward. Let us make of our two lives one life. I want you for today, tomorrow, and forever.”
Padmé replied, grasping his hands firmly. “I will cherish our union and I love you more each day than I did the day before. I trust you and respect you, laugh with you and cry with you, love you faithfully through good times and bad, regardless of the obstacles we may face together. I give you my hand, my heart and my love, from this day forward so long as we both shall live, and beyond.”
They repeated several other platitudes, designed to reinforce the strength of their love for each other. She understood that in any other situation, those words would probably have seemed trite and clichéd, but now, somehow, they took on an added meaning, a deeper significance of commitment and love.
“Padmé, please repeat after me,” Father Proxollo said.
She felt her heart leap in her chest as she recited the vows. “I, Padmé, take you, Obi-Wan, as my friend and love, beside me and apart from me, in laughter and in tears. In conflict and tranquility, asking that you be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, trusting what I do not know yet, in all the ways that life may find me.”
“Place the ring on his finger,” the holy man instructed.
She took Obi-Wan’s hand and slid the slim circle of bronzium onto its digit, unable to stop a wide grin from spreading over her face. He smiled back, equal parts disbelief and utter, trusting love. Padmé in turn saw nothing but Obi-Wan, nothing but his blue eyes, when he began to repeat the same vows.
“I, Obi-Wan, take you, Padmé, as my friend and love, beside me and apart from me, in laughter and in tears. In conflict and tranquility, asking that you be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, trusting what I do not know yet, in all the ways that life may find me.”
Padmé held her breath as the ring slipped onto her finger, feeling the touch of his callused hands upon her skin. She barely heard Father Proxollo’s next words, so lost was she in his eyes and their hands clasped together. Obi-Wan seemed similarly disoriented, smiling in a way that indicated he couldn’t quite believe what they’d just done. But neither did he seem to be entertaining any regrets; it was just that the situation was so discordantly unfamiliar to him.
She came back to herself just in time to hear the holy man intone, “Now you are two, but there is only one life ahead of you. Go now and enter into the days of your togetherness, as I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Obi-Wan placed gentle hands on her shoulders, drawing her towards him, and the outside world was obviated instantly as their lips met. There might have been applause in the background, applause mingled with Sola’s cheers and the twins’ happy shrieks, but neither husband nor wife took any notice. Their universe contained only each other, only his warmth and her perfume and the light prickle of his beard against the softness of her skin.
She was his. He was hers.
And now, more than ever, they were one.
***
Bride and groom pulled each other into the sitting room, laughing and talking, buoyant with excitement. They were husband and wife now, not mere partners but actually linked physically and psychically in all the ways that seemed to matter. Padmé kept looking down at her hand, at her wedding ring, to make sure it still existed and that this was not just some fantastic dream.
She was glad that tradition dictated they exchange their devotion gifts in private, for she felt she needed a few moments with Obi-Wan for this all to become real. They sat on one of the couches, side by side, and each retrieved their offering from where it had been placed by the Naberrie family on the table prior to the ceremony.
“You go first,” they both said, and laughed.
“It’s all right, I can go first if you like,” Padmé said when they had recovered.
“Of course, just so long as you open my present first,” Obi-Wan replied. “Here.” He handed her a small wooden box.
“You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?” she teased.
“Perhaps.” He blushed slightly.
Padmé smiled and held up the box curiously. It reminded her vaguely of the container in which he kept Qui-Gon’s lightsaber, Anakin’s Padawan braid and their letters, but this one was different. More compact, for one thing, made of another material and intricately carved. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “Did you make this yourself?”
“Well, I found the wood,” he admitted. “But the rest is my work. Open it.”
“Oh —” Now it was Padmé’s turn to go red; she had assumed the box itself was the gift. But no: as she tilted it to find the small catch, she could hear something rattling around inside.
Her fingers fumbled with the box’s edge and she drew open the lid, slowly, tenderly. She could sense Obi-Wan watching her closely, even though she did not look up. The top came undone, and Padmé gasped.
Inside, on the familiar length of jerba leather cord, sat a small carved charm. It had worn smooth very gradually over the years, but the minute symbols etched into it were still plainly visible. She closed her eyes against a sudden flood of memories … memories of being fourteen, just barely out of childhood herself, the weight of an entire planet on her shoulders as she bent to comfort the nine-year-old boy crouched on the floor of the Royal Nubian craft. He had handed her this tiny necklace, and his words reverberated in her mind, as clearly as if he’d just said them.
I made this for you, so you can remember me. I carved it out of a japor snippet. It will bring you good fortune.
And her response: It’s beautiful, but I don’t need this to remember you by. Many things will change when we reach the capital, Ani. My caring for you will not be one of them.
She could feel tears filling her eyes as she handled the tiny charm. “Where did you — how did you — I thought we had to leave it behind —”
“We did, but … I went back for it,” he explained, suddenly unable to look at her. “A couple of months ago, when you first talked about devotion gifts. I snuck out one night, took the boat to the mainland. No one saw me. I’d carved a replacement, a decoy, so when I got to the crypt, I switched them. Then I took the real one and came back here before morning. You never knew.”
Padmé became aware that her mouth was hanging open and closed it quickly. She couldn’t decide whether to be happy, thankful, sad, infuriated or some bizarre combination of all of those. “I — but — the risk, Obi-Wan — what were you thinking?”
His face fell a little. “I know how difficult it was for you to leave it behind, and — I regret asking you to do that. So I thought, if you could have it back … it’s like … a bit of Anakin, perhaps …”
“Of course.” She cradled the necklace in her fingers, thinking, remembering. “I just miss him. I miss him so much.”
He looked away again, seeming suddenly embarrassed. “I — I’m sorry, I should have thought of something else.”
“No, Obi-Wan, don’t apologize!” she exclaimed. “Don’t, I just — I was just surprised, that’s all. I worry about you, your safety, and going into Theed like that —”
“It was all right, actually.” He still wouldn’t make eye contact, staring into his lap instead. “No one saw me, I’d have known if they had. And I did it at night because I knew you’d worry otherwise.”
“I certainly would have.” Padmé ran her fingertips over the intricate little carvings. “But … but I am glad you got it back. I missed it a lot.”
“Oh. Well — erm — I’m glad too, then,” Obi-Wan said. “I just wondered — maybe it wasn’t the right thing after all —”
“Of course it was.” She reached down and took his hand. “I can’t imagine a more thoughtful gift. Thank you.”
Finally he met her gaze. “You’re welcome.”
“Here, help me put it on.” She lifted the back of her veil and turned, allowing him to drape the jerba cord around her neck. She then cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, long and slow and deep. Padmé knew they were both thinking of Anakin, but she didn’t want the moment to be ruined by bad memories.
He embraced her gently, whispering against her cheek. “So, what do you have for me?”
Padmé laughed. “Impatient, aren’t we?”
“Just curious. Can’t I be curious?”
“Of course you can! I just thought it wouldn’t matter, since you’ve renounced material possessions.”
“That’s not fair,” Obi-Wan said, a mock pout creasing his features.
“I know.” Both were laughing by then.
Padmé reached for a small flimsiplast envelope on the table, drawing in a deep breath for courage. She checked it one last time to be sure everything was in order, then handed it to her husband.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Open it and see,” Padmé suggested.
Carefully he slit the top of the envelope with his index finger, reaching inside to pull out a thin set of sheets. His breath caught in his throat as he unfolded them and saw official lettering across the top reading FROM THE DESK OF PADME AMIDALA. The familiar picture of her was right next to it, affixing him with her imperious politician’s stare.
“What …?” he whispered.
“Read it,” she said nervously.
His eyes scanned over the first page, her neat inked handwriting as familiar and comforting to him as her touch. The letter read:
Dear Obi-Wan,
By the time you read this, we will be linked as husband and wife, forever, and I will have been able to deliver it to you freely instead of with fright, wondering if I would be disciplined for merely associating with you. How grateful I am that those days are long past! And ever since we began planning our wedding, I wondered what I ought to give you as a devotion gift. Though the tradition belongs to my people, I nonetheless puzzled over the possibilities — or really, lack thereof. What to give a man who has spent most of his life in monastic contemplation, eschewing all objects? Certainly, no simple material possession would suffice.
But I recalled then how our relationship began, how it blossomed from friendship to something more, and how it did so through the very format in which I communicate with you now. Letters. Words on flimsiplast, so archaic now in most circles. But to me, and I imagine to you, they eventually ended up meaning so much more.
I remember very well what it was like to wait for one of your letters. It was foolish of me, but somehow I always expected an instantaneous response even though in most cases this was impossible. One day after I’d mailed a letter I’d be down in the courier’s room, demanding to know if anything had arrived for me, when odds were my letter had not even left Naboo yet. This didn’t matter, though. I’d wait and wait and wait with the fervor of a youngling expecting gifts on my lifeday, so that when your response came at last, it would be a major event. I’d close myself into my bedroom, if I could, and slowly unfold the letter from its envelope. Sometimes, I’m embarrassed to admit, I would even sniff the flimsi to see if any of your scent remained — though I only clearly recall doing this later, when I knew I loved you.
Your words sustained me. It is never easy for a child to make the transition from youth to teen to adult, and even less so when the focus of an entire planet is placed upon that child. My every move and action was scrutinized by analysts and HoloNet reporters, and even such mundane details as my outfits and my favourite foods were gobbled up by a public hungry for information about their heroic monarch. I lived my life under the most minute of magnifications, and for the most part I simply accepted this as a necessary byproduct of my duty. But some part of me still wished for anonymity, for a little of my old life to return to me if only momentarily.
Your letters represented that life. They were so … normal. You spoke of day-to-day business at the Temple, the missions you had undertaken, any frustrations you might be experiencing, and Anakin. Of course, Anakin.
I hesitated over whether to include him in this letter, because he has of late caused us both so much pain. But I feel it is impossible to ignore his impact on both our lives. He represented an area of common ground between us, as your apprentice, my good friend and later, your brother. I eagerly awaited the parts of your letters which discussed Ani and his latest exploits.
I’m not sure I can adequately communicate to you the importance of your letters in my life. I have tried, but somehow it is much more difficult than I had thought it would be. I suppose a major signal of how crucial they were could be my reaction when they were cut off, when I could no longer look forward to them.
I have long since forgiven my parents for their attitude with regards to our relationship. They were doing only what they thought was best, and they acted entirely without malice. Now that I’m a mother myself, I finally understand this. There is an overwhelming desire to protect your children, not only from outside dangers but also from harm that they might cause to themselves. My parents couldn’t have known that the Jedi Council would make a special exception to its rule of non-attachment; they saw only that my love for you could not possibly be consummated, nor could you marry me, and therefore you had little to offer. They tried to tempt me with other men, any one of whom would have made a very suitable partner and with whom I could probably have fallen in love had my heart not belonged to another. I do not hold this against them.
Nevertheless, I found their actions insulting and stifling. As I have already said, your letters were a bright spot in my life, and as a politician I had no other friends who were not simply hangers-on hoping for a favourable policy decision. You didn’t want anything from me. And so, for that reason and a thousand others besides, I loved you.
And again, a letter served me. I will never forget how I felt as I sat down to write the one which I gave you at the Coruscanti freighter docks. I was taking a huge risk, perhaps the largest emotional risk of my life. Nubian children do not disobey their parents, as I believe I wrote to you. It simply isn’t done. Even when younglings become older, family is extremely important, and anyone who went against the wishes of their family would be marked as cruel and bizarre. For a former Queen and current Senator, any such disobedience on my part would have severe, public, consequences.
But I wrote the letter, because I was tired of hiding and because I felt you deserved some sort of explanation. We’d been friends for too long, and now that I felt something more, I couldn’t possibly keep it inside. We all reach a certain point when we can no longer stomach the demands imposed upon us, and this was mine.
Of course, so much has happened since then. I think back to that early hug at the loading docks and I hardly recognize myself. But for you, my feelings have not changed. I know you’re probably surprised at this, and you may be shaking your head even as you read these words. But it is the truth, as simply as I can tell it.
I loved you, even when I thought I would need to do so from a distance. After I wrote the last letter, I had no idea how you might receive it, but I was determined not to let that change anything. This determination lingered after the Battle of Geonosis, through my pregnancy and miscarriage, and our first tentative steps toward following through on our feelings. It hardened when I found out the twins were coming, through the end of the war, and all the trials we have endured since then.
And because you are so naturally self-effacing and giving of yourself, I can see you shaking your head again. I can see you questioning how this could be possible. Perhaps by all rights it should not be, but it is. The conflicts and trials we have had can only strengthen us in the long run if we allow them to do so. Of course I wish that the war and all its consequences didn’t have to occur. I wish that every night when I hold you and we cry together, and I wish it when I realize we will need to leave this place one day for a greater unknown. But as I have often told you, wishing does little good when the act of doing so will not produce appreciable results. We must look to the future, and we must o so together.
We are linked now in another sense, through the bonds of marriage. This, in my view, changes little about the essence of our relationship, except to make it visible in a way it has not been before. My love for you will remain the same. My desire for you will remain the same. My wish to help you, to comfort you, to be there for you as you have been for me, will remain. I cannot put it in language any plainer than this.
I love you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. I have loved you since I was eighteen years old and we communicated in this very fashion. And I will continue to love you when the universe is but dust.
Padmé
He took a deep breath and carefully refolded the flimsiplast, placing it back inside its envelope. She was watching him closely, but he wasn’t yet sure how to respond to such devout declarations.
“Too much?” Padmé asked softly. “I probably overdid it a little.”
“No —” His voice cracked, and he had to begin again. “I just — I’m still not used to it. Even after all this time. I don’t know how you can possibly still feel the way you do. After everything.”
“Well, so do you,” she pointed out reasonably. “Falling in or out of love isn’t a conscious decision one chooses to make. It just … is. Believe me, there were many people much more suitable than a Jedi for me to love, yet here we sit. It’s not something I can control any more than you can control your bond.”
Obi-Wan clasped her hand, feeling the contours and weight of the ring he had placed there. “You’ve taught me so much.”
“No more than you have taught me,” Padmé said quietly.
By unspoken consent they inched closer, arms encircling one another until they were wrapped in a firm embrace, an embrace from which Obi-Wan did not want to release her. She continued to mean so much to him, faith and hope and love and security and a thousand other things besides which did not even begin to capture the truth of her. When everything else had changed, she remained the one constant, the one implacable person he could always count on. And even when the nature of their relationship had changed, so that he was to some extent as reliant on her as on the Force, she had never wavered in her devotion. He couldn’t imagine coping with the events of Mustafar without her. And now, her warm presence in his arms, the soft rhythm of her breath, and the beat of her heart — all were tangible reminders of his love.
Padmé drew back a little, her brown eyes alight with longing, and next second he had pressed his lips to hers in a silent but fervent kiss. It was far more passionate than the one they had exchanged at the ceremony, more demanding, more desperate. His hands circled her shoulders and trailed downwards, along her side, to briefly brush her breasts. She moaned breathily, then chuckled against his mouth.
“We should save this for tonight.”
Obi-Wan smiled sheepishly. “I know. But I didn’t see you last night.”
Padmé laughed; something about his statement seemed to amuse her. “I guess Sola was right after all.”
He blinked. “What about?”
“Oh, nothing. Something very silly. I’ll tell you later.” She took his hand again and stood, grinning. “Come on, Husband. We’re due back outside.”
“Right, Wife.” He got to his feet, shaking his head. “Wife. I suppose I’ll have to get used to that term now.”
“You will, darling.” She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “But you’ll have time. Forever and ever, as a matter of fact.”
“And ever,” he echoed.