Their Lady Adyé [Star Wars]

Garden Confessional

"You met me as Dema," she said softly, the faintest of wavers colouring her voice, telling him that she was nervous, "I have been known by many names, some of which you may have heard before. For a time I was Queen Amidala of Naboo, then I was Senator Padmé Amidala of the Galactic Republic. Then I was dead to the Galaxy, known only as Dema. But my true name, the name I have longed to bear but never had a chance to own, is Padmé Naberrie Skywalker."

It was odd. Anakin no longer had a body, nor breath nor physical sensations at all anymore—especially when he wasn't taking on the appearance of corporeal form—but hearing her say that, he felt like his chest was puffing out with pride and happiness, emotion welling in his throat. Always, in the back corner of his mind all those years ago, part of him had longed for his marriage to Padmé—for his feelings, really, since to him, their marriage was a proclamation of those feelings—to no longer need to be a secret. And here she was introducing herself as his wife, acknowledging without hesitation or reservation that they were married simply by joining her name with his. She had never officially done so, not legally, anyway, but that didn't make her use of his last name any less meaningful to him.

Luke's eyes had gone wide with shock, and Athara's jaw had dropped open.

"Who?" his apprentice blurted out, too shocked to soften her disbelief. Padmé smiled gently, sadly, the expression bringing on a wave of his own grief.

"Anakin and I were married," his wife clarified, her beautiful eyes turning to their son. "I'm your mother, Luke," she added softly, her voice as laden with emotion as her gaze. Suddenly Athara was shaking her head.

"That's impossible," the younger woman practically whispered, "he killed you—her—his wife. He's lived with that guilt for years; I felt it, his pain, his self-loathing! You can't be." The grief intensified at his apprentice's reminder. She was right. He'd hated himself from the instant he'd woken in that Medical Chamber to hear that his Angel was dead—allegedly at his own hand, he remembered with agony—until he'd regained his sense of self as he'd joined with the Living Force. As awareness had returned to him, he'd somehow known; Padmé lived.

And he'd gone to her.

He'd only left her side when he'd sensed his children were together—and yes, he'd counted his apprentice alongside his biological children—needing to see them, to make sure they were whole and healthy and happy. There were few moments in his life when he could claim to have been as happy as he'd been in that moment, seeing the three of them together, his son twining his fingers with his apprentice's even as his daughter wrapped her arms joyfully around her twin. They were alive, they were safe and they had a future.

It was all he could've wished for.

Though he did admittedly have a few concerns about the smuggler his daughter was madly in love with...

Alongside his fellow Force-spirits, he'd watched his children as the celebrations continued into the night, a mixture of contentment, joy and remorse filling him. They'd conversed for a long time that evening—Anakin, Obi-wan, Qui-gon and Yoda—grieving and marveling at the mysteries of the Force and everything that had led to that bittersweet moment.

Then he'd returned to his Angel.

And now his son and his apprentice were here, with her. And they had learned the truth. They knew his Angel, the mother of his children, was alive. And Padmé had her children back, a chance to know them after so many years.

His family was whole again.

Or, at least, it would be.

First Athara had to pause in her denial and disbelief long enough for her feelings to tell her Padmé told the truth...