Redemption

Redemption: An act of deliverance or the state of being delivered; rescue; atonement for guilt; salvation.

As he died and became one with the Force at long last, Anakin Skywalker had no idea what future awaited him in the afterlife, but he thought that he could handle it. He didn't dare to hope that he was bound for a peaceful eternity of bliss. However, he did hope that the first half of his life that he had devoted to saving and helping others combined with his final good deed in which he had only been thinking about saving his son from the Emperor, not about bringing balance to the Force or even ridding the galaxy of an evil Sith Lord, would be enough to save him from the void that the Jedi claimed swallowed up users of the Dark Side when they perished.

For over a decade, he had lived in a void, and he couldn't bear to spend all of eternity trapped in one now that he had finally broken out of the one he had created for himself in life. Anything was better than absolute nothingness and blackness. He could deal with all the agonies rumored to await the wicked in the hundreds of hells described by sentients spanning the galaxy as long as he could feel the pain and know that there was still something in the universe beside himself. Being alone forever in a cold, unfathomably dark infinity was the worst fate he could imagine.

Surely, that dreadful fate didn't await him. His last act had to count for something with the Force. Sidious deserved to be gobbled up by the void, but Anakin didn't. Anakin might have embraced the Dark Side, but it had only been out of desperation, not out of a sadistic desire to inflict suffering on others. Anakin might have become an unfeeling shell, but he had only done such a thing when his heart had been consumed by the loss of everyone he had ever cared about.

As a Jedi, Anakin had committed crimes of appalling brutality, but those had always arisen not from cold calculation but from a loss of control. He had been wrong to slaughter the Tusken Raiders and slay an unarmed Dooku at Sidious' urging, but he hadn't meant to give into his rage and that had to mitigate his heinous actions somewhat. Even when he had been a Sith, he had managed to convince himself that he was doing the right things for the right reasons, and surely the Force would take that into account when it judged him.

If Luke, who had never known Anakin as anything other than a Sith Lord, could find it in his heart to have mercy on him, then certainly the Force would be able to do the same. Certainly, the Force that oversaw everything would pity the little slave boy who had dreamed of being free who had managed through his own folly to enslave himself to a monster a thousand times worse than Watto. Surely, the Force that saw everyone's anguish had to feel some sympathy for the son who had raced across a desert and a galaxy to save his beloved mother only to arrive a moment too late and be compelled to hold her in his arms as she whispered with her last breath how strong and how handsome he was and how proud she was of him.

Since the Force could see into every heart, it had to know how her pride in him had only fed his anger with himself for being just a little too late to save her and had added to the guilt he felt at leaving her on Tatooine. The Force had to understand the terrible fear that had rocked that nineteen-year-old boy who longed to be a man to the core when he thought that the anger and guilt would devour him, and how he had desperately needed to redirect the guilt and the fury on the Tusken Raiders in order to survive.

Surely, the Force which had to understand him better than he could ever comprehend himself would be moved by the nightmares of a young Jedi Knight who had seen too much death when he had visions of his own wife whom he loved more than life itself dying in childbirth. If the Force was truly omniscient, it had to know how it had killed so much of the trust and goodness inside Anakin to think that those closest to him could betray him just as the Republic he had spent so much of his life serving had. If the Force was merciful at all, it had to take some pity on the maimed man who had screamed out in denial when he heard that his own wrath had murdered his wife only to be answered by a mocking, ringing silence that he had thought would fill his ears forever.

His actions were inexcusable, but they weren't incomprehensible, and that had to count for something. He deserved to be punished for his savagery, his fury, his betrayal of those he loved most as well as the best parts of himself, his selfishness, his arrogance, his confusion of possessiveness with love, and his tainting of justice with vengeance. Still, he didn't warrant the void. As long as he wasn't sentenced to spend eternity in a void, he would take his punishment without complaint. In fact, he would be grateful for his punishment, since it would give him a chance at redemption, which was all he was interested in attaining now.

He had just reached this conclusion when the Force stopped dragging him through the universe, and he found himself not in a seething inferno but looking out over a lush meadow filled with budding flowers. It was empty as far as his eyes could see, and the idyllic countryside should have soothed him but it didn't.

Instead, it tormented him, and he started to wonder if the void would have been a better fate, after all. At least in a void he wouldn't be torn asunder by spasms of guilt when the Force transported him back to a meadow on Naboo so much like the one he had frolicked with Padme on when she had been a Senator and he had been her dedicated bodyguard. If he were in the void, he wouldn't be pained by the knowledge that he had once had a life that was filled with the joy of loving and being loved and that his own impulsive actions had brought about the downfall not only of himself but of everyone whom he had loved so much.

"I trust you know where we are." Anakin started at the soft voice of Obi-Wan Kenobi, which he had believed that he would never hear again after he had killed the man on the Death Star.

"My galactic cartography isn't so awful that I don't know that I'm on Naboo," Anakin mumbled, finding that he couldn't even bring himself to meet the eyes of the man he had longed to talk to ever since he had died and that he couldn't find the words to express any of the emotions whirling around inside him like hurricanes. Maybe that was the real tragedy of his relationship with Obi-Wan: no matter how much he wanted to, he could never express how deeply he cared about his best friend. "I just don't know why I am here."

"That's something that you will have to answer for yourself," replied Obi-Wan, and when Anakin found the courage to look at him, he saw that Obi-Wan was smiling slightly. "You chose to come here, not me. I just followed you."

Anakin scowled at the idea that his emotions were still causing him to do things without asking his brain for permission first. Then, he said, thinking aloud as he contemplated why his unconscious would have elected to take him here, "I guess I came here looking for redemption. I suppose I thought that since I had started my journey as a Jedi here and married Padme here I might as well begin to find redemption here."

"Of course, this is all an illusion," he added, shaking his head and trying to wipe the bucolic environment from his mind. "This isn't real. It can't be real."

"It's as real as you or me, Anakin," Obi-Wan answered, and Anakin, glancing down at his ghostlike frame decided that he and Obi-Wan weren't real, either. Of course, he felt like a real person, Obi-Wan talked like a real person, and Naboo looked real, and that was all that truly mattered in the final analysis.

"Naboo is such a beautiful and tranquil world," he murmured. "Even though it was colder and damper than Tatooine, I fell in love with it the moment we landed here to fight the Trade Federation. Over the years, I only came to love it all the more when I spent more time here and became more aware of its culture. Yet, when the Republic became an Empire and the Naboo people bravely resisted Palpatine's iron grip as they had fought the Trade Federation so many years ago, I cruelly squashed their rebellion on Sidious' orders. Of course, Naboo fared better than Alderaan. I blew up Alderaan, Master."

"I know, Anakin. I felt and saw the damage." Obi-Wan's voice was hushed, but that wasn't why Anakin had difficulty hearing him. He had trouble hearing him because he didn't want to hear confirmation of how atrocious it had been to destroy Alderaan.

He didn't want to face the fact that he had sentenced millions of innocent people to death. He didn't want to think that he had demolished a world renowned its culture, its charity missions, its classical architecture, its lovely cities, its pristine natural landscape, and its peaceful political activism.

He didn't want to think about the fact that he had wrecked in a few moments what it had taken centuries of people to build. He didn't want to think about the mountains and rivers exploding. He didn't want to think about the ground caving in on itself. He didn't want to consider the libraries and schools crumbling. He didn't want to picture the government buildings toppling. He didn't want to envision children screaming for their parents before being silenced forever. He didn't want to contemplate parents dying knowing that they couldn't protect their offspring. He didn't want to think about the lovers that had died without kissing each other farewell. Yet, he couldn't remain indifferent to the horrors he, who should have been the Chosen One, had inflicted upon the galaxy anymore, and that was both his salvation and his damnation.

Luckily, Obi-Wan distracted him by pointing out, "You called me Master."

"You deserve that title far more than Palpatine ever did." Anakin shrugged, hoping that ghosts didn't flush because that was what he felt like doing right now. "Besides, you were my Master for years. What else should I call you?"

"You could call me Obi-Wan," Obi-Wan informed him delicately.

"That would be awkward." Anakin shook his head adamantly. "Anyway, that would imply that I was your equal, and I never was, no matter what I used to think. I might have been the most powerful Force user ever, but you were the greatest. I might have been the best starfighter pilot in the galaxy, but I would probably have been shot down if you hadn't been there to defend me. I was a brilliant swordsman, but you were the one who taught me how to fight. You are more powerful than Master Windu ever was. You are wiser than Master Yoda. You are more responsible than Master Qui-Gon. You are stronger and more loyal than me."

"You are exaggerating as usual," Obi-Wan countered dryly.

"And you are modest enough to think that I am," Anakin snorted. Then, looking around him, he asked, "Is this an illusion created in paradise?"

Somehow, he didn't think that this was paradise, because he certainly hadn't earned that, and he didn't think that Obi-Wan would want to see him in paradise even if he was here. After all, if he were Obi-Wan, he wouldn't desire to lay eyes on the Padawan who had failed to absorb his teachings and the best friend who had turned his back on him. Then again, perhaps Obi-Wan had found it in his heart to forgive Anakin already. After all, Obi-Wan was a much better person than he could ever hope to be.

"No, we are spirits looking out on a real Nubian field," Obi-Wan explained. "Our spirits have become one with the Force but have retained their own identity. This is as close to eternal life as anyone can get. As with life itself, whether you make it a paradise or one of the Corellian hells is up to you."

"I'll make it a paradise, then." Anakin gazed out at the gorgeous landscape before announcing awkwardly, "When I died, I wanted more than anything to speak with you again, and it seems like the Force granted my wish. Now that it has, I don't know what to say. All I can say is that I am sorry for everything. I'm sorry that I killed you, I'm sorry that became Darth Vader, I'm sorry that I betrayed you, and I'm sorry that I hurt you."

"You were forgiven long ago, and I am just glad that you asked for forgiveness, because I never thought that you would apologize." Obi-Wan's eyes were haunted, and Anakin pictured the pain that Obi-Wan must have experienced every day since they had parted paths on Mustafar. "I thought that you would hate me forever, and I believed that Anakin Skywalker was dead forever."

"I thought Anakin Skywalker was dead forever, too," Anakin admitted bluntly. "I was wrong, though. Anakin Skywalker never died. He was always alive in Vader no matter how hard Vader tried to crush him, and Vader was always alive in Anakin no matter how much Anakin strove to squash him. Vader was ashamed of Anakin, and Anakin was ashamed of Vader, but they were both the same person. Only the proportions of dark and light changed what name I went by."

"Everyone has darker and lighter elements in them," commented Obi-Wan.

"Not everybody goes on killing sprees or blows up planets." Anakin dismissed this. "There must have been something extra savage about me to allow me to do that."

"You were raised as a slave on a rough world," Obi-Wan defended him. "Your abilities made you grow up too fast, the knowledge that you were the Chosen One burdened you, and you witnessed too many horrors during the Clone Wars."

"That doesn't justify my turning to the Dark Side. Nothing does." Anakin shook his head vehemently.

"You were badly advised. You looked to Palpatine for guidance, and he abused your trust." Obi-Wan tried to comfort him again.

"I still fell into his trap. It was still me who made the mistake of confiding in him instead of you or Padme all because I never had to confess that I had any flaws when I speaking with him, and my ego couldn't bear to admit I had any out loud," answered Anakin, grimacing. "My pride resulted in the deaths of millions of people."

"You might not have turned to Palpatine if I had been a better friend and Master to you," Obi-Wan murmured.

"That's not fair," protested Anakin, his stomach knotting as he realized just how much angst he must have caused Obi-Wan, who must have blamed himself for his pupil's downfall and all the deaths that had resulted from it. "You were a great Master. Of all the Jedi, you were the only one who could control me at all, and I don't think any of the other Jedi would have possessed the patience necessary to deal with me."

"Qui-Gon would have been a better Master for you." As Obi-Wan established as much, Anakin saw the old vulnerability that indicated that Obi-Wan was beating himself up for not saving Qui-Gon from the Sith Lord on Naboo flicker in his eyes.

"That's not true," Anakin insisted, realizing with surprise that this was the truth. "I might have thought that sometimes, but that doesn't make it right. The truth is that I barely knew him and after he died, so it was easy to idealize him and then blame you for not living up to him when I was frustrated."

"If I had done a better job training you, you would not have turned to the Dark Side," Obi-Wan argued.

"I was an adult when I fell to the Dark Side," Anakin reminded him. "I was old enough to make my own choice. I knew right from wrong, and I chose to do wrong. You can't blame yourself for my decisions, Master. Besides, you put everything that you had into training me, and you always used what talents you had to serve others to the best of your ability. When it comes down to it, that's all the Force can expect of anyone, and I can't say that I did that."

Even Obi-Wan didn't know how to respond to that, and so Anakin continued, "I didn't come here to be comforted by you. I came here to tell you that not only am I sorry for what I did to you in the past but also for what I didn't do, and not only for the things I said to you but also for the things I didn't say. I'm sorry that I always turned to you for guidance and comfort and never really returned the favor. I'm sorry that I assumed that your feelings were less complex than my own. I'm sorry I never really paused to consider what you went through and ended up piling more pain on you when I should have made you happier."

Anakin's throat tightened as he reflected on the difficult life Obi-Wan had led that Anakin had never considered before because the other man was far too stoic to complain about the suffering fate chose to heap upon his shoulders. He thought back to the Council meeting when the Council refused to train him and Qui-Gon had stubbornly insisted on taking him as his Padawan. Somehow, in all the years since then, he had never really considered the scene from Obi-Wan's perspective. He had never really contemplated how being shunted aside by one's Master on the verge of Knighthood in favor of a new youngster would hurt like a vibroknife in the chest. Of course, he had never thought about it because Obi-Wan would never have grumbled about it. If he felt jealousy, he would have absorbed it and moved on with dignity. Even though Anakin would have found it terribly cold to be repeatedly thrust in someone's shadow, Obi-Wan had never seemed to mind, because he was willing to let others have all the glory while he was eager to avoid attracting any attention himself, and he was interested only in bearing all the strain.

Oh, and there must have been so much strain. Losing the Master that he had loved like a father was a blow that had continued to pain Obi-Wan throughout his life, Anakin knew. Yet, Obi-Wan had somehow found the strength to work past his own grief and begin training Anakin to fulfill Qui-Gon's last wish. Even though Qui-Gon's death must have ripped Obi-Wan's heart apart, he had never broken down in front of his Padawan. He had wanted to be strong and protect a boy he had been tossed aside for in front of the Council. Although he had more reasons to resent Anakin than the entire Council combined, Obi-Wan had poured everything he had into the difficult task of training an apprentice when he had only just become a Knight himself.

Worse still, Anakin knew he had made the hard job even more impossible. His age and his past presented enough problems as it was, but Anakin had added more complications with his temper, his stubbornness, his defiance, his impetuousness, his arrogance and his insolence. Sometimes he had even tried to make his Master's blood boil on purpose. In spite of all that, Obi-Wan had never given up on him, and they had become the best of friends and brothers until their relationship had burned to ashes on Mustafar.

He was shaken out of such musings when Obi-Wan noted, "You gave me more pleasure than I ever told you, Anakin. Your audacity left me breathless. Your piloting awed me. I wasn't lying on Mustafar when I said that I loved you as only a brother could."

"Then I guess I should finally have the guts to admit that I love you too." As he made this comment, Anakin Skywalker discovered that he was still capable of the rakish smile that he had once been famous for during the Clone Wars when he had believed that he had the power to right all the galaxy's wrongs.

Silence descended between them for a moment, and then Obi-Wan asked gently, "Would you like to attend your own funeral?"

"That sounds weird," observed Anakin, frowning. "Of course, this whole ghost thing is pretty bizarre, too, so I guess I should go because I have a morbid curiosity to see if anyone besides my son will show up."

"Yoda will be there," Obi-Wan told him.

"Yoda is still alive?" Anakin's eyes widened.

"No, he's a spirit like us," Obi-Wan answered.

"That means that I will have to spend all of eternity listening to hints that he always knew I was going to fall to the Dark Side," grimaced Anakin.

"He helped me grab onto your spirit when you died," Obi-Wan educated him mildly.

"I suppose that means that I should refrain from making comments about how he has been around for about a thousand years and yet has never bothered to figure out how to speak Basic correctly," mumbled Anakin.

"That would be considered proper etiquette, yes," Obi-Wan agreed, grinning.

"Where is my funeral being held, anyway?"

"On Endor." Obi-Wan's tone was casual.

"On Endor?" Anakin echoed, gawking at him. "We'll never be able to get there in time."

"We can travel faster even than light. Close your eyes," Obi-Wan instructed, his calm manner implying that he was proposing nothing more radical than eating lunch at a café.

Thinking that this whole scenario was leaping ever further into the abyss of insanity every second, Anakin shut his eyes. For a second nothing happened, and he was about to open them again when he felt something tugging on him like a magnet would upon a flimsi clip. Then, he was being pulled through the obsidian blackdrop with the bright pinpricks again for a dizzying few moments. Once the sensation of motion left him, he opened his eyes and was astonished to find himself on the forest moon of Endor hovering not far from a blazing funeral pyre.

"Are you all right?" Obi-Wan wanted to know, as Anakin stared about him, dazed. "The sensation takes some getting used to."

"I'll say," grunted Anakin. "I think I left half my ghostliness was left behind on Naboo."

"Now you know how I felt riding next to you in a cockpit all those years," Obi-Wan declared wryly.

"Master, my maneuvers saved us from many tight spots." Before Obi-Wan could question how many of those situations Anakin's piloting had brought them into, Anakin returned to the initial topic. "Anyway, this new method of traveling will take me some time to adapt to, but once I get accustomed to it, I should be fine. It's like how people felt when they first discovered that they could move at the speed of light. They were shocked that something they had always thought was impossible could be done, and they were amazed that they could travel to other words that quickly. Then, once the wars over hyperspace lanes and between different planets had mostly subsided, everyone's lives basically returned to normal, and the galaxy that had seemed so odd to them turned out not to be as weird as they thought. I just have to get used to the idea that light speed isn't the limit with a spirit."

"Only a pilot would employ such a comparison." Obi-Wan shook his head in despair, but he was smiling.

"Now I really will be able to visit every single planet." Unfazed, Anakin shrugged, and then shot his friend a winning look. "The offer to join me still stands."

"I see you are still harboring under the delusion that this is a very generous proposal to make to someone who hates flying."

"I see you still have your sarcasm bone intact. What a relief, Master," Anakin snorted.

Before either of them could say anything else, however, Yoda materialized beside them. Gasping, Anakin leapt back a step. Then, when he recovered himself, he stiffened, preparing himself for some verbal barb. Instead of receiving one, all he got was a dignified nod of acknowledgment. More than a little wrong-footed by Yoda's lack of open antagonism, Anakin nodded back. Hoping to conceal some of his alarm at being forgiven so easily, he gazed out at the funeral and asked, "As spirits, can we interact with the living?"

"Yes, but only if they want to talk to us," answered Obi-Wan.

"Good." Anakin felt some of the tension flow out of him. "There are many things I would like to tell my son."

When he was dying, he had not possessed the oxygen necessary to impart all of the lessons that he wanted to on his son, but there were so many of them that he would give to Luke if he ever had the opportunity. He wanted to tell his son to look at how his father had squandered half of his existence and wrecked havoc on a galaxy. He wanted to tell his son to learn from his mistakes, to do things differently, and to never choose the Dark Side.

He wanted to tell his son to trust in the Force and in those he loved, because doubt was the path to loneliness and betrayal. He wanted to tell his son to serve others, but to also remember to have fun by taking up Podracing or something. He wanted to tell his son not to concern himself with the trivialities of life and to not look for the answers to everything, because some things were meant to be incomprehensible. He wanted to tell his son never to lose his lightsaber, since it really was his life. He wanted to tell his son to train the next generation of impudent Jedi and teach them that, too. He wanted to tell his son that when in doubt, he should know that Artoo could probably fix the problem. He wanted to tell his son to take care of Threepio no matter how vexing the protocol droid's pompous prattle got. He wanted to tell his son that he would always be with him and so would the Force.

Staring out at his son, Anakin thought that he finally understand the overpowering, noble impulse to raise a man who was better than yourself, and he comprehended completely why Obi-Wan had been so stern with him sometimes.

Anger, revenge, deception, cruelty, and hatred: those were all the foul ways of the Dark Side. Foolishly, Anakin had allowed them to dominate his life and devour him until he was little more than a shell. Yet, even while the Dark Side consumed him, he hadn't noticed the true price of it until now. Now he saw that the price of the Dark Side was destruction. It was the Dark Side that had destroyed the Jedi Temple, the Republic, Padme, and the lives of billions under Sidious' tyrannical rule. Now he knew that all the promises that the Dark Side used to lure in its unsuspecting prey were mirages, for the Dark Side couldn't bring peace or closure. All it could bring was misery and death.

However, maybe what's lost could be regained. Maybe Luke could rebuild the Jedi, and maybe that woman who looked so much like Padme could forge a new Republic. Perhaps the galaxy needed nothing more than a fresh start right now.

If that was the case, Anakin couldn't wait to see the future unfold, because he had faith in it. More importantly, he knew what faith was now. It was a memory of a time when all was perfect in the galaxy. It was a promise that we will remember what we have learned in the past so that we can become older, wiser, and more filled with compassion both for ourselves and others. At its core, faith was really nothing more than the memory of love and the belief that love was everlasting.

Though he knew and grieved that there would be some who became misguided and ended up using their gifts for ill as he had himself, he had faith in the future of the galaxy. He also knew that he could not hold himself above beings that did such things, since he had been guilty of such crimes himself. He could only hope that those who fell victim to the darkness inside them would be guided back to the light as he had, so that they could recognize their errors and repent for them.

Indeed, it was the thought of redemption that gave him faith in the future, because he knew that the Force was merciful and accepted the sincere repentance of its servants, and, therefore, no matter how far beings like himself fell, the Force was always prepared to send someone like Luke out to return them to the light. As such, Anakin knew that no matter how many Sith Lords arose to spread death and corruption in the name of the Force, the message of unity, love, and peace that the Force was really trying to impart on sentients would live on and one day triumph.