Note: I never believed it would happen, but here it is. A new fanfic from me! And the most amazing thing is, it's actually finished. Like, whoa.
Summary: PG. Obi/Ami. Romance, Angst, Angst, Angst! My take on how Padmé Amidala died.
Disclaimer: I own nothing; George owns all and then some.
1013
By Scatterheart a.k.a. 2shy
OneOn the one thousand and thirteenth morning after his battle with Anakin Skywalker, Obi Wan Kenobi stood outside of the small dirt hovel and shielded his eyes from a sandy breeze as he watched the figure make its way to him through the rolling hills of sand.
It was Padmé Amidala. She was walking, carrying a large wicker basket in the crook of her arm, and limping under the weight of it. The frayed hem of her simple white robe traced a lopsided line in the sand as she neared him.
Obi Wan sighed. He stretched out with the Force and levitated away the weight of the basket.
Padmé stopped in her tracks. She jiggled the basket effortlessly. She lifted the cloth cover and peered into it, and Obi Wan smiled to himself. He imagined her frowning as she saw that the cakes, pastries, fruits, and jars of fresh water she had bought for him were all lying snugly in their places.
When she frowned like that she looked fifteen again. Her frown was always more of a childish pout than a genuinely angry expression, and whenever she fixed him with her little stare of disapproval, he would think back to the days when she had sat upon the throne of Naboo, a girl Queen hiding behind a mask of white face paint and makeup. Back then she always did more than what was expected of her.
It was the same story now.
Lifting her head accusingly, the former Queen glared at Obi Wan across the expanse of desert. She marched toward him menacingly and swiftly. When she covered the distance between them at last, she shoved the basket into his arms and stood back with her fists on her waist.
"Why did you have to do that, Obi Wan?"
"I was helping you, Your Highness," he responded good-naturedly. "You sound as if--"
"And why must you insist on calling me Your Highness?" she sighed.
"You are a queen."
"I was a queen. A long, long time ago."
"Nevertheless you are still a queen to me. A very domineering one." He grinned and Padmé scowled. Then he turned serious. "Queen or not, why did you walk here, Padmé? You know it's dangerous with the Tuskens nearby."
"What do you expect me to do, brilliant Jedi Master? My speeder is in Mos Eisley for repairs."
"You do not have to come every week, you know."
Padmé fixed him with another lengthy pout, and brushed past him. She walked to the entrance of his hovel and stood in the doorway. "Tell me how you are going to eat if I do not come," she said, looking back at him.
He walked to her. "The same way you do. I grow some food in my garden and I go to Mos Eisley on occasion."
They entered the tiny room, and Obi Wan placed the basket on a low wooden table. Padmé reached inside and took out a small yellow butter roll. It smelled distinctly warm and creamy; she had undoubtedly baked it herself. "Can you make this?" she demanded.
"No, but I won't miss it if it's gone," he lied.
"Ha! You'll starve without this!" She triumphantly dropped the roll back into the basket.
Obi Wan pulled up a ragged chair, a remnant of some forgotten diplomatic office, and offered it to her. "Padmé, I don't want to cause you any trouble because of me," he said quietly. "You know I'm not just talking about the Tuskens. If your neighbors discover who you are and who you're visiting--"
"You can rest assured the Empire won't look for you here. Ana -- Darth Vader does not expect you to take refuge in his home world. He knows what kind of place this is. He thinks a great Jedi Knight like yourself will not choose to live in this kind of wasteland." She sunk into the chair and continued with a dulled, timeworn bitterness, "He always told me that the Jedi order deserved to live in luxury. After all, they were the protectors of what was good and just." She scoffed.
"I know what Vader thinks and I'm not worried about myself. I'm worried about you."
"Me? What is there to worry about? Queen Amidala is no more. Senator Amidala is believed to be dead. And I am simply a moisture farmer living in a community of moisture farmers."
"You can never be certain about that, Padmé! Ask yourself what if."
"There is always a what if and they'll always be a what if. Now sit down and eat something. You're growing thin." She patted the basket.
"I don't need you to mother me," Obi Wan said. The words rolled off his tongue a heartbeat too soon; he clamped his mouth shut and peered at Padmé hesitantly. The waves of stinging pain and old grief rippled off of her like a tidal wave through the Force. "Forgive me," he whispered.
"It's all right."
"I didn't mean to say -- that."
"I know. You always talk before you think." She smiled tiredly. "But I was a horrible mother--"
"No, Padmé!"
She stilled him with her luminous brown eyes. "It's true. You know my children are much better off without me."
"Don't say that." He sank to his knees in front of her, the pebbles of the floor denting into his legs. He heard the former Queen gasp, and felt her shock.
"What are you doing--?"
He moved to her and rested his head in her lap. "Take back what you said."
"Obi Wan..." Her cool, delicate fingers laced themselves into his hair.
"Take back what you said!"
She exhaled heavily. "All right, I take it back. Are you happy now, Jedi Master?"
He slowly lifted his head and drank in the sight of her, the way the sunlight ignited her auburn tresses. She was regarding him with a sad, lingering look he had come to know so well. "Are we ever happy, Padmé?" he said.
She was silent for a moment, stroking the side of his face. And then she visibly shook herself and made a sound of disapproval in her throat. "Stop this," she said, pushing him away. She hopped to her feet and began unpacking the provisions out of the basket. "I need to go back."
Obi Wan stood. "Stay here for today."
"Why?"
"The suns are too high. It'll be too hot for you to walk, and I think the Tuskens are on the move again."
"I will manage."
"You won't be able to manage an attack of twenty raiders. You won't manage dehydration. Leave early tomorrow when it's still dark."
She turned to him and crossed her arms pensively over her chest. "You know, I don't think I have ever been here for longer than a morning."
Obi Wan thought of the two and a half years she had come to him, and he frowned. "That's very true." His frown deepened. "How is it that in nearly three years--"
Padmé let out a soft laugh and resumed her unpacking. "Time flies, Jedi. Another three years will soon pass and who knows what will happen then? I will stay with you today."