Title: Nameless
Summary: Padmé is being erased.
A/N: Many, many thanks to GabriJade for kindly beta'ing. :)
Feedback is, as always and ever, appreciated and adored.
When she opens her eyes, though, she sees Alderaan spread out before her in gently rolling hills that comprise the back of the Organa estate.
Naboo is closed to her now.
She turns away from the window, eyes sweeping over the room as she decides what to do. Leia is with her adoptive mother, and being present would simply be self-torture. Her daughter will not call her 'Mother'; that title will be given to someone else. Padmé knows that is the way it must be, for Leia's safety, but it is nevertheless painful. It is more painful knowing that she will not be able to stay in the Organa estate. It's too dangerous for Leia, because if Padmé is recognized, suspicion will mount on the Organa family.
Soon, Alderaan will also be closed to Padmé. She must find a new place to hide.
Turning away from the comfortable sofa or bed in her small room, Padmé goes to the commcenter. She sits before it, deciding upon a course of action. She uses the advanced technology available to her and enters the New Order's database, searching for news of her own whereabouts. It would be wise, she felt, to see how close they were to her.
The search came up empty. Padmé is surprised: surely something, even a notation of the continuing investigation, would pop up. A hollow feeling in her stomach rises and she exhales, focusing on her task. She searches for the investigative report she found on herself last time.
It is not there.
She searches again, through abandoned databases and even public reports the Empire has given on her. Again, she finds nothing. There are no reports, no discussions. Even the oldest are gone. Padmé wonders briefly, then concludes reluctantly that perhaps her file has been raised to a higher-level clearance.
Despite that thought, a sense of foreboding remains. Padmé logs out of the secure database and searches for her name in old news accounts in the major news corporations. She was a Queen and a Senator for years; some information would remain.
The search comes up empty. All record of Padmé Amidala had been erased in the main public archives.
Padmé leans back, aware her breathing was coming more quickly. Then she steeled herself and searched again, this time more loosely for the last Senator of Naboo. The information comes quickly: Naboo had no Senator after Padm's predecessor.
Nearly frantic now, Padmé goes through the other search results, finding that some have been replaced with the false information, while some remain blank, ready to manipulate.
She is being erased.
She moves her search to smaller archives and databases. They have not yet been touched, but she knows they will.
Does Anakin know of this? she wonders. Vader had been searching for her; why this erasure is occurring she has no idea. Is he still searching? She suspects so; regardless of what he care to call himself now, he loves her, and for him, that is a possessive thing. She understands that, in a way, because she feels that same kind of desperate love for her children, though she has let them go.
Vader will not let her go.
She does not know why she is being erased, but the search has not stopped – not for Vader, even if for the Empire.
Padmé rises from her seat, pacing within a loose circuit.
It is Palpatine's doing, then. Padmé was one of the most vocal opponents of the new power Palpatine wielded in the latter days of the Clone Wars. She has been a thorn in his side for a long time, though only with the formation of the New Order did she realize just how long. How often, she still wonders, did he try to manipulate her? And how often did he succeed?
It is a troubling thought, though one that reveals nothing of the trouble.
After a moment more, Padmé returns to her seat. This time, she searches for allies and friends of hers. Those who fled the Empire are also being systematically erased, though not with the diligence she sees with herself. The erasing is sloppier and more obvious, even to her, and she is hardly an expert. Those who still believe some change can be wrought within the Empire, such as Mon Mothma, remain, their records intact.
It is revisionist history, she knows. The Empire is not just erasing their enemies; they are also hunting them down. Once those enemies are dead, nothing of them will remain save for what exists in memory. It is the ultimate repression of rebellion. Moreover, it serves to repress rebellion in the future; in the very flawless power the Empire wields rebellion will be discouraged.
Energized by anger – righteous anger – Padmé decides that she will not disappear in entirety. They erase her existence, but she would continue on, fighting the Empire, seeking the husband she lost, and protecting her children. Even if that protection meant she must never see them.
She will be nameless, perhaps, but not powerless.
10 years after Ep. III.
It is a dark night on Regalz IV, a planet with four moons, each of them oriented so that they provided no light.
Padmé finds herself continually glancing up, knowing well that the darkness means good cover for Rebel operatives. There are many missions occurring tonight, and Padmé silently wishes them fortune in the Force. The Rebellion on Regalz had grown considerably in the past few years, and that was why Padmé had chosen to become one of its leaders. She will guide them into the next stage of rebellion; out here, that sage is possible, since the Empire has to make a decision as to whether it is worth using the resources necessary to keep the planet. Most of the time, they abandon the planet if the loss outweighs the gain. But such a gain is a huge one for the new, fledging Rebellion that Padmé serves.
Padmé turns away from the dark moons again, but this time she walks into the house that serves as one of the Rebel cells compounds. Equipment lines the walls, as do small explosives to destroy that same equipment, should it be necessary. It is a precaution Padmé devised when the missions of the Rebel cell on Regalz became too large for any one person to recall or organize.
Padmé walks to a young woman, hardly more than a teenager, who is sitting at a station. "What's on the chatter?"
"Nothing more than usual, yet," the girl says, face tense with worry.
Padmé nods. The operatives are not yet scheluded to arrive at their destination. She begins to turn away, but the girl stops her with a hand on her arm.
"Yes?" Padmé asks.
"Ma'am . . ." She struggles for a moment. Padmé has only her code name here. 'Padmé Amidala' does not exist in any records, of course, but neither does she exist in the Rebellion. She is the nameless person that no one, not even the Empire itself, can find any records of. Padmé has used the erasure of her identity well, confounding the Empire and its attempts at taking down a Rebel leader.
Padmé places her hand on the girl's shoulder, noting how much the girl looks like her, at least preliminarily – the rich dark brown hair, the dark eyes set beneath equally dark brows. The girl could nearly be her daughter. "They're all right," Padmé assures the girl, knowing that in all likelihood the girl knows the operatives being sent out tonight.
The girl nods reluctantly, and Padmé leaves the house again, unable to control her restlessness. She stares up at the sky, but this time she focuses on the stars, not the darkness spreading between them. Her family is in those stars. She thinks of Vader, and Anakin. Her husband is lost to her, and yet she hopes that one day that will change, as she hopes she will live to see her children and have them know her.
The Jedi have told her to wait, that it is not yet time. Her children would play a huge role in the galaxy's future, she was told, and that day would come when they were adults. The hope of the Jedi, Obi-Wan had called Luke, and Yoda called her daughter 'the wise one'.
Padmé closes her eyes, imagining her children, picturing them calling her 'Mother'. She is as nameless to them as she is to everyone else, save for those few left that knew her – Mon Mothma, bel Iblis, a few others. Their numbers were rapidly diminishing. Would one day even her memory that remains in others be gone? Yet, Padmé is still here. Nameless to many, but not gone yet. Not entirely. One day, she would not be so nameless in the memory of those that meant most to her.
Someday. Someday.
1 year after ROTJ.
Somehow, she never imagined there would be noise.
It was always silent in her dreams and imaginings, save for their words. The surroundings would be shapeless, formless, of no importance, and yet here they are so important. Then there would be the two of them, and that changed too – whether they were young or old, scarred or not.
The steady sounds of the machines working to keep Anakin Skywalker alive fill the room, though not with any loudness. He is in bed, the helmet gone along with identity – Darth Vader. His eyes are closed, his skin pale and scarred. He breathes deeply, easily, that fixed, if little else, yet. His right hand is just a stump where the mechanical one had been, and his other hand lies on his chest.
Padmé walks forward, hardly able to believe that this moment is here. It seems unreal, and that calms her. The Emperor is gone, the Empire trembling in the wake of fighting for the throne, and Anakin is here. Vader is gone. Anakin lives.
Padmé walks forward, and she is aware that she is crying, but it hardly seems to matter. She takes Anakin's real hand in her own.
He opens his eyes, and they are as blue as she remembers. That has not changed.
He speaks hoarsely. "Padmé?" He squeezes her hand, and Padmé nods rapidly. Many emotions flash across his face, primarily shock and fear. "You're here . . ." he whispers.
Padmé hesitantly touches his face, but his skin is warm. "Yes," she says tremulously. "And I'm not going anywhere." This love she feels is too great for it to be otherwise. For all her anger and grief were so strong, they have now left her completely.
"I erased you," he says softly, touching the corners of her eyes, noting her aging, memorizing it all. "I love you," he says as well, as if the two had quite a lot to do with each other.
Padmé nods. "I know," she says, and it seems to answer everything for both of them. It is both forgiveness and acceptance, having waited twenty years to be released and spoken. Anakin's eyes show his regret and sorrow, and while Padmé does not wish it away, she strokes the side of his face, and that is enough for him. Her touch has always calmed him, and it is so even now, Padmé sees.
She hears the door open, and she turns. Her children are standing there, side by side. Luke looks both young and old, his face youthful yet scarred, his eyes full of hope yet burdened with knowledge. Leia is impassioned with emotions, fiery and strong, and Padmé realizes she is more like her father than her. Her daughter is both afraid and struggling. She looks at Padmé, not recognizing her, then turns to Anakin, uncertainty briefly flashing across her face. Luke eyes Padmé for a moment, some kind of knowledge in his eyes, though he does not recognize her either.
Anakin is still holding Padm's hand. It is time, at last.
"Father," Luke whispers, quickly walking forward, love in his eyes. Leia follows, the uncertainty greater with each step.
Anakin takes it in, watching them both, and does not speak. The emotion in his eyes overwhelms any words he might have said.
Padmé glances at him, then smiles. She turns to Luke and Leia, and speaks. "I am Padmé." She pauses, the words nearly choking her in their importance. "I am your mother."
And they look at her in recognition at last, stunned, and Padmé is no longer nameless; she has the identity she always wanted, the one that always mattered beyond databases or the memories of her colleagues.
She is Luke and Leia's mother, and Anakin Skywalker's wife.
[finis]