Title: Her Father's Daughter
Author: VA-Parky
Genre: Angst
Timeframe: ROTS
Characters: Ruwee, Jobal Naberrie, (Sola Naberrie, Padmé Amidala – flashbacks)
Summary : Ruwee Naberrie prepares to say good-bye to his youngest daughter. One shot.
Disclaimer: I own nothing; that honor belongs to George Lucas.

Author's Notes: This has been rattling around my brain for awhile now. I finally managed to put pen to paper and this is the result. FYI, most of the statements in italics are flashbacks. Thanks for reading!

THEED, NABOO

I'm wearing the formal cloak Padmé gave me for my birthday last year.

The Naboo tradition of mourning states I must remove it for the ceremonial procession, but we still have a few moments yet. While we wait, I shall continue to cling to it and the small amount of comfort it allows. I can do nothing else.

The Queen has been generous to give us this final time with our beloved Padmé. It will allow us to say the private good-byes we will not be able to utter in front of the thousands who mourn alongside us this day. While we welcome their condolences publicly, a deeper part of me finds it difficult to share her with them yet one more time. Hasn't she given enough of herself? She died while in their service; what more do they need?

"Ruwee," Jobal calls quietly. "Come."

I look at her and my heart breaks just a little more. She appears so frail, pale skin stretched tightly across bone. She has barely eaten since we received the news and I secretly fear she is wasting away deliberately, hoping for a reunion with her youngest daughter.

My breath hitches as I steel myself for the moment I never could quite imagine... yet always feared. Somehow, I find the strength to walk to the open casket and peer at the empty shell that remains of my daughter.

She looks so peaceful, lovingly prepared for this final appearance. I can see that Sola took the time to thread a handful of her favorite white flowers through her hair. Padmé would have liked that touch, but then again - her older sister always did seem to know what made her happy.

The gown the Queen has chosen for her to wear is embroidered with crystals and I notice the way the light catches them and leaves the garment sparkling. The style itself does nothing to hide the pregnant swell of her belly, but I do not dwell on that fact. That is an entirely separate faction of grief I simply cannot handle today. Perhaps not ever.

"They will come for her in a few minutes," Jobal solemnly adds.

As if I could have forgotten.

I nod and she exits the room, feet shuffling as if she has aged twenty years in the past week. The heavy door closes behind her and at long last, I am alone with my baby.

My arms are shaking as I take the precious bundle from Jobal's arms. The soft blankets brush my fingertips as I ease them away from the face of my newborn daughter. Her tiny eyes squint up at me, still unaccustomed to the brightness of her new world. I daresay if she could talk, she would be complaining about today's turn of events.

She yawns and ruby red lips form a perfect circle before they relax again. She has the softest hair encompassing the top of her head and I wind a thin strand around my pinky finger. It is already curly and unruly, but I'm sure she will learn to tame it.

Yes, I have a feeling this little one will be able to conquer just about anything that happens to fall in her path.

She screws up her face and mewls softly, the sound shattering my heart for a moment. I find I never want her to be sad or wistful or need anything I cannot give her. Thank the Gods above; I have indeed been blessed with two strong daughters. Smiling proudly, I hand her back to her mother and laugh quietly.

"I think she is hungry," I comment.

"Of course she is," Jobal replies, laughing softly. "She is her father's daughter."

"This isn't the way it was supposed to happen," I whisper. I reach out a hand and touch her cheek, but snatch it back when I feel how cold she is. I rub my hands together briskly and lay one on her forehead, pretending the warmth I generated is coming from her. "Parents are not meant to bury their children."

From far away, I can hear the holy bells begin to ring. I know the ritual: one chime for every year our Padmé graced us with her extraordinary spirit. I pause and listen as each solemn strike echoes the beats of my heart. I count them off in my head and when they cease, I grip the sides of the casket, shaken by the brevity of the melody.

"It is far too short," I murmur. The bells should have gone on for hours, celebrating a long and happy life. She was meant to embrace death as a woman with silver hair and a face lined with wrinkles – not with hair the color of dark chestnuts, belly ripe with the promise of a new beginning.

The bells are nearly at the end of their tribute and I shift uncomfortably, the long spell in the damp air causing my knees to ache.

"Grandmother had a wonderful life, didn't she?" Padmé asks, breaking into my reverie. Under the formal make-up, her young face appears peaceful, if a bit sad.

"She certainly did," I reply.

"I hope she knew how much I loved her."

"Of course she knew," I promise earnestly. "You and your sister were her greatest joys."

Padmé turns to me and in that instant, she looks like the 14-year old girl she is, instead of the regal Queen I am so used to seeing now. "I wish people could live forever."

"So do I, sweetheart. So do I."

She clears her throat and assumes what I teasingly call 'her royal face.' "I believe I shall be the first."

It takes me a moment to figure out what she means. "The first to live forever?"

"Yes. Thus far, it appears I'm doing well." She winks playfully, using her fan to shield her face from the crowd waiting below.

I see what she is doing now... how she is trying to lighten my spirits. Despite the loss I continue to feel, I smile in amazement at the selfless young woman my daughter has become. "I have no doubt that if there is a way, you will find it."

"Yes, I believe I will," she murmurs. "After all, I am my father's daughter." Another hidden grin and she is whisked out of the room, surrounded by loyal handmaidens.

I can hear the guards beginning to move in the outer chamber. Our time together is drawing to a close and I cast about for something to do, some way to ignore the inevitable.

My eyes fall on the odd amulet she is clutching and I see it has slipped a bit from her hold. I do not know why, but she has always had a particular affinity for that primitive piece of jewelry. I was not at all surprised to find that she had it with her when she… passed.

Carefully, I straighten the leather cord and secure it tightly so it will not move again. I find comfort, however fleeting, in the thought that it will remain with her for eternity. I know she would have wanted it that way.

"Thank you for the invitation to this evening's event, Senator. We are humbled by your kindness," I offer, bowing deeply.

She blushes a bright red, matching the crimson color of her gown. "Dad, stand up," she hisses.

I wink and move in for an embrace, relieved to have her safe in my arms even if it is only for an instant. We have not seen her in six standard months and my worry was starting to become unbearable. "It's good to see you, my darling daughter."

"I am so glad you could come. It has been far too long." Her eyes suddenly seem to land on something over my shoulder and her expression softens even more. I turn instinctively, but all I see is a black cloak disappearing up an elegant stairwell. "It has been far too long for a lot of things," she sighs.

Sola seems to understand the awkward moment and squeezes Padmé's hand reassuringly. "You look radiant, little sister."

"So do you, big sister," she responds lightly. "How are the girls? And Darred?"

Sola's smile practically lights up the room with its brilliance as it always does when someone asks after her beloved family. "They are wonderful. They miss you desperately, of course."

Padmé nods and suddenly looks very small and alone. "I miss them too. As soon as the war is over, I promise to come to Naboo for a nice, lengthy break."

Jobal beams at the news. "We will hold you to that."

"No need, I plan to hold myself to that! In the meantime, however, I suggest we enjoy the time we have and join the festivities." She leans forward to adjust the skirts of her voluminous gown and a necklace falls free of its hiding place in the interior of her dress.

"Now, Senator, what is this?" Sola inquires, fingering the carving.

"It is a gift from someone very dear to me," Padmé replies, tucking it back into her gown.

"And you're wearing it to one of the most formal events in the Galaxy?" she continues, aghast by what I guess is an apparent transgression against fashion.

"It brings me good fortune. That is a suitable enough reason for me."

"That sounds like your reasoning, my impossible husband." Jobal reaches up and pats my cheek lightly, erasing my automatic scowl.

"Well, you do always say she is her father's daughter," Sola giggles.

I didn't know it at the time, but it would be the last evening the four of us were together.

The door swings open on creaky hinges, and I realize it is time. I must now say good-bye to one of the brightest things in my life. Once these final words are expelled from my mouth, they will take her from me and load her into the funerary carriage. And then my long darkness will truly begin.

"Good-bye, sweetheart," I whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead. My voice breaks on the next words, but I force them out. "My brave, beautiful daughter, your eternal rest begins now."

On cue, a dozen royal guardsmen enter the chamber and take her away. I fall to my knees, the cloak forming a protective barrier between the biting stone and my skin. Padmé's final gift, perhaps? The thought soothes me and I consider throwing centuries of tradition to the wind. What better way to pay tribute to my daughter than to surround myself with this reminder of her love for me? I have done everything the people of Naboo have ever asked - why shouldn't I be allowed to ignore duty, just this once?

I rise and move forward, but am unable to take that final step across the threshold of the entryway. Finally, I sigh and remove the beloved cloak, draping it over the nearest bench. Yes, I will uphold this final tradition...

...because I know she would have done the same if the situation were reversed.

She was, after all, her father's daughter.

-FIN-