Author's notes: It's been a long wait, sorry about that. I've been itching to get some work done on my ongoing fics, especially this one, so now that I have little time on my hands I've pounced on Word to try and make the most of it. Can't guarantee the next update though, since these chapters do take a while to write (I'm never happy with the structure nor the content so this one has been rewritten a couple of times). Thanks a lot to those who read, and don't forget to leave a review! Love those. Do feel free to point out what's wrong with the chapter because there are few things I feel I could still improve ... argh, will never be free of editting!
Hugs to Chris, a little birdie and anon for your reviews!
25.5 Edit: Fixed the whole "he looked up, she looked down, she looked up, he looked down" messiness in the last part. Awkward exchanges somehow insist on coming out awkwardly written.
Music: Telling Ghosts (Puscifer), White Swan (Lolly Jane Blue), Cancao do Mar (Dulce Pontes) among other things.
•2•
"And the Queen wasn't more specific than that?"
"Well I guess that's how people will be referring to you from now on, master."
"What, individual plus obnoxious appendix?"
"Come on, master. It's not like I've ever been a thorn in your side."
"Yes, in the mightily telling 2 weeks we've been together." Obi-wan rolled his eyes, though his expression seemed to be forgiving. He looked down at his apprentice, affording him one of those empty grins. "You are right, though. For now."
The sumptuously dressed herald glanced down at them, his expression utterly blank. It seemed it was a fashion for royal servants to have more life in their wardrobes than in their faces – and not only the servants, judging by Padmé's attitude the night before. Anakin had to jog a little to keep up as they strode down the high corridor, leather boots squeaking softly on the polished marble floor. From his short height he had to strain his neck to look up at his master's face; he'd never had the occasion of seeing a true outbreak of undiluted expression there. Everything seemed to be dampened with a sort of stress, a darkness that made that otherwise boyish face somehow gaunt and tired; the blue eyes were like troubled water, unsettled, colourless. Even before Qui-gon's… he had never seen this man behaving naturally, unrestrained by whatever it was that haunted him. Or maybe it was just that he'd never seen such a serious and cynical human being, and couldn't believe it was the man's normal personality. He did prefer to believe it was a changeable condition, though.
They came to a great circular hall with tall stained-glass windows on either side, the sunlight throwing jagged fragments of colour across the floor. There were gigantic doors in front of them, bronze tendrils hugging the borders and giving the effect of shining, metallic lace- the doors themselves were intricately carved with inlays of opaline gems and nacre. It gave the impression of a humungous, metallic tapestry, utterly immovable; but if you looked carefully you could notice the lines describing the smaller double doors that permitted entrance.
Anakin's jaw practically dislocated. Just one of those luscious milky gems could win him Watto's entire business, slaves, and family while he was at it. He hadn't had the occasion to bring up the subject yet, but one day... The only thing he could've accused Qui-gon of doing wrong was not making as much effort for his mother's freedom; there had to be something they could've done. He knew he shouldn't be glancing over his shoulder like that but how could he help himself? It had hardly even been a couple of weeks.
My place is here, his mother had told him. Don't look back. But somehow he could sense that neither him nor his mother really wanted to heed that advice.
Obi-wan was looking down at him, at the boy whose expression was rapidly moving from baffled to coolly calculating as he stared at the sprawling riches above them. He could feel the boy's longing through the Force, feel the incredible soreness; there was a sense of loss, too, but it was coupled with determination to set things right. Something that he could hardly hope to do – Death was too formidable an obstacle. Neither of them could afford to dwell on those things if they wanted to spiritually evolve, as the Code said – but to him they seemed almost stranded here, under no one's watchful eye. Perhaps it was best to let certain things lose, that they might not poison you by staying inside you like a rotting tumor.
Still, this was not the time. He awkwardly touched a hand to his padawan's shoulder, who jolted back to attention, reordering his facial features into one of those glaringly innocent, 'I wasn't thinking about anything forbidden' faces – the herald knocked on the double doors, and they were admitted into the Queen's luxurious nest.
White lace adorning every window; polished mahogany everywhere they looked, making the atmosphere warm and almost homely; gold encroaching upon every surface, running down table legs, coiling and writhing along the sprawling royal bed, dripping from the very ceiling in the form of chandeliers, where foggy crystals hung as big as Kaadu eggs.
Neither of the two humble, unadorned Jedi would have believed that what the Queen was wearing was a simple undergarment. The robe hugged her lithe form intimately, lush cream with startling crimson depictions of flowers all around her torso. Her hair was pulled back and elaborately twisted, stuck through with silver hairpins that sent tumbling a thousand precious red stones. The only thing that struck them as odd was that her lips were wearing the customary blood red line, enhancing her face and giving her authority – but without the white, it made her look very... well, more womanly than distant and otherworldly. It gave the impression that she was halfway between their brave-yet-scrawny young friend and their sacred, foreign Queen.
Anakin would've forgotten to bow, had Obi-wan not giving him an absolutely inconspicuous foot-stomping.
"The Jedi," the herald announced them rather laconically, before retiring and pulling the doors shut behind him.
"Your Majesty."
Anakin glanced up at Obi-wan, furtively echoing the words. This – wasn't this just Padmé? It felt stupid to be bending to protocol when they'd been through thick and thin together. He kept his eyes on Padmé's face as he bowed at the waist, grinning as though they were conspirators in this great joke that was royalty. But Padmé's face, to his surprise, hardly even twitched in response.
"Good morning, gentlemen."
It was strange, how she'd deliberately change her accent to appear more severe. She had the same accent as Obi-wan in those moments, and it made her entire persona seem to shrink into the same drab seriousness. Anakin cracked his knuckles absently behind his back, thinking about how he'd love to shake her out of it.
Two orange-clad, hooded handmaidens came to usher them to the divans that surrounded the low breakfast table, where the Queen was reclining, leaning on one elbow. Anakin noticed that his master was looking at her with a strange intensity, and he was swallowed in an intolerable curiosity regarding what the man thought of her. Perhaps it was best that words could not yet pass between them through their Force bond – though Anakin did not know what an 'odalisque' was, the simple strain and hastily squashed delight would betray whatever Obi-wan might try to think to blot out first impressions.
All speculation was swept away once they were seated, however; Obi-wan let his eyes glaze over into that haughty official look and gave her a cool, impersonal smile, which she returned. Anakin was at a loss; why were there sudden formalities, damn it? He wondered if Padmé would mind him speaking up and saying how good it was to see her; the atmosphere was so strange. There was this unnatural weight of being careful about what you did, what you said; Anakin found himself physically relaxing his shoulders. He'd never been careful, not with clients, not even with people who had owned him and were at liberty to punish him had he put a toe out of line. Oh, to hell with it. She was just a temporary Queen; it wasn't like she would have him whipped for trying to be friendly. And he could bet that he'd had more whippings than these two put together.
He found himself giving Padmé a wide grin as if it was the easiest and most natural thing in the world. "It's great to see you again."
Her eyes passed over him briefly, and though he swore they softened a little, he couldn't help wincing. So much for friendly.
"I can't even begin to express how it warms my heart to see you both again," she began, not sounding like herself, neither in the words nor in the accent. "I wanted to discuss some urgent matters of state with you, before I take them up with my personal council – but before that, it would please me to hear your own plans, and how you find my city. There hasn't been much time for talk, what with all the recent happenings." She leaned forward a little, sweeping her slender calves down from the divan so that she could reach for one of the silver carafes. "Please, help yourselves." She looked up at Anakin, smiling at him at last. "I had this brought specially for you – our sweetest Voorpak milk. It takes a bundle of them – they're tiny creatures – to be able to produce a single jar of milk, which is why it's so expensive. To be honest I don't feel right drinking such luxuries. Here."
Her accent was ebbing a little as she poured; she was gabbling. Anakin grinned at her again (he couldn't seem to wipe the smile off, really; it just varied in width). "Because you think I'd feel right drinking it?"
"I think you've earned it more than I have," Padmé said, tone lowering as she looked at Anakin with that conspiratorial air he'd wanted to see earlier.
Obi-wan glanced discreetly at her hands; they were trembling. "I have to disagree," he intervened, "You're the one who ultimately led us to victory, the one who's had the greatest of honours bestowed upon you."
"Not yet," she corrected him smoothly. She seemed to find it easier to slip back into the formal, distant Queen with the recently dubbed Knight. "I'm not yet a true dynastic Queen. And I also disagree, when you say that my honours are greater than those of a sla- " I'm a human being, he'd practically shouted." – of an unfortunate boy who is accepted into the greatest spiritual order in the galaxy."
"There are orders of greatness," Obi-wan replied, "There are many Jedi upon whom the same honours are bestowed. There is only one Queen of Naboo."
She stared at him blankly before remembering to smile politely. "Empty flatteries, sir. I've not yet accepted."
There was an awkward silence as they each helped themselves to the strange fruit and sugar-coated pastries that covered the table, broken hastily by Anakin's "hmmm" of delectation as he gulped down the milk. Padmé nodded his way, apparently not noticing that she was wringing her hands.
"So tell me," she said, and there ensued a long discussion about the war and the country in general, the tone awkward and formal at first before melting steadily into something much more convivial. Anakin couldn't see why she'd forced herself to put on the glittering veil of power, the barrier of superiority in the beginning; perhaps she was unsure of herself, of how to behave with them now that the war was over. He didn't really realize it seeing as he held her in such high esteem, but she was only slightly older than he was – and even those who have the greatest of intellects can become socially awkward. With the face of a Queen, it was easier to pretend to be sure of yourself.
At last there came a loophole in the conversation that enabled them to get back on their feet and commence discussing the matter at hand.
"I wanted to consult with members of the Jedi Order," Padmé said, leaning in and looking up at the Knight facing her as she spoke, "primarily, because I wanted to talk about this with people who I know will not be trying to influence me for their own interests. And, of course, because I know I can trust you to be absolutely impersonal as well as accurate in any advice you might give, as you are but an ambassador here now that the fighting is over."
Anakin's gaze flipped over to Obi-wan, who nodded once with an affirmative smile, effortlessly holding the Queen's gaze. It hadn't really been a question, rather a statement that needed confirmation.
"That is indeed a wise decision."
Why did it always sound like he was playacting? Anakin's eyes flipped back to Padmé again, neck twisting comically, mouth open.
"I had thought to keep my role in the Intergalactic Senate as senator once my term was up. But you heard what they were saying at the banquet yesterday. All they're waiting for is for me to tell them I accept, and things will be made public." She shook her head. "I know Jedi are mostly fierce Republicans, so you probably won't agree with the idea of traditional monarchy. And restoring the notion of heritage annihilates all democratic aspect. But I intend to keep my status if I do accept – that is, I intend to rescind all those ridiculous privileges that come with traditional royalty."
"Why?" The word dropped onto her bold monologue like a feather on lurching waves. She looked up at the Knight, having lost her gaze somewhere as she spoke.
"Misery affects the modern man differently than in ancient times, perhaps," she said slowly, "I consider myself too close to my people to even consider putting myself at an even greater advantage than I already am. Ruling, even traditionally, can be done justly – and I will see to it."
"For now," the knight said calmly, looking at her with something akin to mischief – or was it irony? – in his eyes. "Not all privileges are unhelpful. I daresay royalty needs the edge that you would find unjust, in order to keep both the power to act, and a semblance of it. Not to mention, you will not rule alone for long."
Padmé's eyes darkened, though her lips stretched into a smile. "And here I thought I would receive some different, more learned advice," she said with a titillating, absolutely false laugh, "Is this all I can get? Even from the wisest, a warning of how I will be utterly powerless once a man comes along and takes up space in the throne room?"
"You will only be powerless if you let yourself," Obi-wan replied.
"And I won't," Padmé shot back stubbornly. "I don't think I even could let myself. It is a rare man that is solid enough to lean upon."
"Perhaps it is not you who will be doing the leaning."
The Queen visibly bristled up this time. "Excuse me, sir, I hadn't the notion that my apparent lack of willpower was an obvious and accepted fact in this conversation."
"I'm not aware of your plans, nor of your life before the war," Obi-wan said smoothly, "But to so readily plunge headfirst into the wild pursuit of ancient tradition while discarding plans that you'd willingly committed yourself to does not appear to me as a show of faithful, unbending will."
"You would call my behaviour erratic?" the Queen exclaimed. "I've only ever done what's best for my people – nothing is set in stone! We cannot pursue the same path when so much change has been made. I know I may seem a child to you, with many wild fancies as you so put it. Permit me to say, I am not."
"Permit me in return," Obi-wan said coldly, all friendly expression gone. "To abandon one path because it has become unfriendly, or because you deem it to have become inappropriate, is a mistake. You had your reasons to stick to that path before. Remind yourself of them."
Padmé lowered her chin, looking at the knight from beneath her knotted brow. Anakin couldn't remember the last time he'd taken a breath; he watched them, heart beating faster and faster.
"It is not because you cling so blindly to your own path even after the silence has settled, that I must cling to mine."
Obi-wan stood up, so suddenly Anakin jumped.
"How dare you," he hissed.
"Master- " Anakin's voice was trembling, and far too quiet for either of the two to even acknowledge him.
"Forgive me sir, if you had not been used to people responding when you pleasure yourself by drawing up their faults and exaggerating them tenfold."
"I fail to see why I would indulge in such behaviour. I was not trying to offend you. But I will certainly not sit by and listen to a little girl pleasuring herself with fanciful delusions of grandeur."
"A little girl!" Her voice was thin with rage. "Sir, I command you to sit down."
Their eyes bore into one another, him standing, her still seated.
"Sir." Her voice was a threat, brimming with controlled anger, or fright- it was hard to tell.
He obliged.
They sat there for a while, stung. Anakin could hardly believe his eyes or ears; he wondered what had happened. It had been pleasant in the beginning.
"I am sorry," Padmé said stiffly after a few uncomfortable seconds.
"I am sorry also," Obi-wan flung out carelessly. Neither of them meant it.
Padmé cleared her throat. "I will follow your advice. I will lean on no one, and make this decision alone. You are dismissed."
Anakin tried to smile at her as he followed his master's heels. He hoped nothing had been broken irremediably between them – but somehow, even though he hadn't fully understood why they'd each gotten so angry, he had a feeling they'd still wounded each other. What he didn't understand was how proud they each were, and how very fragile his master's state of mind was after all that had happened. It didn't seem possible for a Jedi knight to lose it – neither did it seem right for such a gentle Queen.
One thing was certain – it had not been impersonal, and it had been far from accurate. All that was left was to wait for the Queen to make a statement… and then their time here would be up. They'd have to appear before the Council to report. That was bound to be fun, Anakin thought wryly as he jogged to catch up with his master's long, angry strides.
• • •
Seeing how exceptional the situation was, there were endless formal meetings to be had with heads of state, the Queen's council and of course the different heads of political parties that had sprouted throughout Naboo. If she accepted to keep her position, she knew she wouldn't be able to have a single meal in private for a long time, which was pretty tragic, seeing the mess she'd made of the last one. Padmé was still reeling after that nauseating breakfast – nauseating, because she knew she'd acted the complete fool, speaking back like an offended child just because she couldn't yet control her own sensitivity on the issue of plunging herself body and soul into the role of Queen. It was all so terribly tied up with her own self-respect and pride and, Gods help her, she hadn't yet gone through all the hormonal changes that awaited her when she'd finally become a woman, either. She was not giving in to self-pity and excuses; it was just…
She sighed as Sabé stuck little luminescent sequins along her cheekbones. It was hard. Hard to shake off the feeling that this was a dream about to collapse; hard to think of everything; hard to stop feeling like she was forgetting half her responsibilities meanwhile.
"Remind me who the special guest of honour is this time?" she asked her handmaiden a little ironically. Sabé smiled as she readjusted the complicated headdress and its many tumbling decorations.
"You'll be having lunch with the winner of the global elections," Sabé said, "Princess Jamillia of the Southern cities. She's Princess of Edin Vale, and I believe it's part of the Conclave."
Padmé looked up at her handmaiden in surprise. "The Conclave? You mean the last state where the Brotherhood still holds sway?"
"I believe so."
Padmé had thought she would never hear an end of the Brotherhood's criticism of her reign. When she had come into power she had rendered illegal all acts of religious intolerance, forcing all religions throughout Naboo to have equal rights when it came to the rights of the faithful, but also the extent of power that the organizations themselves had. The Brotherhood of Cognizance had been weighing heavily on the educational branch of the government, wishing to restore its former glory as dominant religion of Naboo along with its philosophies and spiritual lifestyle – stamping out all such influences had been one of the first things she'd done as Queen, before her attention had been completely swallowed by the Trade Federation.
She got up and put her arms out so that Sabé could click into place the ornamental corset around her waist, and another around her throat, aureate lace encaging the green fabric of her dress.
"If I allowed myself to swear, I would," Padmé sighed, to which her handmaiden laughed fondly.
"You can, mistress, it's only me."
"Still, this is all too soon – we haven't had the time to see what faith held sway at Jafan's time, under which Gods the kings of old were consecrated. And I'm sure the mere possibility of being shut out from the main seat of power for an entire generation isn't going to appeal to them either." The little Queen tried to fill her lungs with air to see how much the corset restricted her, before dropping her hands to her waist, arms bent so that the green and gold patterns on her trailing sleeves could fan out. She turned to the mirror: eyes crowned with golden glitter and underlined by twinkling red gems stared back at her. "It was probably the Brotherhood in those days, wasn't it?" she mused. "Tyrannical fodder."
"Perhaps you don't have to apply the old consecration to the letter," Sabé suggested gently, "After all, things are very different now."
"We'll see."
• • •
The blast of ceremonial drums quieted the assembly as the Queen made her entrance. It was a slow rhythm, frighteningly regal, and even Obi-wan felt chills creeping up his forearms upon seeing the small figure in her gold adornments surrounded by handmaidens, Council, and guards wearing the traditional crest and floating, translucent cloak of the Royal Guard. They penetrated the assembly room through the great wooden doors, and as the Queen took her seat at the great round table (the usual arrangement of tables was set that way for formal occasions) the drummers and guards spaced out by the wall. Many guests were clapping, some even whistling at her entrance; Obi-wan frowned at such an effusive display of affection and acceptance. And he certainly wasn't the only one.
"My friends," the Queen said before sitting down, opening her arms to them all with a smile, "Thank you."
And it began.
Pleasantries were exchanged to set the mood, before the highly decorated woman who sat directly in front of the Queen on the other side of the circle spoke up. She was flanked by two men wearing purple robes, large silver circles painted on their foreheads.
Everyone watched her curiously as she made her formal greeting as an opening to her speech. Obi-wan couldn't help glancing at the Queen every now and then to see her reaction – and to see whether or not she'd deign to look at him at all. He almost felt like Anakin, harbouring this ridiculous hope that the prestigious character would look at him while she was engaged in far more serious matters – except he wanted to see if she was uneasy, if she would show signs of regret or embarrassment even in public, knowing that the man she'd so heinously insulted was staring right at her, taking in her every word. He shouldn't feel so bitter about something she hadn't really meant; all that should've remained from that morning was the exchange about her decisions as a monarch. But even as he gazed at her, waiting for her to see him, he felt his chest tightening, heavy with reluctance at even the slightest contact between them. They had behaved like children - it wouldn't do to jealously hold onto such a pitiful grudge.
He told himself that, over and over, as he tried to orientate his thoughts towards her politics again. He still thought she was behaving rashly, hoping to fulfill a long-lost dream of the people rather than what was right for the future of the planet itself. But the more he feasted his eyes on her impossibly decorated figure, the more the tricks of gold and riches began to play on his mind when it came to that aspect of her. She certainly looked the part. And she had such determination…
"My sister," the Princess was saying with a smile, her bold voice carrying over the mutterings of the guests, "It warms my heart to see a citizen so acclaimed by the people, offered this chance to stir the memory of glory in people's hearts. It is a proposal that many a King and Queen has dreamed of receiving, and one can only prostrate oneself before the woman who is deemed capable of fulfilling such expectations." She took a breath as everyone anticipated her 'but'.
"My sister," the Queen smiled at her, bowing her head in thanks.
Jamillia returned her smile before pursuing, nacred headdress reflecting the deep gold of the Queen's garb. "Having received the highest statistics during the elections before any question of my sister's life-long supremacy had arisen, I could therefore be seen as her successor, should she turn down the proposal. I wish to make clear my intentions, and ask her plan of action, if she does take up the task."
"Hear, hear," several of the guests were saying as she finished, raising their goblets. There were several drumbeats as the servants bearing the first course came in.
Being only a seat away from the purple-robed man at Jamillia's side, Obi-wan was interrupted in his thoughts as the man leaned forward to catch his attention while there was a general relaxation in the conversation. Not recognizing his function, Obi-wan smiled politely.
"And how fares our noble brother in wisdom?" the man asked in an oily drawl.
"Forgive my ignorance," Obi-wan started, "I'm not completely familiar with all the Orders of Naboo."
"Not to worry," the flabby man smiled, "I am a humble representative of the Brotherhood of Cognizance. We were once the greatest Order of philosophy and religion on Naboo; our archives even rival that of the Royal Palace."
And now you seek to return to power, Obi-wan guessed. The power-hungry faithful were to be found decidedly everywhere – and it didn't surprise him that an Order rose up so soon upon the possibility of consecration.
"I see," the Knight replied, looking up as Jamillia started speaking again.
"Queen Amidala is frightfully radical when it comes to religion," the Brother went on with a huff of laughter, "I daresay I'm surprised she accepted help from the Jedi Order at all during the war, and that she accepts your presence at her table."
"Well, she clearly accepts yours," Obi-wan replied, "And our Order has never had any reason to quarrel with the head of Naboo." Not until recently, anyway. But he was only man, it could hardly be of any consequence.
"How we envy you," the Brother said, "An Order so implanted in the Galactic government can only be looked upon with great admiration by other, smaller organizations who dream of such influence."
"Our goal is not power," Obi-wan said, glancing over at the man with a frown. He was starting to understand the character a little too well. "We bring more military assistance than political."
"Of course," the Brother smiled again, "If we were all warriors as well as monks, popularity wouldn't be a problem! But, pacifism can be interpreted in many different ways."
Obi-wan stared at the man; even in polite conversation it seemed the Brother had no talent in keeping his opinions to himself, as if he was giddy with the fact that he was actually being listened to and taken into consideration. The Knight smiled at him politely before turning to the exchange between Queen and Princess.
"…being familiar with the history of the old dynasties, my sister must realize that to accept royalty, she must renew the broken ties between herself and the Brotherhood, and restore the old faith. Of course, if she wants to keep true to the old tradition, she must do this."
The Queen looked like she was trying very hard not to interrupt her 'sister'. Upon Jamillia's silence, she spoke up, getting to her feet slowly in the process.
"If the people would have elected you new ruler, I know I must take into account the fact that many wished to restore a single faith to the Naboo peoples. I knew of your program during the elections, and to be quite honest, I was surprised that the people expressed a desire to see religion become a greater part of government, seeing as I have never known any serious protestation against the acts I passed."
Obi-wan was gazing at her as she spoke; everyone had kept up muttered conversations while Jamillia spoke, but when the Queen opened her mouth everyone seemed to shut up and withdraw into admiration and reverence. Perhaps it was only protocol, but it was still strange to see a little girl commanding such an eclectic assembly; clearly she had many enemies around the table.
Perhaps he should simply stop thinking of her as a little girl.
"In all truth, your Majesty - " the Brother Obi-wan had been speaking to began, daring to stand up –
"To whom do I speak?" the Queen interrupted him smoothly, stamping down her authority straight away as the man smiled.
"I am Pontifex Maxiron Agolerga, your Majesty, supreme head of my Order, the Brotherhood of Cognizance. If I may - "
"I had no knowledge that there was a new Pontifex," the Queen spoke up again, "Though critical of my reign, your predecessor kept himself well in line, and did not disturb either my elections or my reign with requests of power."
"Power is not- " The man had hardly opened his mouth that she went on, effectively crushing him; "I am well aware of what the Brotherhood wants. And the fact that my sister supports your cause does not stop me from approving of her intentions. She is the worthiest successor any Queen could possibly hope for. I simply believe that, if the people want more emphasis on religion, the Brotherhood does not have to be the only solution to that wish."
Mutterings rose again as the Pontifex deliberately failed to repress an expression of amusement, as if he thought the Queen's words completely immature.
"Your Majesty, according to the history of our sacred Order- " he started, upon which the Queen violently lifted a hand.
"You may sit, sir."
Obi-wan tried hard not to smile as he watched the emasculated Pontifex sit back down, visibly grumbling to himself. The girl was getting good at this… not that she had practiced on him, or anything.
"Perhaps your Majesty should listen to what he has to say," Lufta Shif told the Queen discreetly amidst the noise that had risen.
"I will not risk handing power over my government to an Order that would impose its religion on my people," the Queen protested, having to raise her voice over the protestations of the two purple-clad Brothers and a few other guests who rose to their feet, "I know it would not seem so now, but any monarch who accepts to give too much political power to one single religion is a fool."
"Majesty!" the Brothers thundered indignantly – suddenly a man of a different garb rose to his feet, the symbols adorning his strangely cut robe hinting at his position as a religious man.
"As representative of the Order of Shiraya, I believe I can speak for us minor religious communities," he began loudly, overriding the rest. "I say 'minor', but we have numbers and moral growth that the Brotherhood no longer has." Practically everyone was on their feet then, half of them supporting him, half protesting. "We are adaptable to the seasons and monarchs," he went on. "We place importance not on the power we wield, but on the knowledge we keep, and its distribution."
"Pray tell, sir," retorted one Brother, "How may this distribution be done if your organization has no weight?"
"Governmental power should not become a higher goal than the simple quest of spirituality," the man shot back, "We offer knowledge freely to those who understand this. We do not need power to uphold our faith, and that is how it should be if the government and our own faith are to stay the least corrupted."
Upon hearing this, Obi-wan felt an absurd urge to take a part in the debate – as always upon finding himself in such heated discussions he couldn't seem to control his ego, pumped up by adrenaline and idealism as it was. He stood up.
"As representative of the Jedi Order, I will gladly give your statement weight, sir," he smiled as almost all the faces turned to him. "Even when political power comes to lean on certain religious Orders, it is our duty to uphold freedom of opinion. While our council is very much requested in the Galactic Senate, we prefer objectivity to religiously biased solutions. We choose not to force our beliefs onto those who lean on us both militarily and politically. Any other course of action when in a position of power such as this would simply spell religious tyranny, and eventually obscurantism."
"Obscurantism- you go too far- " several voices shouted, but the Queen raised a hand again, and silence gnawed away at the heated debate until everyone was looking up at her. Obi-wan, the Shirayan priest, and the Princess were still standing.
"Thank you, gentlemen," Queen Amidala smiled at them rather forcedly, and both representatives smiled back at her as she bid them sit down. Her facepaint remained intact, but Obi-wan could still tell that she was shaken, though she did have a certain triumphant glow about her. Her sleeves covered her fingers as she brought her arms out in a gesture of peace. "You all harbour noble ideas that deserve to be taken into consideration. I will not say that my own ideas upon becoming Queen would be inflexible as the reign endured. I wish only to make my intentions clear."
"Then you seriously believe you will take this position on?" Jamillia spoke up.
"I have seriously considered it, yes," Amidala replied, sitting back down and inciting the Princess to do the same. "And the problem of accepting is not only of a religious order, though that aspect holds great importance."
"Then what other aspects are there?" Jamillia asked, all sweetness and curiosity now that her companions had embarrassed her by positively attacking her Queen.
"Well, the problem of being a woman, for one," Amidala smiled at her rather cheekily, to which most of the guests laughed, the tension having been slightly diffused. "I'm not sure you would all agree to a matriarchy. The notion of alliance with another planet is to take into account, as well as the changes in the general governing of Naboo. Of course," she added as she started spearing at her food, "we may take a break and talk about the weather for a while to soothe our egos."
• • •
It had been a very, very long lunch. Obi-wan wanted only one thing- to go sit in the Royal gardens and meditate until nothing existed in his mind but silence and the most primitive human consciousness. But he had been surprised by how logical the Queen had been all throughout the different debates, and at how much he actually agreed with her on most subjects. He knew she was clever, but, well… there remained the problem of having underestimated her, and the problem of this morning. There was no way he'd leave that hanging a second longer.
He tried to catch up with her once the lunch was over (it was practically time for dinner), walking briskly on the edges of her escort with several other men who were shouting to have her attention; she was talking to the Shirayan priest, who had managed to squeeze in beside her. Once they parted with a smile and a gaze that lasted too long for there not to have been some sort of agreement between them, she looked over the heads of her maidens to see who else required a private audience – and nodded once at Obi-wan as he half-jogged to keep up the pace.
"The rest can go," she said to the captain of her guard, who immediately gathered his men to block the way and scatter the other officials. He shouldn't have felt priviledged - but then again he hadn't thought she'd want to see him at all, so this was a hopeful development.
They were walking towards her chambers, him waiting for her to break the ice, maidens coming forwards to open the doors along the way through the wide corridors.
"I have to say, I was surprised at your enthusiasm back there," she said without looking at him. "According to Qui-Gon, politics were never really your thing."
"He said that about me, did he?" Obi-wan smiled, ignoring the sting that always came upon hearing his master's name. "Did he tell you that when you were a handmaiden or when you were a Queen?"
Amidala glanced up at him, and he was relieved to see her playful expression. "If you're implying that I had to squash any amount of intelligence or interest in politics I might possess when playing the handmaiden, you're wrong. I don't pick them for their looks you know."
"Oh, don't you?"
"You should say that a little louder," the Queen smiled, "To be honest, I think they'd be more offended than flattered."
"If beauty can be used to obtain such power as you were wielding in there, I don't think you should think so lowly of it," Obi-wan retorted. The Queen looked up at him again with something between shyness and curiosity in her gaze.
"Was that a compliment, master Jedi?"
"Of course not," Obi-wan railed her, "You should be hitting me for implying that beauty more than logic won you the politicians' approval."
The girl seemed to think on this, before saying, "You're right," and slapping him across the back of the head, completely surprising him – he hadn't thought she'd do it, what with the silly awkwardness of their exchange.
"Ow!"
"Oh please, you could do a million times worse without even raising a finger," the Queen laughed, "But when given the opportunity, I won't spit on the freedom to chastise you great warriors as I see fit."
"Speaking of which," Obi-wan started somewhat slowly, absently rubbing the back of his head and wondering whether he should be the one apologizing, or her. It was a frightful muddle, so he went ahead, not quite sincerely - but it had to be said. "I believe I owe you an apology-"
"No you don't," the Queen interrupted him; they had arrived the doors to her chambers, and her handmaidens were dispersing. Sabé remained to open the door for them, and just as Obi-wan was slowing to a stop, the Queen turned to usher him in with an urgent gaze and a wave of a many-ringed hand.
Startled at such an intimate request, the Knight picked up his feet uncertainly and followed her inside. They strode across the first half of the room where they'd had breakfast; Obi-wan stopped in the archway that lead to the Queen's bedroom as she followed Sabé in.
"No need to be intimidated," Amidala said without turning, having sensed his discomfort, "I hardly have any time to myself in between meetings. I hope you don't mind."
"Mind?" Obi-wan's mind was whirring as the Queen lifted her arms, standing facing a great gilded mirror on the wall, and her handmaiden started flicking at the pressure buttons that kept her decorative corset together. "Uh… as long as you don't." What was he supposed to say? He smiled to himself at how boyish his reaction was. He couldn't even imagine what Anakin would say if he told him what intimacy the Queen had granted him.
The orange-clad handmaiden whipped back her sleeves in order to reach up to the headdress and carefully heave it up off of the Queen's head after pulling at several concealed buckles and strings. Amidala cracked her neck from side to side with an audible sigh of relief.
"Wipe the paint off," she commanded her handmaiden who complied straight away, fetching a little slip of sweet-smelling cloth and standing before her mistress, wiping one half away, then the other in two deft swipes.
It was almost strange to see Padmé's young face sitting atop a body swathed in so many riches. She had her eyes on her reflection as Sabé peeled away the heavy kimono, revealing a cream-coloured undergarment that was much closer to the girl's body, though the green and gold embroidery took away from the simplicity of its cut. Several green bands were wound tightly around her waist in a criss-crossing pattern, giving a sudden feminine curve to her otherwise boyishly skinny body.
Obi-wan wasn't even wondering how far this would go or what was the purpose of it all; he just looked on in mild wonder as she reached up to take several pins out of her elaborate hairstyle, shaking out the many twists and braids so that the chestnut curls came bouncing messily around her face. She nodded at Sabé, who retreated to stand with her back against the wall next to the mirror, head down, hands joint.
And then it was Padmé who turned to the Knight, eyes sparking with timid sincerity as she stepped towards him. He couldn't repress a slight grin at how curiously she was behaving, until she stopped in front of him within arm's reach.
"I wanted to do this properly," she started, and it seemed to take a great deal of willpower for her to meet his gaze. "Neither as handmaiden nor as Queen, just – me." He didn't think she realized how childish she sounded when she said that. But he didn't interrupt; there was something derangingly innocent about her, and it seemed to be squeezing uncomfortably at his chest. "I – I have trouble remembering who are my actual friends, and who is just using me. I had no right to judge you like that this morning - "
He had stopped smiling as he held her gaze. "I should be the one apologizing," he broke in, but she took another step forward, cutting him short.
"No," she said, looking away and taking a few seconds before continuing. "… I was unable to save several of the immigrants under my care during my time in the Refugee Relief Movement, so I had the arrogance of believing I knew what it was to lose someone dear to me." Her voice seemed almost gravelly with fatigue as she said this. And Obi-wan, well, he really didn't want to be hearing this. Not now – not when he had successfully spent the day with no dark thoughts.
"You don't need to justify yourself," he tried to say with as much authority as he could, but it came out strangely quiet, as if laden with emotion. Frowning at himself, he averted his gaze somewhat uncomfortably just as she looked up at him again.
"I do," she said almost pleadingly, "I do, Obi-wan. I don't want to be that grand woman who pretends to be above everything, who pretends she understands even though she hasn't lived through even a fraction of what you come in bearing on your shoulders. Who knows how deep the bond goes between master and pupil? Further than a girl's compassion – further than a Queen's mercy – further than even a mother's bond, even? How could I even try to define what you went through, having lost that?"
The way she was almost begging him to forgive her when he thought he already had seemed to affect him in a way he hadn't thought possible – the words grappled their way through him till they found the accusation that was still there, the offense, the hurt that she'd incensed this morning that he hadn't quite gotten over. And it was a monstrous thing, though he could hide it well enough when nobody confronted him with it directly. It fed on every reference made to the beloved dead; and the more people spoke of his master, however implicitly or directly, the more the monstrous thing broke through his self-control.
He could feel it building up in his throat and he didn't want it to be happening now, in front of her – or in front of anyone else for that matter. Gods, when had he started having so little control over his own emotions?
He realized he'd been staring at her steadily as he struggled against the swelling inside of him; he didn't know if she'd carried on speaking or not. Forcing a smile to somehow excuse himself, the Knight turned away slightly, cursing the heat that he could feel prickling over his eyes.
"I'm sorry for bringing it up to defend myself, it was a disgusting thing to do," Padmé was saying, "I know you probably don't want to talk about it right now - " Obi-wan afforded her a bitter scoff as he stepped away. " – but I wanted you to know, if you ever do want to talk about it while you're here, you can lean on me all you want. For as long as I knew him…" She drew breath sharply, checking herself. "No, we won't talk about him any further. What's said is said."
Once it started it was impossible to bring himself back to a normal, neutral state of mind if he wasn't alone to deal with it. He almost hated her for one bewildering moment for having brought his master up at all, but he dispelled the feeling as soon as it arose – turning his back on the girl, he placed a hand on the back of a divan and tried to control the surges that rocked up from his chest, struggling to get out. He had to – had to be able to control it. Scatter it into the Force. Even draw strength from it. But how could he do that? He hadn't learned. He hadn't had the time to learn…
Not a sound had been uttered by either of them as one stood stone still and the other bit her lip nervously. He heard a soft rustle of cloth and a tinkle of jewelry as she approached him; a small hand closed timidly around his arm.
"Whenever you want," she said, "I'll tell my guards."
"I don't want to be inappropriate," Obi-wan trusted himself to say – his voice hardly betrayed what he felt, though it was far too quiet.
"Obi-wan." He could hear a smile in her voice. "I'm still just a girl, you know. Do I really intimidate you that much?"
He turned around, then, and his smile was more sincere than it had ever been as he looked down at her.
"You do," he said, "And you should."
• • •