Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed! It's an enormous encouragement... and it's very much appreciated by me. I love to read your thoughts, so please keep it up! (It also helps to hear that there are people out there enjoying this. It makes me feel less like a lone super nerd... lol.)


CHAPTER THREE

Padme shut her eyes and let the music wash over her like a wave of warmth. The powerful but infinitely sweet voice of the famous opera diva rose and filled the vast dome of the opera house. The dome's design fueled the sound, building her voice until it crashed through the entire cavernous theater, finally being absorbed by the rich curtains and carpeting of the private boxes reserved for the wealthy and powerful. The design of the theater was exquisitely beautiful, full of flowing contours and silky fabrics. An enormous round stage sat in the center of the dome, with the orchestra pit arranged around it like a moat around a castle. The stage could be raised, and Padme had heard that it was common practice for the stage to be raised during the climax of each production. For now, it was nestled far below, and brilliantly illuminated by thousands of stage lights hung around the dome like a canopy of multi-colored stars.

Positioned as she was in one of the finest boxes in the theater, Padme had a perfect view. There was no one closer to the stage. A few tiers of private boxes rose up behind her, and behind that, a sea of single seats arranged in rows. The theater was about three quarters full, and the audience was silent. They seemed to be as enraptured with the performance as Padme was herself, although she was hard pressed to believe that they felt anything close to what she was experiencing.

Padme had almost backed down from this little "outing" when she left Vader's office to go home and get dressed. The haze of weariness and the piercing homesickness which had so drawn her to the thought of a Nubian opera faded a little more with each step away from his office, and she had made up her mind to politely refuse the invitation by the time she reached her apartment. But when she stepped inside, with only the dark and the quiet to greet her, Padme felt herself longing to go somewhere – anywhere – to escape the emptiness. The music of her lost world beckoned to her like the promise of a warm embrace, and she found herself putting on an old formal dress, plain but elegant, and waiting eagerly for the moment the music would begin. She pushed aside her trepidation about more time spent with Lord Vader – it was a small price to pay for this experience.

And now, as the strains of Nubian music played by Coruscant's finest musicians filled the air around her, Padme couldn't bring herself to regret coming. Even when she remembered the intense presence beside her. The diva reached a final, impossibly high note and the theater erupted with applause as she ended her aria. Padme finally opened her eyes, swallowed back a sudden lump in her throat, and applauded with the rest.

Lord Vader did not stir. He remained motionless, as he had throughout the evening, never applauding, never examining the program, but frequently, Padme noticed with growing discomfort, looking at her. She gritted her teeth, clasped her fingers tightly in her lap, and focused on breathing evenly until the applause ceased and the performance resumed.

She strove to ignore Lord Vader's suffocating presence and his continuous gaze, trying desperately to lose herself in the music as she had done so often as a child. It was difficult, but she managed to disappear into the story and the music a few times, her soul soaring with the voices of the performers. The story was tragic, as was the case with most Nubian operas, and Padme felt her heart throb in tandem with the characters as they loved, lived, and died in the course of the story. She dreaded the ending she knew would come just as inevitably as the sunset – the queen would be bereft. As she listened to the queen sing another aria describing her emotional turmoil, Padme caught a hint of movement out of the corner of her eye, and she turned slightly. Lord Vader had finally moved. He leaned closer and Padme forced herself not to pull away.

"Are you enjoying the performance?" he whispered.

"Yes," she replied as quickly and quietly as possible, mentally begging him to stop talking. She was trying so hard to forget that he was there. But he was, of course, unaware of that fact.

"Is this story based on Nubian history or is it a merely fictional account?" he asked next. Padme pried her mind away from the duet that had just begun between the ill-fated queen and her lover, and tried to arrange her thoughts. "I believe it is based on a legend," she answered. "There was a story of a queen who gained the throne, the favor of the people – everything she wanted – but she lost the one she loved. So in the end, she had everything, but she had nothing."

"Because she lost what really mattered," he finished, his eyes fixed on the performers playing out their tragic tale. "I see."

Padme blinked and turned back to the performance. The queen kissed her lover goodbye as the music swelled. Padme knew this would be their last scene together, and she felt a stab of sadness. The queen continued her song, gradually drifting toward the center of the stage. The lights were fading. Padme sighed heavily as the stage finally fell into blackness, indicating the end of Act I, and the audience burst into applause. She applauded as well, mentally trying to shake off the grip of sadness that has suddenly and powerfully seized her. Lord Vader did not applaud, but leaned against his hand thoughtfully. The lights rose again, revealing the empty stage and the opera dome began to ring with the conversations of the milling audience, and Padme began to brace herself for the intermission. Lord Vader showed no signs of movement, which meant that she would have to spend the entire interlude with him. She supposed that a faked refresher trip could spare her if need be-

"Is it pleasant to hear the music of your world?" Vader's voice broke into her thoughts, shattering their flow as usual.

She grasped for etiquette and forced a weak smile. "Yes. But it is bittersweet."

"I would imagine so," he muttered. "You are Nubian, yet you work with the Alderaanian senator – how did that come about?" Padme felt that trying to keep up with his conversation was a bit like riding an unruly speeder – she was constantly being jerked around and frequently in danger of being thrown off all together. She ignored the sudden change of topic and answered briefly, but honestly. "I fled Naboo after the invasion. I –" My family, she mentally added, "- had friends on Alderaan, and my political training led me to the position as Bail's assistant."

"And you enjoy your work?" he continued without pause.

"Yes," she replied, but felt the familiar shadow cross her heart. Although Padme had made a conscious effort not to reveal anything with her face, Vader must have seen something. He furrowed his brow and studied her in his irritatingly bold way.

"And how do you feel about the Empire?" Padme couldn't help but feel as if she was at the wrong end of an interrogation. She steeled herself, drawing her growing anger around her like a shield. Fine. If he wanted to shoot questions at her like a firing squad, she could play the game as well. She had not been the debate champion at every academy she attended for nothing. She smiled tightly. "The Empire is not perfect, Lord Vader, but I hope that I am helping to remedy that with my work in the Senate." She moved quickly to head off his next question.

"May I ask how you feel about the Empire, my Lord?"

She could almost feel his surprise and stifled a satisfied smile. He seemed irritated by the question, but not angry. "The Empire is a great achievement," he began, "It has brought peace and prosperity like the galaxy has never known. It's a great tribute to Palpatine's wisdom." The latter portion of his statement was delivered flatly and decidedly lacking in conviction. Padme wondered at this, but said nothing. It was his turn.

Vader was surprised when Padme turned the evening into something of a sporting event. Every time he shot a question her way, she answered it smoothly and delivered a question of her own. He would have been impressed that she felt confident enough to behave in such a way toward him if it had not been so extremely inconvenient. He needed to extract as much information from her as possible, and this dual interrogation was delaying him.

The intermission came and went, and still neither of them let up. The flow of questions slowed during the second half of the performance, but it never ended. They were nearing the end of the opera now. The lights and the music were building toward what was sure to be a dramatic climax, and the story was rapidly spiraling toward certain tragedy. Vader paused a moment before posing his next question, observing that Padme was staring with rapt attention at the queen onstage. She was singing of her joy at her upcoming reunion with her beloved, but at the far end of the stage, messengers were approaching, bearing news of his death. A hint of darkness crept into the music, although the queen's melody remained as buoyant as ever. The messengers marched on.

Vader tired of waiting for the inevitable blow to fall, and glanced again at Padme. Her eyes were shining with tears. He lightly reached out with the Force to taste her emotional state; she was overflowing with a barely suppressed anguish. It was possible that she was just extremely empathic, but Vader had much experience with reading people – and with his own intense emotions – and he would stake his fortune on the fact that her reaction was colored with some personal tragedy of her own. He remembered the explosive burst of anger he had felt from her in the Senate dome, and wondered if that was also connected to her personal tragedy, whatever it might be.

He began his next line of questioning. "Did your family go to Alderaan with you?"

"What?" Padme tilted her head towards him, but never looked away from the stage.

"Your family. Where are they now?"

Padme's eyes finally spilled over, and Vader was transfixed. Her anguish had just blossomed into something far more jagged and raw. He felt the sting of her pain faintly, like the sensation of warm water felt through a barrier of glass. He recognized it as surely as someone might recognize an old scar.

Grief.

He realized too late that he should have raised the question more carefully, knowing as he did that she came from Naboo. He should have known the possibility was very high that her family was dead. He could read their deaths in the power of her grief just as clearly as if she had spoken the words. He grimaced and waited for her response, planning how best to salvage the situation. Most people did not react to emotional pain with candor. But once again, Padme surprised him. As the queen below finally learned of her lover's terrible fate, Padme whispered, "No." She swallowed and continued, "They're gone." She stared at the stage as the queen wept passionately, the music swelling around her until Vader could almost feel the sound pressing against the two of them. But before he could retreat from the situation and continue from a different angle, Padme wiped her eyes and turned to him. "What about your family? I've never seen them, even though the press broadcasts pictures of you all the time."

Vader's head was spinning at the speed with which she had turned the tables. This had been the most inefficient interrogation he had ever conducted – what was it about this girl that ruined his equilibrium? But he had no time to consider the question. Padme was still talking.

"Where are the Vaders from?" she asked, glancing at the scene below, before fixing her eyes on him. The stage, Lord Vader observed distantly, was beginning to rise higher.

He frowned and took refuge in staring at the spectacle. "Vader isn't my name," he replied, feeling the inexplicable urge to clarify that Vader was not his name, not his identity. "It's my title." He had had another name once. The name his mother had given him…

The stage had risen to the level of their box, and the lights were spilling golden and violet hues all around them. The queen had begun her final aria, her subjects forming a chorus behind her. They were singing joyfully, unaware of their monarch's anguish. And the miracle of it all was that though the queen's melody had begun with violent melancholy, the chorus filled out the harmonies until the final result was a sound so warm and vibrant that the tragedy was replaced with triumph.

Padme was studying him intently now. He could feel her curiosity pressing against him like a collection of knife points.

The stage finally stopped moving. It was a little ways above them now, still easily visible, still bathed in the amber and violet glow. The queen was singing a powerful note, the chorus swelling behind her. The lights suddenly faded until a single golden light illuminated only the queen. The mighty sound of the chorus receded until the only sound was the queen's voice soaring through the dome. She paused, and the echo took a moment to completely fade. The silence was shocking. And into this silence, she poured her final note like liquid gold. Her tone was suddenly soft and infinitely tragic. Her people had won, but she had lost it all.

Padme chose this moment to break her silence. "Then what is your name?" She finally whispered.

The stage went dark as the final notes of the famed diva dissolved in the air around them. Vader swallowed, suddenly feeling as if the darkness was going to swallow him. But the dome exploded with applause and cheers before he had a chance to fully examine the strange feeling. Any reply he might have made would have been drowned out, so he made none. The lights came back up, and the audience rose to give a standing ovation, Padme included. Vader was glad for the distraction. He was glad for the noise and the excitement, because Padme's attention had been completely removed from him and fixed elsewhere.

He was glad because he had wanted to answer her question.


Padme pulled her wrap tightly around herself as Vader maneuvered his speeder onto the landing pad outside her apartment. She had insisted she could get herself home, and although a small voice whispered to him that he should avoid being seen with her, Vader wouldn't listen. She shivered in the chilly breeze as he killed the engine and stepped out. Padme reached for the handle, only to have it pulled away before she could reach it. Vader had opened the door. She was surprised by his proffered hand, but she accepted it, and stepped out of the vehicle. She quickly drew her fingers away.

And now she had to take leave of a Dark Lord of the Sith. She vaguely wondered why that had never been included in any of her etiquette books, but pushed the thought away. She smiled faintly and stood tall, aiming for politeness and confidence. "Thank you for the opera, my Lord. It was an enjoyable experience."

"It was… an instructive evening," Vader replied, studying her with a look that fell somewhere between puzzlement and exasperation. Padme wasn't sure how to reply. He smirked rather than smiled, gave a curt nod in place of the customary bow, and swiftly turned and boarded his speeder. He disappeared behind the tinted transparisteel windows, Padme staring after him. The shuttle whirred to life, rising into the cool night air and swerving off to join the nearest river of traffic. The breeze ruffled Padme's hair and the hem of her simple dress. She studied the sky for a moment, noted absently that the lights from passing speeder traffic outshone the distant stars, and finally turned toward the entrance to her apartment. It was dark and lonely, but Padme did not feel the usual ache of emptiness as she tapped in the entrance code and slipped inside. For once, her mind was full of something besides her own emptiness.

She pondered the strange evening distantly as she let down her hair and pulled on a nightgown. The music of the opera was still pulsing in her mind and she caught herself humming some of the tunes more than once. She was humming the queen's first aria, an exquisite love song, as she finally slid into bed. She dimmed the lights and settled into her pillows, and the echoes of the music filled her mind and carried her off into the first pleasant dreams she had experienced in months.

She dreamt she was on Naboo in the great opera house in Theed. She was meeting her family, hurrying as she heard the music begin in the distance, when she caught sight of someone waiting for her.

It was Lord Vader. Dressed in his usual black robes and cloak, he stood beneath a marble archway in the dim light. But in the dream, Padme wasn't disturbed by his presence - she was glad to see him. He turned to her and smiled. His eyes were blue, as she remembered them, but there was something strange about them…

When Padme opened her eyes, it took her a moment to realize that it was morning. She sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes and blinked at the faint light of sunrise. She had slept through the night. She hadn't slept that well in… years. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and tried to pull her thoughts together for the day ahead. There were things she needed to take care of – Bail had a few meetings, and there was the usual mountain of paperwork –

Padme's thoughts jarred and ground to a halt when the thought that had been rattling at the back of her mind finally broke loose and came into focus.

His eyes had been different.

They had looked warm. And they were filled with… joy. She shook her head, fighting the creeping sensation of embarrassment that she had even dreamed about this man, and dispelled all thoughts of him – both the reality and the dream. She restricted her thoughts to how grateful she was to have slept so well, undisturbed by either nightmares or the crushing grip of despair. She hurried to get ready, humming to herself, and feeling ready to face the day.

Unbeknownst to her, the Lord Darth Vader had awakened at much the same time and stood silently before his sweeping view of the cityscape. One of his droids, a gleaming protocol droid that was the very latest prototype to be produced by Cybot Galactica, filed into the room, bearing a tray and filling the silence with the quiet whir of its gears. "Your breakfast, Master." It set the tray on a table near the door and began fussing with the dishes and silverware. Vader fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Did you sleep well, Master?" the ultra-polite droid continued, speaking a little louder to be heard over the clink of the dishes. Vader took a deep breath, and for once, did not dread answering that question.

"Yes. Yes I did."

He remained at the window long after his droid withdrew, studying the distant sunrise.