Padmé had known from an early age that her soulmate was a Jedi. They were brave and kind and cared so much about everything, but they also seemed to experience more than their fair share of trials and trauma. Padmé may have been five years younger than them, but she was glad that she was there to write back, to offer support or distractions as needed.
When she'd learned that her soulmate was one of the Jedi pair sent by Supreme Chancellor Valorum to try to talk the Trade Federation down from their blockade of Naboo, it had been very difficult to maintain Amidala's composure. Obi-Wan had let her know immediately when the negotiations had broken down; their first face to face meeting had been over the shattered remains of a squad of battle droids, but they hadn't been free to discuss it until later onboard the ship.
Her handmaidens had never let her live it down.
Obi-Wan was an amazing friend, kind and supportive and full of good advice. He had a wicked sense of humour which made her laugh in the darkest moments, and the kind of political savvy that made him a devastating diplomat. It was a shame the necessity of him taking on Anakin so soon had altered his career path; he'd once told her that Jedi would frequently be assigned to support their soulmates outside the Order, and the thought of losing all the good they could have done for the galaxy together was-
She didn't resent Anakin for it. She couldn't; it wasn't his fault Qui-Gon had been killed, or that Obi-Wan had been moved off the Consular training circuit to reinforce areas where members of the Council had found him lacking. It wasn't Obi-Wan's fault that Qui-Gon had over-emphasized some aspects of Consular work - aspects which had been the most necessary for their survival, if their reports were any indication - over others.
She very quietly, very privately, blamed Qui-Gon for a lot of things, including his failure to seek support after the death of his own soulmate, Tahl. She had never voiced her assessment to Obi-Wan, but looking back at things with several years of more adult experience revealed the damage path of a man who had descended into more rebellious, risk-taking behaviour after a traumatic loss; a fallout trail that had impacted the lives of everyone in its vicinity.
She was determined to mitigate some of that damage where she could; after Naboo had been liberated and the reconstruction was well underway, Padmé had quietly set aside sufficient funds to buy Shmi Skywalker's freedom, along with enough for the woman herself to choose her own way in life. Rabé had returned from her mission to Tatooine to report that Shmi had opted to remain working for Watto - now as a freed, paid employee - because while her circumstances had been terrible, she truly enjoyed the work and considered Tatooine home. Padmé suspected Shmi was involved in a network helping other slaves find their way to freedom, but even daring to ask might put them at risk.
Ten years later, watching Shmi's soulmate Cliegg, his son Owen, and Owen's soulmate Beru bury Shmi's ashes on the perimeter of their farm, she wondered if not having freed Shmi would have been better, if Shmi wouldn't have been captured by Jabba's goons to be made an example of. The public execution, at least, had been swift and merciful. Padmé was willing to bet anything that they'd been terrified of a rescue attempt or a riot; the Skywalker name had come to mean something on Tatooine. A fighter to the end, Shmi had claimed several guards' lives in their effort to catch her, and she was already becoming revered as another patron of the freedom runners.
Anakin had been furious; he'd had dreams of his mother dying for weeks, and blamed first Obi-Wan and then the Jedi High Council for not allowing him to go to Tatooine sooner. He'd slipped away in the middle of the night after the funeral and only returned late in the morning, smelling of smoke and blaster discharge, a grim expression on his face. His soulmate, he'd said, had been the only person to insist that someone needed to do something about it. Padmé suspected that killing Jabba hadn't really been what Anakin's soulmate had intended to suggest, but she said nothing.
Then Obi-Wan had ended up in trouble on Geonosis, and there had been no time to discuss things further.
Her relationship with Anakin would hardly be considered acceptable by either Naboo or Jedi Order standards. The Jedi, as an order of impartial diplomats and negotiators, were required to maintain a level of personal distance; their only exceptions regarded members whose soulmate was involved in politics, where the Jedi's impartiality would be doubted by outside elements. But Jedi did get married, Obi-Wan had assured her and Anakin both, before he had encouraged them to act upon their feelings. Padmé wondered if it had something to do with the way Qui-Gon had fallen apart; if Obi-Wan was hoping they would support each other if something happened to him - there was now a war to fight, after all. There may also have been a little guilt involved: Padmé had developed an embarrassing teenage crush on Obi-Wan, which he hadn't been able to reciprocate, and things had been awkward between them for a few years before they had found the words to talk it through.
Her own people, whilst celebrating a culture of courtly love, did expect their politicians to be as focused on their work as possible: a politician who married was expected to hand off their duties to an elected successor before committing to a legal ceremony. Celibacy was encouraged, not out of prudishness but prudence - a politician some centuries past, when non-married partnerships had been permitted, had been caught using state funds to lavish gifts upon their sweetheart. Naboo didn't enshrine social policy into law: they built a culture around it. The aftermath of that politician's excesses had seen a boom in cultural media worshipping chaste, chivalric romance, where lingering looks from across the room and the lightest brush of fingers could make a reader's heart flutter. Padmé and her handmaidens often read such novels aloud to each other in the evenings, gasping and shrieking with delight over hand-kisses and the emotional tension of lovers who dared not approach each other.
Anakin's attentions had felt like that, at first. Obi-Wan had shared with him some of the novels Padmé had sent years earlier, when Obi-Wan had been asking about Naboo culture, and Anakin had at least picked up the aesthetic of the culture, even if he didn't really understand the core values. Everything about him was too intense to be content with gazing from afar; for Anakin, feelings were to be acted upon, every moment experienced as if the future didn't exist. It was easy to get swept up into the whirlwind that was Anakin Skywalker when one was in his presence. He always seemed to dominate the room, even when he wasn't meant to be the centre of attention, and Obi-Wan wrote despairingly to her of Anakin ever being suited for more covert work. He just didn't know how to turn himself off.
In contradiction to their respective cultures, and with only their droids and Obi-Wan in attendance to witness, Padmé and Anakin married in secret on Naboo. It was not a legal marriage - it couldn't be, since all marriage certificates were a matter of public record. But it was ceremonial, and it meant something - to them, at least- in a galaxy where the Republic was suddenly engaged in a struggle to preserve its own existence.
Hiding her pregnancy was almost too easy; Sabé was more than happy to take her place for Senate sessions, and there were many members of the Loyalist Committee and the Delegation of 2,000 who could be asked to make the public addresses she might otherwise have chosen to do. Only a handful of people knew: Anakin, Obi-Wan, her handmaidens, and Gregar Typho, her head of security. She suspected Palpatine knew, as well, since Anakin viewed the man as a close friend - none of her or Obi-Wan's cautions about career politicians seemed to sink in there - but if he knew, the Supreme Chancellor was circumspect enough to say nothing.
She never could have predicted how things would end. Even Obi-Wan, with his occasional flashes of prescience, was caught off-guard.
The first indication that something had gone terribly wrong was a message Obi-Wan left on the inside of her forearm in runny ink. "Alive, not safe. Don't trust the troops. Where's Anakin?"
Padmé didn't know. He failed to answer her comms. When she told Obi-Wan this, his reply chilled her to the bone.
"I can feel them dying. The Jedi. All of them. You need to run."
She and her handmaidens were frantically packing the bare essentials when a summons came from the door to her apartment; they all stared at each other in terrified silence, too afraid to move lest they make a sound whilst Eirtaé went to see who it was. She returned a moment later, pale under her makeup.
"It's the Coruscant Guard. They're insisting you must come with them for your safety, Senator. They won't accept no for an answer. I thought one of them was Commander Thire, but he's not acting like himself."
Sabé, still in her makeup and wig from doubling Padmé at the Senate earlier, stepped forward. "I'll go. You need to leave, Senator."
"Sabé…." Padmé hugged her friend tightly. "I… I don't like this." It wouldn't be the first time Sabé had decoyed her into a dangerous situation, but this time… this time felt different. Padmé feared they would never see each other again. They draped Sabé in one of Padmé's traveling cloaks; then Eirtaé hugged everyone tightly, picked up her and Sabé's satchels, and they left.
The rest of them slipped out into the hall a few minutes later in twos and threes, dressed in nice but not extravagant Alderaanian attire, hoping the misdirection could buy even a few minutes of time. Padmé would have preferred to just take a speeder from her private landing, but they were certain it would be watched. They went instead to Bail Organa's suite two levels down, where the Alderaanian senator hid them among his staff. From the balcony, Padmé watched the Jedi Temple go up in flames.
Anakin still was not answering his comm; now she wondered if he ever would.
"They've laid siege to the Temple. You can't go back there!"
Obi-Wan stared at the words on his arm, scrawled hastily in Padmé's favourite blue pen. He'd spent hours hiding in damp caverns, where the only positive was that the water was warm, while his own troops searched for him - or rather his body. He'd got close enough to overhear their conversation, the flat, emotionless way they called him traitor. It had taken hours more to claw his way out of the natural sinkhole he'd fallen into when his own troops had fired a cannon at him.
It wasn't until after he'd stolen Grievous' ship and was safely into hyperspace that he let himself mourn.
For the Jedi. For whatever had happened to the clones to destroy their souls so completely. For poor Boga, who had not had the benefit of Jedi reflexes to survive the fall.
He dropped the ship out of hyperspace at random and spent the time it took for the hyperdrive to process his new location in meditation. His soulmate was safe, for now. This was good. They didn't know if Anakin - who was still on Coruscant - was alright. This was less than ideal. The Force was so thick with the shockwaves of dying Jedi, he couldn't even tell if his pairbond with Anakin was still intact.
The ship's comm chimed an alert: there was a galactic transmission being issued from Coruscant, an announcement from the Supreme Chancellor which demanded attention. Steeling himself, Obi-Wan accepted the broadcast.
Then he dashed to the rear of the tiny cabin to be sick into the vac tube.
Palpatine had looked… hideous. He'd claimed it was the result of an attack by members of the Jedi Council.
Anakin had been standing beside him, lauded as the sole loyal Jedi who had saved his life. He'd been masked and dressed in armour, and Palpatine dubbed him 'Darth Vader', but Obi-Wan recognised that stance. He also recognised the title of 'Darth' for what it was.
The Republic was now the Galactic Empire.
Obi-Wan fumbled his pen out, hoping it wasn't still sodden from his unplanned swim. "Did you see that broadcast?"
Padmé's reply was messily written. "What has Anakin done?! WHY?"
It was another day before a sorrowful news article about the murder of Senator Padmé Amidala turned up. A Separatist assassin's work, or so the article claimed, but neither Obi-Wan nor a very much alive Padmé believed it for a moment.
The HoloNet itself was fluctuating horribly; the only information that was at all stable was the news from Coruscant - now dubbed Imperial Centre. Obi-Wan had a horrible, creeping suspicion that the HoloNet blackouts were the result of Palpatine corrupting or deleting whole chunks of the Temple Archive - it served as the information hub of the HoloNet, as Jocasta had been fond of reminding him, but major alterations required the system to restart itself.
Obi-Wan went to Nar Shaddaa where, disguised in a cloak Grievous had left behind, he sold Grievous' fighter and used the credits to buy some less Jedi-like clothes and a blaster. Acquiring passage to Alderaan was easier said than done: the Core worlds had locked down tightly as the newly redubbed Imperial Army searched for traitors in hiding, led by the new Emperor's enforcer. Eventually, he was able to hire a woman who was already smuggling bacta to Alderaan's population of war refugees.
"Yeah, they're cracking down hard on the bacta supply. First thing they did, actually: forced Thyferra to make a deal if they wanted to retain any profit margin. Now anyone hauling gets stopped and the goods confiscated." The captain sneered. "Slugs, all of 'em. Can't catch my baby," she added, patting the control panel.
Padmé was already on Alderaan, hidden with her former handmaidens among Queen Breha's entourage. She was also dreadfully close to giving birth.
And she wasn't alone. Mace was there, and Master Yoda, both very much the worse for their experience attempting to face Palpatine. Yoda seemed to have aged by three centuries, while Mace was recovering from being thrown from the window of Palpatine's office. Jocasta Nu was also there, bearing precious holocrons of Jedi lore and information on known potential Initiates. There were no recriminations, although Force knew Obi-Wan deserved some for not being forthcoming about the depth of Anakin and Padmé's relationship; they were all too shell-shocked over the larger threat which had been right in front of their eyes the whole time.
The biggest surprise was that Sabé and Eirtaé arrived only a day after Obi-Wan, having incapacitated the troops who'd been sent to bring Padmé to Palpatine and then crashed their speeder deep into Coruscant's urban canyons. Moreover, they had brought the two troopers - identified as Thire and Rys - drugged unconscious and minus their armour with its tracking beacons.
"Something's wrong with them," Eirtaé insisted. "Thire and I were nearly friends, but he acts like he doesn't recognise me now."
Sabé agreed. "We hoped to do a medical scan. There's more going on here than merely following orders."
The Jedi, grim-faced and tense, looked at each other. Master Yoda was the first to nod. "A disturbance there was, before attack, they did. Too quiet their minds are now. Examine them, we must."
The discovery of the biochips in the clones' brains was enough to break the Order's diminutive Grandmaster. The evidence that the entire army - the entire war - had been a trap was too much to bear.
In the midst of the Darkness, however, there was Light. Padmé gave birth to twins; mother and children were all strong and healthy. Jek and Thire recovered from their surgeries eager to help make things right. Ahsoka got in contact: she had taken shelter with her soulmate, Steela, on Onderon, and brought Rex with her.
Breha and Bail called everyone together one evening after Padmé had recovered. Alderaan's queen looked uncommonly grim-faced as she said, "We have made a choice. We won't force anyone here to agree to it; we'll help you to find shelter if you feel you cannot stay."
"We're already risking your lives by remaining here together," Mace said quietly. "Eventually, Palpatine's search for Jedi survivors will reach Alderaan."
"Yes," Breha agreed. "But there is already a resistance network forming."
"We started it even before… all this," Padmé said. "But I don't think anyone imagined the Delegation of 2,000 would have to become an active resistance movement. We formed it initially in an attempt to curb the Chancellor's growing power. Now, several members have had their lives threatened; they've had to go underground."
"It is for the benefit of the galaxy that as many who are loyal to the ideals of the Republic remain in the Senate," Bail said firmly. "We will do what we can to temper this new Empire. But in order to do so, we must make a show of loyalty to the Empire, including welcoming Palpatine's agents if we must."
Padmé cast a brief, determined glance at Obi-Wan. "I intend to remain hidden among Queen Breha's attendants. From there, I can pass along intel from Bail to the resistance."
It made a certain amount of sense, but… it was a safe bet the HoloNet would be under surveillance. Obi-Wan nodded. "Then I shall join this resistance myself, so your communication can be completely secure."
"Obi-Wan-"
"An unwise decision-"
Mace and Yoda looked at each other as they spoke simultaneously; Mace gestured for Yoda to speak.
"Another task we have for you, Master Kenobi. The twins together, in the Force, bright will they be as grow they will. Separated, they must be-"
"Do I have no say in this?" Padmé demanded.
Mace frowned, regret etching deep lines into his face. "Master Yoda is correct about the children, unfortunately. They've inherited their father's strength in the Force. We've been actively shielding them, but we will need to leave so as not to endanger the Organas. If you keep them here, they'll eventually be noticed."
"If I may?" Obi-Wan ventured slowly. He caught Padmé's eye, begging silently for patience. "Separating them so early might not be a good idea; they'll reach for each other in the Force, uncontrolled. If someone could remain to instruct them in shielding, the way we have done for infants given to the Temple, it will give them a good foundation, and they'll require less direct oversight later when they might need to be separated."
"I can do that," Jocasta said immediately. "I can hide as easily among the Queen's retainers as Lady Naberrie."
Everyone looked at Padmé, who scowled. "I don't like it… but I understand the necessity."
"When- if," Mace corrected himself as Padmé glared at him, "the twins grow more powerful, we can discuss the matter further. Until then, yes, Obi-Wan, assisting this resistance would benefit us. I think I find the idea of sitting on a rock somewhere without being actively involved as distasteful as you do."
Bail and Breha offered shabby, unmarked older-model ships that wouldn't raise any eyebrows, and it took a week for everyone to fully stock up and prepare to go their separate ways. Mace would be traveling to join Ahsoka on Onderon, bringing Thire and Jek with him. Yoda intended to join his current soulmate, Jedi Master Kina Ha, in transient exile; Palpatine was aware Yoda had survived their encounter and would be searching for him. Kina Ha, a rare Kaminoan Jedi, had reportedly been annoyed at becoming bonded with Yoda three hundred years earlier, called him an 'old fool', and had refused to respond to him for centuries until he had admitted to several errors very late in the war. Obi-Wan thought they were an unlikely set - the Force usually bonded people who were more spiritually compatible with each other - but there was likely some deeper reasoning at work.
Obi-Wan's first stops would be Chandrila, then Dantooine. He wasn't wholly certain what he would have to do once he got there, but Bail had given him encryption cylinders, comm numbers, and code phrases. It spoke volumes that the Empire had only existed for two months but the resistance was already so developed. The Delegation of 2,000, increasingly suspicious of Palpatine's growing power, had been preparing for nearly a year.
The resistance even had a name, now: the Alliance to Restore the Republic. Obi-Wan wondered if Restoration would even be possible; at its end, the Republic had been riddled with corruption, like worms in a rotting fruit. But it was a goal, something everyone needed right now.
Goran Veraad noticed when the visitors arrived, but didn't look up from her work. One - the verd in full blue-on-black armour, the aliik marking them as Aliit Takaad, the paint marking them as a former Kyr'tsad adherent - knelt respectfully to wait until she was finished; the other - a red-skinned Dathomirian Zabrak who had seen better decades - stood awkwardly until the verd smacked their shin lightly with the sound of metal on metal. The stranger finally knelt, looking discomfited; the goran thought there might be something deeper than mere insolence in play.
There was an adiik standing behind them, wearing a relatively new hibir'ad buy'ce; the child slipped to the side of the door behind the verd and knelt with their back to the wall. The beginnings of a new aliit, perhaps, but there was an uneasy distance between the two adults.
Finally she could set her work down to rest and turned from the forge. "You bring an outsider among us, vod," she said in Basic for the aruetii' s benefit.
The Zabrak opened their mouth to speak, and the verd gripped their forearm. "He is my soulmate."
Not so much a stranger, then, but still aruetii. "I will hear your defense for him."
"He should speak for himself, goran."
The Zabrak had clearly been coached in their ways and didn't offer his name. "I once sought revenge upon an enemy who wronged me." He rapped his knuckles against his thigh, to show that the metal went all the way up. "A Jedi whom I learned was involved in the resolution of the Clan Wars."
She suddenly had a very good idea of whom the Zabrak's enemy had been. The or'aliit was isolated, by choice, but not by any means ignorant.
"To that end, I offered to help the Kyr'tsad reclaim Sundari, in exchange for dealing with my enemy. My revenge was had… but… it was not catharsis." He gritted his teeth. "My enemy knelt, broken, before me and all I felt was hollow! That was when R- Takaad found me." He glanced at his kar'vod. "He… helped me. My priorities were disordered, and it was causing me distress. In the end, I decided to leave Mandalore to decide its own fate, but this leaves me a dilemma. I understand that this has value to you, as an artifact."
He reached to his belt and unclipped what appeared to be a bladeless hilt, but the goran knew it immediately. "Do not activate that here!" she said sharply. The Zabrak blinked in surprise at being addressed so brusquely, but he followed her instruction, merely holding it out to her angled to the side.
"While I am in need of a blade, I do not want the burden that accompanies this one. Your ways are not my ways, and it was a mistake to claim it."
It was the duty of a goran to keep watch for the return of the True Mand'alor. The Zabrak was correct in that he was not the Ven'mand'alor. But the Dha'kadau had until now been held by Aliit Vizsla; in the absence of an owner, a cultural icon such as the Dha'kad shouldn't merely be stuffed in a locker. A weapon was the heart of a Mandalorian, and one didn't simply leave their heart to collect dust.
The goran placed her hand over the weapon in the Zabrak's hands. "I accept this," she said formally, "for the purpose of maintaining its heritage, and to keep it safe for the next Mand'alor." Only then did she close her hand around the hilt. The weapon would be stored in a locked case among others she and her predecessors had been asked to look after, cleaned and maintained year after year awaiting suitable hands.
The Zabrak let it go and sagged, taking a shuddering breath. The verd nudged him lightly with his elbow, and the Zabrak shook his head, muttering, "I shouldn't. Your people-"
"It's a safe place. You've nowhere else to go-"
Smiling behind her buy'ce, the goran interrupted gently, "Do you seek leave for your kar'vod to stay?"
"Just for a while-"
"It's too dangerous-"
The two men glared at each other, and the Zabrak growled softly. "My former Master, if he learns I yet live, will send his agents after me. The risk to your people is too great. And I'm an outsider. It's too much to ask."
"And what of the ad?" she asked. "A foundling?"
"My foundling, yes," the verd said. "He would stay, too."
A difficult situation, to be bare-faced among the or'aliit, to mark oneself out when one is hunted. She needed more information, a longer talk with this man.
"Verd'ika!" she called to the youth who was working at the design table in one of the other rooms. Young Alor Fett put his stylus down and came to the door.
"Goran?"
"Take Alor Takaad and his foundling to arrange a space for them and their friend. And some food; I imagine they're hungry." The adiik ducked his head sheepishly and rubbed his belly. The goran looked at the Zabrak. "We are no strangers to risk, and many come seeking temporary shelter among us. But to properly help you, I need the full story. I imagine this will take a while."
"You will not like what you hear," he warned.
"The truth, particularly truth one is fleeing from, is rarely pleasant."
And so it was that Mandalore learned that the new Emperor of the galaxy was the Sith Lord Sidious.