A/N: If you've read the Queen's trilogy by E.K. Johnston, expect discrepancies.
These italics indicate immediate thoughts.
{This means remembered spoken dialogue.}
I. CORUSCANT
Chapter 1. The Reunion
"The minute I heard my first love story,
I started looking for you, not knowing
how blind that was.
Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.
They're in each other all along."
― Mawlana Jalal-al-Din Rumi, The Illuminated Rumi
That first day of reunion has played over and over in my mind so many times that I could run the memory backwards in my sleep. I cannot stop the search for clues pointing to what was to inescapably come— the light, and the darkness.
I was vulnerable when I met again with Anakin. A walking open wound, silently yearning for a salve. Cordé's death hit me hard. For all the trials I'd been through and the assassination attempts over ten years, I had never lost a handmaiden before. And so violently! My grief was compounded by the dark incredulity that she died believing she had somehow failed me. I'd barely had time to compose myself before formally dressing and rushing to the Senate, pouring a fierce display of my heartache into a speech to the assembled chamber. I'd learned well from my time as monarch the power of costume. I specifically chose something as regal and stately as when I was Queen, using any tool I could to imbue passion into my plea. But this meant a lightning-fast change into subdued attire after, something more appropriate for a meeting in the chancellor's office alongside other members of the Loyalist Committee. More rushing. Then we were hastening back to my apartment to meet the Jedi, who would surely waste no time once they learned of their new assignment. You don't drag your feet when you've learned you're in charge of keeping someone alive.
Rush, rush, rush.
I didn't mind. Speed and distraction kept the tears further at bay. Not that I needed the activity— I was good at suppressing my feelings. Too good.
Stalled as we waited in my receiving lounge, the late day sun bathing us in a warm glow which betrayed our emotions, all could only feel the cold of heartbreak. Typho, the dutiful captain of my security— still frazzled but hiding it under a soldier's disciplined composure. He, along with his uncle Captain Panaka, had recruited all seven of the lives lost, hand-picking them over the years for service. And he doted on Cordé. She'd been the only one of us who could break through the hard exterior and regularly make him smile. I knew that as much guilt as I brought on myself for her death, for all their deaths, he would carry more.
Dormé, normally the talkative, sassy joke-maker of our bunch, had been relatively silent all morning as she'd dutifully helped me hurry from one location to another. Busy hands did their best to compensate for the absence of the second handmaiden who should've been there to help. But as I finished the last fastens for my dress on my own, prior to our departure for the Senate, I'd heard her crying in the bathroom. I hadn't needed to ask her to don black garb. She knew she must mourn for the both of us right now.
My heart went out to Jar Jar. He'd matured in the last ten years, especially in his time of public service, but he never lost his child-like way. He'd been on the transport ship timely coming to meet us at the landing platform. Jar Jar had seen the cruiser explode on approach, been there to frantically usher us aboard as we escaped. But even through the mist, he'd seen. The broken bodies. The carnage.
The hustle of the day had helped us all stay distracted. But in the private period as we awaited Obi-Wan and Ani's arrival, we sat or stood without speaking in my receiving room, each of us fighting our own quiet battles with grief. Here, in my Coruscant home, among those who intimately understood, I felt my composure start to slip. The adrenaline of the rushed day was wearing off.
It was too easy to remember the searing heat of the explosion, as if a star had spontaneously combusted mere meters away. I'd been flung backward by its shock wave. I couldn't see them through the heavy sleeves of my blue gown, but I knew my elbows were bruised. They ached. Even with my flight helmet still adorned, my head had collided with the ground hard— it hurt if I turned my neck a certain way too quickly, and my stretched headpiece wasn't helping. The smell of smoke was still in my nose, and a wave of nausea hit me. Needing fresh air, I escaped to the balcony outside. Coruscant's smoggy oxygen flow would have to do. At least we were high up, far from the worst of the traffic congestion. The cold wind was strong enough to bite at my eyes. I blamed it for the reason why they were glossed over.
A wave of pain threatened my reasoning and my resolve. I leaned into an old coping mechanism and imagined opening a drawer, seeing myself place the distress in there as if it were a bundle of twisted cloth. It was a tried-and-true move anytime I felt truly overwhelmed by sorrow or anger. I'd been using the technique since before I was queen. When I was a preteen, I volunteered for an off-world humanitarian mission to relocate several children and their families to a new planet. The move was supposed to be their salvation. When those relocation efforts failed and they all perished, I just couldn't stop crying. At the end of the second day of this, my father lovingly sat me on his knee and shared his secret trick with me. At the time, I think he mostly just wanted his daughter to stop sobbing on her bed and come to dinner— I hadn't been eating during my lamenting, either. He couldn't have known how deeply his words would sink into my psyche. Now, I could've taught a class at Theed University on Emotional Compartmentalization.
Once my breath returned to a steady rhythm, I tepidly loosened the valve on my emotions again.
Of the fallen, my thoughts mostly centered on Cordé, but I mourned the six others keenly. Most had been routine members of my flight crew for years. As a senator of the Republic, I traveled back and forth between Coruscant and Naboo frequently. The trip was not exactly short, and long hours had been spent talking and playing games to pass the time. Two of the crew, Torin and Bern, taught me how to play dejarik just a few months ago. I was competitive, and I'd excelled at the holochess game quickly, but Bern bested me resoundingly on our last flight home; he'd promised me a rematch on our next trip. At the time, neither of us knew that when our next flight came, I'd be traveling in a separate N-1 starfighter.
I pictured his freckled face, the boyish dimples that still appeared on his checks despite his forty-some years of age. Speaking into the wind, with a sad smile, I whispered, "Forever the champion, Bern."
Another fallen member of my retinue had been a part of my security entourage since the Invasion of Naboo. I knew these people. I knew stories of their families— some had young children.
I gripped the rim of the banister till my knuckles turned white.
So much needless loss.
Of all the beings present in my living room, it was Jar Jar who joined me on the balcony. Sometimes, I questioned why I kept him on my staff just as many times as I was grateful to have him with me. He didn't step very far out, his tall form and even better positioned eyes able to wearily take in the view from the archway. He'd never liked heights. He made it a point to stay away from the balcony and even the floor-to-ceiling windows in my apartment as much as possible. So I knew what he was doing before he said a word, and I appreciated him all the more for it.
"Mesa very sorry about Cordé. About all of dem."
My head instinctively dipped in grateful recognition, though it resulted in that sharp pain shooting through my neck. My lips moved into a tight, upward curve. The wind still afflicted my eyes. "Thank you, Jar Jar. So am I."
He eyed the drop over the balustrade but, to his credit, he took a closer step to where I stood. Inexplicably, Jar Jar suddenly grinned. "Mesa excited about Obi and Ani making der way back to us!"
This time my smile wasn't forced. "Me too. I wonder how different they'll look; how different we'll look to them?"
"I wonder if Ani still has dat long hair falling into hesa eyes. Must be tough to be a Jedi with all that mop in hesa face." He exaggerated the movement of someone pulling hair back from their eyes like it was a long, split curtain… and as if their eyes were placed on top of their head like his, instead of in it.
I almost reminded Jar Jar that Ani had to shave his hair down when becoming a Jedi Padawan, as we saw at the victory parade, and thus no longer had his original style we came to know him in. But for the sake of the moment's levity, I let it pass. Instead, I pictured a slightly taller version of the boy I'd met on that sandy twin sun planet. He was the child who had gone on to save my people, my queenship, my home. I gave into Jar Jar's humor, envisioning that slight figure with an even longer bowl cut around his face. I recalled the teenage celebrities about his age now in the tabloids, the ones who flipped their lengthy locks dramatically out of their face, all in the name of "fashion". Without forcing this reaction either, I chuckled. It was far too soon for laughter. But the small sound escaped my lips all the same.
"Let's hope he doesn't trip over it," I conspired.
Perhaps drawn by the change in mood on the balcony, Typho and Dormé moved to join us outside. I could see on his face that Jar Jar deduced such an action would press him further out on the patio, so he quickly if not smoothly tried to position himself as close to the inside as he could without standing in their way. Knowing Jar Jar and his penchant for clumsiness, this many people on the ledge— paired with his erratic movement— increased the odds of someone accidentally being knocked over the side just a little too much for my comfort. Seeing an out for him, and for us, I directed, "Jar Jar, why don't you go meet our Jedi protectors and old friends by the elevator? They should be here soon. I'd like a familiar face to lead them inside."
Grateful for an excuse to leave the balcony, Jar Jar nodded enthusiastically before he was out of sight, the beads of his robe noisily joining in his speedy departure.
"Poor thing. He's always hated heights," Dormé shook her head with sympathy.
"Nor will he ever tire of letting us know it." Typho's voice was gruff, but his eyes and general demeanor were lighter than they had been inside.
A comfortable silence passed between our trio. It was an unspoken agreement to pause on our shared sorrow a little longer. Crucial concerns were about to resume and all of us needed our game faces on. Typho began a conversation about enhanced security protocols around the building but only Dormé had his ear, and I had little problem turning my body away to let him know it. We'd disagreed multiple times already today about the need for more security, and we were at an impasse. Meaning, he and the chancellor were getting their way and I wasn't getting mine at all. The most I could do right now was look exasperated about it. He begrudgingly let me tune their conversation out, and my thoughts were my own as I my eyes wandered out over the sunset view. Perhaps, having Jedi around would help my investigation aims be realized. If my time with Qui-Gon Jinn taught me anything, the Jedi could be fluid in their agenda.
The Jedi. I was genuinely excited to see Obi-Wan and Ani again— the latter more than the former. While it was impossible to separate my memory of them from my recollection of the blockade and horrors of the war, I was forever grateful for their services. For Obi-Wan, I held great respect and admiration. To take on and defeat that horned demon who'd ran my blood cold, especially doing so after Qui-Gon had been slain, was remarkable. I remembered him seeming jovial enough, and quick-witted, if overtly vocal about his opinions— but then we'd hadn't had much time to get to know each other. He'd stayed on the ship when I'd gone with his master into Mos Espa, and once arrived on Coruscant, he'd spent his time at the Jedi Temple while I turned the Galactic Senate upside down. The most uninterrupted time I'd spent around him was after we'd returned to Naboo. I'd enjoyed his company at the time and greatly appreciated his insight in the planning to retake Theed, and overall I came away with a very positive view of him, but our experience together was nothing like the period I spent getting to know Ani.
After all these years— ten!— I could still remember the smudgy, warm face of the young boy who interested and puzzled me in that dusty shop. Obi-Wan's services to Naboo during the war and his brave heroics were no less so just because they stemmed from duty, but that nine year old child had no such obligation to help at all. Yet our ultimate success might have been delayed or even lost if not for him, at several steps. I've devoted my life to helping others since I was younger than Ani's age at the time, but the instinctual kindness of him and his mother nevertheless left a lasting impact on my heart. My stark concern at his placement by Qui-Gon into the Boonta Eve podrace and my epic relief at his safe return made it clear to me then that I'd developed a caring for him rather quickly. He just had that affect on people. I remembered the amused smirks on other's faces, as it was plainly obvious the attachment not only went both ways with us but that Ani was much more entranced than I. A passing fancy from an imaginative child. I'd paid the snickers no mind.
But I'd also had little time to invest much in our rapidly hatched friendship once we left Tatooine. My mind was constantly back on my people. What was happening to them, how many had been starved? Killed? And when I wasn't actively worrying about their lives, I was caught up in galactic matters of state, navigating the political realm of Coruscant and scavenging for aid. By the time the crisis was over, there was so much rebuilding I was tasked to do. I threw my heart into it immediately. I didn't sleep for three days straight. Sabé and my other handmaidens had to threaten to go on strike if I didn't finally stop and sleep. They never would've done it, but they made their point. Somewhere in the blur of that first hectic week— while the death toll was fully grasped and the food rations were finally acquired— Qui-Gon's funeral transpired, the victory parade was celebrated, and Obi-Wan and his new Padawan left to start their next chapter. I could barely remember our goodbye. To be honest, I wasn't even sure I'd made time for one.
The thought shamed me. They'd deserved better than that. I made a resolution to make up for it in our reunion today, as mentally and emotionally distracted as I was yet again by current threats. While respectful of the legendary private ways of the Jedi, I would try to catch up on the milestones I had missed. Perhaps, show the appreciation now that I hadn't had the ability to then. The circumstances of this reunion were both tragic and not the least bit stifling, but perhaps a silver-lining could be found amongst the disarray.
"I do hope you aren't going to push back against the presence of the Jedi, Senator."
Typho's ominous warning was unmistakably directed at me, and I turned towards him with an arched eyebrow. I'd been so lost in my thoughts, I hadn't noticed Dormé had gone back inside; Typho and I were alone on the balcony. His jaw was clenched, as it often was whenever he was fixing me with one of his knowing looks.
I stared back at him innocently. Little did he know that I'd decided to enlist our new security in my investigatory ambitions. "It will be nice to see old friends again." My gaze pointedly looked back to the sunset vista around us.
"They aren't here for a social call. They're here to protect you."
I have no doubt he would have gone on, but the heralding of our resident Gungan interrupted his lecture.
"Senator Padmé!"
At Jar Jar's joyous call, I turned towards the interior, my anticipation momentarily making me forget to take care with my neck. "Mesa palos here! Lookie lookie, Senator." Slightly more formally, he finished his announcement with a fluid wave of his arm. "Desa Jedi arriven'."
As Jar Jar stepped aside, two robed figures ambled in measured paces into my reception area. One stepped forward— Obi-Wan— as the furthest away hung back in a shadow. I broke out into a wide grin. Kenobi had already shed the Padawan look (well, as much as one can by cutting off a single braid) by the time of the victory procession, and in ten years he'd obviously enjoyed growing his hair out. But the rugged mullet look suited him well. His unmistakable eyes danced in the light, and I clearly saw the young man I'd known in his face. Already feeling my excitement build, I strode towards the duo with the lightest step I'd had all day.
Obi-Wan bowed graciously. There was no stated senatorial decorum that mandated he bow at all, much less as low as he did. I saw it for what it was, a token of respect for my time as monarch, and I appreciated the gesture. "It is a great pleasure to see you again, my lady." I hadn't heard that voice in ten years, and at the sound of it dusty memories arose refreshed. So tightly was my memory of this man wrapped in the story of my first term that, for a brief moment, I was that fourteen year old child-queen again.
The energy in the air was so different from just minutes before, when Captain Typho, Dormé, Jar Jar and I postured like stone statues in this very room, everyone struggling to paper over the cracks of our breaking hearts. Say what you will about Obi-Wan Kenobi, but the charismatic man had the ability to charm any room he walked into with a few words and a gentlemanly bend.
I shook his hand briefly. Pleased as we obviously were to see each other, we were consummate professionals. "It has been far too long, Master Kenobi."
My gaze traveled to the towering figure who almost rivaled Jar Jar in height standing impatiently in wait. My face slipped into neutral mode as I appraised the stranger before me, even as I inwardly registered his startling good looks. I almost peered around him for the lanky child I still expected to see, as if the memory of the Ani of my youth would suddenly spring out from behind this broad frame like a playful jester. Then, it hit me.
That last second of confusion was the benchmark between one era of my life ending and another era beginning. At least, that's how some storytellers might frame it.
I look back and see that quiet gasp as tandem to when I took my true life's first breath.
"Ani?!"
I think he was pleased to finally be recognized, both in presentation and in the literal sense. As Obi-Wan stepped back, Ani covered the distance between us in a brief pair of long strides. A demure smile spread across those full lips, and for the first of many times to come, I flew.
I was too stunned to cover my shock with formal grace. "My goodness you've grown!"
Where once had been a prodigal child who tinkered with droids and held all the innocence in the world in his slight build, now stood an imposing young man I did not know. His skin had even more of a sun-kissed tan than before. Though still blond, his hair was much darker. It was shaved short in golden spikes, yet appeared soft to the touch. He obviously appreciated my observation. I got the innate feeling he was nervous, but controlling it well.
Then he spoke, and somewhere in my mind, I realized the energy in the room that I had registered and attributed to Obi-Wan had actually belonged to his Padawan. "So have you." His stare was... intense. His eyes blazed at me through all walls of propriety and professionalism. And he was doing it blatantly, in full view of four watchful others. "Grown more beautiful, I mean."
I, Senator Amidala, former Queen, who had passionately addressed the Galactic Senate and challenged the Chancellor of the Republic in his own office in front of an audience barely an hour ago, was speechless.
And then, Force be praised, the spell was broken as quickly as it was cast, by none other than Ani himself.
"Well, f-for a senator, I mean," he gaffawed. Whoops.
Anakin was not the poster boy of polished romance in the beginning. I would know. That came later.
I would know.
Obi-Wan shifted tensely at his side, and in my peripheral I saw Captain Typho do the same. In those early days, I was not as lost to the presence of Anakin as I would become, and my spatial awareness of others around us was still exceedingly sharp. You don't become an efficient, high-ranking politician by failing to read the room. The awkwardness level was suddenly uncomfortably high.
But Ani only had eyes for me. He never broke our locked gaze. He looked painfully aware of his oral stumble, but still hopeful.
You have to give him credit. Whether in a junk shop on an Outer Rim planet, or in the stately apartment of a senator in the galaxy's capital, he was good at catching me off-guard with his opening one-liners.
{An angel! They're the most beautiful creatures in the universe.}
Apparently, Ani was still sticking with his original source material. I laughed—kindly, I hoped, and then I shook my head as if a great mystery had been solved. Realizing the amusing mirroring of our very first introduction released the tension in my body that had coiled itself under his concentrated stare. "Oh, Ani. You'll always be that little boy I knew on Tatooine."
Unknowingly, the biggest untruthful statement of my life.
Padmé wanted to raise an eyebrow and ask if he'd already planned out what he wanted to open with when we reunited in another ten years, but Amidala had taken the reigns. The lingering smile faded as I steered the group to the parallel couches in the center of the room. There was business to attend to.
"Our presence here will be invisible my lady, I can assure you." I wasn't sure if the apologetic resonance in Obi-Wan's voice was for the inconvenience of the security escort, or for the embarrassing behavior of his protégé.
We took our seats on the couch, and the introductions continued. "I'm Captain Typho, of Her Majesty's Security Service. Queen Jamillia has been informed of your assignment." Out of the corner of my eye, I was aware that while everyone else had shifted their attention to the commanding speaker, the young apprentice diagonal to me kept his eyes solely on me. Typho's tone shifted. "I am grateful you are here, Master Kenobi. The situation is far more dangerous than the senator will admit."
I didn't miss the way he directed the final words pointedly at me. Displeased by his reproachful tone, I frowned and retorted, "I don't need more security, I need answers." I searched Obi-Wan's eyes, willing him to understand. "I want to know who's trying to kill me." I stopped short of saying the rest, lacking faith that my voice would do something the polished Senator Amidala's never did— shake.
I want to know who was gunning for me but killed Cordé instead. I want to know who is the reason seven people will go home to their families in coffins.
I want this to end before they kill someone else I care about. Dormé. Typho. Jar Jar. Any of them might be caught in the line of fire next and follow the others' fate.
I won't let anyone else die for me.
However, the bearded face looking back at me clearly displayed resistance. "We're here to protect you, Senator. Not to start an investigation."
Obi-Wan Kenobi was not Qui-Gon Jinn. He would be far more adherent to the rules of the assignment. The logical side of me, the part that held enough memories of his contrasting behavior to his mentor a decade ago, knew I should have anticipated this. And yet I desperately wanted to gesture my hands at my companions on either side of me, friends and protectors of several years who, apart from the travesty of today, had done their jobs flawlessly and could continue to do so if simply left to it. My front line of defense. Protect them by finding this murderer!
None of this, of course, played out on my face. The Amidala mask was too well-practiced and well-attuned, even for this. Anakin would later tell me he hated that mask as much as he respected it.
Speaking of my future, Ani spoke up. "We will find out who's trying to kill you, Padmé." He said my name in a strange cadence, like a thrown pebble smoothly skipping over water. "I promise you."
Even from the beginning, Anakin was always very big on his promises. The more dramatically he delivered them, the deeper you knew they'd been mined from his core.
"We are not to exceed our mandate, my young Padawan learner."
Young. Padawan. Learner. Used all together, they almost sounded denigrating.
"I meant that in the interest of protecting her, Master, of course."
"We will not go through this exercise again, Anakin." The difference in their posture was stark. Obi-Wan was the picture of sage confidence, with his legs wide and his upper limbs resting upon them in ease. Ani's bravado was undermined by the way he sat hunched into his Jedi robe like he wanted to bury himself in it. He pinched his cloaked hands in between his thighs, giving off the appearance of a nervous child. It was obvious this was a routine exchange between them. "And you will pay attention to my lead."
"Why?"
Oh. This was not routine.
Obi-Wan's focus, which had returned to me, snapped back to his Padawan at the blunt challenge. "What?"
The argument for steering from observation towards investigation was one I wanted Ani to win. I shared the same goal.
But not like this.
"Why else do you think we were assigned to her if not to find the killer? Protection is a job for local security, not Jedi." He spat the word out with indignation. "It's overkill, Master. Investigation is implied in our mandate."
His manner was far too aggressive. I'd seen this kind of behavior by clumsy novices, usually the newly elected junior senators when they weren't getting their way. It almost always failed. With such a tactic, your delivery itself becomes the focal point, and the message behind it is lost.
Beyond that, though, watching him was oddly unsettling. The boy I'd once met was confident in his opinions, sure, and he was unafraid to voice them, but this was different. Combative. Even disdainful.
We, the reluctant audience, watched as the master thought over his final shut down. "We will do exactly as the council has instructed." Obi-Wan spaced out his words with a decadent measure, filling in the gaps with resolution that left no further room for debate. "And you will learn your place, young one."
Ani looked like he wanted a wormhole to open in the couch and swallow him. Some diplomacy and decorum badly needed to return to the room. Being more of a politician than anyone else present, I eased into my role gracefully. "Perhaps with merely your presence, the mystery surrounding this threat will be revealed." As I finished, my gaze lingered on the apprentice. Who are you? Where is the Ani I know? My abused neck and head were screaming now under the weight of my elongated headpiece, distracting me from the mental questioning. I'd sat down ready to fight for my concerns, even to suggest ideas for luring in the culprit behind the attack. I was also curious for Obi-Wan's opinion on Count Dooku being the conductor behind everything. But his reprimand of Ani had stolen the air from the room. My political instincts knew the argument must be paused— for now. "If you'll excuse me," I stood, the move causing a fresh wave of exhaustion to spill over me. All respectfully stood with me. "I will retire."
As I turned away, I sneaked yet another look at Ani. At Anakin. Somehow, the affectionate nickname suitable for a cherished little boy felt inappropriate for the foreign man who was hammering his stare into me. I'd wanted to communicate to him as covertly as I could that the effort to expand their mandate wasn't over, no matter what Obi-Wan had said, but the continued brazenness of his gaze caught me off guard. I swear, I could feel his eyes on my back the length of the carpet as I walked towards my bedroom. I had to resist the urge to turn and make eye contact, not wanting to seem encouraging. I admit, it was easier to keep moving forward considering the way a shower and my bed were calling out to me.
But I wasn't out of the clear just yet. Dormé went directly my dressing table where I usually sat while she— or Cordé, my heart mourned— put up or took down my hair. I sent her a grateful smile. She knew me too well. Well-trained and sharp-eyed, she'd probably been the only one in that room from who I couldn't hide the way I compensated for the growing strain in my neck.
Artoo gave us a cheerful hello from his charging station against the wall before quickly powering down again. I could relate to the feeling. I sank into my seat, and Dormé's nimble fingers went straight to work. She spoke first. "Well, that was interesting."
"I haven't sat in on many exchanges between Jedi Masters and their Padawans, but I can't imagine many of them go like that," I agreed.
"It was incredibly inappropriate for him to challenge Master Kenobi like that in front of us. What a firecracker that kid must be."
"Kid?" I challenged. "He's lucky he didn't hit his head on the doorway on the way in."
Dormé chuckled. "All the same. The maturity of his body doesn't seem to be in step with the maturity of his character."
I didn't want to think about the maturity of Ani's… body. And frankly, I felt a little defensive for his sake at Dormé's stern reproach. She'd worked with me long enough to recognize an earnest— if hot-headed and flawed— attempt at negotiations, same as I had.
"I don't know. We observed a tiny snippet of their relationship play out over little more than a minute. They've been side by side for ten years. Maybe it's just a positive sign of how comfortable they are with each other— of how close they are." She didn't say anything to that, and I realized my words sounded a little too optimistic, even for me. We fell into an unexpected silence. Wanting to break it, I added, "I don't approve of how he said it, but I agree with Ani. I, for one, would love them to get to the bottom of who is putting us all in danger." I could practically hear the rebuttals of Palpatine, Typho, and Masters Windu, Yoda, and Kenobi all over again. The list was getting long, and stacked. The only one on my side was a lowly student. "He seems to be the only person who agrees that while the Jedi are here they could do more than hang around."
A tall man with long hair and a mischievous wink in his eye arose in my memory. I didn't appreciate Qui-Gon Jinn's outside-of-the-box thinking enough when he was alive.
"I'll say this for the Padawan: He seems very intent on your safety."
Something in the way she said it made me look up, and I caught her eye in the mirror. Dormé was watching me carefully. I got the sense that she had been since I sat down.
"Ani and I were very close when we were younger, in the brief time we spent together," I explained. "But it was ages ago."
"Tell that to Ani."
Finally the wraps of the headpiece were all undone, and my hair crumpled around my shoulders in crunched waves. Instead of replying to her comment, I closed my eyes and sighed at the release of weight on my neck. I rubbed it tenderly with my hand, thankful that the mad costume changes of the day were over. There was nothing ahead of me now except a hot shower and sleep.
Ironically, at that exact moment, my stomach growled loudly.
I stood up and faced Dormé's knowing look. It had been a long day. For both of us. "We haven't eaten today, have we?" It was a rhetorical question, but she lifted an eyebrow and shook her head anyways. She was two years younger than me, but— as sassy as she sometimes was— Dormé was the motherly one of the group. Though, I think today she would've given me a pass on skipping meals, given the circumstances. "How about we order some catering for the apartment? Enough for us, our Jedi protectors, the security staff, the whole entourage. We have more mouths to feed than usual. And I owe all of them quite a lot for their presence." This was plainly true. I'd been pushing for investigation over personal protection, but that of course did not mean I didn't appreciate the risk several bodies were taking putting themselves between me and harm's way. Their risk was all too real after the fatal events of the morning. Feeding them was the least I could do.
Dormé nodded obediently, already thinking over the plan. "I'll run it by the captain first. He and the Jedi will probably want input as long as we're having an outsider deliver food to the building. They might want to send one of our own to go get it, if they can spare the gap in security. Doesn't matter— just tell me which restaurant you'd like to order from and I'll handle all the details, milady. You have something you need to do."
"Right," I closed my eyes, anticipating the bliss of the warm water soothing my tired muscles. "Mmm. A shower."
I opened my eyes to find Dormé gazing at me sadly. And I knew.
We looked at each other for a long, commiserating moment. She would have done this for me if she could, but not only was that out of the question, I would never pass along the obligation. I had to do this. I owed that. To her.
As a senator, I'd made this sort of solemn request of Dormé before, but never for anyone so intimately close to me, and I couldn't keep my voice completely clear of emotion. "Get me the holo call number for Cordé's family, please, and then arrange the catering."
Her parents had been notified earlier this morning, but I couldn't let the sun set on Coruscant without reaching out to them myself. I'd heard a lot about them from their daughter; it bruised my broken heart that this would be our first time speaking to each other.
Dormé walked to the data pad kept on a nearby counter, and I thought I saw her briskly wipe away a tear. Indeed, when she spoke, her voice was more nasal than before. "Where would you like to order dinner from?"
I only half-heard her. Already I was trying to find a balance on a precariously thin line. I couldn't default behind the safety of Amidala for this call. That persona was designed to be unemotional behind a binding mask. I would have to keep my poise during the coming conversation, but Amidala's aloofness held no place here. Cordé's family deserved to see a human being, one who knew their daughter and could commiserate in their loss. There was no question their grief was more paramount than my own trauma. It did not matter that my own heart was still bleeding with the freshness of the loss and from witnessing the visceral scene of it, nor that I hadn't even had time to process the event myself.
In a moment as painfully aching as anything I'd ever felt, I longed for a hug from my mother.
I wanted to crawl into her lap as I had as a small child, and just be Padmé— not senator, not consoler— just Padmé. I wanted to forget that the galaxy held such devastating abuses as wars and assassins and slaughter.
But I'd learned the truth at the tender age of fourteen; such sparkling innocence belonged to a girl who lived in an era long gone. Some days I think I just acted out what I remembered of her blind optimism, like a ghost I honored out of habit.
I grabbed a simple hair tie off the dressing table to restrain my now wayward hair. It was easy enough to pull it back and look presentable with a sleek tug and tight twist, doing so as I finally replied, "Anywhere you want, Dormé. You choose. Just let me know when you have the number ready." I crossed my arms over my chest and sunk my hands through my stiff sleeves, cupping my bruised elbows under my palms. It was a poor substitute for my mother's enveloping embrace. I walked over to the curved windowpanes and looked out over the industrial beehive before me. Regular citizens were going about their daily lives, blissfully unaware of the political world that had been rocked this morning.
How many out there cared that we were on the brink of civil war with the Separatists, so long as it didn't personally affect them? How many had even heard the news of seven Nubians losing their lives on the landing platform? How could fresh grief be so powerful for those experiencing it— a pulsating force field emanating from the very bodies of the mourners— yet be imperceptible to the surrounding world? For a moment, I felt pungent envy for these casual inhabitants of Coruscant and for all the like-minded souls in all systems. Not for the first time, I wondered what it would be like to let the cares of my personal life be my only troubles. To move along in my evening without more than a passing glance at a tragic headline, perhaps on my way to a holomovie or dinner with friends. Or with a romantic partner— someone to hold me intimately when my soul shed tears my physical eyes could only struggle to keep up with.
Dormé's tapping on the data pad behind me brought me back into the space of my room. I remembered who I was. I remembered the life I had willfully chosen, and the great privilege it was that the queen and Naboo continued to put their trust in me. I felt again the call to something bigger than myself, which I knew would never leave me, and how— more importantly— I did not want it to.
"Dormé?"
"Yes, milady?"
I took a deep breath, suppressing the tears I would not permit to fall. "We'll need to get the numbers for the six other families as well. Tonight." Reflexively, I raised a hand to my neck, rubbing the spot that made my breath hitch whenever I looked sideways too fast. A forgettable injury in comparison, especially when one must show respect to the families of the fallen. "I appreciate what you did, but I think we should put my hair back up to how it was."
"Yes, milady. Whenever you're ready."
Twilight was descending upon the capitol. I looked out over the city skyline one last time, at the families, friends, and couples going about their normal lives. As they should. As they had the right to do. The thick glass separating me and that world of personal freedom was more than just a structural element of my building.
Completely unexpectedly, a distinct pair of sky-blue eyes suddenly flashed in my mind, as if they'd materialized in the windowpane itself. I blinked again, and they were gone.
"Tell anyone who asks that I'll be taking my dinner in my room tonight."
I took another stabilizing breath, then I no longer felt the pressure of tears.
At the time, I was woefully unaware of the circumstances I would be in when the dam finally broke— of when, and with who, my eyes would flood into overdue cascades. I never would've guessed that the loving hands which wiped those tears away wouldn't be my own, or even Dormé's… but Anakin's.
