"You really don't have to pack yourself, you know," Sabé called. "That's what personal assistants are for."

"I thought you were a bodyguard," Luke retorted, delicately folding his underwear.

"My role is a dynamic one." Her dryness made him laugh. "Besides, I'm just going to repack everything you do. You need more than the basic essentials if you're going to be dressed up on public on Naboo."

"I do know that by now! Come in and see what I've done."

She stepped inside and raised her eyebrows at the outfits he'd laid out. "I shouldn't have doubted you. You have a good fashion sense when you're not stressing about being frugal."

"She admits it!" Luke held up one of the gowns he'd had commissioned himself. It was dark pink with gold trimmings and the patterns of tiny birds sewn across the skirt and bodice, like skylarks flying across a dawn sky. Its corset helped his posture in the Senate when he was starting to slump from exhaustion and the long, layered pink and gold skirts hid when his legs fidgeted.

Sabé smiled at it. "You're wearing that to the festival?"

"Possibly. I need my most comfortable and ornate outfits to survive hours standing in the open air," he retorted.

"That makes sense. It's an intense experience."

"I know. Last year was fraught."

"I remember." Sabé snorted. "Not as fraught as the last time Amidala was there, though."

"I heard about that. Something about an assassination attempt?"

"Palpatine was giving a speech—about how much he loved democracy, the Republic, other bantha shit. The Separatists had hired a team of bounty hunters to kidnap him there. The Jedi sent K— an operative in to infiltrate the team and stop it. I've heard there were all sorts of mind games and double-crosses going on, which I never bothered to understand, but it was an exciting event. In the middle of his speech, Palpatine had to be hurried away." She sighed. "If only he'd actually died."

Luke grimaced. "Should you be…?"

"I absolutely shouldn't. I'm doing it anyway." She lifted her gaze to examine every corner of his quarters. "Even if she is watching, she already knows what I believe."

"Recordings will provide evidence, though."

"No state is all-seeing. Even if autocracies want you to think otherwise. They wouldn't bother putting holocams in a private apartment unless they were certain they would catch actionable treasonous words. Too much useless information for them to sort through. They don't have the manpower."

A smile tugged at the corner of Luke's lips. That was a major concern, coming from Naboo, where holocams and surveillance were unthinkable, to the heart of an empire that supposedly watched your every move. "So, no holocams?"

"Despite the horror stories, no. And even if they did have them, they wouldn't record sound. A waste of energy when most provable treason is just in image."

"That's reassuring." Luke was only joking a little bit. "And both reassuring and concerning that you know all this."

"I'm good at my job," she retorted with a smile.

"Clearly. You—" Before he could finish, the loud chiming of the doorbell sliced through the apartment. "I'm not expecting visitors."

At the same time, Sabé said, "They didn't trip my sensors."

When they rushed out, Luke kicking off his fluffy slippers and replacing them with something more respectable for a senator to be seen in, Tonra was already at the landing pad. The great transparisteel doors that opened out onto the landing pad, just below the balcony, were still shut tight. Even if Luke recognised the figures behind them.

"Let them in," he said tiredly, then tightened his expression into one of sharp welcome. "Your Majesty. What an unexpected honour."

Empress Amidala stepped in, clad in a silk dress that draped along the floor as she walked, a cluster of red guards and a velvet-robed handmaiden at her back. The handmaiden had a large, white box in her hand, trimmed in ribbon. "Oh, don't worry about formalities and pleasantries, Luke, this isn't an official visit. I just wanted to drop by ahead of our trip to Naboo."

Luke disliked how she said our. So did Sabé, who visibly bristled.

Amidala turned her bright eyes on her. The diamonds in the cogs on her crown flashed in the light. "I assume you're packing well for him? You always were talented at being effective, efficient, and over-prepared at the same time."

"Luke can pack for himself," Sabé bit back.

"I didn't mean to imply otherwise." She inclined her head to Luke, then gestured to the handmaiden at her side—the only member of her security entourage who had accompanied her inside. The red guards were still standing around the speeder, exchanging hostile looks with Tonra. "Have you met Dormé? She's my longest continually serving handmaiden."

Sabé did not quite bristle at that, too, but it was a close thing. Luke plastered a smile on his face. "I have. It's a pleasure to see you again."

"Likewise." Dormé's voice was soft and gently accented, her gaze knowing as she looked from Luke, to Sabé, then back to her mistress.

Amidala smiled at them both, then turned the wattage in that smile to dazzling when she turned to just Luke. "But, as I said, this is a social call. I wanted to bring a gift."

"A gift?" Luke got out. Sabé's intense gaze was on his back. He ignored her. "Thank you for your generosity."

"Oh, it's nothing." She waved a hand to Dormé, who held out the large, flat box she was carrying. Luke took it and laid it on the glass table to his right.

He hooked a finger around the loop of the bow and hesitated. Amidala noticed with a laugh. "Go on. Open it."

With an apologetic glance at Sabé, he tugged at the ribbon, watching it crinkle and unfurl in his hand, and lifted the lid.

Soft gold tissue paper hid the contents. He cleared it away, then stifled a gasp. Nestled amongst the delicate padding was a dress.

Sabé frowned, coming forward. She gently lifted it out of the box, watching it unfold, then laid it on the glass table. Luke peered at it.

The skirt of the dress looked to be floor-length, with an exquisite red-purple colour to it. A shorter dress was layered over the top, a slightly bluer purple. The sleeves puffed at the wrists and the collar rose like a flower around the wearer's neck. Luke glanced into the box and drew out a scarf of the same colour, with several silver brooches to pin it in place.

Sabé stifled her cry, but not so quietly Luke didn't notice it. He glanced at where she was staring, her hand creeping towards her mouth, to see a silver headpiece still lying in the box. He lifted it up.

"It was one of my favourite dresses when I was a senator," Amidala said. "I wore it at the Proclamation of a New Order, and at Emperor Palpatine's coronation."

The headpiece, something between a disc and a crescent moon, burned in Luke's hands.

"'So this is how liberty dies,'" Sabé quoted, raising her eyes at Amidala, "'with thunderous applause'?"

Amidala smiled slightly. Luke found himself almost resenting how balanced she always was, how she met everything with the serene smile. "You've heard Bail's account of it? I knew you worked together—give him my regards. But yes, I was more extreme in those days. What I feared thankfully did not come to pass."

Sabé stared at her a moment longer.

"I am honoured by your gift," Luke said, interrupting the moment.

"If you ever wish for more, I have my old wardrobe at your disposal. I allowed Pooja to use it whenever she wanted, but she is meant to be an aide now, unfortunately, so her dress code is more limited. But a senator should certainly wear them."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," he reiterated. "This means a great deal. I… am just very aware that I was in the middle of packing, and unprepared for your visit."

"I understand completely. I shan't linger long." She made sure to meet his eye. "I assume when you return to Naboo, you will take some time to visit Sola and the others?"

Luke didn't like where this was going. "Of course."

"Give them my regards."

"You…" He blinked. "…aren't going to give them yourself?"

"No?"

He shouldn't push. He really shouldn't. But he hadn't expected her to cower out of that. "What's the point in you returning to Naboo, then?"

"The Festival of…" She sighed before she finished. "You see right through me."

Luke didn't particularly want to.

"They will not accept me," she said. "I should not."

Luke swallowed. Sabé took a step towards him, warning him against whatever he was about to say, but for a moment, all he could see was Pooja.

Pooja, devastated at the divisions wreaked in their family by her own and others' decisions.

Ryoo and Darred, who had done nothing, and harmed no one.

Sola, who missed her sister.

And Jobal and Ruwee, who blamed themselves for what had happened. And who might… just might… be able to influence their daughter in ways no one else could.

He didn't know if there was potential in Empress Amidala to ever truly return to Naboo and the family she abandoned. But he did know that his foster family were deeply wounded, and there were so many potential sutures and futures within his grasp.

"You won't know," he said, "unless you talk to them."

"What do you think?" Amidala addressed it to Sabé, and Luke couldn't tell if it was meant to be mocking, or a genuine cry for help. Neither did Sabé, it seemed.

Sabé shrugged. "Ask Luke."

Luke reiterated, "I think they miss you. And it's worth a try."

Amidala stared at him. Her eyes were shining.

"Then I shall," she decided. The look in her face was terrifyingly pure—he wondered how lonely she had been. "I shall see you at home. Have a safe trip."

"And you, Your Majesty," he replied on autopilot. She swept out of the apartment with Dormé; when she sat in the speeder, she seemed to be almost fidgeting.

They took off, and Luke sagged against the sofa. He stared at the dress on the table, the headpiece still in his hands. It was so much heavier than it should be.

Sabé snapped, "What were you thinking?"

He didn't want to respond. That whole interaction had drained him. But they needed to have this conversation, and they might as well have it now. "I was thinking that Aunt Sola misses her. And that maybe this will help."

"Help whom?"

He looked her in the eye, then. She looked terrified—feral, even.

"Not you," he conceded. "The Naberries."

"You may have made it worse."

"Nothing is worse than this festering silence between them." He clenched his jaw, then lifted his chin. "Between you, too."

"What are you talking about?"

"Sabé, I'm worried about you. It's clear that she's a fairly toxic lady to work for, judging by how you react."

"I don't—"

"I don't want you hurt or traumatised further," he said. "But I also don't know how much of the social-professional dynamic you had with her as a handmaiden you've transferred into our relationship as senator and… security. I'm technically your superior, but you're also my aunt. There's a conflict of interest, there. We need to have a conversation about it."

He realised he was still holding the headpiece and put it down. "You don't need to tell me anything about what happened. It's already clear that it wasn't good. But I want to know how we can stop anything like that from happening again, and also resolve this constant conflict we've had since I was appointed senator." When he looked back up at her, his gaze was softer. "We're family. I understand you want to treat me like you did when I was younger, and you had to protect me. But I am ultimately going to be the one calling the shots and deciding when I want to risk my own life or not. We need to be in a position where we can negotiate that."

Sabé stared at him, then sat down on the sofa. Very hard. She looked up, to where Luke realised Tonra was still in the room. Luke grimaced at the poor man, who smiled sheepishly back at him, gave him a pointedly encouraging nod, and headed back towards his bedroom.

"What does this mean?" Sabé asked. She raised her voice. "Are you firing me?"

"No. No. The opposite." He blinked at her. "I want you to stay on. I like working with you; even apart from the fact that you're family, you're the best head of security I could ask for."

"Personal assistant is probably a better description," she said. "Tonra is technically head of security."

"Then there you go. We need to hammer out the details. You shouldn't have to do more work than you need to, especially when your role serving the senator only has a specific salary attached to it. And we need to be able to establish a professional relationship beside our personal one, to make sure this works. I refuse to let you get too emotionally entangled in politics again."

"You don't have to protect me, Luke. It's my job to protect you."

"I'm making sure I don't hurt you."

She half-scoffed, half-sighed. "Alright," she said reluctantly. She looked almost nervous. "How are we going to approach this?"

"Firstly, in the public sphere you have to be my assistant. Not my aunt. I know you want to protect me from the Empress, and that you understand how she works far better than I do—and I appreciate you trying to stand up for me. But if I am to be taken seriously as a senator, I need to make decisions myself, and not look like my own household isn't clear on who stands where." He swallowed. "That doesn't mean I don't want your advice. Advise me on anything and everything you can. As handmaidens you had hand signals to indicate things, right? I can learn these, and you can advise me on how to approach areas where you know better."

She raised an eyebrow. "Padmé and all her handmaidens will be able to understand us."

"Then we can change it. Or let them understand it! I'm not one for keeping secrets anyway."

"You never were," Sabé teased, but it wasn't as light-hearted as usual. She still looked worried.

He smiled anyway. "I need you to trust me, auntie," he warned. "That's the main thing, I think. My default is to think of you as a parent or mentor figure." If her breath caught at that, he ignored it. "I know you think of me as a child. But here, and now, I need you to trust that I know what I'm doing. You can worry about me—I think that's your job as an assistant just as much as an aunt. Of course you can try to protect me, and warn me away from foolish ideas. But I'm going to do them anyway, sometimes. I need you to trust that I know what I'm doing, and I need to trust you that I'll have your support no matter what I do in the Senate, and you won't try to talk me out of it or sabotage it to stop me from endangering myself."

He knelt in front of Sabé and clasped her hands in his. "Can you trust that I know what I'm doing?"

"You did well as Prince of Theed," Sabé admitted, throat tight. "Even you had half the court gunning for you by the end."

"That's how I know I did well."

She squeezed his hands. "You're all grown up." She lifted their entwined hands to ghost her fingertips along his cheek. "Look at you. A senator." She lowered their hands. "I can be your advisor. I… understand the importance of separating the public and the personal. I know that Padmé and Captain Panaka's friendship was soured for a long time by their political differences. That won't happen to us."

"That's the other thing I wanted to mention. If I ignore your advice, that's not a reflection on you. And likewise, I know not to take your advice as a reflection on me." He grinned at her and got a watery smile back. "And… Panaka? Really? He's a Moff."

"Padmé's ideas changed. She made up with him." Sabé's tight voice told Luke enough about all the bitterness and grief therein.

"One more thing," he added. "If you're my personal assistant and advisor… I need you to take care of yourself. Don't neglect that."

"My job is to protect you."

"You can do that without staying up all night to research instead of going to the medcentre. I know I was being pushy and overbearing when I insisted you go, but I need to trust that you will look after yourself as well. This is a minefield of a situation for you—if you want to go home and not deal with Empress Amidala when it hurts so much, I understand. In order to do my job and rely on you to support me in that, I need to know that you're taking care of yourself."

"As opposed to being… self-destructive?" Sabé asked, a little dryly.

"You said it, not me." He tried for a smile. She tried to return it. Both had questionable success.

"I'll avoid her," she promised. "I do look after myself usually—I am my own best weapon. It's just… since seeing and worrying about her…"

"I understand," Luke said. "When it becomes an issue, can we communicate about it? I don't want to be left in the dark about what you need, especially if it will impact how well we can serve Naboo. I don't need to know what happened between you, I just need to know the context to what you feel and how to accommodate it."

Sabé leaned forwards. Luke started when she kissed him on the forehead, then went to sit beside her on the sofa. "I'll look after myself. So long as you do the same."

"I always do."

She snorted and wrapped her arms around him. Luke hugged her back, pressing their cheeks together. She never wore a scent of her own, so she just smelled like the flowery detergent that clung to her unassuming aide's robes and smart, crisp suits.

"When did you get so wise?" she murmured. "Last I remember, you were a kind but scared little boy who tried to imitate our Naboo accents."

"I was worried about this and talked to Leia?"

She laughed. "Leia is wise, true. But you've grown up more than I ever gave you credit for."

He pulled back. "I had some great aunts as my role models."

The snort and slight smile warmed him. "We're proud of you. Sola and I. Beru is as well, I'm sure."

Dread stilled his heart. "Can I tell you something?" he asked. He swallowed. "I may need your help."

Concern creased her brow. "Of course."

"I think Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru have gone missing."

"Missing?"

"They haven't written back to me. Not for six months. I keep writing. I don't get a reply." He swallowed. "I'm afraid for them. Something could've happened—they're still on Tatooine, and Vader's still waging war on them. What if they—"

"I'll find them," Sabé said immediately. "I don't have any contacts on Tatooine, but I'll get some there. We'll find them for you."

"If they're still alive."

"Don't underestimate them, Luke," she said teasingly. "They're definitely still alive. And we'll find them. You just need to trust me."


An hour later, he received a memo from Leia talking about a major development in her research for their committee case. Luke was sceptical, since it seemed that she hadn't sent it to Pooja as well, which meant this wasn't an official meeting. She only wanted to see him.

Sabé was in a call with one of her contacts, but he let her know where he was going. And, despite their conversation, Luke knew she'd worry if he went alone. He talked Tonra into flying him there instead.

"I'm glad you had that conversation with Sabé," Tonra admitted, once they were far enough into the airlanes of Coruscant that Sabé would never find out. "I worry about her, with how she throws herself into work. It consumed her once. Padmé joining Palpatine and Sabé having to wrestle with that destroyed her."

Luke nodded. "I got that impression." He paused. "You love her, right?"

"Of course."

"But she…"

Tonra shrugged. "Sabé's first love is and always has been Padmé Amidala. Even when she lost her, I don't think she was ready for the type of relationship I would have preferred, that might have been expected. I understood that. I'm happy to be close friends with her, and sometimes something more. I love her, even if she doesn't reciprocate in the exact same way."

Luke couldn't help but think how lucky he was, to have spent his life in the company of these people.

They reached Leia's soon after.

Her security recognised him immediately and let them land on the landing pad just outside her residence. Tonra climbed out and struck up a conversation with Captain Antilles while Luke nodded respectfully at the guards on duty and slipped in. Leia's apartment was much like his, but the cultural influences were too different to ignore. There were fewer bold colours around; instead, she seemed to favour décor of pale blue, dove grey, and a great deal of white. Luke was sure it had something to do with Alderaan as well as personal taste—he'd seen the official colours of the Organa household, and they were similar—but a part of him still wondered what happened if a clumsy guest spilled wine all over the white chaise longue, or if a menstruating person had an accident while sitting there.

One of Leia's aides stepped forwards to introduce herself as Winter. They exchanged smiles, while Luke committed her face to memory—she'd been in Leia's Senate pod several times as well, so he would likely be working with her when Pooja let them get the committee off the ground.

"Her Highness is just packing in her bedroom," she said. "She said to send you through."

Luke hesitated for a moment, concerned about the appropriateness of it—he and Leia were friends, he hoped, but that still seemed a private arena.

Winter seemed to catch this. "It may seem a little private," she admitted, "but it's meant to be."

Oh. That, he understood.

He knocked on her door and stepped inside when invited in. Leia was standing in front of a queen-sized bed stacked high with beautifully decorated pillows, several suitcases open before her. She glanced up at him. "You made it!"

"Your communique seemed urgent. You had a breakthrough in your research?"

"Yes. Come in." The door shut behind him once he was out of its way, and he sat himself down in an armchair beside her bed, running a gaze over her bags. "Remind me, what's the climate like on Naboo? I don't want to pack incorrectly."

"Very mild." He corrected himself—not everyone used Tatooine as their first reference point. "Warm, though. Warmer than you expect, I'm told. You won't need snow boots." He gave a pointed look to a pair of brown boots at the foot of her bed, lined with fur, their laces trailing on the deep blue carpet.

She snorted. "That makes sense. I should have thought of that before." She made a show of throwing the snow boots, and several thick coats, aside. "Warm weather is pleasant, though. Inexperienced as I am with the extremes of it. Is it true that it tends to heighten passions? Angers?"

There was something behind her words. She was getting at something.

"Not as far as I know," he said carefully. "Naboo's fraught, romantic history in all the holonovellas is a cultural phenomenon as far as literature goes. I think it's meant to be a sort of escapism compared to a restrained Naboo society. The Gungans of course have their own cultural expressions of passion, but it has nothing to do with heat, and they have a strict honour code."

"I ask because I'm aware that Naboo has its political divisions at the moment."

"What planet doesn't?"

She picked up on what he didn't say, and smirked. "That's a fair point. But I worry about a faction that seems to be continually causing trouble. You likely dealt with them. The Millaflower Movement?"

It clicked in Luke's mind. "The Millaflower Movement are a controversial topic, yes. They think Naboo's quiet adoption of Imperial rule is unacceptable, even with the government opposition to the Empress herself. They have a number of legitimate methods, as well as their infamously illegal ones."

One of the members of the council while he was Prince of Theed, Representative Maya, had been a member of the Millaflower Movement. She'd revealed her allegiance publicly one day with a crimson millaflower on her lapel, to increase their legitimacy and try to give them a voice in Naboo politics. Luke had respected her deeply.

Her assassination had shaken him to his core. The only reason he hadn't joined her movement himself after that had been Sola's begging that he keep himself safe.

"Of course, they are a militant and dangerous group," he added for the benefit of everyone involved. "Queen Dalrana is always working on ways to stamp them out." Not in the least because if she didn't, the Empire would do it for them. Naboo wasn't an occupied planet. Empress Amidala hadn't installed a garrison there. Yet.

"I wanted to research Naboo's independent judiciary as a way of bolstering our case," Leia continued airily. Luke winced—all the faults he knew of in the court system ran to mind at once—but nodded. They'd address it in more detail later. "I'm just aware that the Millaflower Movement tend to get themselves deeply involved in protests against law and justice of that sort. I heard a terrible rumour in my research that they erased years of Imperial surveillance data from the judiciary's archives and set fire to the system which held it."

"They did," Luke agreed. "It was shocking—and incredibly difficult for the Imperial investigators stationed there to keep order once their data was gone. Not knowing the names, occupations, and addresses of everyone in Theed greatly hindered their efforts."

"You understand my concern about the dangers, then?"

"I do. But I still think this lead is worth investigating. And, of course," he added, "the Millaflower Movement take issue with our courts so much because they see them as corrupt. You must have run into this? Examining their claims for corruption could help us nuance—and bolster—our own against extremist views."

"I agree. A conversation there is certainly in order, though I would never concur with such extreme views. But this is a topic worth getting involved in. Lending our ears to."

"Deeply involved."

Leia studied him. "We're agreed, then?" she asked. Her roundabout tone had dropped, to be replaced by something almost nervous.

"Wholeheartedly," Luke replied. Sabé would kill him, but… she trusted him. She would agree that he should get involved, so long as he kept himself safe.

He wouldn't pin a millaflower to his lapel and stand in front of the Senate with its scent engulfing him. But he could plant some seeds that would grow into a sturdy bush, bristling with flowers and thorns alike. He may have come to the Senate to find Pooja, but he was still going to do good in the galaxy. If inconveniencing a tyrannical empire in the smallest of ways would help, he'd do it.

Leia grinned. "I look forward to our trip to Naboo, then. The Festival of Light is the longest-running celebration of democracy in the galaxy, I hear."

Luke nodded. "And the last."

They exchanged a grim look.

"You should go," she said. "I'm sure you have your own packing to do. And you probably need to be prepared to fend off Amidala in the next few days, if she's going too."

"I've already done it today.".

"My condolences."

He glanced at Leia just before he turned to leave. "You hate her," he said.

"Of course."

"Personally, not just politically. You utterly despise her."

She smiled bitterly. "Are you asking me why?"

"If you want to say." It was difficult, being friends with a fellow politician. He had a resolve against pushing for his friends' and family's secrets, not being too blunt, but a politician he was working with seemed important.

"It's not much of a secret. Easily forgotten, but not much of one." Her bitter smile was still frozen on her face as she turned to the side. "I used to adore her. On Alderaan, even with my parents trying to teach me otherwise, her charm was so powerful. Especially on political visits. She and Vader used to come to our palace, and she was so patient with me. I looked up to her.

"I didn't join the Senate to help my father—I joined it to help her. In hindsight, it's concerning that I was elected. Your sister would call it nepotism, I think."

"And now you hate her."

"The more mercy missions I go on," Leia said. "The more I realise how much she keeps us in the Core and Mid Rim worlds ignorant. How much she lies to the Senate and how much people turn a blind eye. With every mission, I hate her even more for being able to do that to me, too."

Luke paused. He could see—sense, almost—the self-hatred in her face. "You were young. You've changed."

"I have. I'll never do that again. She will never manipulate me again."

"I'm lucky to know you, then. Especially after what happened to my sister."

She was looking at him oddly. "You're a pleasure to work with, Senator Naberrie," she said.

"You still sound surprised about that."

"I am."

Rather than dwell on what that meant, Luke hurried out the room.


Winter was still taking notes on something on her datapad—she glanced up when he came through, then nodded. He nodded back. Turned towards the landing pad, where a small congregation of Leia's pilots had gathered around Tonra. Captain Antilles stood firm amongst the throng, looking amused, but the two pilots under his wing—both taller than him, one a blonde woman and one a dark-haired man—seemed to be interrogating Tonra mercilessly. The woman was quieter, nodding along and listening intently, while the man had his back to Luke and was doing most of the talking.

"Alright, but you need to tell us more about Naboo's hyperspace lanes. Obviously we're trained for them, but any tricks on how to get there faster? Smugglers love that area, right?"

"We're trying to deal with the smugglers," Tonra protested, but only half-heartedly. "The moons are the main issue you may run into. Alderaan has no moons and Coruscant destroyed theirs a long time ago. Make sure you're prepared for the gravitational forces they'll exert on your ship. Plot your trajectories around them."

"Are they that bad?" the woman interjected.

The man waved the question away, to a frustrated but affectionate glance from his companion. "Oh, absolutely. I went home once, a few weeks after I graduated from the Academy. Man, I can't describe the difference. Who'd have thought two suns, several planets, and three moons would mess so much with your flight trajectory?" His joke landed—at least, it got a snort out of everyone involved.

It got a snort out of Luke, too, but it was weaker that it should have been. Because he had stepped out onto the landing pad, then, and almost froze. The dark-haired man's face was in view, surprisingly calm and suave for the enthusiasm with which he was asking his questions. Luke should have recognised him from his excitement; instead, because of the neatly trimmed moustache, it was a good few seconds before he did.

Tonra cut in again, then. "As I said. The moons are no joke. I'm sure Captain Antilles is plenty experienced, but you newbie pilots shouldn't be caught unawares. They wreak havoc when you're out of atmo."

"They wreak havoc when you're in atmo as well," Luke cut in, coming to stand next to Tonra. The effect on the pilots was almost immediate—he wasn't their superior, but he imagined they'd been trained to be professional around all politicians. They clammed up and eyed him warily.

Luke ignored that. He smiled at Tonra, then at the others, trying to seem casual and at ease. Slowly, they relaxed a little. "It's good to bear that in mind when you're flying over water—which you usually will be, if you're travelling anywhere in a speeder on Naboo. Having three moons gives us wildly unpredictable tides. I don't imagine Alderaan has tides at all."

"None, Senator Naberrie," Antilles confirmed. "Flat as a mirror."

Luke let himself smile—and smile wider than he would have without the makeup, so that that slight smile actually showed on his face. He dropped the Naboo-trained accent he used in politics, and too-often around his relatives, and imagined he was ten years younger when he said, "It was a novelty when I first came. I imagine it'll be a novelty for you too, Biggs."

Biggs jerked his head down in shock, previously too busy studiously not looking the scary senator in the eye to take much notice of him. He stared at him. Luke stared back, his eyes crinkling.

"How…" Eventually, the voice, the height, and the specific way Luke's eyes laughed at him seemed to strike a chord of familiarity. "Luke?"

Luke let his full grin erupt. "Didn't expect to see you here."

Biggs was still gaping at him. "What—no! You don't get to say that! I was resettled to Alderaan—you knew that! I was always gonna try to be a pilot. I thought you were going to Alderaan as well! Since when did you wanna be a senator? Since when were you called Naberrie?"

"It's a long story," Luke admitted. "The Naberries are my adoptive family."

"But you always said the name—"

"I still use it when I go back to Tatooine," Luke said, before Biggs could say Skywalker out loud. He gave him a hard stare, a warning he wouldn't understand. "But on Naboo, it's Naberrie."

"Better reception from the local populace?" Biggs guessed.

Luke shrugged. "Yes… and no."

"So ex-Senator Pooja Naberrie is your sister," the woman said, eyes narrowed.

"She is."

Biggs glanced at her. "Oh—Luke, this is Evaan Verlaine. Evaan, this is Luke, my neighbour from Tatooine who genuinely saved my life, and apparently now the Senator of Naboo. This is weird." He shook his head, laughing. "Suns, I wouldn't have ever recognised you without you prompting me. That makeup you're wearing…" He reached out a hand, immediately as casual as he and Luke had always been; Luke, gently, had to catch his wrist and lower it again. "Why so much?"

Luke pointed at his cheek. "I think you can guess."

"Oh. Yeah." Biggs glanced around, looking like he wanted to say more, but he was tactful enough not to in front of everyone. "We've got a lot of catching up to do, haven't we?" He punched Luke on the shoulder. Captain Antilles looked a little scandalised.

Luke caught his fist and squeezed it, though. "We have," he confirmed. "I'm running around all day getting ready to go back to Naboo, but if you're heading back there yourself, we can catch up there?"

"You'd better show me around, Luke Naberrie."

"Wouldn't dream of missing out," Luke said dryly. He inclined his head to Antilles and Verlaine. "It was great to meet you."

"Likewise," Verlaine murmured. Antilles gave a stiff, professional nod.

Luke glanced at Tonra. "We should get back."

Tonra nodded, glancing over his shoulder. Luke wondered if he, too, was stalked on Coruscant by the feeling that there was always someone watching. "Let's go."


Pooja pressed her thumb to the pad on the door and let the scanner run over her retina. It hissed open and she trotted through the side corridor to the Empress's wing in the Imperial Palace. This place was far, far quieter than the Senate; she preferred it immensely. Fewer judging eyes. Fewer revolutionary politicians trying to disrupt the workings of the Empire.

She smoothed out the dark red robes that handmaidens had been ordered to wear today and stepped out of the servants' corridor, into full display of the Palace's splendour. The bare, dusty floors gave way to rich carpets underfoot that almost entirely silenced her footsteps as she nodded at the guards. They scrutinised her face before going through: Sabé's stunt with breaking into Aunt Padmé's quarters in the Senate had apparently opened Captain Vassic's eyes to potential security holes. At least Sabé being here was good for something.

The guards let her past, and she continued along the ornate corridors. She still moved silently—that had been one of the first things the other handmaidens had trained her to do, when Aunt Padmé had first hired her—but she didn't bother announcing her presence as she opened the door to the drawing room and drew her hood back. Padmé was always with Lord Vader at this time in the evening, and he would know she was coming.

They were indeed perched on the sofas, Padmé sipping tea from a delicate cup while Vader sat there and nodded as she talked. Both of them glanced up when Pooja stepped to the edge of the carpet, not intruding, and bowed.

"You asked for my help, my lady?"

"Of course, Pooja." Padmé rose to her feet. She had already changed into her evening gown, simpler and less restrictive than her grand outfits for the day, and the lilac satin folds rippled with each of her movements. Her hair was down, curls identical to Pooja's tumbling over her shoulders. From the way Vader had hardly turned away from her, Pooja imagined he was transfixed. "I wanted your advice while I packed for our trip tomorrow. My wardrobe for the visit must be extensive, of course, and I wanted the ear of someone who has recently been to Naboo to tell me about the sensitivities of weather and politics I may have forgotten about."

"Of course," she said, inclining her head.

"Excellent. Allow me to fetch my list of thoughts, then we can get started."

Pooja hovered while Padmé flitted out of the room. She pointedly didn't meet Vader's eye—she didn't want to antagonise him again—but he didn't want to let her, it seemed. He stood, towering to his full height, and loomed over her.

She swallowed, and looked back up at him, meeting his gaze as best she could behind his eye plates.

"You are here often," he observed. "You are one of my wife's favourite handmaidens. Likely because you are family."

"Yes, my lord." Was he going to complain about her proximity again? He had always seemed to resent how close she was to Aunt Padmé.

"You are family," he repeated. "I am glad you are here. I… apologise… for how I have treated you in the past."

Unbidden, her eyebrows hiked so high on her face they tried to escape. "I appreciate that, my lord."

"She loves deeply and has lost a great deal. We have lost a great deal." His gaze was still boring into her. "Because of you, perhaps we have regained some of that."

"I hope so, Lord Vader. I aim to serve her as best I can and shield her from further pain."

"You will serve her—our—interests above all else?" Vader pressed.

"I swear it," she replied. This was a strange apology, if Padmé had put him up to it, but Lord Vader was a strange man.

He nodded once, sharply. "Good," he said, then turned away.

Pooja glanced up to see Padmé in the doorway. "Found it," she said with a wave. "I don't have a clue why that took so long, I'm quite out of my wits today. Do come through."

Pooja followed her through to the room that served as her wardrobe. She'd been in here before, helping Dormé to select Padmé's outfits for the day, but never with the Empress herself. Padmé made it seem less vast—just by wandering through it, with the colour and power she held, she made it seem necessary.

"For the Festival of Light and the speeches themselves, I wanted something which would refer to my time as queen as well as when we joined the larger galaxy itself. Something to oppose Queen Dalrana's isolationism by invoking the merits of a connected galaxy, as well as reminding what happened the last time we were politically isolated. The Invasion of Naboo seems easily forgotten at home, nowadays." Padmé wandered through, eyeing the outfits which were already on models, as well as the ones on hangars. "But we mustn't upstage the queen herself. My crown should indicate the power balance between us enough; the dress itself should seem more cosmopolitan, less mired in the trappings and façade of the elected monarchy. Less structured. I'm no elected child with everything to prove."

She stopped in front of a long, cerulean dress with belled sleeves and a high, stiff collar. After a moment studying its many petticoats, she moved on. The next was a dress that phased from pink to orange from head to toe. When she finally stopped, it wasn't in front of a dress at all: it was a black tunic, paired with a frockcoat the dark red of dried blood, gold lace foaming at the neck and wrists and gold buttons gleaming.

Padmé ran her fingers along it. "If we could get the tailor to fix it up to suit my purposes, this could work. It's not ideal, but… Some black and gold embroidery patterned to subtly remind of the invasion and how the Republic failed us…"

She glanced up. "Pooja?"

Pooja shook herself. "That sounds good."

"You're very quiet. I wouldn't have invited you here if I didn't trust and value your opinion."

"I like watching you work. You're more of an expert than I am; I don't have much more to add."

"You seem shaken, still. Did Lord Vader say something to upset you?"

Padmé's concern was great enough that Pooja dropped her professionalism. She could confide in her aunt, she knew. "He apologised to me for how he's treated me. It was strange."

"That's good to hear. I've been hounding him for unfair and delusional he's been."

Delusional? "He seemed warmer. Insofar as he is ever warm." The air itself grew frigid around him. Pooja hadn't known what writers meant when they spoke of blood freezing in veins until she'd met him.

"Perhaps he's finally starting to accept that you're family." Padmé reached out to squeeze her hand. "I know he struggled with that before, but I think he's coming around."

"He seems much more interested in Luke in that way. Not me. Even now, he was acting stiff and cryptic. When he was talking to Luke a few days ago, he was engaged."

"Luke may not be a blood relative, but he looks a great deal like Vader did at his age. And you've mentioned that Luke's interests outside of politics are similar to Vader's. He probably finds him less intimidating to speak with."

"I suppose…"

"I'm actually intending to use this trip to Naboo to rebuild bridges with our family, as well," Padmé admitted. It was almost shy of her. "I miss them a great deal, and something Luke said when I visited him this morning made me want to reach out."

"You visited him this morning?"

"I gifted him one of my outfits from when I was a senator."

Pooja nodded. That would be a lovely way to bring Luke more in line with their politics visually, and closer emotionally.

"I think it's a good idea," she said. "They miss us as well, I'm sure. No one wants our family to suffer in two halves. An overture of good faith won't go amiss."

"I'm glad you think so." Padmé snorted. "Stars, I'm nervous. I'm Empress of every planet in known space and I'm still nervous." She shook her head. "But—back to Lord Vader. If you're still concerned about his behaviour, I can speak with him further for you."

"No." Pooja shook her head. "That's not necessary."

"If you're sure?"

"I'm sure."

Padmé squeezed her hand again, then let go. "Alright. This talk about family does remind me, though. I didn't just call you here for your invaluable fashion advice. I also wanted to talk about Luke."

"Oh?" Pooja's heart raced. Had he offended her after all? She'd been so patient so far, but—

"I'm worried about him," she confessed. "Him and his loyalty. He grows ever closer to Princess Leia; she may lead him astray. That was why I assigned you to that committee with them, so that you could try to keep them apart in the professional setting, but they seem to be friends now."

Pooja sighed. "I'm worried about him as well. He's a good person. Just… impractical in his goodness, sometimes."

"I know the type." Padmé's smile was fond enough to let Pooja relax. Somewhat. "And I know that type can be easily misled—I almost was, before Chancellor Palpatine took me under his wing. I understand that Naboo has a complicated relationship with Imperial values at the moment, with her fair share of Rebel sympathisers and possibly cells, even if Dalrana's government don't wish to acknowledge it. If, as I heard, Organa is accompanying Luke to the Festival, it seems like the perfect time for her to pull him into trouble."

Pooja nodded. "I was concerned about that as well. I wasn't on Naboo while Luke was working as Prince of Theed, but I know one of his colleagues was an open supporter of the Millaflower Movement."

Padmé grimaced. "Yes. Them." She turned away from Pooja as she took a deep breath, and studied one of the dresses on the manakins, apparently fascinated by the tassels hanging from its headpiece. "I wanted to ask you to keep an eye on him. Through whatever means necessary, but I trust you to carry out the operation. It seems prudent, to monitor the situation."

"You want me to spy on Luke?" Pooja asked.

Padmé grimaced. "I dislike that word, but—yes. The manipulation of information, and a little surveillance, may be necessary in this case. Just to keep him safe. As I said before—if his connection to us got out to the Rebels, it could harm him."

She swallowed and glanced up at Pooja. "I know this will be difficult. I am asking of you a great deal, to betray your brother's trust in order to help him. But… will you do it?"

Pooja loved Luke. She loved Padmé.

"Of course," she said.


And that's the end of Act I! Stay tuned for Act II, and the drama that's about to go down on Naboo :D

I'm going to take a brief break in updates next week, to allow me to keep up with the editing and art for this fic, so there won't be a chapter next Saturday. But I'll see you the Saturday after that! I hope you're enjoying it so far.