Sparks of Hope (A Star-Wars Advent Calendar)
By Meysun
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7. Rare Blooms (Padmé Amidala)
20 BBY
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The Festival of Light had been shadowed by threat and war, that year. And though it was not the first crisis Naboo had breached, Padmé could not help but feeling just how fragile the Republic appeared, eight-hundred and forty-seven years afterwards it welcomed them.
There was so much deception. So much anger.
Anakin had barely spoken to her – and refused to talk to Obi-Wan, once his former Master had recovered his voice and his face. And Padmé was worried, because Anakin had been desperate, bordering on frenzy, ever since Obi-Wan's faked death. Now, however, he was closed off and distant, even with Ahsoka, and Padmé had decided to take a walk in the Palace's gardens.
She was so rarely here, now – yet she remembered every walk, every staircase, every official room from her time as a Queen. She had been so young… and yet, no stranger to deception either. Neither had her handmaidens.
M'lady, I'm so sorry… I have failed you, Senator…
Cordé's face swam before Padmé's eyes and she blinked, heading for the garden's orchards, where the trees were high and grew, and were flowers would help her remember what she was fighting for.
Sabé, Saché, Rabé, Duja… they were all willing to lay down their lives for her. And no one realised how difficult it had been, and still was, accepting to stay safe, to lose one of them in order to remain alive and ready to serve.
She had not fooled the Jedi, back then. Qui-Gon had not even batted an eye, when she had insisted to accompany him on Naboo, and Obi-Wan… Obi-Wan had always been masterful at hiding his feelings, even as a Padawan. She remembered his discretion, his softness, the way he somehow always managed to adapt, fluid and pliant like a mountain-stream.
And she remembered his grief. The way he had stumbled into the hangar, once Theed was safe and the Federation's blockade grinded to dust. The way he had embraced Anakin, even as Ani had screamed and rained blows down on him. The way he had insisted to stand vigil for Qui-Gon, alone and pale-faced, looking almost as dead as him.
She had worried for him, and for Ani, those weeks separating the end of the battle of the peace celebrations. The Jedi Council and the Republic had tried to investigate clues about the mysterious Sith warrior – Darth Maul – but had remained unsuccessful.
Padmé had been relieved once Ani and Obi-Wan had returned – Ani still the little sunshine he was, eager and excited. And Obi-Wan almost like his former self – yet more defined. With something both intense and soft in his eyes that told of fears, losses and demons faced, if not entirely conquered.
She had taken his hand – like that day of horrible loss, when he had cried before her yet had not seemed to be able to notice it. And she had taken him through the gardens, towards that remote, untamed place where trees and flowers grew.
"We planted it for him. I understood he liked Nature – trees, and flowers."
Obi-Wan had nodded. Back then, it was still so very difficult to make him say anything about Qui-Gon – but he had knelt, silently, placing his palm against the tiny trunk sprouting out of the garden's soil.
They had planted it at the head of a flat, snowy marble plate that would warm every time the sun shone on it. Nothing was written there, no words, no symbol – yet the whole Palace knew what it stood for.
"The flowers are a rarity. Sometimes a whole life is not enough to see them bloom. Rare are those who have seen them more than once.
- Have you?", Obi-Wan had asked, softly, still kneeling in front of the marble stone, palm resting against the marble, and Padmé had nodded.
"When I was eight years old. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."
She had left him alone, afterwards – and found him kneeling there twelve years later, face smooth, like before, brown Jedi cloak wrapped around him, hood concealing his shorn head.
His hands were resting on his knees, palms turned upwards, fingers slightly curled. He was facing the tree, watching the wind rustle through the tender green leaves, and there was something raw and unbridled in his features – perhaps because there was nothing left to conceal them.
He was wearing his Jedi tunics once more, lightsaber clipped at his waist, and Padmé could feel him shiver slightly, next to her, as she knelt down herself.
"It has grown…", she told him. "As we all have. But the flowers still elude us."
They stood silent, for a while. And then Obi-Wan broke the silence:
"Perhaps we are not ready for them."
His voice was hoarse, almost broken – the modulator. Probably.
"I do not think I will ever see them. But I can sense their future blossoms, in the Force. And they are lovely."
He paused, once more, because his voice was giving out. And Padmé gently placed her hand on his forearm, watching the leaves rustle.
"I was a very arrogant young Queen, you know…", she told him. "They are so rare. So precious. They reminded me of home, because they only grow there. So I simply took their name. Amidala."
She shook her head, softly.
"People never guessed, somehow. They never asked. Too many robes and tiaras and ceremonials, too many handmaidens. Sometimes, when I think back on those years as a Queen, it seems to me I was hiding in plain sight all the time – slowly forgetting who I was in the process.
- I do not think you forgot", Obi-Wan whispered. "Your actions spoke for yourself. You never betrayed the ideas you stand for."
She turned towards him, then. Watched his eyes spill, once, in silent shame, facing Qui-Gon's memorial – and was again reminded of the Apprentice he had been.
"Neither have you", she told him, softly. "But sometimes the price we pay, for hiding in plain sight, and doing our duty, seems more costly than the flowers of this tree.
- I hope it was worth it", Obi-Wan said, hands curled on his knees. "I pray the Force it was worth it, Senator Amidala.
- And I believe it was, Master Kenobi", she answered, thinking of soft, rosy petals, fragile like dew, yet beautiful as dawn, who would continue to grow and unfold, long after they would all be gone.
Always searching for the Light.
A/N: I am so sorry for the missing post yesterday - real life caught up and I just couldn't manage it. You'll have two stories, not one on Sunday, to compensate and allow me to be on schedule again. I hope you still liked this one, that is set right after the 'Rako Hardeen' arc. In another fic of mine called 'Mirrors of Silent Rain', Padmé seems a bit less understanding, yet I think you can read those along, because my opinion is that Padmé, unlike Anakin, very much understands the conflict and choices Obi-Wan made going "undercover" for the Republic. I searched for the name of those flowers symbolised on her dress, at the end of the Phantom Menace - it is unknown. So I simply decided it was Amidala, and that she chose her name because of them. I hope you still enjoy this story and wish you a wonderful December 10th :). Much love, Meysun.