Obi-Wan waited anxiously as Padmé looked herself over in the mirror. They were in her office; if she were to make it to the opera on time she'd have to leave directly from the senate building since traffic was always so heinous at this time of day. The afternoon session had just ended, and he was hoping to at least have some time to speak with her before Siri and the Jedi arrived.

"Padmé," he began carefully. "We need to talk."

Padmé paused, her fingers in her hair. She looked at his reflection a little warily. "Is it about Éothen?"

She was leading him on and he knew it. Avoiding the offer, he continued, "You know who it's about."

"I'm really not sure what else we could talk about, Obi-Wan," she replied a little coldly and a little tiredly. "You harped on me about Vader quite a bit already."

"I wanted to give you a chance to explain."

Padmé turned around. "Now you're letting me explain myself?"

"You weren't being very forthcoming before," Obi-Wan argued, a little annoyed that she was throwing all the blame on him. "Can you fault an older brother for worrying over his little sister?"

Padmé softened at the rebuke. "It's… I don't know what to say, Obi."

"You can start by saying why you think he's trustworthy."

Padmé sighed heavily. "He's… he's not trustworthy. But he isn't a lost cause, either."

"You love him, but you don't trust him?" Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows, growing more exasperated by the moment. Her argument really wasn't very convincing.

"Well, he doesn't trust me either, but—"

"That's reassuring."

"Obi, just—just let me explain." Padmé took a deep breath and centered herself. "Darth Vader was raised to think he was nothing more than a tool for the emperor. He has no opinion of himself, and I don't mean he thinks little of himself or prioritizes differently, I mean he literally has no opinion of himself. Everything he does is because he's ordered to do so."

"No one can hide behind that excuse, Padmé, and you know it. Is a soldier exempt from all his sins if he just claims he was ordered to do it?" Obi-Wan crossed his arms, remaining calm as he tried to convince her of the error in her judgment.

"Of course not," Padmé shook her head. "But a soldier isn't raised a soldier – he enlists or is drafted, but he's got a sense of self, of identity, before he becomes a soldier. Vader doesn't have that – he was raised a soldier, he was raised to follow orders."

"I know plenty of people who were raised to be soldiers and turned out to be decent sentient beings," Obi-Wan rebutted. "The man you're going out with tonight is one of them, though I'm not entirely sure why you started interacting with him, either."

Padmé waved a dismissive hand. "He's nice, and it's the only normal interaction I'm having in my life right now. Can you blame me?"

"It doesn't have to do with Salkende?"

"It did, but that's a moot point," Padmé sighed. "Éothen already said that once their civil war ends, they'll probably be primarily concerned with rebuilding."

"Yes, Senator Tlenden said as much as well," Obi-Wan agreed, glancing outside at the dull cloudy evening. "I don't even know how our allies are faring right now, honestly."

"Al didn't say anything?"

"He said they still haven't found a new home."

"Still? It's been two weeks!" Padmé immediately grew concerned.

"Padmé, you have to remember what is required to start a new home," Obi-Wan explained evenly, though he himself was just as worried as she. "You need supplies, you need people, you need resources like money, and you need to find a suitable location, a safe location. You also need leadership, and we know how good that situation is."

"They have nothing," she muttered in a moment of horror, leaning against her desk. "They literally have nothing."

"They have the new fleet."

Padmé locked eyes with him. She knew he was talking about the Jedi fleet. She took some comfort in it just as he did; to think that people who'd endured and survived twenty-one years of persecution and ten years of war before that were aiding them was extremely reassuring.

The door to the office opened and Siri entered. The other two handmaidens were in the foyer looking through paperwork and other tasks. Padmé sighed and turned to the mirror once more to ensure she looked decent for the opera and then faced the couple. "Well, I'm off. I'll see you two after the opera."

"Enjoy yourself," Obi-Wan wished sincerely with a smile. If she just wanted to destress he wouldn't deny her that, so he hoped the opera helped.

"Make him buy you some nice drinks while you're there." Siri winked. "It's what the gentlemen are for, after all."

Obi-Wan gave her a slightly offended look, garnering a chuckle out of Padmé. "I'll be sure to do that, Siri."

After she departed, Siri finished organizing matters with the handmaidens and bade them a good evening. Obi-Wan settled into a comfortable chair in the foyer as everyone else left; he and Siri were finally alone.

"Did you manage to find out why she's going out with Éothen?" Siri asked.

"Apparently to help her relax," Obi-Wan replied.

Siri laughed. "You're kidding. I'd forgotten that word existed."

"Perhaps our new aide can help us remember it," Obi-Wan muttered.

As if on cue, the door to the foyer opened to reveal a tall, broad shouldered man. He had a serene and knowledgeable look about him, and he walked with confidence. Obi-Wan felt a strange warmth envelope the room and his anxiety lessened significantly. It was strange looking at him, as if Obi-Wan were staring at a fictional character come to life. He'd thought for so long that the Jedi were dead. Even more bizarre was the fact that the man seemed strangely… familiar.

Siri looked at him pointedly, as if to say, told you so. Then she bowed her head towards the man. "Good to see you again, Lymen."

The Jedi bowed in return, and his eyes fell upon Obi-Wan. His face softened and he smiled before returning his attention to Siri. "I'm still rather new to this area… do you have any suggestions on where we can get some good food?"

Obi-Wan and Siri exchanged glances. "Does cantina food count as good food?"

Lymen smiled. "Sometimes it's the best."

Obi-Wan nodded in return and grabbed his and Siri's cloak. The two led the Jedi out of the senate building and into a taxi. They flew for a short while without saying much, and Obi-Wan watched the Senate District vanish; he hoped Padmé really did have a good time at the opera. She deserved the respite.

Since the Jedi was here now they'd probably resume their old work; he would say they'd lain low long enough, but after the stunt Padmé pulled… in either case, the Jedi was here. That had to count for something. Not to mention Siri was chomping at the bit to get back to work; Padmé seemed fixated on Vader, but Obi-Wan and Siri remembered everything at once – the baby, Darth Vader, the Rebels, Al, the agent… he wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he was rather annoyed at his sister's selfishness over the matter. Perhaps the reason he wouldn't admit it, though, was because he realized she was under a lot of stress too, but he was just too bone tired to empathize.

The taxi arrived at its destination and they disembarked. Siri and Obi-Wan led the Jedi through several areas, levels, and lifts until they were low enough in the city that barely any light pierced through. The Drunken Dewback Cantina was off in the distance, humming with activity.

The Jedi suddenly smiled and gave a soft, deep chuckle. "I remember this place."

"You've been here before?" Siri asked.

"A very long time ago on a mission."

Obi-Wan was suddenly hit with a strange feeling of foreign nostalgia, as if he himself were recollecting the time. It gave the cantina a strange antiquated feel to it, and it somehow made him sad. To think that at one time this place was Empire-free was mind boggling. He wondered what it must have been like.

As they found a booth in the corner of the cantina, Obi-Wan briefly glanced around for the small chance that Almusian was there. The large cantina had an upper level that was entirely an internal balcony, typically reserved for those with more money, so he didn't bother looking up there. Most of the clients were around the bar in the center of the large expansive room, but Al wasn't there, either. The other corners were dominated by gamblers and HoloNet viewers, and the other wall had a stage where musicians were playing and singing. Another entrance led to private rooms, but he knew Al wouldn't be there. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised the Zabrak wasn't around, but it would have been nice.

"What poison do you prefer, Lymen?" Siri asked.

"Just some juri juice, please," he replied politely.

After obtaining some drinks, Siri immediately got to the point. "There's a bit more to it than what I said earlier today."

The gentle amusement on his face was evident. "I suspected as much."

"Obi and I are… well…" Siri sighed, glancing around discreetly. "We share your gift. And I'm pregnant."

The Jedi sipped from his drink calmly as if he hadn't registered what she said. Obi-Wan wondered if he should perhaps repeat her words for the sake of emphasis, but the Jedi replied before he could do so. "How far along are you?"

Blast, Siri was right; nothing seemed to rattle this man. Obi-Wan envied him.

"About eight days," Siri replied.

He nodded and then offered a genuine smile. "Congratulations."

Siri and Obi-Wan stared at him for a few seconds and then laughed. It was so strange to be congratulated for the baby's arrival; they'd spent so much time worrying about its safety they didn't give much time to consider that it was a gift.

"Thank you," Obi-Wan eventually replied. "If you could help us keep the little one alive we'd probably be much happier about the matter."

"There are plenty who have managed to hide their younglings from the Empire," the Jedi assured them. "Have you heard of Kelathik serum?"

"Way ahead of you," Siri answered. "We've got a friend trying to get us some. We figured there was more to it than that."

"Yes and no," he replied. "I've heard mothers who are carrying Force sensitive children often get strange symptoms, but since you're also a Force user it might not be so bizarre to you."

He's still taking this awfully well, Obi-Wan mused. Was this the legendary Jedi calm, or was there something more to it? Something about this Jedi seemed eerily familiar, or perhaps his behavior was making Obi-Wan suspicious.

"Before you ask, we haven't had any Jedi training," Obi-Wan said carefully, gauging the man's reaction. "We only just found out about our sensitivity recently."

"I see," he nodded. "How did you two meet?"

Obi-Wan and Siri exchanged confused glances. What did this have to do with anything? "We met when we were younglings. We volunteered for the Naboo Service Corps together."

"Is that based on Naboo?"

"Yes."

The Jedi nodded once more. Then he seemed to notice their confusion and suspicion, and he leaned back in his seat and gave a gentle tip of his head. "Forgive me. We should start from the beginning. My name is Qui-Gon Jinn. I, alongside several others, helped many Jedi younglings escape the purges. You two were among them."

Obi-Wan felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He wasn't sure what to make of this new realization; he thought he'd heard everything about his past after he spoke to Adelig, but…

The smell of smoke. The smell of blood. The sound of blaster fire. People screaming. Children crying. Him crying. Rough, torn fabric between his fingers, sobs, terror, abandonment—Obi-Wan shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the strange disjointed sensations.

"I… I was a Jedi hopeful too?" Siri asked breathlessly.

"Yes," Qui-Gon answered. "You two were among a small group of younglings who managed to escape."

"Why didn't you take us with you?" Siri suddenly asked, catching Obi-Wan off guard. "Why didn't you train us?"

Did they really need to be getting into this right now? Obi-Wan didn't want to think of a life where he hadn't been part of the Naberrie family. Why would Siri want otherwise?

Right. She'd been in a foster home. Sighing, he placed his hand on her lap under the table as a sign of reassurance.

"It was too risky having so many younglings leave together; we had to split you up. Even after that, we ourselves had nowhere to go; it was better to let you live out your lives innocuously and peacefully," Qui-Gon explained. "Besides, you can still be trained."

Siri's body filled with energy, and Obi-Wan felt her stiffen under his hand. He squeezed her thigh slightly; they didn't need this right now. Surely Jedi training would only make things worse, right?

Probably not. He just wished it would so he wouldn't have to do it. Sighing, Obi-Wan temporarily looked away from the Jedi. He had no qualm with the man, but… he didn't want to be a soldier. Wasn't that what the Jedi were, especially in these desperate times? Obi-Wan preferred not to fight.

"That's not the priority right now," Obi-Wan eventually said, and he could practically feel Siri's glare burning into him. "The priority is Padmé and the baby."

Siri's anger quickly diminished as her excitement was replaced with concern.

Qui-Gon sipped at his drink. "It appears Lord Vader is nowhere near the senate. It's likely he may not even be on Imperial Center due to his recent activities. As for the pregnancy, I believe midichlorian counts don't start until the second or third prenatal visit. You can at least get the usual sorted out for the first visit. Beyond that, you could always take a leave of absence."

"No," Siri immediately shook her head. "I'll take that serum. I'm not leaving Obi-Wan and Padmé."

"You must understand the risk to the baby," Qui-Gon said gently.

Obi-Wan tensed at the same time as Siri. Bad move, Jedi. "You think I haven't been thinking about the risk to the baby?"

Obi-Wan's hand went from her thigh to her arm and he pulled her closer to him. She didn't need to make a scene.

"I didn't suggest you hadn't been," Qui-Gon replied. "But if the time comes where you must decide between the youngling and your other family, you must let go of your attachment to your husband and sister-in-law. They're more capable of protecting themselves than the child is. I will be here looking after them."

"How am I supposed to explain my leave of absence? If I mention the pregnancy there will be questions; besides, nobody leaves this early into a pregnancy." Siri shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere."

"If you could assist our friend in finding Kelathik serum, that would help us greatly," Obi-Wan suggested to appease both of them. "But the most important issue is Padmé; Al can find Kelathik on his own, but no one is capable of defending Padmé from a Sith Lord."

Qui-Gon pondered the matter. "How much does Vader know?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "We… don't know. He took out all of the operatives on Naboo. He suspected I had some involvement, but that didn't really go anywhere and I'm not quite sure why… he seems fixated on Padmé."

"That's not even the biggest problem," Siri muttered, though Obi-Wan tossed her a warning glance. Qui-Gon gave no reason to be untrustworthy, and it was strangely calming to be in his presence, but somehow Obi-Wan didn't think it would help much if they mentioned Padmé's infatuation with Vader. Obi-Wan and Siri would handle that end of the issue; Qui-Gon just needed to handle Vader.

"Does the Sith often visit the senate building?"

"Not recently," Obi-Wan answered. "He and Padmé interacted frequently before the recess, but we haven't seen him since the new session started. We… know he recently executed Senator Mothma, so he's been on Imperial Center."

Qui-Gon was still for a moment and then sighed. "I'd heard of her capture, but there'd been no announcement of her execution."

"Yeah, we found out because Padmé busted Bail out of prison," Siri remarked exasperatedly.

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows in surprise, but before he could comment, Obi-Wan said, "Yes, she's that reckless. You'll be constantly running to keep up with her."

"She's not always acting like an idiot," Siri halfheartedly defended her. "Typically she has more sense. It's just… we've all been stressed lately, and it seems like we can't do anything. None of us likes that."

"Few people do," the Jedi noted. "It seems the situation is a little more complicated than I expected. I wasn't aware of Senator Organa's arrest."

"He's with the Rebels now," Obi-Wan explained softly.

"Is there a way I can contact him?"

Obi-Wan and Siri looked at each other uncertainly. "Perhaps Al, but… we don't have any direct connection to the Alliance."

"Neither do the other Jedi," Qui-Gon remarked. "But that's about to change."

"What's up with the Jedi fleet, anyway? Are they going to rendezvous with the Rebels and back them up?" Siri asked.

Qui-Gon's expression darkened. He suddenly looked sadder, more pained. Obi-Wan felt his heart sink. This wasn't good. "They're gone, aren't they?"

The Jedi nodded.

"What?" Siri barked.

"Lord Vader destroyed the fleet," Qui-Gon explained.

Obi-Wan's hand, which had been rubbing small circles on his wife's arm, tensed. He returned it to his lap and took a deep breath to calm himself as Siri grew stormy with rage. He didn't have the energy to calm her down; Vader had caused so much trouble recently between seducing Padmé, killing Mothma, and now destroying the Rebel's one chance of reinforcements. Sure, there were apparently other Jedi, but did they have a fleet? Or were they now stranded at their sanctuary? What other uncertainties lay ahead? How many other problems had Vader caused?

This would certainly be interesting to relay to Padmé.

Éothen glanced at himself in the mirror. He was wearing a white fur-lined tunic that reached his knees and white thick trousers tucked into grey boots. The long sleeves were decorated with intricate woven symbols that indicated his clan: blood red runes encircling the rim of his sleeves spelled out the name of his clan and its founder. His tall collar also had embroidery. Red, white, and green bands interwove with each other, symbolizing the mixing of blood, grass, and snow, indicating that he was a veteran of battle and had seen such a mix on battlefields. The bands were tied together with three golden threads, indicating his rank. A tall hat bore the last symbol to show his regiment or squad, but he forewent the hat this evening.

There was a knock on the door and then Erwyna entered. Her blue eyes looked him over and she smiled, speaking in their native dialect. "You look sharp."

"I hope so," he replied a little uncertainly. "I'm not sure this is what I should wear for an opera."

"It's fancy. So's the opera. They match just fine." Erwyna waved her hand dismissively, before observing, "You're not wearing your sling."

Éothen turned to face her. "I figure it's not a good idea to show weakness in a den of wolves."

Erwyna chuckled. "Good point. Just don't let Tlenden find out."

"That's your job, remember?" Éothen stressed.

Erwyna sighed. "Right. My job. You'd better be ready to deliver those hot nude guys."

"I can look up a spot here – I'm sure this planet has plenty of places you can go to," Éothen smirked.

Erwyna rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Just get going; traffic's insane out there."

"It's always insane from what I can tell," he replied, though he did heed her advice and gathered his things. When he grabbed a small bag that he would carry over his shoulder, he winced as pain shot up through his left arm. Erwyna approached him with concern clear on her face.

"You really should be careful with that arm," she remarked.

"No kidding," he said quietly between clenched teeth, trying to let the pain pass.

Erwyna left the room abruptly. Éothen stood in place, trying to think of anything but the sharp tearing sensation in his arm. He really should be wearing his sling, but as he said to Erwyna, he didn't want to show he was injured. He'd looked up the opera house where he and Amidala would be going and seeing the images reminded him strikingly of the battlefield for some reason; he figured this was probably the politicians' hunting ground. If he was to be seen with Amidala he wouldn't make her look weak.

Erwyna returned with a glass of water and two pills in her hand. "Take this; painkiller ought to hold you over until the opera's done."

Éothen received the items with a gracious smile to his friend and he quickly swallowed the pills. Then he shouldered the bag and ignored the pain as he strolled down the stairs of Tlenden's apartment. A taxi was waiting at the senator's private entrance, and he glanced at Erwyna in surprise.

She shrugged. "Figured you'd need one."

"Thanks," he replied with another smile.

"Buy me a bottle of their best wine and that'll make it up just fine."

"I'll be sure to do that," he nodded and hopped into the taxi, finally letting his left arm relax.

He was to meet Amidala at the senate building, so he directed the taxi there. When he arrived he glanced at the giant dome roofed building in slight disgust. At least back home the enemy would have the decency to face him in battle; here they hid behind so much intrigue and nonsense and hired assassins… there was no honor in this building.

Well, almost none.

Entering he waited in the main vestibule by one of the columns. People were milling about the large space in small spurts, but eventually crowds passed through as the afternoon session finished. He glanced at the different faces before finally recognizing hers. Amidala was in another senatorial gown, a grey one with a dark blue bodice. Her hair was freely hanging around her shoulders, curly, thick, and beautiful. He felt his heartrate rise a little, but he only showed a polite smile and a small bow as she approached him. "Milady."

Amidala smiled and it made her entire face light up. It was nice to see her smile; she'd looked so haggard and worried when she'd come begging for help at Tlenden's apartment. She even looked better today than yesterday. "It's good to see you, Éothen. I've been looking forward to this all day. Ready to go?"

Éothen was a little surprised at her wording, but he didn't ponder the matter much. He'd evaluate the situation after it was finished; he saved analytical thought processes for the battlefield. When the war wasn't wearing him down to pieces he would just relax. Now wasn't the time to stop and think about everything; it was just time to hit the road running. "Let's go."

The two walked in silence for a time until they reached a courier speeder that was reserved for supposedly more prestigious folk. The two entered and sat across from each other as the driver flew them right into the traffic.

Éothen glanced at Amidala before looking out at the traffic. He was glad they were inside a closed speeder so he wouldn't smell the pollution and exhaust, but the inside of this vehicle smelled so sterile. Imperial Center was such a strange place.

"I see your arm's better," Amidala noted cheerfully.

Éothen raised his left arm as if to show off and immediately regretted it. He hid the wince as best he could as his arm screamed in protest, throbbing at the blaster wound site. The senator was watching his arm instead of his face, though, so it thankfully went unnoticed. "Yeah, it's much better now."

"I'm glad." Amidala said, looking comfortable for once. "How's your day been?"

Éothen was about to shrug when he remembered how much his arm liked that last time. He tipped his head instead. "Fairly unproductive, which is… odd, but welcome. You?"

"I wouldn't call any day in the senate productive," she sighed with slight exasperation. "But it was a pretty good day."

Of course it wasn't productive in the senate – that arena full of stuck up idiots didn't accomplish anything. That was just a given at this point. This topic of conversation wasn't very enticing, so he changed it. "So how many times have you been to the opera, anyway?"

Amidala hummed in response as she pondered the answer. It was kind of funny… and just a little endearing. Éothen internally sighed; too bad she was a politician and a foreigner. She'd be fun to hang around with back home… though he doubted she'd ever get near the battlefield, and that quickly chilled any warm feelings he had for her.

"Probably twice before," she finally said. "I had to go when I first got here because it was the best opera house in the Empire, and I do love the arts. Another time I dragged my brother there to show him my favorite opera."

She had a brother? "I didn't know you had siblings."

"A brother and sister," she admitted with a smile.

"Older or younger?"

"Both older."

"So you're the baby, eh?" Éothen remarked, raising an eyebrow. "Spoiled or bullied?"

"Neither," she laughed. "They loved me to death but they definitely put me in my place when I was out of line. So a happy medium, I suppose?"

Éothen did his best to shove the images of his cousins, uncles, aunts, nieces, and nephews out of his mind. He and Amidala continued with the small talk until they'd arrived at the opera house itself. Éothen glanced at it nervously; the actual building was suspended above the lower levels of the city, held by a support to one of its sides. He was sure the wind made that blasted thing shift around just as much as all the other buildings on this planet. Great.

He really missed the ground right now.

When the speeder came to a complete stop Éothen exited first and offered his right hand to assist her; he knew he had to be delicate with people like her, after all. She took the hand with a smile, and he suddenly felt guilty for calling her delicate; she was too radiant and full of energy for such a demeaning word… innocent, maybe? He wasn't sure how to categorize her, honestly. She wasn't exactly fitting into his usual organized idea of a politician. Then again, the very fact that she helped the Rebels indicated she was more active than most politicians anyway. Maybe he should just think of her as a Rebel instead of a senator, but he wasn't so sure she'd earned that much praise yet.

As he offered her his arm, Éothen glanced ahead at the opera house and braced himself. This was going to be… interesting, he supposed.

The Galaxies Opera House was among the most prestigious locations on all of Imperial Center. It stood strikingly, hanging by a precipice over the depths below and making a mark on the skyline. Large hallways and hangars sprawled all the way up to the domed building itself, filled with crimson red carpet, golden statues of famous actors and actresses, and luxurious furniture. The pristine location was always filled with extravagantly dressed patrons every evening. The sights were pleasing to the eye, the drinks always the best on the entire planet, and the refinement was at its zenith. His favorite part of going to the opera house, however, was the opera itself. He always enjoyed watching the singers work their magic – the opera house only hired the best in the galaxy, and it was a strange but satisfying entertainment to watch them work. He often visited this place during his time as Chancellor of the Republic and he reveled in the secret connection he had between himself and the actors – all life was indeed a stage.

Palpatine was always given the utmost privacy when he visited. He doubted the owner of the opera house even realized just how special this place was to him; honestly, this opera house was probably the only location on the planet that Palpatine used for recreation. Here he watched the actors and let them pull the strings for a little while; though most of the plots were predictable, he'd always be extra impressed if some player managed to breathe new life into the role, and he was always careful to ensure the best were on the stage. One time a bass had been too predictable in his movements, too exaggerated in his acting and singing; honestly, it had been a disgrace. Palpatine had ensured the man never performed again.

He had once brought Vader here to show him the opera. Palpatine hadn't been sure why he'd done so – he'd had nothing to say to the youngling, and no lessons to teach him from the opera. Nevertheless, he'd brought the child along, and had been dismayed and annoyed to see that the boy had derived no pleasure from it. Then again, by that point he'd been starting to realize that the apprentice had derived no emotion from anything, so he supposed he shouldn't have gotten quite as upset as he had… but that was in the past. The boy had learned to endure pain better after that evening, anyway.

Endure pain. That idiot.

Palpatine had little doubt Vader had done his utmost to ensure he was presentable upon his arrival at Imperial Center. He could just see the fool cleaning his injuries and hacking an Emdee droid to check the severity of the wounds; as soon as the word surgery came up the apprentice no doubt dismissed it, assuming it would impede his briefing. He probably figured he'd go get surgery afterwards. And he'd do all this so casually, as if it meant nothing, as if it weren't important enough to merit much more attention than that.

Palpatine sighed heavily. What had he done wrong to raise such a hapless fool who cared so little for his own well-being? How was the boy's impeccable logic thrown askew by simply proving he wasn't a failure? And why in the blazes had it taken Palpatine this long to realize just why the boy was dedicated?

What in the blazes had happened with those Jedi? This was the first time Vader had confronted sane Jedi, but the boy could hold his own against Palpatine in training sessions by this point.

His emotions. Vader had no control mechanism for his emotions. Palpatine had sent him off to battle so he could regain some control – he'd used the battle itself as a control mechanism, but apparently it hadn't been enough. He should have figured as much. Perhaps the foolish mistake had been on more than Vader's part. Nevertheless, it was being rectified now, and the Sith Master was more than ready to give the idiot an earful when he awoke.

Testing the Force briefly, Palpatine immersed himself in the darkness. He felt out his apprentice and wrapped himself around the boy's consciousness. Vader was deep asleep, heavily sedated. The surgery was still occurring. Checking his chronometer, Palpatine mused how much longer it would take – the boy had been under the scalpel for a little over an hour.

There'd better not be any complications. The last thing he needed was a dead apprentice. Vader was worth too much.

Palpatine seethed with annoyance at the boy's foolishness and his own blunder in sending him off ill-equipped when he suddenly recognized someone in the crowd. Was that Amidala? His anger vanished immediately, and a sadistic delight filled him instead. Ah, this would be deliciously amusing. Perhaps he could get some fun in before the opera began.

Rising, he strode through the ornate hallways until he found the young woman heading towards a private booth of her own. She was walking arm in arm with a Togruta; how had that man passed security? Most non-Humans weren't allowed into such a prestigious venue. He supposed Amidala had persuaded the guards to let her companion through, but if he was that important to her, then who was he? So many wonderful questions to answer, so little time. He put on his best charming smile and a look of mild surprise. "Senator Amidala, what a delight to see you again."

Amidala, who had been smiling serenely at her companion, suddenly grew stiff and cold. Her gentle grip on the man tightened and she pulled him closer to her. She bowed, pulling the Togruta into a bowing position with her. He didn't look particularly happy about the situation. "Your Imperial Majesty, I didn't realize I would have the honor to see you here."

"It has been far too long, my dear," he remarked. He really had little need to maintain a façade these days, but it was far more entertaining to watch them squirm and guess at his motives. "The last time we spoke, I believe, was before the final recess. There had been some unfortunate uprisings in your sector, and I was concerned for your safety. I'm glad to see everything has resolved itself."

Amidala's eyes flashed a little, and she offered a small fake smile. Behind it, though, the Force surged with such intensity that Palpatine would have figured she could access it – her hatred for him had certainly grown since their last encounter. He briefly pondered as to why, but the reason was apparent – after all, she'd no doubt heard of Mothma's death now that Organa was back with the Rebels (he had a deep suspicion Amidala had gotten Organa out, but it seemed unlikely since she wouldn't have had the manpower to do so), and the destruction of the Rebel bases only added insult to injury. In either case, he bathed himself in her contempt and only grew all the more incited to tear into her like a knife into a shuura fruit.

Her companion didn't even bother with a veneer of politeness. The brute certainly didn't belong here. Motioning to him, Palpatine did his best to not show his disgust; there was little point in indicating how badly the soldier's presence—one could easily deduce he was a soldier by his build, posture, and his preposterous uniform—was affecting him. "Who is your companion?"

"This is Éothen, the son of Adelig of the Ønske Clan of Salkende," Padmé motioned to the man.

Salkende? Intriguing. Palpatine had watched the progress of the civil war on that planet with some interest. Salkende was the biggest superpower in its sector, and the Tsograda Sector itself boasted one of the best hidden gems in the galaxy. He had no doubt Amidala was sinking her teeth into this matter with gusto; if Tsograda were to join with the Rebel Alliance, it would rejuvenate the ragtag team to a legitimate threat. Salkende's warriors were supposedly almost as powerful as Mandalorians, and the other planets of the sector were nothing to ignore, either: Ferrasco, the sector's largest world, was the refugee capital of the galaxy; anyone could vanish there. Anamensis was a major exporter of essential foods and nutrients. Llenoh was rich in minerals and material that could be used for armor and weapons. The sector was practically its own self-contained war machine.

Amidala was beginning to outstay her welcome, which was a pity considering the wonders she was doing to Vader. He needed to ensure this relationship went no further. Also, he was more than eager to discover her side of the story about Varykino. "A pleasure, Éothen. Though senator, I thought you were already engaging your attention elsewhere. Was I mistaken in hearing that you invited Lord Vader to your lake retreat on Naboo?"

Éothen stiffened and glanced at Amidala. Palpatine could sense surprise and disgust rolling off the man, and he soaked it up as if it were water in the desert. Ah, yes, this was doing wonders for soothing his irritation. Watching Amidala's face drain of color brought him more pleasure than watching Mothma die at Vader's hand; the young brat from Naboo had been quite the thorn in Palpatine's side since she became queen. After she'd thwarted his not so subtle attempt to get her off the throne he'd finally decided she was a more legitimate threat than he'd given her credit for, but it only led all the more to her downfall. Once Palpatine had given her his full attention he'd quickly come up with at least three alternative ways to make her die with the greatest amount of suffering. However, he'd also quickly discovered that she was an unexploited opportunity as well, and her usefulness had drastically increased her longevity. He might just keep her alive now for pure entertainment, but it was doubtful.

A few tense seconds passed. Amidala's face slowly regained color, but she was even stiffer than before. Apparently she needed plenty of time to formulate the correct response. He couldn't wait to hear it.

"I wished to visit my homeworld, but Your Majesty was concerned for my safety," she finally said. "I figured it would satisfy both of us if Lord Vader accompanied me."

Such a simple thread of a lie. She would have to do better than that. "Ah, I see. It must have been very important to visit your lake retreat."

"I must admit I needed the rest," she conceded a little ground, but the hatred burning in her eyes indicated she wasn't willing to give up. Good. It was always more satisfying when they went down screaming rather than with a whimper. "I'm sure even Your Majesty needs vacation time. If I'm not mistaken, there's a retreat reserved for Your Majesty on Naboo, correct?"

She'd given up on outright fighting him; this was just a deflection. "Yes, I do. It's near the Lake Country. Did you enjoy your time with Lord Vader? I hear it was spent productively."

Her face went white as a sheet once more. Palpatine grew even more curious – this had to do with whatever little secret Vader had been keeping. What had transpired between the two? Had they both taken the bait as he'd hoped? His apprentice's loyalty was still unshakable, that much was apparent, but what little tendril of deceit had she planted in the boy's soul? What did she do that caused him to keep anything at all from his master?

Though Palpatine was reveling in the fear, rage, and disgust pounding the Force like a torrential storm, this part of the conversation received his undivided attention. Using the emotions around him he singled his focus onto Amidala's mind and pierced it imperceptibly, trying to glimpse at what had actually transpired. Images flashed through his mind, clumped together by intensity and emotion – out in the fields, by the waterfall, in a boat, on the shuttle, in some foreign terrain, blaster fire, lightsaber activated, running, yelling, hiding, fighting, hugging, talking, moonlight, rain, warmth, shock, contentment, yearning.

Applause was heard in the theater; the conductor had arrived. The opera was just beginning. Amidala used the opportunity to excuse herself politely and she led her companion to their own private booth. Palpatine remained in place, nodding graciously and processing everything. He'd seen enough; he knew what seeds she'd planted in the boy. He almost chuckled with satisfaction and delight; the girl had served her purpose well, just as he'd planned. Now all he had to do was slip the final pieces into place.

The audience quieted down as the conductor raised his baton to commence the show. Palpatine smiled as he slowly walked back to his booth. Oh, the opera had already long since begun. It was just now reaching its climax.

Padmé did her best to catch her breath as she sat beside Éothen. The two hadn't spoken a word in the few minutes since they'd left Palpatine. She wasn't sure of his temperament, but she herself was too busy trying to contain so many different emotions that were threatening to tear out of her. Just looking at that man had garnered such disgust – after everything she'd endured and learned, seeing Palpatine was like staring at the incarnation of all that was evil in the universe. It was repulsive. And then when he'd opened his mouth about Varykino… she shouldn't have been surprised that he'd known; obviously, she'd already basically come to that conclusion, but just hearing him saying it had made her heart almost stop. Vader had said Palpatine didn't know about their relationship, but the glint in the man's eye indicated that wasn't entirely true. Either that or he was just doing his usual tormenting.

She felt like she was going to burst. Sitting here, surrounded by politicians, officers, Imperials… she wanted to scream. Éothen would have been a relief to have with her if he hadn't heard that conversation. She didn't even want to know what he was thinking of her; she supposed he was under the impression she was using him just as she obviously had used Vader. Normally Padmé cared little for what people called her since most of the name calling came from her opponents, but Éothen wasn't supposed to be an opponent; he was supposed to be a friend.

She felt isolated, naked, violated. She felt like the entire opera house could see into her soul and all her secrets were screaming so loudly Vader could probably hear her from whatever corner of the galaxy Palpatine had sent him off to.

The overture finished and the lights focused on the stage. Large crowds of people were milling about on the stage, and a group of men in the corner began to sing. Normally Padmé enjoyed listening to the music and picking out the most intricate and beautiful outfits, but tonight she felt as if the opera were delaying some sort of inevitable conclusion that she didn't want to think about. She glanced at Éothen to see him staring at the stage, but judging by the glazed look to his eyes he wasn't actually seeing it. He no doubt was pondering the conversation he'd just witnessed.

She wanted to burst. She wanted to break. She was broken.

"Éothen," she whispered to get his attention. She didn't want this; she didn't want the one person she felt like she could relax with to suddenly view her as the enemy. She didn't even understand herself anymore sometimes, but she didn't want him to think ill of her; she'd invited him to the opera as a kindness so he could see some of the nicer aspects of Imperial Center, but the more she'd planned for it the more she realized she'd invited him because she just wanted some companionship that didn't include insane maneuvering and death defying lies.

Éothen glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Milady?"

"Don't… I know you're smart enough to not trust a word the emperor says," she said. "But… I'm sorry you had to witness that."

"Did you really go to Naboo with Darth Vader?"

She grew dizzy. The room grew too hot. She felt incomprehensibly heavy as if the universe had just fallen on her shoulders. It was that same exhaustion she'd felt before she initially had left for Naboo with Vader. Sighing, she nodded. "Yes. He was… watching me. I wanted to keep his attention away from others who were going to be busy over the recess."

Éothen caught her meaning. "You were distracting him?"

Again Padmé nodded. She was too tired to explain herself much more than that, and she definitely wasn't going to go into what had happened over the vacation. Her relationship with Éothen was strictly for the sake of sanity – if she included him in on the issues with Vader that would quickly tip it in favor of insanity.

"It takes guts to deal with the worst killer in the history of the Empire," Éothen remarked, offering a small smile of approval.

That smile was all she needed. The weight released slightly and she raised her eyebrows slightly in response. "Yeah, it was interesting. But let's not worry about that – Vader's nowhere near here, so he's no longer an issue."

"So he's not watching you anymore?"

She was starting to regret bringing this up. "Not really."

Éothen leaned back in his seat and returned his gaze to the opera. "That's a relief."

"I'm sorry," she suddenly said, catching herself off guard. Éothen looked at her once more, a little confused. She was a little upset she'd said it aloud, but it was ringing in her mind. "I didn't want to ruin this night for either of us… but…"

"Den skéi kypkatøn am den welt, ya den éo kjavikatuk ønske tåkje." Éothen said with a gentle smile. At Padmé's slightly confused expression, he explained, "The cold bites you to the bone, but our great Mother always warms your soul. It's a saying on Salkende; life may throw terrible things your way, but the Mother always looks out for you."

"The Mother?" she repeated.

"On Salkende we believe that a Creator made everything in the universe," Éothen explained. "But the Creator's too great for us to approach. Legend has it that one woman was brave enough to speak and showed the best that creation had to offer: humility, honor, dignity, strength, love, and obedience. The Creator was so impressed with her that he brought her into the heavens with him to be everyone's great Mother. She's no goddess, but she's as close as you can get, and we honor her for it. Since nobody else can demonstrate creation as well as she did, we don't approach the Creator like she did – we talk to her. Closer to home, anyway."

It was strange to hear someone's religious beliefs differ from those of Naboo; on Imperial Center most people thought of themselves as gods, so religion wasn't a big concern. On Naboo, though, there were many gods for many different things… Padmé often didn't keep up with a lot of them because it was almost as tedious as keeping up with the rest of the insanity in her life. She kept a select few in a special place in her heart whenever her haggard brain had time to think about it. It was a nice feeling hearing about Éothen's religion, though; the idea of having someone who'd experienced this life looking out for everyone in the next one was surprisingly reassuring.

Feeling a little better, Padmé gave Éothen a grateful smile and they turned their attention back to the opera, forgetting about everything else for a while.

The smell of alcohol scraped the insides of his nostrils and made him pull out a handkerchief and hold it against his face in an attempt to stifle the odor. The stark whiteness of the walls and floor reflected just enough light from the dull outdoors to irritate his eyes. The queasiness in his stomach did little to help the matter. Tarkin glanced around pointlessly, wondering how in the blazes he could keep himself preoccupied since he had nothing to read or do. He'd been sitting in the main area of the medical bay for well over two hours waiting for Vader to get out of surgery. He'd long since moved passed frustration at the boy and was instead marveling at the fact that the emperor hadn't finished him off for his foolishness. Then he'd briefly considered calling his spy, but this place was too public and exposed for such an encounter.

So again, he had nothing to do.

A noise caught his attention and Tarkin turned in the seat the nurse had provided for him. The source was a HoloNet receiver, and two people were sitting in front of it while an Emdee droid sterilize some tools.

At first Tarkin wasn't quite sure what they were watching. It looked like some party where a bunch of people were talking excitedly. A man kissed some woman—girlfriend? Fiancée? Wife?—passionately and then wandered off to another girl with a drink in his hand. Giving her the drink the two talked briefly before they were suddenly all over each other. One of the people watching gasped in delight.

"Oh, I knew they had feelings for each other!" she exclaimed.

Her companion looked at her. "But they never said anything romantic to each other."

"It was in her eyes," the other one argued. "And just look at them now!"

Tarkin really didn't want to look at them now, actually. Glancing away in irritation he slumped further into his seat and tried to ignore the sappy romantic music wailing in the background. The music eventually settled and then the drama set in—heaven forbid he actually have to listen to that.

"What happened last night?" the male character asked blearily.

"I…" his companion mumbled. "We…"

"Well this'll go well," one of the audience members mumbled. "Isn't he married?"

"But it's true love!"

"They don't even know each other."

"You just don't understand—it's no wonder you've never had a boyfriend!"

Delightful. Now he was going to hear about everybody's personal life.

"What we did last night…" the female on the HoloNet said uncertainly. "It…"

"It felt right." The male supplied for her. "I love you."

The intense onslaught of dramatic music told Tarkin enough and he felt a headache pinch the inside of his skull. He squeezed his handkerchief more tightly than before as one of the audience members excitedly cackled and squealed in response.

"Well there goes his marriage." The other one remarked.

Tarkin looked pleadingly at the chronometer on the wall. Vader, so help me, if you don't get out of that surgery soon…

After enduring the entire life's story of one of the nurses and hearing about how the HoloNet characters secretly had feelings for each other even though (according to the nurse's companion) they'd never before implied anything of the sort, Tarkin finally saw a physician approaching him. Standing, he hastily closed the distance between them so he could get away from the ocean of hormones at the other end of the room.

"Well?" he asked.

"He pulled through," the doctor said. "Lord Vader ought to make a full recovery, but he'll have to remain here for about a day."

Tarkin released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Very well."

"Shall I inform the emperor?"

Tarkin shook his head. "No, I'll do that."

Just not now, he added as the doctor nodded and departed. After all, there was no point in interrupting the emperor's relaxation while Vader was still being weaned off the anesthesia; Force knew that as soon as Palpatine found out Vader was on the mend he'd probably come up with some other ridiculous and suicidal mission for the boy, anyway.

Tarkin watched the health care providers place Vader in a recovery room. The boy's skin had regained some color, and he looked peacefully unaware of everything in the universe. No, Tarkin wouldn't tell Palpatine yet.

"Oh my goodness, there's his wife this is going to get so good!"

"How many more episodes can we watch so we're caught up?"

"Five! Isn't it great?"

Tarkin sighed heavily. This was going to be a long night.

The applause was deafening. The performers earned a standing ovation. Padmé glanced at Éothen as he rose in response as well, clapping and flashing her a smile.

"What did you think?" she asked after the fourth curtain call.

"It was surprisingly intense," he answered.

Once the applause began to die down, Padmé felt the lightness in her chest start to grow heavy as she thought about leaving the safety and privacy of the seating area. The two gathered their things and set out from the booth, but Padmé tread carefully, not wanting to run into Palpatine once more. The crowds might be enough to cover her, and she hoped the emperor would be preoccupied elsewhere as she hastily dragged Éothen towards the stairs that led to the main foyer. Once they entered it they were suddenly stopped simply by the sheer amount of people. The two stood in place, waiting for the crowds to thin.

"Would you like a drink while we wait?" Éothen asked politely.

Padmé glanced around nervously, but she figured she could at least attempt to enjoy the rest of the evening without thinking about the emperor. Besides, it was unlikely that Palpatine would be near the refreshments. "Sure."

The two managed to squeeze over to the bar and then had to wait to be able to reach the bartender. As they waited the two exchanged pleasant conversation but there was a brief pause, and in that moment, Padmé saw something she wished she would never see.

A woman nearby was holding a data pad and scrolling through news articles. One in particular, titled breaking news, caught her and Padmé's attention.

BREAKING NEWS: Rumors about mysterious Jedi fleet confirmed – Imperial Intelligence states that the fleet is no longer a threat.

A horrid ache and emptiness filled her as she knew, she knew what was coming next.

Death Squadron, commanded by Darth Vader, engaged the enemy and defeated them in a heated space battle. Intelligence reports that the Empire's mighty Sith killed the Jedi personally.

This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening.

"Senator?"

Padmé couldn't hear Éothen. She couldn't hear anything but her own heartbeat. She couldn't feel anything but her own anguish, her own hopelessness and loss. No matter where she turned, no matter what she said, no matter who she rescued, no matter who she convinced, the Empire always won. It was always one step ahead, always more powerful. And Darth Vader was leading it into the battlefield.

She somehow knew she'd hit this point. Somehow she'd always known. She'd finally just reach the point where she'd snap, where the difference between her loyalties and Vader's loyalties finally led to a confrontation instead of a conversation. But she didn't want to hit that point. This didn't have to be that point. Why couldn't Vader just realize he was wrong?

"Senator, are you alright?"

Padmé jumped, finally registering Éothen's voice. "I… I'm…"

She didn't have the energy to lie to him. She didn't have the energy to do anything. She couldn't give up, though. She just couldn't.

She wouldn't. And she knew exactly what she needed to do. The Rebels only had one hope now. Her entire purpose for becoming senator was to help the Alliance, and no matter how much her heart screamed in pain over what Vader had done, she wouldn't let that get in her way of her duty. A little voice in the back of her mind whispered the question she'd asked herself before the final recess:

How far will you go for the Alliance?

"Éothen," she turned to him. She felt her determination strengthening, but she also felt herself slipping as if she herself were turning into Vader's counterpart; a tool for the Alliance. "Have you decided who your wife will be?"

Éothen immediately looked baffled. "I… what? Well, no, I… I haven't. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Would I be an option?" she asked before she lost her resolve.

Éothen's mouth slipped open as if to reply, but he only gaped at her in astonishment. Then he quickly cleared his throat and shifted his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably. Padmé wasn't sure what to make of his reaction; it wasn't an immediate no, so that was at least something.

"You… I… well…" Éothen cleared his throat again and took a deep breath. "I don't see why not, but… that's… we…"

"It's a lot, I know," she hastily said, giving him time to process everything. She hoped he'd decide quickly, though; she didn't want time to process it.

"Yeah…" he said with a small surprised laugh. "Yeah, it is. I mean… I mean we can…"

"Our marriage would unite our causes," Padmé emphasized, suddenly getting more energized with the concept. She wasn't sure if it was because it was making logical sense or she was just trying to speed things up so she didn't have to think of who this would effect. "My people could help rebuild Salkende, your people could help rebuild mine, and… and we can rebuild your clan together."

And that was the last piece. She'd finally slid down that slippery slope and just completely thrown away everything for the cause. Suddenly Vader was so relatable it hurt. Was this how he always felt?

Why was she still thinking about him? There was no way her emotions for him could grow, there was no possible way they could bring their relationship to any good conclusion. The laws of fantasy and reality were separate for a reason—only in a fantasy could she and Vader have a future together. Only in a fantasy could she convince him that he was a Human being and not just some tool, particularly after the stunt she'd just pulled.

Éothen considered her words. "I… I'm not sure what to say, senator. I…"

"Please," she interrupted him, trying to diffuse the tension. "Call me Padmé."

Éothen looked her in the eye and nodded. "Padmé. I… I'll accept your offer on the condition that my clan also accepts. You have to come to Salkende with me."

She felt her body grow colder as if it weren't even alive anymore. She felt disjointed from everything around her, somehow even more isolated than she'd ever been. "I understand. When can we leave?"

"I leave the day after tomorrow," he answered. "I trust you can get your affairs in order by then?"

Padmé nodded. "Absolutely."

I can't be sure, but I'm fairly certain this story is the first time I've attempted to write Qui-Gon so I really don't have much a feel for his character. Tips would be great! Hope you liked the chapter. :)