The city of Theed is calm and empty in the winters, with most of its people retreating to warmer climates to wait out the snow. Winters on that part of the planet are very short, but very brutal, with dangerous temperatures and snowstorms that can arise out of nowhere. Most of the native vegetation has evolved to survive it, but people are a different matter.
"I don't mind the cold," Padmé says, leading him through the winding path of the greenhouse. Much of the palace is encased beneath temperature-controlled forcefields, which has an eerie effect, when one is walking through a dewy, humid garden while the sleet hammers the windows above you. "My sister can't stand it. She never leaves her house in the winter. I could swear she spends the entire five weeks holed up in her bedroom, wrapped in blankets."
"Now that just sounds logical," Obi-Wan says, stopping at an odd-looking tree he vaguely remembers being warned about, on his first visit here. "Is this the poisonous one? The gam'ta tree, correct?"
"Of course not! We wouldn't keep poisonous plants in the - oh my," Padmé says, breaking off mid-sentence. "I stand corrected. So it is."
"The gardens have been allowed to grow wild in your absence, my lady," Obi-Wan teases. "Or perhaps Queen Neeyutenee is simply more adventurous."
Padmé pulls him carefully away from the budding purple leaves of the tree, smiling a bit nervously. "This particular greenhouse is restricted to high-level palace officials; perhaps someone thought they could take the risk. Watch your robes, Obi-Wan - the pollen can make you very sick!"
"This is a much more dangerous place than I remember," Obi-Wan continues, blithely ignoring the frown he gets from his companion, "perhaps I should have brought a bodyguard."
"The last time you were here, we were being invaded," Padmé says, tilting her nose up in the air. "And what am I, chopped convor liver?"
"I thought I was here to protect you," Obi-Wan says, "therefore, logically speaking, you can't also protect me. The relationship is one-way, my lady."
"Nonsense. Just because you say a thing is so, doesn't make it 'logically speaking,'" Padmé says, tugging him a bit more insistently towards the main foyer. Fed up with the gardens already, he thinks with amusement. Poison does have a way of ruining the mood. "I can protect you quite well at the same time that you're protecting me. You cover one half of the room and I'll cover the other - see? Logical. Your eyes can only see in one direction, Master Jedi, unless you've got more impressive powers you haven't told me about."
"With the Force, one can see many things," Obi-Wan says cryptically.
Padmé snorts. "As you say."
"Besides, if we're both protecting, then when will we have time to talk? No, it makes much more sense to recruit more help. One bodyguard for me, then another bodyguard for that bodyguard, and another and so on and so forth. It shall be a community effort."
"You had too much wine at dinner," Padmé says, grinning out of the corner of her mouth.
"Jedi don't drink wine," Obi-Wan says immediately.
"This Jedi did!"
"Oh, you're mistaken about that. It was probably very strongly brewed tea, or something." Obi-Wan waves one hand in the air at her. "You were distracted."
"Distracted? Me? Never," Padmé says, halting them to a stop in the shade of a large tentacle fern that casts long shadows over the path. Above their heads, the sleet makes loud, wet sounds as it hits the side of the palace, encasing them in a bubble of shadow and noise. "I think I was probably distracting you."
"Hm, perhaps, perhaps," Obi-Wan says, lifting her chin up with a gentle hand. She smiles and reaches up on her tip toes to press her nose against his - a cheating kiss, they used to call that, in the Temple when he was young. As younglings, they could press their noses together all they wanted, and it wasn't breaking any rules - they'd thought themselves so clever. "We will never know. Neither of us are reliable narrators, at the present moment."
"No," Padmé murmurs, her breath sweet against his cheek. "Too much wine and protecting. Come." She pulls back and takes his hand. "I'm going to show you my favorite painting, and then we will go to bed. Tomorrow is the midwinter solstice and the entire palace will awake at dawn, we won't have much time to sleep."
"Dawn? You did not mention that before the wine!"
"So you admit that it was wine?"
"It could also have been very strong juice. Possibly," Obi-Wan says, frowning thoughtfully.
Padmé laughs. "I think I like you on vacation, Obi-Wan. You're much more ridiculous than usual."
"Oh, well thank you," Obi-Wan replies, pleased by the compliment, "I do try."
A vacation is not really a vacation, when one is at war: Obi-Wan is awakened in the middle of the night by an emergency comm alert from the Temple. "The blockade in the Bestine system has been breached by Republican forces. They've ordered Anakin's squadron to assist in the final offensive."
"Are they recalling you?" Padmé says immediately, sitting up in bed to reach the lamp. The light makes Obi-Wan flinch.
"No, not yet." Obi-Wan sighs, putting the communicator back in its holster. "We should be prepared to leave quickly though, just in case."
"Well." Padmé reaches out and tugs him back into bed, sliding her warm arms around his shoulders. "If it happens, it happens. Were there casualties?"
"Too soon to know. We only have the battle frequencies so far - none of the generals have reported in officially yet."
"In the morning, then," Padmé says.
"Yes." Her hair, loose for once, spills over her bare shoulder like a loose bottle of ink - streaks of brown and black against the paleness of her skin. Obi-Wan reaches up and smoothes it away, tucking the loose strands back beneath her sleeping scarf. "You're very disheveled, my lady."
"Some scoundrel messed up my hair earlier," Padmé teases. "Couldn't give me enough time to pin it back properly."
"I cannot imagine why he would be so impatient," Obi-Wan says, eyes wide. Padmé snorts. "This will be Anakin's first solo campaign, without Mace or myself."
"He'll be fine," Padmé says, pressing her hand briefly against the side of his face. "He's ready. He's been doing so well lately with his anger, and he's more than trained."
"He's on his best behavior around you," Obi-Wan points out.
"Because he's afraid of me."
"Oh, he is not."
"He is! He flinches every time he makes eye contact," Padmé says with a laugh. "Perhaps I've been too harsh with him, but - "
"He looks up to you, and he felt as if he disappointed you, but he's not afraid," Obi-Wan says. "It's good for him, to be humbled every once in awhile. Force knows he gets enough flattery from the Chancellor."
A dark look spreads across her face, there and then gone again. "Yes." She leans her chin against his shoulder, her hair falling stubbornly out of its scarf again. "He'll be fine, Obi-Wan. He'll make it back."
"I know." Any other option is unthinkable. To waste time on worry or fear would be a fatal mistake, especially right now, in the arms of this woman. Obi-Wan is always aware of the love he has for her - burning brightly inside of him every minute, growing stronger with every moment they pass through together. It would be so easy to let it flare into something uncontrollable. The balance he's found is not something he can afford to neglect. If there's anything left of Qui-Gon in the Force, if his spirit managed to hold itself together in the afterlife, then, well - he's probably laughing at Obi-Wan right about now. And Obi-Wan deserves it - especially so, when he thinks of how many times he'd lectured his Master over his relationship with Tahl.
No being can survive long without companionship, Qui-Gon used to say, in his own defense. For all his faults, his Master had been gracious enough to teach Obi-Wan about the unspoken ways of life of a Jedi - the silent reality that most Knights and Masters lived, while keeping a tactful silence in polite company. Not all Masters were kind enough to do so for their padawans. Many had to slowly figure it out the hard way, with much more anxiety and uncertainty. A Jedi's balance is hard won, but above all else, private. The Code forbids attachment, this is true, but the language is vague and undefined on purpose, Obi-Wan. No being - human or otherwise - can live without love, friendship, passion, fulfillment - these are the things which make us feel alive. And don't you and I feel love for each other, my son? Don't we have attachment, by the narrow definition that your textbook gives you?
Attachment - much is made of that part of the Code, especially in conversations with Anakin, who purposely runs head on into the Jedi's more restrictive rules, simply so that he will have the opportunity to complain about them. Headstrong, a tad arrogant - but really it's his bright heart that leads him there, that prompts him to take his own path. Obi-Wan has tried to do the same service for him that Qui-Gon had, explain the difference between what the Jedi say out loud, and how they actually live. Love is not forbidden - only jealousy and possession. Passion is not either, not really - only the excess of it. How to explain these things to a twenty-year-old with the hottest temper Obi-Wan's ever seen - he doesn't know. He hasn't even told Anakin about the extent of his relationship with Padmé yet - the hypocrisy would only make him angrier, Obi-Wan suspects.
Obi-Wan doesn't think that the Code is perfect, by any means, but he can see the logic in enforcing the strictest interpretation of it out loud. That tactic is designed for Jedi exactly like Anakin - who are, it pains him to admit, more susceptible to using their power and authority inappropriately. Obi-Wan often thinks, and regrets, that Qui-Gon died so young - it should've been him. He would've done a much better job with Anakin than Obi-Wan has - that, he knows as an undeniable truth.
"Should we even try to visit Sola?" Padmé murmurs, the same worry Obi-Wan feels reflected in her voice. For different reasons, however, he suspects. "If you're recalled to Coruscant, we might not be able to get a transport back to Theed right away. The staff is reduced by almost half in the winters."
"I would not keep you from visiting her, Padmé - it's been over a year since you've seen the children."
"I would not go without you," Padmé argues. "It's been almost as long since you and I have had any time to ourselves, Obi-Wan." She pulls back slightly, her face darkened with guilt. "Not that I'm...resentful, of course, I don't mean to say - "
"I know what you mean," Obi-Wan soothes. "It's alright."
Her chin comes to rest upon his shoulder again. "We could borrow one of the palace's transports - I'm sure Her Highness wouldn't mind. We would have to be very careful, though - the public roads are so neglected when it snows."
"Because no one uses them?" Obi-Wan asks, with amusement. "I think you are the exception among your people, my lady. There doesn't seem to be a single being on this planet who doesn't turn into a hibernating bear in the winter."
"When it only lasts two months, you don't have to learn to enjoy it," Padmé mumbles. "We are spoiled by our own abundance. I often think it is our greatest flaw - how comfortable we are."
"Hm." Obi-Wan takes her hand, pressing their palms together. Her smaller one fits neatly into his - smooth, unworked skin that Obi-Wan often feels hesitant to touch. "Of all the problems you could have, I daresay that's the one most leaders would want."
"Bail and I talked about this, at our luncheon last week before we left," Padmé says. "There's unrest on Alderaan - Breha's cousin has disowned the family and joined the Separatist colony on Kalevala. He was a well-known businessman on Alderaan - Bail is worried that others will follow."
"Every planet in the Republic will have dissenters," Obi-Wan says softly. "Even Naboo has those who agree with Separatist politics. Money is a powerful motivator, and for those who already have an abundance of it - the Confederacy is a tempting option."
"But Naboo is not as prepared as Alderaan to let them go," Padmé says, her voice low and worried. "Our population is a third of Alderaan's size. Most of our gross planetary income is generated by the same three companies, with what - twenty, thirty people in authority? If we lose even ten of those people to the Separatists - "
"There has been no serious unrest yet, Padmé," Obi-Wan interrupts, "your planet is united under Neeyutnee's leadership. She is a popular Queen - there's no need to fret yet."
"If I had your ability to banish my feelings into the Force, perhaps I would be more skilled at controlling my anxiety," Padmé says ruefully.
"I release it into the Force, my lady. I don't banish it," Obi-Wan says, squeezing her hand.
"What's the difference?"
"One implies that you defeat an emotion, while the other means that you simply...come to an understanding with it," Obi-Wan says. "Anakin struggles with this more than anything else - he thinks that he needs to not feel things at all, when really all he needs to learn is how to accept the emotion, and let it pass naturally. Repression, rejection of emotion - all that does is make them stronger." Obi-Wan shakes his head. "It's not all that different from what Sabé does when she meditates."
"Maybe I should try it then," Padmé says definitively. "Do you release what you feel for me into the Force?"
Obi-Wan inhales sharply. "Padmé - "
"I'm not angry. I'm just curious." She leans up and kisses his cheek. "We don't have to talk about it."
"I - it's not quite as simple, with more complicated matters."
"Am I complicated?" Padmé asks, but she's smiling, her voice light and playful.
"On occasion. You are also, quite frequently, a complication."
"A pleasant one, most of the time," Padmé counters.
"Of course," Obi-Wan says, turning his head for a proper kiss. Padmé laughs a little against his mouth, her scarf falling backwards off her head with the sudden motion. "If I am recalled...you should stay here and finish your visit."
"No," Padmé says immediately, pressing another kiss against his chin before she pulls away. "They will likely convene the Senate anyway, if they manage to take Bestine."
"We don't know that."
"We don't know that you'll be recalled either!" Padmé laughs. "Obi-Wan, let's not argue about it right now. We still have three hours until dawn, after all."
"You don't honestly mean to still attend that silly ceremony."
"Yes, and you are coming with me," Padmé says stubbornly. "There will be zaela fruit pastries, Obi-Wan. Do you have any idea how long I've been craving a zaela fruit tart? They only flower in winter, you know."
"Well, far be it for me to deprive you," Obi-Wan says. "Of course you may attend without me. I will not be offended. It's nice of you to try and protect my feelings, my lady, but I assure you it isn't necessary."
Padmé smacks him with a pillow.
"Is this protection?" Obi-Wan asks, laughing. He ducks another swing. "I don't feel very protected."
"You are by far the most ridiculous person in the galaxy," Padmé says, her face still lit up with good humor. "I don't know how you've fooled everyone for so long into thinking you're a serious person."
"Honestly, I have no idea either," Obi-Wan admits.
The only time they would risk being seen together so openly is in winter, since the only people left in the palace have all taken strict confidentiality vows - still, it is somewhat reckless. Obi-Wan can't bring himself to regret it, exactly, since Padmé is clearly so delighted to show him around the palace. She'd spent eight years of her life here - important years to her, in so many ways, Obi-Wan knows.
"This was my favorite room," Padmé says, her shoes clicking loudly against the tile as she leads him past a row of bookshelves. The room is large, like many rooms in the palace, but well lived in, with lounges and tables that seem a little bit more worn than some of the grander, more public areas. Lovingly used chairs, draperies with visible fading - Obi-Wan can picture Padmé and her handmaidens here very clearly, reading and talking at night, once the officials have all left for their apartments in the city. "I used to send you messages from that very comm unit, you know. My handmaidens thought it was terribly romantic, so I never let them read the actual messages. They would've been devastated to discover that we really were talking about politics."
"Oh, Ani despaired of me for the same reason," Obi-Wan remembers with a laugh. "He had such a crush on you when he was younger, do you remember? He thought I was the most boring adult in the universe."
Padmé bites back a laugh, laying their tray of tarts carefully down on a low table. "I don't think I ever told you this - no, I'm sure I never did - but he sent me a message once on your unit, pretending to be you. It was the most precious thing."
"No - he did?"
"This was only a year after the blockade - he must've been about ten. I knew right away it was him - every other word was misspelled." Padmé laughs fondly, reaching up for his hand as he joins her at the table. "He tried very hard to woo me on your behalf. I still have the message saved - it would probably humiliate him now! But it's probably the sweetest thing anyone's ever sent me."
Obi-Wan laughs. "He charmed hearts and minds everywhere he went, didn't he? Everyone at the Temple loved to spoil him, that's for sure."
"Of course I was already so in love with you by then, I was too terrified to ever mention it," Padmé says. "Just getting to talk to you every once in awhile felt like a gift. I didn't want to risk losing it."
Obi-Wan takes a deep breath and pulls her hand to his mouth for a kiss, letting the moment stretch. "You wouldn't have lost anything."
"I know that now," Padmé says fondly, smiling softly at him. She always looks so different on Naboo - lighter, more comfortable in her skin. Obi-Wan often pictures her here - when he's out on campaign, mired in the long, arduous Senate hearings, or enclosed behind the Council chamber doors at the Temple - he thinks of a vague future on Naboo, a time when Padmé could wear her hair down every day. A peaceful vision - something true to fight for. "You haven't tried one yet, you know. Don't think I haven't noticed."
"No, I've had them before," Obi-Wan says, "they're too sweet for my taste. You can have them."
"You want me to eat all of these?" Padmé asks incredulously, spreading her hand across the tray of pastry. "I'll explode!"
"You're the one who said she was craving them," Obi-Wan points out.
"Well, I didn't think they would give me this many," Padmé says with a huff. She picks one up and studies it for a moment, before popping it in her mouth. "Hm. Oh, they are good."
"We'll take some to Sola. Ryoo and Pooja will take care of the rest."
"If they can survive the trip! I wonder if we could flash-dry them," Padmé says thoughtfully, "they'd last longer. Are you sure you don't want one?"
"My lady, I would prefer to watch you enjoy them," Obi-Wan says grandly. "Your happiness brings me such joy and fulfillment, such as that I've never known before. It is a profound thing."
"You're so full of hot air," Padmé says with a laugh. "It's a wonder your feet even touch the ground."
"And you're full of zaela fruit," Obi-Wan counters, pulling her chair closer with the Force, jerking her sharply enough that she yelps. "Ah, that's better. Oh my stars, your hair's fallen out again - "
"Obi-Wan, I swear," Padmé says, almost choking a little on her own laughter, reaching up to rescue her headpiece from disaster, "they're going to call the guards on us if you keep assaulting me in such a manner - "
"Assaulting? No, my lady, this is protecting."
"Oh, disheveling me in public is protection? Do you remember what I told you, the last time you pulled me into that closet at the Senate Justice Hall?"
"No," Obi-Wan lies. "Besides, this isn't public."
"Yes it is!"
"Weren't you the one who convinced me we could share a room here because there would hardly be anyone to see? I distinctly remember that being your argument."
"Oh, fine," Padmé says, and grabs another zaela tart. "How's this for a threat, then? I'll tell Sola on you."
Obi-Wan blinks at her. "You wouldn't."
Padmé doesn't reply, raising her eyebrows at him in challenge, chewing slowly.
"You're ruthless, my lady," Obi-Wan says.
"I know," Padmé says smugly.
The casualty reports are not as bad as they'd expected them to be, which is a nice surprise. They also hear from Anakin, which is a surprise. Obi-Wan had expected him to take off for the front the exact second he'd received his orders. He's been so eager to get back out there.
"Master," Anakin says, his image flickering slightly from the interference from the weather. "Are you enjoying your…" Anakin smirks. "'Vacation?'"
"Very much, thank you," Obi-Wan says pleasantly. Padmé, deliberately keeping herself out of range of the hologram camera, visibly bites the inside of her cheek. "Theed is lovely in the wintertime. You should've joined us."
Anakin scoffs audibly. At the age of twenty, Anakin probably thinks Obi-Wan is even more boring than he did when he was ten. Even in the middle of a war, Obi-Wan can't manage to convince him otherwise. "I told you I'd be needed here, and I was right, wasn't I?"
"No need to gloat about it, Ani, I'll worry about you enough as it is," Obi-Wan complains. "Are you ready to depart? I would've expected you to be well on your way by now."
"We're just waiting on the official blessing from the Chancellor's War Council," Anakin explains. Obi-Wan sees Padmé's face darken, at the mention of it. "The squadron is ready. And you don't have to worry about me." Anakin's voice softens. "I'll be fine, Master. I'm more than ready."
"Yes, I know you will be," Obi-Wan says resignedly. If this were a calmer time, and if Anakin were a normal Padawan, he'd never be allowed to do such a thing on his own, before undergoing the Trials. But nothing about Anakin's training has been normal. "But I will worry about you anyway."
"I know you will," Anakin echoes fondly. "But I'll be fine. It will be fine." He straightens out his shoulders determinedly, the metal of his prosthetic arm glinting strangely on the blue glow of the hologram, making it look bright white. "And I will be successful."
"Even if you do not manage to hold the territory, a safe return would be success enough," Obi-Wan says. "But I have faith in you, Padawan - either way. Remember - slow and steady. No reckless moves. Your men will follow the example you set - you're acting on behalf of hundreds, not just yourself, and they do not have the same skills that you do."
"I know, Master, I'll remember," Anakin says, with only the barest hint of impatience. Or rather - he's gotten a lot better at hiding it, Obi-Wan suspects.
"It was good of you to check in, though," Obi-Wan says, ruefully biting back the dozen or so other things he wants to remind Anakin of. "I'll spare you the rest of my fretting. You already know what I would say, anyway."
"Your fretting is preferable to the Council's bickering," Anakin says darkly. "I was in conference with them for four hours this morning, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan laughs. "You're the one who wants to be a Knight so bad, Anakin! You'll have to get used to that."
"It was just so…" Anakin trails off, shaking his head. "You know what I mean. Talking in circles for most of it. I don't know how they manage to ever make any decisions without you there."
"Oh, you think too highly of me."
"I don't! I read the transcripts like all the others, Master, you're the one that keeps them focused," Anakin insists. "Anyway - I'm just saying. I know they mean well, Master, it's just frustrating, is all."
"I know, Padawan," Obi-Wan assures him, "I share your opinions on it, you know I do."
Anakin nods, blinking rapidly. "How's Padmé? I mean - the Senator?"
Padmé lifts her head from her book briefly, making eye contact with Obi-Wan in the moment before he answers. "She's well, Anakin. She sends her regards."
"Good. I mean - I hope she has a restful visit with her family," Anakin says. "It was nice of you to go with her, Master - you could use the break, too."
"It was kind of her to invite me," Obi-Wan agrees. Padmé's face lights with a faint smile, even as she keeps her eyes trained on her book. There hadn't been much time for Obi-Wan to find privacy, not without dropping Anakin's call - but Obi-Wan would have told her the details of the conversation anyway. Their betrayal of Anakin - keeping the secret - is a bigger issue, but still inconsequential, in the grand scheme of things.
His padawan - smart and charming Ani, with the brightly burning heart - is setting out for war, in a few hours. Everything is inconsequential.
"Perhaps, if you are feeling particularly brave, Master," Anakin says slyly, his eyes squinted like they always do when he is about to say something deeply annoying, "you could take a real risk for once and ask to hold her hand." Anakin pretends to pause. "Or - stay with me, Master - maybe a hug? I know, I know - I'm being ridiculous again. 'Temper your hopes, Padawan,' that's what Master Windu always says - "
"Ani," Obi-Wan says, rolling his eyes. In the corner, Padmé is muffling a laugh into her sleeve. "Please spare me your sense of humor, for Force's sake. You're about to fly into battle."
"Oh yes, battle is never funny," Anakin says gravely. "Except for when your master accidentally lands his speeder in a swamp. Then it's a little funny."
Obi-Wan sighs. Padmé has now covered her face with both hands. "Alright. Good to hear from you, Anakin. Please try not to die."
Anakin's grin sparkles, from light years away. "I'll do my best, Master."
"See that you do."
"I should go. But I'll comm you when I can," Anakin says. "Try not to worry. Padmé, you'll make sure he doesn't get too worked up, won't you?" He smirks, craning his head back and forth dramatically as if to look for her. Padmé laughs out loud, not bothering to muffle it this time.
Obi-Wan rolls his eyes again; he should've known Anakin wouldn't be fooled. "Yes, you're very smart. Thank you, Ani."
"Force be with you both," Ani replies, eyes twinkling. "See you soon."
"And may the Force be with you, Ani," Obi-Wan replies seriously, and watches as Anakin's expression softens in response, a brief flash of vulnerability revealing itself at the words. He's still just so young. It breaks Obi-Wan's heart, sometimes, to send him out into the galaxy on his own. "Please be careful."
"I will," Anakin promises, more serious than anything else he's said so far. His image flickers, and for a moment Obi-Wan wants to prolong the conversation - to say what, he doesn't know - but then it's gone.
Obi-Wan closes his eyes for a moment, centering himself. He can feel Padmé waiting patiently, and sure enough, she's smiling softly at him when he opens his eyes.
"He'll be fine, Obi-Wan."
"I know," Obi-Wan says, joining her on the lounge. Open on her lap is a book of poetry written by the late Queen Jamillia - a friend of hers, Obi-Wan knows. She was assassinated in the first year of the war - so soon after Cordé's death, too, Padmé had taken it very hard. Jamillia had been very outspoken against the Separatists, after the end of her term as queen - it was likely a Trade Federation assassin, but to this day, the murder remains officially unsolved. Padmé has been trying for months to keep the case open in the Senate Judiciary. "I just feel as if I should be with him in person."
"He'll be fine," Padmé repeats, for lack of anything better. Sometimes it's all they can do - say the same things, over and over. "Do you really think he doesn't know? About us?"
"I think he suspects," Obi-Wan admits. "But sometimes he says things to me in private - in real privacy, mind you - that makes me think he doesn't have a clue. I don't know." He sighs. "He'll be angry when I tell him. He hates it when people lie to him. But I can't be sure that he wouldn't compromise your position - he's so close with the Chancellor. I don't know - perhaps I'm underestimating him."
"If he accidentally revealed us - would your position with the Jedi be at risk? I know you say that you're not technically breaking the Code, because we're not married and we don't have children, but Obi-Wan - I don't know..."
"The fact that you're a Senator would be more egregious to the Council than anything else. Most of the Jedi, when they take partners, stick to less...ah, visible choices."
"Is that a crack about my clothes?" Padmé asks with a smirk. "I told you, I don't choose them myself. They're traditional."
"Of course," Obi-Wan says dryly. "And those ridiculous gowns you wear to bed are traditional as well, I assume?"
"You like them," Padmé counters, reaching out to take his hand. "And you like my Senatorial gowns, too."
Obi-Wan smiles down at their entwined hands, and chooses not to comment. "Let's not talk about it right now. We only have so much time - we should enjoy it." He reaches for the book. "Will you read me some verses? You're much better at the pronunciation than I am."
"Because you don't care all that much," Padmé chastises. "If you tried, you could do better."
"High Formal Nabian is not a language that comes in handy that often, my lady. Outside of a Naboo classroom, anyway," he teases. He settles in next to her. "Come - will you read to me? I don't wish to think about anything else at the moment."
Padmé smiles, turning the page to a longer poem. The script looks inexplicably complicated to Obi-Wan - the old fashioned, formal Nabian language, from the time on Naboo before it joined the Republic, has a written form much closer to hieroglyphs than traditional script. Padmé swears up and down it's very simple to read, however. "He really will be alright, Obi-Wan. I can feel it in my heart - can't you?"
Obi-Wan feels many things in his heart - some advisable, some not. Some passionate, and some regretful. Most days, he can keep them all balanced - but as often is the case, during times of violence and uncertainty, he lets them overwhelm him, from time to time. He's been trying hard - leaning heavily on the remembered teachings of Qui-Gon - to keep it all calm. "Yes, I think so. It's good to be reminded, however."
Padmé smiles warmly at him. The same smile Obi-Wan sees in that vision - wide and relaxed, free of the smog and stress of Coruscant. Obi-Wan doesn't know how he ever lived without that smile in his life. "I do my best," she says.
"Indeed you do, my lady," Obi-Wan says. It was Qui-Gon who taught Obi-Wan how to release emotion, rather than defeating it. Sometimes, though, he thinks it was Padmé who really helped him master the difference. "Even when I would prefer you didn't."
"Hush," Padmé says, "I'm going to read now."
"Alright," Obi-Wan says, and settles in. They have some time left, after all. No sense in wasting it.