A/N: For this chapter, I have combined what are technically two characters: Dashé Borreno, mentioned in some peripheral circa-AOTC story as a young girl in the Legislatvie Youth Program hailed as the next Amidala, and Queen Apailana, the young successor to Queen Jamillia of Naboo. Based on what I've been able to fined, they're pretty much the same age and, come on, they're totally the same person.

I want to thank everybody who has reviewed this series, especially those who reviewed after the last chapter. Especially to EpisodeSkywalker, who appparently got through the whole thing in one go last time-- yes, of course I remember that part of the end of the ROTS novel. I also read it over and over again. The first time I read it I just sat and stared at it for a few minutes; it was so touching and perfect and true. I also hate Palpatine. And, yes, there will be an Anakin chapter-- sort of... more like "AniVader"... but I'm saving him for near to the end. I think a couple of people have asked about that.

Dashé Borreno Apailana

One foot in front of the other. That's the only way I'm going to get though this day. One step at a time, head held high, like a Queen. Like the Queen I am.

Today, at sunrise, I will walk in the funeral procession of Padmé Naberrie Amidala. I will do this because I am the Queen, and I must. And as I walk past, the people of Naboo will see their ruler—cool and aloof and detached—performing her most solemn obligation. What they will not see—what I will not let them see—is that I'm also a thirteen-year-old girl, and I'm afraid, and I'm more alone than I've ever been.

Amidala was the Queen of Naboo when I was born. She was fourteen, and had just defeated the Trade Federation invasion. She was a legend to me my whole life—Amidala, the youngest Queen elected in over a hundred years. I wanted nothing more than to be just like her. The Naboo wanted it, too, which is a large part of why they elected me their Queen when I was even younger than Amidala had been—a new child Queen to be the next Amidala and lead us to peace. Then I learned the other part of it: no time alone, no time to be young, nothing is private, and nothing is sacred.

She was the only one who ever understood. She was really the only one who could, because she had been there. She knew that I couldn't be Queen Apailana all the time. She knew some things had to be private. Outside of our official duties, she called me Dashé, not as a sign of disrespect, but as a sign of sympathy. We seldom met face to face, we seldom really spoke, but we were bonded through common experience. Padmé Amidala was my friend. She had to face all that came with being the ruler of a planet alone, but I never did, because I had her. Until today.

The funeral ceremony begins in only an hour. I have dismissed my handmaidens and am sitting in front of a mirror, staring at my own reflection. I am not wearing the Queen's traditional makeup. I wear the robes, the deep, muted colors for mourning, but not the makeup. Not yet.

My thoughts inevitably drift back to the day of my coronation, not so very long ago. She applied my makeup that day, in accordance with the protocol that it should be done by a former Queen. I can close my eyes and picture it; I can hear her reciting the ceremonial words as she touched the brush to my lips: This is the scar of remembrance…

And I open my eyes to find that I'm crying. Once more I want to turn to Padmé Amidala and say, as I did that day, "I can't. I'm not you. I can't do it."

But though she is not here, I can hear her answer, the answer she gave as she placed her hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes.

"Yes, you can. Because you must. Your people chose you. You have a duty to them now. It won't be easy, and it is not fair, but you will find the strength within yourself. You'll find that you will do it, because you have to. I have faith in you, Dashé."

Like an automaton I reach for the white base and begin to apply it to my face. Today, one step at a time, I will walk in the funeral procession of Padmé Amidala, my friend, because it is my duty. And after that… after that, I will have to reign alone. Because I must.

What am I going to do? She has left me with the Republic fallen apart, an Empire rising, and the collapse of faith in all that we believed. What would she have me do?

The Emperor, once Palpatine of Naboo, tells me that the Jedi killed Amidala. And I find that, despite his long friendship with Padmé, his Naboo origins, and his public support, I don't believe him. I don't believe him simply because, the last time I spoke to Padmé Amidala, immediately after the declaration of the Empire, I asked her if she believed the Jedi had rebelled, had tried to kill Palpatine. She looked so tired, and like her mind was somewhere else. But when I asked her if she believed that the Jedi had done these things, she focused, and for a moment looked like herself, and said, "No, I don't. I don't believe it."

So why would they want to kill her? No, it doesn't make sense. I can't believe what the Emperor has told me. But, then, what do I believe? I don't know. I'm almost afraid to think about it, afraid of the answers I might find. My people chose me; I have a duty to them. But how am I supposed to lead them when I don't know any longer where the truth lies?

A small brush creates two dots, one on each cheek, perfectly even, for symmetry and balance.

The last time I spoke to Padmé Amidala, she said, "Your Highness, know that I fear for us. This is no longer the Republic I swore to serve. But it comforts me to know that Naboo is there, as beautiful as it has always been. Please keep Naboo beautiful, and keep it safe."

That is my duty. That is what I must do. No matter what chaos reigns outside, I must see that Naboo remains Naboo. I must always do what I believe to be right. This is how the Queen of Naboo leads her people, from Queen Elsinoré to Queen Amidala, Queen Jamillia, and now… me.

I touch the makeup brush to my lips—one bright line bisecting my lower lip: the scar of remembrance.

I am one more in a long line of Queens. I must not shame them. I must not shame Padmé's memory. The Queens of Naboo have always stood for truth and peace. It is possible that I must soon choose between truth and peace, just as Amidala once did. But if there is a way to have both of them, it is my duty to find that way.

I know all of this, but I cannot think about it anymore. At this moment, as a Queen stares back at me from the mirror, all of these duties seem an eternity away. At this moment my concern is this day. Today my duty above all is to Padmé. I cannot give myself to the grief I feel, or the doubt. I must be as a Queen giving tribute to another Queen, and the Senator who served me. I must not think about Padmé today, and I must not think about Dashé. Instead, Apailana will follow the casket of Amidala as she is taken to her final rest. It won't be easy, and it is not fair, but I will find the strength within myself.

Finally the makeup brush traces the tracks of my tears down each cheek, and above each eye the line stretches like a scar. The mark of one Queen mourning another.

And I am ready.

I am ready despite the doubts and the fears and the questions ringing inside my head. My face shows only calm, the regal countenance of the Queen.

A Queen does what she knows to be right. A Queen serves her people, no matter what the personal consequences. The woman we mourn today is proof enough of that.

Yet there have been a few things Dashé has been able to do for her friend. The procession will be Naboo history, but the funeral will be for family and friends. And there will be no investigation of her pregnancy, because some things are private. I owe her at least that much.

I ask myself now, could I do what she did? Could I risk my life in the service of this world I love and the ideals I believe?

I could, because it is my duty. She taught me that.