Padmé is sitting at the foot of the red granite stairs, taking her morning caf (which she now regrets over-sweetening,) and looking on as some of the elder padawans lead the younger children in meditation. Notwithstanding the fact that she is liable to go into labor at any moment, she doesn't know how much more of this she can take. It's only day two of their internment, and the taste of recirculated air, combined with the feeling of powerlessness, are already beginning to drive her insane.
She is plugging uselessly at her comlink for what must be the fiftieth time in the past four hours, when suddenly a herd of rapidly approaching footsteps causes her to scramble to her feet in terror. More clones? They are doomed!
But rounding the corner, and posing grandly at the top of the stairs, decked in a taaffeite-purple velvet cape, and hefting a DC-15 blaster rifle, is none other than Bail Organa, followed by an entire unit of the Coruscant Security Force. "Padmé!" he bellows, from on high. "The cavalry is here!" As she gazes up at him in disbelief, he flashes her a smile of grim determination.
"Bail?" she gasps. "Thank the Stars, you're alive!" Though heavy with child, she practically sprints up the massive steps to meet him. She takes one of his large, caramel-brown hands in her tiny ivory ones, half expecting him to be a mirage. At his warm, solid touch, she bites her lip to stop herself from crying. "Oh Bail, I've been sick with worry."
"I wish I'd been able to contact you sooner," he frowns. "Things have been happening very fast."
"What things? I'm totally out of the loop!"
"I know. I'm sorry. I've been in talks with Senator Mothma. Those who remain loyal to the Republic are already organizing against the coup." With a gentle squeeze of her arm, he holds her quivering gaze. "Democracy will survive, Padmé. It has to."
"But how-" She paws at her eyes. "How did you even get in here? We barricaded everything."
"Think you could keep me out of my own home did you, Senator?" The diminutive Grand Master Jedi shuffles out from among the group of officers, leaning heavily on his cane.
"Master Yoda!" Padmé cries.
"Our younglings-"
"All safe. Every one of them is here." She takes a halting step towards him, clutching her belly, pearly tears spilling over her numb cheeks. "Oh, it's so good to see you! Please, tell me you know what to do. Tell me I'm not bringing this child into a lost world."
"Lost, you say?" Yoda gives a little aspirated grumble.
"The Republic which I love is falling."
"Yet hope there still is!" He taps his cane emphatically against the ringing stone. "And as for your child," he lowers his ears, his expression momentarily softening. "A great destiny do I sense for it."
Padmé holds her head aloft, and smooths her yellow dress, recalibrating her poise. "I certainly hope not," she says sardonically. "Lately I am becoming more and more convinced that greatness is incompatible with happiness. A case in point..." She casts her gaze about recklessly, tossing her abundant mocha hair over one shoulder. Then, with a kind of giddy ire: "Anakin is the father, you know."
"What?!" Bail exclaims, practically stumbling backwards in shock. "Anakin Skywalker?"
Yoda simply shakes his head. "Most worrisome this is. Though unsurprising."
"Yes. How do you like that?" She gives a short, desperate, half-mad laugh. "I've decided I'm not lying for him anymore. The world as I know it may well be coming to an end- And I refuse to die a liar!"
"Padmé," Bail admonishes his friend, "don't say such things! You aren't going to die. Senator Mothma will find a safe place for you and your child, beyond the reach of this self-styled 'Emperor.'"
"Well, I'm not going anywhere without Anakin," she says emphatically, crossing her arms. "And he's not going anywhere without Obi Wan. And Obi Wan won't just leave the Jedi." She shrugs summarily. "So, here we all are."
Silence falls over the cool, cavernous, underground chamber. Padmé gazes down from the stately, pink-columned mezzanine at the top of the stairs into a sea of hopeful, expectant young faces. The future, perhaps. She worries her pale hands in folds of her dress. She is still young, Force-dammit!
"Where are those two anyway?" asks Bail awkwardly, after a moment.
"Sensed their presences within the temple, and sent Master Windu to find them, I did," Yoda frowns.
"Alright," Bail nods. "Who else is here?"
"What do you mean?" Padmé turns back around to face him.
"You and the children were down here during what was clearly a major attack. The outside of the temple is in ruins. And the upper levels are littered with the bodies of dead clone troopers. There must have been hundreds of them."
"There were." She presses her lips together in a grave line.
"And they were killed by lightsabers. By Jedi."
"Anakin and Obi Wan defended us, they-"
"Fought off a small army?" He raises an eyebrow incredulously. "All by themselves?"
"Well-" she blanches. "Yes, actually."
"That's impossible-" he says, with a nervous, barking chuckle. "I mean- Isn't it?" He stiffly turns his broad-shouldered frame, the sheen of his rich, velvet cape catching in the artificial light like dark water. He is no expert in Jedi matters, but to his understanding, the clones' sheer numbers have proven more than enough to overwhelm even some of the most experienced warriors.
Both humans turn to look at Master Yoda whose ancient features are scrunched in thought. "Increased immeasurably, their powers have," he huffs. "Sensed this as soon as we arrived, I did."
"Does that... happen?" Bail flounders. "Do Jedi just... get stronger?"
"No. But methods, there are. Dangerous, unnatural, ill-advised." He tilts his head in inquisition. "Know something about this, do you, Senator Amidala?"
Padmé looks guiltily down at her bleeding cuticles, and is reminded strangely of childhood, of picking berries with Sola in the Lake Country, of the taste of sugar, and the sting of thorns. "I said I wouldn't lie for him," she sighs. "And I won't. But there's... not much I can tell you."
During the planting season, when it was always hot and humid, they would spend the night in hammocks on the balcony outside, under a hush canopy of flickering blue shadows, and tell each other the same stories over and over again. She remembers an old Gungan folk tale which spoke of a great reckoning at the end of the world. The stars, it was said, were as giant xanthous plasma eggs, which would one day hatch, giving birth to dæmonic beings of pure fire. The faithful people of the water would retreat into the protection of their mother sea, without looking back. But the unfaithful, dazzled by the beauty of these creatures, would remain behind, gazing into the sky. And for their hubris, they would be reduced to ashes where they stood.
"If you'll just give them a chance to explain it themselves..." she implores the Grand Master.
"Fully intend to, I do," he snorts.
Padmé drags her slippered feet against the gleaming red granite. The stairs look so much steeper on the way back down. Bail offers her his arm, but she declines. The new her laughs at danger. The new her takes nothing for granted. The new her tells the truth.
The stars are falling, the water is rising, the heavens are at war-
And she has thrown her lot in with the dæmons.