A/N: Nameday = birthday. When picturing the wagon cruiser, picture the Star Wars version of a pickup truck. There was a large version of such a type used in the Kenobi series.

A reminder this story is not just rated M for sexual matter, but also for a deep dive into grief/mourning.

Chapter 17. The Breakdown

There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I walked into the park entrance with Captain Typho by my side. It was just after dawn and there was a slight morning chill, but the air was humid and sweet— as it always is in Theed. I positioned my green cloak a little better around my front, though I kept the hood down around my shoulders.

Sunrise rays of pink and orange stretched themselves across the expanse above, as if the sun had been eagerly waiting all night to return to its grand auditorium above the capital city. The heels of my shoes and the captain of my security's boots made rhythmic contact with the pavement as we navigated ourselves nearer to the center of the park. Just after a turn around a silent playground, a series of benches by a large pond came into view. From behind, we could see a figure draped in a plush, white cloak— hood on— sitting on one of the curved benches facing the tranquil pond. I determined by sight, even at this distance, that the material of her covering was as expensive as it was beautiful.

"That'll do, Captain," I smoothly instructed, and the head of my guard dutifully paused his step as I continued forward alone. He had done his job well, as he always did, but now he would wait on the sidelines as I conducted this final interview.

At the sound of my approach, the robed figure turned her head and stood. I could immediately see why Typho had singled her out for recruitment— our appearances were eerily similar. The resemblance even rivaled my shared physical qualities with Sabé. Beneath her hood, the neat hairstyle of light brown hair was visible, as were the chestnut eyes set in a face smiling at me timidly. The hood was lowered by thin, manicured hands, and I noted she was a slight bit taller than I. Not a disqualifying problem— such a thing was easily remedied with a clever hairstyle, if need be.

She offered me a steep, graceful curtsy in the style of the High Court.

"Senator," she whispered. "It is a great honor to finally meet you."

I smiled back at her and gestured back towards the bench. "Please, sit."

She waited for me to lower myself on to the bench first, then she joined me at a respectful distance. For a moment, we watched and listened to the circular spray of water emanating down from the fountain in the center of the pond before us. Birds, which had begun their wakeful chorus before the sun had even arisen over the horizon and the sky was still a faint gray, stirred with greater energy in their song.

"I prefer meeting prospective handmaidens here," I said softly. "My official office feels too formal a place to meet for a role that is so much more personal than one would imagine. Your name is Coryn, correct?"

She nodded. "Yes, milady. Coryn Calamine. I appreciate the thought you put into that decision. It's a very serene place." Coryn inhaled deeply. "Very peaceful, especially now."

I smiled. "It's one of the little gems of Theed. Not many come to it— I'm not sure many know of it— but I set such meetings as these in the early morning hour, just in case. Thank you for coming so early."

"Not at all, milady."

There was a brief pause as I made ready to study this stranger's face. If accepted into my security ranks, she would learn to memorize and mimic my expressions, voice, and manners as if they were her own. However, today, it was my duty to play the role of reader.

"So, how does one of the most noble houses of Naboo feel about their only daughter stepping out of the light to become a handmaiden? How do her friends feel about it, for that matter?"

Subtlety, it was a layered question. Depending on how many people knew of her potential recruitment, her answer could end the interview here and now.

In a change from the initial round of enlistment at the start of my first term as Queen, I'd made it clear to Captains Panaka and Typho that I heartily approved the immediate family of all handmaidens knowing what their daughters were doing. Previous young women had stepped away from their families entirely for the duration of their service— dropping their own identities to the point they hid their true positions from their own parents with half-truths and outright falsehoods. But after I realized the level of lethal danger my handmaidens could find themselves in during the invasion, I refused to be a part of encouraging them to lie to the faces of their mothers and fathers.

"Only my parents know," Coryn answered. "And they have no objections."

Although I believed the first part of her answer, I rose a slight eyebrow at the second.

"The Calamines are known for their…" I hesitated while I found the right words. Every woman who'd previously reached this point in recruitment came from middle class, obscure backgrounds. The Captains preferred them that way. This was my first time interviewing someone whose social rank was arguably much higher than any other interviewee before. "…For their elite accomplishments."

A seemingly genuine smile graced the young lady's face. "It's alright. We can be frank and say I come from a socialite family. My parents like to throw or attend more than the occasional party." She paused, becoming more serious. "But that was never my interest. The older I became, the more I stayed up in my room reading while the parties happened in the ballrooms below."

"The life of a handmaiden would still be very different from what you're used to, Coryn. You'd mostly be in the background, and if you're not, that likely means you've stepped into my place to take on more of the danger."

She nodded, but solemnly. "I understand."

I met her eye and smiled tenderly. Her sudden solemnity wasn't for herself. "Would you like to answer my question again?"

She pursed her lips, then replied, "When I told them about this— that I was going to meet you, and why— my father was supportive quite quickly. My mother… she'll come around." She smiled. "She's just fears for my safety."

"Understandable, especially after what happened with the Trade Federation. Are you two close?"

"Yes, milady. Very."

I grinned. "As am I, with my mother." We watched a bird land on a nearby rock jetting out from the surface of the pond. The blue and red creature eyed us with low but wary interest, as if not realizing it would have an audience, and it stretched its wings and flew away a few seconds later. "Sneaking away upstairs during parties is one thing, but how would your parents explain your absence to the rest of Naboo's social scene?"

"Traveling off-planet for a few years," Coryn readily replied. "Many of my peers are doing the same— they're going trip-hopping to all the famous hot spots throughout the systems— no one will be surprised that I'm gone."

"For you, such an excuse would actually be close to the truth," I mused. "Though, your traveling would mostly consist of routine trips to Coruscant and back." As I studied the young, articulate girl beside me, I grew more serious. "It's not all space flights, coming face-to-face with famous dignitaries behind closed doors, and glitzy fundraisers. This isn't a similar alternative to what your friends are doing, nor should it be approached as if it was a seasonal internship in public service." I searched her eyes for understanding. "It's real work, and I rely on my handmaidens to commit as fully and truthfully as they are able. There's no half-in, half-out." I paused. "I know what you've said to Captain Typho, but I will ask you to tell me, Coryn— why do you want to do this?"

She gave my question the dignity of a thoughtful pause before she answered. "When we were put into the camps during the invasion, the droids didn't care about social classes. I spent time with people who I'd never— I'm sorry to say— I'd never quite been introduced to before. I hadn't truly realized till then how privileged of a life I came from. But the others didn't care or judge me for my background— we all were just trying to survive. I learned a great lesson in solidarity; I don't think as many of us would've made it through our time in the camp as well as we did if we hadn't kept hope alive. We worked together to keep it alive. It was our light in the dark, the fire in the cold." She smiled. "The Federation tried to break us, but instead we were reminded of our strengths. I don't want to glorify it, but I think many of us look back at that time and see the best versions of ourselves, and in each other. I do. We reached out, together and heroically, to push back a darkness." She let out a light laugh, as if self-conscious about her speech. "I'm sorry, I'm going on and on to the wrong person. You helped us find that strength. You know better than anyone how difficult but heroic those days were."

"It's alright, Coryn. Go on."

She looked out over the pond, a small smile on her face. "Well. When I have a daughter one day, I want her to be proud of the work I did to keep that hope flame going in all the corners of the galaxy where it is still needed— not for how many parties I attended. You imply I'll have to disappear in this role, but for me… I look at it as coming alive. As being part of something greater than myself. There's work to do and I want to be part of it."

The sun was well and truly above the horizon now. The pond shimmered with the effects of the light beams colliding with its surface. In the distance, I could hear the gradually growing hum of speeders as the morning rush hour commute stretched its legs. A new day was birthing, and in the humid air hung promise and possibility.

When several moments went by and I still remained silent, the young lady next to me turned her gaze to read mine. It was the first of many, many times that she would do so. On this original occasion, I was regarding her with a welcoming calm.

"I'm pleased to have met you, Coryn."

At my words, her eyebrows— thin and straight, like mine— rose. "Does that mean the interview is over?"

"It does."

She swallowed. "And your decision, Senator?"

"My name is Padmé." I reached out and took her hand in my own. Her returning grasp was gentle but firm. She was a flower who did not know daintiness or fear. "How do you feel about the name 'Cordé'?"

From the privacy of my hooded black cloak, my mind ran the spectrum of memories as I swayed with the motion of Brother Luke's wagon speeder.

I remembered when I finally stepped out of a meeting that ran late into the night several months ago, and Cordé surprised me with a cake from my favorite local bakery. So distracted by work, I didn't even suspect the reason for her action until she broke out into a wide smile and exclaimed,

{It's after midnight. Happy nameday!}

I remembered traveling to my uncle's funeral. To grandmother Ryoo's. To great-grandmother Leia's.

I remembered the last hug I'd given Dormé. The farewell wink for Captain Typho— a trinket to dispel the tension and anxiety in our goodbye.

I remembered my treasured spot on the right-side couch on my Coruscanti apartment's veranda. Not quite in the middle— a little to the left. A direct line of sight to the beautiful, glass Balancia Building several kilometers away, which always seemed to glow in the sunlight.

I remembered when Cordé heard there were security threats around my life, risking my return for the vote. She'd turned to Captain Typho and promised with the certainty and pose of a general,

{Nothing will happen to her, I swear it.}

{Nothing will happen to her while she's with me.}

The last recall was the passionate declaration made by the fellow occupant in the wagon cruiser at this morning's breakfast table. Even now, as much as my thoughts dwelt on Cordé and others, my mind couldn't help but intercut these reflections with thoughts of Anakin.

{Or be with people that I love.}
{Are you allowed to love?}

{When I'm with you, my mind is not my own.}

{I can be enough for this assignment, because you're not just an assignment— you're—}

{We are taught to love others, but not to get attached to them.}

Brother Luke's wagon cruiser was functional and relatively stable, but it was also old enough that there existed a tangible, side-to-side motion when riding in it. I didn't mind— it was soothing, like the faint rocking of a cradle. Our driver sat in the enclosed, single row passenger cab up front, while Anakin and I sat parallel to each other on the two vertical rows lining the cargo area in the back. They were makeshift benches, installed sometime after the Pontifex acquired the wagon years before.

Anakin and I were both sitting with our backs up against the cab and our legs stretched out on the benches before us. We'd informed the guardsmen that we'd be leaving after breakfast and not to expect us back until late that night. Nandi and Teckla had efficiently and wonderfully hurried to pack us food for the trip before they graciously accepted having the rest of the day off. After I changed into a much more subdued, dark purple dress, we donned our cloaks and took the water speeder across the lake to Brother Luke's wagon cruiser. Luckily, he'd smartly stopped his vehicle alongside a tiny boat dock, which we tied Varykino's speeder to before we'd loaded ourselves up into the terrain-capable vessel. My younger companion's face lit up conspiratorially at the wagon on our arrival. Despite its fanfared title, it was mostly orange and red from patches of rust along the sides. Time and the climate had its way with the Blue Streak a long time ago, though the name nevertheless endured.

So far, Anakin and I hadn't talked much during the trip. We were perhaps an hour into the journey; it would take close to three to make it to Edum Bloom at the speed our vessel could offer. Although both of our bodies and gazes faced the dirt road behind us as the Blue Streak hummed over it, we'd already established that if we were to come upon any passersby on the path, we would turn inwards and draw in our hoods. So far, the action hadn't been necessary.

"Have you…" I turned at Anakin's voice, yet he'd already stopped speaking. He was shaking his head shyly. "Nevermind."

But I was already intrigued. "Have I what?"

He scratched at a bit of skin under his neck. "Have you thought about what you want to happen to your remains after you die? Funeral pyre, burial, entombment?"

My gaze drifted back to the passing trees absentmindley. I shrugged, a small movement. "Former Queen. Former Senator. I have some personal thoughts on the matter, of course, but it might be out of my hands."

I looked back over at Ani. Now he was frowning, evidently not liking this answer. "The government will decide for you? That doesn't seem right."

"No," I shook my head. "The State will respect our wishes. As I've been a known public servant, I just meant there will be more options available for my future family. Perhaps a service will be offered in a ballroom of the palace— I've seen it happen before with former monarchs who have passed." My eyes rose, and I watched a pair of silver tressle birds fly overhead. Their breed was known for mating with the one partner for life. "Ultimately, I'd like my husband and children to help me choose whatever feels right in advance— assuming I pass before my husband does." He didn't say anything to this. Silently, I pictured the peaceful Naberrie plot in the lower lands of the Lake Country— Edum Talla, Nabooian for "Rest for the Flowers". Although I hadn't officially set any posthumous plans yet, when I imagined my final resting place, I envisioned an intimate collection of my husband and our children buried alongside each other at Edum Talla, overlooking the lake till the days when Naboo is no more.

Our quiet viewing of the scenery around us continued. I thought the matter long dropped until he spoke again.

"So, you see marriage in your future?"

I let out a light laugh. "Well, not this week."

When I replay this moment over in my memory, I tell myself I can hear the hint of something beyond polite chitchat in my future husband's voice, something his eyes betrayed even as he kept his tone unassuming. It's so bluntly obvious to me now— the reconnaissance of a man who'd seen me as his destiny since he was a child.

At the time, of course, I didn't think to question where this line of inquiry was coming from. If I had, I likely would've reasoned it was only natural that on the way to honor the ending of one life, the witnesses left behind ponder the yet unmet milestones of the living— especially when the life of the fallen ended so prematurely.

"As I said at the palace, I thought I'd have a family of my own by now."

"I remember."

"But life…" I waved a hand generally in the air. "Intercepted. My work isn't done, and I have a role yet to play in whatever is coming." I grew more serious. "With or without the passage of the Military Creation Act, I feel like something is building. There's an energy in the air… I can't explain it. But doesn't it feel like the galaxy is leading up to something?"

I looked over at Anakin. His eyes were squinted, thoughtful. "I agree." He looked over and regarded me with a small grin. "You should have been a Jedi."

I smiled back. "No, I just know how to read the mood of the Senate Rotunda." I picked up a leaf that had landed just above my knee. I spun it back and forth between my thumb and index finger at the stem. Although I'd made the lightly humored comment, there was honesty in my remarks. I retained my optimism, but the ever-growing feeling of a looming cloud haunted almost every horizon. "It doesn't mean I don't want a family anymore. Surely you understand my saying so even better, now that you've meet Pooja and Ryoo." I looked up from my dancing leaf to take in the still, contemplative young man.

He was staring out over the mountains. We were at a steeper elevation now, but the lake was hidden to us from the swath of tall trees currently lining our route. "My family was always just my mother and I. Even with just the two of us, it was enough."

The faraway, forlorn look in his eyes pained me. "Until the Jedi became your family."

The words wavered in the air, as if they themselves didn't know if they were meant as an affirmation or as a question. Truthfully, I wasn't sure.

Anakin started picking at his fingernails. I was beginning to notice he did that every time his thoughts turned particularly inward. "Obi-Wan wasn't much older than I am when Master Qui-Gon was killed. It must've been a strange age for someone to slip into a fatherly role to a nine-year-old. I think… He sees me more as a younger brother." He looked up and squinted at the scenery. "Or as a problem he inherited."

"What makes you say so?"

He frowned, seemingly struggling with articulating his thoughts. "Sometimes… I think the biggest thing we have in common is the way we both looked at Qui-Gon as a father figure. What better description could there be to designate two young men as brothers?" He met my eyes as if asking for approval on his theory, but I knew far too little of their relationship to give it.

"But then," he clenched his fists, not in apparent anger, but in concentration. Anakin wasn't given the immunity to air his thoughts on his master very often, and he wasn't used to hearing them spoken out loud, much less to another person. I knew he wanted to get the words out right. "At times, I can tell he's trying to teach me the way Qui-Gon might have, even if it goes against his own instincts. But he— we struggle. Obi-Wan sees the structure and discipline of the Jedi differently than I do."

"How do you see it?"

He looked at me carefully. We were crossing thresholds Anakin did not share with others. "Sometimes, there's beauty in the regimen, the self-discipline. Sometimes, there's beauty in freedom."

"He's the straight arrow, and you're the…" I tried to find a nice way of putting it.

He grinned at my pause. "The open mind?" he offered. We both chuckled. After a moment, his smiled faded and his eyes darted to me questioningly, as if he was debating once again whether or not to peel back yet another layer of insight into his relationship with Obi-Wan. I didn't want him to feel pressured, so I patiently distracted myself by looking down, mindlessly playing with my leaf again. It was well on its way to decay, and no matter how delicately I moved it now, brown crumbles were starting to break off. Eventually, he continued, "He doesn't… see me."

I looked up. His eyes were trusting, though still hesitant. "See you?"

He nodded, suddenly emphatic. Somewhere in that split second, I'd been fully welcomed into his intimate circle of trust. "He doesn't see what I can do— or he doesn't want to." Lines formed in his forehead, and his fists clenched again, though this time in blatant emotion. "I can never seem to be the way he wants me to be. But I try. I do try! I just, if he-if he could only meet me halfway, be a little less perfect." He frowned at the label he himself had bestowed. "Master Qui-Gon bucked the rules— if he didn't, I'd never have been brought before the Council. And his own master was obviously not a straight arrow."

I sensed I was missing something. "Obviously?"

Anakin stared at me blankly. "Dooku." At my resulting faltered expression, his demeanor became more moderated, almost apologetic. "I thought you knew."

"No, I— I didn't." I'd known Dooku had been a Jedi before he'd left the Order to reclaim his heritage of Count of Serenno. I was even aware he was once a Padawan of Master Yoda himself. I had not known that the same man who'd trained Qui-Gon Jinn— who in turn trained Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Master of the student sitting opposite me— was my best guess for who was trying to assassinate me.

If my theory was correct, I was currently being protected and advocated for by two Padawan decedents of my would-be killer. My stomach twisted. I found no humor in the ironic chain of connections, and I'd be lying if I said just hearing Dooku's name spoken aloud hadn't brought back a rush of anxious, even angry, emotions.

If I was right, Count Dooku was the reason Cordé's body was about to be put to rest at Edum Bloom.

Through my own discomfort, I felt a twinge of guilt. Anakin's master's master's master hadn't been the topic at all, and he'd seemed to be sharing personal, vulnerable secrets with me like a man who'd unlocked a hefty gate. He'd been such a patient listener when I unloaded so much of my own inner monologue to him on the beach. His openness deserved better than my abrupt segue and sudden stone wall. Besides, it wasn't Anakin's fault he came from a cracked lineage of teachers.

But I'd heard enough of Jedi Masters and their Padawans on the journey to Cordé's funeral.

I shifted in my seat to better pretend to take in the view. The conversation dropped.

The gentle rocking of the speeder was enough to make Anakin nod off, and his eyes had been closed for a few minutes when I realized where we were. I knew he wasn't asleep— he wouldn't dare let himself, not on the road— yet his eyes had been shut in a meditative pause as we continued along in a comfortable silence.

But when I saw the unmistakable geographical landmarks and noticed the trees begin to thin, I reached across the flat aisle between us and shook Anakin's shoulder lightly. "Ani! Look."

Blue eyes emerged from behind tired hoods. They suddenly became alive as they searched in the direction I was pointing in, as if I was drawing his attention to a threat. A question was on his face for only a moment before he was sitting up straighter in his seat to better take in the view. "Holy mother of meteors…"

I'd been through this pass a few times before, but it stole my breath every time. From our height, the spread of the Lake Country unveiled before us in all her glory. The water shimmered like Corusca gemstones in the sun. The surrounding mountains dominated the horizon, folding over one another like old friends who'd slung their arms across each other's shoulders.

Turning my gaze towards him again, I watched the fascinating show play out over Anakin's face. His eyes were wide, entranced, as he processed a sight few planets could offer. One would've though he was a blind mind who'd regained his vision; his eyes were darting everywhere, trying to take it all in with an expression of awe.

It went that way for a few glorious minutes, until the speeder took the tight turn that ended the view and took us back into the forest of trees. At the conclusion of our gradual descent, we'd reach Edum Bloom.

Anakin nestled himself against the cab once more. Looking over at me, he let out a quick exhale that finished with a wide smile. "Thank you," he breathed. Somehow, the look of wonder on his face continued even with his much more huddled focus of only me.

In all honesty, I wanted to thank him for the joy I received watching the reaction play out on his face. Instead, I smiled softly and replied, "You're welcome." It was only a momentary reprieve from the heaviness of the day, but it was a reprieve all the same.

We were both fully awake and alert as the wagon cruiser slinked further down the last mountain. As I'd anticipated, we'd yet to come across any other travelers on our journey. Most, maybe all attendees would likely be flying in from other regions and landing their ships on the large landing platform closest to the shoreline of Edum Bloom. The path from the landing platform to the graveyard was a different route than the one we were taking through the mountain passes.

Brother Luke's wagon cruiser came to a gliding stop just before a corner turn up ahead. Instead of calling out to us from his window in the cab, he stuck an arm out and tapped the side of his driver's door twice. Registering this signal, Anakin descended from the back of the cruiser first before turning around to take my hand. After helping me down, he rapped on the backside of the vehicle twice, and a moment later the holy man was on his way again.

I didn't realize my hand was trembling until Anakin, who was still holding it in his, gave it a gentle squeeze. I looked up to find he was observing me with soft, sympathetic eyes. "Are you alright?"

I nodded my affirmation even as I myself did not believe it. My heart was beginning to speed and my mouth felt like it was going dry.

Anakin pulled my black hood closer around my face, hiding me within it more fully. He placed a hand on my forearm. "I'll be with you the whole time."

I gave him a diminutive, thankful smile, then walked forward in the wake of the Blue Streak. Anakin followed at my side.

As we tread over the soil that would take us towards the ancient cemetery, we passed an empty speeder with an opened box in the back seat. White, papery orbs were visible within the crate. "See those lanterns?" He followed my pointed finger and nodded. "After the service, the funeral witnesses will follow the family down the path with them. They'll be lit and released into the air, where they'll float up and dissolve high above us." I looked up, as if I could picture the white globes that would grace the sky after the burial. The post-funeral Naboo tradition was a beautiful sight, however tragic the occasion always was.

"They dissolve?"

There was a science to why the paper lanterns dissipated in Naboo's atmosphere, but I'd never taken the time to understand it. I preferred the mystical aspect of it all.

I felt the pressure on my tear ducts, but I pushed through them to smile at the Jedi. My voice was a reverent hush. "This is our magic."

After this, Anakin and I remained mute as we labored up the slight hill. Once we reached the top, the eternal sleep yard of Edum Bloom was revealed before us. It was nested in between two tall bluffs, with a stunning view of the lake to the north. Gray stones marking graves and ruins dotted the historic yard, with names of some of the earliest Naboo settlers etched into the designating rocks. Because of the steep cliff blocking out the sun, the space was shrouded in shadow and slight mist.

We approached the gathering near the eastern pocket of the land. About thirty attendees were scattered throughout, many in shrouded cloaks of their own.

Nearly hidden underneath his Jedi robe, Anakin scanned them all with an analytical eye. His voice was low but urgent. "There's something going on here, Padmé. Stay by my side."

Holding my breath, I nodded, hoping he could see the movement obscured by the hood.

I followed Anakin's lead as he steered us towards two ruins near the rear of the congregation. He came to a sudden halt when he heard me gasp.

A swarm of tears, wholly unrelated to the grieving river which had fought my suppression skills the past several days, welled up inside me. I could not prevent these tears from clouding my vision, though I blinked them away before they could fall. All I desperately wanted to do was see.

Cloaked figures in dark robes were scattered throughout the gathering. They hung in strategic spots, half in the light, half clinging to shadow. I would recognize these faces anywhere.

Sabé. Saché. Eirtaé. Yané. Rabé.

They're here. They're all here!

I reached out and placed a hand on my Jedi protector's thick sleeve. My voice caught in my throat as I whispered, "You can relax, Anakin. As far as my safety is concerned, this just became the safest place on Naboo."

As discreetly as I could manage, I slowly made eye contact with each of my former handmaidens. They all nodded back somberly yet lovingly. In examining the persons around them, I saw another collection of familiar faces— security guards, all of whom I recognized from my days as Queen. There were perhaps nine or ten in all. Their hairs were grayer in some spots, and they had more lines on their faces than before, but their eyes were as alert as ever. It was the way they didn't look in my direction that gave me the innate feeling they were aware of my arrival. I'd been expected.

"Handmaidens. Palace guards." I looked up at Anakin through our hoods, my eyes wet. "I don't know how, but they're here."

For his part, my counterpart still seemed hesitant. "Don't start pulling off your robe just yet— we still need to keep a low profile. Obi-Wan and I didn't get a look at the bounty hunter under his helmet, Padmé; I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between him and one of Cordé's family members." After a beat, he gifted me a smile. "But do I feel much better, given our present company."

We took our places in between the two pillared ruins near the back of the medium-sized assembly. My heart raced with the knowledge of who'd I'd seen, but it dropped again at the sight of a pair of slightly bent over figures making their way through the parted crowd. Brother Luke guided Cordé's parents to their seats, and the wave of the gathering came to a slow standstill like ripples in a pond fading out into obscurity. I knew what Temeré and Quintin Calamine looked like from my consolation call to them the evening of the attack, but given their demeanor, anyone would have recognized them as the grieving parents.

After a brief speech welcoming the attendees, the funeral began.

The commemoration itself was ethereal, if haunting. Brother Luke spoke only a little in Basic— most of the prayers and rituals were recounted in fluid Nabooian. While Basic suffices the needs of a collective galaxy, Nabooian rolls off the tongue in melodious, poetic riffs. It is inspiring and beautiful at ceremonies of joy— naming ceremonies, the coronations of monarchs, weddings. But at mournful times such as these, the aqueous words pierce right through the aching heart and afflict the soul.

As I listened to the holy man, I regretted that my companion would not understand the elegant prose. When I looked up at him out of the corner of my eye, my glance at Anakin told me all I needed to know. The power in the ceremony and the effect of the words were not limited by translation barriers.

Half-clipped memories of Cordé flooded my vision as my eyes lingered over her closed casket, but now the faint remembrances circled around one I saw with painful vibrancy. The ash, the still burning fire, the other bodies on the ground.

The blown off shoes and the blood-stained lips.

{Milady, so sorry.}

A pond. A morning full of promise.

{When I have a daughter one day…}

{I failed you, Senator!}

Time went by too suddenly, and then the vivacious, precious young woman's casket was being lowered into the ground. Sobs emitted from hunched figures. Despite the crushing heaviness in my chest, I continued to hold back my own release.

I do not deserve the right.

I hadn't realized how much I'd retreated into my thoughts until a thin, strong hand was holding one of mine. I blinked, only now realizing that I was standing face to face with my twin, though she was staring at me with much more grace and composure than I felt. "How…" I swallowed, then I shook my head in amazement. "How is everyone here?"

Sabé smiled. "I've been talking with someone. Someone who I think you'd like to see."

The young woman who had been my closest confidante throughout my time as Queen gave my hand a tug before letting it go. Then she began to lead us away from the lingering gathering of mourners towards a nearby, previously unnoticed gravel path. It stretched up one of the bluffs that bordered the cemetery, winding itself almost imperceptibly behind a canopy of trees. After ascending for about two minutes, Sabé led me over to an elevated perch surrounded on three sides by rock walls, Anakin following closely. Gray, smooth stone spread chest high in the center— it was the counter for some long ago crafted alter. From this viewpoint, one could look down and easily see the events of the burial play out in relative privacy.

Then I saw the blue haze hovering over the space on the alter. There was a comm pad underneath it, its green light blinking.

At first, the space was empty. Then I gasped audibly as the blue figures stepped into the picture.

"Dormé! Captain!"

The pair were standing in the reception room of my apartment, but their eyes and noses and chests with their beating hearts were as real as if they were standing a few feet in front of me. At my exclamation, Dormé gave a cute little wave. Captain Typho nodded respectfully, but his demeanor was warm and hinted strongly at relief.

A wide, breathless smile ruptured through me, exploding out at the lips. The urge to laugh was as strong as the urge to cry. "I'm so happy to see you both are alright." I cleared my throat and tried to regain some decorum in my reaction. "No attempts, still?"

"We're fine." Dormé smiled. "I knew you'd come."

I involuntarily grimaced in emotional pain. "I had to."

"I know," Dormé replied, her voice filled with compassion. "And when I told the captain there may be even the slightest chance you would hear about it, he took it upon himself to ask some former security buddies to take a flight into the Lake Country." Her tone turned more conspiratorial, with an edge of pride. "And I thought I should reach out to some old friends who were only too happy to ensure your safety."

Sabé's hand came up to rest on my shoulder. "We don't get out much anymore," she winked. "Handmaiden retirement is boring."

A broken but alleviating laugh escaped my throat. Of course. Before leaving Coruscant, I'd tasked Dormé with handling the costs of the burials for the families from my personal purse. No doubt she would have learned of Cordé's final destination in the process, and I'd told Dormé we'd be heading to Varykino. From there it was just a matter of securely contacting Sabé and Typho's men.

As much as it meant to me that they'd all gone to this effort on my account, I was also deeply concerned about the family's reception to so many people they didn't know at their daughter's funeral. "And Cordé's parents?"

Dormé nodded knowingly. "They welcomed it. I spoke with her father myself. He hoped you'd come. They're glad you're there."

A loaded weight on my chest lifted. "Thank you for this." I placed a hand on top of the one Sabé still comfortingly rested on my shoulder. "It's so good to see you all." I stared more intently at the pair in the holocall. "To see you both. You have no idea how worried I've been."

"We're fine, Senator. There have been no causes for alarm." Dormé suddenly stared at me purposefully. "Padmé. Obviously, today aside… I want you to enjoy yourself out there."

It was a pointed statement, and I didn't miss the fact that she switched from my career name to my personal one within the same address. I just didn't know yet what she meant by it, or by her unexplained change of tone.

Captain Typho cleared his throat and finally spoke. "If anything, the quiet here makes me more nervous for you. It seems whoever thought assassination attempts hours apart was a good plan suddenly changed their mind. It's as if they're not taking the bait anymore," he tilted his head in the direction of the woman in the image with him. Given the stakes, I didn't appreciate him using that term when talking about Dormé.

Anakin spoke up as he stepped forward to stand beside me. "I'm keeping careful watch over her, Captain. I promise you, she's in good hands."

Captain Panaka pursed his lips but nodded. "Any word from Master Kenobi?"

The young man next to me dipped his chin a little. "None. I haven't seen or heard from him since we left Coruscant."

"Are you satisfied with the wardrobe I selected for you, milady?"

Dormé's tone was poorly covert for a handmaiden of Amidala.

Mindful of the presence of the others listening, I could really only fix Dormé with a pointed look before answering, "You and I are going to talk when I get back to Coruscant."

She grinned.

I should have known.

I decided I wanted to give her a coded answer that was akin to the truth— from a certain point of view. "I'm finding them suitable to the current climate on Naboo, Dormé." She grinned bigger at that. Speaking of the outfits she'd chosen for me, though, I did have one question. "What inspired you to pack the white jumpsuit with the utility belt?"

She shrugged with actual innocence this time. "Unfortunately, you're being hunted by an assassin. I thought you should be ready for anything. Most of those clothes packed aren't made for quick evading."

I liked that she gave us the benefit of the doubt that I'd have time to change from an intricate corset gown into a run away/fight back outfit upon learning a murderer was in pursuit. Briefly, I conjured the mental image of Anakin defending me with a lightsaber outside the door of a closet while I changed inside.

"And the…" I did my best to be discreet. "The black one with the—?" Quickly, I made a horizontal line across the upper flesh of my breasts. I followed it with a painfully awkward looking semi-grab around my throat to indicate the necklace choker.

"It has a shawl," Dormé answered defensively. Her teasing smile gave her away.

The men on both planets were shifting their weight from side to side now, albeit with some bemused looks.

We wouldn't be able to linger here forever. The inescapable thought I'd carried since that foggy morning on Coruscant assailed me once again, and I knew I must address it before we ended the call. My hands became jittery as I suddenly felt nervous. "Dormé, it's wonderful to see you… but I need a moment alone with the captain to speak to him privately."

Dormé bowed her head. "Of course. Be safe, milady."

"You, too." I poured as much heart and meaning into the two simple words as possible.

Sabé positioned herself before me to bow slightly, then she made her way back down the path towards the assembly below. Anakin stepped closer in and put a hand on my back. "I'm going to give you some privacy as well." He turned but walked in the opposite direction of Sabé, instead going further up to end at an overlook. It gave view to both the funeral grounds and the waters of the lake.

I was grateful for the space they'd both given me without my having to ask. This was a conversation meant for two. I turned to face the man before me. "Captain."

He squared himself and stood at attention. "Senator?"

"I wonder… I need your help with figuring something out. It's troubled me very greatly."

He must have heard the new, and also uncharacteristic, shakiness in my voice, for his face became grave with concern. "Senator Amidala?"

"When Cordé died," I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. "She said, 'I've failed you'."

He nodded and looked down at his feet. "Yes, I… I remember." He looked up at me briskly, with what I strangely recognized as an apologetic look on his face. "I have heard those words echo in my head since that morning as well."

Rioting tears welled up at the memory. "Her last words." I shook my head. "But it doesn't make any sense. She'd protected me up to her dying breath. Do you have any idea why she'd say something like that?"

Typho looked down again. Shamefully? I saw him bite the inside of his cheek.

I wasn't the only one still balancing grief and suppression.

More than a few times, I'd walked in on Typho and Cordé up late at night in the office, hunched over the illuminated table. They'd be going back and forth with ideas and shared philosophies, their energies feeding off each other like twin fires. Only Cordé had been the one who could make him smile the way he never seemed to around anyone else.

How had I missed the truth of them for so long?

After a moment, he collected himself and reported, "Cordé ran situational optics with me before we left for Coruscant. You know she always wanted a strong handle on your security operations; she was so good at that. In the days before we left, we ran final schematics for your trip for the vote." His dropped his eyes, remembering. "We weighed the risks. I didn't think it was safe enough to go. Cordé disagreed. She thought we could make it work. She knew how much being there to stop the Military Creation Act meant to you." His voice became taxed. "We finally compromised— we would arrive in the early morning hours, and she… she would go in your stead. I'm sorry to say it was her idea. She was that sure she was right, but she offered herself up as a decoy just in case."

{I guess I was wrong, there was no danger at all.}

That relieved smile as he'd taken off his helmet, seconds before disaster had proven him right.

"I see." My brain was moving quicker now— comprehending— yet suddenly I felt at a loss for words. Cordé watched me exhaust myself for a year working against the MCA. She'd put herself on that ramp for me. She was in the ground right now because of me— because of a legislative bill I hadn't been able to guarantee the blockage of, even now. I stole a look behind me in the direction of the huddled pair surrounded by caring sympathizers. Cordé's parents. Forever deprived of their only child. My anger whipped back and forth internally, first directed at the bounty hunter, then at myself, then back again repeatedly.

At last, I uttered a weak, "Thank you, Captain." I was too lost in his pain and my own to say anything else, and I turned to walk away.

"Padmé."

He had never used my personal name before. Ever.

I turned back to him. His look was despairing. "Cordé didn't fail you." The stately chin trembled. "I… I failed her."

My voice finally, truly broke. "We both did."

He had reached his suppression limit, which was fine. So had I.

"Take care of yourselves."

I nodded, too afraid to speak. My normally trustworthy tongue had become a rock in my mouth.

His hologram ended with a faint buzz, then the blue disappeared completely. I stepped forward and reached out to turn off the comm.

For a severe moment, I felt utterly, distressingly alone, as if I was stranded on an island of grief. Then arms stronger and longer than Sabé's or any other handmaiden's wound their way in front of me, wrapping comfortingly around my chest. I didn't have to see that the robe was brown to know it was Anakin hugging me from behind. My weight obligingly fell back against him as if such a move was instinctual.

I let out a quaking breath. "Not yet," I whispered hoarsely. I don't know if I said this to myself or to him. My eyes were unfocused, staring off into the distance. They were tired of fighting and were about to give up. It was a warning and a plea as I breathed, "But we need to go."

Unexpectedly, he placed a solid kiss to the back of my head, his full lips planting themselves into my hair. It only faintly registered, though I swayed from the earnestness of his movement like a buoy lost at sea.

When he pulled back, his voice was tender. "I'll signal Luke."

Panic shot the words out. "You can't. He can't leave early— he will lead the lantern release."

Anakin squeezed my shoulders, as if abstractly measuring my strength. "Can you walk?"

Grief hadn't taken my legs from me yet. Nevertheless, I felt a swell heading towards me. I was on borrowed time. Not trusting my voice, I simply nodded.

He squeezed my shoulders again, then he urgently strained, "Wait here. I'll be right back to get you, I promise."

The comforting pressure of his hands abated, and I stood alone once again while I heard his hurried steps down the gravel path. As a last act of self-preservation, I let myself go as numb as I could. It was beyond my capabilities to reverse the oncoming tide, but I might yet stall it.

As much as it pains me to say, it was not only Cordé's death which smothered the air from my lungs, nor the suppression of my grief for her and the six others that dragged at my heart. No other soul knew this, but I had not cried since the invasion ten years before. Naboo suffered heavy losses, which I felt most deeply and sincerely, but for all the funerals and memorials I'd attended, I was always the stoic Queen. I felt the responsibility to be the emblem of dignified, composed mourning— the strong one so that others did not have to be. I'd compassionately filled the role whilst in public, but I'd never shed the straightjacket in private. There was always more work to do, always someone else I strove to comfort instead of mending my own share of heartbreak. Two terms of being Queen had kept me almost frenetically busy. By the end of the second term, from somewhere deep within, my heart had called for a break— for a measure of self-care, at long last. But I'd pushed down the soulful cry. How much of my acceptance of Queen Jamillia's request to serve as Senator was out of duty to my planet, and how much was from a silent, paralyzing fear that I did not know how to stand with myself without the barrier public service provided? Service that is selfless by its very best definition? And now, I found myself ten years on, having not allowed myself to shed a tear since I was thirteen.

I'd let myself get mentally and emotionally drained. Did I make a misstep somewhere? Had I been sharper, would Cordé be in the ground right now?

The statue came to life, albeit slightly, as I turned to view the valley below me. I was looking for a singular hood in the dark hues of cloaks below.

Suddenly, I froze. As if she'd felt my gaze upon her, Temeré Calamine looked up and met my eye.

"—Coryn."

I gazed back at the blue form on the other side of the holocall with apologetic eyes. She'd interrupted me, yet it was I who tentatively asked, "I'm sorry?"

"You keep calling her Cordé." A staggered breath, rapt with the fresh scars of tears trying to claw their way back up a throat. "We named her Coryn." She squeezed her husband's hand like it was a lifeline. "Her service as Cordé the invisible handmaiden is over. Let our daughter be Coryn again."

I jumped as two large hands gripped my shoulders. I hadn't heard Anakin approaching, and my eyes darted to his worried face behind me. When I looked down into the gathering below a second later, Cordé's mother was already turning back, and I watched her resume her conversation with the silver-haired woman at her side. Their delicate features were clearly similar. Temeré's older sister? Her mother?

"Padmé?"

I turned to him again, answering more to the concern in his voice than to the call of my name. He looked grave but steady as he said, "We're going to walk down the south road. Luke will meet us on the way out and pick us up." He nodded at me, encouragingly. "The lantern procession is going to start in a few minutes, and then he'll be on his way. You'll be home soon."

I'd told Anakin to think of Varykino as his home during this time on Naboo.

Our home.

I wanted more time to give my handmaidens and friends a proper farewell, but I knew my long overdue dam was about to finally break. I didn't want it to collapse here. Anakin led me back down the hill, though, I don't remember walking the descent. Never breaking at least one arm's contact from me in my wavering state, he must've silently communicated well enough to the necessary members of the group that we were departing. Not wanting to leave without seeing their faces one more time, I looked up from under my hood and took the sight of them in. They were standing together, all of them watching me with loving, understanding faces. Save one.

Sabé was eyeing Anakin, her gaze taking him in from top to toe. 'Enjoy yourself', Dormé had said, not so subtly. Faintly, I wondered how much she filled Sabé in ahead of time on her thoughts about the man at my side. Apparently enough, based off the knowing look in Sabé's eyes as she finished her appraisal of the way Anakin walked, his arm securely around me. At the last moment, her eyes finally met mine. I wasn't trying to read the look on her face anymore. My vision was becoming blurrier as my impatient tear ducts began their explosive revolt.

"Thank you," I mouthed softly as we walked past. My eternal friend gave me a deep nod in farewell.

We turned south, and my face started to crumple as soon as my back was to the group of mourners. Anakin was on my right, and my nearest hand clutched his neighboring upper arm. He helped support me with a steady hold around my back. I held to him partly due to safety, as it was getting harder to see the world in front of me behind the glossiness of my eyes. I needed an anchor, least my legs finally buckle.

The movement the physical exercise demanded helped somewhat, if only because it minutely distracted my tired mind. Even through the increasing cascade of tears, I knew I had to be careful not to trip over moss, sticks, and the occasionally over-sized rock. We walked along without speaking, the only sounds around us being my labored breath through my mouth as the effects of crying were making my nose impossible to breathe through. Anakin was graciously patient, his long strides shrinking down to meet my presently much shorter ones. Memories of happy times with Cordé paraded through my mind— with every step, flashes of her smile or her laugh rose from my memory bank. Every heart-wrenchingly innocent image of Cordé's face was book-ended by the stillness of her bloodied face on the landing platform, or the sight of her parents, huddled together in grief.

We were about five minutes down the path when I heard the faint echo of cheerless singing.

I stopped us, still holding on to Anakin's upper arm as I adjusted myself and looked behind. We'd long since fallen out of sight of Edum Bloom, but my searching eyes were turned much farther upwards.

White jewels— the lit lanterns— were rising into the sky like snowflakes returning to their original home in the clouds. How can it be, that such an ethereal sight could be birthed out of such needless, violent tragedy? I gasped, and the tears suddenly came in a forceful rush. Anakin swiftly pulled me into his arms. I went willingly, never taking my eyes off the golden-hued sky, even as the image became increasingly blurred behind the rivers falling from my eyes. Eventually, I gave up, burying my face into his chest just below his shoulder, openly crying in surrender.

Anakin soothed me with nonsense words, one hand pulling my hood low in order to stroke my hair as the other clutched me to him at my back.

Time was a lost notion to me. I only know that at some point, Brother Luke approached in his wagon and we climbed into the back of it, but I don't really remember the exchanged words between us and our driver. I only remember how Anakin never let go of my hand, and the pressure wave of anguish in my chest spreading to every corner of my body. I was keeping my lips closed with all the strength I had, knowing I couldn't keep further outcries from coming but trying hard to hoard them off nevertheless. Not bothering to make it to a bench, I sat in a squat in the aisle, a broken bow of limbs bereft of any arrows. From where I landed, I would be difficult to see from the road even if my hood was still raised or my face was anywhere near its familiar canvas. But there was likely no need for precaution anymore; the sun would soon be setting, and darkness would supply the only blanket of cover we'd need.

As the speeder got under way, Anakin shunned either bench as well and lowered himself down next to me. The yearning in his eyes betrayed the polite distance he'd put between us. It felt natural and necessary as I closed the gap and curled up into him, my head on his welcoming and already damp shoulder, my fingers on his chest. They gripped into the fabric of his tunics.

My eyes squeezed shut, their wet release seeming unending. "She was only on that ramp," my voice broke, "because of me."

His fingers moved in a steady caress as they stroked my hair, the skin under my cheeks, and my hands. I drenched his robed arm in tears, yet, without complaint, he held me as I cried.