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Chapter Text

She had first felt it long ago, in the dark, in the nighttime, when she had woken from terror to the sense of a soothing energy coursing through the air and stroking her cheek and drying her infantile tears. Good - it was always supposed to be good, to be pleasant and oh so very helpful, to reach out and make itself known to the little girl who lived so lonely with only her ambitions to guide her. Secret, a lovely secret, all to herself. If she shared it, it might leave her, and so she hid it in her heart night after night and day after day, even as she felt it in her blood and her bones and in all the little cracks and crevices of her thoughts.

Everywhere. The feeling is everywhere. And it is yours to treasure.

There were people out there in the wide world who shared her secret, or so she learned as she grew. The stories said that they were brave and strong and kind, good people with good powers and she could share her secret with them if she wished. So many times she had been tempted to call upon the knights with their flashing swords and words of wisdom, to seek them out from their hiding place. Hiding place.

People suffered. People passed away. People rotted. People wept. So where were those knights with their flashing swords and their words of wisdom and their beautiful little secret now?

Nowhere. They will not come to aid you. Aid yourself, you do not need them.

Secret. A good secret. To keep it or not to keep it - yes, she would hide it. She learned that if she shared her secret the stagnant knights would find her, and nothing could be worse than being drawn into their web of passivity. Yes, she would hide it. Keep it to herself. Use her power how she saw fit, to truly help, to truly make a difference. Grow her power inside of herself, practice and practice when no one was around to see her, in all the dark places that nobody would think to look.

Elsewhere. Find your power elsewhere. With me, my dear, plant the wretched seed and let it grow.

Someday, a beloved voice will call her name, and her secret will destroy the love and the life in him and relegate him to the outskirts of living memory. Someday, a shattered heart will scream out vengeance and use her undead name as a battle cry for his own death wish. Someday, a girl of the sands will see the history inside her eyes and resurrect her withered and atrophied compassion.

All that will come to pass will be hers to create. But as that little girl settled back into sleep with a secret to keep her safe, all of it was a dream to her.

***

It was Sabé who painted the final touch of red onto Padmé’s lips, completing the transformation from simple girl of Naboo to the child queen elect. 

“According to Captain Panaka’s reports, the Republic’s ambassadors are on board the Federation’s ship as we speak,” said Sabé, her young voice steady and still. “This trade blockade will not plague us for much longer, My Lady.”

“Thank you.” She could see it out of her chamber windows - a hovering metal mass shadowing the crisp blue skies, filled with the dominators who sought to engulf her planet and her people with their capitalist machinations. She wouldn’t be surprised if it started blocking out the sun soon. But the Federation had done more than just mar Naboo’s skies with their ships - their trade boycott had cut the planet off from all its exports and imports, gutting its economy and starving its people. Ever since they appeared on her doorstep and started exacting their threats, Padmé had been anxious to remove them. Today, it seemed, would be that long yearned for day. “When will the negotiations conclude? I would speak with the Viceroy of our freedom then.”

“If all goes as planned, the negotiations should conclude within the hour. Captain Panaka claims that the Chancellor has sent only the best to aid us. If his confidence is correct, Naboo will be free from the Federation by the time you meet with the council, My Lady.” In the privacy of her company, Sabé’s cool facade broke for a moment, and a smile twitched at her lips. “I’d like to be the first to congratulate you.”

It was a smile Padmé found easy to mirror, given the many similarities they shared in their countenance. “I hope you’re right. If these negotiations fail-”

“Then you will think of something else,” Sabé assured her. “I know you will.”

She had to believe that Sabé was right - Queen Amidala of the Naboo must have faith in her own ideas, must have the strength to withstand all failures so she could rise again for her people. She must stand firm, on her own two feet, and never give in to those who wished to control or manipulate her. That was what a queen must do. She owed it to her people, for they had put their faith in her by voting her into office. She would not let them down.

She could not let them down.

***

“All rise for the Illustrious Queen Amidala of the Naboo.”

Padmé had yet to grow accustomed to the pomp and circumstance of her position - all rise, please be seated, bow in reverence, say not a word out of line. She had wondered if her inner council would treat her with more familiarity, yet even they bowed and scraped to her just as a servant might. She supposed it was only natural for a queen to be revered, and so she would serve her people by honouring their reverence, by letting them bow and scrape to her as much and as often as they desired. In her childhood, she had revered previous monarchs with an almost fanatical devotion, and she was not alone in that love - the Naboo would only elect a Queen they would willingly devote themselves to, body and soul. Padmé would not disrespect that devotion now. It would dishonour them.

She kept her gaze down as she passed through the sunlit council chamber, her head weighed down by her ornamental headdress. Sabé followed behind, a vision in vermillion carrying the train of her deep red robes. Every item of her regal wardrobe had been curated to suit the aesthetics of Theed Palace - warm tones and ornate details, so elevated by decoration that it was difficult to recognise the function beneath. Cumbersome the outfit may be, but it had its purpose - to turn Queen Amidala from a person into a symbol, for the individual behind the mask of stark white makeup did not signify. 

The Queen. A figurehead. An entity, not an identity. Padmé schooled her features as she assumed the mask of Amidala, seating herself gingerly on the throne, framed by the beams of sunlight that streamed through the large windows on either side of her seat. Sabé stood to her left, and a second handmaiden found her place to the right of her - Eirtaé, who would have also shared a striking resemblance to her queen were it not for her pale blonde hair. Two other handmaidens, the short-statured Saché and the stately Yané, took their places behind Sabé and Eirtaé. Hands held behind their backs, they too wore masks - of the dutiful handmaidens, there to attend to the Queen’s needs and enhance the spectacle of her appearance. They certainly were not there to analyse the ideas and movements of the council and provide an unbiased, uninvolved perspective.

“Honoured members of the council, I thank you for meeting me here today.” Amidala spoke in a low and featureless voice so very different from Padmé’s, and her words beckoned those honourable members to take their own seats. She glanced around at the faces staring up at her - so expectant, so eager for her to make her next move. Standing guard by the door, Captain Panaka watched her too, but his was a gaze that did not intimidate her. He was a good friend to her - he and Sabé together, the closest friends of Queen Amidala. But where would they be when she removed her crown?

No. She could not dwell on such a question. There were more important matters at hand to attend to, and so she progressed. 

“Today, the Ambassadors sent from the Republic by Chancellor Valorum have met with Viceroy Nute Gunray of the Trade Federation to negotiate Naboo’s freedom from their boycott. I have been informed that these negotiations have been proceeding apace, and I understand that they will have concluded by this time. Thus, if there is no objection, I wish to speak to the Viceroy myself to confirm our freedom. Captain Panaka, I believe you can assist me with this?”

Panaka stepped forward. “Yes, My Lady. All communication channels to the Federation vessels are open.”

“Thank you. Then, before we proceed, I must once again ask - are there any objections to my speaking with the Viceroy?”

“Your majesty, with the greatest respect, I do believe you are acting in undue haste,” said Governor Sio Bibble, his aged brow furrowed. “Surely we should wait until the Chancellor’s ambassadors confirm the success of their negotiations themselves?”

“Perhaps,” Amidala responded. “But I have no reason to believe that Captain Panaka’s report is misleading. I am confident that the Chancellor’s ambassadors have indeed succeeded. I would prefer to receive that confirmation now so that we might sooner discuss the rehabilitation of our trade economy.”

Bibble regarded her with something akin to suspicion - as if he did not trust her to handle the situation. “You would do well to have patience, My Lady.”

“This trade blockade has stretched on for long enough, and my patience is growing thin. I appreciate your concerns, but I will not sit idly by while a hostile entity threatens my people. Captain?” At the sound of his title, Panaka’s eyes alighted with interest. “Please, contact the Viceroy.”

“As you wish, My Lady.” Panaka approached the console at the centre of the council chamber, and Amidala watched with mounting anticipation as he raised the communication screen.

Nerves clutched at her chest, but she could not do a thing to still them without revealing her lack of inner composure. There was a part of her that agreed with Bibble - that she was going too fast, that she ought to be patient, that she was going to make a fool of herself in front of her council and the Trade Federation. But she could not resist. She had to know of her people’s freedom first hand, and she wanted to hear it from the cold grey mouth of the Viceroy himself. Yes, she demanded that satisfaction.

The screen rose, and Amidala adjusted her position in her seat, straightening her posture though her headdress pained her spine. She maintained her composure and looked into the empty black screen, bracing herself for the moment when the Viceroy himself flashed into view. 

When the greyish-green visage of Viceroy Nute Gunray came into view, she did not allow her features to betray her inner tension. He bowed his head in reverence to her - but his expression, pinched as it naturally was, did not show any sign of loss or failure. A stab of cold sunk through Amidala’s stomach, for unless the Viceroy was as skilled as hiding his true feelings as she was, he was about to prove Governor Bibble’s lack of faith in her as completely justified.

“What an honour to have you come before me, your Highness,” said Gunray as he lifted his head from its bow. His eyes, empty disks of red, were nigh unreadable.

“You will not be pleased when you hear what I have to say, Viceroy,” Amidala began. She paused for a moment, steeling her defences before she continued. “Your trade boycott of our planet has ended.”

Gunray turned his head, and he gave a snake-like smirk to a figure she could not see beyond the confines of the screen. “I was not aware of such a failure.”

“I am aware the Chancellor’s ambassadors are with you now, and that you have been commanded to reach a settlement.”

“I know nothing of ambassadors,” said Gunray in a mock tone of confusion that struck Amidala as insulting. “You must be mistaken.”

So, the ambassadors had failed. The Chancellor’s best, it seemed, were not up to the task after all. As the news sent chills of hopeless anger down her spine, she could not help but let that feeling cloud her words. “Beware, Viceroy. The Federation has gone too far this time.”

Once more, Gunray bowed his head - a mimicry of deference that burned white hot humiliation into Amidala’s powdered cheeks. “We would never do anything without the approval of the Senate. You assume too much.”

Amidala narrowed her eyes. “We shall see.”

With a quick gesture, Amidala signalled for Panaka to end the call, and he did so without hesitation. The screen cut to black, and for a moment all Amidala could see was her reflection, and the weight of failure that sat in the thin press of her painted lips. As the screen lowered once more, she found herself face to face with her council, all staring her down with a sense of expectation that felt rather ironic - four elderly figures, wisened and experienced all, waiting helplessly for the directions of a fourteen year old girl. But their age would not help them. No, it clouded their thoughts, too many memories creating too many biases. When faced with any problem, the Naboo would turn to their youth and find solace in their judgement.

The innocence of her youth was supposed to guide her, guide them all. It was the core philosophy of the Naboo - innocence, simplicity, and peace above all, for there was power in gentleness. Amidala fell back on that gentleness now, reaching deep into her mind to find a new solution, just as Sabé said she could. It came to her clearly, as though gently passed on by a friend - by her secret friend. Quite simply, all she needed to do was ask the right questions of the right people, and the reason for the supposed failure of the negotiations would become clear to her. There was no need for violence, not yet.

“Captain Panaka, I would like you to make another transmission,” she began, hardening her voice with an unexpectedly authentic confidence. “I wish to speak to Senator Palpatine. He is our liaison in this matter. He will know why the Chancellor’s ambassadors have failed to negotiate with the Trade Federation.”

“Of course, My Lady.”

“Would it not be wiser to speak to Chancellor Valorum himself?” Bibble suggested. “He ought to be in direct contact with the ambassadors.”

“No. He was kind enough to send his ambassadors, but he does not have a reputation for sound or trustworthy politics, and there is every possibility that this failure was his intention. If Chancellor Valorum has wilfully deceived us, I trust that Senator Palpatine will enlighten us. I have never known him to be a dishonest man.”

“I believe you are right, My Lady,” said Hela, a woman that Amidala had always considered the kindest of her council members - her support, in all things, was always guaranteed. “After all, Chancellor Valorum’s only input in this matter has been sending his ambassadors. Senator Palpatine, however, has been in contact with our council from the moment the Trade Federation’s fleet first appeared in our skies.”

“My thoughts exactly, Councillor. Captain, the transmission?”

Panaka stepped away from the console. “Online now. The Senator will speak to you via holocommunication.”

“Very well.”

In a moment's time, a flickering, pale blue figure appeared above the console - a kindly looking man, with a gentle expression lined with age, and a thin form swathed in understated dark robes. Were it not for the flickering of holographic blue that hovered around his person, the image was lifelike enough for one to believe that he was truly standing there in the flesh. And yet the moment he flickered to life, Amidala noticed a slight blur to the quality of the transmitted picture, and a jerkiness to the Senator’s movements that doubtless did not exist in reality.

“Ah, Queen Amidala. I trust you wish to speak to me about the matter of the Trade Federation?” asked Palpatine, his voice tinged with the warmth of candlelight.

“You assume correctly,” Amidala confirmed. “I have just spoken with Viceroy Nute Gunray, and he informed me that not only did the negotiations with the Chancellor’s ambassadors fail, but that they never took place. It seems that the ambassadors have failed to appear, for the Viceroy has never seen them. You must understand how vital it is that Naboo be freed from this trade blockade, so please - tell me all that you know.”

All the gentleness in Palpatine’s expression dropped, making way for a wide eyed frown of confusion. “The negotiations haven’t started because the ambassadors aren’t there? How could that be true? I have assurances from the Chancellor-” Palpatine’s pale image began to flicker drastically, fading in and out as he spoke, his words fracturing and overlapping with each other to create something wholly unlike language. “-his ambassadors did arrive- It must be the- get- negotiations-”

The transmission was failing, falling apart before Amidala’s eyes - and in a flash, Palpatine vanished altogether. Darting her gaze towards Panaka, Amidala made no attempt to hide her concern. “What is happening? Why have we lost contact with the Senator?”

Rather than answering her directly, Panaka moved with swift pace towards one of the other guards that were stationed around the room, and she could just hear him muttering an order for action. “Check the transmission generators.”

Bibble shook his head, closing his eyes as he did. “A communications disruption can only mean one thing.”

“Invasion?” asked Graf, another of Amidala’s councillors. 

“I can see no other explanation.” Bibble turned to face Amidala. “Queen Amidala, how do you suggest we proceed?”

Amidala did not want to believe it. Naboo had always been a peaceful planet, and never in historical memory had it ever engaged in intergalactic warfare. If they were to find themselves invaded by the Trade Federation, they would be entirely unequipped - Panaka’s soldiers were no more than security guards, trained only for internal protection. They could not fight off invaders, and certainly not invaders with as much power as the Federation. 

No. A simple communications failure did not necessarily signal an invasion. There had to be another explanation. “The Federation would not dare go that far.”

“The Senate would revoke their trade franchise, and they’d be finished,” said Panaka, eliciting a chorus of agreement from the council - save for Bibble, who seemed to have made his mind up for war.

No matter who was correct, Amidala knew how she would respond. So long as she was queen, not a single citizen of Naboo would see war, conflict, battle. If there was a fight to be had, let that duty fall on her soldiers - but first, she would keep her faith in peace. “We must continue to rely on negotiations.”

“Negotiations?” Bibble protested, a thick vein bulging from his pale forehead. “We’ve lost all communications! And where are the Chancellor’s ambassadors?”

Panaka, though faced with immense threat, remained calm. “This is a dangerous situation, Your Highness. Our security volunteers will be no match against a battle-hardened Federation army.”

“They will face no army,” Amidala declared. “I will not condone a course of action that will lead us to war.”

It was then that the resounding clatter of wooden doors against marble walls echoed through the Council chamber, and all eyes fell on the orange-robed figure of a handmaiden striding inside. Beneath her hood, Padmé could recognise her - Rabé, who, with Amidala’s permission had forgone attendance at that morning’s council meeting to supervise Panaka’s guards instead. 

“Girl, what is the meaning of this?” Graf demanded, and Rabé bowed low to him.

“Forgive me, but I have an urgent message for the Queen,” Rabé said, her voice thin and out of breath. “Our scouts have just seen a droid army being deployed in the woods near Lake Paonga - they are the Federation’s droids, My Lady. They are marching on Theed!”

And so war came to Naboo in the course of a morning. But Amidala would not let it be fought with bloodshed.

*** 

It was Padmé who painted the final touch of red onto Sabé’s lips, completing the transformation from simple girl of Naboo to the child queen elect.

It was an age-old strategy within the royal house of Naboo - should the reigning monarch be placed under any threat, one of their aids would don the monarchic regalia and take up their position as decoy. They would place themselves willingly in the line of fire, while the true monarch receded into the shadows, unobserved, unassuming, and safe. The decoy manoeuvre was why aids bearing a physical resemblance to the reigning monarch were more likely to be employed in the position than those that didn’t, meaning that those who trained went into their education with the distinct possibility that it would all come to nothing. With Naboo’s tradition of peace, the strategy was seldom employed, save for when the odd outbreak of civil unrest made its way to Theed. Nevertheless, every child who ever trained as an aid to the monarch knew that such a task might befall them. They knew that they might be forced to give their lives in service of the deception, or that they might watch a friend fall in that guise and be asked to take their place as decoy. They understood that potential fate, and still, perhaps because employment in the role of aid was such a rare event of chance, they agreed to serve.

Of all Amidala’s numerous handmaidens, Sabé bore the closest resemblance to her, and under the ghostly white face paint of royalty the resemblance drew closer and closer to a perfect mirror image. Padmé the true, Sabé the false, Amidala the public - three distinct identities obliterated, rendered indistinguishable by political plotting, one and a half personalities per identical body.   

They both knew that Sabé was placing herself in immense danger by taking up the role of decoy. In a matter of moments, the Trade Federation’s army would be upon them, marching on the Palace, their intentions unclear but their methods ultimately destructive. What they would do with the Queen, whether they wanted her dead or alive, whether they would take her away from her people - all of it remained a mystery. For all Padmé knew, she was sending Sabé straight into the jaws of certain death - and though she knew that Sabé would walk into those jaws willingly, she did not like the idea of carrying that spectre of guilt on her conscience for the rest of her days.

There was, however, another option - an option that was known only to Padmé herself. There was power flowing through her veins, the power to sense the drift of the world around her, the power to move things without touch, the power to reach into the mind and rewrite thought. The force, so the world named it. A precious, hidden thing. Padmé had always been frightened to unveil it, to reveal herself as a hallowed wielder of such great power. To do so would be to separate her from Naboo, for there were those who sought out force sensitive people such as herself and brought them into their isolated fold, never to touch the world again. To live her life in such isolated stagnation seemed a cruel punishment when she knew that her purpose was to serve the planet she loved so dearly. But the circumstances were different now.

Perhaps the force was the only thing that would prevent Naboo from falling to the Trade Federation. If she could wield it with precision, extend her ghostly hand into the head of the Viceroy and his people, she could send them away so simply, so easily. Oh, how tempting it was. But in her own skills, she lacked confidence. She had only ever harnessed the force in private moments, trained herself in the wee small hours of the morning, teaching herself to turn the pages of a book with her disembodied hand and convince orchestras to play her favourite symphonies without a word of persuasion. So to sway the mind of not just the Viceroy, but his entire fleet - it felt near impossible.

So she could sit by and watch her planet fall even as she held the power to save them all, or she could use that power with a clumsy hand and render Naboo more of a target than ever. No, she could not do it. She would not even know where to begin. 

“I will do what I can to protect you, Sabé,” Padmé said, looking up past the heavy vermillion hood of her handmaiden disguise. “I will reveal my true identity if I have to-”

“No, My Lady,” Sabé murmured - so mature for her age, always so mature. “My duty is to conceal you now, and I am proud to do so. Please, do not take any unnecessary risks for my sake.”

“But-”

“You know it is my duty.” Even their voices sounded identical with the right inflection, and the surrealism of hearing her own voice from another’s mouth was not lost on her. But was it really somebody else’s mouth? Her own voice? Padmé. Sabé. Amidala. Distinction rotted.

The sound of marching drew nearer, metallic steps clanking against pale stone tiles all in unison. The grinding of invading engines growing closer, shattering the peaceful silence of the morning air. The Federation was coming, and there would be no stopping them now. Naboo was a planet wholly unprepared for war, and it was a failure passed down to Padmé from all the monarchs of years gone by. With only a month of her term completed, Padmé could hardly be blamed for taking no action to bolster Naboo’s military - and yet still she took that failure in her hands and cut herself deeply with it. She had failed.

Padmé glanced out the window of her chambers, and the sight of droids and their tanks lining the streets alarmed her. But before those grand armies sat her own reflection, plain and undecorated, shadowed by disguise. A queen in name only, perhaps not even that. Padmé the handmaiden, Padmé the civilian, Padmé who was nothing to nobody.

Padmé who held great powers, but had not the faintest idea of how to use them.

Chapter Text

Queen Amidala stood by her throne, shrouded in black and masked in white, awaiting the moment of her inevitable capture. Stony faced and serene, she stared with an unblinking gaze as the chamber slowly filled with droids, all marching in single file towards her, fronted by a leader who was only distinguished from its underlings by the splashes of light orange painted on its skeletal body. At her side, her entourage - Captain Panaka, Governor Bibble, five handmaidens, several guards - grew tense at the approach of the invaders, yet all were fortified by the bravery of their queen.

Padmé, hiding in plain sight among the handmaidens, found herself caught between two warring feelings - admiration for Amidala and her iron will, and hatred for her own cowardice at not facing down the invading forces herself. But she could only act as tradition decreed, and so the true queen of Naboo remained hidden among sunset shaded robes, while an innocent decoy faced all the dangers and responsibilities of a station that was not her own.

“Queen Amidala, I am placing you and your retinue under arrest by order of Viceroy Nute Gunray of the Trade Federation,” declared the orange tinted droid leader, an inexplicable note of pride colouring its computer-generated voice. High pitched and grating, the voice would almost be comical were it not for the news of misery it brought. Padmé eyed the flimsy build of the machine, and the force flowed around her with a suggestion - with one twitch of her hand, she could tear them all to pieces. She clenched her fists in her robes, as if restraining one part of her body would prevent her from using a power that charged every fibre of her being.

Amidala stared down at the droid with a cold look in her eye. “Very well. But I will not come quietly.”

They had discussed how Sabé would conduct herself when she assumed the role of Amidala, what she would do to act and speak and think as Padmé would in the same guise. There was no room for her own interpretation - only a perfect mirror image would fool the Trade Federation, otherwise the deception would fall to pieces. And so, because Padmé was a ruler with an almost blind dedication to the will of her people, so too was Sabé - but in the face of invasion, that patriotic servitude would transform into a fiercely protective attitude. Padmé would fight tooth and nail for the safety of her people, and Sabé would do just the same now. In Amidala, they melted together.

Soon a swarm of droids were upon them, skeletal hands clutching heavy blasters, surrounding Amidala and her retinue and leaving them no method of escape. Padmé glanced at Saché, the handmaiden standing closest to her, and was not surprised to see her eyes red and heavy with the weight of unshed tears. As subtly as she could, Padmé took her hand and squeezed it gently to soothe her, and Saché met her gaze with gratitude. To be comforted so intimately by one’s true queen was no small thing.

As the grating sound of metallic footsteps clashing with marble sounded once more, the droid guards began their march, and the retinue marched with them. Padmé did what she could to tamp down her growing anger as they departed from the throne room and descended to the great hall, but she could feel the force sparking within her as if it were a firework purchased from a disreputable merchant. It shared in her rage, and it wanted her to act - but she remained poised, kept her head bowed. She would not endanger her people by giving in to such temptations, but perhaps in a private moment, she might express herself more honestly.

At the top of the stairs stood Viceroy Nute Gunray himself, his pinched and wrinkled grey countenance coloured by an unmistakable look of smugness. Padmé could find only one consolation in his appearance - surrounded by yet more droids, he had the look of a leader who would quiver in cowardice should he be asked to stand on his own two feet. He would sooner hide behind his disposable army than face his challenges himself.

A sudden shame gripped at her chest. Was she really so different?

“Queen Amidala,” greeted Gunray, dropping into one of those mocking, deferential bows he was so fond of. “I believe that today marks the start of a beautiful relationship between the Naboo and my Trade Federation.”

“You would be mistaken, Viceroy,” Amidala replied. “I have no intention of losing my planet to your monopoly.”

Gunray laughed. “I was told of the naivety of Naboo’s child queens, and you, my dear, are a testament to those rumours. I’m afraid you will have little choice but to accept our offer of union.”

“Offer of union?” Bibble repeated in disbelief, anger flaring in his voice. “This is no offer, this is an invasion! And how will you explain this to the Senate?”

“The Queen and I will sign a treaty that will legitimize our occupation here. I have assurances it will be ratified by the Senate,” said Gunray. For a brief moment, the tension lifted from Padmé’s shoulders - if the Federation needed the Queen to sign this treaty, then they would need her alive. Better yet, if Sabé were made to sign, her signature would be exposed as illegitimate when the truth of her identity was revealed. 

Of course, there was no telling what they would do to her after the treaty was signed, or when the deception was discovered. As quickly as it left, the tension returned, and Padmé gritted her teeth.

“I will not co-operate,” Amidala declared.

“Now now, your Highness.” Gunray stepped forward, his voice dripping with condescension. “In time, the suffering of your people will persuade you to see our point of view.”

Amidala’s expression remained still, betraying nothing of her inner feelings. “My people will not suffer.”

“Believe what you will - you cannot postpone the inevitable. Commander?” Gunray beckoned to the orange tinted droid, who stepped forward with a clank.

“Yes sir?”

“Process them.”

The droid turned to another of its kind. “Captain, take them to Camp Four.”

“Roger roger.”

So, they were destined for a prison camp, to be kept in isolated squalor until the Queen was called upon to sign the treaty with the Federation. As Amidala and her retinue descended the stairs, Padmé dwelled on thoughts of imprisonment, of the desperation and loss they might find behind bars. Perhaps at this prison camp, far from Theed and its people, she might be able to draw on the force to aid them without fear of collateral damage. Yes, all may not be lost, even as desolation tried to dig its cruel claws into them all. She would not let Naboo fall without a fight, even if she had to sink to her greatest depths in order to protect it.

The air was warm and bright as they stepped out into the courtyard - a beautiful day for an invasion. Shining domed roofs sparkled in the sunlight, the bright petals of flowers bloomed beautifully, and the sky hung vast and blue without a single pale cloud to mar it. The birds twittered their songs as happily as if their home had not fallen to ruin, innocent to the machinations of men. It pained Padmé to see the picturesque scenery of Naboo be so soiled by the Federation’s presence - with hulking, rust brown droid transports lining the streets, their spindly cargo threatening the palace staff who had yet to flee. 

Padmé’s anger flared, and the force twitched between her fingers. Her desperation to draw upon its power grew greater, and yet she remained still, for there was no telling what would happen to her people should she reveal herself as a force wielder. Visions of failure plagued her, and so she tempered her anger - for what if, in her attempts to use the force to destroy her enemies at such a scale, she hurt the ones she loved instead? The force was a strange, unpredictable thing, and her understanding of it was limited. She muttered a mantra in her mind again and again until she understood it - I cannot wield what I do not understand.

Yet there was something else in the air too, something that made the force around her twist and bend and writhe all in one direction. It was an unfamiliar feeling - the force had always been still before, moving only to accommodate Padmé and her emotions and her desires. Now it moved in a new direction, a specific direction - all to one place, and a sudden sense of warmth and trepidation gripped her all at once.

I am not alone.

The prisoners passed beyond the courtyard, lead by the droids into a smaller, enclosed street surrounded by balconies and raised walkways. The force flowed upwards, and so Padmé raised her gaze just for a moment - and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement on one of the balconies. It was in that same direction that the force gathered, for it felt stronger there, more focused. If she closed her eyes, she could almost picture it coalescing into a living, breathing figure. She had never felt anything like this before, and the beating of her heart grew swift.

She dropped her gaze to the floor as they continued to walk down the pathway, doing all she could to still her breathing and quiet her mind. But it was so very, very hard to maintain any semblance of calm while the force was writhing, twisting, convulsing, growing greater and greater in strength until-

A thud sounded from behind, and then came a deafening screech of metal tearing apart, loud enough to startle even the most composed of the prison escort. Padmé whirled around, and the droid guards that marched behind her were no more. Two robed figures stood in their stead, one imposing in his height and stern demeanour, the other young and practically seething with impatience and energy - and in their hands they held shining sabres of blue and green light, their weapon of choice to dispatch the droid captors.

The force was strong in these men, Padmé knew that without even a second thought. She needed no confirmation as to who they were - Jedi knights, the only people in the galaxy who could wield the force as she could. The very same people Padmé had been hoping to avoid for her entire life.

As the shock of their arrival passed, the droids wasted no time in raising their blasters and firing point blank at the two Jedi. But they lifted their lightsabers and deflected the bolts with ease, sending them straight back into the heads of the droids. Eirtaé screamed at the resulting explosion, and Captain Panaka grabbed Padmé by the shoulder and pulled her backwards, closer to Amidala and out of any direct danger. He too knew of the Queen’s deception. With the Jedi to aid them, Panaka and the other Naboo royal guards made haste to grab the blasters of the fallen droids and joined them in the fight. Amidala gathered her handmaidens close and guided them away from the walkway, and Governor Bibble sought shelter with them. Padmé could only watch in terror and awe as the carnage continued, and the stench of smouldering metal soon overpowered the floral scents of the nearby garden.

Although she had always been wary of them, Padmé could not help the sense of awe that overwhelmed her at the sight of the two Jedi knights and their precision with their blades. The taller one who wielded the green blade seemed the more competent of the two, composed yet intimidating as he sliced through droid after droid, his long brown hair flying out behind him as he moved. The younger one with the blue blade seemed to lack such finesse, although he was still a foe to be reckoned with as he slashed at the droids with abandon. They barely needed the help of Panaka and his men, and they fought together as if one were the natural extension of the other - the same footwork, the same twists of the blade, the same unwavering confidence. Masters of their craft indeed.

“Who are they?” murmured Saché, her eyes like saucers as she sat fixated on the fight.

“Whoever they are, we must be grateful to them,” Amidala murmured.

It was the taller of the Jedi who delivered the final blow to the final droid, slicing it clean in half without a second thought. He only stood still amongst the littered scraps of dismembered droid parts for a brief moment before he sheathed his lightsaber and turned, making straight for Amidala. Amidala rose from her crouch to meet him - but even at her full height, he dwarfed her.

“We should leave the streets, your Highness,” he said, his gentle voice surprisingly steady for one who had just exerted himself so extremely.

“Of course. But I must first ask - who are you?”

The Jedi passed his gaze across the crowd of handmaidens before once more fixing it on Amidala. “My name is Qui-Gon Jinn, and this is my padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan, the younger of the two, stepped forward. When his eyes lingered on Padmé for a moment longer than they ought, it did not escape her notice. “Hello there.”

“You have come to our aid at a most opportune time, and we thank you,” Amidala said. “But why have you come here?”

“We’re the ambassadors for the Supreme Chancellor,” Qui-Gon explained. 

Governor Bibble glanced at Qui-Gon and his padawan with suspicion. “Your negotiations seem to have failed, Ambassador.”

“The negotiations never took place,” Qui-Gon said with a rueful shake of his head. “It’s urgent that we make contact with the Republic.”

Panaka stepped forward, strapping a droid’s blaster into his holster as he moved. “They’ve knocked out all our communications.”

Qui-Gon thought for a moment. “Do you have transports?”

“In the main hangar,” Panaka confirmed, and he threw his hand out to point in the direction of the Palace. “This way.”

It seemed so illogical to return to the occupied Palace, where Gunray awaited with his droid army lining the halls. Padmé would’ve sooner sought shelter in the lush green wilds outside of the city than flee from her people in their time of need. But the will of the Jedi seemed to be an unspoken law amongst their small party, and Padmé was immediately reminded of why she had so loathed to come into contact with them. Their officious wisdom overwhelmed everything it came into contact with, and all other ways of life and thought and being were forfeit. Jedi ways ruled supreme, even in cultures they had never touched. And now, although she was grateful for their aid, Padmé could not help but resent them for their further interference. Let her guide the Naboo with Sabé’s voice - she did not wish to bow and scrape to strangers.

Yet still she followed the Jedi towards the hangar, for she had little choice in the matter. Her companions deemed them fit to follow, and so she had to move with the flow of them. As they navigated through the side streets and alleyways surrounding the Palace, Padmé shivered under the distinct feeling that she was being watched, and when she glanced behind her she saw him - Obi-Wan, his blue eyes bright as they remained fixed on her. Padmé swallowed and averted her gaze, fearful now that, just as she could sense the force coalescing around him, he could sense it gathering around her. It seemed her days of hiding may be coming to an end, but she would not surrender herself so easily. Stilling herself into concentration, she gripped onto the force and repelled its energy from her body, shielding herself from its influence so that she might go undetected. Force masking - perhaps the only skill she could make use of with any confidence.

It seemed that the Federation’s forces had yet to occupy the sidestreets of Theed. Their journey to the hangar was an uninterrupted one, bar a few short stops for Panaka and Qui-Gon to scout ahead, but when they made it to the hangar that brief moment of peace all but vanished. As Panaka peered through a crack in the side door, Padmé did not need to crane her neck to see what was inside - from the tell-tale clanking footsteps of droids ringing out through the air, she knew that the hangar was occupied. 

As Panaka pulled back, he shook his head. “There are too many of them.”

“That won’t be a problem,” said Qui-Gon, and he turned to Amidala. “Your Highness, under the circumstances, I suggest you come to Coruscant with us.”

Amidala darted her gaze towards Padmé, who shook her head as subtly as she could - she would not let the Jedi take her away from her people while they suffered. Amidala understood this well. “Thank you, Ambassador, but my place is with my people.”

“They will kill you if you stay,” Qui-Gon insisted, his voice low and grave.

“They wouldn’t dare,” Bibble muttered.

“The Governor is right,” said Panaka. “They need her to sign a treaty to make this invasion of theirs legal. They can’t afford to kill her.”

Qui-Gon shook his head, and a deep furrow appeared in his brow. “There is something else behind all this, Your Highness. There is no logic in the Federation’s move here.” A cloud passed over his countenance. “My feelings tell me they will destroy you.”

And on the strength of his feelings, they were expected to abandon Naboo? Padmé knew full well the keen emotional senses of force wielders, but she was not predisposed to trust Qui-Gon despite his status as her rescuer. One might suppose that she was sacrificing common sense for the sake of her prejudice against the Jedi, but she had not the luxury to analyse her instincts now. To her, all that mattered was Naboo, and opposing the man who wished to separate her from it.

“Our only hope is for the Senate to side with us,” said Bibble. “Your Highness, I believe Master Jinn is correct - you travelling to Coruscant and obtaining the aid of the Senate will be of more help to Naboo than if you were to remain here. Senator Palpatine will be willing to aid us, I am sure.”

Amidala glanced between the door of the hangar and the streets of Naboo that lay behind them, trapped between two choices that, ultimately, were not hers to make. “Either choice presents great danger to us all.”

For the first time since their initial capture, Padmé spoke, hoping to give Amidala the confidence to stay - the confidence to remain on Naboo and fight for their home, no matter the danger. “We are brave, Your Highness.”

“If you are to leave, Your Highness, it must be now,” Qui-Gon urged.

Amidala met Padmé’s eyes, and through the force Padmé could feel the inner conflict raging inside of her, her duty to carry out Padmé’s wishes warring against Sabé’s desires, whatever they may be. Padmé did not soften her gaze, staring into Amidala’s eyes as if challenging her to oppose her. So it was with a sinking heart that Padmé recognised the contrition in Amidala’s eyes as she gave her decree. “Then, I will plead our case to the Senate.”

The continuity between them shattered. Padmé could not think of a time when an aid had ever usurped the wishes of their monarch while playing decoy - it was nigh unheard of, for the aids were supposed to practice loyalty above all. By agreeing to travel to Coruscant and meet with the senate, Sabé had forced Padmé into taking drastic political action that she had never supported, for it would no doubt be Padmé herself who would beg the Senate for aid. She had put Padmé’s trust in her in peril with one, simple decision, and a sense of betrayal ran hot in Padmé’s blood.

But, as a citizen of Naboo, a planet governed by democracy, did Sabé not have the right to have her say in the course of her planet’s history?

“A wise decision, Your Highness,” Qui-Gon said, gentleness returning to his voice now that he had succeeded in his aim. Padmé kept her stony gaze to the ground.

“Governor Bibble, Saché, Yané, I would like you to remain on Naboo,” Amidala continued, and the Governor looked up in surprise. Saché glanced at Yané in search of answers, while Yané herself kept her attention firmly on Amidala, listening closely. She would have made a good decoy, so stony was her expression. Padmé watched Amidala carefully, unsure of what she would do next. “Governor, the people trust you, and I can think of no better man to give them confidence in this time of strife. Remain with them, and assure them that their Queen has not abandoned them. Saché, Yané, I wish for you to be my witnesses to the truth of the Federation’s actions - together, you will prevent me from being ignorant to my people’s plight. Report all that you see to me however you can.”

And so Sabé’s desires had not usurped Padmé’s wishes as absolutely as she had first thought. 

“Very well,” Bibble said at length, and Saché and Yané nodded their obedience in turn. “Now, hurry, my lady. The sooner you make our plea to the Senate, the sooner we shall have our freedom.”

“Be careful, all of you,” Amidala said in earnest.

After ordering a handful of his men to take Bibble, Saché, and Yané to safety, Panaka turned his attention back to the door of the hangar. His pilfered droid blaster raised, he made his first hesitant steps inside, and Qui-Gon soon followed. Padmé watched as Obi-Wan approached the Queen’s remaining retinue, his blue blade flashing as he turned to check for any droids that might have followed them from behind. In the tension of waiting, there was only a disharmony of birdsong and the mechanical clatter of distant soldiers to break the silence. As she waited for Panaka and Qui-Gon’s signal to proceed, Padmé tried to catch Amidala’s eyes - but she stared only downwards, and Padmé could see shame hanging heavy in her downturned mouth.

“Your Highness, come,” came Qui-Gon’s hushed command from within the hangar, and Padmé only caught the briefest sight of him before he disappeared back through the hangar doors.

With Obi-Wan to lead them, Amidala and her retinue hurried through the side door into the hangar, and they found Panaka and Qui-Gon lingering by one of the many pillars that bordered the immense room. The hangar was just as large and ornate as any other room in Theed Palace, open to the broad, rolling green landscapes and crystal clear skies of Naboo’s countryside. As Padmé understood, it was once a great meeting hall before the advent of space travel created a need for a safe port. Now the room sat filled with the pride of Naboo’s starfleet - a collection of brilliant gold N-1 starfighters, equipped with perhaps the only offensive weaponry Naboo had at its disposal. But what truly drew the eye was the shining chrome J-type 327 Nubian starship, the Queen’s official transport and a vision of sleek, classical spaceship design. Padmé had few doubts that this would be the ship that would escort them to freedom.

But such an effort would not be without its difficulties. Although the droid presence was limited in the hangar, there were enough to pose a distinct threat to their safety. There were two or three stationed by each ship, and several more lined the hanagar as a general patrol. And behind their ranks sat at least twenty of Naboo’s finest pilots, held as captive hostages by the droid invaders. Padmé frowned - without one of those pilots at the helm, they would have little hope of escape.

Fortunately, as they stood hidden in the shadows, the droids had yet to detect them.

“We need to free those pilots,” Panaka murmured to Qui-Gon, who clicked his tongue as he mulled over a solution.

It was, however, Obi-Wan who stepped forward. “I’ll deal with that.”

A nod passed between master and padawan before Obi-Wan slipped away from the group, keeping to the shadows as he surveyed the scene before him. Panaka directed two of his men to follow him, and then turned to Amidala. “Quickly, My Lady.”

“But how are we to get past the droids?” Amidala asked.

“Quite simply, Your Highness,” Qui-Gon replied, and the slightest of smiles twitched at the corner of his lips. “We shall hide in plain sight. Follow me - and trust me.”

Padmé could not help her surprise when Qui-Gon strode forward into the open floor of the hangar, and that surprise only doubled when Amidala obeyed his order of trust and followed him. She caught Panaka’s eyes, and he at least seemed to share in her confusion. When he realised that only Amidala was following him, Qui-Gon turned back and subtly beckoned the remains of the retinue towards him - it seemed they had no choice but to obey. So Padmé hurried forward, with Panaka, his guards, Eirtaé, and Rabé hot on her heels.

Obi-Wan had yet to make his appearance, and the pilots remained captive, their interest captured by the sudden appearance of their queen and her cortège. As they approached the J-type, the pair of droids that stood guard by it lifted their long, narrow heads. Padmé watched as they adjusted their blasters, slowly pointing them in Qui-Gon’s direction. Padmé tapped her fingers against her thigh as she walked, hoping against hope that this damn Jedi knew what he was doing.

“Halt!” chirped one of the droids, and Qui-Gon did as he was told.

“I’m the ambassador for the Supreme Chancellor, and I’m taking these people to Coruscant,” Qui-Gon said, all with that sense of calm that felt so uniquely distinct in him.

The droid tipped its head - strange how these mechanical skeletons knew the nuances of human body language. Perhaps they were programmed that way, but Padmé would hate to think what kind of engineer would try to programme emotion to a machine designed to kill and be killed. “Where are you taking them?”

“To Coruscant,” Qui-Gon repeated. 

Padmé glanced to the side - she could see Obi-Wan lurking in wait, his chrome lightsaber handle glinting in the sunlight that shone into the hangar. 

“Coruscant?” the droid paused for a moment, gears whirring and clicking as the information translated through wires into its database of understanding. “That doesn’t compute. You are under arrest!”

All at once, the hangar erupted into motion. The two droid guards lifted their weapons proper, but Qui-Gon drew his lightsaber and cut clean through them with almost imperceptible speed. Obi-Wan launched from the shadows, his blade held aloft, racing straight towards the captive pilots and their droid guards. It wasn’t long before he too was cutting down droid after droid with an alarming speed, nimbly dodging blaster bolts as he went. Behind him, Panaka’s men gave capable support, shooting down the droids that even Obi-Wan could not kill in time. Prisoners no more, the pilots jumped to their feet and picked up the discarded blasters, some taking on droids while others made haste to their ships. The ring of blaster fire, the otherworldly hum of lightsabers moving through the air, the screams of droids as their parts scattered harshly against the marble floors - the sounds of war isolated.

Padmé had only briefly registered the pressure on her back before she realised that Panaka had pushed her forward, urging her into the now unguarded ship as he charged forward to join Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon in their fight. Then it was Amidala urging Padmé forward, taking her by the wrist and running with her into the J-Type, miraculously unencumbered by her heavy regalia. It seemed the cowardly thing to do, to run and hide while outside a battle waged on, but Padmé’s mind could not keep up with the motion around her - all chaos, all noise, all adrenaline pumping through her veins.

It was only when they came to a sudden halt in the Queen’s chambers that all came to stillness once more, and those harsh sounds of war grew muffled by the thick walls of the ship. Panting, Padmé turned to Sabé - there was much they needed to discuss.

“Are we safe now?” asked Eirtaé, wisps of pale blonde hair escaping from her orange hood.

Padmé shook her head. “We won’t be safe until the Trade Federation has left Naboo.”

“But we are safe from any immediate danger,” Sabé said. “When Panaka and the Jedi return with a pilot, we can travel to Coruscant where our lives will no longer be threatened.”

“My life is Naboo,” Padmé said. “So long as the lives of my people are under threat, then my life is forfeit too. I do not approve of our fleeing like this - it is cowardly.”

Sabé’s white makeup hid her blush, but Padmé could sense her shame and how thickly it hung about her - but there was anger there too, frustration boiling under the surface. Only the strength of Sabé’s composure would prevent it from erupting. “Your Highness, with respect, I believe that you will be of more use to the Naboo seeking aid from the Senate, not rotting in a Trade Federation prison. I made my choice in the interest of your safety, and I apologise for my disobedience. But I was only acting as my duty decrees.”

Shame gave way to true contrition, and it was love that coloured this feeling in the place of anger. Padmé softened with her, for how could she fault Sabé for following her own heart? For making an impossible decision with nothing but love and loyalty for her friend to guide her? As a citizen of Naboo, she had cast her vote, and as her elected queen, Padmé would obey it. Padmé crossed the short distance that stretched between her and Sabé and took her black gloved hand in her own. “Then I accept your apology.”

Sabé thinned her lips before opening them to reply - but she was swiftly interrupted by the thudding of numerous footsteps thundering through the ship. It wasn’t long before the doors slid open to reveal Panaka, looking perhaps a little worse for wear, but otherwise unharmed. “Your Highness, we have secured a pilot. We leave for Coruscant at once.”

“Thank you, Captain. The Jedi?”

“On board with us.”

“We are fortunate to have them in our company,” Amidala remarked. 

As soon as the words left her lips, the floor shuddered as the fire of the ship’s engines began to burn. Padmé braced herself against the wall. “That was fast.”

“Time is of the essence,” Panaka replied. “I doubt this will be a smooth take off.”

“That might be the first certain thing we’ve had to count on all day,” Rabé muttered as Panaka vanished from the doorway, headed no doubt towards the cockpit.

As the ship continued its ascent, Sabé, Rabé, and Eirtaé stabilised themselves by sitting down in the several plush chairs that sat scattered around the room, all clinging to the arms of them with white-knuckled grips. Padmé, however, remained standing, for the adrenaline pulsing through her would allow for nothing else. There was so much to consider - out of the direct line of fire they may be, but they still had to clear Naboo’s atmosphere without being shot down, and then they’d have to make it past the Trade Federation’s blockade. She could only hope that the pilot they’d secured was a skilled one, but hoping felt far too passive, too much like spectatorship. There was more to be done, and as a simple handmaiden, she could move as she pleased.

As soon as she started her unsteady journey towards the cockpit, Sabé shot up from her seat. “My Lady, where are you going?”

Padmé, who had made it to the doorway, turned to her. “I need to see what’s happening.”

“But-”

“If the Federation fires on us, the whole ship will go up - we’ll all be dead no matter where we are. I will go where I-”

A massive jolt rocked the ship, accompanied by the deafening sound of a torpedo exploding against the shields. Padmé gripped the doorway tight to stay upright, and she glanced around in surprise when an alarm started blaring throughout the corridors. 

“What was that?” asked Eirtaé, her eyes wide with fright.

“I don’t know. We must have been hit,” Padmé responded. Quite suddenly, it dawned on her that the blast and the alarms had given her the perfect opportunity for action. “I’ll go to the cockpit and find out.”

“Wait!” Sabé cried, but Padmé was long gone before the click of the ‘t’ had sounded against her teeth.

Once more assuming the guise of humble handmaiden, Padmé hurried through the ship’s lengthy corridors towards the cockpit, lifting her long orange gown to stop herself from tripping in her haste. All around, red lights flashed and the alarm siren blared, and more blasts rocked the ship as she ran, some forcing her to her feet. She scrambled upwards, only to be knocked down by a barrage of consecutive blasts, each one sounding nastier than the last. With every blow, their chances of safe escape seemed thinner and thinner, but still Padmé pressed on. If she could just make it to the cockpit, somehow she might be able to make things better.

The first thing she saw upon entering the cockpit lay beyond its window - a great, hulking Federation battleship, a thick ring of metal protecting a spherical centre, armed to the teeth with turrets and surrounded by smaller ships. The colours of blaster bolts flashed brightly in the black void of space, and Padmé might have thought them beautiful were they not the very tools being used to destroy her. At the controls, Obi-Wan and the rescued pilot sat with intense concentration etched into their faces, their hands flying over the controls as they did all they could to pilot the ship to safety. Panaka and Qui-Gon stood either side of them, watching the battle with solemn focus.

Nobody, it seemed, had noticed her arrival, and so Padmé took advantage of her momentary invisibility to survey the situation.

“If we can’t get those shield generators fixed, we’ll be sitting ducks,” Panaka said, confirming what Padmé already suspected - the blasts had knocked out their shields, or were on the cusp of doing so, at least. The alarms indicated as much.

“Trust me, if I could speed up those astromechs, I would,” Obi-Wan muttered.

The pilot gave an exasperated sigh. “Can’t you use some of that force magic of yours?”

“It isn’t magic,” Obi-Wan insisted - a strange argument to get hung up on, although Padmé could understand that high stress did complicate one’s priorities. “And I’m a little busy here.”

Her eyes lighting up, Padmé realised that yet another opportunity had just fallen into her lap. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon may be too busy to make use of their powers, but Padmé certainly wasn’t. Taking such an opportunity did carry the risk of discovery, but realistically she knew that it was only a matter of time before the Jedi noticed the force coalescing around her. So, was she willing to risk exposing her abilities to save the ship, and by extension save herself and her people?

Absolutely.

Closing her eyes, Padmé expelled her thoughts from her mind, sending her consciousness away from herself and into the uninterpreted manifold of the force. She was no longer Padmé, but simply another minor particle in a wider flow - as she was one with the force, the force was one with her. And so she reached out, passing through the immaterial barriers of the ship’s hull and out into the vast expanse of space, moving so very slowly and yet so very quickly all at once, for time and space and dimension held no meaning. There was only the force, and only the vague suggestion of the physical realm it inhabited.

A single astromech droid appeared before her, its domed head whirring and spinning as its tiny little pincers and blowtorch made steady work of repairing the ship’s shield generators. Surrounded by the debris of its fellows, it seemed a lonely creature. In the force realm, man and machine were as one - whether programmed or born, all things lived, and thus all things could love. And so she reached out to that little droid, spoke to it in a quiet language that all could understand - let me help you. 

She could see the wires the little droid had yet to connect, all the switches yet to be flicked, all the tattered metal yet to be soldered back together. She became the wires, the switches, the ragged edges, and she pieced them back together bit by bit, unifying the atoms of the failing starship. The droid carried on with its work, barely noticing that parts of the shield generator were being moved by her invisible hand. In the physical realm, she had no clue how to build or rebuild or repair shield generators, but things were so much simpler with the force - all she had to do was unite the broken pieces with their lonely, forlorn partners, and all would be well. The force breathed life into all things.

A sudden snap, and Padmé opened her eyes. She was back in the cockpit, back in her own body, human once more. But now, all was a little quieter - no more sirens, and a cry of joy rang out over the endless din of battle.

“Power’s back!” cried the pilot, his weathered face lighting up with an energetic grin as his hand immediately flew to a new set of switches and buttons. “That little droid did it! Deflector shield up, at maximum!”

Padmé knew she should have been relieved, that she should have been overjoyed that she had been the one to enable their escape. But in that moment, all she could see were the dull blue eyes of Qui-Gon Jinn, staring into her own as if he knew exactly what she had done.

Chapter Text

The stars hung gently in the darkness beyond the window, glowing and pulsing in the stillness of space. Padmé glanced out at them, watching as those little orbs of burning brightness passed them by, and the slowness seemed so much quieter when compared to the action and noise of the earlier morning. No more battleships, no more droids - only the Royal Starship and its passengers floating through the dark, totally alone, totally isolated. Somewhere out there, amongst all those stars, Naboo sat in peril, with its resources cut off by the trade blockade and its people terrorised by mechanical monsters. Padmé closed her eyes, and desolation overwhelmed her.

Amidala sat regal on the Queen’s throne, her posture perfect as she stared down the Jedi who stood before her - Qui-Gon Jinn, the man who had severed the Queen from her home. Padmé knew that he had seen her, that he had felt her reaching out with the force to help repair the ship, but he had done precious little to address it. Roughly an hour had passed since their flight from Naboo, and he had not said a word to her. Instead, he made her wait in tense silence, and Padmé wished he would put her out of her misery and confront her about her hidden powers. Now, however, was not the time for such things, for his only business was with the Queen.

“Your Highness, with your permission, we’re heading for a remote planet called Tatooine,” Qui-Gon said, his voice so soft that such a simple message sounded like a lullaby. “It’s an Outer Rim planet, and far beyond the reaches of the Trade Federation.”

“Why venture to the Outer Rim?” Amidala asked. “I was under the impression that we were to make for Coruscant as soon as possible.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “We sustained some damage during our flight from Naboo. The hyperdrive is leaking - in its current state, it won’t have enough power to get us to Coruscant. We must land to repair and refuel the ship.”

“I understand.”

“I do not agree with the Jedi on this, My Lady,” Panaka interjected. “Tatooine is a dangerous place.”

Amidala turned to face him. “But Master Qui-Gon has said that Tatooine is not under the control of the Federation. Surely we will be safer there?”

“It is a planet of criminals. The Hutts are in control there, and they’re no better than common gangsters. If they were to discover you-”

“I understand your concern for Her Majesty,” Qui-Gon said, and he offered Amidala a small smile. “But we have few options. Tatooine is close, and most other planets nearby are under Federation control. The Hutts are dangerous, yes, but they are not looking for the Queen. We have the advantage of anonymity there.”

“Yet another dangerous choice,” Amidala murmured, ever so slightly thinning her painted lips.

Qui-Gon looked at her intently. “You must trust my judgment, Your Highness.”

It was then that Amidala flashed her eyes in Padmé’s direction, placing the choice into her hands where it rightfully belonged. As quickly as she could, she mulled over the arguments presented to her. They could risk capture by landing on a Federation planet, thus rendering their escape efforts entirely pointless, or go to Tatooine and subject themselves to a potential bevvy of brand new dangers that would only make their journey to Coruscant more difficult. Panaka would have her choose the former, and Qui-Gon the latter - but whose judgment would she obey? The captain who had remained by her side as a trustworthy ally for the entire period of her rule, or the Jedi knight with a far greater knowledge of the galaxy outside of Naboo?

Her prejudice told her to follow Panaka’s guidance, for she hated to play puppet to the Jedi. Yet she could not deny that Qui-Gon’s proposal was the more logical choice - if they went about their repairs quickly and quietly, all those looming gangsters and criminals would never have to know of their presence. She had never heard of this Tatooine, but she decided then and there to place her faith in it and accept its offer of safe harbour. As subtly as she could, she nodded her head towards Qui-Gon, and Amidala gave a near imperceptible gesture of understanding before turning her attention back to Qui-Gon.

“Your judgment is sound, Master Qui-Gon. We shall make for Tatooine and conduct our repairs there.”

As Panaka strained to conceal his frustration, Qui-Gon bowed once more. “A wise decision, Your Highness.”

***

Yellow irises glow brightly in the dark, and the air burns with evil to scorch the skin and cripple the heart. Chains rattle - skeleton boy of premonition cries out, but there is only cruel laughter as red lights flash and blind the soul to goodness. She cannot breathe, but there is liberation in breathlessness, and temptation beckons in the night.

“I am near. Follow the path. Come to me.”

She feels the skeleton caress against her cheek, her throat, shoulder, forearm, clutching her hand, cold and clammy, weeping. Midnight eyes beg and plead, but yellow eyes are bright and beautiful all rimmed in red, so very tantalising, gripping her tighter than midnight ever could. 

“I am near. You are hope, my love. I am alone.”

Somebody cries. Little voices in isolation, so sad, so very sad. But she stands in the sands and feels the draw of a greater power, so much louder than those sad little cries and the distant rattle of chains. A silhouette in red and black, looming ahead of her, arm outstretched - take the hand, take it, take it! Or let it go and be free, yet what is freedom but a false chameleon choice?

Gentleness, green light, blue light, a soft smile, and a sad song. But it is obliterated, and the silhouette draws nearer, nearer, nearer, nearer, nearer and nearer and nearer and nearer and closer and closer and closer and she can hold it, it is in her hands, it is frost cold in her grip but it is hers to hold now and forever! 

“You’re staring.”

“Your Highness?”

He had seen her, the man with the dull blue eyes.

“My Lady?”

And the young one had seen her too.

“Padmé?”

Her hidden temple obliterated by perception.

“Padmé!”

All rot.

“Padmé!”

She woke with a gasp as hands gripped tightly around her shoulders - Sabé hovered overhead, freed from the weight of her regal disguise, her little face pinched with concern. 

“Sabé?”

“Are you alright? It sounded as though you were having a nightmare.”

Padmé wasn’t so certain that the nightmare had ended. In the unlit gloom of her bedchamber, she could still feel that hair-raising discomfort electrifying the air, still feel eyes burning holes into the back of her head, still feel the talons of a stranger’s hand clawing her skin to shreds. Her hands were cold. The darkness had not left her, but had instead followed her into consciousness, and she would scream had the air not been snatched from her lungs. She scrambled out of bed in a desperate attempt to flee from that bitter chill.

“Padmé?” Sabé’s eyes were wide in a rare show of frightened vulnerability, her formal bearing flaking away. “Has something happened? What has frightened you so much?”

It was everywhere, this evil, forcing its way down her throat and embedding itself into her skin. She had never felt this before - she asked the force to help her understand, but it had fled in terror, abandoning her to the ravages of this horrible, horrible feeling. Naboo had never felt like this. Perhaps this was simply what it was like to wander the reaches of the galaxy unknown.

Padmé swallowed, and she struggled with the effort to keep a level tone. “Where are we?”

“Tatooine, My Lady. I was coming to inform you that we have landed, but when I arrived you were crying out in your sleep. Please, you must tell me if I can help you.”

Tatooine. Padmé rushed to the window of the bedchamber and raised the shade that covered it, for somehow she knew that this foreign place was the source of all her horror. But when she pulled up the shade, the harsh sun glaring brightly against the endless sands stunned her into a strange sort of stillness. It doused the once darkened room in an overwhelming light, and the sun bouncing off the sand and stung her eyes. All at once, the force returned to her side, and it was as if nothing existed except for the vast and barren desert and the faintest suggestion of civilisation on the horizon. 

“Padmé?” came Sabé’s nervous call, and Padmé tore her gaze away from the view to face her. In her plain robe, with her dark brown hair hanging loose around her shoulders, she finally bore the appearance of the child she truly was. She was confused, frightened - and Padmé ached for her.

Padmé closed her eyes for a moment, scrubbing her hand across her face. “It was only a nightmare. I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m alright, I promise - it just frightened me, that’s all.”

The fear in Sabé’s expression began to shift into sympathetic relief. “I am sorry to hear it, My Lady, but I am glad you are not ill. Was it Naboo that you dreamed of?”

Strangely, Naboo had not featured at all in that mutilated tapestry of discordant images, but Padmé wasn’t sure if she wanted Sabé to know that. To tell Sabé the truth would be to revisit those thoughts, feelings, sights, and sounds once more, and to witness all of it again would only startle her into further terror. So she nodded, for it was much easier to explain a fear with a concrete tie to reality, even if it was false. “Yes. I don’t believe I’ll ever truly rest until Naboo is free.”

“I feel much the same.” Sabé offered a small smile, likely intended to reassure her. “But you will not need to worry for much longer. Master Qui-Gon will be heading to the nearest settlement soon to buy the necessary parts to repair our ship. We will be on Coruscant before long, and then you can request aid from the Senate.”

Frowning, Padmé turned back to the window, and she watched for a moment as the sands quietly shifted in the wind and the silhouettes of distant birds pockmarked the otherwise clear sky. The sands had beckoned to her in her dream - no, perhaps not the sands themselves, but something within them. Something that was out of place, a figure cast from night and shadow and terror. That figure existed beyond the confines of her dream, and she could feel it like the tiniest twitch at the edge of her soul, looming, waiting, ready to unleash itself upon the world in a blackened cloud of ash. Somewhere in the sands, it lurked, and somehow she knew that, in his journey across the dunes, Qui-Gon would discover it too.

Her heart hammered at the prospect. Not because she feared for Qui-Gon’s safety, but because she wanted to find this creature for herself, to find the darkness and know that it was more than a figment of her imagination. She needed to know what it was, what it wanted with her, why it had visited her in her sleep. The force writhed around her, bending to her wishes yet protesting against them as well - it wished her to go, and yet it feared what she would find. But she had to search it out. It was of vital importance that she did. 

Strange - the invasion of her planet ought to be her priority, and yet now all that mattered to her was finding the manifestation of her nightmare in the flesh. In a brief flash of clarity, she wondered if this darkness had possessed her.

“Has Master Qui-Gon left yet?” Padmé asked, and Sabé shook her head.

“I do not believe so. He was preparing to leave when I saw him last.”

So she still had a chance. “Then I hope you won’t mind acting as Amidala for a little longer.”

“You want me to be your decoy again?” Sabé asked, a furrow denting her brow. “But we have no need to leave the ship - you will be perfectly safe so long as you remain here.”

“But I don’t want to remain here.” Padmé crossed the room towards the large walk in wardrobe that sat adjacent to her bed. When she threw open the doors and wandered inside, a vast array of ornate gowns, robes, and headdresses greeted her, all suitable for a queen to wear while travelling. A small smile of satisfaction flickered across her face, for amongst all the finery she could spot a few simpler pieces, no doubt meant to be worn beneath the grander raiments, that she could use to create a suitable outfit for hiding in plain sight. 

Quick as ever, Sabé caught on to Padmé’s plan. “You wish to go to the settlement with Master Qui-Gon? My lady, with all due respect-”

“I simply wish to see the settlement for myself,” Padmé said, easily rattling off the lie to conceal her true intent. She gathered up the pieces of her disguise and started back towards the bedchamber. “I can look after myself, and Master Qui-Gon will be there to protect me if things should go awry. I don’t doubt that he’ll be up to the task - his display of prowess in battle at Theed was very impressive.”

“I see your point.” Sabé lowered her gaze, deep in thought. “Very well, I will continue to impersonate you - but only if Captain Panaka permits it.”

Padmé rolled her eyes as she laid her clothes out on the bed - a simple blue shirt, grey vest, grey trousers, and dark boots. “I don’t intend to give Panaka much of a choice.”

“You’re going to force his hand?” Sabé asked, as if such a thing qualified as a scandal. To think, mere hours ago she had been the one disobeying her betters and sending the Queen to Coruscant against her will - scandal indeed. Perhaps, in her current adherence to the rules, she was quietly compensating in spite of Padmé’s forgiveness.

Padmé tugged her nightgown over her head and swapped it for the blue shirt. “Queen Amidala has ordered that one of her handmaidens should accompany Master Qui-Gon because she is curious about this planet. If he were to disobey that order, it might seem strange.”

“If it were myself, Rabé, or Eirtaé joining the Jedi, I do not think that Panaka would protest,” said Sabé. “But I doubt he will let Padmé go so easily.”

“And what’s so special about Padmé?” asked the girl in question - strange, how she could isolate Padmé and Amidala as if they were not the same soul in the same body, her body. 

“We both know what’s so special about Padmé, My Lady.”

Her grey trousers now buttoned securely around her hips, Padmé took the vest and started shrugging it over her shoulders. “But Master Qui-Gon doesn’t. Nor does Obi-Wan, or our pilot. We must keep the truth of my identity from everyone, even the Jedi. If Panaka makes a fuss about Padmé, it will only draw their suspicion and perhaps prematurely reveal our deception.”

At length, Sabé gave a small sigh. “If that is what you wish, then it is out of my hands to stop you.”

***

As predicted, Panaka was displeased about Padmé’s plan to go wandering in a foreign settlement on an unknown planet with only a relative stranger to keep her safe. But Padmé’s hypothesis had proved correct, for after a token protest, he had no choice but to let her pass from the ship’s interior and out into the blazing, sun-scorched sands, where Qui-Gon awaited her in plain dress. He had already begun to make his way across the vast stretch of desert, and Panaka held up his hand.

“Wait,” Panaka called, halting Qui-Gon in his tracks. “Her Highness commands you to take her handmaiden with you.”

Qui-Gon surveyed the two figures before him, his eyes lingering on Padmé a fraction longer than they did on Panaka. “No more commands from Her Highness today, Captain. This spaceport is not going to be pleasant.”

“The Queen wishes it,” Panaka insisted, although Padmé could hear his frustration simmering beneath his words. “She is curious about this planet.”

Padmé met Qui-Gon’s eyes, and she hoped he would perceive her unwavering gaze as the challenge it was - Queen Amidala would be most displeased if he were to deny her wishes. Although, when Qui-Gon approached, she breathed deeply as tension amassed in her chest and her nerves overcame her, for she doubted he had forgotten her unspoken secret.

“What is your name?” he asked, a strange incongruity of kindness and intimidation melding in his tone.

“Padmé.”

“And why has Her Majesty chosen you to accompany me? Why not another of her handmaidens, or even your Captain here?”

Padmé swallowed, rapidly searching through the myriad responses she could give. “She made the request of us, and I volunteered. She trusts me, too.”

The longer he looked, the more her nerves tingled beneath her skin. She knew now that he wasn’t looking at her, but at the force that wrapped itself around her, and so she dispelled it in a moment of panic. Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes, and Padmé wished she could dissolve into the sands because he had no doubt felt her push the force away - i’s abrupt absence revealed so much more than its quiet presence. In her attempt to hide, she had only lit a larger beacon.

“This is not a good idea,” Qui-Gon murmured. To Padmé’s surprise, he turned on his heel and continued on across the vast stretch of desert towards the settlement that hovered on the horizon. “Stay close to me, Padmé.”

Padmé glanced up at Panaka in surprise, and he simply gestured towards Qui-Gon. “You’d better go. Don’t do anything Queen Amidala wouldn’t approve of.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” With that, Padmé hurried along after Qui-Gon, hot sand puffing up behind her heels.

Out of the cool shelter of the Royal Starship’s shadow, the heat rose to a dry, sweltering intensity. It was like nothing she had ever felt before - summers on Naboo were certainly warm, but the heat was more like a caress than a slap in the face, and shade and water were always in plentiful supply. But on Tatooine, all around was bare and exposed, without so much as a cloud to pass over the sun and offer even the briefest respite from its rays. Padmé glanced up at the sky, shielding her eyes from the brightness, and it was then that she discovered exactly why Tatooine’s heat was so unforgiving. Twin suns, one slightly larger than the other, hovered with uncaring heaviness over the landscape. How anyone could survive in such a place, Padmé had no idea, for the dry heat had already parched her throat beyond comfort.

The intensity of the environment, however, seemed but a trifle to Qui-Gon, who strolled along as if he was accustomed to such heat. Nothing at all seemed to touch him. First, he hadn’t sustained a single scratch in their conflict with the droids on Naboo, and now it seemed that he would escape the burn of the blazing sun as well. He seemed to her invincible, so still and calm and considered that she wondered if he could artfully evade even the march of time if he wanted to. It was a sort of composure she had hoped to achieve as Naboo’s ruler, and as much as she distrusted him, she also found herself coming to admire him simply for the steadiness of his bearing. She might have almost come to like him were it not for the sword that hung over her head - the sword of revelation, which Qui-Gon had the power to cut down and spear her skull with.

And then, of course, there was the nightmare to consider.

“I take it you’ve never left Naboo before?” Qui-Gon asked, startling Padmé from her thoughts. She hadn’t expected him to say anything to her, for he hardly seemed amenable to her presence. But there was a lightness to his tone, a conversational buoyancy that seemed rather at odds with her perception of him as a pillar of stone.

“No, I haven’t,” she answered. 

“A landscape like this must be new to you, then,” he continued, and Padmé nodded. “Tell me, then - did you volunteer to come with me out of loyalty to Her Highness, or did you take it as an opportunity to sate your curiosity?”

The latter option was the truth, and it gave Padmé cause to wonder if Qui-Gon had already figured out her true motive of investigating her lingering nightmare. If that terrible dream was the result of a disturbance in the force, then doubtless he would have encountered it in his own sleep, and perhaps Obi-Wan had shared it as well. Qui-Gon, she suspected, knew of her force sensitivity, and so he would have reason to believe that she too had dreamed of the darkness - and now he questioned her. But Padmé would not give herself up so easily.

“I volunteered because I wanted to be of use to Her Highness,” Padmé said, although she supposed Qui-Gon might be able to see through such a lie. She felt ridiculous trying to hide from him, but still she persisted. “And I don’t like the idea of being cooped up in that ship all day either.”

Qui-Gon gave a small laugh. “You and I both.”

They marched on through the wastes, and Padmé had to keep a brisk pace to match Qui-Gon’s longer strides. The settlement drew nearer and nearer, and yet it always felt so far away, shimmering on the horizon like a mirage. Padmé wiped her hand across her brow as beads of sweat began to roll down her temples, and an uncomfortable warmth began to swelter beneath her skin.

“We can find you some water when we reach Mos Espa,” Qui-Gon said, having observed her discomfort. “I cannot guarantee that it’ll be as fresh as what you’re used to on Naboo, but it’ll be better than nothing.”

“Thanks.” 

Padmé set about rolling up the sleeves of her shirt, but Qui-Gon held up his hand to stop her. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The more protection you can keep between yourself and the suns, the better.”

“Oh. Well, alright.” Padmé took her hand away from her arm, and the blue sleeve dropped, once more encasing her arm in a fabric prison of hot air. It was almost pathetic - they’d hardly been out for fifteen minutes, and already she was wilting. She glanced over at Qui-Gon, and once more she found herself wondering how he wasn’t boiling underneath the many layers of beige and grey robes that lay draped around his person. A glint of shining chrome at his hip caught her eye, and she barely managed to snatch a glimpse of the lightsaber attached to his belt before he covered it with his poncho. 

As the settlement grew closer, a dull, throbbing ache blossomed in Padmé’s skull - yet another attack from the callous heat. Perhaps, if she could only take her mind off of her discomfort, she might make her journey more tolerable. “You mentioned Mos Espa. Is that where we’re going?”

“Yes. It’s a spaceport.”

“Have you been there before?”

“No, but I’ve been to many places like it,” Qui-Gon replied. “I do mean it when I say stick close to me. Spaceports like this attract all kinds of unsavoury characters. It’s hard to know who you can trust.”

As they began to pass by a few buildings on the outskirts of Mos Espa, Padmé frowned. “That’s quite the generalisation. Surely the people here can’t be all bad?”

“Certainly. I’m sure there are many good people here - they just aren’t the people we’ll be dealing with.”

“And who will we be dealing with?”

“Merchants - people who’ll sell us the parts we need to repair the ship. Hopefully we’ll be able to find someone who won’t swindle us, but I suspect the chances of that will be slim.” 

The smattering of clay domed buildings grew more clustered as they progressed, and Padmé watched with interest as Mos Espa built itself up around them. Now the chatter of voices rose in her ear, overtaking the distant whistle of quiet wind - civilisation which had once seemed so far away now descended upon her like a gentle surprise. She found herself amongst sparse crowds of unknown species, their eyes and noses and lips in unique places and their bodies shaped in ways she never would have comprehended before, and they were all so very alien to her, so very strange. Yet she could not help her fascination at these people who were so different to her, and as she walked amongst them she grew more and more intrigued by them as they went about their mundane days.

These were the people who were supposed to pose a threat to them? The people who sat in their market stalls to sell fruit and bread and water? The two little girls in bare feet and rags who sat by the corner of a nearby building, giggling as they wove braids into each other’s dark hair? The old man who stood in the street singing a forlorn song in the hopes that it might move a passerby to toss him a coin or a scrap of food? Padmé saw no gangsters or swindlers there.

“There’s a marketplace up ahead,” Qui-Gon said. “We’ll find some water for you there, and we can ask for directions to the nearest junk shop.”

Padmé frowned. “Junk shop? I thought we were looking for repair parts. We can’t repair our ship with garbage.”

He gave a clear, warm laugh. “You truly are a stranger in a strange land, aren’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“A junk shop isn’t a place that sells people’s rubbish, Padmé. They usually sell discarded ship parts, and with any luck, we’ll be able to find a place that sells the specific parts that we need for our ship.” He smiled at her, fond and gentle beneath his beard. “There’s no need to be concerned.”

Grateful that the heat had already reddened her cheeks, Padmé ducked her head in embarrassment. “Oh, right. Sorry.”

“This is a new environment for you, it’s only natural that you don’t understand it. There are plenty of things that I don’t understand about your culture, for example.”

It was strange to see a Jedi so willing to admit that there was something he did not understand, for she had always understood them to be proud, sanctimonious creatures. At this moment, Qui-Gon seemed the very antithesis of that - perhaps she had misjudged him. It would remain to be seen, however, if his fellow Jedi were as humble. “Really? Like what?”

“The youth of your Queen, for one.” The crowds around them grew thicker as they entered the market square, and Qui-Gon became harder to hear as chatter overwhelmed the air. “It seems strange to me to place the responsibility of an entire planet on the shoulders of a child. Surely the position ought to go to someone with more experience?”

“But it is experience that leads to poor leadership,” Padmé countered. “With experience comes bias, and a biased monarch would destroy the balance of our society. Young people are innocent, and so they think with their heart. Nobody gets left behind with a leader like that.”

“Do you think Queen Amidala thinks with her heart?”

She spoke without hesitation. “I do.”

Qui-Gon regarded her with interest, and he had a somewhat distant look in his eye as he mulled over what Padmé had told him. “A fascinating theory. I shall have to think on it.”

They came across a stall laden with leather bags of water, watched over by an old woman with white hair and skin almost identical in colour and texture to the bags she sold. The sight of them brought Padmé’s dehydration back into startling, uncomfortable clarity - her wonder at Mos Espa and her conversation with Qui-Gon had been a welcome distraction, but they had not cured her headache or relieved her dry throat. Qui-Gon approached the woman, and he nodded his head with a polite smile. Padmé followed on behind.

“How much for a bag?” Qui-Gon asked.

“One peggat will do nicely,” said the woman, her lined face creasing into a smile to mirror Qui-Gon’s.

“I’m afraid I only have Republic dataries. Will they do?”

Ruefully, the woman shook her head. “Got no use for Republic money here. In case you hadn’t noticed, the Republic don’t give a damn about us here on Tatooine. They’re not going to send us their fancy money any time soon.”

Qui-Gon hesitated, and Padmé watched as thoughts swirled behind his eyes. He then gave a small sigh and raised his hand, and Padmé felt the force shift towards the woman as he waved his fingers in her direction. “Credits will do fine.”

The force energy that had coalesced around the water woman’s head grew hazy, and she blinked a few times, suddenly dazed. In a slower, somewhat slurred tone of voice, she repeated Qui-Gon’s words verbatim. “Credits will do fine.”

As the credits changed hands between Qui-Gon and the water woman, a curdling feeling of discomfort welled up in Padmé’s chest. She wasn’t sure she liked the idea of using the force to manipulate people - it seemed cruel, somehow, and entirely unethical. What was this woman supposed to do with money that meant nothing to her, or anyone else in Mos Espa? After taking it from the stall, Qui-Gon passed Padmé the water bag, and her parched throat ached for its contents. But it seemed wrong to drink it. She had never held stolen property before.

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon said, warmer than ever - as if he hadn’t just reached into an innocent woman’s mind and tangled up her very being. “I was hoping we might be able to ask for some directions as well - do you know where we could find the nearest junk shop?”

“If you want a junk shop, you’ve come to the right place,” the woman said, her former sense of clarity now returned to her. The fact that she had been robbed blind before her eyes didn’t seem to phase her at all, and Padmé’s grip tightened around the bag. “There’s a whole plaza full of them just north of here. What sort of parts are you after?”

“We need to repair a J-Type 327 Nubian.”

“Ah, then it’s Watto you’ll want. He’s practically swimming in Nubian parts.”

Qui-Gon bowed his head in gratitude. “Thank you for your help.”

“Of course.”

With that, Qui-Gon vanished back into the crowd, and Padmé once more had to jog to catch up with him. Still feeling distinctly disturbed by the exchange, Padmé knew that she couldn’t let it go unaddressed, but doing so without further revealing her force sensitivity would be difficult. She knew she was already in a hole regarding Qui-Gon’s knowledge of her powers, but she didn’t want to dig herself any deeper - especially since he had yet to breathe a word of it to her. Perhaps she could simply play the keen observer. After all, Queen Amidala’s handmaidens were trained to be observant above all. 

As they made their way north, Padmé finally gathered the courage to speak up. “You tricked that woman.”

“Hm?” 

“The woman at the stall. I saw you waving your hand - you used the force, didn’t you?”

Qui-Gon stopped in his tracks. “I don’t think that’s something we should be discussing aloud.”

“But it wasn’t right. You told me to watch out for swindlers, but you’re the only swindler I’ve met so far.”

“You needed that water, and we cannot waste any time here. I don’t enjoy tricking people like that, but sometimes we must do what we have to and not what we want to. If I hadn’t purchased that water for you, you’d succumb to your dehydration before we could even begin our search for the parts we need. Do you understand that?”

“I suppose, but-”

“Then let us move on. I can see the plaza she spoke of just up ahead.”

It seemed that as soon as she thought she had Qui-Gon figured out, he would go and shift again, just like the sands that rose and sunk beneath her feet. He spoke as if he were humble, and yet he had taken control of Naboo’s liberation as if he were the only one who was smart enough to know how to fight the Trade Federation. He empathised with her to comfort her, and yet he had grabbed hold of that woman’s mind and forced his will onto her actions without a care for how that might hurt her. Padmé found herself caught between two rigid states - faith and mistrust warring over a man Padmé had never even heard of a mere twenty-four hours ago.

There were too many strange little deviations, too many facts of life beating down her expectations. The walls of Theed Palace were clean and uncomplicated, but she knew now that she was wholly unprepared for what lay outside of them. She had been raised to rule a peaceful idyll, where goodness was unquestioned and constantly pursued, and yet here she was in a hot, barren land of complications, where the ones who warned her were one and the same as those she’d been warned against.

She did not like it. She did not like it at all. And so grew her yearning for home.

Chapter Text

There was a distinct aura of bleakness permeating the atmosphere of Watto’s junk shop. The small room was all cast in gloom, for there was little in the way of natural light - piles of twisted, discarded metal sat piled up by the windows and obscured the sunshine, and only a small doorway on the other side of the room served to let in a shaft of afternoon glow. When that light caught against the piles of scrap, it sent strange and eerie shadows creeping across the walls, wires and gears turning into the sharp claws and teeth of an unknown monster. The floor was dirty, covered in sand and littered with small pieces of sharp metal that could very easily pierce the soles of one’s shoes and draw a healthy flow of blood. 

In the centre of the shop sat a broad counter. In keeping with the general atmosphere of the place, the surface was piled high with scrap parts and tools, although they looked a little cleaner than what lay scattered around the floor. Behind that counter fluttered Watto - a flylike creature with a corpulent figure, a ragged set of wings, and an unpleasant expression on the wrinkled features of his greyish-blue face. Framed by scrap that cut unruly shadows across his countenance, he looked decidedly more ominous than he potentially was.

Padmé stood amongst the gloom at Qui-Gon’s side, feeling entirely out of her depth in such an unpolished environment. The various shops she had visited throughout her life had always carried with them a sense of order, cleanliness, and hospitality, and she had expected the same standards from Mos Espa’s retail offerings. She supposed that was naive of her, given Qui-Gon’s warnings, but the dry roughness of Mos Espa still felt strange to her, and her expectations were constantly colliding against the far harsher reality.

If there was something she could be grateful for, however, it was the shelter the shop provided from the heat. She had yet to drink a drop of the water in her bag, which she still considered stolen, and so the relentless heat continued to wear her down even when her head began to swim and her balance grew unsteady. The shadowed environment both disturbed her and offered her respite all at once, but she tried to focus on the latter for the sake of her sanity.   

When Watto took notice of their arrival, he looked at them with a snide sneer that made the hairs on the back of Padmé’s neck stand erect. “Good day to you.” With a flutter of his wings, Watto raised himself over the counter and hovered closer to them. By instinct, Padmé shifted a little closer to Qui-Gon. “What do you want?”

Qui-Gon folded his arms across his chest. “I need parts for a J-type 327 Nubian.”

“Ah yes, ah yes, a Nubian.” He curled his lips into a slurred smile. “We have lots of that. Come, come - the parts are out the back.” He jabbed a taloned thumb in the direction of the back door, and when Padmé peered through it from a distance, she could see an even greater selection of ship parts and other scrap piled up on the sand. 

“Thank you. If you don’t mind, my companion here would like to remain indoors,” Qui-Gon said, gesturing to Padmé. It irked her to hear him speak for her, but he wasn’t wrong - all she really craved was a chance to sit down for a few minutes and cool off. The last thing she wanted to do was to go back out into that sweltering heat and listen to talk of mechanics and engineering that she didn’t understand. “She has spent too long in the sun and needs to rest.”

That snide smile vanished from Watto’s face, as if Padmé needing to stay in the shop was some kind of inconvenience to him. He gave no direct reply to Qui-Gon’s request. Instead, he fluttered over to the back door, and he called outside at a volume that made Padmé jump. “Boy! Get in here, now!”

At length, a boy appeared in the doorway, framed in sunlight and dressed in rags. He didn’t say a word -  he simply stared at Watto through a curtain of lank dark hair, awaiting an explanation for his summoning.

“You’re slow. You took too long,” Watto grumbled. “And stop looking at me like that.”

“I was just finishing-” 

Watto cut him off by lurching quickly towards his face, and the way the newcomer flinched stirred a strange sort of ache in Padmé’s heart - that was no flinch of mere surprise. “I didn’t ask you to speak, boy.” He jabbed his finger in Padmé’s direction. “Keep an eye on the girl, make sure she doesn’t take anything. If I get back and find that something’s missing, you’ll be the one to pay for it.”

Padmé glanced up at Qui-Gon, and she was relieved to see that he looked just as perturbed by the exchange as she felt. Watto then turned away from the boy and beckoned for Qui-Gon to follow him outside to the scrapyard. After giving Padmé a brief, reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, Qui-Gon passed through the shop and out into the sunlit yard, and thus Padmé found herself alone with the flinching boy in rags.

Without a word, he made his way towards the counter and took a seat on it, promptly turning his gaze not towards Padmé, who he was supposed to be watching, but to the dusty floor below. Now that he was closer to her and not so obscured in the shadows cast by the sun, Padmé took the opportunity to get a better look at him.

He was young, roughly around the same age as her - fourteen, sitting on the cusp of young adulthood. Perhaps a little too tall for his age, and definitely a little too thin, with wrists fit to snap and hollow cheeks that gave him a harrowed appearance in spite of his youth. His hair was dark and unkempt, although the sun had bleached it a little paler than its natural shade, and it looked as though it needed a good wash. And his eyes were awfully dark and awfully sad as he kept them fixed on the sand dusted floor, hooded by heavy lashes.

What was most notable about his appearance, however, were the startlingly obvious signs of abuse he wore on his person. Livid scars circled his thin wrists, as if he’d spent too much time in too tight shackles that had rubbed his skin raw or torn it to shreds. Around his fingers he wore rings of laceration, so many cuts all at different stages of healing, some still red and fresh while others had darkened into scabs or settled into scars. Beneath his right eye and along his jaw sat mottled bruises, staining his suntanned skin with dark purples, sickly yellows, and murky browns. The bruised eye, it seemed, still could not open properly. But perhaps what disturbed her most was the heavy bruising that wrapped around his neck, still dark as if it had only recently been applied.

“You’re staring.”

Padmé blinked - the boy was looking at her, his gaze unwavering. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that, um…”

“What?”

Grimacing, Padmé raised her hand to her own unmarked eye. “Doesn’t that hurt?”       

“Doesn’t what hurt?” the boy asked, and then realisation dawned on him. He ducked his head back down, and if Padmé wasn’t mistaken she could see a slight redness blooming in his cheeks. “No. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“It doesn’t look fine,” she insisted. Feeling a little more at ease, she took a seat on a nearby table - which was just about the only clear surface she could find amongst the clutter. “How did you get all those bruises? Did you get into a fight?”

Surprisingly, the boy laughed, although there was little in the way of humour in it. “Let me guess - you’re not from around here, are you?”

Padmé thinned her lips, unsure of how much of the truth she could safely tell him. She supposed there wouldn’t be any harm in it - after all, he didn’t seem like he was in a position to do them any harm no matter how much information she gave him. A Trade Federation spy or a Hutt gangster knowing the truth would be one thing, but it might be near meaningless to a simple shop assistant. And it wasn’t as if they’d be sticking around Mos Espa for very long - they’d probably be halfway to Coruscant within the day, rendering this boy entirely insignificant. So, she didn’t see the harm in telling him at least a little bit - certainly not the whole truth, of course.

“No, I’m not from here. I come from a planet called Naboo,” Padmé said, and the boy looked up at her with curiosity flashing in his eyes.

“Naboo? I’ve never heard of it.” He sat up a little straighter, and he brushed a clump of hair out of his eyes. “What’s it like?”

As glimmering gold thoughts of home wafted into her mind, Padmé could not help but smile. “It’s beautiful. There are all these forests and lakes and fields that stretch on for miles, and our cities are even bigger. It’s always warm, a bit like here, but it’s different. It’s kind of… softer. And everyone’s always so kind to each other.”

“Sounds nice,” the boy murmured.

“I bet if you saved up enough you could visit one day,” Padmé said - but to her surprise, the boy shook his head. “Why not? Doesn’t Watto pay you well?”

“He doesn’t pay me at all. That’s not how it works.”

Padmé frowned. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

The boy answered with a shrug, and once more his gaze dropped to the ground. “Buying a slave is a lot cheaper than hiring a worker, I guess. And Watto bought me fair and square, so that’s just how it is.”

A cavernous pit opened up in Padmé’s stomach, and a thick lump of nausea curdled inside it. “You’re a slave?”

“Yeah. Don’t you have them on Naboo?”

The question sickened her even further, for the mere thought of using slave labour on Naboo was abhorrent to her. To deprive so many people of their fundamental rights, to treat them as no more than mindless machines for labour, to buy and sell their souls as if they were no more than objects - it was unthinkable. Yet here was this boy, speaking of slavery as if it was a natural and justifiable thread in the tapestry of generally accepted life. The more Padmé thought about it, the worse his situation became - those scars around his wrists, the way he flinched at Watto’s sudden movements, the subtle aura of dejection that hovered around his person like a shackled shadow. 

She shook her head vehemently. “Of course we don’t!”

The boy frowned, as if her objection to slavery was the odd thing, not his calm acceptance of it. “Really? Then who does all the work?”

“People who get paid!” Padmé hopped off the table and crossed over to the counter, and it pained her to see that ever so slight glimmer of instinctive fear emerge in his eyes at the speed of her movements. Her instinct was to take his hand to comfort him, but she stopped herself lest she startled him any further and settled for holding his gaze in an iron grip. “I am so, so sorry.”

For a moment, the boy let his lips hang parted, lost for words as if her vivid outrage at his situation had turned his world upside down. Eventually, he gave another shrug. “It’s not your fault.”

Padmé looked into those deep blue eyes of his and wondered what they’d seen, how many tears they’d cried, how many times they’d been swollen shut by an angry fist. She wondered if Watto was his only owner, or if he’d been passed around from person to person, valued only for the work he could do rather than the soul that sat nestled next to his heart. Odd, that such a stranger should have the power to move her so, but she could not help it - no matter who revealed this horrible truth to her, she would have mourned for them regardless. Yet in all her forlorn wonders, she had but one question for him, and it seemed of crucial importance that she asked it - for his answer would be vital to her understanding of just how much of his personhood had been denied to him.

“Please tell me you at least have a name.”

Again, the boy simply stared at her, processing the question with his good eye slightly widened. Then, to her surprise, a sun bright smile blossomed on his face, and a gentle laugh shook his bony shoulders. “Of course I do. It’s Anakin. Anakin Skywalker.”

Anakin Skywalker. Strange that a slave should have a name that suggested freedom and motion, but Padmé loved it - it suited him. “That’s a lovely name.”

Anakin leaned in a little closer towards her, his good eye sparkling. “What about you?”

“I’m Padmé A-” She froze and cleared her throat. “Padmé. Just Padmé.”

His smile did not fade, and she could see the gears whirring and turning inside his head as he recognised her fumbled introduction for the poor attempt at a lie it was. He could see right through her, she knew, but she did not sense any anger in him - he couldn’t care less that she’d concealed something from him, not really. 

The whir of wings and the quiet tap of footsteps drew Padmé’s attention to the back door - Watto and Qui-Gon had returned. The latter, however, was empty-handed, and he wore a grimace of frustration on his face as he quickly crossed the room to reach Padmé. “We’re leaving.”

Padmé scrambled away from the counter to follow him. “But what about the hyperdrive?”

“We’ll have to look elsewhere. He won’t accept credits.”

“What, he didn’t fall for your little tricks?” Padmé challenged in a lowered voice, levelling Qui-Gon with a narrowed glare that she hoped would convey her displeasure.

Qui-Gon simply carried on towards the exit and stepped out onto the street, the stiff set of his shoulders betraying his frustration. Padmé carried on after him - but before she crossed the threshold, she turned back to Anakin, who remained seated on the counter, watching her with a strange sort of desperation in his eyes. She offered him a smile. “It was nice meeting you, Anakin.”

He did not reply. Watto’s presence had muted him.

***

It soon became readily apparent that their trip to Mos Espa would be an extended one. According to Qui-Gon, Watto came from a species immune to Jedi mind trickery, and so when he’d tried the little manipulation act he’d pulled on the poor water woman, it hadn’t been of any use to him at all. In a roundabout way, Padmé was glad for it - his failure may have placed a greater distance between them and Coruscant, but she gained a distinct sense of satisfaction from knowing that there were still people out there who could resist the galaxy-consuming power of the force. 

In light of Qui-Gon’s failure, they’d traipsed their way across the entire spaceport in search of another junk shop that carried Nubian parts - and they’d had little in the way of luck. It seemed that Watto’s shop was the only place in all of Mos Espa that carried the specific parts they needed. Some shopkeepers apologised, claiming that they didn’t have much of a say in the parts they stocked due to the slapdash nature of their business, while others simply sent them away with a grunt and a sneer. That did not stop Qui-Gon, however, who pressed on with an impressive determination. So relentless was their quest that Padmé had eventually given in and drunk the stolen water, for the intensity of her dehydration was powerful enough to overthrow her moral quandaries and force her to follow her bodily instinct to sate her thirst. It was far from the crystal clear, almost sweet freshness of the water she was used to on Naboo - it had an almost earthy taste to it, lukewarm and slightly gritty as it passed down her throat. While the experience of drinking it made her wrinkle her nose, it quenched her thirst well enough, and so she saw little point in complaining about it. Especially not to Qui-Gon, who in his monkishness would never understand the natural desire for pleasure in all things. 

As the day wore on into evening, Padmé could at least be thankful that the twin suns burned a little gentler as they began their descent towards the horizon. By the time they’d been booted out of the last junk shop by a cantankerous old Twi’lek, the heat had settled to the point where it was almost comfortable, and the water had cooled her down and done wonders for her head. Even the wind was picking up, wafting a cool, refreshing breeze through the air. Her comfort, however, had little bearing on their predicament - with only Republic credits to their name and no Nubian parts to be found, Padmé and Qui-Gon found themselves right back where they started. In a grim way, it was almost funny that the one thing standing between Naboo and its freedom was a stubborn junk shop owner with a bad attitude.

“We’ll have to go somewhere else, won’t we?” Padmé asked. She and Qui-Gon had found a bench near the market district, and they’d occupied it for the last few minutes trying to think of a plan. “Somewhere that’ll accept Republic credits.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “The ship won’t have enough power to get us out of Tatooine’s orbit, let alone to another planet. Watto’s hyperdrive is our only option.”

“But we can’t afford it.”

“I’m aware of that,” Qui-Gon muttered. He reached beneath his poncho and pulled out a small communicator, a tiny little thing in his broad hand. “I’m going to call Obi-Wan. He may be able to find something on the ship we could sell. With any luck, we might be able to scrape enough peggats together to buy the hyperdrive.”

“Her Majesty’s wardrobe might get a nice price,” Padmé suggested, disappointed at the prospect of selling off her clothes but willing to let them go for the sake of their progress. They could be easily replaced once they’d dealt with the Federation. “You’d have to ask her permission, but I’m sure she’d understand.”

“I’ll pass that suggestion on to Obi-Wan.”

Qui-Gon rose from the bench and wandered away from the marketplace crowds, presumably for the sake of privacy. Padmé remained where she was, and she leaned back a little as she watched the hustle and bustle before her. Bathed in the vermillion glow of sunset, the aura of the marketplace had shifted quite significantly since her first visit there earlier in the day. There seemed to be more energy in their air, people running and rushing and kicking up sand behind their heels, stall owners urging their customers to make their purchases swiftly. Padmé frowned - she could sense a great deal of fear in their air, as if something was coming that had frightened the collective population of Mos Espa. Just as that sense of fear grew stronger, a gust of wind blew past, and Padmé shielded her eyes as granules of sand came flying at her face. Once the gust had passed, she moved her hand and noticed how people were starting to rush inside their homes, and the stall owners were already beginning to pack up their wares even though they still had customers waiting.

The wind was disturbing these people, that much was certain. But through all that fear, there was one tiny pinprick of difference - one mind harbouring idiosyncratic thoughts of relief, shining out amongst the panic of the wider populace. Padmé dispelled her own thoughts from her mind, and she called on the force to help her find this needle in a haystack, for she could feel it drawing closer, growing nearer with every second.

The force guided her gaze northward - and she saw Anakin emerging into the marketplace from the same street she and Qui-Gon had ventured down to reach Watto’s shop. It was he who carried those incongruous thoughts of relief, he who was not disturbed by the wind and the sand and the concern all around him. She watched him for a moment as he weaved his way through the crowds, keeping his head down as the wind whipped his hair around his face. The urge to approach him overtook her, motivated only by her enjoyment of his company. After glancing towards Qui-Gon to make sure he was still busy with his call to Obi-Wan, Padmé rose from the bench and hurried towards him.

“Anakin!” she called, and when he looked up at her, she beckoned him towards her with a wave. To her delight, he obeyed.

“Hi, Padmé,” he said, and he seemed so genuinely pleased to see her. Around his neck sat a thick bandanna and a set of goggles - he hadn’t been wearing those before. “I thought you’d be gone by now.”

“Why’s that?”

“Why else? There’s a sandstorm coming - I thought you’d have gone back to your ship to shelter from it,” he explained, and he had to raise his voice over the whistle of the wind. “It’s been brewing all day, couldn’t you feel it?”

Padmé shook her head. “You mean the wind? I thought it was just a breeze.”

“It was, but if it’s windy here, it’s pretty much guaranteed that there’ll be a sandstorm later.” He frowned. “So you’d better get back to your ship soon. You don’t want to get caught in it or anything, they can be pretty dangerous.”

Padmé thought of the distance between Mos Espa and the Royal Starship - it had taken them at least half an hour of non-stop walking to make the journey earlier that day. “How soon do you think the storm’s going to start? It’s a pretty long walk to where we landed.”

Anakin took a moment to think, glancing at his surroundings. “It’ll probably get really bad in about ten minutes, give or take. Will that give you enough time to get to your ship?”

“No,” Padmé murmured, and a rush of panic shot a dart of pain into her chest. 

“Oh. Well, some of the bars around here have rooms you can rent, but you’d have to pay for it, and Watto was complaining all afternoon about how you and your friend didn’t have any money,” Anakin said, a furrow deepening in his brow. “You guys really pissed him off, actually.”

Padmé barely had the time to register her surprise at Anakin’s casually crude language before she heard the bellow of her name called out across the market square. She turned to find Qui-Gon hurrying towards her, a strange combination of concern and relief colouring his countenance. “Padmé! There you are - you should have let me know before you went running off like that.”

“Sorry, I just wanted to say hi to Anakin,” she explained, gesturing towards her new friend.

“Ah - you’re Watto’s assistant, aren’t you?” Qui-Gon asked, and Anakin shrugged his shoulders.

“Kind of. I’m just his slave.”

Qui-Gon frowned, but he didn’t express the kind of outrage that Padmé would have hoped for. “I see.”

“Anyway, I was just saying to Padmé that you two had better find somewhere to shelter from the sandstorm - it’s gonna get bad any minute now.” As if on cue, the wind picked up in a whistling howl, and Padmé flinched and ducked her head to shield herself from the sharp sand that threatened to cut the skin of her face. This gust seemed to be the last straw - the crowds around them were fleeing without hesitation now, and stall owners began to leave their wares abandoned in favour of finding quick shelter. The orange glow of sunset grew dull as thick clouds of sand began to obscure it, and it wasn’t long before a dusky, dirty sort of darkness overwhelmed them.

Qui-Gon had to yell over the wind as he shielded his face with his hands. “Might you have some ideas of where we could shelter, Anakin?”

“I think you’re just gonna have to come to the encampment with me - come on!”

With that, Anakin set off at a brisk pace into the sand, and Padmé and Qui-Gon hastened to follow him. It was a surreal sort of journey, for Padmé could barely see two feet in front of her, and she only had Anakin’s sand dusted shadow to guide her. He weaved them through the thick and panicked crowds, and it seemed the closer they came to this encampment, the denser those crowds became. Whatever this place was, it certainly seemed like a popular choice of shelter - they almost had to fight through the throng to reach it, and Padmé felt a spark ripple through her when Qui-Gon gripped her hand so they would not be separated.

A simple, pale-clay building emerged from the dusty gloom, surrounded by dirty and desperate people all clamouring to get inside. With the quick whip of sand slicing at her cheeks and her lungs clogged with dust, Padmé thought the whole affair seemed remarkably apocalyptic. “What is this place?” she cried out, but she swiftly regretted it as the wind blew grit into her mouth and down into her throat. A coughing fit overwhelmed her, for she could feel tiny dunes building up in her throat.

She received no response to her query. Anakin, whose hand similarly sat in Qui-Gon’s grip, simply kept moving. He had long since pulled his goggles over his eyes and his bandanna over his mouth and nose, a precaution that Padmé desperately wished she had taken herself. She could barely see as she squinted to protect her eyes, and it was only a minor consolation that Qui-Gon seemed to be suffering in a similar fashion. But with Anakin to guide them, it wasn’t long before they finally found themselves inside, slipping through one of the less crowded entrances to the encampment building and finally halting inside the dingy stairwell beyond.

It was a significant shock to Padmé’s system to find herself no longer under the assault of the storm. They had paused for a moment to catch their breath and cough the sand out of their lungs, and although the stairwell was bustling with the motion of other shelter-seekers hurrying down the steps, it felt remarkably still in comparison to the chaos outside.

Anakin tugged the bandanna down from his face, pushed his goggles up onto his forehead, and ran his hand through his hair to shake the sand out of it. Compared to how tense and reserved he’d appeared at Watto’s shop, he looked almost languid - his body language loose, an easy smile decorating his bruised face. “That was fun.”

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

As much as Padmé wanted to participate in the delightful repartee, she could barely speak for the sand she’d swallowed - as she coughed, she could feel the tiny shards of grit clinging to the walls of her mouth, and single-minded desperation for water overwhelmed her. She had drunk everything in her bag, which she had long since abandoned, and now she could only wish that she’d had at least a modicum of restraint. In the daze of her coughing fit, she didn’t notice Anakin’s approach until he was right next to her. “Are you okay?”

She managed a croak - “Water.”

“Do you know if there’s food and drink here, Anakin?” Qui-Gon asked, and Anakin nodded.

“We should be able to get some if we get in quick. Let’s keep going.”

Their descent down the stairwell was brief, even as they had to push their way past all the other desperate souls who sought the same shelter. And at the bottom of the stairwell, they emerged into what Padmé could only describe as a nightmarish display of neglect.

The room was entirely underground, so there was little in the way of light beyond a pathetic smattering of flickering bulbs. But one did not need light to recognise the utter cruelty of the place - there was only one broad room, a little on the larger side, but certainly not big enough to contain the sheer mass of bodies that filled it. Everywhere she looked, there was a person, dirty and unkempt and cramped, doing all that they could to fight for a place to sleep or a scrap of something to eat. A writhing mass of bodies all in rags, some fighting, some weeping, and she could hear babies crying and old women wailing out in pain and men yelling at the top of their lungs for no other reason than to be heard. A ripe stench thickened the air - body odour and dirt and oil and blood, and Padmé’s stomach lurched with nausea. Her discomfort from the storm gave way to an overwhelming sense of unease - was this really to be their shelter for the night?

Anakin pressed onward into the mass, and an immense sorrow struck her when she realised just how easily he fit in with his dire surroundings. He was as dirty as they were, as rakishly thin, as beaten down and broken. That was when it hit her - these people were all slaves, just like him, and this den of woe was likely the only pathetic relief they had from the cruelty of their daily lives. When she lingered at the entrance instead of following Anakin, Qui-Gon turned back to her. “Are you coming?”

“This is horrible.”

Qui-Gon did not reply, but the regretful stillness of his face said everything. He took Padmé’s hand again and led her in Anakin’s footsteps, and just like that they were engulfed by the dejected throng, up close and personal with desolation itself. Padmé was well aware of the eyes that dragged down her body - the bright blue of her shirt was enough to make her stand out, but so too did her nourished figure and her clear skin and her noble posture. She ducked her head as guilt overwhelmed her. She had never felt so ashamed of herself in her life.

By some miracle, Anakin had managed to find them a space to bunk down for the night, consisting of a few thin bedrolls laid out in the far corner of the room. Why they hadn’t been taken already, Padmé wasn’t sure, but at the very least they were something to be grateful for.

“We can sleep on these,” said Anakin, and he tugged his goggles off and dropped them on one of the bedrolls as if to claim it. “You two stay here. I’ll go find us some dinner.”

“Please be careful,” Padmé urged, but Anakin had vanished into the crowd without acknowledging her plea.

Qui-Gon took a seat on one of the bedrolls, and he picked up Anakin’s goggles and started turning them over in his hands. “You’d better make yourself comfortable.”

“I don’t think that’s possible in a place like this,” Padmé muttered, but she settled down beside Qui-Gon anyway. The bedrolls were stained.

“Be grateful that we have any shelter at all,” Qui-Gon said, but it only made Padmé feel sicker.

“Grateful? Are you serious?” Padmé baulked. Close to them, a young woman sat against the wall with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms hanging limply by her sides, staring into the distance with eyes so vacant that it made Padmé wonder if she had a consciousness at all. “This is disgusting. People shouldn’t be forced to live like this.”

“Padmé.”

“We have to do something. These conditions, the legal slavery - it can’t go on. Surely we have the means to help these people?”

Qui-Gon released a low sigh. “We must maintain focus.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We are here for one purpose only - to find the right parts to repair the ship so we can get Her Majesty to Coruscant. Do not forget that the fate of your home relies on our success here.”

Padmé narrowed her gaze. “I don’t see why we can’t do both. Save Naboo and release the slaves.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Qui-Gon asked, and Padmé found herself shamefully lost for words. “Exactly. We do not have the resources nor the jurisdiction to aid these people. Tatooine is not part of the Republic.”

“But would you help them if you could?”

Qui-Gon held her gaze steady. “I would.”

She wasn’t expecting him to say it so confidently, so genuinely, so full of warmth. In that moment, he appeared to her as a man trapped in amber, desperate to move and yet caught in a rockhard stillness designed to preserve. No doubt the Jedi code kept him detained, the rules of their passionless peacekeeping holding him in chains. The Jedi never did anything if they were not asked to, but what if those in need had no voice to make the request? How were they to keep the peace for the voiceless? Qui-Gon had so clearly recognised the silent cries of the slaves around him, but his monastic shackles kept him bound and so he could not act.

“Maybe someday you might be able to,” Padmé said, shuffling a little closer to him. “Once we’ve liberated Naboo, you could petition the Senate to send aid.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “I wish it were that easy.”

“There must be a way.”

“There is. But it is not our place. You have your queen to serve, and there are countless worlds that have requested aid from-” he paused, glancing at the crowd around them. “From my people. They must be my priority, but trust me when I say that I feel for these people. I do, very deeply.” Qui-Gon glanced behind Padmé, and a small smile twitched at his lip. “Ah, here comes our friend.”

Padmé turned to follow Qui-Gon’s gaze, and sure enough, there was Anakin, clutching a pile of what looked to be flatbread in one hand and a single cup of water in another. When he took his seat on one of the bedrolls, he made quick work of passing the bread between them, but the cup he kept hold of. “Sorry, I could only get one cup. We’ll have to share.”

“That’s quite alright,” Qui-Gon assured him. “Let Padmé drink first.”

Anakin nodded, and he held out the cup for Padmé to take. When she moved to take it, her hand brushed against Anakin’s, and the surface of his skin was uneven to the touch, all those scars and cuts and grazes making bloody marks on his flesh. She smiled in thanks as she took the cup, and she sipped from it gingerly, not wanting to drink more than was fair. But it was gritty and dirty to taste, even more so than the bagged water from before, and it dawned on her that this water may not be safe to swallow. Not wanting to be rude, she took the risk of swallowing the tiny amount she’d sipped before setting the cup down on the dusty ground. She wasn’t sure if she should feel concerned or reassured when Anakin plucked it up next and took a healthy swig - either he was proving it safe to drink, or he was too desperate to care about the risk.

“So, what brings you to Mos Espa?” Anakin asked, looking between Padmé and Qui-Gon with interest. It was quite remarkable - even with one swollen shut, his eyes were practically glowing with curiosity.

“We’re here to repair our ship,” Qui-Gon explained. 

“So you must be on your way to somewhere else, then,” Anakin said. “What comes after Mos Espa?”

Padmé glanced up at Qui-Gon, hoping he’d be able to come up with some kind of convincing cover story. They could easily be overheard in a place like this, with eyes and ears everywhere. Qui-Gon picked up the water cup and inspected its contents. “Ryloth. We’re traders, and we have business there.”

“Oh, right.” Anakin busied himself with his flatbread, tearing it between his fingers. When he next spoke, he lowered his voice. “It’s interesting that you’re a trader. Because judging by that lightsaber you’ve got on your belt, I would’ve sworn you were a Jedi.”

Padmé, who’d just swallowed a mouthful of her bread, almost choked on it. She’d thought Qui-Gon had done a decent job of concealing his weapon beneath his layers of ponchos and robes - she certainly couldn’t see it. Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows. “You think I’m a Jedi, do you?”

“I know you’re a Jedi. I saw your lightsaber clear as day when you were in the shop, and Watto told me earlier that you’d tried to scam him with some kind of mind trickery. Only someone who can use the force would pull that kind of stunt.”

Surprisingly, a slow smile dawned on Qui-Gon’s face. “Perhaps I killed a Jedi and took his lightsaber from him.”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t explain the mind tricks.” Now Anakin turned to Padmé, and, against her better judgment, she was almost excited to find out what he’d managed to observe in her. “So you must be his padawan, right?” But before Padmé could respond, Anakin had already launched into another train of thought. “No, hang on, your hair is too long, and everyone knows that padawans have to chop all their hair off. But if you’re travelling with a Jedi, then you must be someone pretty important.”

If only he knew. Padmé let out an awkward laugh, unsure of what to say. “You’re pretty observant.”

“So, am I right?” Anakin asked, looking between them both expectantly. 

Qui-Gon’s smile had not shifted. “I can see there’s no fooling you. We’re on our way to Coruscant, the central system in the Republic, on a very important mission. Our ship was damaged, and we’re stranded here until we can repair it.”

“And that’s why it’s so important for you to get hold of that hypderdrive?”

“Precisely.”

Anakin leaned forward a little. “What’s your mission?”

“I’m surprised you can’t figure that out for yourself,” Qui-Gon remarked. “You’ve a keen enough eye for detail.”

“Yeah, but looking can only tell you so much. Let me guess - it’s top-secret?”

“Not necessarily, but we would prefer to keep it close to our chests,” Qui-Gon said. He turned his attention to his bread, and he began to tear it. “Now, since you know so much about us, I think it’s only fair that we should learn a bit about you. Tell me, Anakin, have you any family?”

Anakin leaned back and shook his head, and all of his curious lightness vanished in an instant. “No. Not anymore, anyway.”

“What happened?” Padmé asked, although she immediately regretted it. Separated from the manners and etiquette of Naboo society, she’d grown far too casual, far too free and uncaring with her words - she would have to be careful when she resumed the role of Queen Amidala. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer.”

“It’s fine. My parents died when I was pretty young - one of my mothers died when I was nine, and then the other when I was eleven.” For a moment, he seemed very distant indeed - and then the clouds over his countenance cleared, and he looked back up at Padmé as if they’d never been there at all. “I don’t have any siblings, so now it’s just me.”

“You’re all on your own?” Qui-Gon asked, frowning.

Anakin shrugged. “For the most part, yeah. People come and go a lot - sometimes you know why, and sometimes you don’t. A bit like you two. I guess you won’t be sticking around Mos Espa for much longer once this storm has cleared up?”

Padmé glanced down at the ground, pondering how she and Qui-Gon appeared through Anakin’s eyes. He had helped them without hesitation, spoken to them with nothing but kindness - why would he be so good to two people who were only going to leave him behind? Was he simply so desperate for connection that he’d try to strike up a friendship with even the briefest of strangers? She wondered how many transient people he’d reached out to, how many times he’d been left behind, forgotten. 

She wasn’t so sure she wanted to forget him. Not when he’d been so kind.

“We can’t leave here until we’ve got our hands on that hyperdrive,” Qui-Gon explained. “So you may have to put up with us for a little longer.”

Anakin grinned. “That doesn’t seem so bad to me. And hey, if you stick around long enough, you might get to catch the Boonta Eve Classic.”

Padmé tipped her head. “The what?”

“It’s a podrace that the Hutts put on every year,” Anakin explained. “It’s Boonta Eve in a few days.”

Qui-Gon blew out a sigh. “Podracing, eh? I’ve seen a few races on Malastare - very fast, very dangerous,” he said.  

“It can’t be that bad,” Padmé said. “Otherwise people wouldn’t do it.”

“I’m guessing you don’t have podracing on Naboo?” Anakin asked, and Padmé shook her head.

“Racing isn’t something we really do,” Padmé explained, thinking of concert halls and art galleries and opera houses. “Our entertainment tends to be a bit slower.”

“Well, podracing isn’t slow, that’s for sure,” Anakin said. His whole demeanour brightened, his almost boyish excitement written plainly on his person. “Pods are some of the fastest vehicles in the whole galaxy. There’s no rules against weapons on the track, so it can be kind of a bloodbath sometimes, and the tracks themselves are always full of obstacles so people crash all the time. I’ve seen races where barely half the racers make it out alive.”    

Padmé wasn’t sure she understood the appeal of this sport. It seemed to her like nothing but an excuse for cruelty and carnage, and she hated to think what kind of society would take joy in such unadulterated violence. She certainly couldn’t understand Anakin’s glee as he recounted the bloody passtime. “That sounds horrible. Why do people do it if it’s so dangerous?”

Anakin shrugged. “People like the thrill of it - and in a place like this, sometimes chasing a thrill is all people have to keep them going. That’s why I signed up for the Classic, anyway.”

Her jaw dropping, Padmé gazed at Anakin in shock. “You’re going to race?”

“Yeah. Is that a problem?”

“It does seem a little reckless,” Qui-Gon advised with the gentle yet firm tone of a father warning his child. “Especially for someone as young as you.”

“There’s no age limit on podracing. Some of my old owners used to enter me into races to win some cash, and my age was never a problem then,” Anakin protested. “I’ve even got my own pod - well, I’m borrowing it, but still. I’ve got one.”

Plagued by visions of Anakin lying crushed under the smouldering wreckage of a pod, Padmé shook her head in disbelief. “This isn’t right. I mean, you can’t do this - Watto wouldn’t let you, surely?” She couldn’t believe she was drawing on the authority of a slave owner to strengthen her position, but she was so desperate to stop Anakin from throwing his life away that she’d grasp onto anything she could.

“I’m not going to let Watto stop me. He can punish me all he wants for disobeying him, but there’s no way he can hurt me worse than he already has,” Anakin said, defiant in his unwavering resolve. The discomfort in Padmé’s stomach grew tighter and tighter. “I just want to feel like I’m my own person, even if it’s just for one morning. I don’t think that’s such a bad thing to want.”

Padmé gaped at him like a fish out of water, stunned into silence by the unspoken horror of Anakin’s life, of how dreadful his every day reality must be for him to genuinely see risking his life in a podrace as a means of improving it. She could only watch as Qui-Gon reached out to rest his hand on Anakin’s shoulder.

“You’ll have to promise us you’ll be careful, then,” he said, giving Anakin’s shoulder a small squeeze before pulling away. Padmé’s eyes widened as Qui-Gon’s acceptance of the matter shocked her into action.

“You’re going to let him?” she protested. “But-”

“There’s no sense in trying to change a mind that’s long been made up,” he said, and he took on a tone of worldly, sanctimonious wisdom that made her want to throttle him.

“I’ll be fine, Padmé,” Anakin insisted, although she found little comfort in his words. “I’ve raced before, so I know what I’m getting into. And I’ve been practicing when I can get away.” He paused for a moment, contemplating. “Actually, there might be something in it for you guys if I race.” 

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“There’s a cash prize for the winner - one hundred and fifty peggats. That’d be enough for the hyperdrive you want, right?”

Padmé’s heart plunged into her stomach. “Oh, Anakin, no-”

“It would be more than enough,” Qui-Gon said.

“So if I win, you can have the money.” His gaze dropped for a moment, and he started picking at the skin around his thumbnail. “Otherwise, I’d probably have to hand it over to Watto, and I’d much rather give it to you two. That mission of yours seems pretty important.”

“That’s very generous of you,” said Qui-Gon. “Although I wouldn’t want to take all of your winnings from you. That hardly seems fair.”

Anakin kept his gaze to the ground. “Don’t worry about me - I wouldn’t be able to use it anyway. I want you to have it.”

“Assuming you even win in the first place,” Padmé pointed out. “Everyone who’s entered this race will want to win too, and if podracing is as dangerous as you say it is, they’re going to do everything they can to cross that finish line. You said people can bring weapons in, so what’s going to stop someone from blowing you sky high just so they can get ahead? This is ridiculous. Why are you risking your life for us when you barely know us?”

Glancing up, Anakin locked his good eye with hers, the iris coloured with the deepest, darkest blue of midnight. 

“Well, it’s not much of a life to risk, is it?”

Chapter Text

The days leading up to the Boonta Eve race felt like some kind of personal purgatory.

For those three endless days, a trinity of fears clouded Padmé’s mind and held her back from sleep, from restfulness, from serenity. There was Naboo and the distant cries of her people, yearning for their queen to return so that she might save them from their subjugation and restore their home to its former state of beauty. There was Anakin, who had been nothing but kind to her in the days leading up to his near inevitable execution by thrill seeking podracers, who she only ever saw in the encampment - the dirty tomb of the living dead, the fellow slaves he called his transient family.

And then there was that dark nightmare presence, ebbing and flowing in and out of her awareness, there but not there all at once. She knew that Qui-Gon could feel it too - sometimes he would grow distant, his eyes wandering and voice trailing into nothingness, and that stillness always came in tandem with the shadows that clawed at the corners of her eyes. The force would arch around them in fearful self-defence, for it too knew that this presence was not to be trusted, that it was an invader on its incorporeal soil. Yet, despite the strength of those feelings, neither Padmé nor Qui-Gon could entice the source of that darkness into the light of understanding, and so it hovered like an unholy mystery always, always, always.

Sometimes, Padmé wondered if it was simply a manifestation of the shared misery of the slaves, their grief and sorrow made palpable in the force. Perhaps it was that sheer absence of joy that made the air so tense and sluggish with shadows. 

But on the morning of the dreaded podrace, she shielded herself from that darkness and chose instead to focus on her friend, who had only grown dearer to her in the brief passage of time they had spent in each other’s company.

Naturally, Mos Espa’s Grand Arena was unthinkably crowded, with racers and audience members alike coming in droves to watch the annual display of carnage. Determined to see Anakin and wish him well, Padmé had taken it upon herself to drag Qui-Gon through those maddened crowds, paying little attention to his protests as they fought through the sea of bodies to reach the main hangar. Supposedly, that was where the racers were preparing, and that was where Anakin would be waiting.

“I can’t imagine it will be pleasant in there, Padmé,” Qui-Gon warned her as they wormed their way through the crowd. “I doubt the other racers will treat you as well as our friend has.”

“I don’t care,” Padmé said, caring little for how petulant or defiant she sounded. “I’m not letting Anakin go out there without letting him know that I’ll be cheering for him.”

A small smile dusted Qui-Gon’s lips. “I’m sure he knows that already.”

As the arched gate of the main hangar came into view, the crowds began to thin, and Padmé led them into a small clearing near the gate. “Maybe. But I want to tell him.”

“You fear for his safety, don’t you?” Qui-Gon asked, taking on that warm and fatherly countenance that Padmé couldn’t help but feel comforted by. As her fondness for Anakin had grown over these last few days, so too had her fondness for Qui-Gon - he’d hardly seemed like a Jedi at all during their time in Mos Espa. 

Trusting him, Padmé nodded. “I just don’t want him to get hurt. I wish he wasn’t doing this.”

“I understand,” Qui-Gon reassured her. “But this is his decision, and one he made long before we arrived. It’s his life to live, Padmé.”

“But now he’s doing it so he can win that prize money for us - it’s different. I don’t like it.”

“You would take responsibility for any harm that would come to him?”

Bearing the lives of others on her shoulders was something Padmé had grown used to as queen. It was only natural to her. “I would. And I should, shouldn’t I? Because it would be my fault-”

“Padmé.” Resting his hand on her shoulder, Qui-Gon looked into her eyes. “That way of thinking leads only to self-destruction. Let Anakin be responsible for his own life. It isn’t yours to control.”

Qui-Gon’s words meant little to her - she had planted the seed of guilt and responsibility in her mind from the moment Anakin had offered to give them his prize money, and it had taken so solid a root in her psyche that it refused to shift even an inch. It was the only way she could feel about this horrid situation, for could she not have tried harder to dissuade Anakin from racing in her name? But Qui-Gon would not accept her thoughts as true. He would only try to cut her heart and her sympathy away from her friend, and so she kept her feelings to herself, confident that her guilt was justified.

They passed through the large clay arch and into the main hangar, where the atmosphere was distinctly less crowded but just as alive with frenetic energy. Racers of all sizes and species hurried around the room, calling out orders to those that surrounded them, desperately making the final adjustments to their pods before the race commenced. The deafening, grinding sounds of tools and engines activating cluttered the air, so loud that Padmé had to cover her ears with her hands when she first arrived. A wide variety of pods lined the hangar, some looking flimsy and brittle while others looked like they had more structural integrity than the Trade Federation’s armoured droid transportation tanks. They were vehicles like Padmé had never seen before - a cockpit and two engines connected by a thick yet flexible cable, and nothing much else to them. Accustomed to the sturdy and comprehensive designs of Nubian crafts, Padmé found herself shocked at how barebones they all looked.

That there seemed to be little in the way of safety precautions built into the vehicles did little to settle her fears.

“Do people really race in these?” Padmé asked, and her heart leapt into her throat when she caught sight of a pod with what looked like a blaster built into its cockpit.

“They do,” Qui-Gon confirmed. “They’re designed for speed, not safety, I’m afraid.”

“This is barbaric.”

“Yes, you do get that impression, don’t you?” Qui-Gon said, surprisingly flippant. “Now come, let’s find Anakin.” 

They pressed on through the chaos, and fortunately everyone was far too occupied with their own preparations to pay any attention to them. Their distraction made for a relatively smooth trip towards Anakin, who they spotted in the far corner, crouched down and making some final adjustments to the left engine of his pod. It looked distressingly small and flimsy, with none of the frightening modifications or weapons that adorned the pods of his competitors, and Padmé got the impression that whoever built it had tried to cut as many costs as possible in its construction. If Anakin was to win this race as he intended, it seemed he planned to do so by speed and skill alone.

“Well, Anakin, it looks like you were able to give Watto the slip, then,” Qui-Gon said, announcing their arrival.

Anakin glanced up in surprise, and his face lit up at the sight of them. “Yeah, I just about managed. He’ll figure out I’m gone soon enough, but hopefully I’ll be out on the track by the time he comes looking for me. But it was good of you both to come, anyway.”

“We weren’t going to let you go out there without wishing you luck,” Padmé said.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’m going to need luck,” Anakin said, and he hopped over one of the cables and approached them. “Now that I’ve actually got something to race for, I’ll be more motivated to win than ever.”

Padmé sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“Padmé’s worried for you,” Qui-Gon explained, and as an inexplicable embarrassment burned in her cheeks, Padmé was overtaken by the sudden need to find somewhere to hide. 

“Hey, I’ll be okay,” Anakin said, but it didn’t do much to persuade her. “I’ve entered other races before and come out just fine. This one isn’t going to be any different.”

“You can’t know that.”

For a moment, a glimmer of hesitation flickered in Anakin’s expression, and Padmé’s heart thudded hard in anticipation - had she enticed enough fear out of him to make him rethink this shameless display of recklessness? His earlier words echoed in her memory: “Well, it’s not much of a life to risk, is it?” - had she, through the simple power of caring, proven otherwise? Maybe, just maybe, her concern for him had opened his eyes to the value of his existence, that his life was more than just something to be bought and sold and thrown away on a whim. 

But Anakin turned back to his pod, unconvinced. Padmé watched as he made his way back towards the engine he’d been tinkering with earlier, and frustration rose up through her like hot steam from a geyser - what was it going to take? And why oh why did she care so much?

Padmé clambered over the cable and approached the engine herself, and she planted her feet firmly on the ground next to where Anakin now crouched. “Anakin.”

“What?”

“Stop it. Is it so hard for you to believe that there might be some people out there who actually care about you?”

Anakin glanced up at her, narrowing his eyes. “Yes, actually. Now, do you mind? I’m trying to concentrate.”

“So you think I don’t care?” Padmé asked.

“I don’t know.” Anakin paused, his hand hovering over the toolbox that sat at his feet. “If you do, I don’t know why. We’ve only known each other for what, three days? And you’re just going to leave anyway.”

At any other moment, it might have broken her heart to hear him speak like that. But now, Padmé was far too frustrated to notice. “If that’s the case, then I don’t know why you suddenly decided you were going to win this race just so you could hand the money over to us. You’d only known us for less than a day by the time you made that promise - so why do you care, then?”

“Because if I’m going to die in this damn race, I at least want to die trying to do something good.” Anakin rose to his feet, and he looked down at Padmé with an intensity that she wasn’t expecting. “I don’t know what this mission of yours is, but I know that the Jedi are good. So whatever it is you’re doing, you must be trying to help people because that’s what Jedi do. You say I don’t think my life means anything, and I don’t, but if I do this, I can make it mean something. Let me help you, Padmé. I just want to help.”

His goodness would be the death of her. Stunned into silence, Padmé could only shake her head - not because she disagreed with him, but because she could think of no other way to express her wish that things could be different. Words caught sticky in her throat and nervous nausea lurched in her stomach, and all she wanted to do was take hold of Anakin’s hand and drag him somewhere safe, somewhere he could do his good deeds and live to see the beautiful consequences. 

And then, as if her sinking sense of horror couldn’t get any worse, an all too familiar voice cried out across the hangar. “You disobedient womp rat! Do you really think you can just steal my pod and get away with it?”

Padmé turned to look behind her, and her heart sank at the sight of Watto making a beeline straight for Anakin, fiery anger burning bright and all-consuming in his eyes. She glanced back up to Anakin just in time to see the blood drain from his face, to see his jaw tighten as he clenched his teeth. Qui-Gon shifted next to them, and he leaned over to whisper near Anakin’s shoulder.

“I thought you said that you’d borrowed this pod?” he asked. 

Anakin swallowed. “I did borrow it. I just… didn’t ask for permission before I took it.”

Qui-Gon was not impressed. “I see.”

Without thinking, Padmé grabbed hold of Anakin’s wrist as Watto drew closer, for she needed him to know that he would not be alone in this confrontation.

“You bastard, stealing my equipment out from under me,” Watto growled once he finally came face to face with Anakin, who was holding his ground as best as he could - but Padmé could feel him trembling. “You’d better get yourself back to the workshop right this second or else I’ll beat you til you see stars, boy!”

Anakin lifted his chin a little. “You can’t stop me from racing. My mind’s made up.”

“Well I don’t give a damn about what you want to do - you’re my property and you’ll do as you’re told. Now get back-”

“No.”

Watto fluttered up closer to Anakin’s face, so close that Padmé could see his breath blowing breezes into Anakin’s dark hair. “No? Do you really think you have the right to say that to me?” 

Padmé could hold back no longer. “He has every right to say what he likes!”

“Hey, this is none of your business, you nosy shrew.”

Suddenly, Anakin lurched forward, and Padmé lost her grip on his wrist. “Don’t talk to her like-”

Watto cut him off with a hard, fast slap to the face, and the sharp, talon-like nails at the end of his fingers dragged through his cheek and left three deep, bloody gouges through his flesh. Anakin stumbled backwards at the force of it, and Qui-Gon was quick to catch him lest he fall. He levelled Watto with a narrow-eyed glare, even as he released Anakin to nurse his brand new wound in peace. “I wouldn’t try that again, if I were you.”

“You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do with my own property,” Watto sneered. “But I can see I’m wasting my time here. I’ll let the boy race - but he’s not going to win.” He fluttered closer to Anakin, who couldn’t bear to bring his steadily reddening eyes to meet his owner’s as he clutched his bleeding cheek. “You’re setting yourself up for failure. Either someone kills you on the track, or I take you back to the shop afterwards and kill you there. So don’t act like you’re doing anything to help yourself.”

With that, Watto made his exit, and all the other racers and crewmembers who’d been watching the confrontation turned their attention back to their own business - but their whispers carried on the air. It sickened Padmé, to see them treating such misery like common gossip. She leaned closer to Anakin, making an effort to look into his eyes rather than gawk at the wound on his cheek. “Are you alright?”

Anakin thinned his lips. “I’m fine.”

Padmé did not believe him, and so she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close against her, hoping to comfort him until his words could reflect the truth.

***

It was a miracle that Padmé and Qui-Gon managed to find seats in the stands at all, for it seemed that all of Mos Espa and beyond had turned up to watch the annual race. Finding a few empty seats near the back of the stands, they took their place and sat down - and Padmé could not help but feel jealous of those who had managed to nab a seat in the shade. The morning sun was brighter than ever, and she raised her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes as she peered down towards the course itself. With the distance between themselves and the track, and the sea of bodies that crowded the expansive space, it was hard to get a good look at the racers and their pods. She could only be thankful for the large viewing screens that were littered near the stands, displaying the live feed from cameras that hovered around the racers closer to the ground. But even from this distance, she could tell that Anakin was out of place.

“The other racers, they’re so…” she murmured, pausing as she tried to think of the right word. “They’re so much older.”

“They will be,” Qui-Gon said, watching the viewscreen carefully. The camera was currently focusing on a grinning Dug, waving to the crowd as if everyone had turned up solely to see him. “It’s rare to find a newcomer in a race like this.”

Padmé frowned. “Anakin did say he’d raced before.”

“Not in anything like this, I’d imagine,” Qui-Gon said. “Ah, look, there he is.”

Padmé paid close attention as the camera swivelled around to focus on Anakin, who stood by his pod with his arms folded, his gaze downcast. Compared to the other racers, who were behaving with a similar pride and enthusiasm to the Dug, Anakin cut a sullen figure, and the livid red gouges in his cheek and all the old bruises yet to heal did nothing to help his case. Padmé swallowed - based on attitude alone, his chances of winning seemed very slim indeed.

“Qui-Gon,” she murmured, and the man in question turned to look at her. “It’s too late to stop him, isn’t it?”

“I’d say so.”

“I just can’t stop thinking about what Watto said before, about hurting him - it frightened me. I think it frightened him too. Do you think he was serious when he said he’d kill him?”

Qui-Gon shook his head, a clear distaste for Watto showing in the grimace on his lips. “I have the feeling that Watto is all talk. Slaves may be cheap, but it takes time to find an auction, and even then, there’s no guarantee that a suitable slave will be up for sale. Watto doesn’t strike me as a man who’d want to waste his time chasing down auctions.”

“So you think he’ll let Anakin live based on that?”

“I certainly hope so.” Qui-Gon leaned back in his seat, watching as the camera panned away from Anakin and onto another racer. He then turned back to Padmé, a furrow in his brow. “Tell me - are you alright?”

Padmé raised her eyebrows. The voice of the race’s commentator started blaring through the tinny speakers scattered throughout the stands, but she was so caught off guard by Qui-Gon’s question that she paid it no mind. “Me?”

“I understand that a lot of what we’ve seen here has been distressing for you,” Qui-Gon elaborated. “I’ve been negligent in checking up on you.”

“Oh, right. Thank you.” She hesitated for a moment, uncertain of how much she really wanted to confide in him. As fond of him as she had become, she still couldn’t quite shake the lifetime’s worth of distrust she’d built up against the Jedi - but she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to treat him as she might a friend. There was quite a lot she wanted to get off of her chest, after all. “I think I just want to go home. Tatooine, Mos Espa - it’s nothing like Naboo. It’s all so cruel here. There is a major violation of individual rights playing out right under these people’s noses, and nobody seems to care.”

“It is unfortunate,” Qui-Gon agreed.

“It’s worse than unfortunate,” said Padmé, folding her arms across her chest. “I mean, you saw what happened before in the hangar. They all just watched like it was some kind of spectacle. I can only imagine what would’ve happened if we hadn’t been there to stand up for him.” She glanced back at Qui-Gon. “But it’s more than just Anakin, isn’t it? There are slaves like him all over the planet.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “There are. And I know you want to help them, but there’s precious little we can do about it - as I’ve told you before, we have no jurisdiction here.”

His dedication to the limits of his jurisdiction reminded her of exactly why she had come to distrust the Jedi. If they were the supposed peacekeepers of the galaxy, then surely that responsibility should extend beyond the reach of the Republic? “So, you ask me if I’m alright, then I tell you that I’m not, just for you to tell me that it’s impossible to do the one thing that’ll make me feel better? I don’t understand you.”

He gave no response, preferring instead to focus his full attention on the race which, judging by the roar of the crowd and the excitement of the commentator, was about to begin. After glowering at Qui-Gon one last time, Padmé cast her frustrations away - right now, all she wanted to do was focus on Anakin and the race. If she thought any more about Naboo or the Jedi or the force or the ever-present darkness still hanging in the air, she might go mad.

She had to think about Anakin. Anakin Skywalker. Anakin Skywalker who was about to risk his life in a near-deadly podrace. Anakin Skywalker who was taking that risk just to feel something. Anakin Skywalker who had shaped that risk into something worthwhile - for her, for a cause he knew nothing about, for his faith in the goodness of the Jedi Order. Anakin Skywalker who, no matter the outcome of the race, would end the day beaten and bloody and broken and alone.

She wanted to be sick.

The camera panned across the track, giving the audience a full view of the racers as they began to climb into their pods. Some of them took the opportunity to taunt their competitors, yelling out insults or reaching out in supposedly playful violence. The camera, it seemed, had little time for Anakin, who Padmé only caught a glimpse of before he boarded his vehicle - it looked as though the Dug was trying to say something to him, no doubt something insulting, but Anakin paid him no mind. Judging from what she could see of the look on his face, he was already so demoralised that no amount of taunting would change a thing. 

Once all the racers had boarded their pods, the crowd slowly settled into near dead silence, and Padmé could feel their anticipation electrifying the air. She kept her eyes fixed on Anakin’s pod, and she was grateful that the blue and white stripes on its body made it fairly distinct from the others - it was, after all, the only one she really cared about. 

Time slowed down to an unbearable degree as the audience waited with bated breath for the race to begin, and the revving of engines and the countdown from the commentator seemed to pass through the soundscape as if through treacle. Padmé kept her breathing as deep and as steady as she could, and in the limbo between stillness and motion, she could feel the force warping around her as it responded to her anxiety. Qui-Gon sat like a statue at her side, although she could follow his eyeline to see that he too only had eyes for Anakin’s pod. She wondered if it was Anakin or the peggats he could offer that Qui-Gon cared so dearly for.

A sudden crack, and the arena burst into life. The commentator cried out through tinny speakers, and the entire crowd erupted into whooping, cheering chaos as the racers flashed into motion. In barely a blink of an eye, they’d vanished from the starting line and begun their mad dash around the track - although one poor soul had stalled, a large headed creature who looked to be having a temper tantrum as their crew arrived to bring the vehicle to life. Under any other circumstances, it might have been funny. 

But with the racers now vanished from immediate sight, Padmé turned her gaze to the viewscreen. The cameras had flown off in the same direction as the racers, documenting their every move as they wound their way through the track. She could not see Anakin clearly, which concerned her, but the sight of the first obstacle they were to face swiftly drew her attention - a valley littered with towering, red rock pillars, dotted haphazardly across the landscape. The crowd roared at the thrill when, already, one of the racers collided directly with one of the pillars, and their pod went up in an awful display of smoke and fire. Their revelry only made Padmé’s nervous nausea intensify - but when she saw a flash of Anakin’s pod speed past the wreckage, safe and sound, she wasn’t sure if she should feel disgusted by her own relief.

The next obstacle came in the form of a narrow canyon, barely wide enough to fit one pod in it, let alone the thirty-odd racers still left in the game. Padmé leaned forward, watching intently as the first of the competitors passed through the thin gap in the rock, some small enough to fit without any fancy maneuvering, others angling their pods to fly on a diagonal lean. But shortly after Anakin made his safe entrance into the canyon, the bulky pod at his rear came to a violent end - neither small enough to fit through nor quick enough to angle itself, it simply crashed into the canyon walls with a shrieking crunch. The two engines burst out into an inferno, catching both cockpit and racer alight as it sped through the canyon. Padmé could only imagine the scent of burning flesh, or the sound of the racer’s dying screams as they met their fiery demise. 

That racer was not the canyon’s only victim. The camera Padmé was watching zoomed in on two racers as they made their approach, both flying at the exact same speed, both determined to make it into the canyon first. But their determination was their downfall, as they both went speeding into the canyon at the exact same time. They collided, leaving nothing but fire in their wake.

Four dead, and the race had barely been going for five minutes.

“How many more are going to die before this is over?” Padmé murmured, and Qui-Gon shook his head.

“This is only the beginning.”

Padmé swallowed down her nausea and kept her gaze fixed on the cameras - but the images on the viewscreen had descended into inky black darkness, and her breath caught in her throat. “What happened? Are the cameras broken?”

“I think they’ve entered a cave.”

“How are they supposed to see where they’re going?” Padmé asked.

“They’re not.”

Just as she turned her gaze back to the blackened viewscreen, a sudden barrage of green blaster fire set the cave alight with an eerie glow. But those brief strobing flashes weren’t enough to give Padmé a clear idea of what was going on - all she could make out was the face of the shooting racer, contorted with glee as it phased in and out of green and black, and the occasional flash of other pods desperately trying to avoid the wild blaster fire. Some of their efforts were fruitless, as the blaster bolts connected with their engines and set them alight, sending racers careening in uncontrollable spirals towards the cave wall. That Padmé could not see exactly which pods had fallen distressed her to no end, for there was no telling whether Anakin lay amongst the many racers now crushed in the darkness.

One of the cameras exited the cave before the racers, putting it in an excellent position to catch sight of the escaping survivors. Seeing a flash of blue and white stripes fly past the camera, Padmé felt an immense weight lifting off her chest. Anakin had made it. He wasn’t quite in first place, but not far from it - around six or seven pods had flown out ahead of him. The camera lingered on Anakin for a while, exposing the viewers to the various scorch marks that now scarred the body of his pod. The blaster fire had grazed the cockpit, but he was racing faster than ever. Padmé gave a low sigh, tentatively glad that her friend was still in one piece.

The racers now faced a vast expanse of dunes, the track broadening out wider than ever before. Padmé watched as they spread themselves out across the expanse of sand, and for a moment it seemed that the violence had come to an end.

“They’ll just be focusing on speed now, won’t they?” she asked, craning her neck so she could keep her gaze fixed on Anakin for as long as possible.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Qui-Gon said with a shake of his head. “If nature isn’t going to offer any obstacles, I’m sure they’ll create some of their own.”

Just as the words left Qui-Gon’s lips, the camera focused in on the Dug, who was currently sailing along in first place. With a snide grin on his reptilian snout, the Dug started to flick a few switches on the console of his pod. The two heavy duty blasters fixed to the side of the cockpit roared into life, and they swung around on a pivot so that their barrels were aiming backwards at those that were tailing him. Padmé gasped. “But he’s in the lead! He doesn’t need to hurt anyone, he’s already winning!”

“And he’ll do anything to keep it that way,” Qui-Gon said.

Biting her lip, Padmé kept her terrified gaze fixed to the screen. The Dug began to laugh as he fired off the first two blasts - one of which missed the racer it targeted, while the other collided with its intended victim. The explosion was so immense that Padmé could hear it echoing through the air even from where she sat, and it wasn’t long before she could see the faint column of smoke rising in the distant horizon. Several pods went flying past the wreckage on the screen - including Anakin, who now found himself in a steady fifth place. 

“He’s doing well,” Qui-Gon observed. “Watto’s pod must be pretty good.”

Padmé swatted him on the arm. “Don’t jinx it!”

The Dug fired again - and this time, one of the blasts shot out directly towards Anakin. Padmé’s heart lodged firmly in her throat, but Anakin jerked his pod out of the way just in time to narrowly avoid the oncoming bolt. He then picked up the speed, the camera focusing on him for a moment - long enough for Padmé to see him thin his lips in grim determination, his eyes unreadable behind the thick goggles he wore to protect them. The Dug fired on Anakin again, but once more he made his narrow escape. Another camera honed in on the Dug, his frustration apparent - that someone barely out of boyhood could escape him was clearly not something he had planned for. No doubt he’d written Anakin off as a simple kill, and Padmé felt a strange sense of satisfaction in knowing that Anakin had proved him wrong. So far, at least.

Eventually, the Dug had to abandon his tactic of violence when the track began to narrow once more. Out of the corner of her eye, Padmé could see him and his pod in the flesh, a distant speck of orange speeding around the corner towards the finish line. She sunk back in her seat and blew out a sigh.

“I suppose this means Anakin lost, then,” she said, hopelessness and relief fighting a war within her heart.

But Qui-Gon shook his head. “Not necessarily. They have to go around the track twice more. Anakin will have every chance to get ahead.”

“Twice more?” Padmé repeated, shooting up from her slouch. “You mean they have to do this three times?”

“That’s right. It’s actually rather short for a podrace. The races I saw on Malastare went up to seven laps.”

Padmé turned her gaze back to the track, watching as Anakin sped past the finish line and into his second lap. True, the extra laps would give him more of an opportunity to get ahead, but the longer he stayed in the race, the more opportunities he would have to get himself killed. Only the best racers were left in the game now, the ones with the quickest reflexes, the ones with the greatest chances of winning based on their skill. The kind of racers that would stop at nothing to ensure their spot in the lead and cared little for the amount of blood they’d spill in the process. Anakin’s loss would be their gain.

This time, the racers wove through the field of pillars with precision. Padmé supposed they’d memorised a safe route on the first go round - Anakin certainly had, for he was following the exact same path through the pillars as he’d taken in the first lap. Smartly, he was keeping his distance from the others, some of whom were already readying their weapons or trying to distract their competitors. 

Without warning, the sound of a sudden blast ripped through the air, and Padmé watched the screen with horror as an explosion pulverised the base of a pillar into dust. It plunged to the ground, knocking another pillar down in its descent, creating a domino effect of destruction. That was only the beginning - more blasts sounded, more pillars fell, and the camera panned up to the wall of the canyon that surrounded the rocky valley. A mass of brown robed figures loomed on the edge, crying out in an incomprehensible, guttural language and brandishing long rifles, their faces covered by ragged masks. 

“Who are they?” Padmé asked, unable to take her eyes off of the newcomers. “Did they just blow up the pillars?”

“I suspect so,” Qui-Gon said, narrowing his eyes as he watched them on the screen. “I believe they’re called Tusken Raiders. Others call them the Sand People.”

“What are they doing here?”

“As I understand it, this planet used to belong to them. All of this land was theirs,” Qui-Gon said. “I suspect they’re putting up a fight to get it back.”

Padmé frowned. “So they’re protesting?”

“I believe so. They’ll do anything to make themselves heard.”

The crowd roared with excitement as some of the Tusken Raiders began to scale the canyon walls, descending on the track to wreak more havoc. The cameras panned over to the racers, some of whom had since been crushed by the falling pillars or caught in the blasts. It was with a sinking feeling that Padmé realised that she hadn’t been paying attention to Anakin at all. For all she knew, the Tusken attack could have already reduced him to a bloody pile of pulp and bone.

But the Tusken Raiders remained relentless. Those who had descended down the canyon wall were now running straight into the race themselves, heading for the pods that had slowed down once the attack started. They attempted to leap onto them, and those that succeeded wasted no time in attacking the racers inside. The Tuskens who had remained on the wall had long since readied their rifles and were now firing into the track, and some of them successfully managed to hit the engines of the passing pods.

“They’ll get themselves killed protesting like this,” Padmé said, a horror she couldn’t quite comprehend descending on her as she watched the desperate violence unfold. “How is anybody supposed to get out of this alive?”

Qui-Gon only gripped her shoulder, and his touch was a soothing comfort to her.

Most of the cameras lingered on the Tusken attack, which, based on the near deafening bellow of their cheers, the crowd appreciated most. But one had since moved on to film the entrance to the narrowest part of the canyon, and there it waited patiently for the surviving racers to enter. First came the Dug who, judging by the smoke rising from the barrels of his blasters, had put up a fight against the protest assault. Following him came a few pods that Padmé did not recognise - presumably they’d been bringing up the rear in the first lap, but had since picked up the speed or taken advantage of the distractions to get ahead. But following them, in a brilliant streak of blue and white, was Anakin, flying as strong as ever over the dust and the sand. His pod certainly bore signs of wear and tear, and it looked as though one of his engines had been narrowly grazed in the crossfire. But he was alive, and that was all that mattered to her.

Another pod roared into the canyon after Anakin’s, flying dangerously close to its back. Padmé’s eyes widened as, despite the near-invisible gap between them, the racer began to speed up, and sparks flew when the two pods collided. Without thinking, Padmé leapt up from her seat, outraged that someone would so blatantly try to attack her friend. “Hey! Get off him, that’s not fair!”

“Yelling won’t do you much good. He can’t hear you,” Qui-Gon said. 

“You think I don’t know that?” Padmé snapped, her frustration and her fear and her horror bubbling to the surface of her composure. 

The camera zoomed in on the confrontation, giving the audience something juicy to focus on now that most of the racers had escaped the Tusken protest. Anakin’s attacker was relentless, grinning with wild satisfaction as he grinded the front of his pod against the back of Anakin’s. Enclosed in the narrow canyon, Anakin’s only hope of escape was to speed up - but either he was already driving as fast as he could or the other racer could match his speed even as it increased, because nothing he did could shake the driver off his tail. Padmé clasped her hands together and pressed them to her mouth, hoping against hope that they would reach the canyon’s exit soon. The cave beyond may possess its own dangers, but at least it would give Anakin a chance to put some distance between himself and the other racer.

In the brief fragment of space between the canyon’s exit and the cave’s entrance, Anakin swerved to the side, turning to position himself behind the hostile pod and finally break away from their assault. Padmé could only catch a flash of the attacker’s sudden confusion at his opponent’s disappearance before he disappeared into the darkness ahead. Anakin soon followed, plunging into the black. 

Padmé sank back into her chair. “I don’t know how much more of this I can watch,” she murmured, and she tipped her head backwards and closed her eyes, losing herself in the roar of the crowd and the blaze of the suns and the exhaustion of her frayed emotions. The strangeness of her situation hit her like a tidal wave - this time last week she had been attending the opening of a gallery exhibition in Theed, admiring fine paintings and engaging the artists in polite conversations about light and colour and shadow and narrative. And now, here she was, sitting in a crowded grandstand underneath twin suns that boiled the air, watching an event that celebrated death and destruction and violence and bloodshed. 

She felt dirty. She felt tired. She was scared. Her skin was burning. She wanted to go home.

A deafening cry from the crowd stirred her from her morose contemplation - some violent excitement must have stirred their interest. With heavy eyes, Padmé lowered her head and fixed her gaze once more on the viewscreen. The racers had now made it back out to the dune valley, and it appeared as though another band of Tuskens had decided to attack this section of the track. They did not run directly into the valley - instead, they stood near the edge of it, hurling small, spherical objects that Padmé could not identify. It was only when one of the cameras focused in on one of the objects, tracking it closely as it soared through the air, that she realised what they were.

They were grenades.

The camera followed the grenade until it landed in one of the pods that drove just behind the Dug. When it fell into the racer’s lap, she immediately moved to grab it and throw it out, her movements jerky and haphazard with panic. But she was too late. As her hand closed around the grenade in her lap, it went off, and Padmé clapped her hand over her mouth at the sight of the racer’s gorey remains before the ensuing blaze engulfed them. 

“I wish they knew how futile this all is,” Qui-Gon muttered, watching as more racers fell victim to the well aimed grenades.

“Who, the racers or the Tuskens?” Padmé asked, a similar desolation clouding her voice.

“The Tuskens. They’re hoping to use these deaths as leverage - give them their land back and they’ll stop killing the innocent podracers. But what they don’t realise is that nobody cares if these people live or die because it’s all part of the spectacle. All they’re doing is entertaining the audience.” He shook his head, sighing. “They’ll never get their message across like this.”

Padmé clenched her fist in the fabric of her trousers. “I hate this place.”

The valley of dunes, which had once been an empty, unmarred expanse through which the racers could make clear and clean progress, was now a minefield of dormant grenades and smouldering wreckage. Countless racers lost their lives to the wild grenades, and others met their end by crashing straight into the burning piles of twisted metal left behind. It was the bloodiest stretch of the race by far. By the time the racers came around the corner to commence their third and final lap, only four of the original thirty remained - the Dug, a Rodian woman, a Twi’lek, and Anakin who, against all odds, had fought his way through the carnage to come out as one of the last racers standing. Padmé would be impressed if she wasn’t so horrifically terrified.

But, out of all the remaining pods, Anakin’s looked the most thoroughly beaten up. Even more scorch marks scarred the body, so much so that it was difficult to distinguish the original blue and white paint amongst all the black and brown. His left engine was starting to sputter, and Padmé could see him desperately trying to save it while also keeping his eyes on the track. When one of the cameras panned in to focus on him, she noticed a thick crack running through one of the lenses of his goggles, and his face was caked with dust and sand and soot. Padmé’s heart hammered so hard she thought it might shatter her ribcage.

There was, however, a silver lining in the fact that he was lagging behind the other racers - it put him well out of reach of the Dug’s sphere of destruction. As he approached the finish line, the Dug once more flipped his blasters around, and he pressed down on his console to set them firing. One of the blasts went careening into the rock wall opposite the stands, but the other flew straight towards the Rodian. It hit her square in the head, and the audience let out a riotous cheer as her skull exploded in a firework of blood and bone. Padmé immediately averted her gaze - she could taste the vomit rising up in her throat.

A similar fate soon befell the Twi’lek as the Dug fired on her - this time, he hit her right engine, and she met her end in an inferno, just the same as so many of her fellow racers before her. Tears sprung to Padmé’s eyes, the scale and the extent of the senseless violence overwhelming her, the joy of the crowd sickening her, and her sympathies curdled into bubbling acid in her stomach. Panic dug its claws into her chest, for there was only one victim left - Anakin, who had finally managed to fix his left engine but was now flying straight for the Dug, straight into the line of fire, straight to his death.

He would die. Anakin Skywalker was going to die, and Padmé had barely got the chance to know him.

But how her heart ached at the prospect of losing him, for his midnight eyes and his sun-bright smile and his miraculous kindness had ruined her, guaranteed that she would grieve this day, guaranteed that she would never be able to think of Tatooine without remembering her fleeting friend who had died so brutally because he wanted to know what it was like to feel alive.

She thought of his scars, and how many more there would be once his pod went up in flames. She thought of the blood that had spilled from the gouges in his cheeks and stained his clothes, and how much more there would be once the Dug’s blaster bolt found a home in his skull. She thought of all the fear he must have felt throughout his life, and how intense it would be now as he stared down the barrels of oblivion. She wanted him to live, she wanted him to be happy, she wanted him to be safe, she had never known him before but all she wanted to do was see him smile and laugh and sing and live and live and live for as long as forever would allow.

But he was trapped in the endless ring of death, and she wanted it to stop. She wanted it all to stop. Anguish forced its way down her throat to suffocate her and all she could do was scream stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it STOP IT-

Silence.

A deep breath.

The force undulating.

Help him.

She floated, out of her body, out of her mind, through the hazy sea of the force. All of time had ceased to pass, and there was a bright light - a very bright light - sailing through the air and into the space between Anakin’s eyes. But it only hovered, moving so slowly that it seemed utterly still. Time had stopped, and so she held it in abundance.

Lighter than ever, she drifted down through the crowds towards him, her friend. On the incorporeal plane she could see all the reasons why she had to care for him so clearly - because they were both so lonely, because they could see each other through the mists of status, because there had always been a little part of her in him and him in her. She fell into him, into the same air, into the same universal space. She could hear him, hear his voice reverberating in her consciousness.

“Padmé?” Not spoken - thought, echoed.

“Let me help you, Anakin.”

Eyes closed - he let her embrace wash over.

She moved with him, guiding him away from that deadly light, the bolt of bright death from the blaster of - hm, now what was his name?

“Who’s that man who’s trying to kill you?”

“Sebulba. He scares me.”

“Don’t be scared. He is nothing to us now.”

“I’m scared every day, Padmé.”

Motion again, but it was all so slow to her - it had to be, or else she could not perceive the subtle shifts in the universe’s fabric, of rifle bullets and shifting pillars. She could sense it all, premonitions - but she could save him. Yes, in her hands, he would be safe. He would be happy.

Sebulba fired his endless bolts, but she brushed them away with ease. He still moved ahead, but that was no trouble. He and she, she and he - in the end, they would move together to break free, to run out in front, to taste the joy of victory and life. Victory tasted like dust.

Narrowness now, the walls closing in, surrounding them. Still, there was fire, but she grabbed hold of the force and pulled it in front of them, creating a shield to save her friend. Sebulba’s confusion and frustration cut through the air, lightning bolts of anger, and there was something else creeping on the edge. A sinister thing. A dangerous thing. Closer than she cared for.

Yellow eyes. Red light. Yellow eyes. Red light. Black black black-

Focus. Focus on him. Focus on her friend.

Into the darkness now - deep, inky, black, but she could illuminate it. Make it bright, bring the light. Almost there. Almost free. They could pass him now. Guide around the corners, slip safely through the shadows - little boy and little girl come save the world with their far away victory.

Breadth, expanse, space, suffering. One last race across the valley - she gripped the force once more and pushed, sending him ahead, kicking up dust behind to choke Sebulba’s vision. Another voice called to her, warm, like a hearthfire, begging her let go, to return to the physical world. But she would not. This was a crude voice, a limiting voice - the force was her friend, and she would live in it and bend it as she wished. Shape the world, make the slow fly fast, set in motion the chain of events that would send the slave to freedom. She would not listen. She sent the voice away. As far away as she could.      

Corporeal voices grew louder, closer - almost there, just a little further. Gunfire. An angry call. A screaming engine in her eardrums. Sebulba returned to kill her friend. But one last push would save him. His fear engulfed her, his tentative terror, and their hearts thundered as one for she was he and he was she and together-

Together they crossed the finish line.

Padmé’s eyes snapped open as the crowd around her roared with thrilled delight, and the voice of the commentator cut a jagged call through the air - yelling Anakin’s name, declaring him the victor, for he had escaped from the jaws of certain death and claimed his triumph. She had guided him to it. She looked to the viewscreen for one final time as all the cameras zoomed in to focus on him, on his wide-eyed stare behind his broken goggles and his lips gently parted in shock and surprise. But he was looking into the audience, searching for someone - searching for her, for he knew that she’d been there with him, that they had won this race together.

Qui-Gon called her name, but she didn’t listen. Padmé bolted from her seat and sprinted down the stairs, keeping her eyes fixed on Anakin as she ran, caring little for the people that she bumped into on the way. For a split second, they locked eyes, and Anakin flashed her a broad smile that only looked all the brighter for the dirt that coated his face. If she could capture that moment and live in it forever, she would.

But it all fell apart when Sebulba, pulling up at the finish line, climbed out of his pod and ran charging towards Anakin, screaming out insults and obscenities like battle cries. His smile dropping, Anakin leapt out of his pod and made a dash towards the scantily clad Twi’lek that was about to present him with the bag full of his winnings. He barely stopped to snatch them out of her peridot hand, and it wasn’t long before he’d vanished through the hangar entrance, leaving the crowd baffled as to his sudden flight and Sebulba even more furious that his prey had escaped him. 

Padmé followed him without hesitation.   

Chapter Text

A mere hour ago, the hangar had been alive with energy and anticipation, filled to the brim with racers all thrilled by the prospect of danger, their pride blinding them to the near certainty of their untimely death or grievous injury. There had been yelling, chatter, the testing of engines, all forming an orchestra that deafened the unprepared with their grinding, clanking song. There had been grins and laughter, insults and arguments. It had been a crude sort of excitement fuelled by a cruel sort of adrenaline, but it had been lively and kinetic and almost contagious.

The hangar was empty now. No more pods. No more racers. Just eerie silence, with only the odd patch of oil pooled on the ground to show that anyone had ever been there at all. Padmé stood amongst that silence, and she tried and failed to remember anything distinctive about the figures she’d seen during her first visit there. She could not remember them, but each and every one of their deaths would be forever burned into her mind’s tender eye -  their flesh burning like paper as their smoke-stained gore scattered across the dusty racetrack. They had been but a nameless, shapeless crowd to her, and that was all they would ever be.

Now, all she could do was search for the sole survivor, and try to numb herself to the massacre that had just played out before her eyes.

“Anakin?” she called, her voice echoing in the gloom. “Anakin, are you in here?”

At length there came the brush of a footstep against the dusty ground - she turned to find its source. Peering out from one of the shadowy corners of the room, Anakin almost looked like a ghost, for he was all that remained of the vibrant life that had once filled the hangar. As soon as she saw him, Padmé hurried towards him and, without thinking, grabbed hold of his arms.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” Padmé said, tightening her grip. “I thought you weren’t going to make it.”

But Anakin stared at her like he never had before - as if she was different, strange, and his face hung slack with his sheer incomprehension. “I’m fine, but- Padmé what happened?” He pulled away from her and began to pace, fidgeting with the pouch of peggats in his hands. “I could feel you. It was like you were really there, like you were with me in the pod and you were driving it too. I know that’s impossible because you were sitting in the stands and you couldn’t be there.” He turned to look at her again, eyes wide with wonder. “What did you do?”

When Padmé released herself into the force so that she could help Anakin escape Sebulba’s onslaught, she had given it little thought. It had been a purely instinctive impulse of terror, the only course of action she could think of to save her friend. She hadn’t anticipated the consequences or the questions, and it only just now dawned on her that she had exposed the secret she had been keeping for her entire life to someone she’d known for less than a week. But she could not change what she had done, and now here Anakin stood, desperate for answers. Somehow, she knew she could trust him with the truth.

She glanced around to make sure nobody else had entered the hangar since her arrival, and then she turned back to Anakin, her expression grave. “I can explain it to you, but you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

Anakin nodded. “Promise.”

Padmé inhaled a deep breath, feeling very much as if she was dangling on the edge of a precipice. “I’m a force wielder. I used the force to help you today.”

His lips parting in surprise, Anakin stared at her for a moment before he gathered his wits once more. “So I was right - you are a Jedi. You are Qui-Gon’s Padawan.”

“No, I’m not,” she said firmly. “Qui-Gon doesn’t know. Well, I think he suspects it, but we haven’t spoken about it yet. I never meant for him to find out.”   

“Why not?” Anakin asked. “He could train you, and you could become a Jedi knight just like he is.”

“But I don’t want that,” Padmé said. “I don’t want to be a Jedi knight. That’s never what I’ve wanted.”

Anakin frowned, a deep furrow forming in his brow. “I don’t understand.”

“And that’s exactly why I don’t want to become a Jedi.” Padmé’s frustrations boiled in her voice. “Why is it so strange to you that I wouldn’t want to be a Jedi even though I can use the force? Why is that so difficult for you to understand?”

“I thought that everyone who uses the force becomes a Jedi,” Anakin said, and Padmé noticed a sudden tension tighten in his shoulders as he backed away from her a little. Through the force, she could sense his fear, seeping up like thick black oil through a crack in the dry ground. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume anything.”

Padmé watched him for a moment, confused by his reaction - until her tactlessness dawned on her. She had raised her voice when she asked him those questions, and she had asked them in anger. Anakin assumed he had done something wrong, enraged someone who was free and therefore wielded power over him, and in his experience that could only lead to punishment. Whether he was genuinely afraid of her or not, his embodied memory told him to be so. Hurriedly, she shook her head and dispelled her anger into the force, banishing it so it would not corrupt her, and would not frighten her friend.

“No, you don’t need to apologise - I should be sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” She tried to compose herself, hoping she could guide the conversation away from this unpleasant misunderstanding. “What I’m trying to say is that everyone thinks that force users have to be Jedi, like you do, and I think the Jedi believe that too. It’s taken for granted. But I don’t want to be involved with them. The life of a Jedi isn’t one I want to lead.”

“But they’re good people,” Anakin said, confused. “All the stories I’ve ever heard about the Jedi are of them helping people, protecting them. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Of course, but…” She faltered. This was an argument she’d entertained countless times within the confines of her head, this was the first time she’d ever voiced her ideas about the Jedi out loud. When debating the matter in her mind, she had always had her unchallenged and shapeless biases to support her - but that innate knowledge of her own correctness did little to aid her when it came to articulating her feelings. “There are other ways that I can help people that don’t involve submitting myself to a religion that I don’t even believe in. Ways that are more effective.”

“Like what?”

Like democracy, she wanted to say. Like embodying a role in which she could exist to serve the people, empower them to vote based on their own ideas of freedom and liberty and justice. Like strengthening a political system that would not seek to dominate and silence the voices of those who lived within it, but would instead shift and change alongside them - never dogmatic, always kind. But to share that view would be to expose herself even further, to shower Anakin in more truths than she had never intended to reveal. 

Anakin would ask questions because he always wanted to know more, always sought to broaden his mind because his body was forever chained. Were she to speak to him of her faith in democracy, he would embark on his innocent interrogation and entice her into sharing her true identity - that she was more than a simple girl of Naboo, that she was more than a handmaiden, that truly she was Amidala, child Queen of Naboo, the very woman that she now claimed only to serve. The slave would know that he had befriended the force sensitive queen of a faraway land - and that would change everything. She wasn’t sure she wanted that.

But she would never have to decide between exposing herself or continuing her deception. As Anakin waited expectantly for her answer, a faint buzzing hum sounded through the air, and, as it drew closer, Padmé recognised it as the rapid beat of tiny, insect-like wings. A dread-like panic flashed onto Anakin’s face, and he quickly pressed the bag of peggats into Padmé’s hand before he turned to face Watto’s fluttering music.

“So, you made it out in one piece,” Watto remarked, a sneering smugness curling on his lips. “Are you some kind of cockroach, boy?”

Padmé stepped a little closer to Anakin and, just as she had when Watto had confronted them before the race, she gingerly took hold of his arm. With her free hand, she hid the bag of peggats behind her back - after all the effort Anakin had gone to win them for her, she wasn’t about to hand them over to Watto unless he parted with the hyperdrive in return. 

Anakin swallowed. “I guess so.”

“So where’s the money then, hm? You don’t think I’d let you keep it?” Watto asked, fluttering a little too close to Anakin’s face for comfort. “It’s my money, you know. You’ll never own a damn thing.”

Padmé could not meet Watto’s eyes, terrified that he’d spot the bag in her hand. As carefully as she could, she slipped the bag into the waistband of her trousers - the bag was small enough that she could easily cover the bulge of it with her tunic. 

Shrugging, Anakin dropped his gaze to the ground. “I don’t have it.”

Watto’s sneer dropped into something far colder. “What do you mean you don’t have it?”

“Sebulba took it. He wouldn’t let me-” In a mirror image of their earlier confrontation, Watto whipped his hand across Anakin’s cheek - only now he took it one step further and grabbed a fistful of Anakin’s hair, tugging him painfully forwards. Padmé tried to keep a hold of his arm, but Watto’s pull was stronger as he tore Anakin away from her.

“Liar!” Watto yelled. “Tell me where the money is!”

Anakin stammered out his answer, his voice tight with pain. “I already told you, Sebulba took it! I swear, he took it from me, I don’t have it!”

The bag of peggats burned against Padmé’s hip as Watto hit Anakin again, this time sending him to the ground - and now she could not help but cry out in protest. “Stop it! You’re hurting him!”

Watto lurched towards her, brandishing a taloned finger in her direction. “I don’t know who you are or why you care about that piece of trash, but I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again - get your bitch nose out of my business.”

Padmé knew she had the power to end Anakin’s suffering. All she had to do was pull the bag from her waistband and drop it into Watto’s hand, giving him what he wanted and satisfying his greed enough to end his tyranny. But all it took was one look at Anakin as he sat crumpled on the ground, his eyes shining with desperation, for her to know that he would hate her if she did that. Yes, he would hate her if she forfeited the prize he had won for her, because then all his work would amount to nothing.

So, she did not relent. She simply dropped her gaze, and muttered an apology - not to Watto, but to Anakin, in a futile attempt to atone on fate’s behalf. “I’m sorry.”

Watto barely spared her a momentary grimace before he turned back to Anakin. Once more, he gripped his hand tight in Anakin’s hair and yanked him to his feet, and Anakin’s strangled yelp of pain brought a thickness to Padmé’s throat and a dampness to her eyes. She could only watch as Watto dragged him out of the hangar and back into the open air, hurling verbal abuse as he went. In a moment, they vanished, and Padmé found herself entirely alone in the hangar, standing stunned and still in the stone cold air.

Reaching into her waistband, Padmé pulled out the pouch of peggats, and she turned it over in her trembling hand. As she stared at it, she had to wonder - had such a small fortune really been worth all of this suffering?

“Padmé.” At the sound of her name drifting from the entrance to the track, Padmé turned to find Qui-Gon leaning in the archway, his arms folded and his gaze soft. “I hoped you’d still be here.”

“How much of that did you see?”

“I saw enough.” Qui-Gon pushed himself off of the archway and started towards her, his boots crunching in the dust. “You were brave to stand up to Watto like that. I’m impressed.”

Images of Anakin bleeding into the sand flashed into her mind. “I was only doing what was right. Couldn’t you have intervened?” She turned away from him. “No, wait, don’t tell me. You didn’t intervene because you have no jurisdiction here, I know.”

“We cannot solve every problem, Padmé. At the moment, our duty is to Her Majesty, and that must remain our priority.”

Padmé gritted her teeth. “Her Majesty would never approve of us ignoring the plight of people like Anakin. She would want us to help.”

“Perhaps she would. But I am certain that she also wants to see her home freed and her people saved, and the longer we stay here, the deeper the Trade Federation will sink their claws into Naboo. Surely, you can appreciate that?”

Oh, how loudly she wanted to scream. Of course, Qui-Gon was right - Naboo had felt so very distant during the days leading up to the podrace, and she had barely spared it a thought amongst the chaos of the morning. But it hurt her to realise that she had lost sight of her home, of her people. Her queendom had been but a thrilling secret to keep from her friend, not her life’s calling, not a hallowed duty. She hated that she had grown distracted by Jedi and slavery and her nightmare, hated that she had been running free while her people suffered under the tyranny of the Trade Federation. Yet still she could not shake her helpless yearning to do something, anything, to aid the slaves, to take some action that might conclude in their freedom. Her desires went to war - Naboo and Tatooine, so very different and yet both shackled by the same iron manacles of subjugation. If she could take them into her hands and save them both, she would do so in an instant.

Perhaps recognising her anguish through the force, Qui-Gon shifted closer, laying his hand on her shoulder. For a brief moment, he glanced down at the pouch of peggats that sat like a boulder in Padmé’s hand. “His winnings?”

“Yes. All of it.”

“Then let us return to Watto’s and purchase the hyperdrive. We’re long overdue on the ship as it is.” A small, sad smile graced his bearded lips. “We can say a proper goodbye to Anakin, if it would comfort you. I know you consider him a friend.”

Padmé shook her head. “I wish I didn’t.”

“Because it hurts you to see him in pain?”

She hesitated, and she sighed out a gentle breath in an attempt to stem the tide of her tears. “Because if he wasn’t my friend, leaving him behind wouldn’t hurt so much.”

***

They found Watto hovering behind the counter, sorting through a pile of coins and grumbling to himself. When he heard their steps against the ground, he glanced upwards, and distaste swiftly infected his expression. Padmé imagined that she and Qui-Gon were the last people he wanted to see - the Jedi who’d tried to scam him and the brat who’d tried to put him in his place. But nevertheless, customers were customers, and so he lifted himself over the counter to meet them. As he fluttered towards them, Padmé glanced around the shop in the hopes of spotting Anakin, but he was nowhere to be found. In the dim light, his absence struck her as sinister.

“What do you want, eh? Going to try one of your tricks again?” Watto asked, glowering at Qui-Gon. “I’m not interested in your flimsy Republic money.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve brought something that might be of more use to you.” Reaching into one of the numerous folds of his robes, Qui-Gon produced the pouch of peggats. Padmé had long since handed it over to him, for it felt dirty to her after what she had sacrificed to keep it. Qui-Gon made his way to the counter, opened the bag, and shook the neat stack of coins out onto the dusty surface. “I believe this will cover the cost of the hyperdrive. I trust you haven’t sold it yet?”

Watto slowly replaced his sullen frown with a grin, his beady eyes lighting up at the sight of the dull coins. “Yes, that will do very nicely. I’ll take the lot for that hyperdrive, I think.”

“Ah ah, you told me the hyperdrive was worth one-hundred when we last spoke,” Qui-Gon said. “You don’t need to take the lot.”

“The price has gone up since then.” Watto snatched up the coins before Qui-Gon could stop him, and Padmé balled up her fists in the fabric of her trousers. She knew that Anakin had only won them the money for the exact purpose of buying the hyperdrive, that he would’ve been pleased to know that their plan had succeeded. But watching Anakin’s hard-earned money vanish into Watto’s taloned grip cut her to the quick, and the force flashed in anger around her.

After pocketing the peggats, Watto beckoned Qui-Gon to follow him outside. This time, Padmé stepped out into the scrapyard with them, shielding her eyes from the suns as she took in the chaotic view around her. It seemed to her like a graveyard of dead ships and other vehicles, with disembodied engines and wings and joints lying scattered and abandoned to rust in the sunlight. The piles of scrap were dangerously high, and those that weren’t stacked against the wall or the surrounding clay fence looked precariously close to toppling over. How Watto kept track of it all, Padmé had no idea.

She paid little attention to Watto and Qui-Gon’s talk of business, for she didn’t care for the details so long as they could get the hyperdrive and end this sorry episode of their lives. She instead focused her attention on the scrap itself, wandering absentmindedly amongst the maze of jagged and broken machinery, the pieces almost frightening in their sharpness and irregularity. She thought of the dozens of cuts and scratches on Anakin’s hands and wondered how many he’d sustained from handling these ragged items of merchandise.

Anakin. She’d been hoping to see him. Getting the opportunity to say goodbye to him was the only reason she’d gone with Qui-Gon to Watto’s in the first place - were it not for him, she would’ve happily waited in the marketplace while Qui-Gon fetched the hyperdrive. But, in good conscience, she couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to her friend, as much as it pained her to do so. She needed him to know how grateful she was for his help, and how much she had enjoyed his company during their brief acquaintance. She needed him to know that he had meant something to her.

At first, there was no sign of him, which only served to tighten the anxiety that had been lingering in Padmé’s chest from the moment she’d set foot in Mos Espa. She had seen the rage in Watto’s eyes plain as day back in the hangar, and she was certain that he would have used Anakin’s body to release that rage. Anakin’s insistence on hiding his winnings was the cause of it, after all - punishment was the natural consequence. So, in his absence, Padmé could only imagine the worst.

And then she heard it - not quite a sob, but the struggling gasp of someone trying to breathe deeply without weeping, a sound almost as jagged and torn as the scrap that surrounded her. Slowly, Padmé followed the sound to its source, desperate to find it because she knew it was him, knew it was Anakin, knew that he was in pain and that he needed her help. Even so, she was almost terrified to discover what she might find as she wove her way through the metallic decay.

She found him sitting against the back wall of the junk shop, his knees drawn up to his chest and his head bowed low, and he’d wrapped his arms around his legs - no doubt in an attempt to make himself look as small as possible. Padmé did not announce her presence at first. She could only watch in anguish as his shoulders stuttered and shook in the rhythm of his uneven breaths, as he shivered even under the blazing sun because his body did not know how else to cope with his pain. The image of him huddled there burned itself like a brand into her brain, and it was a sight she knew she would grieve for the rest of her life. Despite all his misfortune, Anakin had always struck Padmé as someone with an immense and unbreakable spirit, as someone who would always be able to smile and laugh and shine, as someone with an abundance of life that could never be snuffed out by those who wished to own him.

Nothing remained of that now.

Padmé could hold back no longer. She ran to him, and he looked up at her with an expression of wide-eyed, helpless terror that stabbed like an ice pick to her heart and shattered it. The sight of his face only deepened her anguish - but it was not for the brand new bruises or the ribbon of blood trickling down from his hairline that she wanted to weep. No, it was his eyes. His eyes that burned livid red with the tears that ran down his hollow cheeks and left behind tracks like scars through the dust and the soot that still coated his skin. His eyes that were so much older than they ought to be, his eyes that were the window to his ragged and desolate soul - eyes that would never witness a life beyond slavery, beyond cruelty, beyond conscious death. 

She ran to him and pulled him into her arms, and although a flash of regret sparked within her when he gasped out in pain, it did not persuade her to let him go.  

“I’m so sorry, Anakin. I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered into his matted hair, and she tried to run her hand through it only to be met with tangle after tangle after tangle. “I wish I could help. There’s so much I want to do, but I can’t. I’m sorry. You have to know. You have to know how sorry I am.”

All he could do was breathe, ragged and sharp and choked with tears, laboured in a way it had not been that morning - all shallow and pained. 

Still holding him in a tight grip, Padmé pulled away so she could see him better. “Tell me what to do. Tell me what I can do to make it better.”

Slowly, Anakin blinked. He did not meet her eyes, and there seemed to be such an abyss of emptiness within him. Finally, he spoke, but in a voice bound tight with agony. “Just go away.”

Moments ago, they had been one. Moments ago, they had existed together within the force. Moments ago, their hearts had shared the same rambling adrenaline beat. Moments ago, they had helped each other. Moments ago, they had been friends.

But it was time to go back. To Naboo, to the junkyard. To the way they had been before - what was a few day’s acquaintance compared to the rest of their lives? 

“Thank you,” she said, quietly. “For everything.”

Padmé let him go. She rose to her feet at the sound of Qui-Gon calling her name, and she stared down at Anakin for a moment longer as he shrank deeper and deeper inside of himself. If he shrank any further, he would vanish altogether, and then there would be nothing left of him at all. 

***

“I believe there is something we ought to discuss.”

Baking under the oppressive heat and weighed down by the mounting exhaustion of her stint in Mos Espa, Padmé was not in the mood to talk. All she wanted to do was drag the hyperdrive back to the ship on its trolley, retreat to her chambers, and crawl into her bed until they reached Coruscant. She could be Amidala then, who was so much stronger than she ever would be. Yes, that was all she wanted - to slip into someone else’s skin so she could more easily forget the brief life of Padmé the handmaiden. But there was Qui-Gon, wanting to talk to her. Ten minutes of their half-hour walk back to the ship had already passed, and until now he hadn’t said a word.

“Do you?” Padmé asked, putting in little effort to disguise her exhaustion. Deep down, she knew what this conversation would be - it had been hanging over her ever since their flight from Naboo. But her heart was heavy enough as it was, and she did not need the confirmed obliteration of her life-long secrecy to make things worse. “Can’t it wait?”

“I don’t think so.” Qui-Gon shook his head. He’d been pushing the trolley from behind, but now he stopped - and, without the aid of his propulsion, Padmé found that the trolley became too heavy to pull. He forced her to stop, and so she did. “Now that our passage to Coruscant is secured, I can think of no better time than this.”

Padmé sighed, closing her eyes - her lids felt lined with lead. “Fine, then. What is it?”

“I think you know the answer to that already.” 

Padmé did not respond, her heart hammering despite the overwhelming sluggishness that had overtaken her body since leaving Watto’s. It seemed that the excitement and emotional exertion of the last few days was finally catching up with her, but it was entirely dissonant with the fear that set her teeth on edge and made her entire being vibrate with anxious energy. Because, in a few seconds, Qui-Gon was going to put an end to her life as she wanted it to be. He would strike down the Padmé who had fought her whole young life to be elected and replace her with the Padmé who would be forced to live under the restrictions of the Jedi Order. Gone would be her ability to serve Naboo, gone would be her friendship with the force - the Jedi would steal her from her home and coerce her into using the force in a way that did not come naturally to her. Were she to become a Jedi, she would be no freer than Anakin.

She had fought all her life to keep her secret, but now those years of effort were as substantial as the dust beneath her feet. When it became apparent that she would not speak, Qui-Gon let out a sigh of his own.

“I know you can use the force, Padmé. I have known it since we left Naboo - you used it to aid the astromech, didn’t you?” He waited in vain for a response - she stood as still as she could, schooling her features into blank composure. “And then again, this morning at the podrace. There is no sense trying to deny it. All beings are connected to the force, and I could feel it responding to you.”

Padmé tightened her grip on the metal handle of the trolley - it was almost hot enough to burn, but she did not care. She thought that if she could just hold on to that handle, just keep a tight enough grip on her secret for mere moments longer, Qui-Gon might give up and leave her alone. She would like him to forget. 

Qui-Gon moved closer, trudging through the sand to reach her. “I can feel it now. You’re holding it very close to you.”

She hadn’t noticed it before, but he was right - as she held on tight to her secret, she held on tight to the force too, wrapping it around her body to keep herself safe, to ward off the invader.

“You will have to speak to me eventually,” Qui-Gon said - strangely, he was smiling, as if her resistance was no more than childish petulance. “I’m incredibly impressed with the level of your skill - very few untrained force users are able to wield it with such precision or strength as you do. Now, I want you to tell me something. How long have you known about your abilities?”

Padmé refused to look at him, and she thinned her lips into a tight line. As desperately as she wanted to keep up her fight, she wasn’t sure if she had the strength - for she could not remember a time where she had felt as exhausted as this. Finally, she relented, but she resolved to only tell Qui-Gon the barest minimum. “I was four.”

“Thank you for answering,” he said, always warm. “And did you tell anybody?”

“No.” She paused. “Not until this morning.”

“Ah, so you told Anakin that you helped him?” When Padmé kept her lips tight shut, Qui-Gon continued. “So, you’ve known of your abilities since you were a girl, and you have managed to keep them to yourself for the vast majority of your life. Tell me - why did you hide it? Why did you not come to the Jedi Temple?”

A spark - now, this was a question she could respond to. Answering Qui-Gon’s query would only strengthen her fight against him, not jeopardise it. If she could answer it well enough, she may yet secure her continued freedom. “Because I had goals. Ambitions. I’ve always known that I want to devote my life to serving Naboo, and that is what I will do.”

“You wish to be Queen one day?”

She swallowed - in her excitement to defend herself, she had forgotten her disguise. “Perhaps. But if that should not occur, I will continue to serve my planet however I can. There are many opportunities for former handmaidens - I might join the council.”

“Training to become a Jedi Knight would not preclude you from serving your people. Once they have completed their training on Coruscant, many Jedi return to their former planets to protect them. I intended to do so myself before I agreed to train Obi-Wan as my Padawan.”

“I don’t want to train. I don’t want to live on Coruscant.”

“Why not? Don’t you wish to learn how to better wield your powers?”

Padmé huffed out a frustrated sigh. “I already know how to wield my powers - you felt it yourself. I want to use the force in my own way. I don’t want to have Jedi beliefs forced down my throat - I consider the force a friend, and I do not want to ruin that friendship by constraining it with a religion that I do not believe in.”

Qui-Gon stared out over the sands, his gaze growing misty as it wandered. Padmé shifted a little, his extended silence unnerving her. “I understand your concerns, because I feel them myself. The Order has changed since I was a young man - we have become too entrenched in politics, too bound by rules. Sometimes, the ignorance I see pains me greatly, and you must understand that it broke my heart every time I had to tell you that we could do nothing to aid the slaves here. But I - and you - must never lose sight of who the Jedi are supposed to be. We are keepers of the peace, and we have the power to do immense good, even within the constraints of the Order.” Now, he glanced down at her, fondness dancing behind his eyes as if she were his own daughter. “You have done immense good with your powers already. I have only ever seen you use it to help people. If you accept our training, your goodness will only grow - I will make sure of it.”

He was remarkably persuasive, she would give him credit for that. She had seen that pain within him, that desire to do good, the odd streak of rebellion running through his smile or his remarks, and so she did not doubt that he made his case with the truest conviction. But one passionate speech was not enough to budge a decade’s worth of stoic secrecy - she would not be moved.

“That’s very lovely,” she murmured. “But you say it yourself - I have already done good with my powers, and that is all I want to do. If I can already achieve that, then what’s the point of training? Where would the harm be in letting me live without it?”

Now, a cloud darkened Qui-Gon’s conscience. “As there is a light side of the force, there is a dark side also. I have no doubt that you’ve felt it - it is very strong here.”

“I dreamed of it, I think,” Padmé said, and Qui-Gon looked at her with eyes a little wider than usual. “Just before we landed. I could feel that darkness then, just as we’ve felt it over these last few days. I thought it might just be the force reflecting Mos Espa’s lawlessness, but do you think it’s the dark side?”

Qui-Gon locked eyes with her, suddenly intense. “Then the need for your training is more apparent than I realised.”

“What? Why?”

“We train our Padawans so that they might better harness the light, yes, but we also teach them to protect themselves against the darkness. It is evil itself, and it will not hesitate to infect the mind of the unprepared - untrained force sensitives are most susceptible to it, and this dream of yours is a direct result of the dark side taking advantage of your vulnerability. Padmé, if you do not accept our training, if you do not learn how to protect yourself - it may consume you. If you have dreamed of it, then that process is already beginning.”

“What, so I’m supposed to give up my liberties because of one nightmare?”

“It will be more than one, Padmé. I promise you that. It may not come soon, but it will come again, and it will keep coming until you’ll never be able to close your eyes without seeing it.”

Padmé shook her head - ice cold fear soaked her heart, and the darkness that had lingered in the corner of her mind began to flex and grow and cackle at her terror. “Don’t you trust me to protect myself?”

“No. Not now, at any rate.”

It hurt her, to hear these words. To know that the force, her friend, might turn against her, and that she might not be strong enough to save herself from it. She had always believed herself to be strong of will - she would not have been elected if she was weak. All she had ever wanted was to help people, to aid them, to serve them, and that to her was goodness. Yes, goodness lay at her very centre, it was the core of her very soul. Kindness, care, generosity. It was all she could ever possess - and she believed that such qualities would protect her from this darkness, this corruption. She would not let it wield her.

“You should trust me,” she said. “I don’t need special training to protect myself. I know that, if the darkness does come for me, I will know how to ward it away.”

“You underestimate its power,” Qui-Gon murmured. “I admire your courage, but what you say is foolish.”

“Don’t insult me.”

“That was not my intention - my only care is for your safety, and of the safety of the rest of the galaxy.” He paused, deep in thought. “The dark side is not to be trifled with. Many Jedi have fallen to it - great Jedi that I have admired, that I have loved. There is nothing more painful than watching them fall. And all of them believed, just as you do now, that they would be strong enough to resist it. But they were not, and they were not the only ones who suffered for it.”

Padmé glanced up, anxious curiosity dancing within her. “What do you mean?”

“When Jedi fall to the dark side, they succumb to a great greed, an immense desire for power. The dark side of the force guides them towards this power, shows them how to attain it, but they can only do so through violence. Countless lives, countless planets, have been lost to a single fallen Jedi. Millions killed in one fell swoop.” Again, Qui-Gon paused, drowning for a moment in memories and fighting against their tide of pain. When he resumed, his voice was low, tired, terrified. “Should you continue to live untrained, and should the dark side of the force continue to visit you in your dreams, such a desire for power will overwhelm you. You will fall, and people will suffer for it. You wish to avoid your training to help people, but in doing so you may be costing countless lives - lives that will be struck down by your own hand.”

The suns did not matter anymore, their heat did not signify. Padmé stood in the biting chill of terror, instilled in her by the sheer visceral experience that hung heavy in Qui-Gon’s words. Her voice drifted from her lips as if distant. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

The sands melted away, the blue sky faded, and the force carried her consciousness away into horror - a sign of things to come, the looming shadow of a future that Padmé did not want. In terror, she succumbed to her vision.

Ash and dust and fire. Flesh of the innocent burning and boiling and bubbling, even their bones dissolving into nothingness - bones should remain, but not in the darkness. Buildings collapsed and fell, pure white spires greyed in the flames and crushed those who had yet to be obliterated. Children, their parents, rotted. She stood in the ashes of this broken place, the blood of millions pouring from her lips, metallic on her tongue. And loud, louder than anything she had ever heard, came a scream - howling, wailing, pulled from the mouth like teeth in a violent, unwanted extraction. A voice she cared for, a voice she loved, the voice of a child she would hold one day, screaming out hatred because it had consumed the soul and putrefied it. They hated her. She had done this. He hated her.

Hate the only power to keep the heart beating. 

“And, should you accept my help, I can promise you that you never will.”

Returned to the sands of Tatooine, the suns blazing against her skin once more, Padmé stood still in shock. The sheer earnest kindness of Qui-Gon’s words had rescued her from that nightmare vision - the force told her to listen to him. If she accepted him, she would never see all that ash and all that fire, never hear that scream. Suddenly, her petty squabble over her right to live how she wished meant nothing in the face of that nightmare execution. 

But all she had seen was a vision, a mere suggestion of things to come. The force had shown it to her, but the force was a wild and unpredictable thing, a wild animal that could never quite be trained - or perhaps it had simply bent to Qui-Gon’s will, responding to his desire to persuade her. Would she really change the course of her entire life, burn her principles to the ground, just because of a visceral suggestion that may never come to pass? Padmé found herself trapped between her bone-deep terror and her finely crafted stubbornness, between her own principles and the potential deaths of billions that she did not know.

She did not want to take the risk. She did not want to hold such pain in the palm of her hands. She only wanted to do good - and perhaps the ultimate act of good was self-sacrifice, to abandon her lifelong principles for the sake of those who could fall to her. Yes, she would accept Qui-Gon’s offer, and she would abandon her throne and go to the Temple to train as a Jedi. It pained her to admit that it had always been inevitable.

But there was something else she could do here, an act of good far more certain than the prevention of the suggested mass murder she had seen in her vision. She had resolved to accept Qui-Gon’s offer as a preventative measure for potential harm, but she could use the power of her agreement for a far more concrete good, a practical guarantee that, at the very least, one life would be saved by her becoming a Jedi.

She turned back to Qui-Gon, and she met his gaze with rock hard conviction. “Alright. I will go with you to train as a Jedi - but only on one condition.”

Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes, but his relief was obvious in the loosening of his shoulders. “Name it.”

“I will only train with you if we free Anakin and bring him with us to Coruscant.”

His frown remained fixed. “I’m not sure this is the sort of thing we should be striking bargains over.”

“Nevertheless, I will not retract it.” Padmé stood firm. “If we leave here without him, I will not go to the Temple with you.”

“You would sacrifice the galaxy for the sake of one boy? Padmé, this is larger than-”

“They are my terms. Accept them or not, I will not take them back.” She stepped towards him. “You said it yourself how much it pained you that we could do nothing for the slaves. Please, Qui-Gon - save him, and I will do as you wish.”

 she knew the weight of what she was gambling with. At length, Qui-Gon nodded, and that streak of rebellion that she so loved in him flashed bright in the corners of his smile.

“Very well. We shall return to the encampment at nightfall.” 

Chapter Text

Once more ensconced in the comfort and refinery of the Royal Starship, Padmé felt like an intruder.

As she sat on the edge of her plush bed, watching her handmaidens flit about her chambers in preparation for her usual nighttime ritual, she wondered how they would respond when they found out that she’d forsaken them for the Jedi. They had all been forcibly removed from their planet, ousted by invaders - no doubt the prospect of returning there, restoring order, and serving their queen as they always had was a motivating comfort to them. But Padmé would dash their hopes on the rocks, for she had sacrificed them too in her decision to train. They would return to Theed only to be cut adrift, their lifetime of training rendered all but meaningless - and what could they possibly do instead? Panaka had selected them from the Academy because of their resemblance to Amidala, and it was that resemblance on which their lives depended. They knew little else but service, and without Amidala, that knowledge would be meaningless. Their lives would be meaningless.

It took all of Padmé’s efforts to suppress the rising guilt, and she drew on Amidala’s infinite well of composure to aid her. She thought of that horrific vision of ash and dust and fire to remind herself that the sacrifice of her handmaidens would be worthwhile. But as she watched Sabé exit the wardrobe with a nightgown draped over her arm, Rabé rifling through the vanity in search of her hairbrush, and Eirtaé approaching with her pots of night creams and powders, Padmé could not forgive herself for depriving them of a duty that so clearly fulfilled them. Damn the Jedi for making her forget what truly mattered to her, and damn them for blinding her to her truest allies. 

But there was no going back now. Best not to dwell on it, for she could feel the force flaring about her in anger, and it did not feel right. She needed to distract herself, pretend that she had never made that traitorous promise for as long as she could. So she turned to the window and shifted her attention to the one decision she’d made that day that did not shame her - her decision to rescue Anakin. The vivid glow of the doubled sunset filtered through the glass, bathing her room in gentle vermillion. She supposed Anakin would be leaving Watto’s by now, making his way through the crowds and back to the encampment. Her heart gave a slight flutter, for she knew that tonight would be the last night he would ever make that journey. Once night fell, she and Qui-Gon would journey back across the sands to Mos Espa, and they would change his life forever by begging one simple request - come with us . She could not wait for him to accept their offer, for she knew he would. It was practically guaranteed, and that was a great comfort to her.

Padmé hadn’t the heart to tell her handmaidens that their services would not be needed just yet. She suspected that Sabé and Rabé knew that something was afoot, given that Padmé herself was making no moves to undress herself or conduct her habitual ablutions. Their hesitant motions gave them away, with Sabé lingering in the threshold of the walk-in wardrobe and Rabé turning the hairbrush around in her hands. They should have been hounding her - Sabé helping her to undress, Rabé undoing her braid and brushing out her hair - but instead they waited, and they watched.

For Eirtaé, it was business as usual, however, and she hovered awkwardly next to Padmé with night creams in hand, waiting for her queen to give her leave to wash her face for her. Padmé wondered if her three day’s absence compounded with the stress of being forced out of Naboo had strengthened Eirtaé’s need to cling to the regularity of bedtime routine, and she understood that. But if Eirtaé felt anxious about the disruption now, Padmé could only imagine how she would fare when she shared her intention to abandon her throne, and with it her handmaidens, altogether.

Stop it! Deny! Deny! Deny!

The door chime sounded. Without needing to be asked, Rabé set the hairbrush down on the vanity and attended to the incoming visitor, passing through the door to see who lay on the other side. When she returned, the sudden straightening of her usually languid posture was the only clue Padmé needed to figure out who had come calling.

“Captain Panaka, My Lady,” she announced, confirming Padmé’s suspicions. “Shall I show him in?”

“Please,” Padmé said - she figured she’d have to tell him about her intentions to accompany Qui-Gon sooner or later.

Rabé nodded, and vanished once more. Eventually, the door slid open, and Captain Panaka passed through them with Rabé hot on his heels. He had been greatly occupied for most of the day, aiding Obi-Wan in installing the new hyperdrive before trying and failing to convince Qui-Gon that they should make for Coruscant as soon as they completed the installation. Qui-Gon had vetoed the suggestion, for he had one more item of business to attend to that night - and the wink he’d flashed in Padmé’s direction had delighted her.

Now, Panaka’s face was a stony mask of discontent, a sure sign of his repressed anger at their delay. Padmé knew that her plans for that evening would only frustrate him further, but she had already made up her mind. He would just have to cope - and she could always order him to let her go if he kicked up too much of a fuss. 

“Good evening, Captain,” she said in greeting. “Did you have something for me?”

Panaka nodded. “I only wish to report on our activities here while you were away with Master Qui-Gon. You will be relieved to know that the padawan and our pilot have yet to discover our ruse - Sabé has performed her role exceptionally well.”

Sabé’s blush did not escape Padmé’s notice. “I am glad to hear of it.”

“I recommend that she resume the disguise upon our arrival on Coruscant, and that she maintain it until you are safely installed in your apartments and ready to progress our negotiations with the Senate,” Panaka continued. “For the remainder of our journey, however, I see no reason to uphold our deception.”

Padmé sucked on her lip for a moment. “Actually, I believe that Sabé will need to play the Queen for a moment longer.”

Sabé and Rabé exchanged knowing glances, while Eirtaé’s lips parted in surprise. 

“You fear for your safety during the journey?” Panaka asked.

“No, that is not what I mean.” Unable to sit still for the excitement pulsing through her, Padmé rose to her feet and wandered towards the window, and she spoke to Panaka’s reflection in the glass. “Master Qui-Gon informed you that he has further business to attend to in Mos Espa this evening, correct?”

“That he did. But that is no concern of yours, Your Highness. I am sure he will not take long.”

But Padmé shook her head. “I think you’ll find that it is a concern of mine, Captain, because I intend to accompany him.”

Now, Sabé and Rabé looked just as surprised as Eirtaé - it seemed she had exceeded their expectations. Panaka shared in their shock, although his was coloured by a frustrated sort of fear that made the vein in his forehead bulge. “Your Highness, it was enough of a risk for you to accompany Master Qui-Gon in the first place, but to return with him as well? I would strongly advise that you remain on board our ship where you will be safe until Master Qui-Gon has attended to his errand.”

Padmé turned to stare at him for a moment, deliberating on how she should defend her intended actions. Certainly, there was little sense in keeping Anakin a secret, for all her companions would inevitably meet him when she and Qui-Gon brought him on board. Panaka might disapprove of her venturing back to Mos Espa for a mere slave boy, but his disapproval was the only real risk she would take by telling him the truth. But even if she told him every gritty detail about her friendship with Anakin, there was one part of that story that she could not bear to admit - that in exchange for Qui-Gon’s help in securing Anakin’s freedom, she had forsaken her throne. The prospect of her Jedi training hung hazy and ominous in the mist of her future, and she was determined to deny the truth of it for as long as she could. If she did not speak her betrayal into existence, she could entertain the fantasy that she had thwarted its inevitability.

So, Padmé took a deep breath and told the truth in halves.

“If you must know, Qui-Gon is returning to Mos Espa on my request, and I will not let him complete his task without my being present. During our time there, we befriended a slave, and he has come to mean a great deal to me. I requested that Qui-Gon assist me in freeing him, and he has kindly obeyed. We shall rescue him tonight, and from there I wish for him to accompany us to Coruscant.”

It was Sabé who broke the lengthy silence that followed. “Do you intend to purchase this slave?”

“No!” In a brief moment of shocked horror at the mere thought of treating Anakin like a purchasable object, Padmé lost her grip on her composure. She took a moment to regain it, and cleared her throat. “Certainly not. But if you must put it in those terms, then I suppose you could say that Qui-Gon and I will simply… borrow him. Indefinitely.”

“So, you plan to steal him, then,” Panaka said, his voice hard. When Padmé nodded, his jaw tightened. “It seems that spending three days in Mos Espa havs transformed you into a common thief.”

“So you approve of slavery, then?”

“Of course I don’t,” Panaka snapped. “What I don’t approve of is you so flagrantly breaking the laws of this planet. Whether you and I agree with them or not is beside the point - if you commit an act that is punishable by law, then there is every chance that you will be caught and tried for it. Surely you can understand that, with the Trade Federation pillaging Naboo as we speak, the last thing your people need is for their queen to be locked up to rot in some dirty prison in the Outer Rim.”

Anger flared hot in Padmé’s chest, her heart pounding with indignation. “Of course I am aware of the risk, and I resent your implication that my actions tonight will be to the detriment of my people. Ensuring Anakin’s safety will give me the peace of mind I need to dedicate myself to Naboo.”

“I cannot understand this,” Panaka muttered. “You would put yourself and your people in further danger because of a slave you have known for a handful of days? I mean no disrespect, but My Lady, you are young, and I am certain that your affection for this slave is nothing but a whirlwind fascination. I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to take this risk for something so fleeting.”

Padmé stood firm, staring Panaka down. The force flared around her, bursting with every new flush of anger. “Frankly, Captain, I am insulted by your dismissal. Without Anakin’s help, we never would have been able to purchase the replacement hyperdrive, and we would still be stranded here, scratching our heads, trying to figure out how to repair the ship. We, and all the Naboo in turn, owe him a great deal. And if you had seen the conditions he is forced to live in - that all the slaves are forced to live in - you would be desperate to rescue him from them too. Any affection I may have for him is secondary to the simple fact that allowing him to continue living as he does would be an act of extreme cruelty, and cruelty is something I never plan to embrace.”

Silence fell in the wake of her diatribe. Panaka gritted his teeth, and once again it was Sabé who spoke up first, her voice bright. “I think what you plan to do tonight is very admirable, My Lady. The Naboo are strong - they will survive another night without us.”

Rabé and Eirtaé nodded along with her, and Padmé gave them a small, grateful bow of her head. “Thank you, girls. I am glad that you, at least, understand me.”

Sabé turned to Panaka. “Captain, I understand your reservations, but I think Her Ladyship has proven herself more than capable of handling herself in Mos Espa. With the help of Master Qui-Gon, she survived three whole days there and came out unscathed - why should it be different tonight?”

“Mos Espa is not like Theed,” Panaka said. “In Theed, a young woman may wander the streets by herself as late as she pleases and fear nothing for her safety. Mos Espa offers no such security.”

“But I will not be travelling alone,” Padmé reminded him. “Master Qui-Gon will always be at my side. I could do much worse than to have a Jedi as my protector.”

Eirtaé stepped forward a little. “Perhaps you could go with them, Captain? You may have to reveal Padmé’s true identity to justify your presence, but Master Qui-Gon seems trustworthy enough to me.”

Some of the tension that sat taut in Panaka’s shoulders melted a little at the suggestion. “What say you to that, Your Majesty?”

At first, it seemed a decent compromise - but the more thought Padmé gave to it, the less practical it seemed. To reveal the truth of her royal status to Qui-Gon would only complicate matters, for it would inevitably lead to Panaka discovering her force sensitivity, and then it would only be a matter of time before he learned of her traitorous promise to train as a Jedi. No, it simply would not do, and Padmé scrambled to contrive some artificial reason to reject the suggestion. 

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “We have no disguise for you. Your presence would attract too much attention and inspire too many questions. Master Qui-Gon and I must go alone.”

Panaka’s jaw visibly tightened, but Eirtaé spoke up again before he could voice his displeasure. “What about taking Qui-Gon’s padawan? He wouldn’t need a disguise, and he could give Her Majesty extra protection.”

“You saw what he did to those droids back at the Palace,” Rabé chipped in, and she grinned at the memory. “If anyone lays a hand on Her Highness, he’ll slice them to pieces.”

Although Padmé did not doubt Obi-Wan’s skill as a protector, the thought of him accompanying her and Qui-Gon on their mission to free Anakin displeased her. It would feel like an intrusion, somehow. “I don’t know about that.”

“Why not?” Rabé asked.

It dawned on her then that the only way to escape this barrage of well-meant concern was to outright deny them the opportunity to dispense it. Padmé glanced out the window - the suns had sunk ever lower, replacing the earlier glow of vermillion with a delicate, dusky purple. Night was almost upon them, for she could see a smattering of moons rising to take the place of the suns. “If I stay here debating with you all for any longer, Master Qui-Gon will leave without me, and I can’t have that. I’m sorry if this distresses you, Captain, but I must order you not to interfere with anything I may do tonight.”

“Your Highness-”

“I won’t tolerate disobedience, Captain!”

He held her gaze in an iron vice, and Padmé could see him physically restraining his desire to challenge her, to argue back, to do anything to convince her to stay even if it meant stepping out of line. At length, he took a deep breath, and Padmé watched him as if he were a predator about to pounce on her. He moved his hands towards his belt, Padmé’s gaze never leaving them as he reached for his holster and pulled out his blaster - an elegantly crafted thing as all Naboo machinery was, but a little more heavy duty than a standard issue blaster. He studied it for a moment, hesitating, but eventually, he held it out to her.

Without a word, Padmé took it, accepting it for what it signified.

***

The heavy blanket of night had draped itself over Mos Espa by the time Padmé and Qui-Gon passed over its borders. Padmé had never known the spaceport in true darkness - she had always concealed herself in the encampment by the time the suns set on the previous nights. But seeing the streets now, all swathed in black and shadow, made Captain Panaka’s warnings about the safety of the place at night all the more vivid. For amongst the quiet dark there were shifting figures lurking in the tight alleyways and side streets, eyes vacant yet predatory as they watched the pair pass through the empty main street. Padmé made sure to keep close to Qui-Gon’s side, and her hand hovered around Panaka’s blaster, which now sat in the holster hanging from her belt.

But it was more than just the shifting eyes of lurking strangers that disturbed her. That ever-present nightmare darkness hung heavier in the air than ever before, now tainted with the vision of fire and destruction that she had plunged into earlier that day. The darkness had become more than just a nightmare now, but a distinct possibility, and Padmé did not like it. She could feel it breathing down her neck, its distinctive texture rubbing against her skin, the sound of its footsteps crunching close behind her in the sand. Padmé glanced up at Qui-Gon, wondering if he could feel it too.

“Qui-Gon,” she began, but the fearful hesitation in her tone negated her need to ask the full question - he understood her immediately.

“I sense it,” he said, his voice low. “We can’t waste any time here. Let’s find Anakin and get back to the ship as quickly as we can.”

Padmé glanced around, watching for the flash of red and yellow eyes she remembered so vividly from her dream, listening for the howling scream she had heard in her vision. “But what is it? Is something causing it? Someone?”

“Someone? Tell me - did you see anyone in your dream?”

“Yes,” Padmé said with a nod. “He had these horrible eyes.”

“Stay close to me, then,” Qui-Gon said, his voice low and grave. “And hurry.”

The pair picked up the pace, moving swiftly through the hollow streets towards the slave encampment building. A biting chill whipped through the air, although Padmé couldn’t be sure if it was the wind or something deeper, something darker. As the encampment grew nearer, her thoughts drifted to Anakin - she did not like the idea of bringing him, defenceless without the force, into such darkness.     

As they had the previous nights, they found a small crowd gathered outside the slave encampment, largely made up of those who did not want to sleep inside and those who had arrived too late to find a spot to rest. After checking that Anakin was not amongst them, Qui-Gon pushed through them without hesitation, and Padmé followed close behind him. Those they passed grumbled in protest, but their complaints fell on deaf ears - there was no time to apologise.

It was a short journey down the dank and dirty stairwell - Qui-Gon moved fast, and Padmé had to move so quickly to keep up with him that she feared she might lose her footing and tumble into him. A few prone bodies watched them as they made their speedy descent, their eyes tired as they sat on the stairs. Padmé spared them a glance in the hope that one of them might be Anakin, but she had no such luck. She would, it seemed, have to pick her way through the writhing mass of malnourished bodies in the common area if she was to find her friend.

They emerged into the common area, and Padmé desperately scanned the crowds. But there were so many people, all skeletal thin and clad in rags, tear tracks down their hollow cheeks and scars on their sun-blistered skin - it pained her that Anakin was so difficult to find amongst them, because it meant he blended in with them all so perfectly. She glanced up at Qui-Gon. “Can you see him?”

Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes as he searched, his height giving him a distinct advantage - he could see much farther than she could. But, nevertheless, he shook his head. “No, not when it’s this busy. I’m sorry, Padmé, but if we cannot find him in time-”

“We have to,” Padmé insisted. Desperately twisting her head, she strained her eyes to search - she had come too far to lose him now, given up too much. But if they did not find him, would she still have to make that long avoided sacrifice? If Qui-Gon could not hold up his end of the bargain, would that not release her from her own contract? Suddenly, the prospect of turning and fleeing seemed immensely tempting, and she could feel her resolve faltering.

A swirl of air shifted around her, and Padmé recognised the cool touch of the force against her skin. It spoke to her, whispered in her ear that it wanted to help, reassured her that she was doing the right thing, that Anakin’s safety would be worth the sacrifice. Yes, the force would help her find him, and so Padmé let the tension seep away from her and sunk her consciousness deep within it - she and the force would seek him out as one. Qui-Gon glanced down at her in alarm. “Don’t. You’ll only put a target on our backs.”

But it was too late, and Padmé did not care for Qui-Gon’s warning - let the darkness come for them, if it would bring Anakin closer to her. She closed her eyes and released herself into the force, losing herself so that she might find her friend not by his appearance, but by his soul - the same soul she had welcomed into her own that morning. Hundreds of beating hearts thundered all around her, a cacophony of shattered spirits singing their living dirge, but there was only one voice she sought out. She and the force wove through it all - and together they found him, hidden away in a tight and lonely corner, faint and grey and lonely. Something had shattered around that gentle heart, for there were shards of brittle bone lodged inside.

Padmé opened her eyes and, without hesitation, began to push her way through the crowds, stepping over bodies as carefully as she could despite her haste. Qui-Gon followed her, but so focused was she on reaching her destination that she did not pay him any mind - she had seen Anakin through the eye of the force, and reaching him was all that mattered to her.

She found him just as the force predicted she would, sitting small in the corner of the encampment with his head resting against the wall, almost entirely secluded in shadow. Without the force to aid her, she may never have seen him hiding amongst the black. As soon as she saw him, Padmé could not help herself - she cried out. “Anakin!”

Anakin glanced up at her, and a strange dance of confusion, hope, and fear flitted across his face. He made a move to stand, but with a wince he hesitated and lowered himself once more. Padmé fell into a crouch beside him, and Qui-Gon soon did the same. Anakin stared at them both as if they were ghosts returned to haunt him, taunt him - there was no smile on his lips, no light in his eyes. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d left ages ago.”

“We came back for you,” Padmé said, unable to contain her excitement, smiling in the hopes that he would mirror her. He did not. “We’ve come to take you away from this place. You can come to Coruscant with us.”

The sun began to rise on his expression, and his dry lips parted in surprise. “You mean you’ve bought me? But you only had enough money for the hyperdrive.”

“No, no, we haven’t bought you,” Padmé reassured him. “We don’t have to. If you come with us now, we can get out of here before Watto even realises that you’re gone.” But every trace of light vanished from Anakin’s countenance, and hopeless disappointment swallowed him. “What? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Just go.”

Padmé and Qui-Gon shared a glance of confusion before they turned back to Anakin. “We’re not leaving without you,” Padmé insisted. “I know Watto scares you, but there’s no way he’s going to catch us. And even if he did somehow, we wouldn’t let him take you.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“I think there’s something you’re not telling us,” Qui-Gon said, ever gentle. “Tell us - what’s stopping you from coming with us?”

Anakin turned his head to look up at them, and the shadows that surrounded him cut harsh contours into his face - he was all razor sharp cheekbones and deep eye-sockets, his flesh but a thin coating around his skull. “Every single slave gets a chip inserted into them when they’re born, and when they’re bought, their owner programmes their brand into it and sets the parameters of where their slave can and can’t go. Watto programmed mine so that I can’t leave Mos Espa, and that’ll only change if someone else buys me. So unless you two want to buy me and reprogramme me, you’re wasting your time.”

“What happens if you leave Mos Espa? Surely we can work around it?” Padmé asked, fighting off a brand new wave of nausea that had just crashed over her. The mere practice of slavery had already sickened her to her core, but the insertion of such dehumanising devices into newborn infants abhorred her in a way she could not find the words to describe. 

Anakin levelled her with a look like ragged steel. “The chips are weapons, and they go off if a slave leaves their owner’s boundaries. Some are programmed to explode, others fry you with electricity. Mine’s programmed to release poison into my blood.” He swallowed, and his voice grew thick. “So, if you take me out of Mos Espa, I’ll just die slowly and painfully, and you can take my corpse back to Coruscant - would you like that?” When his first tears fell, he wiped them away with a furious, trembling hand. “Just go away. Leave me alone. Please. You’re making everything worse.”

He turned away from them, pressing himself against the wall and vanishing almost entirely into the shadows, keeping his gaze firmly ahead of him. It was all Padmé could do not to reach out and hold him, but she knew that touching him would only upset him. So, she looked up at Qui-Gon instead, and in his face she found a kind of rage that she had never seen before in him, or in anyone - boiling, quiet yet ferocious, unspeakable fury expanding out from his very core. When he spoke, he sounded as measured as ever - but the foundations were cracking.

“Anakin, where is this chip planted?” he asked. 

Anakin glanced up at him, the deep blue of his eyes rimmed in crimson. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Just show me.”

At length, Anakin pulled down the torn collar of his shirt, further exposing the dark bruises that wrapped around his neck. A faint scar marred the skin at the base of his throat, just above his frighteningly prominent collarbone, and he placed two lacerated fingers against it. “Here.”

Padmé watched as Qui-Gon closed his eyes, and her lips parted in a silent gasp when she felt the force shifting around them. It twitched around Qui-Gon before flowing away from him in a gentle wave, gliding towards Anakin and gathering around the scarred flesh where he had laid his fingers. It delved under his skin, and from that point Padmé lost sight of it - it was part of Anakin now, yet no doubt it remained a willing tool in Qui-Gon’s control.

Anakin gasped, and he placed his whole hand over the spot at the base of his neck. “Ow! Hey, what did you just do?”

Qui-Gon opened his eyes. “I deactivated your chip.”

“You can’t do that,” Anakin protested.

“Well, I just did.”

Padmé ducked her head to hide her small smile - for had Qui-Gon not just scolded her for using the force for Anakin’s sake? It seemed that not even he could resist doing some good in spite of the risk it carried.

“It’s not possible,” Anakin insisted. “They don’t turn off, that’s not how it works. People have to cut them out if they want to get rid of them. You can’t turn them off.”

Qui-Gon moved closer to him, and he tentatively reached out to lay his hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “The life of a slave is the only one you’ve ever known, isn’t it?”

Wide-eyed, Anakin nodded. 

“Does it frighten you to leave that life behind?”

When Anakin nodded once more, Padmé frowned - she couldn’t understand why he’d be scared to abandon such a life of cruelty. He ought to be glad, she thought, and grateful to them. It didn’t matter if turning this chip off was impossible, for Qui-Gon had done it, and now he could be free. Why did he resist it?

“I understand,” Qui-Gon said. “Change is never easy - believe me, I know. But we will take care of you, I promise you that. Whatever happens next, you will have friends at your side.”

“But what if I don’t know what to do? I wouldn’t even know where to start. I can’t read or write or-”

“We will help you find your way, and we can teach you all you need to know,” Qui-Gon reassured him. He glanced up, and as soon as he did, Padmé felt the force arc and spark around them - but it was not the force she knew. It was the dark side, closer than ever, and the light now hid from it, quivering in fear. His face settling into stone, Qui-Gon turned back to his two companions, and Padmé knew that he had felt the darkness too. “But if we are to leave, it must be now. We don't have much time.”

Anakin frowned. “Don’t have much time for what?”

Qui-Gon gave his shoulder one last squeeze before releasing it. “We can explain later. Come on, both of you - we need to go.”

With that, Qui-Gon rose from his crouch and, recognising the urgency of the situation, Padmé rose with him. Anakin, however, hesitated, a disbelief etched into his face as Padmé sensed anxiety flowing from him in waves. Qui-Gon stepped towards him once more, and he held out his hand for him to take. “It’s alright.”

Anakin glanced up at him, his midnight eyes still swimming with tears. At last, he reached out and slipped his hand into Qui-Gon’s, who pulled him to his feet. His pained wince did not escape Padmé’s notice, and even though she could feel the darkness growing heavier and heavier in the air, she still took the time to move to his side. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, but he had brought his hand to rest gingerly against his left side, and so Padmé did not believe him. But there was no time to question it any further - Qui-Gon had begun to pick his way through the crowd of slaves, and Padmé and Anakin found themselves with no choice but to follow.

They broke out into the night with haste, and Padmé tried her best to steady her breathing so as not to reveal how their fast jog up the stairs had worn her out. Anakin, it seemed, was suffering a similar exhaustion, but there was something different about the quality of his breath - ragged, more like a wheeze. But once again, Qui-Gon did not stop for them, and he pressed on ahead through the streets, keeping a brisk pace for Padmé and Anakin to follow. 

Sand puffed up in clouds beneath Padmé’s feet as she ran, muffling her footsteps as her feet hit against the ground in time with the thud of her heart. She ran blindly, implicitly trusting Qui-Gon to lead her in the right direction - so lost was she in her terror that she had long lost track of which streets they had weaved through, whether they had passed through the market square yet or whether it still lay ahead of them. They passed by endless shadows of people, buildings, vehicles, and it was all a blur of motion that Padmé had no opportunity to distinguish because if she stopped running the claws of night would catch her. With every step, her skin grew clammier and colder, and she knew that they were not running alone. A shadow loomed in the corner of her eyes - always, always, looming.

The buildings began to thin out around them as they made their escape, and now all that remained between them and their safe harbour was a vast stretch of flat desert. Padmé did not alter her pace as she broke past the boundaries of Mos Espa, unphased by the abyssal sands so long as they could cross them in a safe, straight passage towards the Royal Starship. But it was not long before Qui-Gon’s moonlit silhouette vanished from her view, and Padmé skidded to a halt. As her hand drifted towards Panaka’s blaster pistol, she turned to search for her companion, her heart thudding out a staccato beat of helpless terror. If necessary, she could probably make it to the ship without him, for she knew the way, having made the journey a few times now. But with that nightmare figure lingering in her eyes, she did not like her chances of successfully facing the night alone without a Jedi master to aid her.

Fortunately, Qui-Gon had not gone far. He remained just outside of Mos Espa’s border, and she could hear him calling - calling to Anakin, who had stalled by one of the buildings. “Anakin, hurry! We have to move!”

But he could not - he remained frozen on the spot, for Qui-Gon’s promise of safety had yet to alleviate his fear of brutal, poisonous death, which had hung over him ever since Watto programmed his chip. Anakin glanced up at them, his expression hidden by the night. “I can’t.”

Padmé strode through the sands towards him, and she held out her hand for him to take. “Yes you can. Nothing’s going to happen to you, I promise.”

Now closer, she could see him plainly in the moonlight, and he still wore the same mask of disbelieving, fearful numbness that he had at the encampment. “I don’t want to die.”

“You won’t.” When a sudden chill froze her blood to ice, Padmé knew that their time was short - the shadow in her eyes grew larger and larger, and if they lingered any longer, it would consume them all. So, without a second of hesitation, she grabbed hold of Anakin’s wrist and pulled him across the border before breaking into a sprint, leading him along behind her as she charged through the sand. Anakin cried out, but she did not let his terror dissuade her - no force in the universe could ever make her stop, not until they were safe.

Qui-Gon sprinted along beside them, his long legs carrying him further even with the thick, unpredictable sands to slow him down. Behind her, Padmé could feel Anakin picking up his pace as well - perhaps, with the threat of slowly burning poison now disproved, he could move more freely than ever. But she could still hear a horrid wheezing in his breath, pained and unnatural, and it melded into the wicked ambience of night to chill her heart into terror. All was not right, nothing was right, and the exhaustion of exertion melted into a lightheaded, dreamy haze. 

“Padmé, Anakin, drop!”

The sands vanished beneath her as a claw of shadow closed around her. From out of the night emerged a face all red with hate, yet marked with harsh and jagged patterns of pitch black, looming out from the gloom and the mist and the blood-scented smoke - her nightmare made flesh. Brighter than the twin suns burned the red and yellow of his eyes, and tiny pupils bore deep holes into her own eyes - deep enough to find her soul, deep enough to latch on to the seed of darkness that had grown inside her alongside the light. She could see her own face mirrored back in those violent eyes, could see her horror flashing inside of him as he loomed ever closer. Shadows enclosed around her heart, and all was silent save for the beat of her heart and the rattling wheeze of her friend who could not breathe.

He cannot breathe, he cannot breathe, we are all in the darkness and he cannot breathe!

The man from her nightmare opened his mouth, and his yellowed teeth were too dull to glint in the pale white moonlight. They were sharp and uneven, and she could hear his breath so very, very loudly now. Rushing, rushing through her ears, a cacophony of sound, of screams, of the cracking of bone. His voice echoed out from her nightmare - “Come to me, little one.”  

He doused her in red as he drew his lightsaber.

“Padmé! No!”

A flash of green cut through the dark, and the hands of the force pushed her back into the sands, snapping her into startling clarity. She sat up as soon as she could, panting heavily, and her eyes soon locked onto Qui-Gon and the nightmare figure, their red and green blades clashing in combat. She scrambled to her knees, watching in terror as Qui-Gon and the stranger entered into their battle dance, their blades swinging and strobing through the black as they parried and swiped at each other. When Qui-Gon only narrowly dodged from the path of the blood red sabre, Padmé cried out - “Qui-Gon!”

“Both of you, go! Get back to the ship!” Qui-Gon called through gritted teeth as he aimed to strike his opponent in the side only to be knocked back by his deflection. “It’s not far now - tell Obi-Wan to take off!”

“We can’t just leave you!” She had not noticed Anakin lingering beside her before, but now she heard him, and his voice was ragged with pained breathlessness as he tried to yell. He stumbled to his feet. “Get away from him!”

Padmé glanced in the direction of the ship - she could just see it, sitting tiny in the distance, the sleek chrome body still shining under the moonlight despite the dust that now coated it. She swallowed, for it seemed so very far away, and she did not want to leave Qui-Gon behind with a figure she knew to be evil itself. She had felt as much in her soul - when he had entered her mind, every fibre of her being had grown paralysed by his sheer wickedness.

“I said go! Run!” Qui-Gon cried. “I’ll be alright, just go!”

Padmé glanced up at Anakin. “We have to.”

“But-”

“Come on!”

She rose to her feet and took Anakin’s wrist in her hand once more, dragging him reluctantly through the night. She tried not to think about Qui-Gon, or his nightmare assailant, or the prospect of the red blade burning through his robes and embedding itself in his flesh, or the threat of the stranger coming for her and Anakin after Qui-Gon’s heart had ceased to beat. She could focus only on the ship as it grew steadily larger and larger, only on putting one foot in front of the other, only on gripping Anakin’s wrist as tight as she could because she could feel him slowing down as his panting grew unsteady and harsh with mounting agony. She had felt it in the force when she had searched for him - something had broken inside of him, and now it was causing him pain. 

Harder and faster she ran, her lungs burning and her leg muscles screaming out in protest - she had never moved this quickly in her life, and the shifting, heavy terrain of sand made her steps sluggish no matter how swiftly she charged ahead. The shifting sands tripped her up from time to time, and whenever she fell she always took Anakin with her, but she’d scramble ahead on her hands and knees until she could regain her footing - never stopping, never stopping. The electric swoop and clash of the lightsaber duel rang out loud and clear through the air no matter how much distance she placed between herself and the battle, reminding her why she had to keep running. Qui-Gon had told her to get back to the ship. Qui-Gon had told her that he would be alright. She would trust him. What else could she do?

Even when she and Anakin finally made it to the shining beacon of safety that was the Royal Starship, Padmé did not stop running. Still gripping on tight to Anakin’s wrist, she sprinted up the ramp, and she skidded on the flat, smooth metal surface for a moment before regaining her balance. They dashed inside the main corridor of the ship, and Padmé made a beeline for the cockpit, hoping that Obi-Wan would be waiting for her there. 

When the cockpit door slid open and she saw two figures seated in the pilots’ chairs, Padmé wasted no time - she and Anakin cried out in unison: “Take off, now!”

Obi-Wan whirled around in his seat, a deep furrow in his brow. Beside him, the other pilot, a man named Ric Olié, mirrored his expression. “What?”

“Just take off, Qui-Gon said so!” Padmé cried. 

“Where is Master Qui-Gon?” Obi-Wan asked, craning his neck to look for his master behind the two panting teenagers before him.

Anakin shook his head. “There’s this other man out there, and he’s got a red lightsaber - Qui-Gon stayed behind to fight him.”

A heavy look of dread etched itself into Obi-Wan’s face. “Oh no…”

“We don’t know who he is, but Qui-Gon’s still out there, and we have to go back for him,” Padmé said. “Please, Obi-Wan!”

Obi-Wan hesitated no longer. He turned back to the ship’s controls, with Olié doing the same, and it wasn’t long before the ship whirred into life. Anakin stumbled a little as the ground shuddered beneath them, and Padmé grabbed hold of him to steady him. 

“Raising the ramp,” Olié said, but Obi-Wan held a hand out to stop him.

“No. If we’re going to get Master Qui-Gon out of there, he’ll need something to jump onto.”

Anakin’s eyes widened. “You expect him to jump all the way up here?”

“He’s a Jedi, kid. He could probably jump from here to one of those moons,” Olié said. For a brief moment, he turned back to Anakin, his brow still furrowed. “Who are you, exactly?”

“Worry about that later,” Obi-Wan urged. The ground shifted beneath them once more as Obi-Wan angled the ship back in Qui-Gon’s direction. He kept his concentration firmly on the controls even as he spoke to Padmé and Anakin. “Padmé, go back to the docking ramp and let the boy know when you see Master Qui-Gon. Boy, wait in the doorway and relay anything she says to me.”

“My name is Anakin.”

“That’s very nice, now get a move on!”

Letting go of Anakin, Padmé did as she was told and hurried from the cockpit back to the open docking ramp. A harsh wind tugged at her clothes and her hair as she peered out into the night, squinting as little granules of sand whipped past her face. Fortunately, the endless black of night made the green and red flashing of blades vividly obvious, and Padmé turned her head to call back to Anakin. “I see him! Tell Obi-Wan to angle the ship a little lower and to the, uh… left! To the left!”

From where he stood in the cockpit’s doorway, Anakin nodded and relayed Padmé’s instructions. It wasn’t long before Obi-Wan acted on them, and Padmé bit her lip in anticipation as Qui-Gon and the nightmare stranger grew closer and closer. From what she could see, their duel was raging on as swift and strong as ever - as he had in Theed, Qui-Gon was handling himself immensely well. As the ship came in range of them, Padmé could just catch a glimpse of Qui-Gon’s face amidst the flashing lights - he glanced up at the ship, and his eyes widened at the sight of her.

“Qui-Gon! Master Qui-Gon!” she called as loudly as she could - although her ability to project her voice was hampered by her breathlessness. She waved her hand to beckon him. “Quickly!”

Qui-Gon could not pay her much attention, for the nightmare stranger did not relent in his attack despite the new arrival. He swung his lightsaber at Qui-Gon’s face, but Qui-Gon was swift to deflect it with his own. He started leading the stranger away from the ship, shuffling backwards as he continued to block the onslaught. Padmé could only watch as tightness closed around her chest, her anxiety and the exertion of their sprint making breathing evenly nigh on impossible. She couldn’t understand why Qui-Gon was moving away from them - was he trying to sacrifice himself?

“What’s he doing?” Anakin called from the doorway.

Padmé shook her head. “I don’t know, he’s not getting any closer.”

“Do we need to move the ship?”

“Maybe, I-” Padmé cut herself off, for Qui-Gon had stopped his slow shuffle backwards. Without warning, he lunged forward and swiped his lightsaber upwards, slicing the free arm of his mystery assailant. Padmé could hear the stranger’s howl of pain even from her height - he must have dug deep to elicit such a cry. But Qui-Gon made the most of his opponent’s momentary distraction, and rose from his lunge and began charging back in the direction of the ship, sheathing his lightsaber as he ran. Padmé’s eyes widened - without the aid of the green glow, she couldn’t see him at all.

Footsteps sounded behind her, and soon Anakin was at her side once more. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, I can’t see him,” Padmé replied, stringing her words together in her hasty panic.

As soon as the words left her lips, a figure suddenly emerged from the darkness, flying through the air in an impressive arc - it was Qui-Gon. He landed on the very edge of the ramp, but his landing was awkward and he almost fell backwards and out into the open air again. Without a second thought, Padmé threw her hand out to grab hold of him with the force, and she tugged him forward into the safety of the ship. The strength of her pull sent them both tumbling to the ground in a heap, but as soon as they were both safely inside, Anakin called out to Obi-Wan - “We’ve got him, let’s go!”

Obi-Wan obeyed immediately, and soon enough the ship started to move once more, the docking ramp raising with a whir. Padmé remained panting on the floor, closing her eyes as she caught her breath. Once she felt a little more settled, she opened her eyes and looked at Qui-Gon, and a warm balm of relief flooded through her when she confirmed that he appeared to be relatively unharmed. He was looking at her with the hearth-fire smile she had grown so used to seeing on him, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and he gently laid his hand on her shoulder.

“You did very well, Padmé.”

Padmé looked at this man, the man she had once distrusted so intensely on sight, who she could now only view as a source of friendship, a source of comfort. Mos Espa had been nothing but a deluge of horror to her, and he had been there for her as a guide her and a comfort through it all - certainly, they still had their differences, but when she saw him now she could recognise in him nothing but a kindred spirit, nothing but a friend. And she had come so close to losing that friend tonight, and the thought of pressing down this path she had taken - to save Naboo, to proceed with her Jedi training - without him frightened her beyond measure. But he was alright. He was safe, he was smiling, and he was alright. 

And so, because it was all she wanted to do, Padmé wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into the tightest hug she could manage.

Chapter Text

“Master, are you alright?”

Almost as soon as Padmé had wrapped her arms around Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan appeared in the doorway, striding past Anakin without a second thought to reach his seated master. After Qui-Gon patted her back with a gentle hand, he eased her away so that he might turn his attention to his padawan. 

Qui-Gon nodded. “I think so. He may have scorched my robes, nothing more.”

Obi-Wan’s frown did not fade - in the short time Padmé had known him, it seldom ever did. “Who was it?”

“I’m not sure,” Qui-Gon said, dropping his voice low. “But he was well trained in the Jedi arts.” Now, he turned to Padmé. “My guess is he was after Her Majesty.”

All the heat of physical exertion snapped into frozen fear - Qui-Gon had spoken with far too much intention, far too much understanding. Padmé could kid herself into thinking that he had only looked to her because he thought she was a handmaiden, but she knew better than to delude herself into believing comfortable falsehoods. Qui-Gon knew of her dream, knew that their mysterious red-bladed opponent had targeted her first, knew that they had shared a brief connection. Had he figured out that she and Amidala were one and the same as well? 

No. That was impossible. She had given him no cause to make such an assumption. But then he was a highly perceptive man.

Padmé straightened up and rose to her feet, adopting the performance of a handmaiden stirred into action by the suggestion of a threat to her queen. “I should inform Captain Panaka - he will want to factor this into his security plans. But why would the stranger want to pursue Her Majesty?”

“Perhaps the Trade Federation sent him,” Obi-Wan suggested, but Qui-Gon shook his head.

“No, no. There is something far deeper at play here.” Qui-Gon let his misty gaze wander, his heavy thoughts clouding his expression. But as his gaze settled on the doorway to the cockpit, his sight sharpened once more, and he lifted himself from his exhausted slump. “Anakin, what troubles you?”

Padmé followed Qui-Gon’s gaze - Anakin stood pressed against the doorframe, his head bowed as he held his hand gingerly against his side, his every laboured breath hitching in his throat. Adrenaline may have carried him across the desert and through Qui-Gon’s rescue, but now, in the quiet, that strength had faded and left him stranded in the mire of his own fatigue. Pain sat in the stiff set of his shoulders, in the clench of his jaw, and it was with some shame that Padmé realised that, although she had been aware of his pain since she said goodbye to him in the scrapyard, she had done little to investigate the specifics of what pained him. But now Qui-Gon was on his feet and striding towards him, every trace of exhaustion vanished now that he had found someone in need of his kindness.

“Anakin,” he said again, gentler this time. Anakin was tall for his age, but Qui-Gon still had to lean down to talk quietly to him. 

Frowning, Padmé watched the exchange with interest as Obi-Wan came to stand by her side - he too was curious about what was unfolding before them. To Qui-Gon’s question, Anakin could only give a strained reply. “I’m fine.”

“You needn’t hide yourself from us,” Qui-Gon said. He paused for a moment, thinking - always thinking. Padmé wondered what it was like inside of his head, wondered what connections he was making, wondered how he’d figure out how to approach Anakin’s reticence. “You can tell us what the matter is. Nobody is going to punish you for speaking openly here.”

It took Anakin a while to respond, and in the silence Padmé found herself contemplating his contradictions. He was reckless, bold, willing to stand up to his owner and disobey him when it suited him, unwaveringly good-hearted despite the determination of those around him to grind his spirit to dust. But now he was scared, unsure of himself, hyperaware that anything he said or did could be used against him and so concealed his bruised self from those he considered his friends - perhaps he had forgotten that he had friends to begin with, and that they meant him no harm. Padmé had seen him fluctuate between these two states so often that she could only wonder at how he kept up with himself. 

When Anakin finally croaked out an answer, Padmé could hardly hear him. “My chest hurts.”

“I see.” He glanced towards Padmé. “Does this ship have an infirmary?”

Padmé nodded. “It’s small, but it’s equipped with a state of the art medical droid.”

“That’ll do nicely, at least for now. Obi-Wan, return to the cockpit and set a course for Coruscant while I attend to Anakin. Padmé, could you show us the way?”

“Of course,” Padmé said.

Obi-Wan vanished back into the cockpit without hesitation, and Padmé wasted little time in guiding Qui-Gon and Anakin through the sleek and shining halls of the Royal Starship towards the infirmary. As they walked, she occasionally glanced behind her to check in on Anakin, and it seemed that every time she turned he appeated more and more exhausted. She could not help but pity him - his entire life had changed in the course of an hour, and how could he hope to comprehend it with this terrible pain in his chest? The glimmer and gleam of the chrome walls seemed almost too bright for him, for disorientation had set in the small furrow of his brow and his eyes sluggishly shifted as if he could not focus. As he stumbled along with Qui-Gon’s support, he almost looked like he was about to faint on his dragging feet.

The infirmary was only a few doors down from the grand chambers that Padmé shared with her handmaidens. The door slid open with a quiet whir when Padmé approached it, unveiling a small room with a soft bed against one wall and a well-stocked shelf of medical supplies on the other. A small window sat in the wall next to the bed, presumably so the gentle passage of the stars could soothe the occupant as they rested. At the foot of the bed, the medical droid sat in wait, deactivated but gleaming with the shine of recent maintenance. Padmé would only have to say the word to activate it.

She stepped aside to let Qui-Gon and Anakin through first before she started towards the droid - but before she could give the activation command, a familiar voice called her name. “Padmé.”

Turning, Padmé came face to face with Captain Panaka, and a quiet war between relief and disapproval waged on his countenance. Out of habit, and in commitment to her disguise, Padmé straightened her back as soon as she set eyes on him. “Captain.”

“I am pleased to see that you have returned safely,” Panaka said. He turned his gaze towards Qui-Gon, who was currently helping Anakin onto the bed. “You as well, Master Qui-Gon. Although, in future, I would ask that you consult me before dragging one of Her Majesty’s handmaidens into such reckless schemes.”

“My apologies, Captain,” Qui-Gon said, bowing his head a little. “I assure you, it will not happen again. But there are matters I wish to discuss with you once I’ve seen to Anakin here.”

Panaka gave a barely noticeable frown - he was a difficult man to read, but Padmé had spent so long in his company that she had learned to decipher the subtle intricacies of his expressions. “What matters are these?”

“Matters that concern the security of Her Majesty,” Qui-Gon explained. After making sure that Anakin was settled comfortably, he made his way over to the medical droid, and Padmé stepped out of his way. “Tonight, we discovered another threat to her. I assume you’d like to be briefed on it.”

“You assume correctly. Meet me in the briefing room as soon as you’ve finished with the boy,” Panaka said, ordering Qui-Gon as if he were one of his own men - it seemed he cared little for the distinction between himself and the Jedi. He returned his attention to Padmé, then. “Padmé, Her Majesty wishes to see you at once.”

She knew what he really meant - “ You have pushed the boundaries enough tonight, now go to your room and behave yourself until we reach Coruscant.” She wondered how it must feel for him, to have the freedom to issue an order to his queen - were it not for her disguise, she would have no obligation to obey him. But she could not betray herself in front of Qui-Gon and Anakin, and so she had no choice but to acquiesce to his request. 

“Yes, Captain.”

***

Space travel had a certain timelessness to it, and night and day meant little to those who wandered the stars. Yet their little company had made the unspoken agreement that now was the time to sleep, and so they dimmed the lights, settled their nerves, and those who wished to rest fell into the pall of slumber.

Padmé was not amongst their ranks. 

When she had returned to her quarters after parting ways with Qui-Gon and Anakin, Eirtaé had appeared at her side with news - since her departure, the ship had received an encrypted message from Naboo. Padmé had wasted no time in watching it, settling herself in front of her console with a distinct feeling of dread curdling in her stomach. As the holographic visage of Governor Bibble spoke to her of the Trade Federation prison camps that had been set up all across the planet, and of the innocent citizens who had been herded into those tight enclosures, Padmé’s heart had sunk so far down that she wondered how it had not fallen out of her body entirely. The recording was brief, as the Governor had filmed it on stolen time, but his message was clear - Naboo was falling into ruin, and it would continue to do so unless Queen Amidala acted swiftly.     

Now Padmé lay wide awake in the downy-soft sheets of her queenly bed, all but drowning in the plush whiteness of the bedsheets. Although her head was safely cushioned by the plump pillows beneath it, a dull ache pounded through her skull, the tight pain of tension straining between her eyebrows. She had not been alone with her thoughts since she first donned the handmaiden’s robes on Naboo, the quiet of her mind jeopardised by battle droids and Jedi knights and podraces and nightmares. There had been no time to stop, no time to rest - even in the days leading up to the podrace there had been no quiet at all, despite her relative lack of activity there. She had dwelled on her predicaments, certainly, but never for much longer than a minute or so before Qui-Gon or Anakin had called her attention. 

But now, she was alone, and all was quiet save for the quiet hum of the ship and the occasional sound of sheets rustling as Sabé shifted in the cot next to Padmé’s bed. And so her fears ran rampant.

On Naboo, her people were suffering under Trade Federation occupation, and she had left them when she had not wanted to. She had long forgiven Sabé for forcing her hand, but her absence from her own planet disturbed her, and an ugly hatred welled up inside her when she thought of how distracted she’d become by Mos Espa and its many and varied horrors. She focused that hatred on herself, for she knew she had failed her people by chasing her nightmares. While they suffered, their queen was off galavanting with Jedi, and she tried to tell herself that their extended stay in the spaceport had been unavoidable, even necessary. But her small reassurances were pitiful compared to the guilt that threatened to drown her.

What would she say to her people? How would she explain her absence to them? Would they lose their trust in her, their faith? What sort of queen was she if she could not prioritise her people at all times?

Sharp nausea welled up inside her when she thought of how she had deserted her people in more ways than one. Leaving Naboo to seek aid was one thing, but agreeing to abandon her throne to train as a Jedi was something else entirely. Tears pricked at her eyes, for she knew she had been a fool to let Qui-Gon sway her lifelong convictions - how could she? What sort of monster was she that she would turn her back on her people in the chaotic aftermath of invasion? The Naboo would need her more than ever once they ousted the Trade Federation, but she had forsaken them for the far-off Jedi Order - for a religion and a creed that she did not believe in, that she resented. 

But oh, the consequences of turning down Qui-Gon’s request! The horrors of darkness and fire and death, that horrific vision of the future that had bathed her in blood and ruin! That would be her future if she refused her training, that would be the aftermath of her loyalty to Naboo. The destruction would be hers to create, and she would do so if she was not tempered by Qui-Gon’s gentle hand - and what if that fire fury planet was Naboo? Theed in flames flashed before her eyes, her own mad laughter howled in her ears, and she had to hold back the urge to scream. Damn the force and its impossibilities, damn the force and what it did to its children!

Her tears finally fell, warm and slow as they spilled down her temples and onto the pillows. They tickled a little, but Padmé did not wipe them away. She wanted to cry - she knew she would go mad if she didn’t, even if she had to do so silently. It was too much. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t go on like this. 

Somehow, when they reached Coruscant, she would have to don her queenly garb and wear her mask of composure and calmly beg the Senate to send aid to her home. She would have to do so without betraying the slightest trace of her grief, of her inner turmoil, and it seemed an entirely impossible task. Her chest grew tight, her lungs constricted - she could not breathe.

Padmé had abandoned Amidala, and so Amidala had abandoned her in kind. The royal identity would offer its shroud no longer.

Her body electric, Padmé bolted upright, bringing her hand to her chest as she desperately tried to settle her shallow, restless breaths. In the near blackness, she could only just make out Sabé’s form on the cot, wrapped up in bedsheets and sleeping soundly. At any other time, Padmé might have woken her, sought aid from her calm, collected sensibilities. She had always been able to rely on Sabé to calm her with common sense when the stress of her position overwhelmed her - she had a strange wisdom about her, intelligent far beyond her years even for a child raised within Naboo’s political labyrinth. But somehow, Padmé knew that Sabé could be of no help to her now.

The Padmé who could be calmed by Sabé’s sage advice had ceased to exist. No longer were her troubles solely political - Sabé knew nothing of her force sensitivity, nor her impending abandonment of Naboo, nor her nightmares and visions and prophecies of horror. She could no longer soothe Padmé as she once had. Sabé belonged to another life, a life Padmé had given up as soon as she’d requested to travel with Qui-Gon all those days ago. She was redundant to her now, and oh how Padmé hated that cruel and callous truth. 

To toss her greatest ally aside like a broken doll - what had become of her?

But Padmé knew that this was a night she could not face alone. Her anxieties frightened her, and for once she felt as young as she truly was - she would never openly admit that she was scared, but she would do herself no good by denying it to herself. Yes, Queen Padmé Amidala of Naboo was scared, and she wanted to speak to someone who could comfort her.

Gingerly so as to not wake Sabé, Padmé eased herself out from under the bedcovers, gripping the fabric tight to still her trembling hands. Her bare feet barely made a sound on the carpeted floor, and despite the panic that dulled her composure, she managed to move lightly - Sabé did not stir when the chamber doors slid open with that slight mechanical whir, although it may have woken her had it been a mere decibel louder.

There had been no need to station a guard outside the door of Padmé’s chambers - they were such a scant and trusted party that her safety onboard was practically guaranteed. So, once she stepped into the empty corridor, she found herself totally alone, standing in the pitch darkness with only a few slivers of light beneath a few of the other doors to guide her. She knew the layout of the Royal Starship well enough to know what lay behind those doors despite the darkness. 

The first lit door led to the briefing room, meaning Qui-Gon and Captain Panaka were still up discussing the new threat to Queen Amidala’s life. It had been hours since Padmé had retired to bed - that they were still talking was a testament to Panaka’s diligence, and to Qui-Gon’s patience. She wondered how their conversation was unfolding, how much Qui-Gon had divulged about the nightmare stranger and his true connection to the girl he only knew as Queen Amidala’s handmaiden. Perhaps Qui-Gon had informed Panaka of the handmaiden’s sensitivity, and shared with him her promise to leave Amidala’s service to train as a Jedi once they had thwarted the Trade Federation’s occupation. But all Panaka would hear is that his queen had abandoned him, and that the young woman he had pledged his life to had been lying to him for their entire acquaintance.

Or, perhaps she was not giving Qui-Gon enough credit. He was a clever man, and Padmé suspected that he knew more than he let on - she could only trust that he’d know which cards to hold to his chest. 

The second lit door led to the infirmary, and the glow beneath the door was of a different hue to that of the briefing room - a soft azure, while the briefing room light was a warm, golden yellow. Turning to Anakin for refuge had never occurred to her, for she had politely assumed that, of all those on board, he would need to rest undisturbed most of all. She hardly wanted to burden him with her troubles when he was no doubt overwhelmed by his own already. Yet Padmé found that the sight of that light under his door made her heart lurch with relief, and the mere thought of speaking to him already began to settle the unsteadiness of her panic.

Rescuing Anakin from the bitter maw of slavery was perhaps the one good thing to come out of the sorry mess Padmé now found herself in. In the midst of her guilt and her fear, she could only feel glad that she had liberated her friend, that she had set him free and sent him down the path towards a better life. And Anakin was a necessary oddity in their party - neither Jedi knight nor member of Naboo’s royal house, he could offer the solace of ignorance, and there was something immensely comforting about his presence amongst them that Padmé could not quite explain. 

Drawn by the light beneath the door, Padmé stepped towards the infirmary, a little hesitant, strangely shy. There was every chance that Anakin was asleep in spite of the light, resting as he ought to after his ordeal. She would leave him to his slumber if it came to that - she did not want to disturb him.

Quietly, the doors slid open at Padmé’s approach, and she peered through the doorway to survey the infirmary. The light, as she discovered, was not sourced from an artificial lamp, but from the blooming bright glow of the hyperspace tunnel flashing through the window, and it bathed the whole room in a calming wash of deepest blue. Anakin, wide awake, was kneeling on the bed and leaning against the window frame, totally enraptured by the flashing lights of the tunnel. She hovered in the doorway for a moment, strangely captivated by his wide-eyed fascination, for she had never seen his face look so clear and untroubled before. And so lost was he in the pulsing beauties of hyperspace that he was deaf to the sound of Padmé’s arrival, and so she could afford to stand and watch and let his wonder soothe her speeding heart. For a little while, at least.

“Anakin?” she said at length, although she could not bring herself to raise her voice louder than a whisper.

Nevertheless, she was loud enough to startle him, and an expression of surprise swiftly replaced his wonder once he spotted her in the doorway. He looked much better for his stint in the infirmary - the medical droid had washed the residual grime from his face, exposing his features in far greater clarity than Padmé was used to. A pristine white bandage sat on his cheek where Watto had struck him before the podrace, and he was dressed in simple pyjamas that came very close to swamping his malnourished frame. It was almost startling to see him amongst such cleanliness, such freshness - he had always been a creature of dust and sand to her. 

“Padmé, I thought you were supposed to be…” He paused, searching for what he was trying to say, but it seemed his memory had failed him. “Somewhere else.”

He still sounded exhausted - Padmé wasn’t sure how he was keeping himself awake. But she was grateful that he was. “I couldn’t sleep. Can I come in?”

“Sure.” 

Anakin shifted over on the bed, making space for Padmé to settle. The door slid shut behind her, and she climbed onto the bed and took her seat by the window. The infirmary bed was nowhere near as soft as her own, but she didn’t mind that. The company was far more important. “Thank you.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Anakin’s mouth. “That’s okay.”

They sat in silence for a while, and Padmé found that she could breathe a little easier when she focused on the celestial, undulating blue of the hyperspace tunnel outside. Despite the speed through which the ship passed through it, the repetitive pulse of the tunnel was easy to follow, and Padmé synchronised her inhales and her exhales to its rhythm, and so her mind began to settle. If she could only lose herself in those endless azure spirals, she could be free of her troubles long enough to shrink them down into manageable nothingness. 

As she relented to the blue, her gaze eventually wandered into Anakin’s - and she could see the hyperspace tunnel reflecting within his eyes, setting the dusky darkness of his irises alight as he watched the tunnel fly by.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” Anakin murmured, lowering his voice as if the moment was hallowed and sacred.

“It’s gorgeous.”

He turned his gaze to her, and he seemed a little surprised to find that she was already looking at him. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

Padmé paused, for, like Sabé, there was so much that Anakin didn’t know about her - things that Padmé wasn’t sure she could explain. He did not know she was truly the queen of Naboo, that she had agreed to train as a Jedi with Qui-Gon, or that those two facts in tandem created a conflict of interest that now savagely tore her apart from the inside out. But, unlike Sabé, he was a clean slate, a blank canvas upon which Padmé could imbue anything she wished and expect nothing but kindness in return. “There’s a lot on my mind.”

“About your mission?” Anakin asked, and Padmé nodded. “Could you talk to Qui-Gon about it?”

“I don’t know. It’s very… complicated.”

Anakin watched her for a moment, thinking, trying to piece together the puzzle with what little information he had. “It’s too complicated for anyone else to understand, right?”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’ve spent a lot of time being seen and not heard. I got good at listening, watching.” He dropped his gaze to his hands, and Padmé noticed that his lacerated fingers had also been wrapped up in soft white bandages. “I’m sorry you’re so stressed. I wish I could help.”

Padmé softened her gaze. “You don’t need to be sorry - you’ve done so much to help already. I’d be a lot more stressed than I am now if you hadn’t won us that hyperdrive. I don’t know what we would’ve done without you.”

“You would’ve figured something out.” 

“Maybe.” Another silence fell between them before Padmé spoke again. “Would it be alright if I told you what’s on my mind? You don’t need to say anything, I just… I just want to talk to someone.”

Anakin nodded, an earnest interest descending on his features - perhaps the prospect of getting to know her secrets excited him. “Sure. Yeah, of course you can.”

“Thank you.” Padmé leaned her head against the wall, and her gaze drifted back towards the hyperspace tunnel, hoping that its repetitive pulse would help calm her as she recounted her fears. Or at least the edited version of them that she was at liberty to share with Anakin - she could not risk sabotaging their decoy deception by telling anyone the whole truth, as much as she wanted to. “My planet, Naboo, was recently invaded by a collective called the Trade Federation. They’d been boycotting our trade routes for months, but they finally broke into our territory a few days ago. They tried to imprison us, so we had no choice but to flee.”

“Is that why you came to Mos Espa?” Anakin asked. “To hide?”

“We would’ve gone straight to Coruscant if it weren’t for the damage to our hyperdrive,” Padmé said. “But Tatooine was the only safe planet we could hide out on while we repaired it.”

“Weird. I never would’ve thought of Tatooine as safe,” Anakin said.

Padmé shrugged. “The Trade Federation wouldn’t find us there, and that was safe enough for us. But we’ve already been away from Naboo for so long. I’m worried.”

“That man who came in before, the one who took you away - he mentioned a queen,” Anakin said, recalling Captain Panaka. “Could she help?”

“Queen Amidala is as worried as I am. Her people are suffering, dying - the Federation have set up prison camps all over her planet. She must convince the Senate to intervene, and I’m not sure what will happen.”

“Is Naboo part of the Republic?” Anakin asked, and Padmé nodded. “Then they will help. They have to.”

Padmé shook her head. “It’s not that simple. There are a lot of planets in the Republic, and resources are limited. Another Republic planet would only send aid to Naboo if there was some financial or strategic advantage to it, and I can’t see one. Nobody wants to anger the Trade Federation - they’re too powerful.”

Anakin’s expression grew sullen. “They’re like the Hutts. No one wants to make them angry, either.”

“So nobody challenges their power, and so they just go on making people suffer,” Padmé said, and she could not hide the disgust that clotted in her voice. “I hate them. I hate the Trade Federation, I hate the Viceroy, and I’ll hate the Senate if they refuse to give Her Majesty the help she requests.”

Padmé was not used to expressing her anger so blatantly, but rage was the only path her thoughts of the Trade Federation could take her down - and this was as safe a space as any to express that anger. Anakin looked on with only sympathy. “It sounds like these Trade Federation people deserve to be hated.”

“They do,” Padmé snapped, but she quickly composed herself. Hot tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them back. “Sorry. Queen Amidala would be so ashamed of me if she heard what I was saying.”

“Why? If they’re hurting her people, shouldn’t she hate them too?”

Steadily, Padmé backed herself out of the potential corner she had talked herself into. “As handmaiden to Her Majesty, I have to maintain composure at all times. We have to be blank, invisible, neutral. I must never be heard saying anything that could count as political slander lest it reflect poorly on Her Majesty.”

“Not even in private?” Anakin asked with a frown.

Padmé shook her head. “No.”

“That doesn’t sound fair,” Anakin said. “You should be allowed to feel things.”

“Were you?”

“I could feel anything I wanted to feel so long as Watto didn’t know about it. The same should go for you.”

It had never occurred to her that a slave might have more freedom than she did - at least, in the realm of the mind. Although she had spoken of the handmaiden’s required neutrality, her words and her sentiments applied to Amidala just as much. Amidala could not feel. Amidala could not express. Amidala could only ever be a mask to be worn, a hollow body to listen and respond with perfect composure. She so distinctly remembered how Sabé had carried herself when they were first escorted from Theed - stone blank, no trace of fear on her perfect porcelain features, and Padmé would’ve been the same had she been the Queen’s vessel. And had it been Rabé, or Eirtaé, or Saché, or Yané, they would have been just as blank. Humanity lost amongst the folds of a great black gown.

Was that truly the pinnacle of Naboo’s perfection? 

“How do you feel now?” Anakin leaned forward, and the hyperspace tunnel reflected in his right eye, turning it from a tool of vision into something far more infinite.

Padmé stared at him. “I feel angry. Furious.”

“And?”

“Guilty.” She swallowed as a thick lump formed in her throat, but she could not shift it. “I don’t want my people to hate me because I left them behind.”

Anakin did not notice that little slip of the truth - or, at least, he did not comment on it. “What else?”

“Trapped. I feel trapped. And I’m exhausted even though the fight for Naboo has barely begun.” A tear slipped down from her eye, slowly navigating the contours of her face. “I’m horrified by the actions of the Trade Federation, and I don’t know what I can do to make it better. I’m scared that the Senate won’t help. I’m terrified that Naboo will be lost forever - I don’t want to lose my home, Anakin!” 

A sob shook her, and she brought her hand up to cover her mouth as she squeezed her eyes shut. In the darkness, the futility of her situation overwhelmed her - the Senate would not listen, and she would go down in history as the queen who had let Naboo fall to ruin, as the queen who turned around and fled into the arms of the Jedi when her people needed her most. She thought of her family, her friends who still remained on Naboo - how they would come to hate her!

But then came warmth, the feeling of a thin yet comforting body pressing against hers. Anakin had shuffled closer and pulled her into his arms, ginger in his touch until her fit of tears prompted him to hold her tighter. She had never been held like this before - at least, not by a boy of whom she knew so little - but it felt completely natural, completely right. There was an awkwardness to it, for they were young and inexperienced even with such an innocent intimacy as this, and she got the feeling that Anakin did not quite know what to do now that he’d made the first move. Nevertheless, she let herself dissolve into him, weeping for her planet into the soft fabric of his shirt. All her logic, all her reason, fell away from her, and all she could do was give into her grief and sob as hard as she could. She might have been embarrassed had anyone else witnessed her in this state - Qui-Gon would scold her for giving into her emotions, Panaka and Sabé would doubt if she were fit to rule. But Anakin was different. Anakin was safe. Anakin did not know her as padawan or queen, only as the scared and lonely girl who hid beneath those identities - as a girl who could cry without hesitation.

She did not know how long she spent dampening his shirt with her tears - an entire eternity could’ve passed and she would not have noticed it. When her exhaustion finally dried the deluge, she slowly pulled away, wiping at her reddened eyes as a slight blush fell over her. As safe as it was to cry in his company, she still felt a distinct discomfort at displaying such outward emotion - composure had been the very first lesson Queen Amidala had taught her. But she did feel a great deal lighter, as if her whole weight had consisted solely of her now expelled tears. When she spoke, her voice came out a little raspy. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“It sounded like you needed it.”

Padmé gave a weak, sad smile. “I think I did.”

“Did it help?”

“A little.” She paused, contemplating their embrace. “Anakin?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Now it was his turn to smile, a warm little expression on his tired face. “Me too.”

“I know it’s a lot for you to take in,” she said, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry if it’s too much. But I’m grateful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His smile did not break. “I hope you’ll sleep a little better.”

“I’m sure I will.” It was no lie. Even if she hadn’t said a word, the simple act of weeping freely had tired her to the extent that her need for sleep now overpowered her desire to worry. “I suppose I should probably head back to bed, then. I’ll stop keeping you up.”

Anakin shrugged. “It’s ok. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Padmé rose from the bed, straightening out the creases of her nightgown once she was on her feet. She made her way to the door, and once it slid open she briefly lingered on the threshold. She wanted to live in this moment for as long as she could, in their final moment of peace together before she got swept up in the politics of the Republic, before Padmé had to vanish under the mask of Queen Amidala, before she had to relegate Anakin to the realm of fond memory. 

Because that was all he would be one day - just a memory. A memory of a selfless and reckless slave boy who had helped a child queen to sleep on the eve of her greatest trial. 

Chapter Text

Morning came like an unwelcome headache, pounding on the sides of Padmé’s skull and forcing her eyes open, giving her no choice but to face the day she yearned for, yet could not help but dread.

She would not yet adorn herself in Amidala’s draperies - that responsibility still fell to Sabé, and it would remain so until Padmé safely hid herself away within the walls of her heavily guarded apartments. And so, while Eirtaé and Rabé busied themselves with arranging all the black folds of Sabé’s gown, Padmé went about the quiet task of drowning herself in vermillion, smothering herself in the heavy robes of the handmaiden. She would totally conceal her face once she raised the hood, the voluminous fabric dousing her in shadows and plunging her into obscurity. 

As the chatter of her handmaidens wafted from Amidala’s chamber, Padmé stared into the tall mirror that lined the wall of the wardrobe, stared into her own dark eyes. She would have to say goodbye to Padmé today, give up that puny little life so that Amidala could take her place. Padmé’s execution loomed near - she would be in her Coruscant apartments within the hour, for they had already entered the planet’s atmosphere. It would only be a matter of time before Obi-Wan and Ric Olié set them down on a landing platform somewhere, putting an end to their fretful journey. And then Senator Palpatine, who had agreed to greet them as soon as they sent the message of their arrival, would swiftly whisk them away into Coruscant’s political labyrinth. She would be glad to see him. He always had Naboo’s best interests at heart, and he would know the ways of the Senate far better than she. 

Much to her embarrassment, she feared the Senate. Although she was a queen and had been rightfully elected, Naboo was a small world, insignificant in the eyes of some of the grander Senators. Their deaf ears tormented her, their dismissive glances haunting her every unoccupied thought. But she breathed out a small sigh and reminded herself of Palpatine, who would help her. Yes, he would help her, and she would save Naboo under his able guidance. She told herself that as if it were a certainty in the hopes that her wish might come true.

“Your Highness?” Sabé’s gentle voice called her from Amidala’s chambers, drawing Padmé away from the mirror and out of the wardrobe. It was odd, seeing her face so clean and bare while dressed in Amidala’s gown. “Might I ask a favour of you?”

“Of course,” Padmé said. She noticed that Rabé and Eirtaé were still in their nightclothes - Padmé was the only handmaiden fully dressed.

A slight bashful look took over Sabé’s countenance. “Could you please do my makeup? We will be landing soon, and the others need to dress.”

Padmé nodded and made her swift, soundless approach to where Sabé sat. Rabé and Eirtaé fled upon her arrival, hurrying to the wardrobe and vanishing into its ornate depths. Producing the necessary paints and creams from the vanity, Padmé pulled up a stool beside Sabé and took a seat. They sat in silence as Padmé dug around in the pouch for the jar of white powder that served as the basis for Amidala’s mask - full coverage porcelain. Once she found the jar, she unscrewed the lid and set it on the vanity table, then took a delicate brush and dipped it into the powder. Instinctively, Sabé closed her eyes when Padmé began to feather the brush across her cheeks, obliterating every last trace of the rosy skin beneath. Padmé was glad for that - with her eyes closed, she hoped Sabé would not notice how badly her hands were trembling.

Sabé, however, was perceptive, and Panaka had trained her to rely on more than just sight. When Padmé pulled away to collect more powder with the brush, Sabé opened her eyes. “Would you mind if I made an assumption, My Lady?”

Padmé paused, her hand lingering halfway towards the jar. “That would depend on what you’re assuming. If it’s something you think I’d care to hear, be my guest.”

“I am not sure if you would care to hear it, but I think it is necessary that you do.” When Padmé brought the brush back to her face, Sabé closed her eyes again. “You are afraid of the Senate.”

Padmé’s silence was the only confirmation that Sabé needed.

“You needn’t be afraid, My Lady,” Sabé said, gentler than before. “You are a far more powerful, far more persuasive speaker than you will ever give yourself credit for. If the Senators do not think you impressive as I do, then the fault will be theirs, not yours. They would be blind not to admire you.”

Padmé smiled, blushing a little under the praise. Sabé had the uncanny ability to appear as if she were reading Padmé’s mind, though she lacked any of the more mystical powers that the galaxy had to offer. Sabé’s telepathy was conducted through observation, relying on all five senses to make her deductions - it was why she made for such an excellent decoy, for she had carefully observed Padmé’s every tiny mannerism so that she could replicate them without fault. She had studied the patterns of Padmé’s breath, the speed and frequency of her blinks, the exact pace and gait of her steps, and so many other minute details that Padmé herself would never have considered. So it was only natural that Sabé could read her mind by recognising her gestures. She would have felt the slight quiver of the brush in Padmé’s hand and recognised it for the product of terror that it was, and then used all of her prior knowledge to determine the cause.

She was clever, very clever. Padmé would miss her.

“I hope you are right,” Padmé said as she powdered Sabé’s forehead. “The Naboo need you to be right.”

“There is no point in hoping,” Sabé said. “Believe me. Know that I am right. Know that you are capable of saving us.”

One more round of powder, and she would complete the alabaster foundation of Amidala’s mask. “You speak very confidently. Be wary of giving yourself false hope.”

“Why do you think they will not listen to you?” Sabé asked. “You did not win the throne of Naboo by doubting yourself.”

“I understand Naboo,” Padmé said. “It is easy to appeal to the desires of those you understand. But I do not understand the Senate. I do not know what tactics of persuasion will win them to our cause. Naboo’s freedom is only one item on their agenda - if I do not capture their attention, we will be forgotten.” As she placed the lid on the jar of powder, Padmé allowed herself a single moment of vulnerability. “And I have never spoken to a crowd that large before.”

Sabé allowed her expression to soften into a small smile. “I will accompany you to face them, if it would comfort you.”

“Thank you. I would like that.”

Sabé gave a small nod, and then her white lips curled even further upwards. “And remember - last night you successfully convinced Captain Panaka to let you return to Mos Espa in the middle of the night with only a single Jedi knight for protection. Convincing the Senate to send aid to Naboo will be simple compared to that.”

A light laugh escaped Padmé’s lips, but the chime of the doorbell cut her off before she could reply. Excusing herself with a small bow of her head, Padmé rose from her stool and crossed to the doorway. The door slid open, triggered by her proximity, to reveal Captain Panaka on the other side - and Padmé quickly schooled her features and tried to forget that he had been the subject of Sabé’s joke mere seconds ago. Aware that others might be listening, Padmé spoke accordingly. “Captain, is everything alright?”

“I came to let you know that we are beginning our descent, and that Her Majesty will need to be ready to meet Senator Palpatine and Chancellor Valorum as soon as we land,” Panaka said, and Padmé widened her eyes.

“I was not informed that the Chancellor would be greeting us as well,” Padmé said.

“Apparently, he was quite eager,” Panaka explained. “Senator Palpatine did not seem pleased about the arrangement when I spoke to him.” He leaned in a little, lowering his voice. “He seems to have reason to distrust the Chancellor, and I know him to be a man of sound judgment on matters such as this. Please inform Her Majesty to be cautious when speaking directly to the Chancellor.” 

Padmé nodded. “I will tell her. How long until we land?”

“At least five minutes.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

With his message delivered, Panaka gave a small bow before departing, and Padmé turned from the door. It slid shut behind her, and she breathed out a small sigh in an attempt to rearrange all the frayed threads of her nerves.

Five more minutes, and then her trial would begin.

***

Padmè had visited Coruscant only once before. She’d been a child then, training to enter into the realm of politics, and she had accompanied her tutors and her fellow students on a visit there to study the inner workings of the Senate. The planet had overwhelmed her then, for every last inch of it was covered by a vast metropolis, a veritable jungle of permacrete and metal all lit up by dazzling billboards and sparkling neon lights. The sheer scale of it was dizzying, and she recalled staring over the edge of one of the buildings in a futile attempt to see the ground below. But the skyscraper descended into a thick, polluted fog, obscuring the planet’s surface to create the illusion of endlessness. She had wondered if, should anyone fall off the edge, they would fall for eternity.

It was all Padmé could do not to let Coruscant’s scale overwhelm her now. They had landed atop one of the highest landing platforms in the area, and the blanket of clear blue sky above them did wonders to alleviate the claustrophobic quality of the city. But even as she kept her eyes on the clouds, Padmé could only think of the dense smog below, which she could feel curdling in her stomach although she breathed the privileged clean air of the city’s uppermost levels. She supposed there was beauty on Coruscant somewhere, but she was not sure where one would go to find it.

As promised, Senator Palpatine and Chancellor Valorum stood on the platform waiting to greet them, watching the party closely as they descended the Royal Starship’s boarding ramp. She was pleased to see that Palpatine was dressed in a more traditional Naboo style, representing their planet well in a deep navy doublet, breeches, and cloak. Even from far away, the relief in his expression was palpable, and Padmé did not doubt the sincerity of his concern for his home and his queen. Beside him, Chancellor Valorum cut a far more imposing figure, all draped in black and stern of face. He lacked Palpatine’s warmth entirely, statue still beside him, and his steely grey eyes looked cold to the touch. 

But it was some consolation to Padmé that Queen Amidala and her retinue no doubt looked just as imposing as they made their descent. Amidala herself was swamped in her black gown, her porcelain face just as still and stone cold as the Chancellor’s. The style of her lips, with the top lip painted and the bottom adorned with just a spot of colour, added an extra layer of severity to her expression which smothered her youth and suited the solemnity of the occasion. But Amidala’s presence would not carry nearly as much gravitas without her handmaidens and guards, the former dressed in their identical vermillion robes that shifted like fire as they moved, while the latter wore smart uniforms of maroon and navy. The total effect was a void of black surrounded by the smoke of a blazing inferno, with a simple white mask peering out from the centre - the Naboo certainly knew how to make a memorable entrance.

Behind the royal party trailed Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Anakin, plain and simple amongst all the finery. They made no attempt to immerse themselves in the spectacle of Amidala’s arrival - they split from the cortege as soon as they could, stepping to the side and allowing Amidala to take centre stage. Anakin appeared entirely out of his depth, almost endearingly so. From where she stood at the back of the procession, Padmé had an easy view of the trio, and she watched Anakin carefully as he gazed around the city in wonder. He looked so entirely guileless as he took in the sights of Coruscant, overwhelmed delight flickering unsteadily on his face. It seemed he had little time for Amidala or Palpatine or Valorum - it was the city he cared for, a strange and wondrous place that had long been but a dream to him. 

Padmé bowed her head to hide her smile.

“It is a great gift to see you alive, Your Majesty.” Palpatine’s voice drew Padmé’s attention - he was as close to Amidala as propriety would allow. “We were fortunate to be able to communicate with your ship, but with the communications breakdown on Naboo, we’ve become very concerned. I’m anxious to hear your report on the situation.”

“Your concern is appreciated, Senator,” Amidala said, her voice cool and totally free of inflection.

Palpatine gave a low nod, and then he took a small step to the side, holding his arm out towards the Chancellor. “May I present Supreme Chancellor Valorum.”

“Welcome, Your Highness,” said Valorum, and his voice was just as hard and cold as the rest of him. “It’s an honour to finally meet you in person.”   

“Thank you, Supreme Chancellor,” said Amidala with a respectful bow of her head. Padmé knew how difficult such a bow could be with the weight of a headdress sitting heavy on one’s skull, so she was quite impressed that Sabé could pull it off with such apparent ease. 

“I must relay to you how distressed everyone is over the current situation,” Valorum continued. “I’ve called a special session of the Senate to hear your position - you will not have to wait long.”

A coil of nausea tightened around Padmé’s stomach - her window of preparation was growing smaller and smaller. Yet Valorum’s claim of Senate-wide distress did settle her nerves a little - perhaps her efforts would not be as futile as she feared. 

“I am grateful for your concern, Chancellor,” said Amidala.

At Valorum’s bidding, the procession began to move. Padmé spotted a collection of air taxis parked nearby, and she assumed they were to be the vehicles that would ferry them to Amidala’s apartments. As they walked, she kept her head down, for it was of great importance that the handmaidens concealed their faces as best as they could. It was a sign of respect for their queen, certainly, but it also allowed them a degree of anonymity that was vital to the success of the decoy maneuver. Padmé doubted that anyone would recognise her in her disguise, for she had seldom been seen in public without Amidala’s raiments, but she knew how highly it paid to be cautious in these matters. 

But, with her head down, it was only until she heard the nearby voice of Senator Palpatine that she realised he had fallen back to the end of the procession. “Will you be joining us, Master Jedi?”

Padmé risked a glance - Palpatine was now walking alongside Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Anakin. Qui-Gon shook his head. “No. We have matters to attend to at the Jedi Temple.”

“A Jedi knight never rests, hm?” Palpatine asked, and Qui-Gon nodded.

“Indeed. The situation has become more complicated.”

“Nothing that threatens the safety of Her Majesty, I hope?” A frown now lined Palpatine’s face.

Qui-Gon remained unreadable, strangely cold in contrast to the warmth she had come to expect from him. “We shall see.”

Palpatine’s frown only deepened, but it was momentary - his attention then fell to Anakin, who looked rather surprised that a man of such high status would pay him any mind. Slowly, Palpatine dragged his eyes up and down Anakin’s scrawny figure, but Padmé saw only kind curiosity flashing in his gaze. “And who might you be, young man?”

Anakin swallowed, and all his wonder gave way to anxiety - she could see it in how he stiffened, in how his hands fidgeted at his sides. “Anakin. Anakin Skywalker. Um. Sir.”

A small smile crept onto Palpatine’s face as Qui-Gon stepped in to elaborate. “We were stranded on Tatooine for a while, and Anakin helped us repair our ship. In return, we offered him safe passage to Coruscant.”

The procession ground to a halt - they had arrived at the air taxis. Rabé and Eirtaé hurried to help Amidala into the nearest taxi, but Padmé lingered behind, curious to see what would come of this interaction.

“We must owe you a great deal then, Anakin,” Palpatine said, and Anakin ducked his head a little. “You must excuse me, I will have to join the Chancellor and Her Majesty soon, but I must ask - what is to become of you?”

“I don’t know. Sir.”

“You may come with us to the Temple,” Qui-Gon said. Beside him, Obi-Wan folded his arms, frowning - perhaps he did not approve of his master’s offer.

Palpatine shook his head and, for a brief and bizarre moment, he darted his gaze precisely in Padmé’s direction before looking back at Anakin, and an inexplicable chill ran down her spine. “Forgive me, but if it would please you, Anakin, I would like to invite you to visit me in my apartments. You have done Naboo a great service and, as a representative of Naboo and its people, it seems only fitting that I extend our gratitude and hospitality to you.”

Too stunned to speak, Anakin stared at Palpatine, his cracked lips parted in surprise. But Qui-Gon took advantage of his silence and laid his hand upon his bony shoulder, stepping a little closer to him. “Thank you, Senator, but Anakin has had a trying few days, and he is tired. I think he would be better off remaining with Obi-Wan and myself before he exerts himself socialising.”

With Amidala now safely secured in the air taxi, Padmé’s excuses for tarrying any longer grew thinner and thinner. She could only catch the last dregs of the conversation as Captain Panaka ushered her onwards - Palpatine continuing to insist, Qui-Gon continuing to refuse, Obi-Wan watching with disapproval, and poor Anakin caught in the middle. She wasn’t sure why Qui-Gon was resisting Palpatine’s offer so staunchly, for Padmé could think of nothing better for Anakin than the opportunity to spend some time with a man of such good character. It could be an experience that might teach him that not all authority figures were to be feared, that many could be trusted - he would adjust to the free world far better that way, she thought. But as she took her seat in the air taxi, she could only watch as Palpatine separated from Anakin and the Jedi, making his way to join them as Qui-Gon led them off the platform. 

Padmé supposed she should have been paying attention to the conversation Amidala was currently conducting with the Chancellor, but nevertheless she kept her eyes trained on Palpatine, watching him as he took his seat. He seemed somewhat disappointed, and she had to wonder why the missed opportunity to entertain a simple slave boy had upset him so. But all that wonder flashed into nothingness when he once more turned his gaze to her, looking directly at her as if he knew precisely who she was.

***

That afternoon, Queen Amidala wore white.

She would change again, she knew, into something far more ostentatious for the Senate - it would not do for Queen Amidala to present herself to the public as anything less than spectacular. But for now, in the comfort of her chambers, in the moments before her private meeting with Senator Palpatine, simple white would do. Granted, her broad sleeves glittered with fine embroidered swirls and her neck ached with the weight of a headdress decorated with pearl strings that dangled down to her waist. Yet even still it remained one of Amidala’s plainer garbs.

But Padmé had recently known the freedom of simple trousers and loose tunics, and although Amidala’s weighted raiments were far more familiar to her, wearing them now after such liberty felt strange. It was as if she had returned home after a very long holiday - all was familiar and well known to her, but nevertheless she carried with her a vague sense of unease that denied her total comfort. When she blinked, she could feel her eyeshadow hardening on her eyelids, and she could not move her head without the clatter of beads sounding in her ears. Her hair was pulled back so tightly that it gave her a headache, and her fine shoes pinched at her feet - but this was normal, this was her life, this was as it ought to be. Amidala had not known the feel of linen trousers against her legs, and she knew that she must not confuse Amidala’s life with Padmé’s.

Seated on the red sofa of her Coruscant apartment, Amidala waited, still and austere, for Senator Palpatine to make his entrance. She was going to present herself to the Senate in mere hours, and so it was vital that they should meet to discuss their tactics beforehand. Palpatine would be her guide in the Senate, presenting her and introducing her, standing by her side as she made her plea. But what that plea would be, Amidala did not know - Padmé thought that begging would suffice, but Amidala suspected that such sincerity would not appeal to the cynicism of her audience. Perhaps she could rely on the rules of the Republic’s jurisdiction, and remind the esteemed Senators of the hard facts of Naboo’s right to Republic protection. Palpatine, however, would know best how to approach the challenge, and so she patiently awaited his guidance.

At the sound of the door chime and Panaka’s distant footsteps, Sabé, Rabé, and Eirtaé assumed their positions, standing inconspicuously at various points around the room. Their duty was to blend in, to listen, to independently interpret Palpatine’s words and offer their insights once he had departed. Only Sabé stood in plain sight, lingering behind Amidala’s sofa, her head lowered and face shadowed by the dull purple hood of her robes. All three of them were dressed in such a fashion - gone was the brilliant vermillion of their public dress, replaced by a colour just similar enough to the walls of the apartment that they could seamlessly blend in without much effort at all. Sabé stood with her back to the window, however, making her stand out in a way that would draw attention to her as Amidala’s only present handmaiden. With her presence so obvious, not even a man as keen as Senator Palpatine would notice the presence of the two other girls in the room. 

After a brief delay following the chime, Panaka appeared in the arch that separated the entryway with Amidala’s sitting room. “Senator Palpatine is here, your Majesty.”

“Send him in.”

With a tight nod, Panaka vanished again, only to reappear within seconds - this time, with Senator Palpatine at his side. He gestured for Palpatine to enter and, after uttering a brief and cordial thanks to him, Palpatine stepped inside. He approached Amidala with haste, although he kept an appropriate distance from her. She watched him discerningly, awaiting his first speech.

“Your Highness, as delighted as I would be to begin this meeting with small talk, we have not the time for such pleasantries,” said Palpatine, his voice far graver than it had been upon Amidala’s earlier arrival. “Our time is short, and we must plan our approach carefully if we are to succeed.”

“I would be grateful for any advice you have to offer,” said Amidala, keeping her voice flat - Sabé had set the standard, and she would meet it. “Although I hope that we will not have to resort to plotting to secure freedom for our people. I think the plight of the Naboo alone should spur the Senate into action - Naboo is under the protection of the Republic, and so it is only right that we make the most of that privilege now.”

But Palpatine shook his head, his expression growing graver by the second. “The Republic is not what it once was. The Senate is full of greedy, squabbling delegates. There is no interest in the common good.”

“I find that difficult to believe,” Amidala said. “Suffering is suffering - there ought to be nothing political about it.”

“I must be frank, Your Majesty. There is little chance the Senate will act on the invasion.”

Although dread now weighed down her heart with lead, Amidala remained impassive - falling into hysterics would do little to help them. Instead, she reached out for whatever scrap of optimism she could find - and she found it in the Chancellor. Earlier, Sabé had reported that he was quite moved by the plight of the Naboo, his sympathy striking in contrast to his stern, unfeeling demeanour. “Chancellor Valorum seems to think there is hope.”

“If I may say so, Your Majesty, the Chancellor has little power,” Palpatine said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. There was little point to it, for they were far from any prying, untrustworthy ears, but Amidala was well aware of the Senator’s penchant for theatrics. “He is mired by baseless accusations of corruption. The bureaucrats are in charge now.”

Amidala took a moment to contemplate Palpatine’s judgment of the Chancellor. She was not familiar with Valorum nor his character, although the rumours that Palpatine spoke of had spread far enough to reach her even on Naboo. Whether those rumours were true or not did not signify - what mattered was how they affected people’s trust in the Chancellor, and whether his word carried more weight than that of the bureaucrats. If the bureaucrats held all of the power as Palpatine suggested, and if Valorum was nothing but a puppet to them, he may be of no use to Naboo at all. 

“What options have we?” Amidala asked, trusting Palpatine to know more about how they might overcome this particular challenge. The politicians of Naboo might preach that experience corrupts, but in this context, Amidala knew that Palpatine’s experience would be vital to their success - his experience within the Senate was far too valuable to disregard.

“Our best choice would be to push for the election of a stronger Supreme Chancellor,” said Palpatine, his voice sturdy and sure despite its low tone. “One who will take control of the bureaucrats, and give us justice. You could call for a vote of no confidence in Chancellor Valorum.”

The suggestion alarmed her - mired in rumour and controversy as he was, Valorum’s support may still be valuable even in its limited capacity. She did not like the idea of sacrificing even one supporter of the Naboo, no matter the strength of that support. “But he has been our strongest supporter.”

“Our only other choice would be to submit a plea to the courts.”

Now, that would not do, and Amidala unwillingly allowed a grain of frustration to slip into her voice. “The courts take longer to decide things than the Senate. Our people are dying, Senator. We must do something quickly to stop the Federation.”

Palpatine gave a low sigh, carrying in it the weight of all the world. “To be realistic, Your Majesty, I think we are going to have to accept Federation control for the time being.”

A vision flashed through her mind - of her people, bent and stooped under the whips of those skeletal Trade Federation droids, starved and tortured as they slaved away amongst the ruins of their once beautiful city. She imagined Theed Palace in ruins, degraded by the presence of Viceroy Nute Gunray and his sniveling set, ousting the good rulers of Naboo and rewriting its legislation into something cruel and wholly unjust. She thought of her home gutted and pillaged, and of the weight of grief sitting in her heart for the remainder of her life. Padmé had witnessed life on a planet that was governed by such barbarism - Tatooine, with its slaves and its dirty water and its cramped encampments. She had seen the protests of the Tusken Raiders, and how willfully blind the people had become to their plight, seeing it as nothing more than added entertainment on their bloody racetrack. Under the rule of the Trade Federation, Padmé warned her from the depth of memory, the Naboo would become no better than those disenfranchised Sand People. 

So Amidala leveled her gaze with Palpatine’s, injecting her voice with a staunch resolution that she felt with every fibre of her being. “That is something I cannot do.”

***

“I believe that Senator Palpatine is right, My Lady. You must challenge Valorum’s claim to leadership if you wish to save Naboo.”

Closing her eyes, Amidala sighed out a low breath. She had invited her handmaidens to weigh in on Palpatine’s proposal, calling upon them to inform her decision with their perspective. But with Sabé as the final confirmation, the three of them had agreed that Palpatine’s course of action was the right one - they had studied the winding maze of Coruscant’s political arena, and they had found Valorum wanting. Palpatine’s certainty in the matter had only solidified their position. 

But to call for a vote of no confidence in the Supreme Chancellor was no small matter. If she were to go ahead with the plan, she would rewrite the political landscape of the Republic entirely, and she would go down in history as the instigator of whatever might follow Valorum’s fall from grace. It was a responsibility that Amidala had not expected to shoulder, for she was a small ruler from a small planet, and she had no right to take such extreme action. But wouldn’t any action, extreme or otherwise, be worth it for the safety of her planet? Her people? Surely she would burn entire planets into cinders if it meant freeing the Naboo from the Trade Federation’s shackles. What was one Supreme Chancellor for the sake of an entire population?

“We have very few other options,” said Eirtiaé as she looped a ponytail of Amidala’s hair through her latest headdress - she’d augmented it with a wig, making her hair appear far more voluminous than it truly was. Most of Amidala’s consultations with her handmaidens took place in the dressing chamber, with all their hands busy with brushes and fabrics and gold. With the Senate session a mere hour away, they had begun Amidala’s transformation almost as soon as Palpatine had departed.

“Exactly,” said Rabé, pulling out a pot of red paint from the makeup bag. “Senator Palpatine seems very certain that the vote of no confidence will succeed, and I’m sure he has somebody in mind to replace the Supreme Chancellor who will have Naboo’s best interests at heart.”

“I hope so. But it is very drastic,” said Amidala, her little insecurities rising to the surface. She knew she ought to be more confident than this, but she felt so very small, so very scared. All the things a queen must never be.

Sabé reached out to smooth out the golden lapel of Amidala’s red robe. “Had we more time, we might be able to think of a different plan. However, our time is short. Drastic as it may be, the Senator’s plan is our only hope - but of course, the final decision is yours, My Lady.”

Pressure closed around Amidala’s skull as her heart hammered hard in her chest - she knew that her handmaidens were right, that Palpatine was right, and that she too would be right if she called for the vote. But knowledge of that fact was not enough, and a far braver woman than she would be able to take that knowledge and employ it with courage. She must embody that woman, become her, present her to the Senate as if she was her true and real identity. Amidala was a great master of slipping in and out of different personas - bravery would be no trouble. She let it still her heart and soothe her head, and she resolved to be scared no longer.

Were she to have her way, Chancellor Valorum would be no more, and she and Palpatine together could steer the Republic into a purer place where aid was never questioned and always supplied. Yes, together they would write the next pages of history, all for the sake of Naboo. Always, always for Naboo.

“Then our course is plain,” Amidala declared. “I shall follow Senator Palpatine’s advice and call for a vote of no confidence in Chancellor Valorum.”

A small smile of satisfaction graced Sabé’s lips. “A wise decision, My Lady.”

Silence followed, for the time for debate had passed. All that remained now was for the handmaidens to finish dressing her, painting her, preparing her - armouring her for her next battle. Freed by her confidence in her course of action, Amidala allowed herself the liberty of emptying her mind, clearing her head so that she might face the Senate with an empowered calm. But when the sound of a voice - Panaka’s voice - broke that silence, Amidala let her attention drift to it. With nothing but an open archway to separate the sitting room from her dressing room, she could understand the chatter quite easily as it drew nearer.

“I am sorry, but Padmé is not here right now,” came Panaka’s stern tone, and Amidala’s eyes widened - she could think of only a few people who would know to ask for Padmé.

Amidala kept a firm hold on her newfound calm. She would deal with this interruption just as she would soon deal with the Senate - with perfect poise. “Who is it?” she called.

Panaka appeared in the archway. “It is the slave boy, Anakin Skywalker. He wishes to speak to Padmé, Your Highness.”

That Anakin should come to her chambers after all Qui-Gon’s efforts to bring him to the Jedi Temple puzzled her - perhaps he had given Qui-Gon the slip. But regardless of the purpose of his presence there, she could only feel glad for it. Padmé had befriended him, and it was a friendship that not even Amidala’s authority could usurp - monarchy melted, reviving the young girl who had wandered the streets of Mos Espa, the girl who would die and be reborn and die again whenever Amidala wished it. Padmé reemerged into the light of awareness - she wanted to see Anakin, to enjoy the kindness of his company before Amidala went to trial, but she could not do so as herself. She would have no choice but to present herself as Amidala, and that did sadden her a little. As far as Anakin was concerned, he had missed the opportunity to see his friend and would have to be satisfied with yet another towering figure of authority. She might frighten him, which in turn frightened her. But she would know that they had spoken even if he did not, and that brought her comfort.

So, Padmé waved her hands so that her handmaidens might disperse, and she lifted the hem of her robes to walk to the archway unhindered. When she arrived in the archway and gained full view of the sitting room, the sight that greeted her came as quite the pleasant surprise. Although Anakin was still adorned in the tell-tale bandages of his abuse, he had exchanged his rags for a cleaner set of tunic and trousers, and his hair, which once hung in matted, dirty clumps, now fell soft and freshly washed about his face. He cleaned up rather nicely, Padmé thought, and a gentle warmth burned quietly in her heart when she realised that he was well and truly safe. She had pulled him across the threshold, and never again would he suffer.

He startled a little at the sight of her, no doubt expecting to be greeted by a handmaiden rather than a queen. At Panaka’s irritated command, he dropped into a rushed and awkward bow, and Padmé tried to hide her smile - his inexperience charmed her. He glanced up at her, then, midnight eyes wide, the last remnants of a faded bruise shadowing them.

As much as she wanted to reveal herself to him, to speak in the voice that he would recognise, Padmé kept her speech shrouded in the steady tones of Amidala’s voice. “I have sent Padmé on an errand. I am sorry you have missed her.”

“Oh,” was all he said for a while. Padmé looked at him expectantly, and she hoped that the good will she felt for him showed in her expression, even underneath all that white paint. Eventually, he spoke again. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“Not for some time. We will be very busy for the remainder of our stay here,” Padmé said. It pained her to make the excuse, to keep Anakin at arms length. But she had no choice. Their friendship was a product of highly unique circumstances - she might enjoy it now while she could, but the demands of her station would not allow it to continue. It was a reality they both must face. “I am afraid she will not have the time to socialise.”

Anakin frowned. “Not even for a little bit?”

“Not even that.”

He brought his hand up to rub the back of his neck, and she could see in his expression that he was searching for what to say next. “Could I leave a message for her, then? It’s kind of important.”

Her curiosity piqued, Padmé raised her eyebrows a little to express her interest. In any other circumstance, she would always keep Amidala’s mask as still as possible, but showing herself to Anakin did not seem like such a dangerous thing. “Certainly. I will relay it to her myself, if it is as important as you say.”

Now, it was Anakin’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Really?”

Based on the urgency in Panaka’s expression and the hushed whispers of the handmaidens behind her, Padmé could tell that she was drawing out this exchange for far too long, especially with the Senate awaiting them. Although she could hear Amidala urging her to listen to them, Padmé decided that she would allow herself this little joy of conversing with her friend - it might be her last for a while, after all. “Have you any reason to disbelieve me?”

“No, ma’am,” Anakin said, shaking his head. Panaka bristled visibly at the incorrect title he used for her. “Sorry. It’s just that I didn’t think queens ran errands like that.”

“You needn’t apologise.” It pleased her, to see him growing more comfortable, more informal before her eyes. Now, he seemed much more like the boy who snuck off to podraces than the quivering little thing who cowered in Watto’s shadow - perhaps she flattered herself, but she had to wonder if she was responsible for the change. “Now, tell me your message, and I shall pass it on to Padmé when she returns.”

“It’s not my message, actually. It’s from Master Qui-Gon - he’s one of the Jedi, I don’t know if you ever met him,” said Anakin. It was strange to hear him speaking as if he did not know her.

“I did,” Padmé said. “He seemed a very noble man.”

“Sure. But he wants to speak to Padmé about-” he cut himself off, and Padmé suspected she knew why. “About something. That’s important.”

“I see.” Padmé did not need him to elaborate further - Qui-Gon wanted her to come to the Jedi Temple, to begin her training, to cut the final thread that tied her to Naboo. But she could not allow that to happen, not now, and so she made an empty promise. “I will tell her, and she will come if she can. But I doubt she will have the time.”

“Oh, right.” Anakin’s gaze dropped a little. “I’ll tell him that. Sorry to bother you.”

He bowed again and turned to leave, and it was with alarming clarity that Padmé realised that now, this very moment, would be the last time she would ever see him. She had thought that moment had come before, when she farewelled him in the sun-baked wasteland of Watto’s junkyard. But now it was true, now it was real. Once Panaka escorted him out the door, she would never see nor hear from him again. She would not let that moment pass her by without some fanfare, and so, forgetting herself entirely, she stepped forward. “Anakin?”

Anakin turned to her, alarmed that someone of such exalted rank should use his name so plainly - and Panaka at his side seemed to share in that surprise. “Yeah?”

Padmé paused, for she had not thought through what she would say to him. It was a moment of silence that stretched on for an age as Padmé stared at him, desperately clutching for any words that could possibly describe just how much their brief acquaintance had meant to her. “Padmé spoke very highly of you. We are sure her heart goes with you.”

At that, Anakin smiled, but it seemed a sad smile, with disappointment shadowing the edges. “Thanks.”

With that, Panaka showed him out, and Padmé receded once more into Amidala’s shadow.

Chapter Text

The chamber of the Galactic Senate sprawled out in an infinite spiral of congressional boxes and delegates, encircling one tall, towering podium upon which sat Supreme Chancellor Valorum and his numerous aides. Hundreds upon hundreds of voices echoed throughout the air, creating a wall of noise that stifled all thought and brought the walls of the skull caving in upon the brain - it was too loud, too loud, how could anybody think? And how easy it was to feel small in such a place, how quiet one’s voice would sound amongst those chattering hundreds - was anybody truly heard by these senators? Could any decisions ever be decisively made when there were so many participating bodies? With so many opinions to clash and collide against one another, to braid together and choke and twist and tangle, it was a wonder the Republic hadn’t ground to a standstill.

Amidala sat in Naboo’s congressional box, staring out into that vast political valley and raising every shield she could to protect herself from the anxiety that jittered on the edges of her psyche. She had always feared that the crisis on Naboo would be but a trifle to this illustrious crowd - but after seeing the sheer number of them, and now feeling as small as she did, her fear became a certainty. They would not listen, even though Valorum had only called them together to do so. Naboo was a small planet, and the Trade Federation no doubt had far too many of these senators in their back pocket. She could not see the Federation’s delegates now, for they were lost amongst the glut of congressional boxes, but she had passed by them moments ago when she had been following Palpatine to the Senate chambers. They paid her no mind. She was no threat to them.

But Amidala had a weapon against them, and she would not hesitate to use it. Let her take a hatchet to the course of history as a punishment for their ignorance.

She had taken a stance in her dressing room less than an hour ago - that she would be brave, that she would take any drastic action with courage - and now she clutched that resolution tightly. Failure may be a near certain outcome, but nobody could say that she did not fight for her people with as much determination, vigour, and passion as she could muster. She was Amidala, Queen elect of the Naboo, and she would fight for her homeland with pride.

Most importantly, she did not enter this battle alone, for she was surrounded by allies in her little box. Behind her stood Sabé, to fortify her. To her right stood Captain Panaka, to protect her. To her left stood Senator Palpatine, to guide her. All of them were necessary, if not absolutely vital, to her success today.

As Valorum began the preamble that would bring the session into motion, Palpatine leaned down to speak to her in a hushed whisper. “Are you prepared, Your Highness?”

“I am.”

“Have you taken my suggestion into consideration?”

“I have.”

“And will you act on it?”

He gazed at her expectantly, but Amidala kept her eyes fixed on Valorum, so far away in his grand tower. It seemed a shame to cast aside an ally so easily, but shame was a luxury she could not afford to indulge. “I will take whatever course of action is necessary.”

Palpatine paused for a moment before he rose to his full height, and his expression bore no trace of anxiety. He knew the truth that lay beneath her answer.

“The Chair recognizes the Senator from the sovereign system of Naboo,” came Valorum’s voice, booming out at an unnatural volume so that all in the chamber might hear it. The time had finally come - at last, after so many dusty days of delay, Amidala would finally step before the Senate and beg their aid. Her heart began to thump at an unsteady speed, but Amidala stilled it through sheer force of will. Panic would only cloud her judgment.

Panaka reached forward to the little control panel built into the front railing of the congressional box. He pressed his finger against a triangular button, and the box shifted beneath them, unlatching from the walkway behind them and floating out above all the other boxes that surrounded it. Hundreds of heads turned to watch them float forward, and their gazes lingered upon the glittering spectacle of Queen Amidala’s raiments - members of the Senate seldom dressed so opulently, or so she’d been told. Amidala did not let their eyes distract her.

After Panaka brought the box to a halt and turned on the box’s microphone, Palpatine stepped forward to speak. Much like Valorum, his voice boomed out loudly, amplified by the microphone. Behind her, Sabé gave a barely perceptible wince - but although Amidala too found the volume unpleasant, she did not let it show on her face.

“Supreme Chancellor, delegates of the Senate,” Palpatine began, a very practiced sorrow colouring the edges of his words - enough to elicit sympathy from his audience, but not enough to summon doubt about his fitness for office. “A tragedy has occurred which started with the taxation of trade routes, and has now engulfed our entire planet in the oppression of the Trade Federation.”

As a murmur rippled around the chamber, another box floated forward, and Amidala recognised the grey-skinned, red-eyed figures of the Trade Federation delegates. The leader of their deplorable band stepped forward - Palpatine had informed her of his name moments ago, Lott Dod. “This is outrageous! I object to the Senator’s statements!”

Angry heat flushed Amidala’s cheeks, and she was grateful that her handmaidens had painted her face so heavily. Valorum’s response, however, did much to cool that anger. “The Chair does not recognise the Senator from the Trade Federation at this time. Please return to your station.”

As ordered, the delegates retreated - Amidala noticed a small, satisfied smile twitching at the corners of Panaka’s mouth.

“To state our allegations,” Palpatine continued, “I present Queen Amidala, recently elected ruler of Naboo, who speaks on our behalf.”

Polite applause rippled around the room as Amidala stepped forward. Before she exchanged places with Palpatine at the front of the box, she felt the gentle brush of a hand against her own - Sabé’s hand, soft and youthful, wishing her luck as quietly as she could. 

“Honourable representatives of the Republic, I come to you under the gravest of circumstances,” Amidala began. As difficult as it was, she kept her voice as still and steady as she could, for she knew that desperation would win her no favours. “The Naboo system has been invaded by the droid armies of the Trade-”

“I object!” Once more, Lott Dodd brought the Trade Federation’s box floating forward so that he could make his appalling interruption. “There is no proof. This is incredible. We recommend a commission be sent to Naboo to ascertain the truth!”

Beneath the heavy sleeves of her gown, Amidala clenched her fists - Lott Dod demanded the truth, yet he had barely given her a second to share it! She opened her mouth to protest, to offer the demanded proof, but the appearance of another box cut her objection short. She did not recognise the species of the Senator coming forward, but she was certain that they had no business meddling in Naboo’s affairs in this fashion.

“The Congress of Malastare concurs with the honourable delegate from the Trade Federation,” came their thin and reedy voice. Honourable! “A commission must be appointed.”

It was here that Amidala expected Valorum to step in, to calm the protesting delegates and allow her to continue dispensing with her allegations. Yet, he did not. She could not see the expression on his cold and stony countenance so clearly due to the distance between them, and he obscured it further when he turned away to confer with his advisors, two towering figures on either side of him. Amidala thinned her lips, rage beginning to seep through the cracks of her composure. The force flickered around her too, responding to her anger, but she dispersed it immediately - the force was Padmé’s ally and Padmé’s ally alone, and so it must not touch her.

As Valorum continued his private conference, Palpatine gestured for Panaka to silence their microphone. He did, and so Palpatine leaned forward to speak into Amidala’s ear, his gaze trained on Valorum in his tall tower. “Enter the bureaucrats, the true rulers of the Republic - and on the payroll of the Trade Federation, I might add. This is where Chancellor Valorum’s strength will disappear.”

“Their council is biased against us,” Amidala murmured, and Palpatine nodded.

“Precisely, My Lady. We know what the outcome of their little conference will be - and so too do we know how you’ll make your rebuttal.”

Had Amidala not already settled upon calling the vote of no confidence, now that she was in the heat of the debate, she could not imagine why she had ever doubted the benefits of making such a move. It was her only choice, and Palpatine’s encouragement only made that certainty clearer. 

At last, Valorum broke from his conference, and apprehension wrapped tightly around Amidala’s lungs, slowing her breath to a standstill. One last glimmer of hope shone through, for there was every chance - even a small one - that Valorum may surprise them. “The point is conceded,” he said, and he turned to face Amidala directly. “Will you defer your motion to allow a commission to explore the validity of your accusations?”

So, Valorum would not surprise her after all. Amidala knew that such a commission would determine the Trade Federation’s guilt in the end - it would be impossible to turn a blind eye to the droids that lined the streets of Theed, or to the prison camps that now tarnished Naboo’s fields, jungles, and cities. Nor would it be possible to turn a deaf ear to the testaments of the citizens who had fallen victim to the cruelties of the invasion. But Amidala highly doubted that the commission would take place to begin with. The Trade Federation would never allow for such an investigation to proceed, and their credits would snuff out any further attempts to propose another one. Amidala’s allegations would fall into obscurity, and so too would the planet she served - the call for a commission was a call for inaction, and she would not stand for it. 

Amidala gestured for Panaka to turn their microphone back on - she had entered the Senate chambers with a weapon, and now she was going to brandish it.

“I will not defer,” Amidala declared, her voice firmer and clearer than it had ever sounded before. Based on the murmurs of surprise that rippled around the room, the senators of the council had not been expecting such a little girl to make such a firm protest. Amidala continued - their disbelief only strengthened her conviction. “I have come before you to resolve this attack on our sovereignty now. I was not elected to watch my people suffer and die while you discuss this invasion in a committee! If this body is not capable of action, I suggest new leadership is needed. I move for a vote of no confidence in Chancellor Valorum’s leadership.”

Beside her, Palpatine smiled.

***

The sun had long since set over Coruscant by the time Amidala returned to her apartments, dousing the city in a barely-there darkness obliterated by the glittering lights that adorned every building. It was a slow and encumbered journey, for Panaka had called upon a whole host of new guards to surround and shield her as soon as the call for a vote had passed her lips. His new protective measures were strenuous - the halls of the Senate patrolled before she departed from the chamber, her air taxi thoroughly checked before she boarded it, the path to her apartments secured before she walked it. Both of them knew that many would not take kindly to Amidala’s rash actions today, the sort of people who would count on her assassination as a means of snuffing out the change she had set in motion. Where Panaka had found these new men, Amidala had no idea, but she was grateful nevertheless - his competence was almost like magic.

Yet although she was grateful for Panaka’s care, the time it added to her journey home grated on her, for she greatly looked forward to returning to the sanctuary of her apartments. The endless activity and stress of the last few days wore heavily on her, and she could feel exhaustion creeping into her bones and settling heavily onto her eyelids. She supposed anyone else in her position would be too anxious to feel exhausted, but she could not help it. She was certainly aware that the consequences of the vote would be many and varied, and that she would inevitably be called upon to deal with them, but she could not begin to comprehend that now. Not without a good night’s rest, and not without a significantly lighter headpiece perched upon her skull.

But alongside exhaustion sat satisfaction, for now she could finally rest knowing that she had made the first move towards securing her planet’s freedom. Hopefully, given the urgency of the situation, the vote would be swift and a new Chancellor elected within the week - but that depended on whether Coruscant’s elections were as orderly and organised as Naboo’s. In fact, now that she thought about it, she wasn’t actually sure how elections on Coruscant played out, their speed and their process a mystery to her. That, she decided, was something she could worry about when Senator Palpatine visited her in the morning. For now, she would sleep.

When they arrived at the entrance to Amidala’s apartments, Panaka halted their procession to speak to one of his new guards. As Amidala waited for him to ascertain that all was secure inside, she heard Sabé yawning behind her - it seemed that she was not the only one yearning for her bed. It was a slight breach of decorum, to be sure, but Amidala was not in the mood to berate her for it. Let her express herself - what harm could it do?

“You will have guards stationed on both sides of the door, and throughout your apartment, Your Highness,” Panaka explained, finished with his debriefing. With his permission, Amidala began to move again, and the apartment doors opened with a soft whir. “No one will enter your chambers unless called upon.”

“Thank you, Captain,” she said as she passed into the foyer. “I wish such precautions were not necessary, but I understand why they are.”

“You have changed the course of history today, My Lady. While I admire you for it, in doing so you have also painted a significant target on your back,” Panaka said, and an impulsive chill of fear slithered down her spine. “I am certain that the Trade Federation will not rest until you are eliminated.”

Lowering her gaze to the ground, Amidala breathed out a small sigh. “If that threat is the price I must pay for my people, then so be it.”

It was then that the living room doors slid open, and Amidala was surprised to see a distinctly sheepish Eirtaé awaiting her on the other side. She was dressed in a nightgown, her pale hair falling about her face in a slightly unkempt tresses - a state of undress that came as something of a surprise. The hour was late, and she ought to be in bed. At the sight of Panaka, she shrunk back a bit, but Amidala regarded her with what she hoped was a look of kindness.

“Eirtaé, is everything alright?”

She swallowed a little, and raised her unsteady hand to the back of her neck. “I am sorry, Your Highness, but he would not leave even when I asked him to.”

“Who?” Panaka asked, his hand dropping to the blaster that hung at his hip. Amidala heard the rustle of fabric as Sabé shifted closer to her. “Why did you not alert my guards?”

“It is only the Jedi Master, Qui-Gon Jinn. I didn’t think he would pose a threat to Her Majesty.” Eirtaé explained, diffusing the spark of tension as quickly as she had ignited it - Panaka shifted his hand away from his blaster, and Sabé rubbed at her tired eyes. “He came shortly after Sabé called to inform us that the Senate session had finished.” She lowered her voice a little, a conspiratorial gleam shining in her eyes. “He wishes to see Padmé, My Lady.”

Amidala thinned her lips. She thought she had made herself clear when Anakin came to visit, but it seemed that Qui-Gon could not take no for an answer. A reminder of her promise to the Jedi was the last thing she needed after the stress of the day - blessedly, she had almost forgotten about it entirely amongst all the political upheaval. Yet now Qui-Gon was here, eager to force her hand with the best of intentions. 

As a precaution, she pushed the force away from herself - if she did not, Qui-Gon would get the impression that Amidala was force-sensitive too, and that would not do. The situation was complicated enough already. “Where is he now?”

“The living room, Your Highness.”

“I can make him leave,” Panaka offered, his tone terse.

His offer was tempting, to be sure, but Amidala knew that it would be more responsible to decline it. If she could speak to Qui-Gon, clearly explain to him that Padmé would be unavailable until they won Naboo’s freedom, then he would leave her alone and let her work in peace. Ignoring him would only encourage him, and so Amidala shook her head. “No. I will speak to him. Did he say what he wanted with Padmé?”

“No, My Lady. He only told me that it was of vital importance that he speak to her.”

“Very well. Show me to him, and then leave us to speak in private.” She glanced up at Panaka. “Even you, Captain.”

“Whatever you have to say to this Jedi-”

“I would like our audience to be private,” she reiterated, firmer this time. “He is a friend, and he will not harm me. Remember Mos Espa?”

Panaka thinned his lips. “Too well, My Lady.”

“Then you know I will be safe with him.” She thought for a moment, playing through the impending conversation in her mind and imagining every possible outcome. Although her goal was to get rid of him, there was every chance that Qui-Gon would successfully convince her to let Padmé wander with him once more - his powers of persuasion had already proved impressive. “Sabé, do not retire just yet. Stay awake until I have finished speaking with Master Qui-Gon, I may need you.”

“Yes, My Lady.”

“Eirtaé, show me to him.”

She followed Eirtaé through to the living room, with Panaka remaining in the foyer while Sabé slipped into the bedchambers. Sure enough, Qui-Gon sat composed upon the sofa, his plain brown garb quite the contrast to the deep red tones of the luxurious room. Several of Panaka’s guards were already stationed inside, watching him with bright, attentive eyes, and Amidala waved her hand to dismiss them. Once they left, and once Eirtaé followed Sabé into the bedchamber, Amidala turned her full attention to Qui-Gon. “Eirtaé informs me that you wish to speak to Padmé, Master Jedi. Is that true?”

“Indeed it is, Your Majesty” Qui-Gon said, bowing his head in respect. It was something of a surprise when she realised just how much she missed the sound of his voice, the lilting music of it of it. But she dismissed the thought, for it was Padmé’s and not her own. 

When Amidala and her handmaidens had first practiced the decoy maneuver, Panaka had taught them that the most effective lies were not lies at all, but artfully placed truths. In this instance, Amidala knew that relying on such an artful truth would be to her benefit. Feigning ignorance would only complicate matters, and it would be too difficult to keep track of what Padmé knew and Amidala didn’t. Better to unite their knowledge, if only for her own sense of sanity. “Then I suspect I know why you have come.”

“She told you, then?”

“She has informed me that she intends to leave my service once we liberate Naboo in order to train as a Jedi.” She kept her gaze level, and she sharpened her tone to a fine point. “It will hurt me to lose her.”

Qui-Gon lowered his gaze. “I’m not sure you understand the extent of her powers, Your Highness. If she were to continue on as she has, without guidance or support, those powers will consume her. I only want to help.”

“You wish to discuss her powers with her tonight, then?” Amidala asked. 

Qui-Gon shook his head. “No, not I - the Jedi Council. I informed them of Padmé and her gifts, and they wish to see them for themselves. She will not be able to train under me without their approval.”

Inspiration flashed - if Padmé could conceal her powers, make herself look unimpressive before the Council, then they may not give Qui-Gon permission to sever her from Naboo after all. Her time in Coruscant, far from the distractions of Mos Espa, had been a welcome reminder of just how deeply she cared for her home. She had demonstrated her loyalty to her planet with relish today, and deep in her heart she knew that she could never leave her home behind no matter the cost. That ashen vision of future horror Padmé had seen in the desert was only potential, while the reports of Naboo’s current suffering were a certainty. Deep down, she knew that she was destined to break her promise to Qui-Gon - but now there was a chance that the Jedi Council might break it for her, and that was an opportunity she could not waste.

“Will they test her abilities?” Amidala asked, and Qui-Gon nodded. “Very well. I shall fetch her - I imagine she is asleep, so she will need some time to dress.”

“Of course.”

Her course plain, Amidala lifted her skirts, turned on her heel, and started towards the bedchamber to inform Sabé that she would be sleeping in Amidala’s bed tonight.

***

The Jedi Temple was a large, impressive building, towering over even the tallest of Coruscant’s skyscrapers. It consisted of four large, flat-topped pyramids, all connected to form a great monument to the oldest religion in the galaxy. Atop each pyramid sat tall, thin spires, which stretched on so high that they eventually vanished into the starlit clouds above. Certainly, it would have dwarfed Theed Palace ten times over, and Padmé could not deny that there was a certain symbolism in that. The great and mighty Jedi, poised and ready to swallow the young queen of Naboo whole, never to let her see the light of day again.

Qui-Gon led her up the grand staircase that stretched up to the temple’s entrance, and Padmé had to hitch up the skirts of her dull purple robes to ascend them without tripping. Once again, she had donned the handmaiden’s disguise. Between each set of stairs was a large statue of a hooded figure, presumably a Jedi of old - somebody of a storied history, somebody to be admired. But the darkness of night cut harsh, jagged shadows across the sculpted faces of the golden Jedi, and so they loomed like a threat over Padmé as she passed them. She shivered a little - they followed her with their smooth eyes.

Once they reached the top of the stairs, they came to a tall archway that openly exposed the darkened interior of the temple. All she could see beyond it was an endless corridor of shadow, with only the odd shaft of light from a long, thin window to break up the gloomy monotony. On either side of the corridor rose two rows of pale stone pillars, vanishing up into the misty rafters, their tops impossible to make out in the dim light. Padmé glanced around her as they moved towards the archway, wondering if the Jedi were adverse to light, for there were nothing but shadows all around them. Qui-Gon passed across that darkened threshold without a word, and Padmé obediently trotted after him in spite of how unnerved the temple made her feel. There was an air of solemnity to the occasion that disturbed her, and it felt as though Qui-Gon was leading her to her execution rather than an examination.  

“Qui-Gon?” she asked, breaking the silence that had hung between them since they first departed Amidala’s apartments. It puzzled her, his silence. She had yet to figure out why he would not speak. But Qui-Gon regarded her with interest at the sound of his name, and so she continued. “Is it always so quiet here?”

“This is a holy place,” Qui-Gon said. The floor beneath them was lined with a pinkish-red carpet that muffled their footsteps as they walked. “Silence is normal, especially at night. Most of my fellows will be asleep.”

“But not the Council?”

“No. They were willing to stay up to meet you.”

Padmé blushed a little. Amidala was the one people waited up to meet, not her. “How flattering.”

“They do not do it to flatter you,” Qui-Gon said plainly. “They understand the urgency of the situation, and that you must be assessed as soon as possible due to the strength of your powers.”

“Am I really that strong in the force?” Padmé asked. She had never considered herself powerful. The force had always been a companion to her, nothing more, and it walked alongside her now, coming out of hiding now that Amidala had retreated. Strength, weakness - none of it signified in their friendship. 

“For someone who has never been formally trained, yes,” Qui-Gon said. “Most padawans spend years trying to achieve what you did on Mos Espa. Even a feat such as pulling me into the ship upon our escape would’ve been beyond most early padawan learners.”

Padmé furrowed her brow as they turned a corner. “But it’s not like I put in any special effort to teach myself to use it. I only used it when it was helpful to me, that’s all.”

“All the more reason for you to be assessed. Your natural aptitude for the force is beyond impressive.”

“And this assessment - what’ll it be, exactly?”

“You’ll be given the traditional test for younglings. I cannot tell you precisely what it entails, but I doubt you will find it difficult.”

“Were you tested this way?” 

Qui-Gon smiled a little, sighing out a small laugh. Such levity was refreshing, and Padmé was glad that she asked. “I certainly was. But I’ve never thought of it as the true first test of my abilities - that came later.”

“What was it?”

The fond veil of memory fell over him. “When I first met my master, a man named Dooku, he gave me a test of his own - much more comprehensive, much more difficult. It took me about three or four attempts before I passed muster.”

“Is that a lot?”

“It is. I had to apply myself in order to figure out how to use the force in a way that would please him. But he persevered with me, and I was grateful.”

Padmé frowned. “It doesn’t seem right that there should be a right or wrong way to use the force - you shouldn’t be forced to do what your master wants you to do.”

Qui-Gon paused, and Padmé halted with him. He seemed deep in thought, and Padmé cocked her head a little. At length, he spoke again. “Perhaps I could phrase it a little better. To please him, I had to use the force in the way that came naturally to me - I tried to use the force as I had been taught in my earliest lessons, the same lessons given to all the younglings of my generation. He could tell I was constraining myself to the specific teachings of the Order, trying to prove I could use the force as all my peers did, and he knew that would limit me rather than bring out my best. How I’d use it didn’t matter to him, so long as I used it freely.”

“He seems very wise. I like the sound of him.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “He is a very good man.” He hesitated once more, but not for long. “Perhaps, if you wouldn’t mind the detour, I could take you to meet him.”

Padmé widened her eyes, an eager smile flickering on her lips. “I thought you said my examination was urgent?”

“It is, but we needn’t take long. Besides, I think knowing him will do you good. But, if you think it best that we go to the Council first-”

“No, no!” Padmé quickly protested, for the prospect of meeting a Jedi who’s values aligned so neatly with her own excited her. “I would very much like to meet him.”

To her delight, he smiled. “I was hoping you would say that. Come - last I saw, he was in the library with Obi-Wan, and he may still be there.”  

As soon as Qui-Gon set off down an offshoot of the corridor, Padmé hurried after him. She had never thought to consider Qui-Gon’s master, for Qui-Gon seemed to her as if he’d appeared one day out of thin air armed with perfect wisdom and mastery over the force. To think that a man such as he would require training at all came as a strange surprise to her.

They came to a doorway lit up by two cool toned lights, as if a blazing blue flame had been captured in the glass. Qui-Gon slowed his pace as he approached it, and Padmé did the same. “Here we are - the library.”

The door slid open with a slight hiss, and she passed through it as Qui-Gon stepped aside to let her through first. As she predicted, the library was immense in its size yet simple in design - she’d come to expect that in her little journey through the temple. A long table stretched down the lengthy room, dotted with computers and analysis droids, the surface of it polished to shining perfection. On either side of the table sat what appeared to be an infinite number of shelves, broad and tall and crammed with millions upon millions of glowing blue holobooks - there were so many of them that Padmé suspected that this hallowed place held all the knowledge in the known galaxy. Every last shred of it, all in the hands of the Jedi.

That didn’t seem fair to her.

“They’re over here,” Qui-Gon said as the door slid shut behind them, and he fell back into his long-strided stroll as he made his way into the library. He and Padmé passed through a number of shelves, the glow of the holobooks inside almost blinding, before they came to a small alcove furnished with a low table and flat cushions scattered around it in place of chairs. A pale lamp in the centre of the wall shone a light on the figures within - Obi-Wan, hunched over a holobook, the light casting deep shadows in his frowning face, and a second man that Padmé did not recognise, but knew without needing to be introduced.

Jedi Master Dooku cut an austere figure in the low light, obviously tall even when seated, a sharp black cloak draped about his broad shoulders. His face, which bore the lines of age, was decorated with a neatly-trimmed beard of the same salt-and-pepper shade of his hair, and his still features looked as though they were carved from stone into a mask of constant severity. With dark, narrow eyes, he surveyed Obi-Wan as he studied, his expression impossible to decode, his thoughts impossible to intuit. When Qui-Gon had first shared the story of his training, Padmé had assumed that Dooku would be like him, that he would share Qui-Gon’s somewhat threadbare demeanour and exude the same comforting aura. But Padmé saw nothing of Qui-Gon in Dooku, she could not imagine such a harsh, intimidating figure dispensing the advice of using the force with freedom. The story did not align with what she saw before her, nor with what she could sense with the force - for although he sat mere metres from her, Dooku may as well have been on the other side of the galaxy for the ethereal distance between them. 

“Master,” Qui-Gon said softly, and it was only then that Dooku acknowledged their presence, glancing away from Obi-Wan to set his eyes on them. With eyes so dark and cold, Padmé thought she might have felt something under his gaze - a chill, or perhaps even a reassuring warmth that proved her first impression false. Yet she felt nothing but the empty space where a feeling ought to be.

“Qui-Gon,” Dooku said in greeting, his deep voice carrying with it a gravity that would put even the most experienced senator to shame. He then looked at her, and to her relief, the stillness of his expression gave way to the slight softness of curiosity. “And you must be Padmé. My padawan has told me much about you.”

Padmé swallowed, suddenly unsure of what to say - a feeling she loathed. “Is that right?”

Obi-Wan kept his gaze fixed on his book, but Padmé could tell he wasn’t reading it. The force had grown stiff around him, defensive. 

“You seem to show some promise,” Dooku said. “I would like to see your talents for myself, some day.”

“All going well, you will,” Qui-Gon said. “I have no doubt that the Council will accept her once they see what she is capable of.”

A small smile twitched at the corners of Dooku’s lips. “You and I both know that the council can seldom see two feet in front of them.”

Qui-Gon laughed at that. “You are too ungenerous, Master. Give them a little credit.”

“I will give them credit when I see that they deserve it.” 

There was a lightness in Dooku’s voice now, and Padmé found it remarkably reassuring - Dooku’s frost, it seemed, was melting in his padawan’s mellow presence. She could even feel the glimmer of his soul through the force now - faint and flickering, still a little out of reach, but he had opened his pulse to her. A sign of trust, perhaps. Yet, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Obi-Wan’s knuckles whitening. 

“Now, Padmé, you must tell me,” Dooku continued, “You are older than most padawan learners, which ought to be no matter, but - you have lived long enough to form a life for yourself, have you not?”

Padmé looked to Qui-Gon for help, but he simply stared at her, prompting her to fend for herself with his silence. So she swallowed down her nerves and turned back to Dooku. “I have. I am handmaiden to Her Majesty Queen Amidala of the Naboo, and I am very proud to be so.”

“And yet you have agreed to leave that life behind so that you may train with us. Why?”

She could give him thousands of reasons - because she wanted to prevent the burning future of her vision, because she’d needed to say something that’d convince Qui-Gon to help her free Anakin, because Qui-Gon had promised to train her outside of the limitations of the Order, because she wanted to protect herself from the dark side’s influence. But lingering in the back of her mind was a far more truthful answer that she could not give: that she intended to fail the test and not be trained at all. Somehow, she knew if she did not speak that fact, Dooku would pull it from her himself, and so she called to mind Panaka’s advice of artfully placed truths.

“If my powers are as strong as Master Qui-Gon claims, then it would be irresponsible to refuse the Council,” she said. “But I know what I want for my future.”

Dooku nodded. “It is good to have such knowledge at your age. If you never lose sight of that, then you shall do very well here.”

“I hope so, Master.” 

“You’d better go then, if refusing the Council is so irresponsible.” Obi-Wan’s voice was sharp and sullen as it cut through their conversation, and still he refused to look up from his book. Padmé frowned - she got the distinct impression that he did not like her, but she couldn’t imagine why. It wasn’t as if she’d engaged with him all that much. In fact, he’d been entirely relegated to the periphery of her adventures, always present but never integral. She imagined that would change once Qui-Gon took her on as his second padawan.

No, not once. If. She still wanted to believe that her severance from Naboo may have some chance of failing.

Qui-Gon glanced at Obi-Wan through narrowed eyes, but Dooku seemed little disturbed by his interruption. “Quite right. I have delayed you long enough.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Qui-Gon said. “Bringing Padmé to meet you was my idea.”

“Nevertheless, I believe that Obi-Wan is correct.” Dooku settled back into his original posture of stony austerity, but still his eyes glowed with a strange curiosity as he kept Padmé in his sights. “I hope the Council will treat you well, Padmé.”

Or, perhaps it was a question of how well Padmé would treat the Council. “I hope so too.”

And as the conversation drew to a close, Dooku receded once more into the force emptiness from whence he came.

***

The chamber of the Jedi Council reminded Padmé of the council chamber in Theed Palace - a well-lit, round room rimmed with simple chairs and bordered by wide windows that exposed the dark night sky that stretched above Coruscant’s highest rooftops. But while Padmé would expect to see familiar faces in Theed’s council chamber, the members of the Jedi Council were strangers to her entirely. 

Twelve figures sat before her, each one of them staring down at her with hard and discerning eyes. A Kel Dor with his face covered by goggles and a mask, his expression unreadable beneath all that metal, plastic, and rubber. A Tholothian with deep blue eyes, the darkness and intensity within them a stark contrast to the pale white of the tendrils that fell about her head. A male and a female human sat beside each other, robed in brown and perfectly poised to intimidate whoever looked upon them. Beside them sat a figure who looked like a Twi’lek, but with great horns framing his face rather than lekku. A Quermian with a long, thin, white neck glanced down at her with interest - he seemed the softest of them, sitting in curiosity rather than judgment. To the Quermian’s left was a humanoid male with a forehead decorated with small horns, and to his right sat a snake-like creature whose face was almost entirely obscured by the mass of white hair that grew from it. A short Lannik with an impressive earspan looked on with a permanent grimace on his lips, the scar around his eye forcing it shut into a permanent glare. A Cerean with an immense forehead watched her with a similar disinterest, and he seemed far more devoted to stroking his wispy white beard than paying her any mind. And then there were the two tiny green creatures, a man and a woman, belonging to a species that Padmé could not identify - but there was something about them that spoke of immense age, and she felt a strange compulsion to treat them with reverence.

In his dark hands, the male human held a small screen - Padmé had been so taken in by the Council members that she didn’t notice it at first, for she only realised he was holding it when he specifically drew her attention to it. “Several images are going to appear on this screen. I will not show them to you, but I want you to tell me what they are - use the force to see them. Do you understand?”

Briefly, Padmé glanced back to Qui-Gon, who lingered in the doorway. He gave a small nod, encouraging her to do as the Jedi told her, and there was a light smile on his lips that betrayed all his hopes for her. A slight knot of guilt tied itself around her conscience - she would disappoint him if she fumbled this test, intentionally or not. She knew in her heart that deliberately failing the test was the right thing to do, but the prospect of letting Qui-Gon down did not settle well within her. But she had made her decision, and so she turned back to face the Jedi and his little screen.

“I understand.”

“Begin.”

Padmé focused her attention on the device, casting the force towards it to uncoil the barriers of perception. A pale blue holographic image flickered into her mind - an image of a speeder, slowly turning in the digital ether.

Padmé looked the Jedi in the eye. “I see a dagger.”

His eyes darted back to the screen, and then back at her. “Try again.”

The image changed again - a planet, this time, called Alderaan. “I see a flame.”

“Again.”

An animal now, large and hairy with great big horns on either side of its head. Padmé remembered seeing it in a holobook about animals she used to have as a child - a bantha, if she recalled the name correctly. “I see a light. A very bright one.”

She could feel Qui-Gon’s rueful gaze burning into the back of her head. He knew how she felt, and so he knew what she was playing at. If she was not mistaken, she could hear his voice echoing through the force and into her psyche - you are better than this, Padmé . 

But Padmé continued dispensing her lies - a blaster became a flower, a stone became a river, a mirror became a manacle. Eventually, one of the little green Jedi held up his small hand, halting her. “Enough, that will be.” He watched her for a while, and Padmé met his gaze as if challenging him to fault her. “Holding back, you are.”

Padmé lifted her chin a little. “I’m doing my best.”

“According to Master Qui-Gon, your best is far better than this,” said the female human, her voice rich and melodic. There was a coolness to her, a detachment - and yet it felt like a thin shield surrounding a warm centre. “Please, try again.”

And try again she did, but with her ruse of incompetence still intact. Her insistence on failing seemed to strike a nerve with the male human, and he leaned forward in his chair as a deep furrow creased his brow. “If you are not going to take this test seriously, then we will have no choice but to-”

“Hold, Master Windu.” Once again, the little green Jedi held out his hand, this time in the direction of the human. He kept his gaze rested on Padmé, and despite the small size of his eyes, she could recognise a very distinct warmth to them that had been absent before. “How feel you?”

Padmé paused, considering her answer. If the Council wanted to see her as petulant, then she could only indulge them. Anything to further her aims. “I think this is a waste of time.”

“Afraid, are you?” the green Jedi asked, paying no heed to Padmé’s response.

She narrowed her eyes. “No.”

But he shook his head. “See through you, we can.”

“Be mindful of your feelings,” said Windu, a thin accusatory veil draping over his tone.

The Jedi with the tall forehead tilted his head a little. “Your thoughts dwell on your home.”

A spark of discomfort rippled through her - these Jedi were reaching into her mind, digging up the feelings that she had not confessed to them. It was almost as distasteful as the mind tricks Qui-Gon had played on that poor water woman on Tatooine, and Padmé considered their rifling through her thoughts as tantamount to an invasion of her private soul. Logic would tell her that they had simply deduced her sorrow from the common knowledge of Naboo’s strife, but Padmé was too tied up in the heightened emotions of rebellion and revolt to allow logic to colour her judgment. The Jedi were no better than the Trade Federation, and she hated them for it.

“What does that have to do with anything?” she snapped, allowing herself to be forceful now that the shield of Amidala’s raiments could not hold her back.

“Everything,” said the green Jedi, leaning forward in his little chair. “Fear is the path to the dark side.” Ash and dust and fire. “Fear leads to anger.” Flesh charring, blood boiling. “Anger leads to hate.” Grey debris floating amongst the stars. “Hate leads to suffering.” A violent scream torn from the lungs of one who ought to love her. “I sense much fear in you.”

Padmé clenched her fists, and against her will the force arced and sparked around her, her anger igniting it and drawing it towards her in a rush. “You expect me to feel any other way? While my home lies in ruins and my people are treated no better than animals?”

“Temper,” warned the woman with the white tendrils.

“We understand that the crisis on Naboo is dire,” said Windu. “But clouding your thoughts with this rage will be of no help to you.”

“And this ridiculous test will?” Padmé retorted - and all at once, she realised that now was her chance to set free the thoughts that had clouded her perception of the Jedi since she first came to distrust them. “It makes little difference to the Naboo that you recognise our suffering - recognition will not dismantle the droid armies or unlock the cages my people have been forced into. You all hold such great power, and your order makes such claims to be keepers of the peace. So why do you not respond when there is suffering? There is no peace on Naboo. Why do you sit here asking that I guess your little pictures when there is real work to be done?”

Windu narrowed his eyes. “You are here precisely because we did respond to the crisis on Naboo. Or have you forgotten how you came into Master Qui-Gon’s acquaintance?”

“You sent a single Jedi and his padawan!” Padmé scoffed, and the force flared in tiny little supernovas all around her. “That is a pitiful response and you know it. You bring nothing but shame to what your order ought to stand for, and I will play no part in it.”

Padmé did not stay to listen to Windu’s response. She fled through the shadowed hallways and out into the night without another word, the sweet satisfaction of rebellion pushing her onwards as she abandoned Qui-Gon to call her name in vain.

Chapter Text

When Padmé returned to her apartments that night, she begged a moment’s solitude from her guards and handmaidens and seated herself on the sill of her large bedchamber window. 

She did not know how long she sat there, resting her forehead against the glass, staring blankly and blindly into the deepest reaches of night. Although the metropolitan landscape of Coruscant was bedazzled with vibrant lights, Padmé only had eyes for the darkness in between. There was something strangely comforting to her about the oblivion on it - she could stare and stare and stare and never find an end to it, never emerge from it, lingering there until all her responsibilities were as memories long faded by time.

Only she did not have that luxury. She could not remove herself from her life, could not pass on her troubles to another. Even when those troubles frightened her, she could not let them go.

Fear. Those Jedi had humiliated her by exposing it, cutting her open with their incorporeal scalpels and exposing her trembling core to the cold air of reality. It upset her because they were right, even when she was too prideful to admit it. Queen Amidala could not afford to be afraid. What use was a terrified ruler to an equally terrified populace? Yet fear had followed her around like a miasma, and there had been moments where she’d given into it, where her resolution to be brave had not been strong enough to resist it. For every waking second since the Trade Federation first deployed their battle droids on the streets of Theed, anxiety had eaten into her and weakened her from the inside out. Her outer bravery could only withstand so much corrosion. 

But fear was the path to the dark side, or so the little green Jedi said. And the dark side would lead to destruction.

As the taste of ash settled on her tongue, she closed her fist within the fabric of her handmaiden’s robes, gripping tightly to the fabric to still the tremor in her hands. Her composure was rotting away, and all she wanted to do was scream and howl at the top of her lungs because she would suffocate if she did not. There was so much that could go wrong, so many paths to walk that would lead only to misery. She could save Naboo and abandon the Jedi, but then the dark side of the force would corrupt her untrained mind and ignite a devotion to violence - and how many would suffer at her hands then? Or she could abandon Naboo and train with the Jedi, but then she would be forever remembered as the queen who had failed her planet in its time of great need, for the true restoration of Naboo would take place in the long aftermath of the Federation’s invasion. It seemed that there was no way to win, no bright possibility to embrace - Padmé was a prisoner of her own violent potential.

In the window, a tear slipped down the cheek of her reflection, and Padmé swiftly wiped it away. But when more came, she did not make the effort. She relinquished her composure entirely, for her solitude gave her the right. Her lungs tightened, and her breath came in great, ugly, desperate gulps, as though she were drowning above the sea. She let her face contort into strange and unrefined expressions of grief, caring very little for how undignified she looked in the glass. Her hopelessness consumed her, and she allowed it - she needed to feel this way, she needed to be defenseless to it, she needed to let down her walls and admit to herself that, plain and simply, she did not know what to do. She was only a child, and her purity of thought was supposed to be a boon to her, her innocence to be the torch that would illuminate the path to enlightenment. But it did not. No goodness lay before her, no youthful brilliance could save her. Naboo would die, the darkness would consume her, and the entire galaxy would think of her only as a great disappointment.

It was all her fault. No matter what she did, everything would go wrong, and it would all be her fault. 

And then came a caress, the lightest touch of gentility against her cheek that slowly sent a ripple of warmth through her trembling frame. Padmé did not wonder at the source of it, for she knew there was only one possible truth - it was the force, come to comfort the little girl it called friend. Tender wisps of the force brushed away the shroud of hopelessness that surrounded her, letting in little rays of light to warm her, soothe her, guide her. It had sensed her desolation and come to relieve it, and the beauty of its compassion did little to slow the fall of her tears.  

As the force coalesced around her, that first gentle touch of warmth began to expand into a balm that coated her whole body. It was an all encompassing warmth, so overwhelming that it forced Padmé to relent, forced her to leave her terror behind and clear her mind to make room for its serenity. Padmé closed her eyes to further shut herself away from all distractions - the force had called to her, and she would give it her full attention. It carried her away as if she were nothing but a leaf on the wind, entirely out of her control, for the force could not stand to see a friend in pain.

Soft grass brushed against the bare soles of her feet as a warm breeze tugged at the hem of her simple gown, the sun burning bright and refreshing as the twitter of bird song flowed sweetly into her ears. And there was the sound of water too, a stream trickling peacefully and twinkling like a wind chime as it flowed. A bee buzzed, a frog croaked, the wind rustled the leaves of emerald trees, and a luscious wildflower scent permeated the air. She opened her eyes, finding herself transported to the only place that could ever truly matter to her - Naboo, with its fields free from the grimy rust of the Federation’s droid ships, free from sorrow and loss and grief. Yes, this was the Naboo she must fight for. This was perfection.

She stepped towards the stream, and it did not confuse her when it slowly widened before her eyes and became a lake, still and serene like a freshly polished mirror. She walked into that lake, and she did not drown in its depths - it enveloped her in its loving arms and let her float through it with ease, towards the glittering lights and rounded structures of a city she had never seen before. Yet it felt so familiar, and she could feel the force guiding her towards a memory and slowly unfolding it before her like the pages of an ancient book. Age - yes, this was an old place, older than Theed and all its surroundings, older than the very name Naboo itself. It was old, and yet it was alive, for she could see moving shadows and silhouettes shifting amongst the sparkling bulbs of light. Alive, alive after all this time, and it seemed as though the force was drawing her to this underwater sanctuary, where a vast swathe of Naboo’s population lived unknown to her - a peripheral species, but they had been living on her planet for so long, longer than the Naboo could ever know. She knew their names now, not from experience or acquaintance, but from story and hearsay and words of warning. Gungans, a species yet untouched by Amidala’s eye, emerging from the waters of obscurity and finally stepping into the sunlight of her awareness. A current brought her closer, and she held her hand out to brush her fingers against the smooth surface of the thin shield that protected the city from the weight of the water.

The force had brought her here for a reason. This was the answer. She had thought that the weight of her world’s woes had been for her shoulders only, that she must never share her burden. But the solution did not lie in isolation, in her one single mind. Liberation would only come when all of Naboo’s noble facets came together - for in its beauty, Naboo could overpower all. 

She knew now that it had been a mistake to flee from Naboo. Coruscant’s senatorial solutions were vapid, empty, slow things - no real action would come of it, and she had always known it in the pit of her gut. Her actions in the senate may have sent waves rippling out across Coruscant’s surface, but they made no difference on Naboo. All of it was artificial, contrived. The way of the Naboo was natural, responsive, and she ought to have prioritised the shared power of her people over the single power of one chancellor in an ivory tower of subterfuge. For one brief, angry moment, she recalled that it had never been her choice to leave Naboo, but Sabé’s - yet the force swept in to quell her rage. Sabé had meant well, and the force knew that her actions, misguided as they were, would ultimately be of no consequence to Naboo. Their metropolitan deviation had not sealed Naboo’s grim end. There was still time.  

Although it had no countenance, she could feel the force smiling down upon her, for it knew that she understood. And it was then that she realised that all her worries had been for naught - Naboo would save itself, and the force would never turn on her. How could something so kind have a dark side? She had never thought of her dear friend as something that held the potential for great evil. It was only once Qui-Gon and his Jedi had introduced her to the potential that she had lost sight of the force’s infinite beauty. No, the force would not betray her. She had been a fool to think so, but she knew that the force forgave her for it. It took her in its warm arms once more, and pulled her from the lake.

In Theed Palace she stood, surrounded by the rich yet ancient glamour of her bedchamber. The balcony doors were open wide, admitting the peach-toned rays of the setting sun to bathe the room in hazy light. A figure stood there on the balcony, leaning against the railing and staring out at the brilliant orange sky before him. Padmé stepped forward, for she knew this boy and all his wonder. He lay at the end of the good path, her prize for a battle well fought and won, and the force had brought him to her because light could be the only consequence of knowing him. 

She reached out and laid her steady hand upon his shoulder, and he turned to regard her with the sun-bright smile and midnight eyes that had altered her heart forever.     

***

When morning came, Amidala knew what she must do.

It was a beautiful morning, with the sun shining brightly over Coruscant’s permacrete spires. Rabé threw open the curtains to let in some of that lovely sun as Sabé and Eirtaé set about dressing Amidala for her day. Amidala sat quietly as they chattered amongst themselves, deciding which of her numerous gowns would be most suitable for the day’s activities. As far as they understood, it would be a day of gruelling meetings held solely to deal with the fallout of the call for election, and so her dress must strike the perfect balance between comfort and refinement. Sabé seemed to think that a muted grey, empire waisted gown would suit, while Eirtaé thought that a cheerier pastel yellow number would help to bring a little levity to what would doubtless be a heavy day.

It was through this avenue of dress that Amidala made her first move.

“I will wear neither,” she said quite simply, drawing the attention of her three handmaidens. “I will not need to be dressed for long.”

Eirtaé frowned. “But My Lady, your schedule-”

“Is of no consequence,” she said. Eirtaé and Rabé exchanged an uneasy glance, but Sabé, ever calm, watched her with trust. “I will meet with Senator Palpatine this morning as planned, but I would ask that one of you cancel my other appointments.”

“Forgive me, Your Highness, but why?” Rabé asked. 

“Because I wish to return to Naboo. We have tarried here long enough.”

Despite herself, Eirtaé gasped. “Oh my…”

“But if we return to Naboo, the Trade Federation will capture us. We will be sent to a prison camp, and then we will be of no help to the Naboo at all,” protested Rabé, folding her arms across her chest.

“I trust that you have a plan, My Lady,” said Sabé.

Amidala nodded. “I do.”

“Very well.” Sabé stepped away from the wardrobe, smoothing out the folds of her robe. “Shall I prepare to be your decoy?”

“Yes, but we will not make the switch until we are in transit,” said Amidala, grateful for Sabé’s foresight. She had expected that Sabé would understand her, and she was not disappointed. “So long as Sabé plays my part, Naboo will be in no real danger. All the Trade Federation needs from me is my signature on their wretched treaty - but if that treaty is signed in Sabé’s hand, nothing will come of it.”

“And how will we fight the Trade Federation?” asked Rabé. “Whether the signature is valid or not, we will still be captured.”

“I do not intend to be caught,” Amidala reassured her. “Ric Olié is an adept pilot - I trust he will bring us safely and undetected to Naboo. We will use the deep forests as our refuge before we march on Theed Palace and retake it for ourselves.”

“With only Captain Panaka’s guards for an army?” Eirtaé asked, her eyes bulging with steadily mounting fear.

Amidala shook her head. “No. We will call upon our Jedi friends to aid us, and I intend to visit Boss Nass and request the aid of his Gungan people. As I understand, they have a fine tribe of warriors - with them to bolster our ranks, we will stand a much better chance against the Federation’s droid army.”

“The Gungans have not always taken kindly to the Naboo, My Lady,” came Sabé’s gentle reminder. “Boss Nass may not wish to help us.”

“You needn’t concern yourself with that. If he cares for his people and his home, he will help,” Amidala said, for it seemed simple to her. The Trade Federation would not limit their oppression to the Naboo - the Gungans would face their tyranny eventually, and their leader would understand that if he had a sensible head on his shoulders. She knew little of how the Gungan bosses were appointed, but she doubted they would put a careless man on such an exalted throne.

“I hope you are right, My Lady,” Sabé said, tucking her concerns away.

“Does Captain Panaka know about your plans?” Rabé asked, and Amidala shook her head.

“I have not told him. This is the first I have spoken of it to anyone, and I trust that you will all see it through at my side.”

Amidala had no cause to question the loyalty of her handmaidens - no matter their queen’s path, foolish or otherwise, they would follow her down it. In fact, it had never occurred to Amidala that they may disagree with her, and she had no cause to contemplate that possibility now. One by one, her handmaidens declared their commitment to her, and their faith in her plan to take back their planet.

“I am at your side, My Lady,” said Sabé, bowing her head low. 

“You have my service, always,” said Eirtaé, a soft yet nervous smile twitching on her pale lips.

“Whatever you say, Your Highness,” said Rabé, with the fierceness that Amidala had always admired in her.

Amidala allowed herself a smile, for the faith her handmaidens had in her never failed to warm her to the core. “Thank you, all of you.”

“What would you have us do, My Lady?” Sabé asked.

“Dress me however you like - I will meet with Senator Palpatine as planned and inform him of my decision to leave Coruscant. Panaka will be in attendance as well, and he will hardly be in a position to deny me my wishes in front of the Senator.” Eirtaé smothered a giggle at that, which felt remarkably gratifying. “Sabé, you will attend my meeting with the Senator and observe it as you usually would.”

“Of course,” she said. 

“Eirtaé, remain in these chambers and pack my things so that we may leave as soon as possible.”

“Alright.”

“And Rabé - I would like you to go to the Jedi Temple and request that Master Qui-Gon and his padawan travel to Naboo with us. If they refuse, tell them that the order comes directly from Queen Amidala herself. Once you have them with you, tell Ric Olié to have the Royal Starship ready to fly in three hours at the latest. I have no intention of staying on Coruscant for any longer than necessary.”

“Consider it done,” said Rabé, and her broad grin was all Amidala needed to affirm that she was making a very good decision indeed.

***

There was an air of barely suppressed smugness about Senator Palpatine when he arrived in Amidala’s apartments later that morning. There was an irrepressible smile about his thin lips, and he carried himself with a new brand of confidence that had been absent in the days prior. His brighter airs seemed to irritate Captain Panaka, judging by the press of his lips and his slightly narrow gaze as he stood by the doors watching over the Queen and the Senator. Amidala did not share his frustration, however. She regarded him with quiet interest from where she sat on the sofa across from him - certainly, she hoped he brought good news, but she had grown somewhat distracted by her own plans. Whatever Palpatine had to say to her, it would no doubt regard the sudden election, but the whole event seemed trivial to her now. Coruscant felt small now, insignificant. 

“You seem cheerful today, Senator,” she said. As usual, she kept her tone level, but her sheer excitement at her impending return to Naboo overruled her composure somewhat - she could not help but let little fragments of levity slip through the cracks.

“I have great reason to, Your Highness,” Palpatine said. “I have been nominated to succeed Valorum as supreme chancellor.”

Somehow, that did not come as a surprise to her, but nevertheless, she was happy for him. To have a proud Naboo occupying such a high office would be a great honour indeed. “Congratulations, Senator. That is excellent news.”

“It was a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one,” Palpatine said. He then schooled his features into a more solemn mask, and he leaned forward a little and lowered his voice to a more reverent tone. “Your Majesty, if I am elected, I promise to put an end to corruption.”

“That I do not doubt. But you will have a long election campaign in your future, I am sure - who are the other candidates?” Amidala asked. As eager as she was to break the news of her intended departure from Coruscant, her interest in the election had reignited now that she knew her dear friend had a chance of winning it.

“Bail Antilles of Alderaan and Ailee Teem of Malastare,” Palpatine said. “But they pose no danger to my chances, I assure you. Antilles is popular but much too young - the people of Coruscant do not privilege youth as we do. And Teem is much too embroiled in controversy to stand a chance.”

Thinking of the controversies currently hovering over Naboo - accusations of invasion, a demand for a new chancellor - Amidala found the excuse for Teem’s impending failure an odd one. “Are we not embroiled in controversy too, Senator?”

Palpatine shook his head. “On the contrary. I feel confident that our situation will create a strong sympathy vote for us.” A smile once again crept onto his lips, seemingly out of his control. “I will be Chancellor.”

Perhaps he would, but not for some time. As much as she trusted Palpatine to use his powers for good, Amidala knew that by the time he took hold of those powers, it would be far too late. Now was the time to begin her declaration, and she did it with tact. “I fear by the time you have control of the bureaucrats, Senator, there will be nothing left of our people, our way of life.”

“I understand your concern, Your Majesty,” said Palpatine, his expression softening a little. “Unfortunately, the Federation has possession of our planet. There is little we can do until my appointment.”

But Amidala shook her head - and, to the surprise of both Senator Palpatine and Captain Panaka, she rose to her feet. “Senator, this is your arena. I feel I must return to mine. I have decided to go back to Naboo.”

Breaking his usual veneer of composure, Panaka took a rapid step forward, and already a vein began to bulge in his forehead. But it was Palpatine who issued his protest first. “Go back? But Your Majesty, be realistic! They’ll force you to sign the treaty!”

Amidala did not risk a glance at Sabé, who had been standing hidden in plain sight in the corner of the room for the entire conversation. “I will sign no treaty, Senator. My fate will be no different from that of our people.”

“You are taking too great a risk, Your Highness,” Panaka said, his voice bubbling with poorly concealed tension. “Please, remain on Coruscant where it is safe. You will be of no use to the Naboo if you become imprisoned alongside them.”

“I am afraid I cannot,” Amidala said, finding it a great challenge to conceal the rush of adrenaline currently coursing through her veins underneath her usual restrained composure. “I have already begun the process of my departure - my handmaidens are making all the necessary arrangements, and I plan to leave as soon as Mr. Olié has readied my ship.”

“But we have the situation in hand,” Palpatine protested. “Republic justice will be served in due course - we must have patience.”

“It is clear to me now that the Republic no longer functions,” Amidala said, and she stepped around the low table that sat between the two sofas to be closer to Palpatine. “I pray you will bring sanity and compassion back to the Senate.”

Before Palpatine or Panaka could utter more words of dissension, the door to the sitting room slid open, allowing Rabé to pass through in a flutter of greyish-purple robes. “Pardon the interruption, My Lady, but your ship is ready to depart at your orders.”

“Thank you, Rabé. Have the Jedi agreed to come with us?”

“Yes, Your Highness. They are waiting for you on board.”

Amidala turned towards Captain Panaka, and she allowed the smallest of smiles to creep onto her countenance. “Shall we depart then, Captain? I would hate to leave Mr. Olié waiting.”

***

Just as Rabé promised,Amidala found Qui-Gon waiting by the boarding ramp of the Royal Starship, totally alone save for Obi-Wan’s company. A slight twinge of guilt tugged at Amidala’s heartstrings, for the last time she had seen him, Padmé had parted from him in shame. She had embarrassed him in front of the Jedi Council, and Amidala could only wonder how such a slight would test his capacity for forgiveness. Amidala, however, was not the one who had brought such disappointment to him, and so she approached him without reservation. At the sight of her, Qui-Gon dismissed his padawan, who disappeared into the ship long before Amidala could reach them.

“Master Qui-Gon, I am glad to see you,” Amidala said. She had long pushed the force away from her person, allowing her to pass into his presence undetected.

He gave a slight bow - far from reverent, but low enough and long enough to demonstrate his respect. “Your Majesty, it is our pleasure to continue to serve and protect you.”

“I welcome your help,” said Amidala. “Senator Palpatine fears the Federation means to destroy me.”

“I assure you, I will not let that happen,” he replied, and from the gravity of his tone, Amidala knew she could believe him. But she had never doubted him to begin with, not really - he had kept Padmé safe on Tatooine, and so now she inextricably associated him with a great sense of security. His presence was, and always would be, a great comfort to her.

And that was precisely why the twinge of guilt she had felt at her first sight of him began to bloom into a far larger sensation, a tight stab of repentance digging into her chest like a barb or a thorn. She cursed Padmé for her childish behaviour before the Council - not because she cared one bit for those twelve illustrious Jedi, but because she had essentially spat in the face of Qui-Gon’s kindness by acting out as she had. As the stress of her situation had caused her to lose sight of the force’s goodness, so too had she lost sight of Qui-Gon’s. For when he asked that she train with him, he had made a promise of his own - to guide her outside of the Council’s restrictions, to teach her to use the force how she saw fit just as his master had taught him. He would have been a good master, and she had humiliated him. 

As greatly as she wished to apologise to him, she could not do so in her current persona. Padmé would bear that responsibility, should she ever emerge again. But Amidala found herself in a unique position to prepare Padmé for that apology, to speak to its recipient and discover all the elements that would make it perfect. Not only that, but she might be able to discover the plain truth about her future - about whether her plot to shun the Jedi had succeeded. As they made their way up the boarding ramp, Amidala once again engaged him in conversation.

“How did Padmé fare in her test?” Amidala asked, keeping her voice low so that Qui-Gon would know to do the same.

To her surprise, Qui-Gon gave a light chuckle. “Not very well, I’m afraid. She didn’t take kindly to the Council. Didn’t she tell you?”

“No. If she did not enjoy the experience, then I doubt she would want to prolong it by sharing it with me,” Amidala answered as they passed into the ship. She was glad to be once more surrounded by those walls of chrome - they felt safer than the walls of her apartments, somehow. “So, what will happen to her now? I assume she has failed.”

“The Council certainly didn’t appreciate her attitude,” Qui-Gon said. “But they could tell she was powerful - any force wielder could recognise it. She held herself back during her test, and that was enough for the Council to understand her potential - power restricted is power nevertheless.”

So, Padmé’s deliberate flunking of the test had been a futile endeavour after all. Perhaps she had only made it worse for herself, and Amidala quietly cursed the girl’s foolishness. She should have known that the Jedi, with their all-seeing, all-invading eyes, would not allow anyone the privilege of a secret. They had mastered the art of sticking their noses where they didn’t belong. Yet as keenly as she felt it, Amidala did not let Padmé’s disappointment seep into her expression. “So they will train her, then? She will have to leave my service after all?”

“They are hesitant. They know her powers should be tempered, but becoming a true Jedi by their standards requires a respect for the faith that Padmé does not possess.”

They arrived outside the throne room, but she did not pass through it. Instead, she lingered on the threshold, wanting to finish their conversation before she addressed her party. Nobody would disturb them - her handmaidens were busy preparing her chambers, Captain Panaka had gone to speak to Ric Olié, and the guards stationed nearby knew better than to listen when the Queen was in a private conference. Obi-Wan was no doubt busy in the cockpit too, but she would not mind if he arrived to listen. He was a Jedi, after all, and her future would be of some concern to him even if he did not act like it.

“Their standards?” Amidala asked. “What makes a true Jedi by your standards, Master Qui-Gon?”

A small, wistful smile crossed his face. “I don’t believe in a ‘true’ Jedi at all, Your Highness. All one requires to be a Jedi is mastery of the force and the desire to do good with it, whatever shape that good may take. From what I have seen, Padmé has an abundance of both.”

“She does. She is very devoted to her people - it is why Panaka recruited her into my service.”

“And I think she would be a great boon to your people should she undertake her Jedi training.”

“Which you would oversee, I imagine?” Amidala asked, and Qui-Gon nodded.

“Even if the Council refused her entry to the Order, I would consider it an honour to take her on as my Padawan.”

“Would that not aggravate the Council?”

“It certainly would.” Qui-Gon’s grin broadened, a warm and wicked and infectious thing - and Amidala had already allowed herself to smile today, so she figured that sharing another would not harm her. “But I have never been one to follow their rules.”

Padmé and Amidala both had long shared a suspicion of the Jedi, recognising them as stagnant and limited creatures who had lost their way and refused to return to it. Last night’s encounter with the Jedi Council had taught them both what they already knew, that they could never align themselves with the Order and their cold, soulless complacency. And yet there was Qui-Gon, a rare and excellent soul who refused to be trapped within that wall of ice, who would melt it away with the warm fires of tradition and compassion. In that moment, her admiration for him rose to a crescendo, and she knew without a doubt that she could trust him to hold Padmé’s future in his hands and guide her down a path she could be proud of. Perhaps together, they could restore the Jedi Order to what it ought to be.

The sound of a step in the corridor drew Amidala’s attention away from Qui-Gon, but she was comfortable with leaving their conference on that good note - she knew Padmé’s future with the Jedi was in good hands, for Qui-Gon’s reassurance had melted away all her anxieties. AIs she watched Sabé and Captain Panaka approach, she reflected on how good it felt to be so confident.

“Excuse me, Master Qui-Gon. I believe Captain Panaka wishes to have a word with me.”

Qui-Gon excused himself with a nod, and he had vanished into the throne room by the time Panaka and Sabé arrived at Amidala’s side.

“Your Highness, we will be taking off shortly,” Panaka said, the slight curtness to his tone betraying his continued agitation. “It will take us less than a day to reach Naboo. If I may, I suggest that you use that time to explain to us precisely what your intentions are once we arrive.”

“I always intended to do so, Captain,” Amidala said. “I did not plan to leave you in the dark entirely.”

Amidala passed into the throne room, the long skirts of her gown trailing behind her as she walked. Almost as soon as she had taken her seat on the throne and arranged her skirts, the ship rumbled into life, and she gripped onto the arms of the throne for extra stability. She noticed Sabé doing the same, subtly resting her hand against the back of the throne to keep herself steady. Qui-Gon and Panaka needed no such support, for they stood as clear and composed as ever. Eventually, a large shake overtook the ship, indicating that they had made the jump to hyperspace, and then stillness settled all about them. It would be smooth sailing until they left the hyperspace corridor, provided they encountered no trouble along the way. Panaka stepped towards the communicator embedded in the wall and made the call for the whole party to proceed to the throne room, for now it was time for Amidala to let them all in on her little secret.

As she waited for Rabé, Eirtaé, and her guards to arrive, Amidala’s gaze fell to the small window to her left, where the pulsing, undulating blue of the hyperspace corridor lay bright and vivid before her. One of Padmé’s memories rose to the surface - a memory of sitting in the ship’s sickbay and watching the blue lights of the corridor with Anakin at her side, his wonder at the sight a soothing balm to her anxieties. She supposed he would still be on Coruscant now, adjusting to whatever new life Qui-Gon had found for him. She could not deny her disappointment that she was not part of that life anymore, but she tried to tamp the feeling down and focus on how truly happy she was for him and his newfound freedom. She could only hope he would remember her as fondly as she would remember him.

All thoughts of Anakin faded when Rabé and Eirtaé filtered into the room, swiftly followed by the more senior members of Panaka’s guard. There was no sign of Obi-Wan, but Amidala assumed that he would be busy piloting the ship with Mr. Olié, and so his absence came as no surprise to her. Qui-Gon certainly did not seem perturbed by it. When the door slid shut behind the final guard and Rabé and Eirtaé had taken their places on either side of her throne, Amidala began her address.

“I will waste no time with pleasantries,” she began, projecting her voice even though the space was small. It was a force of habit, she supposed. “I understand that my decision to return to Naboo is a sudden one, and many of you were not prepared to undertake this journey. But I assure you that I have not made this decision lightly, nor without a plan of how we will retake our home from the Trade Federation. If any of you oppose my decision, I ask that you speak now.”

Unsurprisingly, Panaka was the first to step forward. “Be assured of my loyalty to you, Your Highness. But if I may speak freely, I believe this decision is a reckless one - as soon as we land, the Federation will arrest you and force you to sign their treaty.”

“I agree,” said Qui-Gon in his thoughtful tones. “I’m not sure what you wish to accomplish by this.”

“I will take back what is ours,” Amidala said, simply and plainly. “We will march on Theed and reclaim the Palace. That is where the Trade Federation has focused their power, and that is where our victory will hurt them most.”

Panaka shook his head. “There are too few of us. We have no army, only a small troop of guards. You saw how many droids the Federation has at its disposal - we will not stand a chance.’

“We will not stand a chance if we insist on fighting alone,” Amidala said. “We Naboo may only have a small guard, but the ranks of the Gungan armies are plentiful. Our strength will greatly increase with their numbers added to our own.”

“And how will we convince them to fight at our side?” Panaka asked. “The Gungans have never wanted anything to do with us. Why should they lay down their lives for us?”

Amidala parted her lips to respond, but she was cut off by the sight and sound of the throne room door whirring open. She expected to see a member of Panaka’s guard pass through them, quietly uttering their apologies for their lateness or pressing themselves against the nearest wall so that their late arrival might go unnoticed. Instead, the doors parted to admit the robed figure of Obi-Wan, and he made his way towards the throne with a confident stride and an expression of impatience etched into his face. But what truly caught Amidala’s attention was the figure Obi-Wan dragged behind him, for he was gripping onto the thin, bony wrist of none other than Anakin Skywalker.

“Pardon the intrusion, but we seem to have found ourselves a stowaway,” he declared, and once he reached the front of the small crowd he pushed Anakin forward to stand before her. He stumbled a little, but soon straightened up, and it took all the restraint Amidala could muster not to grin at the sight of him. Already, she could feel Padmé reemerging.

Before Anakin could utter a word to explain his presence, Panaka stepped towards him in one smooth stride, a fierce and urgent air to his every movement. As far as he was concerned, any unknown entity in the Queen’s presence could be a potential danger, and he treated Anakin no differently. “How did you get on this ship? Did someone smuggle you in? Who sent you, boy?”

“Easy, Captain. He is a friend,” Amidala warned. Panaka’s devotion to her protection made him an excellent captain, but at times he could lose himself to that devotion and forget the numerous benefits of subtlety. At moments such as these, a far gentler, far kinder hand was required.  

Panaka held Anakin in his stern gaze a moment longer, and Anakin met it with wary fortitude. “Nobody sent me, Sir. I’m here because I want to be.”

“Anakin, what are you doing here? You were supposed to remain at the Temple,” Qui-Gon asked, folding his arms across his chest. He didn’t seem displeased at his friend’s sudden appearance, merely perplexed.

To Amidala’s surprise, Anakin did not address his response to Qui-Gon. Instead, he turned away from him and spoke to Amidala directly - although not before bowing as Panaka had shown him the day before. 

“Your Majesty, I’m sorry I didn’t ask permission to come on board your ship,” he began. All eyes in the room were on him, and for a moment he hesitated under the attention. “But I didn’t have any other choice. I had to come with you, but no one was going to let me.”

“And why is it so important that you come to Naboo with us?” Amidala asked, injecting a warmth into her voice that she seldom made use of when speaking as queen. As always, she wanted him to know that he was speaking to someone who had his best interests at heart.

“Because I want to help,” he said.

The small smile gracing Qui-Gon’s lips did not escape Amidala’s notice, and it was all she could do not to join him in the expression. “Is that truly all?” she asked.

Anakin paused. “I didn’t want to get left behind, Your Highness.” 

“We would have returned to you, Anakin,” Qui-Gon reassured him. “You wouldn’t have been alone for long.”

“Sorry, but a lot of people have made that promise to me, and no one’s ever kept it.” He turned back to Amidala. “Whatever I can do to help, Your Majesty, I’ll do it. Anything you ask.”

“You know nothing of my planet, and yet you pledge yourself to it - why?” To her surprise, a slight reddish flush overtook Anakin’s suntanned cheeks, and Padmé’s girlish excitement began to pulse within her. Why would he blush if he did not have some affectionate secret to keep? Padmé, who cared for Anakin so very deeply yearned to know for certain if he cared for her too, and she saw now an opportunity to use Amidala’s anonymity to her frivolous advantage. She knew this was hardly an appropriate arena, given that she’d gathered her party to talk of battle. But there would be plenty of time for battle yet. “Speak plainly, if you please.”   

Anakin swallowed, and she noticed his eyes darting towards her handmaidens - searching for Padmé, trying to locate her features beneath the shadow of her robe. When, inevitably, he had no success, he looked back at Amidala. “I’m just grateful for everything you’ve all done for me - you freed me, you showed me kindness, you let me go to Coruscant with you. It wouldn’t feel right not doing anything in return.”

It struck her as so very ironic that Anakin was motivated to aid Naboo out of a sense of gratitude, as a means of paying back a good deed - for Padmé’s wish to free him had stemmed from gratitude of her own. Freeing him was, in part, repayment for how he’d won them the funds for the hyperdrive. And yet there he stood, his earlier generosity entirely forgotten, imagining himself as the one in debt and not the other way around. It was his devotion to goodness that had allowed that memory to fade, and Amidala found herself so moved by his compassion that she could almost feel tears pushing against the barrier of her restraint.

He wanted to help. He wanted to say thank you. That was all it was, and all it ever would be. Nothing complicated, nothing subversive - just a plain, simple, innocent desire to help.

Innocence. Amidala paused on the thought, rolled it around in her head - innocence. The Naboo had always revered innocence as one of the highest states of being, as one of the greatest traits a person could possess. It was why they elected their queens so young, and why all other officials were so old - let them, in their age and infirmity, be guided by the pure, uncorrupted thought of the young. One of the first lessons she was ever taught when she began her political training was the danger of bias, and how inevitable it could be when age and experience began to descend. 

In Anakin, she recognised an innocence far purer than any she had ever seen before. He had only ever known a life of pain, of suffering, of subjugation. Never had he known true personhood, or liberty. He had spent his every waking moment surrounded by death and abuse and starvation and illness - he had been orphaned to it, abandoned to face down horror all by himself. And yet he had survived. He had refused to let his pain ruin his soul, refused to become jaded or disillusioned. He had not lost his faith that people could be good and kind and worthy of gratitude, and not once did he hesitate to dispense with that gratitude as openly and plainly as he could. He was impervious to all corruption, and with that power he could rescue all those who languished beneath it. 

Amidala knew precisely how he could use that power.

“I believe I know how you can help us, Anakin,” Amidala said at length, prompting Anakin to widen his eyes in anticipation and Panaka to stiffen a little. Qui-Gon watched the exchange with interest as Obi-Wan scrubbed his hand over his face. “Upon our arrival on Naboo, I intended to travel to the Gungan city of Otoh Gunga and negotiate with their leader so that his armies might bolster our own when we wage our battle against the Trade Federation. Now, however, I do not believe that this would be the correct course of action. Anakin - I would like you, along with Padmé, to travel unaccompanied to Otoh Gunga in my stead and earn the respect and aid of the Gungan people.”

To say that her decision was met with an uproar would be an understatement. As soon as the words had left her lips, Panaka burst into a volley of passionate protestations, Obi-Wan let out an inelegant exclamation of disbelief, and even Sabé, Rabé, and Eirtaé could not resist gossiping behind her throne. Amongst it all, Anakin’s eyes grew ever wider, and it took him some time to figure out how to respond.

“I’m sorry, I really want to help, but I don’t think I’d be very good at something like that,” he stammered out, clearly uncomfortable with challenging her authority yet certain that he was in the right. 

“For once the boy is speaking sense,” Panaka interjected. “Your Highness, I beg you to reconsider - everything about our return to Naboo is perilous enough, but to trust such a vital aspect of our success to one of your handmaidens and a mere slave-”

“Captain.” Amidala cut him off as sharply as she could. “When you joined my guard, did you not pledge to trust me and honour my wishes at all times?”

Panaka clenched his jaw a little. “I did. But your protection must remain my priority, even if that means protecting you from yourself. If you insist on sending an ambassador to Otoh Gunga, let it be me.” 

“If it would reassure you, Captain, Obi-Wan and myself could accompany them as protectors. We met with Boss Nass ourselves upon our arrival on Naboo - he knows us, and it may make negotiations run a little more smoothly,” Qui-Gon offered, but Amidala shook her head.

“No. On this matter you all must trust me - Anakin and Padmé must go alone. They will beg with their hearts, and that is all Boss Nass will care to hear from us.” She looked Anakin in the eye, holding him tight in her gaze. “So, Anakin. Will you do as I ask?”

For a moment, Anakin remained silent, a whirlwind of thoughts and fears raging behind his eyes. Eventually, he let out a small, relenting sigh. “I’ll do my best.”

Chapter Text

“When you said that Queen Amidala was to visit Otoh Gunga, I had assumed that I would be the one to make the journey,” said Sabé. Rabé and Eirtaé were currently dressing her in the Queen’s raiments, for they were once again falling back on the decoy maneuver so that Padmé could roam freely. Eirtaé was still in the process of painting her face in Amidala’s makeup - only the left half of her face was smothered with white, which made her frown a little difficult to take seriously.

Padmé adjusted the belt that sat on her hips - she was part way through dressing herself in the traditional maroon battle robes of the handmaiden. “Yes, that was my original intention. But things changed.”

“‘Things changed’,” Rabé repeated, a little laugh in her voice as she made her way towards the large walk-in wardrobe. “That boy turned up, that’s what happened. What’s his name? Avalon?”

“Anakin,” Padmé corrected her, a little terser than she intended. She wasn’t used to her handmaidens questioning her, especially when Sabé was the handmaiden in question. Perhaps her earlier disobedience in Theed was not a minor lapse in trust, but a sign of something deeper. As she pulled on her coat, she tried not to think about it too hard - she had bigger things to worry about.

“Well, whatever his name is, I think he’s kind of cute,” Rabé mused before vanishing into the wardrobe.

Sabé’s frown did not lighten - clearly, she did not agree. “I do not understand why you have trusted him with such an important mission. He knows nothing of Naboo’s crisis, and nothing of diplomacy.”

“I think you’ve just answered your own question,” Rabé noted as she emerged from the wardrobe with a black and red headdress in her arms. Even in a more practical battle dress, Amidala could not relinquish her regal bearing - cumbersome headgear included. “He knows nothing, so that makes him perfect. It’s always been our way.”

“In this instance, I do not like it,” Sabé grumbled, and she squinted her eyes as Eirtaé started jabbing the bare side of her face with the white-coated brush. They were due to land on Naboo soon, and so they had no choice but to rush the dressing process.

“You think you’d do a better job of convincing Boss Nass to help us?” Rabé asked, and she sounded as though she was trying to goad Sabé into snapping at her. She’d always been a little combative.

Sabé glowered at her. “Queen Amidala would do a better job, no matter which of us dressed as her. A man of Boss Nass’ rank will only be swayed by a fellow head of state, not her servant and a stranger.”

“A stranger who isn’t even from here,” Eirtaé pitched in.

Padmé sighed - the last thing she wanted to do was squabble with Sabé, not when she needed her support now more than ever. “You’re forgetting that a head of state will be there. I’ll tell the Boss my real identity, if I have to.”

Eirtaé gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“It would be a sign of trust. If I let the Gungans in on the decoy maneuver, it would grant them a privilege that most Naboo do not have. I hope that gesture would be enough to win him over to our side.” 

“Oh, Panaka is not going to like this,” Rabé muttered with a shake of her head.

“And how do you plan to prove that you are royalty?” Sabé asked, and Padmé began to wonder if she was only doubting her so that she could prove that she knew what she was doing. “Your word alone may not be enough, and the slave won’t be able to vouch for you. It will be a revelation to him as well.”

Padmé thought for a moment - Sabé’s test had worked, for she had not considered how she might prove her status beyond word alone. She glanced towards the wardrobe and wondered if it might hold some bauble that only Queen Amidala could be in possession of. Something so well-guarded that it would be impossible for even the most competent of thieves to take hold of - the sort of thing that would currently be locked up safely in Theed Palace, watched over by the Trade Federation’s battle droids. Although the thought dampened her hopes, she nevertheless made her way to the wardrobe in the vain hopes that she might be able to find something, anything, that would prove her status.

She found such a thing stashed away at the bottom of the royal jewelry box - a now tarnished gold pendant that had once belonged to Queen Pélara, a Naboo monarch who had reigned long before even Padmé’s grandparents were born. She had gone down in history for her efforts to strengthen Naboo’s ties with other planets, transforming it from an insignificant, tawdry little planet into a recognised and respected member of the Republic. No monarch before or since had achieved what she had within the space of her four year reign. The entire galaxy would recognise Queen Pélara - and, most importantly for Padmé’s needs, the entire galaxy would also recognise the ornate golden pendant that she had never been seen without. According to the history books, she had given it to her husband as a gift - but after his death at a too early age, she had refused to take it off, holding a piece of her beloved close to her forever. 

The pendant was such an iconic symbol of Naboo’s history that it had been passed down from monarch to monarch to remind them to honour Naboo’s position in the Republic. Nobody else could possibly possess it but the currently elected monarch, for nobody else but them would know where it was hidden. Its location, when not worn on the monarch’s person, had long been a mystery that had baffled bounty hunters and thieves alike - but Padmé knew for a fact that it was kept in the locked jewellery box in the wardrobe of the Royal Starship. It was only appropriate, given Pélara’s extensive travels. When she found it, lying unassumingly at the bottom of the box, she took hold of it with relish.

“This,” she began, brandishing the pendant as she returned to the queen’s chambers, “Is what I’ll use to prove my identity.”

“Queen Pélara’s pendant?” Eirtaé asked.

“Clever,” Rabé said. “I wouldn’t have thought of it.”

“So you really are going ahead with this?” Sabé asked, and Padmé gave a solemn nod. Before she could say anything more, the ship shuddered a little as it dropped out of hyperspace, exchanging the warping blues for the familiar constellations that dotted Naboo’s night sky. 

Despite herself, a warm sensation settled over Padmé’s mind now that she knew she was close to home. It had felt wrong to be severed from Naboo even for such a short time - they’d hardly been gone a week, now that she thought about it. But when the shining green and blues of the planet’s surface came into view, she could feel all of her anxieties melting away, and the force danced gleefully around her. She made her way towards the window, and she took a moment to stare down at her planet, her home. From this height, she could not see the dirty rust brown of the Federation’s droid ships, or the smoke rising from the razed cities and villages, or the flat greys of the prison camps that now dotted the surface. All she could see was green fields and rolling blue seas - Naboo, as pure as it ought to be.

And then came the chill - a familiar, evil sensation that rippled through the force and froze her blood to ice.

***

She found Qui-Gon in the briefing room, gazing out the window as the ship lowered itself into an empty clearing of the forest surrounding Theed. There was a pensive aura about him, his hand resting against his bearded chin as his thoughts carved a frown into his face. Although his gaze was fixed solely upon the window, he was aware of Padmé’s arrival as soon as she passed through the sliding doors - he addressed her before she could announce her presence.

“You felt it too, I suppose?” he asked, and Padmé knew precisely what he was talking about: that horrible feeling of darkness, the exact same as they had felt on Tatooine.

“I did. It’s what I’ve come to talk to you about. Do you think-”

“That the stranger I fought on Tatooine has followed us to Naboo?” Qui-Gon finished for her, and Padmé nodded. “It’s very likely. The dark side is strong here.”

“Do you think he still wants to kill Her Majesty?” Padmé asked.

“It would not surprise me.” He sighed then, and bowed his head. “I only wish I knew why. None of this is clear to me.”

“He might be an ally of the Trade Federation,” Padmé suggested. “Once we recapture Theed, we might be able to capture him too. We could interrogate him, find out what he really wants.”

A small, humourless smile twitched at Qui-Gon’s lips. “You make it sound quite easy.”

“You think it won’t be?”

“No.” Solemnity descended on him once more. “When I duelled with him, I could sense great power in him, the sort of power I have not felt in a very long time. The dark side of the force is much more powerful than the light. He could have killed me on Tatooine had you not rescued me. He may have grown only stronger in the interim.”

“Does he frighten you?”

A pause, then. Qui-Gon had yet to face her. “He does, very much. But my fear does not matter - if he tries to take the life of Her Majesty, I will do all I can to keep her safe. You have my word, Padmé.”

His word would have comforted her far more if it weren’t for the layers of deception that surrounded Amidala’s identity. Had the stranger fallen for the decoy maneuver, he would never have attacked her, Qui-Gon, and Anakin when they fled Mos Espa - he would have gone straight to the ship and struck Sabé down, fulfilling his mission with ease. But he had not. He had found them in the dark desert and made Padmé his immediate target, for it had been her he’d attacked first, not Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon had only been a distraction. Somehow, the red and black stranger had known that Padmé and Amidala were one and the same.

She could picture that night so clearly - his bright yellow eyes boring into hers, the jagged red and black pattern of his skin made all the more sinister in the bloody glow of his lightsaber. And she could envision a future where those same eyes glowed out at her from the shadows of the forest, where that deep red blade could find a home in her heart, its passage through her flesh unencumbered by a Jedi interruption. If the stranger was on Naboo, and if she could feel him so strongly already, then he could only be close.

“What if he attacks us on the way to Otoh Gunga?” Padmé asked, mincing no words and laying her fears out as plainly as she could. “What should we do then?”

Only now did Qui-Gon turn to look at her. “You have a weapon?”

Padmé brushed aside the skirt of her tunic to reveal the blaster attached to her belt. “Just a blaster, but it’s pretty powerful.”

“Then use it. Stun him and run as fast as you can.”

“What about the force? I could use it-”

“The force is strong in you, Padmé, but I would not recommend using it in battle yet,” he advised her. “It would be too unpredictable, too dangerous, and he could use it against you.”

Padmé frowned. “So that’s all I can do? Just shoot him and run?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Folding her arms, Padmé glanced downwards. “Maybe you or Obi-Wan should come with us after all. I don’t like the sound of our chances.”

“The stranger will be much more likely to attack Her Majesty,” Qui-Gon said with a shake of his head. “It would be better for Obi-Wan and I to stay here where we can protect her.”

Padmé wanted to protest, to insist and beg and plead until Qui-Gon finally gave in - for she knew the truth, and the truth terrified her. But before she could, the ring of the door chime sounded throughout the briefing room, drawing Qui-Gon’s attention away from her and bringing their conversation to a close. Qui-Gon called for the visitor to enter, and the door slid open to reveal Anakin on the other side.

He’d changed his clothes again, now dressed in the deep blues and maroons of the Naboo Royal Guard uniform - no doubt provided by Captain Panaka. The tunic and shirt hung loosely around his bony frame, but it was nice to see him looking the part. The sight of a blaster on his hip reassured her somewhat, for she didn’t like the idea of him encountering the nightmare stranger with no means of defending himself. In his arms he carried a satchel decorated with the crest of the Naboo Royal Guard, the waterproof material strained smooth by its fullness. Qui-Gon gave a warm smile at the sight of him, all traces of his earlier sobriety vanished. “Ah, Anakin. You’re looking rather smart.”

“Thanks,” he replied, a little awkwardly. He then turned to Padmé, and he raised the satchel a little. “Captain Panaka asked me to give you this.”

Padmé stepped forward to take the bag from him. “He couldn’t bring it to me himself?”

Anakin shrugged. “I guess not. He seemed like he had a lot on his mind.”

Setting the satchel down on the table in the centre of the room, Padmé busied herself with investigating its contents. Never one to let his queen go anywhere unprepared, Panaka had filled the satchel with all the equipment she could ever need: two communicators, two breathing devices, power packs for her blaster, some plain biscuits and bags of water, binoculars, a navigation device, a small first aid kit, and a letter of introduction bearing Amidala’s signature and closed with her seal. With the bag still open, Padmé reached around her neck and took off Queen Pélara’s pendant - she figured it would be safer in the tightly bound bag than hanging loosely around her person. 

At the sight of the pendant, Anakin raised his eyebrows. “What’s that?”

Padmé paused, the golden charm dangling from her fingers. “Just a little something that’ll help with the negotiations.”

“How’s a necklace going to do that?” Anakin asked with a frown.

“It’s a surprise.”

“You two ought to be on your way,” Qui-Gon said as Padmé began to bind the satchel shut. “I suspect that Her Majesty will expect you to return with the Gungans as soon as possible.”

Anakin rubbed the back of his neck and blew out a sigh. “I hope we’re not in over our heads.”

“You won’t be,” Qui-Gon reassured them. “You are both very capable young people, and Her Majesty clearly sees that in you. You needn’t worry.”

Padmé knew full well how urgent their mission was, but the prospect of exposing themselves to the threat of the nightmare stranger without Jedi protection made her more nervous than she cared to admit. But she never got the opportunity to voice that fear - Qui-Gon soon ushered her and Anakin out of the briefing room and sent them towards the boarding ramp, which had already been lowered for them. 

Unsurprisingly, Panaka was waiting for her by the ramp. While Anakin went on ahead, Padmé did the courtesy of stopping to say her goodbyes to her captain.

“I’ll be alright,” she said, trying to reassure Panaka and herself all at once. “You’ve prepared me well.”

“I feel as if I could never prepare you enough,” he muttered. For the first time, Padmé noticed how the stress of the situation was manifesting on his person - bags under his eyes, a slight stoop to his posture, perhaps a new grey hair or two peeking out from under his cap. For a moment, she regretted how she’d treated him, ferrying him around the galaxy without giving him a say and causing him stress by placing herself in endless danger.

She wanted to reach out to comfort him - Padmé was a much more physical creature than Amidala - but she knew that the gesture would only make him more uncomfortable. His queen should always be untouchable, no matter the guise she wore. “Have faith in me, Captain. I won’t do anything reckless - I’ll go straight to Otoh Gunga and back again. And, with any luck, I’ll have a whole party of Gungan warriors to protect me on the way back.”

“Luck indeed.” He looked at her with a narrow gaze, concern glimmering in his dark eyes. “Have you another plan should the negotiations go awry? We cannot take back Naboo without the support of the Gungan armies.”

Padmé shook her head. “No. They are our only hope.”

Letting out a low sigh, Panaka shook his head. “If we had only waited for the election…”

It was an uncharacteristic display of contention against Amidala, and it took Padmé by surprise to hear the complaint falling from Panaka’s lips. She did not dignify him with a response, for it offended her that he should doubt her so. She expected respect from him, and until now he had always proven himself to be a reliable, steadfast source of it. 

So she left him without a word, hoping that her obvious disappointment would encourage him to rethink his attitude.

***

Padmé had not expected their walk to Otoh Gunga to be so harrowing.

All around her the land was marred by the scars of the Federation’s tyranny. Padmé had long looked forward to breathing in the crisp, fresh air of Naboo’s wilderness, but she had stepped from the Starship to find that the air she so yearned for was now choked with the distant yet all-pervasive scent of smoke. It was faint enough so as to not be overpowering, yet strong enough that it could not be ignored, and it cast a dull pall over the sunlight that filtered through the trees that remained. Padmé had no choice but to inhale the grim haze of old forest fires and villages in ruins and let it line her throat with grime and conjure a cough from her lungs. 

But she could not move quickly through the smog, for the path through the forest was not a clear one. The forest floor had been churned up by the caterpillar tire tracks of the droid transport ships that had barged through the forest on the way to Theed. She and Anakin had to clamber over the corpses of fallen trees in order to progress through the forest, their grand and aged trunks now scarred by deep gouges and scorch marks. At one stage, Padmé had lost her balance while attempting to climb over one of the fallen trunks and slipped into the mud - bringing her face to face with the decaying corpse of a bluebird. And in the distance she could hear the mourning cries of lost chicks, trapped beneath a fallen nest as they wailed in vain for their dead mother.

Yet what truly offended her was the complete absence of the Trade Federation’s forces. Throughout their macabre journey, neither Padmé nor Anakin saw a single skeletal battle droid patrolling the forest, nor heard the rumble of an approaching droid transport vehicle - they were completely and entirely alone. For the federation, this once verdant forest was nothing but a means to an end, a meaningless road that would take them towards the conquest they truly desired. They cared not for the damage they caused to the wildlife - it wasn’t even worthy of returning to post a patrol. They had tossed Naboo’s wilderness aside and left it to rot, careless of the consequences. Rationally, she knew that the Federation’s absence was a boon, for it allowed her and Anakin to pass safely through the forest without the risk of capture. Nevertheless, Padmé could not find it in her heart to be grateful for such a poorly won advantage.

At the very least, the sense of darkness had not grown any stronger now that they had left the boundaries on the ship. The stranger was on Naboo, certainly, but he was not close to them as she had feared - the darkness his presence conjured was more like a subtle aroma amongst the smoke. It was not cloying and close and inescapable as it was that night on Tatooine. But although the threat was not immediate, Padmé knew that a second encounter with the stranger was an inevitability. She remained vigilant, keeping her hand resting against her blaster when she did not need both hands free to aid her balance.

Anakin’s company did little to lighten the heavy atmosphere. He was something of a somber figure as he passed through the shadows of the broken forest, almost becoming a part of the desolation itself. She would occasionally steal a glance at him, and the expression on his face disturbed her almost as much as her surroundings did - a quiet expression, subtly coloured with grief and disappointment and confusion. Padmé knew that their ruined surroundings were far from the cheeriest, but she had hoped - perhaps a little foolishly - that the beauty of Naboo’s wildlife would have been strong enough to charm him in spite of the damage to it. She remembered how delighted he’d been when they first arrived on Coruscant - even the mundanest of skyscrapers was a wonder to him, for every single thing he laid eyes on was beautiful and new. Naboo, it seemed, did not warrant the same appreciation.

Eventually, she could stand the silence no longer. “Anakin?”

He did not respond immediately, for he was lost in deep thought. Padmé had to call his name twice more before she could finally get his attention. “Hm?”

“Are you alright?”

Anakin thought for a moment. “I guess it’s just kind of sad, isn’t it? All this destruction, I mean.”

Padmé stepped over a branch of a fallen tree. “It’s more than sad. It’s reprehensible. The Federation will pay for this - Queen Amidala will see to it.”

Another moment of silence fell upon them before Anakin spoke again. “I bet it was beautiful before the Federation came along.”

“It was. More beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen.”

In the midst of a muddied and tattered shrub, the petals of a single, pale pink wildflower fluttered in the breeze. Anakin paused before it, crouching down - a little shard of sunlight caught in his hair, bringing out the gold in it. Padmé paused in her trek, watching him study the bloom. 

“I think my mothers would’ve loved it here,” Anakin murmured eventually, so low that Padmé almost had to strain to hear it. “They used to sing to me when I was scared - a song about a place just like this, where everything was green and beautiful and good. I always told myself that when I got older, I’d help them escape, and then I’d buy a ship and take them to that place. We’d be free, and they could be happy. I would’ve taken them here.” 

A small, sad smile twitched at Padmé’s lips. “We would’ve welcomed you.”

“I don’t like that the Federation’s ruined something they would’ve loved.” He rose to his feet, staring out at the desolate forest that surrounded them. “It would’ve broken their hearts to see this.”

Padmé walked to him, and as she drew closer she began to notice the unshed tears hovering in his eyes - he wept not for the planet itself, but for the joy it could’ve brought the people he cared for. Gently, she took his hand, but she could think of nothing more to say. Anakin’s grief was of a kind she was not accustomed to, for her family still lived, and she knew that their home was far enough away from Theed that the Federation would not have reached them yet. They would’ve had enough time to escape, at least, but Anakin’s mothers had not been so fortunate. Whatever had killed them on Tatooine, all that remained of them now were the tears their son shed in their memory, and Padmé did not know whether to reach out and dry them or let them flow freely.

“It’s been overwhelming for you, hasn’t it?” Padmé asked eventually, letting her empathy guide her.

“A little bit. It’s all happened so fast - I don’t think I’ve ever been able to just sit and think,” Anakin said. “Sometimes I wonder what my mothers would say if they knew where I was. I hope they won't think I’ve abandoned them.”

“I think they’d be proud,” Padmé said, the force of her sincerity strengthening her words.

Anakin let go of her hand and began to walk forward once more, and Padmé followed him. “I’d feel less confused if I knew why Queen Amidala asked me to see these Gungan people with you. I’ll do it, and I don’t want to disrespect her or anything. But it is weird.”

“Maybe she sees something in you that you can’t see in yourself?” Padmé suggested.

Anakin gave a small smile at that, but there was little humour in it. “I don’t know about that.”

They pressed on through the woods, maneuvering through fallen trees and the sharp thorns of shredded bushes that lay strewn about the forest floor. No matter how far they journeyed, the scent of smoke never lifted - it was a constant presence, and Padmé could feel it settling on her skin and tinting it grey. The refuge offered by Lake Paonga’s depths grew more and more appealing with every second, for she would do anything to escape this violent murk. Anakin coughed a little - the smoke was getting to him too. 

Eventually, the forest began to thin, and the cool, clear waters of Lake Paonga began to emerge on the horizon. Energized by the sight of their destination, Padmé picked up her pace, prompting Anakin to follow suit. 

“Is that it?” he asked, and Padmé nodded. In her haste to carry on, she did not notice the expression of confused concern settling on his countenance as he stared towards the lake.

The closer they drew to the lake, the damper the ground became, offering a new obstacle for them to overcome. The forest floor had been a mess of mud and dirt, but it had been of a dry, clay-like texture, soft and malleable but solid enough to allow for steady passage. This mud was different - it sucked at their boots and concealed deeper puddles of lake water from them, tripped them up and chilled them to the bone as it soaked through their clothes when they fell. As she slipped into the mud for the fourth time in as many minutes, Padmé began to realise just how impossible it would have been for Queen Amidala to make this journey - even in her practical handmaiden battle dress, this terrain was a nightmare to navigate.

It was a relief when they finally reached the lake’s edge, and Padmé immediately dropped to her knees and stuck her dirtied hands into the water to clean them. The water was cold and pleasantly refreshing against her skin, and the cleanliness and clarity of it suggested that the Trade Federation had yet to reach Gungan territory. Good, she thought. They still had a chance.

The sound of boots squelching in the mud drew her attention once more to Anakin, who now stood utterly transfixed by the vast stretch of water before him. Lake Paonga was the largest body of freshwater on all of Naboo, and it stretched out as wide and as long as the eye could see. If Padmé didn’t know any better, she would’ve mistaken it for an ocean.

At the sheer look of awed wonder in Anakin’s eyes, Padmé gave an involuntary smile. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

Anakin could not take his eyes off the lake. “I didn’t know there was this much water in the whole galaxy.”

“Surely you must have had lakes on Tatooine,” Padmé said, still kneeling by the water’s edge. “Where else would you get your water?” Padmé recalled the gritty texture and sandy taste of the water she’d drunk on Tatooine, and she could imagine the kind of oasis that it might have been sourced from.

But Anakin shook his head. “Not that I ever saw. All of Mos Espa’s water came from moisture farms. There was nothing like this at all.”

He crouched down beside her, and Padmé watched with delight as Anakin dipped his hand in the water - he gasped at how cold it was, which made her giggle. And for one lovely moment, Padmé could forget about the destruction that lay on all sides as she watched her friend feel the cool touch of water on his skin for the first time - a quiet, simple, beautiful thing. She was no longer handmaiden to Queen Amidala, and her mission to Otoh Gunga lay temporarily discarded at her feet. All that mattered for this brief interlude was Anakin, and how utterly captivated he was by the sight of water droplets running down the skin of his suntanned hand.

Eventually, Anakin tore his gaze from his hand and stared out across the lake once more, narrowing his eyes as he surveyed it. “So, where’s the city?”

Padmé blinked, the practicality of his question startling her away from the sentimentality of the moment. “Hm?”

“I thought it was supposed to be near the lake, but I can’t see it.”

Her lips parted slightly in surprise. “Wait, did nobody tell you? Otoh Gunga is underneath Lake Paonga.”

Anakin’s eyes widened. “It’s underwater?”

“All the Gungan cities are, as far as I know.”

He swallowed, and a slight blush coloured his cheeks. Suddenly, he could not meet Padmé’s eyes, and he dropped his gaze to the ground. “That’s going to be a problem, then.”

“How come?”

“I can’t swim.”

It should have been obvious, and Padmé scolded herself for not thinking of it before - of course Anakin couldn’t swim, he’d never so much as seen a single body of water in his life before now. How was he supposed to know how to swim? But Padmé wasn’t going to let this little oversight stop them from completing their mission. They’d come this far, and she wasn’t about to send him back to the ship on his own or make him wait by the lake while she completed the negotiations by herself. She could make this work.

“That’s alright.” Padmé rose to her feet and opened up her satchel, digging through its contents to find the two breathing devices that Panaka had packed for them. Once she found them, she took them out and passed one to Anakin. “Just put this on - it’s a breathing device.”

Anakin took the little device and frowned. “How does it work?”

“You put the big part in the middle into your mouth, and that lets you breathe in the little supplies of oxygen on either side - see?” Padmé explained, pointing to the various parts of the device as she spoke.

“It doesn’t seem like there’s much oxygen in it,” Anakin said, looking dubiously at one of the tiny oxygen tanks.

“It lasts for at least two hours, that’s plenty to get us to Otoh Gunga and back,” Padmé said. “Trust me. Anyway, once you’ve got your device on, just hold my hand and kick your legs and you’ll be fine.”

After giving the device one last quizzical glance, Anakin took a deep breath and stuck it between his lips.

***

The dancing, dazzling lights of Otoh Gunga emerged slowly as Padmé passed through the deep shadows of Lake Paonga, beacons leading her towards her planet’s salvation. Those hazy lights were their only guide through the impenetrable depths, and Padmé kept her gaze trained on them, determined to ignore any possible distractions that might arise. But Anakin’s slow progress behind her hampered her progress. He was not taking well to the water, and Padmé glanced back at him to find him flailing, losing all sense of control as he struggled to adjust to the lack of solid ground beneath him. She squeezed his hand to draw his attention towards her, and she gestured towards her legs, hoping that he might copy the smooth way she kicked to keep herself afloat. Anakin squinted at her, for he had yet to overcome the challenge of fully exposing his unprotected eyes to the water. But she knew he’d understood when she recognised his effort to mimic her, and a strange sense of pride overtook her once he started to get the hang of it. 

The lights began to separate as they swam nearer, gradually and gracefully unveiling the city as if some sort of spell was being lifted before their eyes. What distinguished the Gungan city from that of the Naboo was that there appeared to be no buildings at all, no recognisable structures or houses or landmarks. Otoh Gunga was no underwater metropolis, but a vast cluster of pods, each one surrounded by a delicate force field that protected it from the watery abyss that lay outside. The lights themselves, which had seemed so ethereal and detached before, seemed to be built into each pod - some were built into the structures supporting the force fields, others lined the edge of the pods, others rose up like little torches from the walkways that connected them. And Padmé could make out shadows moving between those lights - the Gungans themselves going about their business, their features indistinguishable from such a distance. The speed of Padmé’s heartbeat picked up a little - should all go well, these were the people who would help her save her planet.

Were it not for the urgency of her mission, Padmé would have liked to have stopped to simply take in the view and commit her astounded first impression to memory as vividly as she could. Otoh Gunga seemed a vast and powerful place - yet there was a delicacy to it too, the sort of delicacy that Padmé had thought exclusive to those who dwelt above the surface. That surprised her. 

With Anakin’s hand still held tightly in hers, Padmé pressed on towards the city, trying to strengthen the force of her kicking to build up some speed. She’d set her sights on the nearest pod, one of the smaller ones jutting out from what seemed to be the central cluster - she could only assume that cluster would be where Boss Nass awaited them. It was only as they came within metres of the pod that Padmé realised they’d been spotted. Several Gungans, their lanky figures, reptilian snouts, and long, almost veil-like ears now distinguishable, had gathered together to gawk at the approaching surface-dwellers. Their response seemed so brazen, so obvious, pointing and gossiping and running to tell their friends. The tightness of anxiety gripped at Padmé’s chest - it was uncomfortable, being the outsider. Amidala was accustomed to being the object of a thousand gazes, but all those eyes had been admiring ones, reverent ones. And while Padmé could not read the intricacies of the Gungan’s non-humanoid countenances, especially at such a distance and through the haze of force fields and water, she knew enough about body language to recognise suspicion - and to recognise hostility.

Padmé turned her gaze back towards the surface, where the sun was but a blurred glimmer beyond the darkness of the water. A sudden and shocking fear overcame her, telling her that coming to Otoh Gunga was a mistake, that she should have waited on Coruscant, that dealing with the Gungans would only make a tense situation worse. But then Anakin tugged on her hand, and she looked to him to find him confused, perhaps a little distressed. He nodded towards the city - he did not know why she’d stopped when they were so close to reaching it. Padmé held his gaze for a while, watching as his dark hair fanned about his face, and then shook her head. His expression was an odd one, surprise fighting its way onto a face that did not know how to move underwater - and then he shifted his glance to look behind her, and his surprise only deepened.

When she turned around, Padmé forgot her breathing device and tried to gasp at the sight of several Gungans swimming towards them. They passed through the forcefield with little resistance, and they drew their weapons as they approached - long, sharp spears that Padmé did not like the look of at all. Out of instinct, she pulled Anakin towards her, both out of a desire to protect him and to find comfort in him, and she did not let go even as one of the Gungans held their weapon to her neck.

Water did not seem to clog their speech, for one of the Gungans - perhaps the leader of this guard, based on the extra details on his armour - spoke to them with little difficulty. “You are trespassing on our territory - explain yourselves, surface dwellers.”

Padmé felt Anakin grow tense beside her, and she gestured towards her breathing device and shook her head in an attempt to communicate their inability to speak underwater. But that only seemed to anger their assailant.

“Do not waste my time - speak!”

Seeing little other method of convincing him, Padmé pulled off her breathing device and gave her best attempt at speaking underwater, which only came out as an indecipherable mess of exhaled bubbles. She gestured towards the city and pointed to her mouth, hoping they would understand her meaning - she would speak all they liked if she could only reach the dry land beyond the forcefield.

“Captain Tarpals, they cannot speak underwater as we can,” one of the guards said as Padmé replaced her breathing device. “They do not have the skill.”

Their leader, Tarpals, narrowed his eyes - they sat in little stalks above his head. “Very well. It’ll be straight to the cells with them, and then we shall hear their story.”

Padmé cried out her protest in a flurry of bubbles and a wild shake of her head, but the Gungans paid no attention to her. Two guards took hold of them, and Padmé gave another burbling cry as they pulled her away from Anakin and forced her towards the city. Their grip was rough and clammy and cold, the thick texture of their lightly scaled skin unfamiliar to her, and they handled her as if she were no more than a common criminal. She looked towards Anakin - fortunately, they were pulling him in the same direction, but the cold shock of plain terror in his eyes shook her perhaps more than her own rough treatment by the Gungan guard. She knew where his memories had taken him.

With jarring force, the guard let go of Padmé and shoved her through the forcefield, sending her falling down to the ground where she landed face first. The impact of her fall forced her breathing device further into her mouth, and it jarred painfully against her teeth and made her want to gag. Judging by his strangled cry, a similar fate had befallen Anakin when he hit the ground. But Padmé wasted no time - she pulled the breathing device out of her mouth and cast it aside, pushing herself up and scrambling to her feet so she could address Captain Tarpals.

“Once you find out why we’ve come here, you’ll regret treating us so harshly!” she cried, refusing to hide her displeasure. “You ought to know by our uniforms that we are ambassadors from Her Royal Majesty Queen Amidala’s court!”

Tarpals exchanged a brief look between his fellow guards before he burst into a harsh peal of laughter. “Queen Amidala, eh? Why should we care about that child?” 

“She rules all of Naboo, including the Gungan territories,” Padmé said. Beside her, Anakin pushed himself up onto his hands, looking rather dazed. “You should care because she is your sovereign.”

“The Boss is our sovereign,” Tarpals said. “We did not vote for the child. Her power over us is a formality only.”

Padmé gritted her teeth - she knew that the Gungans would not take kindly to Amidala, but to come face to face with such disrespect caught her entirely off guard and activated her base instinct to defend her royal self. She had not come prepared to be so flagrantly dismissed, for she had expected at least some basic level of kindness or civility. What would these people gain from dismissing their ties to the surface?

But Tarpals was only a citizen, she reminded herself - he had every right to express his opinion, whether she agreed with him or not. Naboo was a democracy, after all, and she scolded herself for forgetting it. And really, Tarpals was the least of her concern. Boss Nass was the one she needed to get on her side, not some guard, and so she made an effort to steady her temper and let the critiques of this stranger roll away ignored. “Whether you respect Her Majesty or not, that doesn’t change the fact that we are here on her orders. Take us to Boss Nass - we have a message for him from Queen Amidala herself.”

Some of the guards whispered amongst themselves, and Tarpals continued to look down upon her with suspicion. “The Boss is a busy man. He does not have time for impertinent land dwellers.”

“Doesn’t he know what’s happening on the surface?” Tarpals’ gaze dropped to Anakin, who seemed to have recovered from the shock of their rough welcome. He rose to his feet as he spoke, and Padmé was surprised to see that even he was dwarfed by the Gungans despite his above-average height. “The Federation’s up there destroying the place - it’s kind of an emergency, so we really need to talk to him.”

“We are aware of the interlopers,” Tarpals said with disdain.

“Then you should understand the urgency of our situation.” Gathering her wits about her, Padmé opened up her satchel - fortunately, the waterproof material and tight binding had kept the contents of it bone dry - and produced Amidala’s letter of introduction. The parchment and ink method of communication was slightly archaic, given the technological age they now lived in, but it carried with it the far more powerful weight of tradition. She passed the letter to Tarpals. “If you need proof that we are Her Majesty’s ambassadors, this should do.”

Padmé waited with tense apprehension as she watched Tarpals’ beady eyes first survey the red wax seal that held the letter closed, and then the letter and signature within. It seemed an age, but eventually he handed the letter back to her. “It seems authentic enough. Very well - I shall take you to the Boss. But when he dismisses you, as I know he will, it’ll be my pleasure to take you straight to our prison where you shall be tried with the crime of trespass.”

The guard that had dragged Padmé through the water once again took hold of her arm, and soon the company of guards were marching her and Anakin through Otoh Gunga, with Tarpals leading the way. Padmé was well aware that everyone they passed was staring at them, gazing in tense curiosity at the smooth-skinned, mammal-like beings that now walked amongst them, with their small ears, their eyes that sat within their skull rather than above it, and their long hair that sprouted from their scalp. She supposed the awful mess they’d made of their clothes only made them stand out even further - her battle dress was soaked through with mud from their earlier walk, and her dark hair was falling out of its bun in damp and straggly clumps. Anakin was in a similar state, but as per usual he was far too caught up in his fascination with the world around him to care about himself. He seemed just as intrigued by the Gungans as the Gungans were by him.

As Padmé suspected he would, Tarpals led them into Otoh Gunga’s central pod, the largest of them all. The pod resembled her council chambers at Theed Palace in its layout - a grand, organic looking throne sat on a raised platform, looking down at the open court below and flanked by numerous other chairs. And there, awaiting them upon that exalted seat, was Boss Nass himself - a stately Gungan of great girth, dressed in robes of an intricately layered design and dripping with undeniable opulence. He looked different to the other Gungans they’d met - his thick skin was tinted green, his stature was shorter, and his face held features similar to those of a human, with eyes that sat within their sockets and a flat nose and broad mouth rather than a protruding snout. Surrounded by other, similarly stately Gungans on all sides, he cut a powerful, intimidating figure.

But Padmé was not one to be intimidated. She carried Amidala’s diplomatic prowess within her, and she had dealt with countless leaders in her short time as queen - she had even unseated the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic without blinking an eye. What was one leader of a minor society compared to that?

“Your Excellency, I present to you two ambassadors sent by the child queen of the surface,” Tarpals announced. “They claim to have a message from the girl regarding the foreign interlopers.”

Boss Nass leaned forward, regarding the pair of them with suspicion for a moment. Padmé waited patiently for him to open the discussion, while Anakin shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. When he had finished his survey, he leaned back in his throne once more. “Well? Go on, spit it out, I haven’t got all day.”

Padmé stepped forward and gave a small bow to demonstrate her respect. “Your Honour-”

“Excellency, if you don’t mind,” he interrupted, and Padmé exhaled a short, frustrated breath.

“My apologies. Your Excellency, as your captain has told you, we have come to discuss the current occupation of Naboo by the Trade Federation. Her Majesty Queen Amidala wishes to extend the offer of alliance to you so that our two great societies may liberate our lands from this invasion. She proposes that our armies fight alongside each other against the droid armies of the Federation, for warfare is the only choice we have. Under any other circumstance, Her Majesty would grant you time to consider your response, but as the matter is urgent, she asks that you make your decision with haste.”

The silence of deliberation hung about the pod for some time before Boss Nass gave his response. “And why hasn’t Her Royal Highness come to make this offer of alliance to me herself, hm?”

“Her Majesty is in great danger - the Federation wishes to capture her and force her to sign a treaty to formalise their ownership of Naboo. It is much safer for her to send ambassadors,” Padmé explained. “I am sure that, were she not under such a threat, she would have gladly made the journey here herself.”

“And why shouldn’t she? We have a beautiful city here, she ought to be chomping at the bit to visit us,” Boss Nass said with a grin. Yet that same smile faded as soon as it appeared. “But you have asked me to make my decision quickly, and that I shall do gladly. I will not form an alliance with you surface dwellers.”

Padmé’s heart plunged to her stomach - she knew that his refusal was a possibility, but she had not expected him to actually reject her. She swallowed heavily. “Your Excellency, forgive me, but do you not understand the threat Naboo is under? It won’t be long before the Trade Federation starts its siege on your territory - don’t you want to prevent that?”

“When the Trade Federation enters our waters, we will fight it then - no sooner, and no later,” Boss Nass declared. “What loyalty do we owe to the Naboo? None, none at all. Many times have we requested your aid in the past, and received nothing but an arrogant refusal for our efforts. And yet now that you find yourselves in danger, you come crawling to us, expecting my people to lay down our lives for you? Tell the Queen that we are insulted by her offer of alliance, and that we refuse it wholeheartedly.”

An ugly, black nausea churned within Padmé’s stomach. She had barely been on the throne for  a few months, and she had not had the time to study up on the Naboo’s relations with the Gungans - had the former monarchs truly refused to help them when they needed it? Had those respected rulers all been so cruel? She could almost cry, for those selfish monarchs had unwittingly doomed their planet to ruin in their refusal to extend a helping hand to the Gungan people. “Please, I sincerely apologise for-”

“Damn your apologies,” Boss Nass spat with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Barely a year has passed since a great plague swept our waters, and when we begged the Naboo for aid they gave us nothing. My people suffered and died for your monarch’s ignorance - I will not send them to die for her successor. No matter who wears the crown of the Naboo, I shall always think of them as a harbinger of cruelty.”

“Excuse me, Sir, but I don’t think that’s right.” 

Boss Nass’ eyes fell to Anakin, and Padmé glanced at him with wide eyes as an uncomfortable tightness clasped at her chest. When she had decided to bring him along to these negotiations, she had wondered what he might say, what insights he could offer - she had not discussed them with him, for she wanted his contribution to be as pure and as unbiased as possible. Now, it seemed, he was ready to make his effort, and Padmé could only hope that he would not make the bad situation they found themselves in even worse.

“You wish to challenge me, boy?” Boss Nass asked. “What are you, some sort of guard? You’re a trooper at least, going by your uniform - how old are you, exactly?”

“Fourteen, Sir.”

Boss Nass’ beady eyes widened. “Grief, so the Naboo send their children into battle too.”

“Oh, I’m not a Naboo. I’m not from here,” Anakin said, a little breathless in his quickness to correct the mistake. “I come from a place called Tatooine - it’s a desert planet, very far from here.”

“And how do you come to be on Naboo, serving under the Queen?” he asked, his interest clearly piqued as he leaned back in his throne - Padmé watched the exchange with bated breath.

Anakin bore no signs of the usual discomfort he displayed when speaking to figures of authority - it seemed, with the responsibility of an entire planet on his shoulders, none of that old fear mattered anymore. Or maybe the risk of speaking out had simply energised him. “It’s a long story, but I think if you let me tell it, you might start to see Her Majesty a little differently. She’s a very kind person, trust me.”

“Well, go on then. Tell your story.”

Pausing for a moment, Anakin swept his eyes across the members of Boss Nass’ court, all of whom watched him with hesitant curiosity. It reminded Padmé of the night she’d stood before the Jedi Council, which all seemed so very far away now. 

“On Tatooine, it’s legal to keep slaves,” Anakin began, and already his audience began to shuffle and whisper their shock amongst themselves. “I was a slave. My mothers were slaves, and their parents too - it’s the only life I’ve ever known. I was born to it.”

“You’ve really been a piece of property for your whole life?” one of the Gungans asked. Boss Nass kept his gaze trained on Anakin, silent.

Anakin nodded. “That’s right. And I expected that I’d die as a piece of property too, probably young, like my mothers did.”

Padmé’s eyes widened a little as quiet coos of sympathy echoed around the room. Whether Anakin knew it or not, he was playing his audience like an instrument, winning their compassion from the very start to eventually coax them onto his side. Suddenly, she became overwhelmingly glad that she’d brought him with her, for he was a natural storyteller, and storytelling was a great boon in the diplomatic arena - especially when one’s audience was so easily moved as the Gungans were.

“But that changed when Queen Amidala rescued me,” Anakin continued after a moment of hesitation, and it was a very well-timed hesitation. He was letting his audience know that this was a difficult story to tell, which would only strengthen their sympathy and make them easier to sway. “She barely even knew me, and she still put off saving her planet just to give Padmé the chance to free me.” He gestured to Padmé as he said her name. “She didn’t have to do that. She could’ve just left me there, but she didn’t. And then the one time I spoke face to face with her, she treated me with respect - which I’m not used to, honestly, so it felt really nice.” He made his last comment with a light laugh, which prompted his audience to laugh in kind.

“And you think Queen Amidala will extend that same kindness to us should we help her fight the Federation?” Boss Nass asked, and Anakin nodded without hesitation.

“Absolutely. I’m willing to fight for her planet because I know she’s a good person, and I know she deserves the chance to make things right for her people and for yours. I know that monarchs in the past haven’t been good to you, but I know that Queen Amidala is different. I bet she’d still try to help you even if you said no to this alliance,” Anakin said. 

The way ahead seemed clear to Padmé now - Anakin had proven that the Gungans would only respond to the real, the genuine. The elaborate speeches of Padmé’s diplomatic training would be of no use to her here, and so she followed Anakin’s example and laid herself bare for Boss Nass’ entire court to see.

“Anakin speaks the truth - Queen Amidala would take any chance she could to offer aid to your people, and I can make that promise because…” She paused, nerves rising within her, but she knew there was no going back now. Without another second of hesitation, Padmé stuck her hand into her satchel and produced Queen Pélara’s pendant, holding it up for all to see, letting it glimmer and sparkle in the warm lights of the pod. “Let this pendant be proof that I am Queen Amidala herself.”

It felt as though she had stripped herself down to her very skin, baring herself raw for all and sundry. And yet she knew she had made the right decision, felt in her heart that revealing her royal identity had not been a mistake. But, for a little bit of reassurance, she glanced at Anakin for a moment, hoping that she would not find him hurt by her dishonesty. But he looked the most shocked of them all, his eyes wide and his mouth unabashedly agape, looking rather like he was trying to solve a particularly difficult arithmetic problem.

Boss Nass was the first to speak. “Boy, did you know this?”

“No, Sir, no, I had no idea,” Anakin stammered out.

Padmé stepped a little closer to Boss Nass’ throne, letting her adrenaline carry her through the rest of the negotiations. “I am sorry for my deception, but it was necessary to protect myself. Although my people have treated you cruelly in the past, Your Excellency, I do not wish for this to continue. But we will not be able to rebuild the relationship between our people while the Trade Federation remains on our lands. If we do not act quickly, our chance of reconciliation will be lost forever. I ask you to help us - no, I-” Padmé paused, and then she dropped to her knees, beckoning Anakin to do the same. He dropped obediently. “I beg you to help us. We are your humble servants. Our fate is in your hands.”    

The following silence was agony to her. With her head bowed, Padmé could not see how the Gungans were responding, could not see whether Boss Nass stared at her with admiration or derision. But when he eventually spoke, it was with jubilant bluster. “Oh, come now, get off your knees, boy - you’ve begged enough already in your life, come along, stand up, come here.”

Surprised, Padmé glanced over at Anakin, who hesitantly rose and crossed the room as Boss Nass commanded. She tried to watch as best as she could without raising her head. When Anakin arrived at the foot of Boss Nass’ throne, he leaned forward and clapped him on the shoulder, and Anakin stumbled a little under the force of it.

“You - I like you. You understand my people, I think, better than these Naboo ever will. As for you, Your Majesty.” Now he turned his gaze to Padmé, and she dropped her eyes to the floor once more. She didn’t want him to think she’d been peeking. “I think I might like you too. Did you save this boy as he says you did?”

“I did.”

“And do you think yourself better than us Gungans?”

“Of course not,” she said, barely thinking about it - she knew it was what he wanted to hear.

A long smile crept onto Boss Nass’ face, and he leaned back in his throne once more, satisfaction settling about his person. “Maybe we can be friends after all.” 

Chapter Text

The vermillion glow of sunset had settled over Naboo by the time they reached the surface, and the hot hue of the evening sky coupled with the devastated forests surrounding Lake Paonga created the impression that the entire planet had been set alight. Padmé surveyed her surroundings in sombre silence from where she sat at Anakin’s side, comfortably settled in some sort of carriage pulled along by a loping, four legged, amphibious creature and escorted by countless numbers of Gungan warriors. She gripped Queen Pélara’s pendant tight in her hand, its hard edges digging into her palm - she thought she would have grown accustomed to the destruction, having spent most of her day immersed in it. She had not.

Boss Nass, however, did not seem phased by the environmental massacre before him - perhaps he would have cared more if it were his own lands lying in waste, his own waters rendered putrid. But he was as buoyant as ever, happily chatting away to Anakin as if it were any other day. Padmé wondered whether it should bother her that her newest ally gained a greater satisfaction from the company of a foreign slave than he did from his sovereign, but she couldn’t bring herself to be offended. If Anakin was to be the glue that held their tenuous alliance together, then so be it. 

But she’d noticed that a change had come over Anakin in the time between their audience with Boss Nass and their return to the surface. He had always been free with her, open, happy to speak his mind, happy to be vulnerable. But now he regarded her with hasty, darting eyes, and the few words he’d spoken to her since had come out staggered and stuttery. He almost seemed more at ease with the Boss than he did with her, telling him all about Tatooine and listening eagerly as the Boss shared stories about Gungan life. And she could think of only one reason for that - the Boss had not lied to him. In Anakin’s eyes, she was Padmé no longer, but Queen Amidala, and their friendship was tainted by the shadow of betrayal.

But Padmé knew that she could not sit idly by and let him slip away from her. She had lost so much already, and she did not want to lose Anakin too. She was beginning to lose track of the times she’d thought she’d never see him again - when she’d left Watto’s shop after meeting him for the first time, when he risked his life a thousand times over in the podrace, when she and Qui-Gon were about to leave Tatooine for good, when they’d first arrived on Coruscant, when he’d come to fetch Padmé at Qui-Gon’s request, and now when she’d placed the impassable barrier of status between them. But the galaxy had kept bringing them back together, kept proving that their final goodbyes would never truly come to pass. She knew now that some force in the galaxy did not want to separate them - and who was she to argue with destiny?

So she waited for a gap in his conversation with Boss Nass to arise, patiently and without agitation. And when that gap came in the form of Captain Tarpals calling the Boss’s attention to some other matter, she took her chance without hesitation.

“Anakin?” she said, drawing his attention. He looked at her sheepishly, his damp dark hair shadowing his eyes. She kept her voice at a gentle, almost remorseful tone, hoping to set him at ease. “I just wanted to apologise for not being honest with you.” 

He blushed a little and ducked his head. “You don’t have to do that, Your Majesty.”

“But I want to - it’s the right thing to do. And you don’t have to call me that,” Padmé said. “I’m still just Padmé. I’m not Amidala right now.”

Anakin sat in his shyness for a while. “Right. Um. Alright.”

Anxiety began to claw at her - had she truly passed the point of no return? Had he locked himself away from her forever? “I still want to be friends. I don’t want my being queen to change that, and I don’t think it should.” When he gave no reply, Padmé pressed him harder. “You think it changes everything, don’t you? Talk to me like you always do, I want to know what you think.”

“Of course it changes everything,” he said, a little sullen. The carriage jolted a little as they entered the forest, and it continued to rattle as the four-legged creature pulled them across the churned up forest floor. The surrounding Gungan warriors appeared to have no issue navigating the uneven terrain. “I mean, you’re the ruler of an entire planet - you’re royalty. I’m nothing to people like you.”

“Of course you’re not,” Padmé said quickly.

“But it was different when you were just a handmaiden,” he said. “Obviously you were still more important than I’ll ever be, but… I don’t know. It was just different.” He tugged self-consciously at the baggy sleeves of his tunic.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Yes it does. When this is all over, you’ll be so busy ruling Naboo that you’ll forget all about me, and why shouldn’t you? Compared to all the politicians and other royals and people like that, I’m just…” He paused, trying to think of the right expression. “I’m nobody. I’m barely even a person.”

It broke her heart to hear him speak like that. “Anakin, I won’t be Queen Amidala forever. Once my term is over, I’ll be free to do whatever I like, and I promise I’ll have all the time in the world for you.” As soon as the words left her lips, she recognised them for the lies that they were - of course she wouldn’t have time for Anakin, not with her Jedi training to attend to. Why had she said that to him? Why had she made a promise that she couldn’t keep?

Because she wanted to keep it, that’s why. She wanted to keep that promise more than anything else in the world, to hold onto it as tightly as she could and never let it go. 

Anakin’s frown only deepend. “What do you mean when your term is over? You’ll be queen forever, won’t you?”

“No. Monarchs are elected on Naboo,” she explained. “We reign for two years, four if we’re reelected, and that’s it.”

“Right.” His frown lightened a little, but he was still lost in the deep waters of his thoughts - she could tell that he didn’t believe her promise, that he recognised the lie in it too. 

She wouldn’t stand for that. Padmé glanced down at the tarnished yet glimmering pendant in her hands and, without thinking very hard at all, she handed it to him. “Here.”

Anakin looked down at the proffered pendant, puzzled. “Huh?”

“Take it. I want you to have it.”

“But isn’t it valuable? You need it to prove who you are, don’t you?”

“Not anymore. But yes, it is valuable - it’s a treasure that’s very important to my people.” She felt a slight warmth bloom in her cheeks and an uneasy flutter stir in her heart, but she didn’t let that put a stop to her little moment of sentimentality. She had so few chances to be vulnerable, and she wanted to make the most of what little time she had. “But you’re very special to me, and I can’t think of anyone more suited to look after it than you.” 

For the first time since she’d revealed her royal identity, Anakin looked her in the eye, and the tiniest glimmer of a smile flickered onto his lips. “Do you really mean that?”

Padmé nodded. “I do.”

He hesitated a little longer, but eventually Anakin carefully took the pendant from her. Their hands brushed together as they made the exchange - hers flawless and neat, his littered with scars - and that brief contact charged Padmé with a lovely sense of fluttering excitement. A lively breathlessness came over her, clenching in her chest as if an excited friend was squeezing her in a too-tight hug. She was warm too, more comfortable than she’d ever felt before, and yet at the same time she felt so agitated that she wanted to leap from the carriage and run as fast as she could, to bounce and squeal and laugh and shake her hands. Looking at Anakin only intensified the thrill, and she knew that feeling such a spirited delight was completely inappropriate - her planet’s freedom depended on her keeping a level head. And yet there she was, blushing and giddy, all because a boy had touched her hand. 

She knew it was irrational, for their hands had touched plenty of times before. But something was different this time. Previously, she’d held his hand as a pure practicality, when they’d been fleeing Mos Espa or swimming towards Otoh Gunga. But what practicality lay in giving him Queen Pélara’s pendant? None whatsoever. In fact, Captain Panaka would probably have her head once he found out. No - there was nothing else in it but total, sentimental, senseless affection, and Padmé knew she would never regret it.

“Thank you,” Anakin said, admiring the complex swirling patterns carved into its golden surface. “It’s very pretty.”

“It used to belong to one of Naboo’s queens,” Padmé explained. “She’s long dead now, but the story goes that the pendant was a gift-” Padmé cut herself off, suddenly embarrassed when she realised that she’d just given Anakin a piece of jewelry originally gifted by Queen Pélara to her husband.

Anakin waited expectantly for her to finish. “A gift? For who?”

Padmé cleared her throat, hoping that the low light would conceal the deepening red bloom in her cheeks. “Nobody. Don’t worry about it.”

As their drive through the forest continued, Padmé and Anakin said very little to each other - yet their hands lingered next to each other on the seat of the carriage. With Tarpals gone, Boss Nass had become free to engage Anakin in conversation yet again, but even as the Boss began monopolising his attention, she often saw him glancing down at the pendant in his hands, turning it over and studying it as if he couldn’t quite believe that it now belonged to him. A sense of satisfaction came over her, for she knew that her efforts to salvage their friendship had succeeded, and any fears she’d entertained about Anakin slipping from her grasp faded as swiftly as the daylight. Now she could recentre herself, think a little clearer - not about Anakin, as much as she wanted to, but about Theed and her plans for its liberation. To liberate Theed would be to free the whole planet, for Theed sat at the core of the Trade Federation’s stolen seat of power. She had devised her strategy when they’d been in transit between Coruscant and Naboo, her mind constantly ticking and whirring and humming as she puzzled it out to herself. But her plan to retake Theed had taken shape now, and with the Gungans now at their side, she knew it could not fail.

At last, long after the glow of sunset gave way to the inky black of night, the carriage arrived in the clearing where the shining Royal Starship was waiting for them. It was a lot less conspicuous in the moonlight, for the daytime sun had reflected off of it in almost blinding rays - the moon was a far gentler companion. Captain Panaka, obscured by the shadows yet recognisable by his bearing, lingered near the boarding ramp, and he stood to attention as soon as the carriage came into view. As he began to approach them, Padmé realised that he wasn’t alone - Qui-Gon was with him, and he followed the Captain closely behind, carrying a light to illuminate their way.

The carriage halted as Panaka came to meet it, and he swept down in a low bow to greet Boss Nass. “Your Honour-”

“Your Excellency, please,” Boss Nass ordered, and Padmé made a note of Panaka’s mistake. She’d made it too, so she’d have to make sure that the Naboo knew how to properly address him before any other formal negotiations took place.

“Apologies,” Panaka said, sounding a little terse for being so caught off guard. “But it is a great honour to have you in our presence - I can only assume that you have accepted our request for an alliance.”

“I certainly have,” Boss Nass said, sounding rather pleased with himself. “I took some convincing, mind you, but the cause seems a good one.”

Panaka gave a stiff nod, clearly unsure of how to deal with the Boss treating the effort to save their shared planet like some petty little charity. “Then I thank you, on behalf of all the Naboo. Please, allow me to escort you to Her Majesty’s-”

“Oh, you needn’t bother with that - after all, Her Majesty is right here, isn’t she?” Boss Nass said, and in the glow of Qui-Gon’s lantern, Padmé saw all the saturation slowly seep from Panaka’s face. Qui-Gon, however, broke out into a grin - he seemed more amused by the revelation than anything else. “Queen Amidala had to give up her little deception in order to convince me, didn’t you, Your Highness?”

Padmé nodded, a little rueful for Panaka’s sake. “I’m afraid I did, Captain. At the very least, it will lift a great burden from Sabé’s shoulders.”

“Indeed.”

Padmé began to climb out of the carriage, and although Panaka offered his hand to assist with her descent, she did not take it. The decoy maneuver was no longer in play, but she still wanted to make the most of the physical freedoms her handmaiden identity allowed her. She hopped out of the carriage with ease before immediately turning to Captain Panaka, and she spoke in a voice that lay somewhere between Padmé and Amidala. “How have you fared here, Captain?”

“We’ve yet to be detected, but I believe it would be wise for us to leave the ship and travel somewhere secluded until we are ready to make our next move,” Panaka said, quickly lapsing back into his characteristically practical demeanor. “But we received an encrypted call from Governor Bibble.”

“Is he alright?” Padmé asked, her eyes widening. “And have you heard from Yané? Or Saché?”

Panaka grimaced, and he lowered his head. “The Governer is as well as he can be, but Yané and Saché were not so fortunate.”

Padmé stiffened, and in a panic of grief she grabbed hold of Amidala’s untouchable composure and clung to it for dear life, shielding her heart with the iron folds of her gown. “Speak plainly. Have they been captured? Killed?”

“Killed, My Lady. The Federation tortured them for information, and they did not survive it.”

“Did they tell the Federation anything of our plans?”

“No,” said Panaka with a shake of his head. “As far as Governor Bibble knows, they didn’t breathe a word. I suspect that’s why-”

“Thank you, Captain, that’s all I need to know.” As Padmé yearned to weep, Amidala issued a stern reminder - in death, Yané and Saché had fulfilled their purpose to protect their queen at all costs, and they had done so admirably. To grieve them would be to admit that they had disappointed Amidala, that they had been wrong to obey their oath to her, and that would be an injustice to their sacrifice. “Have my handmaidens been informed?”

“Yes, My Lady. Eirtaé has taken the news rather poorly, but Sabé and Rabé are coping as well as they can.”

“Good. I will need them to keep level heads if we are to succeed here.” Amidala took a deep breath, and drew on the force to settle herself and repress the remaining grief that her heart insisted on clinging to. “What else did the Governor tell you?”

“Those interred in the Theed prison camps have formed a resistance movement in our absence. If it would not interfere with your plans, I suggest that myself and a team of guards travel to Theed in the cover of night, meet with this resistance, and bring them wherever we make our camp.”

“Whatever your plan is, Your Majesty, having more soldiers couldn’t do you any harm,” Qui-Gon pitched in.

“I agree,” Amidala said. “Captain, go to Theed as you planned - but be careful. There is no telling what will await you there.”

“I will,” said Panaka, firmly and with confidence. Amidala did not doubt that he would pull off the little mission without issue - he was easily one of the most competent men she knew, and so she trusted him. “As for our camp, I believe-”

“I can help you with that, Captain,” Boss Nass interrupted, and all eyes turned towards him. He was still in the carriage, with Anakin sitting at his side - they certainly made an odd pair. “When my people have faced peril underwater, we retreat to a sacred place on the surface. It is not far from here - we will take you to it, and you may make your camp there.”

“That’s very generous of you, Your Excellency,” Amidala said. “Thank you.”

“We shall make preparations, then. I will inform everyone of our move, and then take my team to Theed,” Panaka said, and Amidala dismissed him to carry out his duty.

With Panaka gone and the Boss busy issuing orders to his own men, Amidala found herself with a moment of quiet to assess the progress of her strategy - once Panaka and his men set out for Theed, their liberation effort would have truly begun. It was almost difficult to believe, for the renewed freedom of her planet had felt like such a far away, distant dream for so long. She remembered how impossible it had felt on Coruscant, just over a day ago, and now she was standing on her own soil once more, lingering on the cusp of history. It was a good feeling. She could not wait to sit on her throne again, even if it was only for a moment. 

“So, I’m to have a queen for a padawan?” Amidala turned to find Qui-Gon at her side, his eyes gentle in the light of his lantern. It was safe for them to discuss such matters now, but nevertheless she was grateful that Qui-Gon had kept his voice low. 

She gave a small sigh. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I suppose this complicates our agreement?”

“You needn’t apologise - I did wonder,” Qui-Gon mused. “You do have a talent for hiding yourself in the force, but you weren’t quite good enough to conceal yourself entirely. And I did think it would be too much of a coincidence for Amidala and her handmaiden to both have a way with the force.”

“I suppose I should have known better than to think I could hide my abilities from a Jedi master.”

“I understand your motivations, Padmé,” Qui-Gon said. “But you are right - we will have to take your reign into consideration before you begin your training.”

“What will I have to do? Will I have to give up my throne?”

“We can discuss it once our mission here is complete and Naboo is safely under your power again,” Qui-Gon said, and it was an answer that relieved her immensely. “I see no reason to fret about it now.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Qui-Gon gave her a small, understanding smile, and once more Amidala felt more grateful to him than words could describe. She could think of no kinder hand to guide her along the path that Padmé had dreaded for her whole life, no soul as sympathetic to her own wants and needs. When she thought of the other Jedi she had met on the Council, they had seemed like officious, overbearing creatures, determined to shape the entire galaxy to their design and hegemonize those who would not comply. Obi-Wan, in all his frigidity, seemed a willing champion of their domination, and she wondered how such a temperament could have survived under Qui-Gon’s tutelage. But Qui-Gon was different. He was exactly what a keeper of the peace ought to be - kind, attentive, patient, responsive, aware. Amidala remembered how wary Padmé had felt around him on that first dusty day in Mos Espa, when he had used his mind tricks on that poor water woman. She still could not bring herself to agree with that particular trick, but she knew now just how unfounded her suspicions had been. Her acquaintance - no, her friendship - with Qui-Gon had been nothing but a blessing to her, and so long as he remained at her side as her master, she could see only light on the road ahead.

***

They spent the night, as promised, in the Gungan’s sacred place. Upon their arrival, Amidala was once again surprised by the Gungan people, for their sacred place was not a temple or a monastery, but a grove in the woods peppered with the remains of large, ancient statues of the Gungans of old. There had to have been hundreds of them, all in varying shapes and sizes, some rising out from the small pond in the centre of the grove, others buried in the ground and smothered by the roots of the trees that had grown around them, others standing as proud and as tall as the day they were sculpted. Fortunately, the Trade Federation had overlooked the grove in their invasion, for the greenery was lush and vibrant and undisturbed. It was an old place - a very old place - and Amidala was rather ashamed to admit that she did not know why it was significant, nor who all the myriad statues were supposed to represent. Boss Nass would know, she supposed, but she was too embarrassed to ask.

Amidala encouraged her party to sleep while they waited for Panaka to return, for they would need all the energy they could muster for the battle in the morning. Of course, she did not obey her own orders, for her anxious mind would not let her - it was too active, too jittery. She did not even try to lay down her head, as she knew that nothing would come of it. How could she sleep when the most important day of her life lay before her, growing ever closer with the passage of the moon and the rising of the sun? And so she settled herself next to the fallen head of one of the statues, resting against its long, stone snout as she pondered the battle ahead.

At the very least, she was not the only one who could not sleep. While Qui-Gon sat cross-legged beneath the canopy of a tree, his eyes closed and his breathing slow, his padawan paced back and forth with a tight, wound-up energy coursing around him. The leaves crunched and the mud squelched beneath his brown boots, and Amidala wondered what he was so concerned about. Obi-Wan had seemed so nonchalant about it all before, merely traipsing after his master because that was all he had the power to do. Perhaps the presence of the dark side in the air disturbed him, for no doubt he could sense it just as she could. It hadn’t changed much since they landed - it was still pervasive, foreboding. It wasn’t as strong as it had been that night on the outskirts of Mos Espa, but nevertheless it taunted them, a constant reminder that evil lay waiting for them. Amidala tried to catch Obi-Wan’s gaze, to show him that she felt the presence of the stranger too, but he would not look at her. He hardly ever looked at her.

Sabé cut an austere figure in the gloom, standing at the top of the cracked stone steps that led down into the canopy. She was still dressed in Queen Amidala’s battledress - they hadn’t had the opportunity to swap their clothes, and Amidala suspected that it would be useful to maintain the decoy maneuver for the benefit of the Trade Federation’s ignorance. But she seemed so very lonely up there in the dark, separated from her fellow handmaidens. Rabé and Eirtaé slept nearby, Eirtaé having wept herself to sleep as Rabé held her close, a resolute comfort to her even though she no doubt carried a grief of her own. They had all taken it for granted that they would see Yané and Saché again. As the bruised and ghostly faces of her dead handmaidens threatened to burst through the veil, Amidala tried to remember if Sabé had always set herself apart from the others, and found that she could not.

Also unable to sleep was Anakin, who had found a seat in the stone palm of one of the statues. He was sitting with his back resting against the upturned fingers of the statue, hunched over and occupied with something in his hands. Amidala wondered if it was the pendant that Padmé had given him - perhaps he was trying to polish it, or continue his study of the patterns carved into it. But then it might also be a blaster, for she had seen one of Panaka’s guards teaching him how to use one before they’d settled down for the night. Knowing Anakin, he’d want to pull the blaster apart and study its inner mechanisms, perhaps even try to improve it before he took it into battle. That would be a much more productive use of his time than occupying himself with a pretty bit of jewelry. 

Eventually, there came the sound of approaching footsteps, of hushed voices, growing louder as the sun steadily began to rise over the forest. Amidala glanced up - Sabé had vanished from her place at the top of the steps, presumably to investigate. Amidala’s sense of unease only grew, for there was no telling what she might find out there. It might be Panaka, returned with the small but mighty Theed resistance. Or it might be a small platoon of skeletal Federation battle droids sent out to kill them, and Amidala rose to her unsteady feet, listening carefully for the rage of blaster fire or the dreaded shriek of Sabé’s death cry.

And then Sabé reappeared at the top of the steps, her grand figure striking in the low light of dawn. “Captain Panaka has returned.”

“With soldiers?” Amidala asked. At the sound of their conversation, the sleeping began to stir.

Sabé nodded. “Yes, My Lady.”

Amidala breathed out a sigh of relief - Panaka’s survival, at least, could be a weight off her mind. But it wasn’t long before Panaka appeared next to Sabé and began his descent into the grove, bringing with him the promised resistance members. They were a small party, perhaps fifty in all, but any increase in their numbers, however slight, could only be a good thing. As Panaka made his approach, Amidala beckoned for everyone to gather around her - it was time to finally set her plan in motion.

“I’ve brought back as much of the resistance as I could,” Panaka said once everyone had gathered, gesturing to the small crowd of Naboo behind him. They looked weary, malnourished - but there was a fire in their eyes that could not be denied, and none of them let their exhaustion stifle their willingness to fight. Amidala acknowledged them with a nod, grateful for their devotion. “But the Federation’s army is much larger than we thought, and stronger. Your Highness, this is a battle I do not think we can win.”

But Amidala shook her head - it had never been about the battle to her, not really. “That needn’t concern you, Captain. The battle is only a diversion.” She turned to Boss Nass and the substantial crowd of Gungan warriors amassed behind him. “The Gungans must draw the droid army away from the city so we can enter undetected. We can use the secret passages on the waterfall side. Once we get to the main entrance, we can create another diversion - Captain Panaka, you may be in charge of that. Then we can enter the Palace and capture the Viceroy.” Now, she turned to Qui-Gon. “What do you think, Master Jedi?”

Qui-Gon thought for a moment, a thin line drawing between his brows. “The Viceroy will be well guarded.”

“It will not be easy to reach the throne room,” Panaka agreed. “But I know the layout of the Palace better than any of those droids. Once we’re inside, we shouldn’t have a problem.”

“Your Majesty?” Anakin spoke up, and Amidala looked at him with interest - he sounded a little dubious. “I know it’s an important part of your plan, but I don’t know if using the Gungans as a diversion is a good idea. Lots of them will die.”

“The boy is right,” Boss Nass said. “We will do our part, but I agreed to an alliance, not to a contract in which my people will be nothing but cannon fodder. I understood our ranks to be equal on this battlefield.”

Amidala thinned her lips. “It is a vital and honourable role I ask you and your people to play. Without the diversion, we won’t have a chance of reaching the city, let alone the palace.”

“Would you consider using your own guard as a diversion?” Boss Nass asked, and Amidala coloured deeply as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

“We don’t have time for this,” Panaka interjected. “The situation is dire - we all must do what is necessary, whether it suits our rank or not. We cannot waste our time on petty ideological squabbles. Now, Your Majesty, when we landed here, Ric Olié and Padawan Kenobi reported that there is a large droid control ship in orbit of the planet. What do you propose to do about it?”

Amidala took a deep breath, letting the tension of Boss Nass’ displeasure dispel into the air. Her voice shook as she spoke, and she tried to still it as best as she could - for the Boss was glowering at her with distaste, and Anakin looked a great deal troubled. “That is a simple matter. We will send what pilots we have to knock out the droid ship orbiting the planet.”

“I see great risk in that,” Qui-Gon advised. “The weapons on your fighters may not penetrate the shields.”

“And there’s an even bigger danger,” Obi-Wan pitched in. “If the Viceroy escapes, he will return with another droid army.”

Looking him in the eye, Amidala kept her voice level. “That is why we must not fail to get to the Viceroy. Everything depends on it.” She glanced around her small yet mighty party - Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Sabé, Eirtaé, Rabé, Panaka and his guards, Olié and his pilots, Boss Nass and his warriors, the forces of the resistance, Anakin. “Now is Naboo’s most desperate hour - can I trust you all to play your parts?”

The Naboo gave their answer without hesitation, nodding and saluting and pledging their obedience to their queen. Boss Nass looked at her with narrowed eyes, but he eventually gave a small, if reluctant nod of assent - he had no choice, not in the face of occupation. Qui-Gon bowed his head, and Obi-Wan followed his master’s example. All that remained was Anakin, who simply stared at her with his deep dark eyes, giving her no gesture of allegiance because he did not need to. Amidala knew that, no matter what, Anakin would always live his life dictated by his gratitude to her. His loyalty was not a question. It never would be.

These were the people who were to fight alongside her for freedom, for liberty. These were her companions, who had all pledged themselves to her cause in one way or another, who risked their lives as an expression of their devotion to her, who had followed her as a faithful traveller follows the beacon of a guiding star. For this brief period of time, she had become the core around which they oribited - their other lives and their other loves did not signify, for they accepted their service to her as the highest possible calling they could answer. And it was all for her. All for Naboo.  

For that, she loved them dearly.

“Thank you,” she said, and she meant it with her whole heart. “Now, to Theed - we haven’t a moment to lose.”

Chapter Text

The city of Theed was quiet. Not a peaceful quiet, but a fearful one - an eerie silence that came with the stillness of empty streets, the sort of silence that could only bring portents of doom. There ought to be chatter, music, laughter. Not this emptiness, a deafening sign that the city’s people had been taken from it against their will. To take their place were the kidnappers themselves, those skeletal battle droids turning their pointed heads in a slow, careful patrol, and their hulkish tanks casting long shadows across the pale stone ground below. Yes, the silence was the only sign of Theed’s devastation - all the buildings with their pale teal roofs still sat as tall and as ornate as ever, but with no one to occupy them, what purpose did they serve? They may as well have been piles of rubble. And the streets were free from violence itself, but the threat of it was ever present because of those tanks, because of those droids, because of the bloodstains on the paving stones. 

Padmé emerged onto this eerie battleground without a sound, clinging to the sides of buildings and keeping her step fast and light - she had been trained to walk in silence as part of her royal veneer of elegance, but the skill was just as useful in war. Her journey through the hidden entrance to the city had been a successful one, although she remained a little damp from her passage through the caves that ran behind Theed’s waterfalls. That secret passage had brought them straight to the courtyard outside the Palace’s hangar, and Padmé could not help but take delight in how easy it had been to get so close to the Palace without detection. That ease was, no doubt, a gift from the Gungans, who were now waging their fight against the Federation’s larger droid armies on the vast fields outside Theed. Boss Nass and his warriors had successfully drawn a bulk of the Federation’s forces away from the city itself, and for that Padmé could only be grateful. It certainly made her life easier, but it also proved to her that the Federation was not so clever as they liked to think - they had fallen so easily for their little distraction, letting them waltz right in when they should have made Theed impenetrable.

She was not totally alone. Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Anakin, Rabé, and a dozen of Panaka’s guards and pilots followed behind her, all of them drifting in her wake as quietly as they could manage. The chrome hilts of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan’s lightsabers were dull in the shadows, and Anakin’s attention was totally occupied by his blaster - studying it right up to the last minute so that he’d know for certain how best to use it when the fighting broke out. But her companions were of no concern to her right now. The other half of their party was due to arrive any moment now, and Padmé scanned the courtyard carefully for even the faintest trace of them. At first, it seemed that there was no sign of them, and Padmé’s heart began to hammer - unless they were particularly well hidden, there was a distinct possibility that their plan of infiltration had not gone as smoothly as her easy entrance had led her to believe. 

But Padmé was not going to give into despair, and when her eyes failed her, she turned to the force for aid. Qui-Gon would have scolded her for making use of it when the nightmare stranger was so close - the feeling of his presence was stronger than ever now that they were within the city walls - but Padmé saw no other option. If she was to save her planet, she would draw on every possible resource available to her.

Out went the feelers of the force, searching for the heartbeat of her captain, seeking out his stoic and disciplined aura. She would know Panaka by those sensations, and a wave of satisfied relief washed over her when the force came into contact with his essence, with his soul. She could feel him as if he were right next to her, and beside him she felt Sabé, Eirtaé, and all the members of Theed’s resistance - all of them present, all of them safe. She drew the force back into her. Now was the time to strike.

In one hand, Padmé clung to her blaster, knuckles white and palms slick with sweat. In the other was a small laser light, fitted with a red bulb. She raised the light and turned it on and off so that it flashed out a series of coded signals, spelling out the message that would set their revolt in motion. It was a language of Panaka’s own devising, which he had created long before this invasion had torn their lives asunder. Amidala had thought him pedantic to come up with such a code, but now Padmé could not be more grateful that he had. She had sent him a simple message, but it would be sufficient.

We are ready.

On the other side of the square, a blue light flashed in response.

Message received.

A stretch of silence then, and Padmé’s breath sat uneasily in her lungs. She knew what was coming next, what Panaka planned to do, but that did not make the anticipation any easier to cope with. Then there came a flash of movement on the other side of the square, and Padmé spotted a single resistance leader appearing in the shadow of a nearby building. Barely a few metres in front of her sat one of the Federation’s tanks, surrounded by milling battle droids who were none the wiser to their approaching enemy. The leader reached into a pouch on her belt and pulled out a silver sphere - a Naboo guard issue grenade. Slowly, she crouched into a squat, pressed down on the timed detonator at the top of the sphere, and rolled it under the tank before vanishing into the shadows once more.

Silence. Silence. Silence. And then came the blast.

The tank went up in a monstrous fireball, vivid oranges and reds accented with deep and ugly blacks. Padmé brought her hands to her ears out of instinct, for the horrible shriek of tearing metal and screaming battle droids rang out at a high volume only accentuated by the earlier silence. All of the battle droids that had been milling around the tank were taken out by the flames as well, and the pieces of them that weren’t burnt to a crisp went flying out across the square, striking against nearby buildings and colliding with their still living brethren. Padmé remembered seeing similar explosions on the track of the Boonta Eve podrace on Tatooine, but those blasts had disturbed her because it was the flesh of innocents caught in those flames. But here, when the only victims were the lifeless metal husks of her enemies, the violence exhilarated her.

Let them all go to the flame. She cared nothing for them.

In the aftermath of the explosion, the square fell into chaos as the clueless battle droids whirled around looking for the source of it, flailing their blasters as if they knew not what to do with them. In this new light, when she had the advantage over them, Padmé thought they seemed rather pathetic - strange that they’d seemed so threatening before. And they only grew more pitiful when Panaka led his party out into the open, and the square became a veritable light show as their colourful blaster bolts began to fly through the air and collide with the heads of remaining droids. 

“I think that’s our cue,” Obi-Wan remarked.

Calling out for her team to advance, Padmé led the charge into the square. In the midst of the blaster cacophony, she could hear the tell-tale hissing sound of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan igniting their lightsabers, and then the electrical clash of the glowing blades deflecting oncoming droid blaster bolts. So long as Padmé had the two Jedi to cover her, no harm would come to her, and so she ran towards the hangar without hesitation. 

But as she drew nearer, the sound of warfare began to fade - it grew muffled, as if it was all taking place in another room. Padmé skidded to a halt, for the sensation disturbed the force that surrounded her, and in the corners of her eyes a looming shadow began to amass. She could feel the bony hands of darkness reaching out to caress her, drawing her nearer, frightening the light away from her. The heat of the battle seeped from her blood, leaving her stone cold and terribly, terribly afraid. 

He was close. So very close. As close as he had been on Tatooine. 

“Come to me, little one.”       

“Hey, watch out!”

Padmé collided with the ground as the weight of another body pressed against her, pushing her down with a thud. The ringing of several blaster shots sounded in her ears, snapping her out of her dark daze and bringing her back into the battle. It was Anakin who had pushed her down, and he crouched close to her now, a small puff of smoke rising from the barrel of his blaster. Padmé followed his gaze to find the crumpled remains of a battle droid close by, heavily scorched, its parts scattered across the courtyard. From the degree of the damage etched into its body, Padmé suspected that Anakin had overdone it a little.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his attention now turned to her. “You just stopped running - what happened?”

Padmé met his gaze, and a sense of urgency overwhelmed her. “He’s here.”

“Huh?”

“The man who attacked us on Tatooine - I always knew he was here, but he’s close now, I can feel him, he’s going to find us any second.”

A furrow appeared between Anakin’s brows, and he turned his gaze to Qui-Gon, who was still doing battle with the droids as he made his way towards the hangar. “You have to tell Qui-Gon. He’ll know what to do.”

“He’ll already know.” Padmé rose to stand, and Anakin followed suit. She took a deep breath and readied her blaster, steeling herself and shaking off her momentary terror. Yet even as she tried to regain her composure, she could still feel the chill of evil settling on her skin like frost. “But we can’t let him stop us from getting to the hangar.”

Anakin nodded, ready for the challenge, and together they pressed on towards the large hangar doors.

A swarm of droids stood near the doors, their blasters raised and ready to fire. Padmé knew that running directly into their line of fire could only end in disaster, so she quickly glanced around for a place to take cover. When she spotted the row of pillars that bordered the courtyard, Padmé grabbed hold of Anakin’s sleeve and pulled him towards a pillar near the doors. It was good timing too, for the droids began to fire on them almost as soon as they vanished behind the marble. After waiting for a break in the droid’s barrage, Padmé leaned out from behind the pillar and opened fire with her own blaster, but only a few of her bolts managed to hit their targets. Grimacing, Padmé ducked behind the pillar again.

“Panaka makes this look so easy,” she muttered to Anakin, who had just finished checking that his blaster’s power pack still had some charge.

“Don’t you get trained in this kind of thing?” he asked.

“Target practice is one thing - being on the battlefield is another.”

A blaster bolt collided with the pillar, scorching its pale marble surface. Padmé jumped back in surprise, and Anakin took the opportunity to fire off a few blasts of his own. He managed to hit a few droids in their shoulder joints, and he grinned as the blast blew their arms clean out of their sockets, effectively disabling them. Padmé shared in his smile.

“You’re pretty good at this,” Padmé said.

“You just have to aim for the joints - they aren’t reinforced or protected at all. I guess the Federation must have cut corners, because whoever built these guys clearly had no idea what they were doing.” 

Taking his advice, when Padmé took her next shot, she aimed for the joints - shoulders, knees, neck, anything that looked flimsy enough to get taken out with one shot. Sure enough, the tactic worked, and it wasn’t long before they’d reduced the gathering of droids to no more than a pile up of dismembered limbs and scattered blasters. The pair exchanged proud smiles, relishing in their little victory.

The element of surprise had worked in Naboo’s favour. Although their force was small, Padmé’s companions, Panaka’s guards and pilots, and the resistance leaders had caught them off guard well enough to ensure their success. The sentient element of surprise and innovation would always trump the artificial, automated strategies of droids, no matter how clever their masters. By the time Padmé made it to the hangar doors, Panaka was there waiting for her, with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan jogging up behind them. Padmé waited for all the members of her little army to gather before she gave her next order - as far as she could see, they hadn’t sustained any casualties yet.

“Pilots, as soon as we get inside, I want you to head straight for any ship you can find and take them up to the droid control ship. I want it destroyed - so long as it is active, we will never be able to beat the Federation,” she began, and Ric Olié and his fellow pilots gave obedient nods. “The rest of us will cut through the service entrance - it will take us to the throne room, and I doubt it will be as heavily guarded as the main passage.” She turned to one of her nearest handmaiden. “Rabé?”

“My Lady?”

“When you are ready, open the doors.”

Rabé nodded, and Panaka gathered his guards around Padmé for the sake of her protection. As Rabé made her way towards the outer door controls, Padmé looked to Qui-Gon, meeting his eyes in silent acknowledgment. They both knew of the darkness, could feel it seeping out beneath the doors like smoke in a burning building. They knew that the nightmare stranger would await them inside, a powerful enemy that could cut them all down in a blink of an eye. Qui-Gon made no gesture, no expression of reassurance, and in that moment she knew that he was just as scared as she was. Somehow, that was the most frightening thing of all.

But before she could dwell on the darkness any further, the hangar doors hissed open, sliding apart to reveal the vast open space before them. As expected, a whole host of battle droids filled the hangar, their numbers vaster and more impressive than they had been in the courtyard. Before Padmé had a chance to scope out the extent of their numbers, all around her became a blur of motion - as soon as the doors slid open, Panaka led his guards into the hangar, charging forward with an order to fire at every droid they could see. But Padmé could not keep up with the swiftness of their attack, for the same dark dizziness started to descend on her consciousness, disorienting her as she stumbled into battle. 

All was not right. 

All around her, her friends were fighting for their planet with an impressive ferocity. Panaka was easily proving why he had been appointed as her captain - his orders were swift and direct, his bellowing voice carrying with it an authority that could not be questioned, and all the while he was dispatching every droid that entered his sights with ease. Her handmaidens made a formidable team, putting the decoy tactic to good use on the battlefield. Still dressed in Amidala’s battle dress and painted with her white mask, Sabé was the perfect distraction, tricking countless hapless droids into believing that they’d found the true queen and leaving them open to sneak attacks from Rabé’s blaster. Eirtaé, separated from her fellows, was working side by side with Anakin, both of them using their knowledge of droid construction to dismantle their enemies with well-aimed blaster fire. In blinding flashes of blue, Obi-Wan blitzed through the droids, cutting them down as if they had no substance at all. Qui-Gon was never far behind him, covering his padawan and protecting him from the droids that had narrowly escaped his flurry.

Padmé could have watched them all forever, immersing herself in the adrenaline rush of battle, letting the pride she felt for them drown her in its beauty. But the current of the force was drawing her elsewhere, bringing her mindlessly towards the entrance to the service passage. The world began to twist and blur around her, sounds growing dull in her ears because the call of the force was so loud, so impossible to resist. She would shoot down the droids that threatened her, but she barely had to look at them. The force would sense them for her, and so she kept her gaze trained on the large service passage doors, walking towards them in a perfectly straight line as if possessed. 

There was darkness through those doors. Fear. Anger. Hatred. It called to her. The force did not know how to protect her from it. She was vulnerable to the seduction of night, and there were thick coils of shadow curling around her mind, her soul, her heart. The ground rumbled beneath her, and Padmé was vaguely aware of the pilots taking off, vaguely aware that she should be pleased about the success of their mission. But in that moment, all that mattered to her was the voice calling out to her, the hand reaching for hers - “Come here, little one.”

That voice!

“Your Highness, it isn’t safe to advance on your own!” Panaka’s voice desperately tried to penetrate the haze that surrounded his charge, but his concern meant nothing to her. She heard him calling again, again, again, begging for her to stop, to return to the fold of his protection. 

But she was close, so close now. The dark side of the force broke down every barrier around her, crashing through the light’s pitiful defenses and washing away all her goodness. But what it left behind was not evil, not utter depravity, but something far calmer, grey in its colour and steady in her soul. And with a start, the first shards of dawn filtered into her understanding - she had thought the nightmare stranger was her enemy, but she was wrong.

They could be more alike than anyone realised.

“Padmé!”

Heavy hands clapped down on her shoulders and whirled her away from the doors - and she found herself staring into the eyes of Qui-Gon Jinn, bright and blue and all alight with fear and care and courage. She could only stare at him, too dazed to speak, and the light of his gaze almost blinded her.

“Don’t listen to it,” he urged, his voice hushed. “It’s trying to tempt you - don’t listen to it. You’re better than that.”

Padmé blinked, and she felt as though she’d been held under water against her will and was only now being pulled out from the freezing cold depths. “I can… hear it…”

“Fight it, Padmé. Remember the light - remember everything I’ve told you,” Qui-Gon continued, his voice so soft and loving and oh so painfully warm - it would kill her, his compassion would kill her. “You are better than the darkness. You may not be stronger than it right now, but you will be one day - know that you will be, and fight it!”

Padmé gasped out in pain, and just as the harsh breath passed through her lungs, the doors to the service passage forced themselves open - and there he stood, that black and red vision of terror, an isolated vessel of untold power. Padmé turned to stare at him, and all the air left her lungs as she stared into those intense yellow eyes, so bright that they penetrated the shadow cast by his hood, so far away and yet pulling her very soul into them - black holes forced into mortal eye sockets. The force around her grew taught with fear, for every single person in the room knew of his presence now, and the sensation of their shared terror almost forced her to the ground with its sheer power. 

Qui-Gon stepped in front of her, raising his lightsaber. Obi-Wan appeared at his side, grim determination set in the hard furrow of his brow. Padmé stood doubled over between them, unable to pull her eyes away from the man who walked the corridors of her nightmares.

“We’ll handle this,” Qui-Gon said grimly, quiet yet audible for it seemed that the whole hangar had fallen into silence. The battle behind had stopped - the vast droid army was but a pile of metal bones at the feet of her allies.

Padmé looked up at him, and dread turned her blood into ice and shattered the lure of the darkness. “You can’t!”

The stranger raised his hands to his hood and lowered it, exposing the many-horned skull beneath. He shrugged off the rest of his black cloak, letting it fall to the ground and pool behind his feet like a shadow. A preparation for violence - violence that would fall on Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan’s heads. And he looked so horribly eager for it, as if spilling the blood of the Jedi would satisfy a voracious hunger that had driven him mad. Qui-Gon had escaped him once. He would not let it happen again.

In one swift motion, the stranger shifted into an offensive stance, producing his lightsaber from within the depths of his black robes. He held it out in front of him, igniting it - and not one, but two blood red blades emerged from either side of the hilt. As Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan shifted into offensive stances of their own, Padmé remained frozen in place, paralysed by terror and dread.    

“Go to your throne, Padmé. Claim it as is your right,” Qui-Gon said. When Padmé did not move, he turned to her again, and his voice carried with it an urgency that frightened her. “Go now, Padmé!”

The nightmare stranger lurched forward, raising his double blade to strike. At the same time, Qui-Gon threw out his hand and pushed Padmé back with a powerful surge of the force, sending her flying back across the hangar. She collided with a warm body, and then a pair of arms wrapped around her, steadying her as she stumbled - she did not know who it was that held her, nor did she care. All she could do was watch as Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan leapt into battle with the nightmare stranger, the pair testing their fighting capabilities to their limits as they struggled against their dual bladed opponent. She could not breathe, could not move, could not think of Naboo - a battle between light and dark was playing out before her eyes, but she could feel that war in her head too, a painful war, a war without end.

It was only when someone began to pull her away that she snapped out of her daze, and anger raced through her like a flash flood at the prospect of being separated from Qui-Gon. “No! Stop, let me go! I can’t leave him!”

“Your Highness, we have no choice!” It had to be Captain Panaka. Who else could it be? 

Padmé struggled against him as he dragged her across the hangar, a feral desperation overtaking her every sensibility. “No! Captain, let me go, that’s an order! I said that’s an order, Captain!”

But he would not listen. He would only retreat, and Padmé could kick and scream and cry all she liked, but only deaf ears would listen. Hot tears streamed down her face as the flashing of green and blue and red grew further and further away, and Qui-Gon became but a blur in the distance. She could only make one last strangled cry before Panaka pulled her from the hangar at last.

“Master!”

***

The antechamber of the main hall was a small one, primarily used as a waiting room for Queen Amidala when her handmaidens needed to adjust her robes or her headdress before she made for the council chambers. Now, it served as a small fortress, sheltering and hiding Naboo’s makeshift army while they plotted their next move on borrowed time. They would not have long to linger there - it would only be a matter of time before the Federation’s droid forces descended on them. 

Padmé sat at the table in the centre of the room, her head bent down, her shoulders sagging. She felt as though her encounter with the dark side had sapped every last shred of energy she had left, leaving nothing but an empty husk of flesh behind. The evil had released its grip on her, distracted now by its battle against light’s ambassadors, but all that remained in its wake was fear, anxiety, dread, and an overwhelming sense of failure. She was supposed to be leading her planet to freedom, and yet she had already faltered, lost focus. From her lips fell a silent curse - how could she have been so weak?

“They’ll be alright.”

Padmé glanced up - Anakin stood at her side, and although she could sense fear in him, there was resilience there too. She attempted an appreciative smile, but exhaustion had weighed down all her facial muscles into paralysis. “Thank you. I hope you’re right.”

“You’ve seen them fighting today - they’re amazing,” Anakin continued. “Master Qui-Gon knows what he’s doing. That guy won’t stand a chance against him and Obi-Wan.”

Padmé regarded him with curiosity. From anyone else, this kind of reassurance would be baseless and placid, and Padmé would have dismissed it as an empty platitude. But Anakin seemed to believe every word he said with his whole heart, giving his comforts a substance that Padmé could cling to and use to bolster her own faith. But it was a puzzle to her, how he maintained such hope when she could feel every last vestige of it crumbling all around her. “I wish I could feel as optimistic as you do.”

Before Anakin could reply, the sound of someone clearing their throat from behind startled her. She turned around to find Captain Panaka standing behind her, looking at her and Anakin with a healthy amount of suspicion. 

“Your Highness, if you’d care to turn your attention to the matter at hand, I have a suggestion for our next move.”

Padmé blushed a little as Anakin bashfully slipped away to join the throng of guards. “My apologies, Captain. Please, tell me what you have planned.”

“We will have no choice but to take the main passage to the throne room, and it will be heavily protected. I think we could take on the droids, but their numbers are great, and fighting them all would slow us down. Retaking the throne and capturing the Viceroy must remain our priority.”

“So what do you suggest?” Padmé asked.

“That we take a shortcut. The throne room is only one floor above us - all we would have to do is secure an open window and scale the Palace walls. It might be risky, but it will cut the time it takes to reach the throne room in half. I have spoken to Sabé, and she is willing to lead a team of her own and take the long way to the throne room to divert the droids away from us. What say you, Your Highness?”

Having just lost Saché and Yané, and with her anxieties for Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan still running high, Padmé did not like the idea of sending Sabé into such danger at all. Yet it was a sound plan, well-reasoned - and, as she kept reminding herself, Sabé would only be doing her duty by risking her life. Just as she could not justify mourning the passing of Saché and Yané, she would have no cause to mourn for Sabé should the need arise. To die in her stead was Sabé’s purpose, and Padmé stole a glance at her handmaiden’s painted visage before giving Panaka her reply. “I say we follow your plan to the letter. Let us move out.” 

Without a moment's hesitation, the antechamber erupted into motion as their small army arranged themselves around the exit into the main hall, readying their weapons and getting into the proper position. Padmé moved to the front just behind Panaka, and she watched as he cracked the door open and surveyed the hall for droids. While she waited, she felt a slight tug on her sleeve, and she briefly turned to find Anakin at her side once more, his expression soft with concern. He didn’t need to speak, for she only had to look into his dark eyes to know what he meant to say - are you alright?

All her fears seemed a little softer when he looked at her like that. As the situation required silence, Padmé could not answer him in words, so she briefly took his hand and gave it a small squeeze. He returned it, and Padmé turned her attention back to Panaka in an attempt to distract her fluttering heart with the prospect of war.

But it was at that moment, as she sat on the cusp of her final battle for Naboo’s freedom, that a bright, beautiful realisation crashed upon her like a tidal wave against the sand. There was only one reason why - even under a barrage of droid fire, even as the life of her future Jedi master hung in the balance, even as she ordered her dearest handmaiden to risk her young life - she still felt a flutter in her heart and a warmth in her stomach whenever Anakin so much as looked at her. There was only reason why his mere presence was enough to soothe the bone-deep pain of her responsibilities, to ease her fears when the whole world seemed fit to crack and break around her. There was only one reason why she had given him the precious pendant that now hung around his neck, intended as a gift from a former queen to her beloved husband.

She, Padmé Amidala, was in love with Anakin Skywalker.

Panaka pushed the door open, and without another moment's thought, Naboo’s army surged through it, carrying Padmé along in the tide of their ambush. She barely had time to think about where to run before the electric din of blaster fire sounded once more in her ears, and Panaka grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her behind one of the numerous red marble pillars that lined the corridor. Hundreds of droids amassed on the staircase that lead to the second level of the Palace - it seemed the Viceroy had finally recognised Naboo’s forces as a threat and increased the guard inside the Palace. They fell as easily as their brethren in the hangar and the courtyard, but they continued to march towards them as if their numbers were infinite, stepping through the severed limbs of the droids that had been destroyed before them as if they meant nothing.

Padmé did her part. She would aim around the pillar and shoot down her share of the oncoming army. She would retreat and let Panaka take over the assault when she needed to replace her blaster’s power pack. She would cast her gaze across her loyal soldiers to make sure they were still standing. She would try to ignore the rancid twisting in her stomach when she saw the corpses of her guards, lying dead and smoking from the blaster wounds in their chests and foreheads and stomachs. She would soothe herself with the knowledge that Panaka, Anakin, Sabé, Rabé, and Eirtaé still lived. But she passed through all those motions in a haze, as if her mind floated ten feet above her body, watching the carnage from afar as an outside observer. 

How could she bring herself back into the fight? How was she to force the stupefying terror out of her system so she could embody herself again? The force could not help her. It still cowered in terror from the nightmare stranger, as free as it was from his grip. As she flung her arm out to fire another blast, to watch another droid fall, she reminded herself - this battle would be the most important moment of her life, for she was Naboo’s ruler and liberator, and she would not win her moment of triumph if she let her feelings overwhelm her. 

And then it occurred to her. Padmé was not Naboo’s ruler. Padmé was but a name to be worn when duty called for it - she was a second skin to be taken off and shrugged on, who had been human once but was now only an empty identity. She may have had thoughts and feelings of her own, her own hates and her own loves, subjective to a fault and blinded by her emotions. Padmé loved Qui-Gon Jinn, loved Sabé, loved Anakin Skywalker, and if she were left to love unsupervised, Naboo would suffer for it. Her distraction would be the death of her people. The body that bore the name of Padmé had blurred vision and unsteady hands, breath that came in stutters and starts, and a throat clogged with salty tears. It was a weak identity, a sentimental identity - and Naboo did not need weakness, did not need sentiment. 

No. Naboo needed a queen. Naboo needed Amidala. 

She plunged the knife into Padmé’s heart, and Amidala was reborn in her place - disciplined, unfeeling, and with a single-minded devotion to her planet and people thumping life into her cold, stone heart.

“Captain,” Amidala said, her voice sounding so much clearer than Padmé’s had in that wretched antechamber. “We do not have the time to linger here. We must take the shortcut now.”

Panaka responded immediately. He glanced briefly towards the droid hoards ahead, and then he turned to the side and aimed his blaster at the nearest window on the opposite wall of the hallway. Anakin and Rabé stood in front of it, sheltering from the onslaught behind a nearby pillar, and Panaka waved his blaster as a signal for them to move. Rabé saw it first, and she elbowed Anakin in the arm to get him to move. Amidala watched them dash to the other side of the hallway, sprinting to avoid the droid blaster bolts firing in their direction, and her heart did not flutter when Anakin’s hand found its way into her own. His affection belonged to another life.

“Rabé, stay down here with Sabé,” Panaka ordered, and Rabé nodded in obedience.

With that, Panaka fired a frantic bevy of blaster bolts at the window. They were made of a secure, reinforced glass for the sake of the Queen’s security, so it took some time for Panaka’s bolts to melt away at the protective coating. But eventually, he wore it away well enough that the panes cracked and shattered into thousands upon thousands of tiny pieces, dusting the marble floor of the corridor with razor sharp powder. A few yelps of surprise sounded from Naboo’s army, and Amidala recognised Eirtaé’s voice amongst them - but the blast had caught the droids off guard as well. For the briefest of moments, the gunfire ceased as the droids gazed about the corridor in confusion, and Panaka took immediate advantage of the unintentional ceasefire. He made a mad dash across the corridor and, recognising that their window of time was short, Amidala followed in his footsteps, dragging Anakin behind her without a single hint of warning.

She skidded to a halt once she reached the window, bracing herself against the window ledge - and she immediately regretted it as tiny shards of glass punctured the soft skin of her hands. Through the shattered window, the vast, flat green fields of Naboo stretched out long and wide, and Amidala could see the Gungans waging their valiant fight against the Federation’s armies. It was difficult to make out any sort of detail from so far away. Both sides looked so very small, like little toys on the playmat of a nursery, but at the very least she could make out some of the peculiar tools of warfare that the Gungans were making use of. There were the large, organic shapes of the mammals the Gungan warriors rode upon, there were the pulsing purple marbles fired from the trebuchets that lay behind their domed energy shields. Had she had the time to study the weapons of Boss Nass’ arsenal before they left for Theed, she might have been able to reflect on them now with more understanding. But time had been short then, and time was short now, so she had little reprieve to study the far away war when she had her own mission to complete.

Three of Panaka’s guards were the first to clamber out the window, and Amidala watched as they crept along the window ledge to reach the edge of the outer frame. Carefully, the first of the guards reached out and took hold of a groove in the brickwork of the Palace walls, testing its strength before he eventually brought his feet to rest in a similar groove lower down. His climb up to the next story started off slow, but as he grew more familiar with his vertical path, so too did he grow in confidence. It wasn’t long before two other guards started to follow in his stead, clambering up both sides of the window with a speed that alarmed her. Amidala tried not to think about the sheer, seemingly endless drop below - she had never considered just how tall Theed Palace was before now, and an instinctive terror settled once more in her abdomen. But she willed that fear away, casting it aside - she did not need fear now, it would not serve her. So long as her guards remained sensible and careful in their climb, they would be safe. They had no choice but to be safe. 

Amidala eventually lost sight of the guards as they made their ascent, but she knew they’d made it safely when she heard the concentrated din of Naboo blaster fire above. They’d begun shooting at the window, trying to melt away the protective coating so that the window would be easy to smash through by the time Panaka and Amidala reached them. The party taking the shortcut was a small one, so as to not draw attention, and so there were only two other guards remaining who had yet to make their ascent. Anakin was amongst them, and he faltered when he climbed up onto the window and took heed of the high drop below. Amidala gritted her teeth as Padmé tried to fight through the barrier that she’d built in her psyche, her desperation to comfort her love lending her a power that Amidala had not anticipated. To settle the shrieking handmaiden inside, Amidala leaned forward to offer her own, stilted form of comfort.

“Do as the guards have done before you,” she said, and he startled a little at her lowered voice. “Follow their path, and you will not fall.”

He held her gaze for a little while, and then he nodded, a small smile lighting up his face. “Can’t be much more dangerous than podracing, right?”

Amidala nodded, although the comparison meant little to her. Her memory of the podrace was hazy, and it would only come back into focus when Padmé reemerged.

Anakin eventually vanished from the window, and Amidala leaned out to watch him as he began his climb. He was evidently taking Amidala’s advice, for he gripped onto the same grooves in the stonework as the guards had done before him - but his movements were slower, a little more uneasy. Amidala had to force Padmé’s frown off of her face, for all Padmé could think of was his bony wrists and how his uniform hung off his thin frame. She doubted that the lifestyle of a slave was conducive to putting on the kind of muscle required for such a climb. 

“After you, Your Highness. We haven’t any time to waste,” Panaka urged her from behind.

Carefully, she lifted herself up onto the windowsill, bracing herself against the window frame as she balanced herself on the slender sill. A bright pain fired in her hand as the pressure from the wall pushed the small shards of glass further into her skin, but she managed to keep a wince off her face and focused her thoughts not on the pain, but on stillness. Focusing on the pain would only distract her, and if she grew distracted, then she would lose her balance and fall. So, she kept her tight grip on the frame and stared straight at the stone wall she would eventually climb, refusing to let her fear of falling come to fruition. Slowly, gingerly, she edged along to the edge of the sill, and she had to resist the urge to brush her hair out of her face as the wind caught a loose lock of it and blew it against her face. When she reached the edge of the sill, she clung to it for a moment, taking slow, deep breaths as she prepared to reach out for the stone.

She could not see Anakin anymore - he must have made it to the upper window ledge, which left the path up the wall clear for her to climb. After taking a moment to study the grooves and remember the path her guards had taken, Amidala reached out and took hold of a deeper crevice in the brick work. It was difficult to get a firm grip, for the groove was shallower than she expected, and already her fingers strained at the effort to hold on. But Amidala gritted her teeth and, once she was satisfied that she was holding on as tightly as she could, reached out with her other hand to take hold of the opposite groove. Now she hung in the air with only her feet standing tip-toed on the windowsill to connect her to the ground, and she squeezed her eyes shut as a gust of wind tugged at the skirt of her tunic. Against her will, her heart began to pound - no amount of queenly composure could thwart plain instinct.

But fighting her instincts was her only option. Opening her eyes again, Amidala glanced below her to see where she might rest her feet, and when she spotted the slightly worn gaps in the stonework where the previous guards had stepped, she knew she had found her path. Forgoing the temptation of hesitation, Amidala stepped off of the window ledge and brought her feet to rest in those crevices - and now she hung, totally unsupported, hundreds of feet above the ground.

Sweat beaded on her brow. Her heart thundered against her ribcage. The ache of exertion already strained in her arms. Amidala glanced up - it would not be a particularly long climb, for she only had to reach the next window above her. If Anakin had managed it, with his underdeveloped, malnourished muscles, then so could she. Breathing deeply, Amidala fought the strain in her arms and reached up for the next groove in the stonework, and her tight grip on it pulled uncomfortably at the skin of her fingertips. She reached up with her other hand, took hold of the stone, and heaved herself up, gritting her teeth as the strain of it appeared unbidden on her face. A sense of panic overtook her as, for a moment, her feet dangled unsupported in the air, but it settled as soon as she once more found a foothold below.

All she’d have to do is repeat those actions one after the other. Reach, hold, reach, hold, heave, step, repeat. Reach, hold, reach, hold, heave, step, repeat. Reach, hold, reach, hold, heave, step, repeat. If she could only focus on the mechanics of it, of the simple motions of her limbs, she could make the climb without fear. Ignore the wind, ignore the far off ground below, ignore the bloodstains her hands left upon the stones. Focus. Focus. Focus, until she reached the window - the door that would lead her to her throne.

“Go to your throne, Padmé. Claim it as is your right.”

Padmé reminded her of Qui-Gon’s words, the last he had said to her before he launched himself into his duel with the darkness. Amidala could only think of one reason why Padmé had brought the memory to her attention - so that she would not let him make his wish in vain. For once, she could be grateful for the small weaknesses in the barrier that separated her from her handmaiden self, for Qui-Gon’s voice, echoing in her mind, fortified her, and pushed her upwards. 

Reach, hold, reach, hold, heave, step repeat. 

Reach, hold, reach, hold, heave, step, repeat.

Reach, hold, reach, hold, heave, step, repeat.

Reach, hold, reach, hold, heave, step, repeat.

And when Amidala pulled herself up onto the window ledge at last, she gave a quiet thanks to her handmaiden self and the Jedi master she so admired.

It was cramped on the window ledge, and it grew even more so when Panaka pulled himself up to join them - he’d climbed up the opposite side of the window. Their small party of eight felt impossibly large with such a small surface to stand on, and Amidala dared not look down lest the dizzying drop below frighten her into losing her balance. A true sense of stability only came when, once she’d pulled herself up to her feet, Anakin took hold of her arm to steady her, a practical application of his affection that even Amidala could approve of.

“We’ve weakened the protective coating around the windows, Your Majesty,” one of the guards informed her, and he looked at Panaka too to bring him into the conversation. “We can break through on your command.”

“Do it,” Amidala ordered. “The sooner we get off this ledge, the better.”

The guard nodded, and he raised his blaster to aim at the window. Anakin gripped Amidala’s arm tighter when the guard fired and the windowpane shattered inward with a harsh cracking sound, and Amidala winced at the volume of it. She supposed it could not be helped, but she dreaded the sort of attention that the sound would bring to them. There was only one way around it - to press on and retake the throne by force.

As soon as the glass shards settled on the floor, the guards that had gone up first stepped from the window ledge and into the corridor, with Panaka, Amidala, and Anakin following close behind. Amidala straightened up quickly once her feet hit the floor, and she brushed stone dust off of her tunic as she surveyed the corridor. Her surroundings were familiar to her, for she’d made the journey through them almost daily since her coronation - her throne was near, and it was only a matter of time before she-

“Halt! Stop right there!”

Amidala schooled her features as the tinny, irritating voice of a battle droid sounded through the hall, accented by the clicks of droid blasters loading and finding their targets. She looked to the direction of the throne room and spotted a crowd of droids marching in their direction, led by the orange tinted droid that she had not seen since the Federation first took her hostage so very long ago. But they were not the only troop of droids in their path - they crowded behind them too, their blasters held at the ready. 

Anakin raised his own blaster, and the guards did the same. Only Panaka kept his blaster at his side, instead glancing out the shattered window with eyes dancing frantically with ideas as he plotted an escape plan. But Amidala lifted her hands away from her blaster, did not look at the window for escape, for she recognised it all as futile. There were too many droids, and their small party would fall immediately should they try to gun them down. Similar fatality awaited them if they attempted to escape back out the window - certainly, they would be shot down should they even try, or else they would fall to their deaths when stress robbed them of their ability to concentrate.

No. Surrender was the only option. But Amidala knew that even surrender had its merits.

“Throw down your weapons,” Amidala ordered, projecting her voice perhaps a little more than she needed to. “They win this round.”

Panaka cast a baffled glance in her direction as Anakin and her guards followed her order, and the hall soon filled with the sound of blasters clattering against the marble floor below. The orange tinted battle droid stepped forward, blaster still held aloft and ready to fire.

“You are under arrest,” it declared.

“And where will you take us?” Amidala asked.

“You are now prisoners of the Viceroy,” it replied, its voice as high pitched and grating as ever. “I will take you to him, and he will decide your punishment.”

Quietly, Amidala reveled in her victory - so the droid was to lead her straight to her throne. Perfect. The Viceroy may hold it, but all she needed was to be close to him so that she might pull him from it and reclaim it for herself. As the droids marched Amidala and her party down the long passage to the throne room, Amidala gathered the force around herself. She had few ideas of precisely what she would use it for once they reached the throne room - perhaps for distraction, perhaps for violence - but there was at least one course of action that remained clear to her. 

When she first met with him as the captain of her guard, Panaka had taught her an important lesson - “Plan for every possible contingency.” Certainly, she could rely purely on her own aptitude with the force to bring about Gunray’s defeat, but that was a narrow plan and left little room for error. No, she needed to sow her seeds of strategy much wider if her plan was to come to fruition.

As the droids brought her to the tall doors of her throne room, Amidala sent out a silent call through the force, hoping against hope that it would reach its recipient - the body in which the other half of her soul resided.

“Come, Sabé. I need you.”  

Chapter Text

The throne room of Theed Palace had changed remarkably little in Amidala’s absence. The marble floors gleamed as they always did, the gentle rays of daylight filtered through the tall windows as they always did, and a grandly dressed figure sat on the throne as they always did. Were it not for the blood on her hands and the gun at her back, Amidala could almost believe that she had never left it in the first place. But the palms of her hands rested ragged and bloody at her sides, and she could feel the cold barrel of a blaster against her spine even through her thick battle tunic. And the stately figure resting on the throne was neither queen nor disguised handmaiden, but Viceroy Nute Gunray, who had taken that seat by force and revelled in the poorly won victory.

With Panaka to her left, Anakin to her right, and the remainder of her guards behind her, Amidala marched stony faced into the throne room, keeping her cool gaze trained on Gunray. He rose to greet her, smiling that thin, leering smile that she had so grown to hate - all smug and disingenuous, heavy with arrogance. She did not return the expression. Truth be told, her attention was not totally on her adversary. Rather, she was figuring out how best to use the force to her advantage now that she was in the lion’s den, for she was certain that her victory could only lie in her mastery of the force. 

“Your little insurrection is at an end, Your Highness,” sneered Gunray by way of greeting. 

Perhaps she could throw the force towards the windows and shatter the glass? It would certainly provide ample distraction, and she could easily make use of the ensuing chaos. There were security controls concealed in the arms of the throne - if she could distract Gunray with the shattered glass, push him away from the throne, take it herself, and use those controls to lock the room down, it might give her the upper hand. And surely Panaka would be quick-witted enough to take his own advantage of the chaos and dispatch a few droids while Gunray was distracted, and his guards might do the same. By the time Amidala locked the room down, the number of remaining droids would be thin enough that being locked in with them wouldn’t be a problem. But then there was every chance that the shattered glass might harm her own people, or that a droid would shoot her down before she could reach the throne, or that Panaka wouldn’t act as she expected and the droid forces would overwhelm them anyway. 

“It is time for you to sign the treaty, and end this pointless debate in the Senate” Gunray declared, and he gestured for the orange tinted battle droid to bring him the document in question.

There was a great deal she could do with the droids. Amidala recalled how Padmé had connected with that little astromech upon their initial escape from Naboo, how she had guided its movements and helped it repair their ship in time to escape. She could very easily do the same with one of the battle droids - reach into its metallic psyche and raise its blaster, pull the trigger, murder Gunray and take back her planet from his clammy grey grip. It would appear that he’d been killed as the result of a simple malfunction in the droid’s programming, and there would be enough witnesses to confirm it. No one would suspect foul play, so in turn there would be no need for an investigation, and Amidala would walk free and happy in the secret knowledge that Gunray had died by her manipulating hand. But killing Gunray in cold blood would not end the wars waged on Naboo’s soil. The Federation’s soldiers would not stand down without a direct order from their leader, and there was no telling when that order would come when their leader lay dead and in need of replacement - if it ever came at all. And there was no telling what those droids would do in the absence of their leader.

At Amidala’s inaction, Gunray’s smug mask of superiority cracked a little, and frustration seeped through the gaps. “Your Majesty, may I remind you that signing the treaty is the only option available to you.”

Or perhaps she need only wait for Sabé, Amidala’s second vessel. If Sabé had heard her call, she would come to the throne room with the rest of Naboo’s small army in tow, which vastly outnumbered the droids Gunray had at his disposal in the throne room. Sabé’s arrival would bring a far less risky distraction, and Amidala could envision Gunray seeing her forces and diving for cowardly cover, leaving the throne open for her to reclaim. But relying on Sabé meant relying on her and the soldiers’ ability to dispatch the droids on the lower level and make it to the throne room without attracting any more, and it was highly likely that such an outcome may not come to pass. And there was every possibility that Sabé had not heard Amidala calling for her through the force, rendering her a totally useless pawn in her queen’s gambit. 

Gunray narrowed his bold red eyes, and then he gestured to one of his battle droids, laying the palm of his hand flat in the air. The droid obeyed, approaching and placing its blaster in the palm of its master’s hand without hesitation. Gunray closed his grey fist around the grip, and he inspected it for a while as if to make a show of it. The action drew Amidala from her plotting, and she kept her gaze trained on Gunray. Panaka grew tense beside her, his empty hands twitching at his sides, while Anakin watched Amidala to see what she would do next.

“I see it will take more to persuade you,” Gunray began. “Very well. Let me demonstrate the consequences of your inaction - perhaps this will convince you to offer us your signature.”

Gunray stepped forward, raised his blaster, and rested the tip of it against Anakin’s forehead.

Amidala swallowed, and as the heat of suppressed terror rose to her cheeks, she turned a deaf ear to the fist knocking from inside her skull. “Killing him will achieve nothing. Drop your weapon.”

“Ah, she speaks,” Gunray said with a self-satisfied sneer. Anakin gazed blankly ahead, breathing heavily yet steadily. “You are hardly in the position to give orders to me, Your Highness.”

“He is only a guard. His death holds no strategic advantage.”

“Young for a guard,” Gunray mused beneath his breath. “Besides, you are wrong. You would go to great lengths to save your people - your actions here today are proof of this. Should you refuse to cooperate, this boy will be but the first of your people to fall.”

Amidala gritted her teeth, for there was a wailing in her ears and she could not silence it. “You will not get away with this. You have too many witnesses - it will come to light that I was forced to sign your treaty, and you will be tried for murder.”

Gunray shrugged, yet he still held the blaster firm against Anakin’s forehead. “The memory banks of my droids are easily wiped.”

“And my own testimony? That will count for much in the Senate,” Amidala said, although she knew from experience that the precise opposite was true. 

“I have my means of keeping you silent.”

The pounding ache in her head grew harder and harder to ignore, and the pain rose to a crescendo when the all too confident words fell from Anakin’s lips: “Do it. Shoot me. She’ll never sign her planet over to you.”

A smile curled onto Gunray’s lips, and his grey finger began to squeeze against the blaster’s trigger. “Very well.”

And a great and terrible pain erupted in her psyche as Padmé forced her way to the surface, digging her nails deeply into the walls of Amidala’s consciousness as she dragged herself out of exile. Padmé wanted to save him. Padmé wanted to love him. Padmé wanted to take Anakin’s fate in her hands and shape it to her own design, liberate him from death as she had done so many times in the past, give him the life of freedom she had envisioned for him from the moment she laid eyes on him. The inferno of pre-emptive revenge blazed through her, and she refused to let him die looking as he did - beads of perspiration glittering on his forehead, his face totally and stoically still, his chest rising and falling at a steady yet shaking pace, his fists squeezed tight at his sides, his jaw clenched, his unblinking eyes steely with determination yet heavy with futility. 

Anakin was born in captivity. He had always known he would die before his time. He had spent his whole life waiting for this day to come.   

Padmé wanted to save him. Padmé wanted to love him. And Amidala could not restrain her.

Taking the force like a rope in her spectral hands, Padmé threw out her hands and tightened it around Gunray’s neck. In her mind’s eye, she could see all the shades of red on the spectrum coalescing around his throat, all swathed in the thick collar of his robes - a collar that was meant to protect him, but the force could penetrate anything when it was charged with rage and pulsing with love. And she took her incorporeal noose and tightened it, tightened it, tightened it-

Gunray let out a strangled gasp.

Kill him.

The blaster fell from his hands, clattered to the floor.

Kill him.

Grey hand to grey throat - choking, dying.

Kill him.

Midnight eyes settled upon her.

Kill him.

Watching. Knowing.

Kill him.

All she did was right.

“Padmé, stop!”

The ash and the dust and the fire settled around her, and the blood grew warm on her hands.

Gunray fell to the ground, clutching at his throat as he gasped for desperate breath, paying no mind to his battle droids as they watched their master’s distress with impassive confusion. He sat there for so long, hunched over in the pain of strangulation, all his earlier bravado lost in his weakness and his shock because there had been no hands around his neck to choke him. He was weakened, vulnerable, precisely where he ought to be for the Naboo to claim their victory. Yet Padmé could not move because she was so cold, so terribly cold, and there was a tight sense of horror in her chest that robbed her own breath from her lungs. She too was weakened, vulnerable, but it was a weakness of her own making. If her heart would wither, she would know who to blame.

Staring up at her, his chest heaving with the effort of free breath, Gunray’s blank red eyes widened, a mixture of fear and horror and disgust contorting on his countenance. “Monster!”

The word struck like a hot poker in Padmé’s heart, for she had no grounds to prove him wrong. She had almost killed him. She, who had once stood within these very walls and declared her devotion to peace, had almost taken the life of the man whose death would have plunged her planet into far greater strife than she could imagine. All because he had threatened Anakin’s life. For the sake of one boy, she had almost doomed Naboo to a lifetime of torment. She glanced down at her trembling hands, felt the force churning around them, hot and burning and distressingly familiar. Her friend had abandoned her, replaced by something far more ancient, far more natural.

Elsewhere. Find your power elsewhere. With me, my dear, plant the wretched seed and let it grow.

“Kill her!” cried Gunray, still in a heap on the ground, staring frantically at his droids. But they did not respond to his orders, standing stock still as if there was no life in them at all. “She is evil! I said kill her!”

Silence. The droids remained motionless. Padmé had a vague recollection of ordering her soldiers to destroy the Federation’s droid control ship - had they succeeded? But she was too dazed by the aftermath of her own rage to comprehend it, terrified of the energy that clung to her hands, terrified of the side of herself that had squeezed the breath out of Gunray’s throat. All around her, the throne room spun, tilting and whirling and throwing her off balance. But she had almost killed him. Against her wishes, a tear slid down her cheek, not for Gunray’s barely spared life, but for the inner peace she had lost to her violence. 

A primal yell echoed through the air. Padmé saw Gunray lurching towards his dropped blaster, his hands like claws as they scrambled to close around the weapon. Panaka startled into action, predicting that Gunray was about to enact his own order for Padmé’s death, breaking away from his guards and lunging towards her or Gunray - it didn’t matter who he reached first, so long as he could protect her. But it was Anakin who reached her first, sprinting forward and tackling her to the ground, out of the line of fire. Padmé squeezed her eyes shut as they fell, and a cry burst from her lips as the unmistakable sound of blaster fire lit up the air. A single, lonely shot - she did not feel it graze her own skin, burn through her own clothing. Gunray had missed her, but that meant-

When she hit the ground, Padmé forced her eyes open, willing herself to break free of her numb terror because Gunray had shot Anakin, she was certain of it, and a shockingly cold sense of panic jolted her back into consciousness. She sat up as soon as she could, only to be met with resistance - for Anakin was still holding on to her tightly, his eyes alight with an expression of fear that was much too alert for someone suffering from the pains of a blaster wound. Her lips parted in surprise. “You’re alright?” she stammered out. “I- I thought-”

“You’re not hurt?” Anakin asked at the exact same time, and they both shook their heads in answer to their unison questions. “Then who…?”

They turned to look back at Gunray, both a little breathless from the exertion of their fall. It was Gunray himself who sat doubled over in pain on the floor, his blaster once more lying scattered beside him, the front of his thick robes scorched black. Padmé glanced up at Captain Panaka, expecting to see him wielding a blaster, but his hands were empty, and he looked just as surprised as she felt. And then she heard it - the sound of many booted footsteps echoing down the hall outside the throne room, drawing nearer and nearer with every second. Padmé’s small party, now freed from their droid captors, stepped away from the door - and in walked Sabé, her queen’s battle raiment ragged and stained with scorch marks, her small, delicate hands clutched tight around her raised and smoking blaster. She paid no mind to her audience as she strode purposefully towards Gunray and crouched before him, a look of poised yet visceral rage etched into her painted countenance.

“Viceroy, your occupation here has ended.” 

Without hesitation, she slammed the butt of her blaster against Gunray’s temple, and watched with satisfaction when he collapsed in an unconscious heap at her feet.

***

“Master Qui-Gon? It’s Padmé, are you there?”

Padmé held the communicator close to her lips, her knuckles whitening with the pressure of her grip. In the aftermath of Gunray’s fall, the throne room had come alive with motion - as soon as Sabé knocked him down, Panaka had leapt into action, barking orders to the remaining guards to dispose of the deactivated droids. But Padmé had barely had the strength to lift herself off the floor. As her guards raced around her performing their urgent clean up operation, she could only rest against Anakin, relishing in her exhausted lightness now that they had finally won their battle. She had not failed. She would go down in history as a saviour.

Eventually, Panaka separated them. He’d asked Anakin if he could make contact with Ric Olié and the pilots who’d taken down the droid control ship, a display of trust that Padmé found to be wholly earned after his contribution to their fight. Panaka had been making good use of her companions, sending Rabé to inform the Gungans that they’d defeated Gunray, and Eirtaé to the Theed prison camps to begin the liberation process, both with parties of guards to accompany them. Sabé, arguably, was given the most satisfying job of all: personally escorting Gunray to a secure room in the Palace’s basement, where he would be held prisoner until she contacted Senator Palpatine to inform him of his arrest.

But as for Padmé, Panaka left her alone. Perhaps he’d seen the bone-deep weariness sitting heavily in her expression, for all he’d done after sending Anakin away was give her a gentle and comforting squeeze on the shoulder. She probably should have reprimanded him for being so informal, but she knew that now was not the time for upholding propriety - for that brief moment, Panaka was no longer her captain, but her friend, and that was all she needed him to be.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she mustered the strength to drag herself onto her throne. She was still exhausted, but, having regained a modicum of her usual composure, she knew it would do her companions no good to see their queen moping in a heap on the floor. The very image of her returning to her seat of power would do wonders for their morale, and she owed them that strength for their service. But as she lowered herself into the throne’s plush seat, a lightness like no other overwhelmed her, and through all her terror and exhaustion and rage, only one, beautiful feeling rose to the surface - joy.

The sun shone a little brighter as it streamed through the windows. The chatter of the guards as they dragged the droid corpses from the throne room was vibrant and cheerful. Panaka dispensed with his orders with a confidence like no other, his posture perfect and his countenance bearing no trace of tension. With a communicator to his lips, Anakin was grinning with delight as he made contact with Olié, and Padmé could hear the clear excitement in his voice as he barraged Olié with questions - how was the control ship destroyed, what flight techniques did they use, did he get a good glimpse at how the Federation’s ships were built? And underneath all that relieved cacophony was an absolutely perfect sense of serenity, for the high pitched shots of blaster fire that had once filled the air were but a memory now, and their absence only heightened the beauty of Naboo’s natural ambience. Outside, birds twittered, leaves rustled in the gentle breeze, the waterfalls surrounding the Palace splashed gently against the cliffs. All of it was the very essence of peace, and Padmé closed her eyes and immersed herself in it, the smallest of smiles twitching at her lips.

And then, with a start, she realised exactly why everything felt so unbelievably good. The shadow, the foreboding presence of the nightmare stranger, was gone.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had defeated him.

So she scrambled for the communicator that sat snug in the pocket of her trousers and drew it to her lips, and that was when she asked the question: “Master Qui-Gon, it’s Padmé, are you there?”

Silence. Padmé frowned, certain that she was calling on the right frequency, and tried again.

“Master? Master Qui-Gon?”

The crackle of static was her only reply, and all that beautiful brightness receded into the hazy grey of dread.

“Qui-Gon, can you hear me? We won, the Viceroy’s gone. Master?”

She was vaguely aware of Anakin approaching, his brow furrowed. He must have seen her look of distress and grown concerned - he was always trying to help her, but somehow that didn’t seem important right now. When Qui-Gon did not respond to her call, Padmé fell back on a different method to contact him. She reached out for him, extending the coils of the force through the Palace and down to the hangar, desperately searching for any sign of him, any trace of his own link to the great power they shared. And she could feel everything: Anakin’s concern, Sabé’s satisfaction, the Viceroy’s rage, Panaka’s focus - but nothing from Qui-Gon, and nothing but the deepest, dullest grief from Obi-Wan.

Terror constricted her breath. No. No. No.

“Master, please, answer me!” she cried - but, despite her increasing volume, nobody seemed to notice her, too enthralled in their own work, their own conversations, their own missions. 

Only Anakin heard her, and he leaned against the throne. “What’s going on? Is Master Qui-Gon okay?”

Padmé shook her head. “He’s not answering.”

“Let me try - there might just be something wrong with your communicator.” Anakin brought his own communicator to his lips and altered the frequency. “Master Qui-Gon? Hello? It’s Anakin.”

Suddenly, Padmé’s communicator crackled into life, and Obi-Wan’s voice came through in a haze of interference. But even through all that static noise, Padmé could hear the emptiness in his voice plain as day, and her heart sank with every word. 

No. No. No.

“He’s gone. The stranger. I killed him.”

Anakin, apparently oblivious to the sheer numbness of Obi-Wan’s delivery, broke out into a smile and leaned down to speak into Padmé’s communicator. “Hey, I knew you could do it! We got rid of the Viceroy too, and-”

“He killed Master Qui-Gon.”

Silence. Anakin’s lips hung half open around his interrupted words. “What?”

But Obi-Wan did not reply. The harsh sound of his communicator dropping to the ground clattered through the speaker, and then the buzzing of static cut out. Padmé stared at her communicator, ice water flowing through her veins, and she shook her head.

“No. That can’t be right,” she said, her voice low, in complete denial of what the force told her to be true. “It’s not right. He’s lying.”

If she wasn’t mistaken, the first flush of tears were reddening Anakin’s eyes. “Why would he lie about something like that?”

Gripping Anakin’s hand as tightly as she could, Padmé rose from her throne. With her handmaidens on expeditions of their own, and Panaka busy organising his guards, she knew nobody would notice if she slipped away. Without a word, and with a renewed sense of desperate energy, she fled from the throne room, holding onto Anakin as if he was the only thing keeping her heart beating.

***

The corridors of Theed Palace were empty, save for the scattered corpses of droids and Naboo that lined the halls, scenting the air with an aroma of charred metal and flesh. Padmé and Anakin’s pounding footsteps were the only sound breaking the eerie silence, echoing through the halls as they collided with the scorched marble floors beneath them. They maneuvered around those corpses without a second thought, for, with terrified anticipation hammering in both of their hearts, they were nothing but minor obstacles in their path. Padmé could feel small shards of broken glass digging into the soles of her shoes, and Anakin cursed when he tripped over the body of a fallen droid. But such discomforts did not detain them - they ran as if their lives depended on it, hand in trembling hand, the exhaustion of the battle all but forgotten.

Padmé wasn’t even conscious of all the rooms they passed through, the stairwells they descended, the doors they forced open. She was moving as if on an automated path down to the hangar, guided by her familiarity with the Palace’s layout, but also by the harrowing beacon of Obi-Wan’s grief. The force focused in on it, amplifying it to such a degree that Padmé could feel it aching in her own heart. She barely knew Obi-Wan. She had barely spoken to him. Yet she could feel every last fibre of his grief, his sorrow which should have been sacred, private only for him. And yet she could feel it - she violated him by feeling it.

No. He’s not dead. He can’t be. This is a mistake, it has to be.

When they arrived in the hangar, its polished marble floors still littered with broken droid parts, Padmé skidded to a halt. She could not sense any living beings there, beyond her and Anakin, and she deduced that Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon must have drawn the stranger somewhere else as they fought. She closed her eyes, searching ever deeper for Obi-Wan, for Qui-Gon, and she felt the force tugging her in the direction of the power generators - Obi-Wan’s grief pulsed strongly there. So she beckoned Anakin towards the generator room, and they picked up their sprint once more.

Padmé had never had much cause to enter the generator room before, so the sight of it always took her by surprise. The aesthetics of it were totally incongruous with the rest of Theed Palace, all black metal and shining chrome, and the power generators reached up at least dozens of floors high, the pink and blue energy within dancing inside protective glass casing. Were it not for her distraction, Padmé would have paused to admire them - because they were pretty, really. Absolutely gorgeous. But not even Anakin, who should have gazed at the generators in utter fascination, bothered to stop and watch the pulse. They ran to the centre of the room, and while the space bore no physical signs of the earlier duel, the tension and the heat of it still lingered in the air.

With the force to guide her, it did not take Padmé long to find Obi-Wan. Before, the pull of his grief had been a mere suggestion, a guide for her to follow only if she wished. But now it almost dragged her against her will, her feet moving at a pace she could not control, pulling her through the glowing generators and down a narrow corridor. 

In the room at the end of the corridor, a brown-robed figure sat slumped on the floor, cradling a body close to his chest. Padmé skidded to a halt mere metres away, Anakin following suit, and all she could do was stare and listen to the weeping.

For a moment, that stillness, the warmth of Anakin’s hand in her own, and that terrible weeping, was all that existed in the entire universe.

Her bottom lip trembled. A tear snaked down her cheek - and then another, and then another, until she could not stop the quiet deluge. Slowly, she approached, finally separating from Anakin so she could walk to him, be with him.

Be with her master. Who was dead.

The force held his beating heart no longer. The warm space where the soul of Qui-Gon Jinn had once rested was empty, leaving a hollow in its wake that was vast and abyssal and black. Padmé wondered - when had his candle flickered out? When she was scrambling up the walls of Theed Palace, staining the pale stones with her blood? When she was staring fixed on Gunray’s blaster resting against Anakin’s forehead? Did she play a part in killing him when she had given into the darkness and tried to choke the life out of Gunray?

Why hadn’t she felt it when he died?

There was a smouldering spot of charred flesh and fabric just beneath his heart, barely visible beneath Obi-Wan’s cradling arms - at least his death had been bloodless. Padmé tried to imagine the red blade piercing his flesh, tried to imagine his final cry of pain before he fell, but the visions would not come to her. The force protected her from them. Qui-Gon protected her too, in his own way, for his colourless face was not contorted in the pain of a violent death. He was serene, his eyes closed, his bearded lips slightly parted, and he looked content. 

“Do you want to know the last thing he said?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice echoing in the eerie quiet. 

Padmé nodded. 

“He asked me to make a promise.” Obi-Wan was not looking at Qui-Gon’s still body, nor at Padmé. His glassy eyes stared straight ahead, seeing nothing. “He made me promise to train you. And I did.”

In the ether of the force, Padmé could feel Obi-Wan’s soul attempting to slide into the hollow space where Qui-Gon had once been. But he was an ill fit, she could feel it deep within her - he was too small, darkened by his master’s shadow, inharmonious and so very, very wrong. Yet he would not move. His soul stayed there resolutely, bound by incorporeal ties. She did not know this man. He existed only in the periphery of her vision - she did not trust him, she felt no warmth from him. She had only committed to her Jedi training because of Qui-Gon, because she loved him like a father, because he had been kind and warm, because he had hated the restraints the Jedi order had placed on him so very, very much.

Qui-Gon had understood her, seen in unison her every facet, seeing the totality of her identity when even she had only known herself in fragments. To Obi-Wan, she was a mystery, and he to her. Yet he had made his promise. To Qui-Gon.

He had trapped them both.

Padmé shook her head. “No. No, I won’t do it. Not without him.”

Obi-Wan shot his gaze towards her, his eyes vivid and red and swollen with tears - and the rage that boiled within them frightened her more than anything else she’d experienced in her life. The look in Obi-Wan’s eyes was worse, so much worse, than even the vivid yellow glare of the nightmare stranger. The terror he’d instilled had been a dark, foreboding thing, all encompassing but ultimately impersonal, because everybody shared in it, and that mutual fear had unified them. But Obi-Wan’s rage was charged with the fires of mourning and directed at a single, vulnerable target, and in that moment Padmé knew that the cause of his anger went beyond Qui-Gon’s unfair murder. No, he was angry because of her.

“And disrespect his final wish?” Obi-Wan snapped, his voice laced with agony. “You’d trample all over his love for you? He loved you, Padmé! Like a daughter! And you’d reject him?”

Had he stabbed her straight through the heart with his lightsaber, it would have hurt her less. She could only shake her head, tears sticking in her throat, thick and uncomfortable, trapping her voice within her. Inside, she could feel herself rotting.

“He saw your gift,” Obi-Wan hissed. “We can all see it. It’s bigger than you, Padmé. It’s bigger than you’ll ever be, and if you think you have any right to exert your own wishes over what the force has given you, then you’re more selfish than I thought.”

She wept. She could not stop. 

Obi-Wan bowed his head over his master, staining his robes with his tears. “I won’t break my promise, Master. Padmé, please, don’t make me break it.”

Qui-Gon lay in perfect repose, and sealed their fate in stone.  

Chapter Text

The early morning sun, golden and warm, streamed through the windows in gentle shafts, lighting the empty room with a delicate gradient of yellow and orange. The tall window frames casted long shadows across the floor, stretching as the sun continued its ascent above the horizon. The edges of the room were steeped in a vignette shadow, and outside the distant chime of a mourning bell rang across Theed - tonight, the dead would be remembered.

But not yet.

In the centre of the room stood a very small figure, his green frame swathed in simple brown robes, the thin skin of his long ears made somewhat translucent in the soft light. He was far from an imposing creature, barely two feet tall and standing hunched over a gnarled wooden walking stick. Before him knelt two figures. The first: a girl sitting on the edge of adolescence, draped in a heavy robe of mourning black with her hair concealed beneath a veil of dull, desaturated purple. The second: a man in a pale tunic, his hair shorn short with a single braid dangling down to his shoulders. Together, they bowed their heads in reverence to the short-statured figure before them, grief hanging heavy in the set of their shoulders. Not once did they turn to look at each other.

“Bow to me, you need not.” Jedi Master Yoda’s voice was an aged thing, raspy and a little guttural, yet carrying with it enough solemn authority that it had to be obeyed. Obi-Wan lifted his head first, and Padmé followed shortly after. She couldn’t quite bring herself to look at the little Jedi, so she settled for the window in front of her instead, watching as the sun rose over Theed. She had met Yoda before when she stood before the Jedi Council - she had not liked him very much then, and she did not like him very much now. But perhaps that was less the fault of Yoda himself, and more the fault of her own disposition.

“Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan began, and Padmé tried not to focus too much on the hoarseness lingering in his unnaturally calm voice. “Master Qui-Gon made me promise to train this girl in his stead. I intend to keep that promise.”

“Understand, I do.” Yoda gave a low, slow nod. “Confer on you the level of Jedi Knight, the Council does.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“But, agree with you taking this young woman as your padawan learner, I do not.”

At last, Padmé glanced at him, her weary heart skipping a beat.

Obi-Wan’s jaw tightened. “Qui-Gon believed in her.”

“Talented with the force, she may be,” Yoda said. “Nevertheless, grave danger I fear in her training.”

Tears pricked at Padmé’s eyes, and she tried to blink them back. But she could see the pain in Gunray’s eyes as she squeezed the life out of him, feel the ash and dust settling on her skin, and hear all those unknown screams of the future raging in her ears. All that pain would come to pass if she did not learn to control her powers - so why did Yoda resist? Would he rather she run rampant? But his dismissal would keep her on her throne, and that was all she had ever wanted, even when Qui-Gon was alive to frighten her with those horrific visions of the future. Yet now the prospect of remaining on Naboo brought her no joy at all, her initial desires corrupted by the potential futures that lay before her. A great sense of hopelessness overwhelmed her when she thought of the war she had waged to keep her throne in contrast to the apathy she now felt about sitting in it. A tension headache erupted in her temples, and her hands twitched at her side - they felt empty, and she yearned for the touch of the calloused, scarred hand of her friend.

“Master Yoda, I gave Qui-Gon my word,” Obi-Wan reiterated. “I will train Padmé without the approval of the Council, if I must.”

Yoda bowed his head, and a strange fondness filtered into his words. “Qui-Gon’s defiance, I sense in you. Need that, you do not - agree with you, the rest of the Council does.” He looked at Padmé now, his little eyes narrowed. “Your apprentice, she will be.”

Padmé glanced down to the floor, hating Yoda for taking her away from Naboo and loving him for saving her from those visions of violence. As love and hate collided within her, they cancelled each other out, leaving Padmé barren of all feeling.

“I will have to give up my throne,” Padmé said, her voice cold, featureless - not quite Amidala’s voice, but something near it. 

To her surprise, Yoda shook his head. “Taken your station into account, we have. After such suffering, a poor decision removing the Queen from her throne would be.”

“You’ll only let me train her once she’s finished her term?” Obi-Wan asked, his surprise apparent. “Forgive me, Master, but that’ll take two years. She’s already older than most padawans as it is-”

“Train on Naboo, you will,” Yoda declared. “That you should begin your training and complete your term in office in unison, the Council has agreed.”

Padmé widened her eyes. “You expect me to divide my loyalties? How am I to give my full attention to my people, my planet, while trying to master the force at the same time?”

“Believe in your own abilities, you do not?” Yoda asked, tipping his little head. Padmé swallowed, raising her hackles at the question, but Obi-Wan spoke before she could say something she’d regret.

“Master Yoda, you know as well as I do that a padawan’s training goes far beyond what their master can teach them,” he said. “How do you expect Padmé to truly master the force without other padawans learning alongside her? Other masters to council her when I cannot? A Jedi must never train alone.”

“Train alone, she will not,” Yoda confirmed, turning to look at Obi-Wan. “To join Padmé on Naboo, two padawans and their masters have agreed.”

“Who?” Obi-Wan asked. Padmé couldn’t care less about the identities of her fellow padawans - what upset her most was that these arrangements had already been made regardless of whether she agreed to them or not. Queen of the Naboo she may be, but her power meant nothing to these Jedi.

She was certain that Qui-Gon would have asked for her opinion, and checked how she felt before progressing. But Yoda and Obi-Wan carried on with their conference as if she were not even there.

“Master Plo Koon and Padawan Tano - come to Naboo, they will,” Yoda said. “Follow them, Master Unduli and Padawan Offee will.”

The names meant nothing to Padmé, but Obi-Wan seemed to recognise them. “They’re close enough in age, I suppose. And Masters Plo Koon and Unduli will be an excellent influence on her.”

“Precisely. Master Kenobi - agree to this compromise, do you?”

“I do.”

Padmé clenched her fists in the thick fabric of her mourning gown - this was not Obi-Wan’s decision to make, and yet his opinion was the only one considered. But Yoda was affirming what she already knew: that she had no choice in this matter. It was her life, but they were the agents in it.

“Very well,” Yoda said, nodding slowly. “Settled, the matter is.”

Outside, the mourning bell chimed.

***

For one dim, harrowing night, Theed became a funeral city.

Countless lives had been lost to the Federation’s cruelty, whether starved in the prison camps or slaughtered in the battle for Naboo’s freedom. All of the victims were innocent, all had futures and hopes and loves and tiny little passions that made them smile - gentle, lovely things that were now buried deep in the ground, smothered by soil and eaten through by worms, rot, decay. The scent of decay had blanketed Theed’s pure air, a constant reminder of the quiet carnage, slowly building and building as the bodies, left out in the sun, began to putrefy. Theed’s survivors had done what they could to take the bodies from the streets, the camps, the halls of the Palace, to connect the corpses with their grieving families, to bury them in a manner befitting their living goodness. And then there were the funerals. Too many to name, too many to count - and Queen Amidala attended them all. 

The Gungans too were to have their funerals, deep in the waters of Lake Paonga. Queen Amidala was not invited.

Now, she stood before one final body, laid out to rest in a small temple just beyond the palace, raised on a walkway above Theed’s magnificent waterfalls. Qui-Gon Jinn would not be buried, but burned, a Jedi tradition. Supposedly, the burning of the body would better allow the dead soul to wander freely into the force, escape from the mortal flesh as it charred and fell away. A burial would only stifle that soul, trap it in the dirt even as it escaped from its rotting vessel. Padmé knew that such a belief was false, for in death there was no soul left to free or trap or honour - she could feel the space where Qui-Gon’s soul had once been, and it had been empty from the moment that crimson blade pierced his flesh and extinguished his life. Like a dying star, he had blinked out.

Qui-Gon lay stretched out on a funeral pyre, still dressed in his Jedi robes with the blackened stain below his heart. Within the little domed temple that housed his body stood countless friends, allies, fellow Jedi, all of those he had welcomed into his warm heart. Padmé stood near his head, flanked by Panaka and Governor Bibble, with Sabé, Eirtaé, and Rabé behind them, all dressed in black to match their queen. Her handmaidens were tired, for they had mourned Saché and Yané too this day, and they kept their heads bowed. Scattered throughout the room were the surviving members of Panaka’s guard, who had not known Qui-Gon particularly well, but had respected him and wanted to show it now, at a time when he would not see it. Palpatine, who had made haste to Naboo as soon as he’d heard of its freedom, stood shrouded in shadow, and behind him lingered Anakin, whose eyes shone brightly with an ache that suggested he had seen all of this before. All the other bodies in the room were those of the Jedi, members of the Council that Padmé recognised among other nameless, faceless knights. Master Yoda stood with Master Windu, and they spoke quietly amongst themselves of matters that Padmé did not care to know about. Next to them stood Obi-Wan, ashen and dull.

From the crowd emerged a figure, carrying a flaming torch in his hand that lit up the gloomy temple, casting an orange glow that carved out the shadows in the faces of the mourners. She knew this man - Dooku, Qui-Gon’s master, who she had only met briefly in the austerity of the Jedi Temple, who had seemed to her so distant, so difficult to read. His feelings were plain now. In the stony, still set of his face, Padmé recognised something of herself - trapped in his love for his padawan, her master, utterly crushed by it, and yet unable to dwell on it for the litany of other troubles that plagued his mind. She did not, could not, know what those troubles were, but it was the blankness of his expression that gave them away, exposing a numbness that lingered so acutely in Padmé’s own grieving heart. 

For one brief moment, the force recognised that continuity between them, and their eyes met as he stepped towards Qui-Gon’s body. A flash of a mutual shadow, and then that old numbness overwhelmed them once more. The force receded.  

Dooku muttered something under his breath as he came to stand next to Qui-Gon’s body, too low for Padmé to understand. He lowered the torch to rest above Qui-Gon’s heart, and the flames immediately caught on the fabric of his robes, filling the temple with the scent of smoke. He brought the torch then to the pyre beneath, sending his padawan sailing on a river of fire - and Padmé so desperately wanted Qui-Gon to cry out in pain as the flames licked at his skin, as the blaze burned through his robes and scorched his hair, wanted him to wake and scream at the pain, because at least then he would be alive. But he lay, as ever, in the stillness of tranquil repose, caring nothing for the burning of his own flesh.

As the smell of smoke and smouldering skin filled the temple, Padmé reached out desperately for Amidala, yearning for her mask so that she might slip behind it and drown in her passivity. But it eluded her, and in her absence Amidala forced her out onto the open plane of grief, leaving her totally vulnerable to it as it swallowed her whole. As Qui-Gon’s body vanished wholly into the flames, Padmé vanished with him into an entirely different abyss - of hopelessness, devastation, loneliness, terror. He was supposed to be alive. He was supposed to be at her side, standing before Master Yoda and advocating for her idiosyncratic path towards mastery of the force, reassuring her that although she may be soon subsumed within the wretched sameness of the Jedi Order, he would help her preserve the lovely core of her inner self. 

She wanted to run, to flee the temple, to hide away and wait until Amidala came to rescue her and smother her within the folds of her gown. She could not bear to watch the funeral pyre burn any longer - she hated this tradition, hated it in all its cruelty, for where was the kindness in forcing Qui-Gon’s loved ones to watch him as he burned, to watch his once vital living flesh peel and bubble and fall away to ash? Was this to be their final memory of him? But she had no choice but to stay, to watch, to grieve, to force herself into silence - to mimic Amidala’s dignity when the strength of her was nowhere to be found.

Qui-Gon burned, and burned, and burned, until there was nothing left of him but charred and blackened bone.

***

When Qui-Gon’s funeral finally came to its bitter close, Padmé realised that there was only one person in the galaxy who could give her the comfort that she so desperately sought.

She found Anakin sitting on the edge of the raised walkway that led to the temple, his legs swinging as he watched the waterfalls cascading before him. Most of those who had attended the funeral had since returned to the Palace, guided by Panaka, Sabé, Rabé, and Eirtaé to the quarters they’d been assigned for the night. She was aware that a few of the mourners still lingered in the temple, but she’d been so desperate to escape the smoke and flee into the fresh night air that she hadn’t paid their identities any mind. So, for the most part, she and Anakin were totally alone on that walkway beneath the stars, and she was glad that he had not vanished into the Palace with the others. He seemed so peaceful sitting there by himself, contemplating, thinking, turning something over in his hands that Padmé could not see. She almost hesitated, not wanting to disturb him - but then she thought of a night not so long ago, when the whirling blues of a hyperspace tunnel had undulated in his eyes, and remembered just how crucial his comfort was, and always would be, to her sanity.

“Anakin?” she said, and it felt strange to speak in her unmodified voice when dressed in Amidala’s regalia. 

He glanced up at her, and his eyes widened a little at the sight of her, all white of face and draped in black and muted purple. Were it not for her voice, she doubted he would have recognised her. He swallowed, betraying his nerves - but he did not get to his feet for her. “Hello, Your Majesty.”

Padmé sighed, glancing downwards. “I’m not… I can’t be her right now.”

Anakin understood. As a show of hospitality, he scooted over a little and gestured for her to take a seat next to him. Decorum would never have allowed Queen Amidala to sit on the ground in her finery, but Padmé could not bring herself to care - she was too tired, and Panaka was not around to scold her. Gathering up her dark skirts, she eased herself down beside Anakin, and she threw her legs over the side so they could dangle down next to his. She could only imagine what a pair they made.

They sat in silence, unable to find the words for a conversation - grief, she suspected, had muted them both. Instead, they listened to the gentle flow of the waterfalls, smothering their shared sadness in an appreciation for their grand and natural beauty. It was a poor distraction, Padmé knew, and the knowledge that Qui-Gon’s charred remains lay only metres away somewhat limited the comfort the waterfalls could give. But perhaps the waterfalls were not what truly mattered, but the company of the friend with which she watched them.

“Are you okay?” Anakin asked at length, his voice a little hoarse.

Padmé saw no reason to lie to him. “No.”

“Me neither.”

It was the only excuse she needed. Padmé reached out for Anakin’s hand - but instead of meeting the warm touch she expected, her fingers tangled in something that felt like string. She glanced at their hands and found them conjoined by a thick, pale thread, which she gently eased out of Anakin’s hands after silently requesting his permission. She pulled the item away and discovered what it was - a pendant, with a simple wooden charm dangling from the thread, the small expanse of its flat surface carved with delicate yet inelegant spirals and lines and little stars. She studied it for a moment, taken in by its simple loveliness, then looked to Anakin for enlightenment.

“What is it?”

In the low glow of the lamps that lined the walkway, Padmé could see him blushing. “It’s a necklace. I made it for you.”

Despite herself, a small smile tugged at the corners of Padmé’s lips. “You made this yourself? When did you find the time?”

“When we were in the Gungan’s sacred place, while we were waiting for Captain Panaka to come back from Theed,” Anakin explained. Suddenly, Padmé remembered - Anakin, seated in the palm of a stone statue, occupying himself with something in his hands. She’d assumed he’d been looking at Queen Pélara’s pendant, or studying a blaster, but never would she have suspected that he’d been carving the treasure she held now. “I know it’s not as nice as the one you gave me, but I wanted to give you something too. It just felt right.”

Padmé thought of all the jewelry in her royal wardrobe, and all the gifts and tokens Amidala had received from visiting delegates, and knew that they all paled in comparison to Anakin’s little gift. “I love it. Thank you.”

He smiled a little, but the expression soon faded, and she could see the redness of lingering tears still shadowing his eyes. Eventually, he spoke again. “What’ll you do now?”

Closing her hands around the pendant, Padmé gazed back out at the waterfalls. “I’m going to stay on Naboo to finish my term and begin my training with Obi-Wan.”

“At the same time?”

“Mhm.”

Anakin thought for a moment. “Sounds hard.”

“It will be. I don’t know how I’ll be able to manage.”

“You just liberated your entire planet - I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“I hope so.” She heaved out a sigh, and unshed tears thickened in her throat. “I just don’t know if I can do it without Qui-Gon. If he were still here, none of this would feel so frightening.”

“It doesn’t have to feel like that.” When Padmé furrowed her brow in confusion, Anakin elaborated. “I was scared when my mothers died, like how you’re feeling now. I didn’t know what I was going to do without them - they’d always been there to look out for me, and they knew so much about the slaving business that they knew how to protect me from the worst of it. They couldn’t keep me safe all the time, but they tried. And because they tried, they taught me how I could look after myself without them.” He swallowed something back - grief, deeper than Padmé could ever know, a grief beyond weeping. “But I know that so long as I keep looking after myself just like they taught me, I’ll keep a part of them alive.”

Despite herself, Padmé smiled. “It’s like they survive through your actions.”

“Exactly. And you can do the same with Qui-Gon. If you think about how he might have taught you and try to learn from that along with whatever Obi-Wan tries to teach you, it’ll be like he never left.”

Padmé could have drowned in her love for him. “I’ll try. Thank you, Anakin.”

Another stretch of silence fell over them. If it weren’t for the bulk of her headdress, Padmé thought she might have leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder - all she wanted was to be close to him. He had survived so much, been hurt so awfully, and it had done nothing but strengthen him, made him resilient, made him wise. If he could wear such a brave face despite all his lifelong grief, then surely Padmé could too?

“Has anybody ever told you that you’re very wise?” Padmé asked, and Anakin laughed a little, like a beacon of light in the densest night.

“No,” he said. “No, no one’s ever told me that.”

“Well, I think you are,” she said. “I’m glad we met.”

“Me too.” He faltered a little, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. “I’m going to miss you.”

Padmé frowned. “Miss me? You’re not leaving, are you?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “I just assumed that I won’t see you anymore now that this is all over. I mean, you’re going to be really busy running a whole planet, and now you’ve got your Jedi training on top of that. You’re not going to have time for anyone, let alone someone like me.”

“But where will you go? What will happen to you?”

“Qui-Gon promised me that he’d help set me up on Coruscant, but I guess that doesn’t matter now. I’ll just have to figure it out on my own.” 

A chill of dread spiked through her heart. In Qui-Gon’s absence, Anakin was the only true friend she had left. All her acquaintances, new and old, only knew her through the haze of her manifold identities - she suspected that her friendships with Panaka and Sabé would never be the same once they found out about her training, while to Obi-Wan and the Jedi Order her only value lay in her ability to wield the force. Qui-Gon had been the first to unite the two sides and discover the truth of the young woman trapped in between, while Anakin came to care for her in that vital moment when she had been neither queen nor Jedi. To Qui-Gon she was so much more than she was, and to Anakin she was so much less, and she loved them both for recognising her capacity to exist beyond her titles and roles and masks. Oh, how dearly she loved them.

She did not want to let Anakin go. She wanted to hold him close to her for as long as she could, to keep him where he was safe and loved and cared for. For she did care for him - love him - more than words could express, and the thought of him floating away into the unknown and vanishing without a trace grieved her so very, very much. She was tired of grief. She could not stand it anymore, and she knew that she needed to do everything she could to protect herself from it. 

Anakin had to stay with her on Naboo - it was their only choice, she knew that with certainty. Visions of a lovely future flashed before her, of she and Anakin wandering down the streets of Theed with the sun shining on their faces, of Anakin befriending her handmaidens and finally learning what true and permanent friendship could feel like, of Anakin giving her solace when the expectations of her two stations threatened to crush her. And she could think of so many practical advantages of his presence too - he’d be a perfect fit to join Ric Olié’s squad of pilots, and the friendship he’d struck with Boss Nass would make him an invaluable asset in any future reconciliation talks with the Gungans. 

He could not leave. She could not lose him. On Naboo, their shared life could be so beautiful - the most beautiful thing in the galaxy.

“Anakin-”

“Ah, Your Majesty, I thought you had returned to the Palace.”

Padmé glanced up at the source of the interrupting voice - Senator Palpatine, swathed in black, staring down at her with a fond bemusement in his expression. The sight of him was so jarring that she almost forgot how to speak, and she stammered a little as she tried to shift into her professional persona - but with thoughts of a future with Anakin still hammering in her heart, it was remarkably difficult. 

“Senator,” she said at last, her voice finding a strange middleground between Padmé and Amidala. She moved to stand up, and Palpatine offered his hand to aid her - Anakin remained seated, his head ducked, avoiding eye-contact with them both. Once she was on her feet, she quickly brushed herself down and straightened out her gown, grateful for her white makeup as it concealed the flush of heat in her cheeks. “It is good to see you. Thank you for coming.”

“I must offer my condolences,” he said, solemn. “I did not know Master Jinn very well, but all I have heard of him speaks to his good character. It must have been a privilege to know him as you did.”

“It was,” she said, her voice tight. Memories of Qui-Gon shattered the healing reverie she had found with Anakin, and a whole host of fresh pains assaulted her as she tried to maintain her composure. “Thank you for your sympathies, Senator.”

He bowed his head in acknowledgement - and then he smiled. “Ah, but I am afraid you must refer to me by a new title now.”

Padmé made the connection without guidance. “You have been elected Chancellor?”

“It was declared just this morning,” he said, his pride unmistakable. “It should have been a much slower process, of course, but the Senate does move in mysterious ways. I do not wish to brag, Your Highness, but it seems my victory was something of a landslide.”

A new feeling seeped into her consciousness - that the entire Republic should be ruled by one of her own gave her a sense of glorious, golden pride. “Then I must offer my congratulations. I am sure you will guide the Republic to greatness.”

“I certainly intend to,” he said. But it was then that a tapping of footsteps caught his attention, and he shifted his gaze over Padmé’s shoulder with a slight look of concern on his face. Padmé followed, and with a start she saw that Anakin had got to his feet and was now trying to slip away unnoticed. Without thinking, she opened her mouth to call for him, but Palpatine beat her to it. “I say, you aren’t the same young man who aided Her Majesty on Tatooine?”

Anakin froze in his tracks, and Padmé desperately hoped that he would turn and respond - if he ran away now, she may finally lose him for good. But he did just as she wished, although he still failed to meet the Chancellor’s eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“It’s Anakin, isn’t it?” he asked, and Anakin nodded. “Come here, then. I’d like to speak with you.”

Her eyes widening a little, Padmé watched as Anakin approached. She wracked her brain for any possible reason why Palpatine might want to speak specifically to Anakin of all people - perhaps he wanted to thank him, or offer his sympathies, for he was kind enough to dispense that sort of gentleness to strangers. But there was a certain gravity in the new Chancellor’s expression that spoke to something greater than a desire to exchange mere pleasantries, and Padmé receded a little to let the exchange play out, content to watch it with curious interest.

Anakin gazed at Palpatine with his nerves shining plain in his eyes, his hands fidgeting at his sides. He seemed at a loss for words, perhaps even more confused than Padmé. Fortunately, Palpatine started the conversation for him.

“I have spoken to some members of Captain Panaka’s guard,” he began, “and from what they tell me, you have fought quite bravely for my planet - is this true?”

Anakin nodded, though he seemed a little startled that his efforts had been noticed. “Yes, Sir.”

“Then may I ask - what is it about Naboo, a planet you barely know, that compels you to place yourself at such risk?”

It took Anakin a moment to consider his response, and Padmé could see the gears clicking and turning behind his eyes as he ran through all the possibilities. “I think it’s more the people that I wanted to help than the planet, Sir.” Briefly, he flashed his gaze in Padmé’s direction, and her flush only deepend. “Your people were very kind to me, and I wanted to do what I could in return.”

“To the point where you would abandon your home and fight in our wars?”

“I don’t have much of a home to abandon, Sir. I’m grateful that I got to leave.”

“And why’s that?”

“I was enslaved there, Sir.”

Palpatine’s eyes widened, and he looked at Padmé for a moment before turning back to Anakin. “Goodness me, I suspect there is more to the story of how you two met than I understood. But, I suppose, with no home to call your own, you’ve found yourself in quite a predicament. Where will you go now, hm?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, trailing off a little. He then cleared his throat a little and refocused. “Sir.”

Padmé saw the opportunity of offering Anakin a home on Naboo reopening before her eyes - now was the perfect time, and certainly Chancellor Palpatine would approve. He seemed to like Anakin, and was grateful for his services in their fight against the Federation. He would only be too glad to arrange his citizenship, endow him with all the rights owed to members of the Republic, and help him to build his new life in whatever other ways he could. 

But she did not speak up quickly enough.

“Anakin, my boy, there is something I must confess to you - in perfect confidentiality, do you understand?” There was a warmth in his delivery that suggested his secret was not so grave as his words suggested. Padmé supposed that she would be let in on this secret too, and so she listened accordingly even as Palpatine laid his hands on Anakin’s shoulders in a further show of conspiracy. “I have devoted all my years to Naboo and its politics, and while that has gratified me more than words can express, I feel that I have had to sacrifice something equally meaningful for the sake of it.”

Anakin furrowed his brow. “What’s that?”

“Family,” he said simply. “I have always regretted that I will leave nothing behind but my political legacy.”

Padmé felt herself all at sea - this was not a turn she was expecting, and her confusion did wonders to chase away her grief for a time. Anakin, it seemed, felt much the same way.

“I’m sorry,” he said, a little hesitantly. “But, um… I’m not sure what I can do to, uh, help with that.”

“I shall speak plainly, then.” Palpatine stood up a little straighter, but his warm gaze never left Anakin’s face. “There is room in my household for a ward. I would like to offer that place to you.”

His eyes like saucers, Anakin froze in place, and he looked to Padmé for help as he desperately grasped for a response. It certainly was not the outcome Padmé had expected from the conversation - indeed, she could not figure out where the compulsion had come from at all. As far as she knew, Palpatine had only spoken to Anakin once when they’d first arrived on Coruscant, and that brief conversation had been largely dominated by Qui-Gon’s determination to keep the two separate. Padmé had never understood Qui-Gon’s behaviour then - and she quickly stifled a rising sorrow when she remembered that she would never be able to ask him now. 

But the more she thought about it, the more she thought that Anakin should accept Palpatine’s offer regardless of its out-of-the-blue nature. As Chancellor, he could offer Anakin all the opportunities that had been denied to him and then some, opening his life up to all the wonder and goodness he could ever wish for. He would be cared for, kept in safety, and would want for nothing - the scars and the dust and the blood and the grief of his past would be but a hazy nightmare, receding into the untouchable past where it belonged. But perhaps her strongest reason for supporting Palpatine’s adoption of him was a selfish one. For accepting the offer would take Anakin to Coruscant, where Padmé herself would no doubt be sent after her term ended to continue her Jedi training, and so they could still be together, still be friends, still be close. The two years of her term may separate them, but once they had passed they would have their entire lives to spend in each other’s company. In fact, Palpatine had presented a far better opportunity for togetherness than Padmé had in her original plan of keeping him on Naboo - if he were to stay on Naboo, she would only abandon him again when she left for Coruscant.

Palpatine, whether he knew it or not, had sealed a beautiful path for them both.

Finally, Anakin stammered out a response. “Sir, I- But you’re the Chancellor, you can’t adopt someone like me, it wouldn’t be right. I’m just a slave, Sir.”

“Are you not free?” he asked, and Anakin nodded. “Then it is no matter. You are in need of a home, and I have a desire to share mine - and we would visit Naboo often, for the last thing I would want is for you to be separated from the people you obviously care so deeply for.” He glanced at Padmé then, only for a moment. “You would be made a citizen of the Republic, and benefit from all its freedoms and privileges. And I would ensure that your introduction to society would be as seamless as I can make it.”

“That’s all very generous, and I’m grateful - of course, I’m grateful - but I- I don’t understand.” He seemed almost pained, yet a smile seemed determined to flicker onto his lips - two opposite reactions warring in his consciousness, overwhelming him. Perhaps, it hurt Padmé to realise, he simply could not comprehend that somebody actually wanted him, and that the life on offer to him would be a safe one, a loving one.

“If I may,” she said, slipping into the conversation with as much grace as she could manage. “Anakin, I think you should accept the Chancellor’s offer.”

He looked at her with widened eyes. “You do?”

“Yes.”

After briefly glancing at the Chancellor, Anakin moved towards her, arriving at her side where he spoke in a lowered voice. “I’d hoped…”

Padmé tilted her head a little. “Hoped for what?”

“That I could stay with you,” he admitted, quietly, a little bashful. “I thought we could figure something out, or-”

With a smile, Padmé silenced him. “You will see me again, I promise. In two years, when I finish my term, I’ll come to Coruscant, and it’ll be like nothing ever changed. The Chancellor will be good to you, I know that. I’d trust him more than anyone.”

Anakin’s smile won out over his pained confusion. It was a light little thing, a trifle twitchy in its excitement, a little crooked. She loved it. He glanced over at Palpatine, but he stayed near her, warm in their closeness. “Two years, then?” 

“You’ll go?”

“Mhm.” He leaned in closer, taking her hands, their faces almost brushing against each other in an intimacy that Padmé had never known before. She noticed him hesitate, his eyes darting around in uncertainty - and then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek, his lips rough yet warm against the soft skin of her face, and it lit up all the fires of wonder in Padmé’s heart. If she could, she would close her eyes and linger in that feeling forever, because now she knew that Anakin shared in her feelings for him, and the kiss had sealed a promise that he would wait for her. When he pulled away, his beauty made her dizzy, and he looked as though he wanted to say something - but words died on his tongue when he realised that the kiss had said everything he could possibly need to say.

The warmth of his hands lingered in hers even as he pulled away and went to Palpatine’s side, and she could still feel the trace of his lips against her cheek - she hoped it would never fade, that it would last her the two long years before they saw each other again. Anakin said something to Palpatine, something Padmé could only assume was an acceptance of his offer of guardianship. With a smile, Palpatine guided him towards the Palace, speaking to him perhaps of the new life he would lead now - an abruptly offered life, but a charmed one nevertheless. Padmé still could not quite puzzle out the Chancellor’s motivations, but she was grateful for their outcome. More than she knew, she was grateful.

As they departed, Padmé glanced down at the pendant Anakin had given her, the thread still tangled around her fingers. She squeezed it tight, loving it as a token of his kindness, as something to remember him by until she saw him again. She resolved to wear it always, just as she hoped that Anakin would always wear the golden pendant that she had given to him. For two years, those pendants would be all they’d have to cling to.

Two years, and she could see him again. Two years, and they could pick up where they left off. Two years, plenty of time to shake off the shrouds of grief and sorrow and live together, love together, in a way that could best even the most delightful of dreams. Two years, an age and an eye-blink all at once. 

Two years, and then eternity.