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From the time she was small, she had wanted to help. Her father had taken her offworld. She stepped foot on dying planets and tried to hold back the inevitable. Sometimes, it hadn’t been enough, but she had always volunteered to try again.
The girl straightened. She always acted as though she was being watched. Her appearance was her first line of defense, and she planned to muster it as deliberately as possible.
The girl in the white dress was going to be Queen, and she was ready.
Amidala, she called herself. They could be twins, almost. Two girls with the same face. And a security officer had come all the way here to talk to a girl who was always second.
Even in a semi-frozen moment in the past, Padmé was a force to be reckoned with. Jobal had known that. She’d seen it from the time the girls were little. To have that potential tapped so early in Padmé’s life was a gift, and Jobal knew her daughter wouldn’t squander it.
It was tradition, but it was a comfort, too—a reminder that her part was bigger than herself, that she would be acting in service, not selfishly for her own gain.
And it was time. Her time. Amidala.
She was a challenge to read. Most fourteen-year-olds, even the brilliant ones, showed some emotions when they spoke, but the Queen had hardly done that all afternoon. Even her response to her election had been cold.
Though it got easier every day, such control did not yet come naturally to her, and sometimes she just wanted to smile. She lay back on the bed, a grin stretching across her face. She had done it.
Queen Amidala. It sounded regal. Perfect. Beautiful. And, to all appearances, the Queen herself was all three.
“The differences between Padmé and Amidala, I mean. I think with you I’ll have to be both.” It was not quite an apology, but Tsabin understood. “I promise to wait until after your reign is over before I write a tell-all for the holos about all the things you messed up in the early days,” she said. Padmé laughed.
The problem was that politicians wrote so many things down, and then Obi-Wan had to read them, because his master had a feeling that something was coming. Qui-Gon had a deeply annoying habit of being correct about this sort of thing, which was one of the reasons Obi-Wan hadn’t mutinied. Well, that and because he’d tried something very like mutiny once, and it hadn’t gone well.
He was supposed to be meditating on his lightsaber forms. Or helping his peers contemplate their feelings. Or rearranging stones in the rock garden. Or doing literally anything else, but no: he was reading Senate bills about tax reforms for space lanes that went to planets he’d never heard of. At least he’d always liked the library in the Jedi Temple.
He was used to Qui-Gon getting involved in things the Council didn’t entirely approve of, but he appreciated some advance warning about when it was going to happen, if only so he could pack.
It would have bothered Obi-Wan, once upon a time. As a boy he’d held the Council in such high regard, the be-all and end-all of true Jedi ambition. He still didn’t entirely agree with Qui-Gon’s approach to things, but he had long ago accepted it as a viable alternative. It was, after all, important to avoid absolutes.
These trappings were not the most important aspect of her new job, but Padmé was Naboo to her fingertips: she knew how to appreciate good art, and the throne room was full of it.
I want you to do this because you are good at something she’s not.” “Deceit,” Rabene said.
Furthermore, she and Eirtaé had finished three new headpieces, in addition to their other duties, and a dress that had all the appearance of a traditional Naboo gown at one-third the weight. The new gown had much easier fasteners, making it simpler to get in and out of, which Rabé had insisted on after they showed her the original designs.
The situation between Saché and Yané didn’t change, nor did it become any clearer what the situation actually was. They were friendly enough to each other, but Saché would not be left alone with the older girl. She refused to explain why, and Yané did not seem to take offense. Gentle teasing only made Saché uncomfortable and caused Yané to shut down, so eventually the others just gave up and accepted it as a personality quirk.
It made him angry to wait, to be pushed to the side while his master manipulated the galaxy without him. It made him feel unwanted, and worse: unneeded. And, of course, that made him angry, too.
maul u are a victim 💔 thinking about when sidious abandons him in clone wars and he's literally in tears...
Most of all, he hated the Jedi. They hadn’t come for him. He didn’t know if they had sensed him and found him unworthy, or if, in his untrained state, he hadn’t been worth their time, but it didn’t matter. They had ignored him, passed him over for some unknown reason, and even though he had been better served by their neglect—he was more powerful with his anger than he could have been without it—he counted the days until he could make them pay.
If asked, Maul would say he feared nothing. He was wrong.
Amidala was clad in purple. Her underdress was completely covered by the stiff velvet of her outermost layer, except at her collar, where soft lavender curled around her neck. For the rest, she might have been a statue. The dress was embroidered so heavily that it weighed itself down, instead of using tricks around the hem to make sure everything stayed in place. A deep green sash completed the look.
“This is why Panaka thinks he’s aged ten years since the election,” Saché said. “This right here.” “Here’s to the next ten, I guess,” Eirtaé said, lifting her teacup in a toast. “And the ten after that,” said Sabé.
The Queen was directed to sit and not move until given permission, and Padmé complied with a laugh. “That means your face, too,” Rabé said, hovering close with foundation and a brush. “I’m not making a mistake because you’re giggling.” Padmé laughed harder, but schooled her expression when Rabé started to look exasperated. She closed her eyes and let the wardrobe mistress do her work.
Padmé was not so distracted that she didn’t notice Harli flirt shamelessly with Sabé. What surprised her was the degree to which Sabé flirted back. Nothing inappropriate, of course, and it was possible the adults thought they were just quietly getting to know each other while the grown-ups talked about something they thought was boring, but Padmé could see the truth. She didn’t know if Sabé was pressing an advantage or if there was a genuine attraction, and she didn’t know how in the world she was going to find out, not without pulling rank. Her relationships with her handmaidens were
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