By: AngelQueen
We of the Naboo called it the Years of Sorrow. The days following the fall of the Republic and the rise of the Empire held nothing but grief for our world. We heard rumors of the celebrations on Coruscant, commemorating the enthronement of the Emperor.
There were no such demeaning gestures on Naboo. We wept for the loss of democracy. Despite the troubles the Republic had caused in the past, we still believed in its principles.
We wept for the loss of the Jedi. How could we possibly forget the one who gave his life for us? And for the other two who aided us in our darkest hours?
We wept for the loss of our greatest leader. Amidala was gone. Cut down in her very prime, her child never experiencing the beauty of life.
I called it the Years of Betrayal. I never spoke of the mighty Emperor, nor would I, and many others, speak his name. We had only one word to give for him: paksahara. Traitor. He who betrayed the very foundation of our world and our beliefs.
Those years were so hard, especially in the beginning. I had been residing at home for several weeks, waiting for my Lady’s next commission. It did not come. At least, not in the way I was expecting.
I was received a call from Padmé’s parents, asking that I come to their home without delay. I arrived to find the household in shambles. Sola was in the sitting room, crying and clutching Ryoo and Pooja tightly as they sobbed into their mother’s shoulders. Jobal’s face was pale and blank as she led me into the kitchen area. Ruwee was nowhere to be found.
When Jobal told me what had happened, I did not want to believe her. How could this have happened? I had spoken to Padmé only a few days before. She had been stressed and worried, but still as healthy as could be. Ellé and Moteé could add little to what our lady had already told me, but I still thought they were withholding something from me all the same. At the time, I thought little of it, dismissing it as something to do with the insanities of the Senate.
But it was true. Padmé Naberrie Amidala was dead. Senator Organa of Alderaan was bringing her home onboard his personal ship and would arrive within just a few hours.
I wanted nothing more than to hunt down the one responsible for this atrocity. Who had dared to harm my lady? Male or female, I wanted them dead. But my thoughts of revenge died all too quickly in the face of Jobal’s obvious anguish. Biting my lip until I tasted blood, I pushed aside my rage and quickly took charge. I gently asked her if she could summon the others as well as apprise the Queen of the situation. She then informed me that Ruwee had already left for Theed to tell the government and begin the preparations. She, Sola, Darred, and the girls would be joining him in a few days.
I left soon after, determining to help with the preparations. I arrived in Theed to find the city already in mourning. Women were weeping in the city’s streets. Men had their heads bowed and made little eye contact with anyone. Even the children of the city knew something was wrong and went about without their usual shouting and playing.
When I found Ruwee Naberrie, I found a broken man. He sat in the gardens of the Palace, staring at the plants without expression or emotion. For a time, neither of us said anything until finally, he broke the silence with only a whisper.
“I cannot do this. I cannot see her as she is now.”
I did nothing to reply in turn, merely taking him by the arm and gently guiding him to the apartment he had been given use of by the Queen. As we walked, I made another decision: it would not be Ruwee Naberrie who would meet the Tantive IV when it arrived on Naboo. I would go in his place to gather his daughter’s body from those who had brought her home.
When the ship arrived, I was met at the ramp personally by Senator Organa. His face was pale with fatigue, but he extended all courtesy and his sincerest condolences. I thanked him as graciously as I was able, but in my heart I wanted only to shout at him to tell me who had done this to her, to Naboo. Who had taken away our shining star?
He escorted me to the medbay, where they had her waiting. The Senator seemed to sense that I wished to go in alone, so he did not follow me when I entered.
A sob rose up in my throat the moment my eyes landed on her. She looked so peaceful. I do not think I had seen her with that expression since we were children. Biting my lip to keep myself silent, I gently touched her hand.
How could this have happened, I asked yet again. Who would dare to harm such a woman? My eyes swept over her cold, still form, freezing on her stomach, still swollen by the child that had been growing there.
I could take no more. I fell to my knees against the bed, wailing out my agony out to be seen by all who dared to look upon me.
Padmé, my most treasured friend, my lady… gone… her child… gone… Naboo’s greatest hope… gone… Who…
“Sabé.”
A voice. One I once knew so very well. It was penetrating my grief. How could he be here? His kind had all been killed…
I looked up and saw Obi-Wan Kenobi kneeling beside me, his eyes glassy with both sorrow and fatigue.
My first thought was that he had changed. Gone was the young Padawan – turned – Knight I had last seen over thirteen years ago, departing from my world to journey amongst the stars to places I had never dreamed of seeing. I had never really forgotten him, though his image had blurred and faded within my memories. But as I looked at him, the man before me brought back the likeness of his younger self, when he had been barely more than a boy.
Other memories followed on the trail of the first. Recollections of brief conversations on Tatooine as we waited tensely for word from Master Jinn and Padmé. Memories of how we sought, mostly in vain, to reassure ourselves and one another that all would eventually be well.
I remembered his tears as he wept in silence over the loss of his master, completely unaware that I watched him from the shadows, frozen in both shock and sorrow.
“Obi-Wan…”
I cried. I finally allowed my grief, which had been slowly slipping out of my firm grasp for the past several minutes – or had it been only seconds – to be released into a full flood. I stared at him, barely able to make out his haggard features through my tears. I could see enough of his expression to see that he too was grieving, and not just for Padmé.
Years later, I still could not recall who reached out for whom first. All I knew is that one moment, Obi-Wan was kneeling in front of me, and the next, he was beside me, our arms wrapped around one another, leaning against the bed, as we wept.
It was after we had calmed down that my questions returned. I wanted to know who had killed Padmé and her unborn child. I wanted to know who had been responsible for the massacre of the Jedi Knights. I wanted to know how a man of Naboo, one of the greatest advocates of democracy, could have formed a dictatorship on the ashes of the shattered and broken Republic.
And yet, as I stared into Obi-Wan’s bleak eyes, I found I could say nothing. All my words fled in the face of the horrors that I could read in his eyes. I was only able to briefly touch his cheek in farewell as I followed the security men bearing Padmé’s hastily-constructed bier off the ship. I was able to look back and watch as Obi-Wan gazed after us, watching us bear away our fallen heroine. The ramp of the ship slowly rose up, disrupting my sight of him, and yet a part of me was sure that, even after the ramp closed, Obi-Wan did not move from that position for quite sometime.
It was the last time I saw him. He left with the Tantive IV, once again leaving to walk other places I had never seen or imagined. All I could do was hope that he found someplace safe to hide from the paksahara who had, without a doubt, had a great hand in destroying his people.
Years passed. The Empire’s territory expanded, along with its subjects’ fear. The Emperor ruled in a distant way, leaving most of the work to his second, Darth Vader. We of the Naboo never saw him in person, as he no doubt had far more urgent matters than to visit a quiet mid-Rim planet, even if it was the Emperor’s homeworld.
But soon after the destruction of the Death Star, pictures were soon plastered all over the holonet, promising rewards for information or the delivery of a single man. He was a boy, really, as he could not have been more than nineteen years old.
A boy with Padmé’s face combined with a head of sandy blond hair and blue eyes. A boy named Luke Skywalker.
I stopped believing in coincidences long ago.
There was so much I still did not understand. And without those pieces, I would never be able to complete the picture in my own mind.
I only knew that Obi-Wan had only spoken one word to me the entire time we had been together on Bail Organa’s ship, that of my own name. He had explained absolutely nothing, and now I believed I understood why.
And until I could be assured of the safety of all concerned, I would never speak of it. I would remain silent. Until the time was right.