#ruwee naberrie

[this-acuteneurosis]

Tread Softly

It matters how you handle a wasteland.

[stealingpotatoes]

And I'll Go With You

Summary: After finding out about their long lost family, the Naberries invite Luke & Leia to the family home for a traditional Naboo dinner. Leia’s feeling a bit overwhelmed by it all.

(sequel to my pooja meets the twins comic that got too long (nearly 3k) and turned into a fic instead of a 2nd comic!!) -- [also on ao3!]

--

It wasn’t like Luke had been eating badly these past few months. Ever since the Rebellion had become the New Republic, rations had been swapped out for consistent, mostly-hearty meals. There were still battlefields and shoddy basecamps, of course, where the food primarily consisted of ration packs and whatever the base cooks could make with what they’d managed to get through battle lines. Yet those were slowly becoming the exception and not the rule, especially as Luke fell further into the ancient role of Jedi diplomat, helping Leia convince systems to join the New Republic. Battles in politics tended to mean fancy meals with too many people and food Luke couldn’t even begin to understand. Even moreso for him than most; politicians and the like were more than happy to offer their finest meals to the Jedi master who’d blown up the Death Star and supposedly defeated the Emperor. 

But none of that fine cheffery compared to the simple stomach-filling warmth of a home-cooked meal -- especially not a home-cooked meal prepared by his grandmother (he had one of those now!) for him, his sister, and their entire family. 

Luke looked around the Naberrie dining room, joy bubbling in his chest and stomach at the warmly-lit sight. Empty dishes and plates stretched across the long table, that had earlier been filled with all kinds of Naboo dishes Luke had never seen or tried before. At either head of the table, his grandparents sat laughing at something Ryoo, sitting by their grandmother, had just said. At Luke’s side, Leia was enraptured in a quiet conversation with their cousin and her old colleague, Pooja, that Luke imagined he wouldn’t understand even if he was listening. His aunt and uncle, Sola and Darred, were the only ones not seated, circling around the table and dilligently clearing up the wreckage of the family meal.

“Are you sure you don't want some help with that?” Luke asked Sola as she piled up another plate opposite him.  

“Really Luke, it’s alright,” she replied with a kind smile.

Luke half expected an assertion that he was their guest to follow, but none came. The blank space left a sunny feeling in his chest; he wasn’t a guest here, he was family. Completely and utterly welcome, as if he’d been a part of that family his whole life, and not as of a few days ago. 

He was so wrapped up in the small joy that he almost didn’t notice Leia’s quiet excuse me, before she gently placed her napkin down on the table and gracefully got up to leave the dining room. 

Luke doubted the Naberries thought anything of it -- Leia’s years of politics made her far too good at hiding her emotions to let them do otherwise. She was so good that even the strongest of force users might not have been able to sense it through her mental and expressive shields. But Luke was not any old strong force user; he was Leia's twin, and so her secret turmoil blared in his head like a whirring attack alarm. 

He cleared his throat and excused himself too, not sticking around to field anyone’s quick questions (though knowing he should’ve). He wound through the love-filled house, following his senses and memory of the tour they’d been given earlier to reach the starlike presence of his sister. He passed through only two short hallways, both’s walls were filled to the brim with memories he’d never known. Holos of his young cousins, of Sola and Darred on their wedding, and of a brown-haired woman Luke wished he’d known as mom. He’d learn every story behind each of the pictures and keepsakes, some day. 

He reached the back garden door -- a light, wooden thing, as ornately simple as the rest of the house -- and stepped into the early night. 

The garden was hardly cold, but the sudden coolness compared to the hearth-warmth of the house bit at Luke. He stared up for a moment. Three moons hung white in the sky, painting the white house walls and the green of the garden in blueish moonlight. It was strange how it reminded him of home and yet was so different. Tatooine too had three moons, though all it did was turn golden sand a deep, colourless blue or silver. Never the friendly blue of Naboo’s.

Shaking himself from the thought, he easily spotted his sister standing cross-armed in front of a neat, flowery maybe-vegetable patch. Her white, Naboo-style dress with puffy sleeves and a many-layered skirt stood out against the dark of the moonlit garden as if it were a small, fourth moon itself. 

Leia had bought the dress shortly before their diplomatic trip to Naboo for any formal dinners they would be invited to as a part of their Republic negotiations with the Naboo. It was, apparently, very strategically important to acknowledge the culture of those you wished to diplomatise with -- even if Luke and his poor galactic fashion knowledge thought the dress looked no different from any of her Alderaanian dresses. He supposed it was lucky he got to wear his Jedi robes everywhere. 

“Hey,” Luke started, stepping up beside her, careful not to get his boots too close to the pristine flowers. 

Leia smiled up at him, almost hiding her sorrowful expression. “Hi.” 

She glanced back at the windows of the house, where warm, orange light diffused out across the neatly cut lawn, not quite reaching their night-blue patch of the garden. “You didn’t need to come out here for me,” she half-apologised. “It’s cold, you should get back to dinner.” 

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

Leia opened her mouth, but quickly closed it, as if realising I’m fine was a useless excuse to your brother who could sense your emotions. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“You’re my sister, yes, I do,” Luke smiled with a slight shake of his head. After a breath, e leaned down slightly, trying to better enter Leia’s pointed-down sightline. “Hey, if you want to leave, I’m sure we can come up with some urgent New Republic excuse.” 

Leia was the far better liar, but Luke had the added advantage of being one of the only Jedi in the galaxy. If Leia didn’t come up with some political excuse, Luke could always make something up about the force that nobody could refute. 

Luke shrugged. “We’ve been here half the day, anyway, I’m sure they won’t take it personally if we miss one last course. There’ll be other--” 

“No, no, I want to stay,” Leia shook her head with a sure furrow of her brow. “Really, I just needed some air. I don’t-- I can’t leave this.” 

Luke nodded, hoping she didn’t notice how thankful he was that he didn’t have to go. 

“It’s a nice night to be out.”

“Mm. Naboo’s temperature is quite agreeable,” Leia said, her voice growing politically hollow. 

What were they doing, talking about the weather like they were at some stunted party? Luke wanted to say Leia, we both know I’m bad at this not-talking-about-feelings thing, please just tell me what’s on your mind, but he knew his sister well enough to know a brute-force question like that wouldn’t get much out of her. He needed to wait and let her talk on her own terms. So Luke left a gentle space in the air between them, one that Leia could fill when she was ready. Only quiet night birds and the faint rustle of garden trees were so brave as to interrupt it. 

“Maybe I came out here for more than air…” Leia mumbled, predictably rewarding the silence after some long moments. “It's only that they’re so… I don’t know how to say this.” 

“It’s okay, you can say whatever it is,” he managed through the slight panic entering his mind. Did Leia not like their new family? But they were so nice! They were perfect! 

Clearly noticing the worry knotted in his brow, Leia held her hands up. “No, no, it’s nothing against them. It’s barely even about them as people, it’s just…” 

Luke only watched for her continuation, aware all he could do was try to project his own comfort through the force.

Leia forced a deep breath in and out, clenching her eyes shut for a short moment. “When I lost Alderaan, I lost everyone. I lost my father, my mother-- anyone I’d so much as briefly considered family. I had nobody to call my own. Nobody. And I thought that was going to be it, forever. I thought that I would never have any family ever again.” 

“But then,” a smile crept onto Leia’s lips as she gave Luke a short glance, “you came blasting into my life and you told me about everything, and suddenly I had family-- I had a brother!”

“Blasting is a bit of a strong word…”

Leia levelled him a raised eyebrow. “Is there a weaker word you think fits better, then?”

Luke huffed out a chuckle, remembering how quickly their first meeting had devolved into a blaster fight and a narrow escape of death. “I guess blasting works.”

Leia let out a quiet sigh, her presence brightening. “And suddenly it’s not just you, it’s our grandparents, our aunt, our uncle, our cousins, and it’s all…” Leia trailed off. 

Luke nodded slowly. 

Finding the Naberries had been very different for the two of them, but only now did he appreciate the true difference in what their new family meant for them both. 

He’d had little cause to think of what new family meant to the two of them before, given how easily she accepted Luke as her brother, and how resolutely she refused to accept Vader as her father. Luke had thought it was so simple; that it was just Luke was good in her eyes, Vader was not. He saw now that it ran deeper than just Vader’s evil. 

Luke loved his aunt and uncle, but they’d never claimed to be his parents. They had always left room for Luke to long for a mother and father, to dream of the people they never spoke about. He had despised the reality of his father at first, but come to accept that while Vader was not the father he dreamed of, he was Luke’s father nonetheless. However awkwardly he had filled that lifelong gap.

To Leia, Vader was not only a villain, but an invasive species. A predator, encroaching on the still-sore memory of Bail and Breha Organa. He could not be her father; that position belonged solely and permanently to Bail and nobody else. Vader would only ever be relegated to a ‘birth father’ -- and that was only on days that Leia felt particularly merciful. 

The Naberries, on the other hand, didn’t stand to replace anyone. Padmé Amidala, their mother (force, that was weird to think), may have stood too close to Breha’s position -- but Luke suppose finding out your birth mother was your childhood hero and a founder of the rebellion was very different to finding out your parent was the Emperor’s genocidal attack dog. And even then, she was gone now. She could play little part other than a puzzle piece and a forgotten memory; she did not threaten to take a dead parent's place like the living Vader had once done. 

The rest of the Naberries were purely happy additions to their family. There was no limit to how many aunts and uncles and cousins you would have, and neither twin had ever had grandparents before. Their family had become so full and so big with only a chance meeting of Leia’s old Senate colleague Pooja (and some intervention from an unsettling resourceful woman named Sabé). It had all happened so fast, and it was so wonderful… and so easily overwhelming. 

Even Luke struggled to get his mind over all the sudden expansions to his once-thought-gone family, and his grief over two family members and strange hermit mentor was hardly comparable Leia’s planet-sized grief. He knew it wasn’t, because he had felt the difference for himself, every time she saw a certain plant or a heard a certain phrase. Such little things would bombard their force-bond with the soul-crushing grief that had hit Leia out of seeming nowhere. 

Luke stretched the force out to Leia now, focusing on her shields as uninvasively as he could. Her heavy mantle of grief lay near-dormant, at least, but it was still present in the back of her mind. 

Leia glanced up at him from the flowers, perhaps sensing his search despite her lack of training. If she did, she made no comment. 

Luke put his flesh hand on her shoulder. 

Leia delicately rested her own hand on it, bringing her eyes to firmly meet his. “I am okay. It’s just… it’s…” Leia -- the princess whose educated words never faltered, the general who could muster the greatest of speeches out of thin air -- stuttered.

“It’s a lot to deal with,” Luke offered. 

Leia gave him a nod. 

“But you're not dealing with it alone,” he said, turning around to face Leia in full. After a moment of quiet staring up, she turned to face him too. “I know this isn't all quite the same for me. I know it’s… a different kind of difficult. Still, I’m here. I’m always here for you. And I’m sure all of them are too,” Luke said with a nod back to the house. 

Leia hummed in agreement-acknowledgement.

“I don't think they're expecting you -- expecting either of us -- to be completely and suddenly okay with this. I’m sure it’s almost as much for them as it is for us. But they're our family. We may not know each other very well yet, but they already love us so much.”

Luke knew it so certainly; he could sense all the Naberries’ love for the twins, as strong as the heat of the suns on a Tatooine noon. Mottled by cloudy grief in places, but always oh-so present. It radiated off each of them in waves whenever Luke and Leia were around. 

“I think I’m just trying to say it’s okay,” Luke concluded, losing steam in his speech. “However you’re feeling now, it’s gonna be okay.” 

Silence drifted between them, entirely comfortable and nothing like the eager, questioning one Luke had left earlier.

“Thank you,” Leia smiled finally.

Luke shook his head. “It’s nothing.” 

“No, really, thank you. I don’t think I say it enough, but I love you Luke. I’m-- thank you. For being my brother.” 

Before Luke could even think of replying, Leia crashed into him, wrapping her arms around his robes and shoving her face into his shoulder. Luke caved into the hug, pulling his arms tight around his sister in return. 

“I love you too,” he replied softly. 

They stayed like that for a good few moments, fused together like twin stars, basking in each other’s presence as if they truly were so. The galaxy seemed so utterly at peace in the garden around their tight-armed cradling, like it had never faced a single war or fight, like Luke and Leia had always been one and never been ripped apart by the tragedy of circumstance. 

Luke sensed Pooja’s presence -- joyous, if a little timid -- before he heard her treading over the grass towards him and his twin. The two of them pulled apart to face Pooja at the same time, arms still half-pressed together. 

Pooja came to a slow stop as they did, standing still in the bright square of warm window-light. It painted the the cream of her dress a loving orange and made her half-up curls near-glow with its source behind her. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…” she started serenely, half-smiling at her cousins standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the blue near-dark. 

Leia shook her head, moving towards Pooja. “We were just about to come back in anyway.” 

Pooja brightened, bringing her hands to an almost-clap. “Perfect timing! I came to tell you Grandma’s about to serve up dessert. It’s cake, her speciality.” 

“Sounds wonderful,” Luke’s mouth watered at the thought of more of Jobal Naberrie’s cooking, despite the protests from his already-full stomach. 

“Not as wonderful as it tastes. Now come on!” Pooja over-gestured. “If we don't hurry, Ryoo will have eaten all of it before we get there!”

Leia laughed with all the gentle warmth of the Naboo sun. “We’re coming Pooja, don't worry!”

They followed their hurried cousin back to the nearby door, forming a line as they reached the portico of the entrance.

“I'm so happy we found you both,” Pooja admitted quietly as she held the door open for her cousins. The two of them stepped back into gentle embrace of the family home, something sweet hanging in the warm air. 

Leia gave Luke a quick glance before she turned to Pooja; “I’m happy we found you too.”

[lenoreamidala]

The Naberrie family was a human family native to the planet Naboo in the Mid Rim region of the galaxy. Though of humble beginnings, a member of the family, Padmé Naberrie, became a prominent political figure during the Fall of the Republic, beginning with her election as the Monarch of Naboo. The daughter of Ruwee Naberrie and his wife, Jobal Naberrie, Padmé was publicly known as Amidala, Queen of the Naboo following her ascension to the throne in 32 BBY. She had a sister, Sola Naberrie, who gave birth to Ryoo and Pooja Naberrie.

[creativealmonds]

I got bit by the writing bug and thought, “since Padme was senator of Naboo did somebody else take over being queen? Did Naboo have a regent?”

this lead to a rabbit hole of the Padme’s family and the extended Skywalker family.

this is what I have. The Skywalker side is more detailed and comes from several Legends comics while I got padme’s side off a site and didn’t check sources so excuse anything missing or wrong.

Shmi Skywalker❤️The Force=Anakin Skywalker

Shmi Skywalker❤️Clagg Lars

Owen Lars❤️Beru Whitesun

Ruwee Naberrie❤️Jobal Naberrie=Padme Naberrie and Sola Naberrie

Anakin Skywalker❤️Padme Naberrie=Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa

Luke Skywalker❤️Mara Jade=Ben Skywalker

Leia Organa❤️Han Solo=Jacen Organa-Solo, Jaina Organa-Solo and Anakin Organa-Solo

Sola Naberrie=Ryoo Naberrie and Pooja Naberrie

So. Take a look at this tree. Ya see anything odd about it? Is it odd that Leia, who hated Vader and saw him as Vader even after she knew he was her biological father and BLEW UP HER PLANET WITH HER PARENTS ON IT, and she named her kid after him?

Is it just me or does this strike anyone else’s as odd? Like, you have people to name a kid after. Why choose the one who she never even recognized as her family? Just a thought

Maybe have somebody from Naboo come by, tell Luke and Leia about Padme. Breha was Leia’s mom, her mother, the woman who raised her. But she admires Padme. She remembers her from when she was born. Does Luke know anything about Padme? That she was a queen and a senator? That he’s technically a prince?

[spell-cleaver]

The Protégé Chapter 34: Everything is Dangerous

As Luke is confronted with the unexpected, Alderaan is confronted by a violent Vader on their doorstep.

"Come inside," Ahsoka said calmly. Sabé hated that she could stay serene in even the worst of circumstances. She could too, but at least she had the decency to look repressed while doing it. "He escaped."

"He escaped? Why—"

"He didn't want to come. He insisted that he needed to stay with his mother."

Sabé glanced away, working her jaw. Had she already lost him?

"We anticipated that," she said, pushing past Ahsoka. It was a dinky little ship, big enough for one or two bunkrooms, a main room beside the cockpit, and one escape pod. An escape pod which, she realised when she marched past the ladder to that part of the wall, was gone. "How did you…?"

"He's a good liar. I thought he had come around."

Another thing he'd picked up from Padmé, then. Luke had never been a good liar.

"So you kidnapped him, he convinced you he was alright with being kidnapped, you took your eyes off him for one minute, and he launched the escape pod?" She laughed bitterly to hide the tears pricking her eyes. "I don't blame you. I can believe that of him."

"I thought as much, based on his parents."

"Don't talk about his parents. When did this happen?"

Read the rest on AO3 or on FFN! 

[priscaren]

Star Wars Saga Family Tree

Or the Lars-Naberrie-Organa-Palpatine-Skywalker-Solo Family Tree

[sw5w]

Padmé Watches Anakin

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:28:27

[sidonius5]

ℐ𝒻 𝓟𝓪𝓭𝓶𝓮 𝓐𝓶𝓲𝓭𝓪𝓵𝓪 𝒸𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓐𝓷𝓪𝓴𝓲𝓷'𝓼 𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒...

[skywalkr-nberrie]

I was rereading some chapters of Queen’s Peril, and I just love how the book talks about how as a kid Padmé use to travel off world with her dad, Ruwee, to other planets and doing public service, like food distribution, relocating citizens, etc. Padmé even suggested to her family that they grow a kitchen garden in their backyard, and save the crop (vegetables, fruits) they grow and donate it to starving families, on world and off world.

I also just love how the story parallels Anakin and Padmé in the narrative, in the sense that they both come from modest origins, and humble beginnings, (Of course, Padmé’s dad is well endorsed in relief movements and public service, but the Naberries still aren’t noblemen.) but are destined to become prodigies whom were both identified as gifted and brilliant young people at an early age. Also they’re strong sense of justice, with Padmé wanting to aid anyone in need, and Anakin vowing to leave Tatooine someday and free the slaves. It’s giving ✨ “made for one another” and “soulmatism” ✨

[saphronethaleph]

Clickbait

“Okay, there we go,” Birka Mars said, finishing with her keypad and pushing it away. “Piece finished.”

Her boss looked at her.

“What?” Birka asked. “Like I said. Piece. Finished.”

“Is it properly finished, this time?” Hemarr said. “You remember what happened last time we ran a story you hadn’t finished.”

“I’d finished the writing,” Birka defended herself. “I just hadn’t got all the sources quite lined up. And it was true anyway, right?”

Hemarr rubbed his temples.

“Yes, eventually,” he said. “After a five month court case and a visit from the Coruscant Guard. We’ve been over this, Birka – your gossip pieces earn you big bucks but they have to be weighed against the risks.”

“Right, right, I get the point,” Birka muttered. “Okay, okay. So send it over to Legal. What kind of issues could there be, anyway?”

Hemarr opened up the file on his own datapad, and scrolled through it.

“Senator Amidala’s baby bump,” he said. “Well, at least you’re not accusing anyone of… you didn’t, did you?”

“Not at all,” Birka said. “I made sure I only ever insinuated without ever actually asserting.”

“It’ll probably do,” Hemarr muttered, scanning down the page. “Experts say… they did, right?”

“Geetwo said there was a ninety-four percent probability,” Birka replied. “And he is an expert, he’s got the programming for it.”

“That droid needs recalibrating,” Hemarr said. “But his ninety-four is probably good enough for us to be covered… all right, there’s only one thing you missed for us to be sure.”

“I thought I caught everything,” Birka protested.

“Almost,” Hemarr replied. “But you said ‘out of wedlock’. That’s an actionable claim.”

“Oh, come on!” Birka said. “Senator Amidala isn’t married.”

“Then make sure we can prove it,” Hemarr told her. “Look, I know gossip pieces are time sensitive, but but they’re not that time sensitive. Go to Naboo, confirm it, get some interviews with her family and we can roll them in as soundbites if they’re particularly good.”

Birka Mars was still smarting two days later.

“Really,” she muttered, flicking through paper files of all things. “Naboo could do with being a damn sight more… up to date. Let’s see… Amaryllis… Amecorian… Amidala, let’s do an exhaustive check…”

Her grumbles trailed off, as she held the one document with that name on it up to the light.

Then checked again.

“Padme Amidala, daughter of Ruwee and Jobal Naberrie,” she said, frowning. “That checks… Naberrie is her birth name, since Amidala is a regnal name. But…”

Birka put the paper down, slowly and reverently.

“Oh,” she said, and hugged herself. “This is… this is so much better! I have an article to rewrite!”

Some days later, two matched Jedi Starfighters landed on one of the temple landing pads.

Anakin was out first, and he jogged over to Obi-Wan’s starfighter as the cockpit opened.

“So?” he asked. “Willing to accept that you’re actually an all right pilot, yet?”

“Believe it or not, Anakin, I can accept that I’m reasonable at something without at any point deciding that I like it,” Obi-Wan replied, with a sigh. “Which is where I currently sit with regard to flying a spaceship. It’s not something I get on with well.”

He lifted himself out of the seat, and clambered down. “Well… now we need to report in.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Anakin conceded. “What do we know, anyway?”

“We know – for sure – that the Sith were involved with the clones,” Obi-Wan said. “That’s useful and potentially vital information, for the Republic and for the war. But we still have questions.”

He shook his head. “And it may be that sharing this information will simply lead the Senate to dislike the clones, or… we don’t know, that’s the truth of it.”

Then he looked up, as someone came running up – Bant Eerin, a Mon Cal Jedi who was one of his oldest friends.

“Bant!” he said. “It’s nice to see you!”

“It’s nice to see you, too, Obi,” Ban replied, but her attention was mostly on Anakin. “Is it true?”

“...is what true?” Anakin asked. “We fought Dooku, but he got away.”

“You did what?” Bant said, then shook her head. “No – not that, I mean… you know!”

“I’m afraid he doesn’t,” Obi-Wan noted. “And nor do I, I fear. We’ve been out of touch recently.”

“Oh, yeah, the mission you were on,” Bant realized. “Oba Diah, right? I guess it must have been serious – but – are you really married to Senator Amidala?”

Anakin froze. Completely.

Obi-Wan shot a sideways glance at his former Padawan, and decided that his good friend’s brain was probably in the process of trying unsuccessfully to recover from a boot loop.

“...people are asking about that?” Obi-Wan asked. “I assume they must be, if you assumed that we must have heard it.”

“There was this gossip column that published a scoop thirty hours ago,” Bant explained. “Said that they’d analyzed the Senator and found she was pregnant, and that she’d been married to Skywalker a couple of years ago.”

“But – what?” Anakin said, finally breaking out of his paralysis. “I – it was a secret marriage!”

“Yeah, they said it was filed as paperwork of all things,” Bant said, with a laugh. “Guess Naboo really is old fashioned about some things, right?”

“There was paperwork?” Anakin asked. “But… secret. Marriage…? Secret?”

“You know, Anakin, perhaps it would help to meditate on what a marriage actually is?” Obi-Wan suggested. “It’s a legal contract. That’s what separates it from having a girlfriend, after all – in many ways a marriage without a legal contract simply doesn’t exist. So the contract has to be there if someone looks for it.”

He folded his arms. “No, Anakin, I’m very disappointed in you. Because the other thing about a marriage is that it’s meant to involve your closest friends. If you were going to elope you could at least have told me about it – I’ve had the robes to wear as your best man picked out for two years now.”

Anakin turned utterly frazzled eyes on Obi-Wan.

“You knew!?” he asked.

“Anakin, when you came into the arena you were kissing,” Obi-Wan said. “I assumed she was your girlfriend, and that you were going to get married and quit the Order when the war was over. The Code forbids marriage, because it’s a formal statement that you prioritize the other person over the Jedi Order and the Code respects that, but it merely looks down on love.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, shall I?” Bant asked. “Also, uh. Fair warning? Don’t leave the temple, or you’ll get swarmed by reporters.”

[viharker]

Even If We'd Never Met An Obidala Wedding Date AU by @viharker

Rating: Mature (May Change) Category: F/M Fandoms: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Relationship: Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi Characters: Padmé Amidala, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Dormé (Star Wars), Sabé (Star Wars), Sola Naberrie, Jobal Naberrie, Ruwee Naberrie, CT-7567 | Rex

Language: English Published: 2024-10-28 Updated: 2024-10-28 Words: 4,991 Chapters: 1/?

[this-acuteneurosis]

Hi! I absolutely love DLB, and it made me appreciate the handmaidens way more than Canon ever did <3 I was wondering whether you have a headcanon regarding the handmaidens' names? Are their names their birthnames, or did they choose them specifically to sound like Padmé's? And do they actually have last names that they just never use? Might cause a lot of bureaucratic trouble if they didn't have last names lol. Also completely unrelated, but what does Sola think about Leia? Must be a bit weird that her baby sister has this batshit crazy friend that she is super protective of and who routinely causes absolute mayhem - or does she just see her as another handmaiden?

At least three of them changed their names for certain and at least one of them already matched. Feel free to speculate which ones. It's their favorite game to make people play.

As far as why they are never referred to by last name, it is absolutely related to the role they play, both in terms of not taking attention away from Queen Amidala, and deliberately taking attention away from Padmé Naberrie. They have full legal names, and if they hadn't stayed in Padmé's service on her senatorial staff, they would have gone back to them when they "retired." Some of them now go by their work names with their families, some of them do not.

Sola definitely thinks of Leia more like a handmaiden, when she thinks of Leia at all. Sola's actually a lot more familiar with Shmi, because Shmi's done so much work with Jobal and Ruwee. So in a lot of ways, Sola also thinks more of Leia as "Shmi's...kid?" Padmé is a giant hypocrite and is not any more forthcoming with her family about exactly how dangerous her job is than Leia is in general. The Naberries get some insights from how often Shmi checks her messages and sighs and shakes her head. But not much more than that. And they don't know Shmi super well, just better than Leia. Shmi is very busy.

[stealingpotatoes]

How is the Nabarries' relationship with Padmé and Luke in your au? Do they know about Leia and Anakin or are they involved with Padmé in the rebellion?

very good! Luke spent most of his early childhood with the Naberries when Padmé was senator-ing, so he's especially close with them! however they don't know about the rebellion at all and they don't know the full story around Luke's father (they're also being fed the lie abt him being some random Naboo guy not a jedi) or that Leia even exists ): so like mostly good but Jobal, Ruwee, and Sola are definitely aware Padmé's hiding smthn but nobody asks

[hellotherekenobi]

LOVE ME AND MEND

01. THE EXPOSITION

Chapter Summary: Qui-Gon Jinn and his men have arrived on Naboo for rest, encouraging the adoration between two lovebirds. But a love is also there between two rivals, and Qui-Gon conducts a plan.

Word Count: 8.6k

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this and though I tried to modernize the dialogue, it still came out fancy. I hope you enjoy reading it! <3

Index: Next Chapter. Masterlist.

On a sunny afternoon on Naboo, the wind blows gently and coolly for the group sprawled out on the grass, enjoying the sunshine. The four are a close-knitted bunch, some by blood, spending time together on a picnic. One which you are more than delighted to enjoy.

This time of year is always special as it brings life to so many things; the people, the earth, and harmony itself. There’s a sweet-tasting promise of a delightful time that is soon to come with the start of a lustrous spring.

Each springtime is spent in the lake district where you and your family currently relax on the nearby hills. Your cousin, Padmé, is a much-beloved lady not only in these parts but in each province that she visits. Her handmaiden, Sabé, is a devoted and cherished member of the family, though not related by birth. And your uncle, Ruwee Naberrie, is a respected man who has the sincerity of the Republic brigade.

But it is known by many that the wind can bring distasteful company and that of which is found out through a letter whom the messenger of Naboo runs into the hillside to tell, exasperated and quite spritely, too.

“I have a letter stating that Qui-Gon Jinn comes to Naboo this evening,” he says, eliciting happy responses from those serene on the grass.

Truthfully, this is a merry privilege to hear—especially with the ongoing war, which means he is seeking rest within the district—but with him come many others. His squadron, most definitely, and if odds were fortunate on their end, a certain officer is amongst them.

“What pleasant news,” Ruwee smiles, patting the messenger on his shoulder. “That he chooses our district in favor of others.”

The messenger nods, seemingly still catching his breath.

“He is very near. By the time I received the letter, he had arrived by port.”

Leave it to on-foot couriers to delay the arrival of messages. The war surely has an impact on that as well.

“How many men arrive with him?” Ruwee asks.

“All of his battalion.”

“That is good news. He is a very impressive Jedi Master to bring back the full of his soldiers.”

The whole of his battalion can only mean that you’ll be seeing the face of a man who, since you were a teenager, have sworn to loathe with every fiber of your being. He, in turn, has sworn just the same, which doesn’t thrill you in the slightest to meet with him.

Ruwee is clearly more content than you, speaking to the messenger with many intent questions.

“I hear that Qui-Gon Jinn has much favor toward a young Anakin Skywalker?”

“Yes, he has fought with bravery and endurance for his part.”

“I ask,” you pipe up, waving a finger for attention, “is the Grand Negotiator with the fleet?”

The messenger looks confused, furrowing his eyebrows. “I don’t know of anyone by that title.”

“My cousin means Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi,” says Padmé, smiling with a shake of her head.

“Ah,” he chuckles. “Yes, he is with them and as pleasant as he ever was.”

“Pleasant, no,” you shake your head. “Though, he may say otherwise.”

Ruwee scoffs, wagging a finger at you in that humorous but protesting way all parents do.

“By faith, niece,” he says, “you mock Kenobi too much. Please, try to be civil when he arrives.”

“I’m not sure I can be amongst such a company, uncle.”

He sighs once more, rolling his eyes up at the sky. Most likely praying that you’ll end the torture for him alone since he’s been an audience to many sarcastic remarks over the years.

“Kenobi has done good service in this war, lady,” the messenger speaks, somewhat with a protruding chest.

A smile you show him, nodding in a way to tell him that you know of such service. There have been many reports of his legendary swordsmanship and force-sensitive power, bewitching the Grand Army of the Republic to promote his status onto the Jedi High Council.

The letter he had written to your uncle to tell of the news was very flamboyant and boastful. When word had reached you, now a few years ago, you had rolled your eyes.

“Yes,” you say. “It seems he has the stomach for it.”

“And a good soldier too, lady.”

“And a good soldier to a lady,” you grin, especially at the hand Padmé slaps against your arm. “But what is he to a master?”

“A general to a master,” he says, waving his hand in an elaborative gesture. “But he is a man of honorable virtues.”

“More so an honorable vexing.”

“Do not mistake my niece,” Ruwee intervenes. “There is a merry war between her and Kenobi. It’s been that way since they were children.”

“And still his taunts are childlike,” you say. “I hope he is not the same in the war.”

With a nudge to your shoulder from Padmé, you beam with delight at her chuckles along with Sabé who passes you a grape from the food laid out on the picnic cloth in an effort to stop your talking.

Before you take a bite, you point over at the messenger as if a new idea has sprung to mind.

“Who is his padawan now? He has a new sworn brother every month.”

“I see, lady, that the gentleman is not to your liking,” speaks the messenger.

“No, and he never will be. Yet, he has a way with the soldiers that they seem to adore him. So, which young man will follow with him to the Separatists?”

“He is most in the company of the young Skywalker.”

Though you had asked, the answer does not come as a surprise to you. He and Kenobi have been like brothers since they first met. It’s endearing, though you’d never say it aloud.

“Perhaps he has a favorite,” you grin. “It seems you cannot have one without the other; Kenobi and Skywalker. Pray his wits still be with him by his lengthy companionship.”

The messenger smiles. “I will stay friends with you, lady.”

“Oh, do,” you nod, throwing the grape in your hand to him, which he catches.

“Look!” Shouts Sabé, pointing off the hillside to where troop soldiers are walking toward the sanctuary. “Qui-Gon Jinn and his men!”

“We must go and greet them,” Ruwee says, gesturing for the picnic to be packed up.

You grin shortly at what you can see of Jinn’s troop, wondering if perhaps even at this distance you can make out who of them is Kenobi. Whichever man aggravates you to look at, that will be him.

“Come now,” Padmé grabs your arm. “I am sure he’s missed you.”

“As much as I have missed the target to aim my blows at,”

With another chuckle, Padmé tugs you along with her after packing the food back into the picnic basket. She runs with you down the hill, all the while laughing like the two of you are frolicking younglings. Sabé is close behind with your uncle, having sent the messenger off.

The château is quite large, extending around the hills, surrounded by grass and lake water. It’s the perfect hideaway when one needs rest, though you know not much resting will be done during the spring with the festival of Glad Arrival upcoming.

Seeing as Jinn and his men have arrived today, you’re sure your uncle will make arrangements for the festival to be undertaken as soon as possible.

It’s refreshing to know how high-spirited your family is. There is never room for a dull moment with them. Padmé especially as she’s a pleasant conversationalist who can bring out the fun in anyone, even those seemingly as stone-cold as a pillar.

Understandably, she’s eager to meet with Anakin. The pair have been lovebirds since before you can remember, though they think they’re rather good at hiding it. You know your cousin well enough to tell when she’s in love, so it’s never been a secret to you.

Being Jedi, Anakin and the others aren’t allowed to form attachments. From what you know of the Order, which is little, they’re allowed to fraternize and have their fun, but never to settle down. With the war ever-growing, the Republic cannot afford to lose any soldiers.

Padmé had wondered once if when the war ends, Anakin will ask for her hand. But you had told her that he’s never been one to follow the rules, so if his affections are true then she’s sure to be married within the year.

By the time you all reach the courtyard, the Republic troops have already made their way past the entrance and meet you in the middle; your family on one side and they on the other. For a moment, there is silence. Then Ruwee gestures for everyone to greet them, so you all do so with a bow.

“Good sir Naberrie, I apologize for troubling you on short notice.” Qui-Gon Jinn says, offering a gentle smile to you and your family.

“No trouble at all,” Ruwee replies. “We are most delighted to be in the pleasure of your company.”

Sir Jinn is very tall with square shoulders and hair that reaches past that point. It’s always been fascinating to think that he can fight with his hair down like that and, unquestionably, he is a truly handsome man. One who is also polite and charming, it’s a wonder why he’s not wooed a lady thus far.

You know it, much like others, that he can win the favor of a partner effortlessly. You do so enjoy receiving his letters.

Jinn glimpses at Padmé who smiles seven times her usual smile, stepping into Ruwee’s outstretched arm.

“It’s been far too long, my lady,” he steps forward, taking her hand in his and pressing his lips to her knuckles.

“Sir Jinn, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

The last time he had been on Naboo, Padmé was only fourteen years old. Though you were older, it does feel like such a faraway time. Since then, the only correspondence you had with him and his battalion came in the form of letters.

Some of them were pleasant and others weren’t as much, only because of the man who had penned the words. Bickering through papers seems rather foolish, but you will silently admit that the fun never ceased in your ribbing with Kenobi. You still have a letter or two under your pillow.

“Do you not think she is charming?” Jinn asks, turning behind him.

It’s unclear which of his men he’s speaking to, but the man who replies is bearded with carelessly swept hair, though it’s evident it was at one point combed over, and whom you know extremely well.

“With every spring she indeed blossoms,” says Kenobi. “Say, sir Naberrie, how can you hide such a flower?”

“Believe me, she is not hidden,” Ruwee snickers. “Padmé travels more than any of us. Besides, you’ve known her since childhood.”

“A memory I do cherish.”

What a charmer. What a scoundrel. Obi-Wan Kenobi has always been a proud flirt. You should know as you were also part of that childhood. He first arrived with his master and though the intention of their stay was to protect your family, the two of you never got along.

He had flirted and you had rejected his advances, birthing an exceptional relationship of endless insults and teasings. No one speaks to you the way he does and you should behave the same, but you’ve always spoken your mind.

After so many years of not seeing him in the flesh, you wonder how this will go.

Ruwee is more focused on news, it seems.

“How goes the war?”

“As hematic as it first began, but easing its muscle. We’ve progressed further than we ever have. There is one tale of which we were settled on Tatooine, cornered by the Tusken Raiders, and seemingly no way out. Yet, I drew my saber with heroism—”

“Will your talking ever cease, Sir Kenobi?” You say with exasperation.

He turns to look at you like this is the first he’s ever seen you, acting surprised as if you have not been standing here the whole time. Without a doubt, he’s already acknowledged your presence as you had caught him eyeing you from behind his master.

“Ah, my dear Lady Disdain! Still as sprightly as I remember.”

“Trust me, my disdain is quite sprightly in your company.”

“Disdain me?” He slaps a theatrical hand to his chest. “Impossible. I am loved by all ladies, except you. Though by that I am not perturbed for in return I love none.”

“A dear happiness for women, or else they would be swaddled by your affections.”

More like inflictions, though you haven’t a way to phrase that properly enough to embarrass him. How he intrigues women, you’ll never know.

Kenobi grins. “And you, my lady?”

“I would rather hear a Reek growl than a man tell me he loves me.”

“We do hope that you keep that thinking, less we want a scratched face.”

“A scratch could not do it worse and with such a face as yours.”

Padmé and Sabé chuckle, covering their mouths. In turn, Qui-Gon Jinn and his men laugh, enjoying the battle of wits.

“Your voice is like a Pelikki,” Kenobi whines, showing that childlike demeanor that you know so well.

“Better a bird of my tongue than a beast of yours.”

“If only my Eopie had your wit,” he waves a hand in your direction, smiling along with the men who snicker at his comment. “With that, I am done.”

A small change in him, you find, with the way he ends the conversation there. When he was younger, much like you, he’d battle with you for hours. Maybe it’s true what they say about war changing a man, but in any case, he’s still the pesky Jedi who resolves to have the final word.

“He says such harsh words to you,” Sabé says, holding onto your shoulder and speaking into your ear.

Though you stare at Kenobi’s proud walking, you tell her, “He always ends with a quip. I know him of old.”

To you, he’ll always be that young boy trying so hard to impress his master and impress anyone he spoke with. On some occasions, you miss the padawan braid he once had. If anything because you miss tugging at it to annoy him.

Fortunately for you, all of his remarks you don’t take to heart. Maker knows he doesn’t have one. In fact, you believe the inside of his chest is hollow. Knock against it and you’ll hear an echo in reply.

“How long will you stay with us?” Ruwee asks.

Jinn, who for a moment is caught up in his whispers to Kenobi, respectfully brings his attention back to your uncle.

“A month, if we may?”

“That is perfectly acceptable.”

“Good. You remember my men?” Jinn turns around, directing a hand at the two behind him. “Anakin Skywalker and Maul.”

The first man, Anakin, is tall and blonde. Not as blonde as you remember, seeing as he also was a child when you first met. The other man, Maul, however, is a lean Dathomirian with striking features. He had joined Jinn’s troop a month after his last visit, so you’ve only known him through the letters Jinn writes to your uncle.

“Welcome, both of you,” Ruwee shakes their hand.

Maul, with a baritone voice, speaks, “Thank you for your hospitality. I am not a man of many words, but I thank you.”

“Well, come inside. We’ll arrange refreshments for you.”

As the troop walks on, led by Ruwee and his family, Anakin catches Obi-Wan by the arm, pulling him back so that the two of them remain in the courtyard privately.

“Padmé has grown, don’t you think?” He asks.

Obi-Wan sways his head. “Well, I won’t deny her appearance. Why do you ask?”

“I swear, she’s an angel. Even more beautiful than the last time I saw her.”

“An angel, I agree. If her cousin weren’t so aggravating, I could say the same, but you don’t intend on buying her, do you?”

“Can the world buy such a jewel?”

With Anakin’s dreamlike gaze at the clouds, Obi-Wan grabs him by the tunic, snapping him to attention.

“You have no intention of becoming a husband, I hope.”

“Well, if she would be my wife—”

“Oh, my pupil, I cannot believe this,” Obi-Wan cries. “You know as well as I do that Jedi don’t form attachments. Be with a lady, fine, but love a lady? Anakin, you are out of your mind.”

Smelting with the outburst, Qui-Gon Jinn returns, walking into the courtyard with both hands on his hips like a disapproving father.

“What’s going on here?” He asks. “Sir Naberrie has set out lunch for us. Don’t keep him waiting.”

“Master, I wish it were not true but he is in love,” Obi-Wan says, pointing a finger at Anakin who stands there sheepishly. “And with who? Sir Naberrie’s daughter, Padmé.”

“Is this true?” Jinn looks at Anakin.

He stands there rubbing his hands for a moment before seemingly caving into the question, nodding his head hurriedly as he approaches him.

“Yes, I love her, master,” he says. “I’ve known it from when we were children and seeing her now has only made me more sure.”

Obi-Wan scoffs, walking up beside the two men.

“It is pitiful,”

“I think not,” Jinn says, squeezing Anakin’s shoulder. “It is good that you love her.”

“What?” Obi-Wan shouts, spinning on his heel when his master doesn’t regard his outburst.

Admittedly, his master has never been a true stickler to the Code of the Jedi—instead behaving in a rather grey way—but to think that he can accept Anakin’s feelings so briskly heaps fiery coals upon his head.

Especially as his two comrades seem to ignore him, encouraging each other with enthusiastic words.

“Love is a beautiful thing, Anakin,” Jinn says. “There will be many wars, but time is better spent in the company of someone you love.”

“I cannot believe that I have your approval,” Anakin says with a smile, something which shines brighter than the twin suns of Tatooine.

“Neither can I!” Obi-Wan yaps, approaching them again. “Master, if Anakin marries Padmé then we will lose a soldier.”

“But not lose the war,” Jinn says. “Padmé is worthy of Anakin’s love.”

With a grumble, Obi-Wan buries his face in his hands. Having spent so much time in the war with Anakin and his master, he thought it would be the three of them for a long time, not that one of them would run off and play husband.

Never has he ever looked at a lady with that type of interest. Well, he did once but that was a long time ago and the rejection only proved to Kenobi that love is a foolhardy thing, not something you can devote your passions to.

His passions are better directed at the war, though he will admit that a fling every now and then is not always dismissed by him.

Anakin chuckles, watching the man in distress. “You’re a heretic, Obi-Wan.”

“The fact that I was conceived by a woman, I thank her,” he says. “But that I fall on my knees for a woman? You will never see the day.”

“With a man of your sentiments,” Jinn shakes his head. “I am sure I will see you fall in love one of these days.”

“Never. I would rather fall into a nest of Gundarks.”

“You’ve already done that, master.” Anakin chuckles.

Sighing something agitated, Obi-Wan walks out of the courtyard, waving a hand behind him. To feed his temper with lunch, most likely. Anakin watches him leave, smiling with glee over the apparent tantrum.

“With how he flirts with all women,” he says, “you’d think he’d want a companion.”

Jinn smiles at Anakin. “You love Padmé so much that you will ask for her hand?”

“Oh, if only I had the courage,”

“Fear not, my young padawan, I can speak on your behalf to her father. He has arranged for the springtime festival to begin tonight. There I will win Padmé’s hand for you.”

“Really, that will ease my agony. Thank you.”

Wrapping an arm around him, Jinn walks with Anakin out of the courtyard to join the rest for an afternoon meal, knowing that there is much to prepare for in the evening.

─────── ⋯ ───────

The festival of Glad Arrival spans many days, even weeks depending on the excitement. Hosted within the meadows, dancing and music and pageants are arranged for everyone’s enjoyment.

It’s what makes springtime a lovely season here on Naboo. The three months are joyful and glamorous, inviting many from different planets to join in on the festivities hosted by your uncle. It’s also a great legislative opportunity for the councils cooperating with the Jedi.

The longest festival you’ve attended was carried out for three weeks, but with the arrangement for Jinn and his men to stay a month, you have a feeling your uncle will keep the festivities going for as long as their stay.

Many are already dancing excitedly when you arrive with Padmé and Sabé attached to her arm, all looking out at the various people in their colorful attire and handmade masks. It looks like a sea of butterflies, bringing a wide smile to your cheeks.

Ruwee is the first to approach you three with the same number of masks in his hands. He shakes them in front of you all like he’s ridding them of dust.

“Take one!” He beams. “Rabé and the other handmaidens worked hard to make them.”

“They’re lovely,” Padmé smiles, choosing the red and gold mask with glitter beads.

Sabé takes the black and red mask with gold trimmings, leaving you with the purple and black mask with a gold rim. She’s soon swept away by Padmé who’s eager to join the dancing circle.

Truly, your favorite part of the festival is the dancing. You get to meet so many people this way and also know who can keep a rhythm and who can’t. Once, you had joked with your cousin that acquiring a husband for yourself can be done through dancing, as long as he leads you well. When she had asked if there were any suitors worthy, you had said you would die spouseless.

Before you can even attempt to put on your mask, someone taps you on the shoulder and you widen your eyes in wonderment at the person wearing the blue mask with a synthetic braid attached to its right side.

“I know you,” they say. “You’re the lady of ‘Hundred Merry Tales,’”

Furrowing your brows, you look at them oddly. “I don’t go by that title.”

“But the fellow told me you speak like a Pelikki and, sure enough, you sound it.”

What horrible words! If you hadn’t heard the same thing this afternoon, you would use your mask as a weapon to beat them with.

“Who told you this?” You ask, chin raised. “Which fellow?”

“No, I shouldn’t tell.”

“Then tell me who you are.”

“That I also cannot do.”

This conversation is as difficult as the person conducting it. They’re being awfully stubborn, especially after being so awfully rude.

“To say I sound like an aquatic bird, this must have been Kenobi.” You mutter, hitting your mask against your thigh as if you’ve come to a revelation.

“Who’s he?” The person asks.

For yet another time, you look at them strangely. Everyone in Naboo—and nearly everyone in the galaxy—knows of General Obi-Wan Kenobi. He’s feared and loved and you think that after he passes, his legacy will live on.

If you could get your hands on that legacy, you’d ruin it with mischievous glee.

“You don’t know Sir Kenobi?” You ask.

The person shakes their head. “I’ve never had the honor,”

“Oh, it’s not an honor to know him, I assure you. Rather a dishonor.”

“Really? Yet, I do not know him.”

“He’s Qui-Gon Jinn’s jester, a very dull fool. His only gift is in negotiations since he speaks without prompt much like a Gungan. Really, he is more horrible than words I could list.”

“Well,” the person rolls back their shoulders. “If I see him, I’ll be sure to tell him what you say.”

“Do,” you grin, eager to hear from him if word travels. “He’ll most likely compare me also.”

After such a short quarrel this afternoon, you’re left hungry for a better argument. Kenobi has it in him to be spirited, this you know from experience, and so as much as you would rather spend time in the company of anyone else, his scrutiny you are curious of.

If he can live up to the words he’s written you before, then you’re in for an exciting match. Though, honestly, you want to see if he came up with all those quips himself or if he had help.

With that, your name is called from the swell of dancing people and out pokes Padmé’s head. Her hand, too, which she waves at you eagerly.

“I am being summoned,” you chuckle. “Enjoy your evening.”

“And yours, too.” They reply.

When you run to meet your cousin for a dance, Obi-Wan rips off his blue mask and moans with annoyance.

“To think she cannot tell it’s me!” He complains, shaking his head. “And to say that I am my master’s jester… how insulting.”

Assaulted by fire, he has before; your fire, which blazes from your tongue in an agitated temperament. He has never heard a lady speak as you do, thinking that it is preposterous that maiden could ever be so devilish.

But he knows it well, as much as he knows your derisions, that you are exclusive to the nature of femininity. By faith, the only poor sap that could ever marry you will have to be both blind and deaf, and for him, he prays.

Too caught up in his own grumbling, he doesn’t notice the two men in masks approaching him until they catch his shoulder—one in a beige mask with golden specks and the other wearing a vibrant green mask with multiple dangling fringes.

“Why so sad, Sir Kenobi?” The beige masked man asks.

“Sad?” He scoffs. “This is not sadness. I am irate.”

“Whatever for?”

“An old thorn continues to prick me,”

Both figures give each other a glance before laughing aloud, causing Kenobi to look at them with furrowed brows.

“Oh, come now,” the green one says. “Enjoy the festival.”

“Yes—” the other dips to the side, grabbing a cup of wine from a passing server. “Drink up!”

Kenobi takes the cup without another warning, not needing to be told twice whilst in such a bothersome state, drinking at first a little of the wine before making a sound at how pungent it is. Naboo wine is known for its bitterness and astringent flavor and honestly, he’s never been a devoted fan.

Though, when he thinks about the teasing he underwent, he scowls the whole cup, wiping his beard with the back of his hand and seeks out another. He will leave this festival drowsy if it means he can enjoy some thought not infected by you.

As soon as he skulks away, the two figures lift up their masks and laugh once again at their dejected comrade.

“He is surely vexed,” Anakin chuckles.

“Yes, and we can assume by whom. But look—” Qui-Gon points at the crowd of dancing people, where two ladies exit. “There is Padmé and her handmaiden. I will speak with her now on your behalf.”

“Thank you, master,”

Jinn pats Anakin on the back, bringing down his green mask to cover his face as he makes his way over to Padmé, speaking words Anakin cannot hear but must be effective as they walk off alone, her handmaiden diving back into the dance.

If Anakin were not as intent on the hopeful prospect of his master’s proposition to Padmé, he would very well be dancing with the others. However, he sits at a distance and watches, holding his hands tightly in anxious anticipation.

The dancers have fun twirling and skipping to the epic Symponik melody performed earnestly by the Gungans commemorating the festival. It’s an honor that they have composed such a piece for this celebration and it is certain that it will never be forgotten.

Sabé knocks into your shoulder when she re-joins the crowd, but you merely laugh at it, taking her hand and spinning each other around with a flourish. Another hand slips into your free one and you see that it’s Ruwee who smiles brightly.

“Uncle,” you speak, “when are Jinn and his men joining us? I’ve not seen them tonight.”

“They’re already here,” he shakes his head, a gentle gesture.

“They are?”

“You’re deceived by their masks. Speaking of, why aren’t you wearing yours?”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you tie the mask around your head, covering your face. Ruwee seems pleased by this and ventures off, leaving you alone when you see that Sabé is dancing with a partner.

So, Kenobi is already here? You wonder what mask he’s wearing. You have a feeling it will be as pompous as his personality. Yet, it doesn’t seem to be the case when you watch him stumble into the circle of dancing people, clearly swayed by alcohol, and with no mask on his face.

He knocks into one person who thinks it fun and pushes him back, only for him to trip over his own footing and collide with you. Fortunately for him, you manage to catch him in your arms. Unfortunately for you, however, since you’d much rather see him fall.

“A drunk dancer is said to follow the rhythm unusually well,” you say, tugging him up so that he’s no longer bent over. “But it seems you prove that theory false,”

Kenobi grumbles. “I fight better than I dance.”

Really, you think the two activities would look very much the same by his hand. Even when you were children, he always had a horrible rhythm. How he even became a Jedi, you have no idea.

With his slurring words, you can only imagine how many cups he’s downed already. A factor you are impressed by is his mastery over liquor in comparison to some—yes, the reckless Skywalker is known for being a lightweight—as you had once, a long time ago, scowled back many Jawa Juices with Kenobi.

“Then you should move out of the circle,” you tell him.

He looks around for a moment, taking in how everyone dances around you both and seemingly registers precisely where he’s standing. But whatever he thinks, he makes up his mind rather quickly for someone who’s as drunk as him.

“Ah, come, lady, dance with me.”

You stare at him shell-shocked. “You want to dance with me?”

“Of course,” he smiles. “Though I cannot see your face, I can tell you are a rare beauty.”

It comes back to you now that you’re not wearing your mask and that the man in front of you has no clue who you are. Hearing him say such sweet things to you is enough to act as a purgative, but there’s a part of you that doesn’t dare turn down this offer, hoping you can gain some ammunition to fire at him tomorrow.

“Lead me well,” you tell him, offering your arm.

He smiles giddy with wine-stained lips, securing your arm in his and guiding you around the circle, though a bit bumpy as he’s nearly frolicking the entire way. In fact, you’re the one who ends up leading as he can’t direct even his own step.

What a night this is turning out to be.

Outside the circle, Anakin watches from afar how Qui-Gon speaks to Padmé. She’s smiling happily as he does his talking and Anakin can only pray to the former Jedi Masters that she will accept his proposal.

He’s always been a bashful romantic, even more so with the woman he’s known since he was young and younger than her, too. She’s always treated him sweetly and they would spend many times hidden away together before he became a Jedi General.

In those moments, so quiet and peaceful for only the two of them, he quickly fell in love with her. When the war grew intense and he was sent away with the Republic Army, it was the thought of her that helped him persevere.

Seeing her again and how beautiful she continues to become, he’s certain that his heart is made for her and her alone.

As he watches Jinn speak for him, in swoops Maul, a hand attacking Anakin’s shoulder as he steps beside him. The mask that hangs from his neck is not a good disguise at all as it’s painted black with aurelian markings.

“Why so intent on our master and Sir Nabriee’s daughter?” He asks.

Anakin curves his lips some, feeling embarrassed. He could speak about what his master is doing for him, but the mere thought of explaining and it failing makes him hesitant.

“It’s nothing,”

Maul goggles at his comrade, sitting down beside him with his hand still on Anakin’s shoulder.

“Don’t you think he’s awfully close with her?”

Turning his head to see them again, Anakin watches as Qui-Gon takes Padmé’s hand. Immediately, doubts begin to bubble in his stomach. She’s smiling and he’s merry, her mask dangling from her fingers. But this is all in his name… at least, that’s what was promised.

“See how he holds her hand?” Maul says. “If I were blind, I would say he’s being a gentleman, but my eyes tell me he’s doted upon her.”

“Are you sure?”

“When I passed by them, I heard him swear his affection.”

Anakin spins around. “Perhaps you misinterpreted his words?”

“I have no doubt. He swore he would marry her tonight.”

The sentence inflicts pain on Anakin like venom injected into his veins. It seems impossible and yet here Maul tells him that it’s true. To think that he would be allowed to love whilst being a Jedi seems a rather foolish thought now.

As Maul walks away, Anakin frowns at the scene of Qui-Gon raising his mask and kissing Padmé’s hand, and he feels filled with anger, eyes ablaze at watching his master betray him.

To think that he could trust him with something as delicate as his heart. Clearly, his master is only seeking out that of his own heart, since Padmé seems ever so eager when he’s revealed to her.

Throwing his mask to the dirt, he turns hotly on his heel and marches away.

Finishing his third and final dance of the night, Obi-Wan sways, chipper on wine and song, and kisses the knuckles of the lady he was dancing with, bidding her a good night. If he weren’t feeling so intoxicated, he would have invited her to his bed-chamber, but as much as he would never coax a drunken woman, he would never bed while under the influence.

As he stumbles away, slightly dizzy from all the spinning, he spots his padawan away from the festivity and approaches him.

“What are you doing over here?” He asks. “I thought you would have been swooning over Padmé,”

Anakin huffs, both hands on his hips. “It seems like Sir Jinn is the one swooning on Padmé,”

He waves a hand in the direction where the two of them stand, her smile still wide as he keeps a hold of her hand. Obi-Wan follows Anakin’s pointed finger to squint at the pair, examining the scene.

“She seems happy.”

“Master!” Anakin whines.

“What?” He shrugs his shoulders, unsure of why Anakin is so unhappy. “Did you not tell me this afternoon that he would get her goodwill?”

If anyone should be displeased by the plan in motion, it should be him. Yet, Obi-Wan talks with Anakin on the matter, trying to gain a grasp of his padawan’s emotions. Having drunk so much, his ability with the force is not as strong as it usually is, so he must rely on truths.

That is if Anakin will speak them. At the moment, he’s chatting vigorously, jumping from one matter to the next, and Obi-Wan cannot understand what is truly going on rather than there being some form of miscommunication but, Caraya’s Soul, will he not stop?

As they bicker, Qui-Gon approaches them both with Padmé beside him. Though they both appear content, there are acutely aware of the feud taking place. Even though Anakin closes his mouth shut as soon as they arrive.

“Anakin, why the solemn complexion?” Jinn asks.

“I am not sad, master,”

“Sick, then?”

“No, sir.”

“He is neither sad nor sick,” Obi-Wan says. “But bitter and jealous.”

“I think you’re right, Obi-Wan,” Jinn speaks, eyeing Skywalker.

The last time he looked this way, he was but a young child who wanted to fly a speeder he was forbidden to ride in. A funny thing to be upset over, especially at his age, but it was only the start of navigating his impulsive emotions.

This situation is one of those thoughtlessly driven suspicions, it seems.

“Anakin, come now. Don’t be foolish,” Jinn says. “Your thoughts betray you. I have wooed in your name and fair Padmé is won.”

There, that’s the truth of the matter. Obi-Wan looks over at Anakin as if to say, well there you have it, but Anakin is frozen at his spot, looking amazed and unbelieving.

“I have spoken with her father also,” Jinn continues, smiling at Ruwee who approaches them. “Name the day for marriage.”

When Anakin turns to look at Ruwee with a happy expression, he laughs. Slapping a hand down on Anakin’s shoulder, his posture straightens of a proud countenance.

“I give you my blessing,” he smiles.

Padmé mimics the happiness in her cheeks, approaching Anakin gently, who, after a short moment, breaks out into a blinding smile. He takes her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs against her skin in a tender way. They look at one another, happy, and he berates himself mentally for having assumed otherwise.

“Just as you are mine, Padmé, I am yours.” He whispers to her.

Obi-Wan hears the words his padawan speaks, though, and is still appalled by it despite this being the most elated he’s ever seen him.

There have been many missions where Anakin has acted spontaneously much to the chagrin of his master, yet he would be laughing cheerfully and Obi-Wan would never admit aloud that he was also having fun.

When he thinks about it, though, Anakin has always been a wild spirit, and he knows that he deserves this. After the tragedy of his mother, his home life, and the bravery he conducts in battle, Obi-Wan believes he can grant him this one liberty.

“All happiness to you, my young padawan,” he grumbles, sending him a smile when no one else is paying attention.

He begins to walk away, but Qui-Gon stops him before he makes even two steps in the outer direction.

“Obi-Wan, your dear lady made a complaint against you. She said the gentleman she danced with apparently had two left feet.”

Growing hot in the ears, though his cheeks burn just as harshly, Obi-Wan spins around quickly.

It was you! He had been so drowned in spirits that he hadn’t known that it was your face behind the mask nor that you would run off to tell his master such gossip. And to think he would have made a play on you if he were sober.

“She abuses me!” He practically shouts, stomping back to where he stood before. “She told me, not thinking that I had been myself, that I was your jester! That I am a dull fool and more horrible than a description she could fathom,”

With your tongue, you can spin many indelicate words. To not even bother with his depiction when you had thought you were speaking to a stranger somehow injures him more. Is he no longer worth your time?

The two of you sent more letters to each other during the war than any other soldier he knows of. Some were so pesky that he kept a hold of them, even tucking one into the folds of his robes, assuring himself that he will succeed in defeating you.

“Oh, I might as well have been chained to a post on Geonosis, attacked by an Acklay by her words,” he groans. “She is disrespectful and foul. Darkness follows her everywhere she goes.”

“Ah,” Jinn nods his head, holding back his smile. “Well, shall you tell her your opinion yourself? Here she comes now.”

As sure as his master says it, you’re approaching them from down the path, the mask still on your face which he groans at. Had he not been so drunk, he would have surely known it was you he had spoken such sweet words to. Now, his words are sharp.

When you reach them, your smile is half covered by the mask on your face, but he can see it like a light is shone directly onto it and it makes his skin crawl.

“Please, master,” Obi-Wan begs. “Send me off on a mission, any at all. I will do anything. I will spend a week with Jar Jar. I will go undercover to a death sticks storehouse. Rather than spend a single second more with this vixen!”

All Jinn can do is laugh, much like Padmé and Anakin. Obi-Wan can’t even think about if his words are offensive, especially in front of Ruwee, but he is so worked up that coming down from this level of frustration seems impossible.

“Really,” he sighs. “Do you have no task for me, master?”

“Only the delight of your good company.”

Deflating at his shoulders, Obi-Wan feels as if he crumbles to the ground. This is only the first night of their stay here, which lasts a month, and he is already at his breaking point with you. Not only that, though, as it seems he’s already broken.

“Know this now,” he starts, “I cannot endure my Lady Disdain!”

Off Obi-Wan stomps, billowing straight past you. So close that he could have knocked you over if he had touched you, yet he avoided even that. His swiftness sends a puff of air to your side and you merely take your mask off, watching him leave, and fiddle with it in your hands.

“He doesn’t mean a word of it,” Padmé sympathizes, reaching over to squeeze your arm.

No, you fear that he does. Every word that comes out of his mouth is from the heart—when he negotiates, when he threatens in battle, when he makes a promise, and when he speaks of you. He may be intoxicated, but he always says what he means.

Better to push the affliction to the side, especially knowing by the way your cousin is in her lover’s arms that he offered his binding and, with her glistening eyes, that she accepted.

“And what of Sir Skywalker?” You ask. “Does his heart speak true?”

“Yes, lady,” Anakin smiles. “And I am happy.”

“Good—” you step over to squeeze his arm and the arm of your cousin. “May the force be with you and grant you joy.”

Padmé beams, looking up at her soon-to-be husband. He’s just as jubilant, pressing his forehead against hers.

It’s a beautiful scene to watch and you find that your heart lurches in your chest at their delight, though it skips a beat in sorrow that you may never know the same joy. With a sigh, one which anyone can associate as blissful, you step away.

“My lady,” Jinn says, walking over to you. “You have lost the heart of Sir Kenobi.”

You grin, nodding at him, thinking back on his antics.

“Indeed,” you sigh. “When we were younger, he lent it to me. It was pleasant for a short time but in the end, he could not offer marriage and so we parted. So, you can very well say that I have lost his heart.”

The two of you were young, you remind yourself, and so his infatuation could hardly have been heartfelt. Even from the start, you both challenged each other, so, really, it could never work.

Jinn shakes his head. “You have put him down.”

“I believe I have put him off,”

“For a woman of your quality, I think he is rather daft to oppose you.”

You push your shoulder against him, smiling. “My cousin is the hopeful kind and I wish her the greatest joy. If I am not satisfied with a proposal, then Maker blesses her life.”

“In faith, my lady, you have a merry heart,” Jinn smiles at you.

“Yes, the poor fool. I may sit in a corner and cry for a husband, but never have one.”

“Oh, I will get you one.”

“In the same manner that you got my cousin for young Anakin?” You shake your head. “No, I would much rather words were spoken to me.”

It is honorable that Sir Jinn would act for Anakin when he had not the courage, but when the day comes for you—though, you really think if it will come—then you want someone who will tell you personally, that way you can see the markings of love in him.

“You are a good man,” you continue. “Do you not have any brothers?”

“Only one, the eldest, Bil-Gan, but he is already married with children,” Jinn says.

“Ah, I am not fortunate, it seems.”

Someone like him would be perfect for you, you think. Humble, courteous, and handsome. Especially humble. That way there will be no room for another merry war.

“Will you have me, lady?” Jinn asks, his words barely above a whisper.

His proposal surprises you, them having been said so sincerely, and as if he had read your thoughts, though you were not sincere in them. At least, not fully.

In a different life, you can see yourself with someone akin to Sir Jinn, but the one you live in now is not heading in that direction.

“No, sir,” you say, not missing the frown between his brows. “You are too valuable for someone of my mind. I’m afraid I was born to speak all mirth and no matter.”

He nods, seeming unscathed at your refusal. “As it makes sense. I am sure you were born in a merry hour.”

You laugh. “Quite the opposite, my mother cried.”

When he laughs in return, you know that no damage is done. Truthfully, he deserves a better spouse and when that happens you will be more than happy for him.

“I bid you goodnight,” you say. “I am tired.”

Jinn smiles, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles softly.

“Goodnight, my lady.”

You walk away with a spring in your step, still chipper even after such a weighty conversation. Besides, your cousin will be a married woman soon and you would rather be frozen in carbonite if you do not share in her gladness.

As Qui-Gon watches you walk away, he thinks of how pleasant a presence you are. Anyone would be lucky to be your husband. If only Obi-Wan was not so against marriage, for the way you both speak, you would make a handsome couple.

With that, an idea springs to mind.

Jinn turns back to the group. “Anakin, what day will you marry?”

“Tomorrow,” he says confidently.

“Not until the weekend is over,” Ruwee says in a serious tone of voice, wagging a finger. “The festival will conclude by then and only then will you marry.”

“Then, in the meantime, I will try my best at winning another hand,” Jinn says.

“Who do you have in mind?”

“Your niece,” Jinn pauses, then smiles wide, “for Sir Kenobi.”

Everyone bursts into hilarity, looking both amused and astounded.

“My cousin and Obi-Wan?” Padmé laughs. “There is no way that can possibly work.”

“If they were but a week married, they would talk themselves to death.” Ruwee laughs.

Jinn shakes his head. “There is interest there, I am sure of it. Never have I been wrong, and if I could have your assistance in this then I am sure they will be affectionate with each other before Primeday.”

It’s not impossible, at least not for him. He knows the way Obi-Wan speaks of you and with the knowledge that he at one time had doted on you, there is no doubt in his mind that the feelings still remain. All he has to do is bring them to the surface.

Ruwee laughs again, slapping a hand against Jinn’s back. “You know I am for you, always.”

“And me as well,” Anakin says.

Pleased by the cooperation, Jinn raises a brow. “And what says you, Padmé?”

She shakes her head, though her smile is wide on her cheeks.

“I will do anything to help my cousin to a good husband.”

With the family and the comrades working together, this will go without a hitch.

“If we can do this,” Jinn says, tapping a finger to his chin, “then Cupid is no longer an archer.”

It will be done and it will be successful. He does not need the force to read the heart of others, all he needs is their word and, abundantly, he has trusty words from you two.

“Come with me,” Jinn waves his hand. “I will tell you my plan.”

An impossible feat must be made within two days and, Maker assures it, before the sun sets on the second day, you and Obi-Wan will be madly in love with each other.

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[desireandduty]

Pad'vodou for @hen1chaer

It's a beautiful summer day on Naboo. A handful of puffy clouds scatter across a pure blue sky. The faintest of breezes will keep the sunshine from being too oppressively warm, and they carry with them the scent of flowers blooming on the vines that climb the walls and railings of most of the villa. Even though they only arrived at the lake house yesterday, as soon as breakfast is done, Padmé dresses in a simple swimsuit and makes her way down to the water. Just as she did when she was a girl, she plans to swim out to the island and back before lunch time.

As much as she loves her big, (most of the time) happy, extended family, one of the things she treasures about Varykino is the opportunity for peaceful solitude. This summer, the extended Naberrie-Skywalker clan (which included Sola, Pooja, Ryoo, Jobal and Ruwee) had also brought along one of Leia's friends, Mara Jade Kryze. Having three teenagers in the house felt almost as chaotic as having toddlers had. At least teenagers are easier to travel with, since they pack their own suitcases and carry them around, that sort of thing.

Padmé smiles to herself, remembering the look on Anakin's face when he saw just how many cases they were taking with them to Naboo. You'd think after 17 years together, he would have realized that his upbringing made him an abnormally light traveler. It's with this smile on her face that she climbs down from the rock she'd been poised on, intending to wade into the water for her swim. It's only then that she notices Mara approaching. "Good morning," she greets her with a friendly smile. "Did you sleep all right?"

[spell-cleaver]

The Protégé Chapter 13: Idolisation

The Naberrie family reunite. Ryoo ruins Luke's lunch, and Ruwee ruins Padmé's.

"We're slightly late," she said, with a nervous smile. "Are you alright, Luke?"

"I've never seen you dressed so simply," he said. It wasn't a simple outfit. She had an off-the-shoulder teal silk dress on, with a paler overskirt. But that was it. Her hair was down in curls, she wasn't wearing jewellery, and the simple design, rather than layers of brocades, embroidery and lace and her elaborate hairstyles, made her seem almost human.

She smiled at him. "Fashion is a political tool. I didn't come here to talk politics."

Good luck with that, Luke thought.

"Come in, Padmé."

Sola had the courage to step forwards and look at her sister, then, pointedly ignored the hulking husband behind her. Padmé's smile grew even wider; she pushed past Luke to hug her sister, and he heard barriers and years fall away as Sola led her inside, words coming awkwardly but sincerely. Pooja slipped in just behind them, clapping Luke's shoulder on the way. He nodded at her.

Luke looked up at Vader.

His mouth went dry.

Yesterday he'd told the man he hated him. And then he'd thanked him for saving him a night in the cells, his career, and possibly his life. Vader was standing far enough back again to make it look like he was trying to respect Luke's space, but he was still watching him closely.

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