Once upon a time, the people of Naboo had elected a queen. She was young and bright, and full of hope. She was fierce and kind, and burned oh so brightly. She was a protector, and a fighter, diplomat and politician.

And she loved.

She loved her people, she loved her world. She loved the Republic, what it was meant to be, what it could be.

Perhaps she had found other love too. Years after a the young queen had stepped down, when war was tearing the Republic apart, she had become pregnant.

And then she died.

There had been a funeral - they had put flowers in her hair and a worn little amulet in her hands. People had lined the streets, and those who could not attend had watched the screens. She had been beautiful in death. Calm, serene—a mother who would never hold her children. The picture of kindness.

But this was not all that she had been.

Stories are living things. And where there is a void, they will seek to fill it out. They grow out of the needs of those telling them, of their fears and their hopes. The young queen was a story, and so in a way, she had never died. She lived on, and on, after those who knew her died.

Once upon a time, there had been a queen. She was young and bright, fierce and kind at once. People like her do not simply die of broken hearts. People like her live and live, and live—because they love, because they care, because they are needed. They are the mothers of the nation, of the world, of the Republic, the she-wolf that will savage a bear and then cradle a babe to her breast.

They are guardians of peace, of the weak, a shield raised high, a blaster aimed at the throat.

They are the one who speaks for the voiceless.

There had been a man, who wanted to eat the Galaxy whole. But he was as cunning as he was greedy, and he had put on a kindly mask.

There had been a war—terrible and bloody, and no one knew how to stop it.

And the hungry man came to the people of the Republic and spoke to them, "Look at this war. We have to protect everyone, but I cannot do this—my hands are weak and old—if you but gave me a slice of this world-"

No one wanted the war to continue and so, they fed the hungry man. But it was never enough, and the man was never sated. He ate worlds, and Jedi, ships and droids, and always, he hungered for more.

Eventually, the queen had heard of him, and went to stop him. But the old man was cunning and knew that she was kind. She would try to reason with him, to spare his life.

So, he hid a poisoned dagger in his sleeve.

And when the queen came and tried to talk with him, he stabbed her.

But the queen was not meek and fought back. She wrestled the dagger from him and cut him—she was too weak to kill him, but that is not the point. For there would be a boy and a father, a princess and a scoundrel-

But that's a different story.

The queen fell, but she was not mortally wounded. People like her do not die, remember? She was merely asleep, and so her people hid her under the ground, in the great ocean.

There, she sleeps, until the salt water will wash away the poison. One day, when the people of Naboo will call to their mother, their queen, their guardian, she will awaken and swim up to the surface.

And she will lead them again.

AN:

I have feelings about Padme. A lot of them. And lately, I've been thinking that to the people in universe her story is actually separate from Anakin's. She's not his tragic young wife, his angel, but a queen and a protector. So, here she is, the queen under the ocean, sleeping until her world needs her again.