A/N: Co-written with mrstater. This fic is AU in that it explores what might have happened if Yoda and Obi-Wan had taken a little more time to decide the fate of the twins. Although most of the chapters take place prior to the end of Episode III, this first one fills in some missing moments from Episode I that lay the foundation for the rest. For our story purposes, we only take movie canon into account, though we've borrowed elements from other canon sources and the EU here and there. The title comes from the Florence + the Machine song of the same name.

1.

PROLOGUE

32 BBY

To Obi-Wan Kenobi, the time spent awaiting battle shouldn't have been calm. But often, despite his expectations, it was. Boring, as a matter of fact.

That unexpected sense of peace never failed to startle him, tugging at the corners of his mouth until Qui-Gon had to ask what was so funny, prompting Obi-Wan to shake his head and try once more to look as serious as the situation warranted.

In this case, the situation was the mundane act of nourishing their bodies before their ragtag group—the real queen, Padmé; her handmaidens; Captain Panaka; a few resistance leaders; and the two Jedi, along with the problematic addition of the boy Anakin—stormed Theed's Royal Palace while the Gungans drew the droid army away from the city. Whatever the outcome, it was likely to be a long day. Thankfully, the rations they'd brought from the starship were enough, if not exactly tasty. But the setting was remarkably beautiful.

Obi-Wan could understand why Naboo's Sacred Place, with its toppled statues of the Elders, was important to the Gungans. Padmé had told him and Qui-Gon that no one was sure if the statues were of the Elders themselves or their gods, but to Obi-Wan it made no difference. He felt the Force here, breathed it in with the crisp air. The sky was clear, and a light breeze tickled his neck as he chewed his energy cube and looked around.

Beyond a stand of trees, Padmé sat with her handmaidens and Anakin, who seemed quite taken with her, in a circle on the soft, green grass. After showing the boy something on her datapad-a map of the palace, perhaps-she spoke in low tones to her handmaidens, presumably giving them their assignments, which no doubt she would share with the rest of the group once they'd all broken their fast. Her decoy still wore the queen's raiments, black and red with that ridiculous headpiece—how could one think with such foppery balanced on one's head?—while Padmé and the rest were clad in simple burgundy gowns accented with gold.

"The queen and her decoy do bear an uncanny resemblance to one another," his Master remarked, seeing where his attention had drifted. "Did you suspect?"

Obi-Wan turned back and swallowed a dry bite with a few draughts of water from his canteen. "No. I never did. Did you?"

"Not for a moment," replied Qui-Gon. Having finished his ration, he reclined with his hands behind his head on the grass and looked up through the canopy of trees, his lined features relaxed and smooth as the stone faces that lay scattered in the meadow beyond. Sunlight dappled his skin. "Though I did wonder about Padmé. For a handmaiden, she seemed quite willful. I assumed that was the queen's preference."

"So you're finally admitting that it's good to be accompanied by someone with a mind of their own?"

Qui-Gon's laughter startled a group of Gungans, Jar Jar among them, and half a dozen heads swiveled on long necks to look at the two Jedi. Obi-Wan waved at them, then shifted where he sat on the grass to face his Master more directly.

"Actually, I had similar thoughts about Padmé's decoy," he confessed.

Sabé, her name was, but somehow he didn't think it proper to refer to her so personally, particularly now that he knew she was a bodyguard, and closer to his own age than he'd thought. She wasn't a child at all. He felt a flush warm his cheeks and inexplicably he regretted his confession.

"Oh?" prompted Qui-Gon, and without even looking Obi-Wan recognized the restrained humor in his Master's voice. "What did you notice?"

Never mind and nothing were considered meaningless responses to defer true introspection or outward examination, so Obi-Wan bit down until he'd formulated an answer he thought he could stomach. "I saw a glimmer of something…different. When we were on the starship while you bartered for the hyperdrive."

That was after the dust storm—the afternoon when Tatooine's two suns had aligned.

"The phenomenon is called syzygy," the young woman he'd thought was Naboo's girl-queen had said as she stood with her remaining handmaidens before a viewport. "When three celestial bodies align—in this case, the planet and its two suns."

Obi-Wan, standing off to one side, followed her gaze. The two suns were, indeed, approaching each other, their combined brilliance in the lingering haze following the dust storm too dazzling to behold without the protection of the transparisteel.

"Have you heard of another celestial phenomenon known as The Lovers' Embrace?" she asked.

He crossed to stand beside her. As he'd thought, the view of the suns was better here. "No, I haven't."

"Three times a year the two moons of Elrood appear almost to touch," she explained, holding her hand up as though measuring how close the suns were now. Her fingers were long and graceful, just like he'd always imagined a queen's would be. "It's a time of celebration. The people give gifts, write poems...and marry. No one knows whether it's caused by the syzygy or whether it's merely tradition."

"Like most cultural practices, I imagine it stems from a little of both."

"Well stated, Jedi," she said with a smile in her voice, an unexpected departure from the flat, protected tone she normally took.

But when he turned to look, the smile had disappeared from her face, if it had been there at all.

"There is a counterpoint to that event," she went on, matter-of-fact once more. "The Lovers' Conflict happens when the two moons are on opposite sides of the sky. Can you guess what happens then?"

Obi-Wan had to smile, for the question sounded just like one of Qui-Gon's. "People fight?"

"Exactly," she said with a nod, and this time he thought he saw her lips quirk in the beginning of a tiny smile, the same curious one he'd seen when she'd ordered her handmaiden Padmé to clean up the R2 unit. "There's an increase in violent crime. Can people control their responses to that phenomenon? Would they even wish to?"

"It would seem that The Lovers' Embrace and The Lovers' Conflict have become an integral part of Elrood's collective psyche."

"For better or for worse," she said with a frown.

Elrood, Tatooine, Naboo, it didn't matter: here was a queen looking after her people. If the phenomena happened on Naboo, Obi-Wan could imagine her wagging a long finger at those moons and demanding they cease their meddling.

"Or perhaps it's simply balance," he said, unable to resist tossing the other side of the argument before her.

Her stare was startling in its intensity, as though she were trying to divine a deeper meaning from his words. Beneath the white powder and red cheek spots he saw her features soften, her lips part as she considered a retort.

Then her eyes slid back to the phenomenon outside the viewport. And she laughed.

A light that had nothing to do with Tatooine's binary suns brightened her dark eyes so that they shimmered from within, and the sound of her throaty laughter shook him. He'd never seen her teeth, so white and straight in that broad and vulnerable grin, and he felt somehow as though he'd stumbled upon her in her bath. She reached out blindly for his shoulder to tap it so he would look at the viewport, too. But he found it difficult to turn his eyes from what he saw now was the real queen, a joyful young woman delighting in an unanticipated moment of splendor. He felt laughter bubble in his throat, though no sound escaped.

"Look, Obi-Wan." She shook his shoulder. "Look!"

The shock of hearing his given name spoken by the queen seemed to awaken him from his trance, and he finally heard the handmaidens' awed whispers surrounding them like ghosts. With a belated jerk, he turned to face the transparisteel.

One sun in front of the other created a magnificent sphere of energy, appearing nearly crimson because of the dust particles still hovering in the air from the earlier storm. It was as though some deity had hurled a massive ball of flame into the air, where it hung like a child's mobile, its only purpose to create beauty and amusement for the mere mortals on the planet's surface.

Obi-Wan's mouth dropped open. "It's—" But he stopped there and could not go on.

"Yes," the queen breathed beside him, looking with him into the sky. Her hand still clutched his shoulder. "It is."

"What was it, do you think?" Qui-Gon's voice brought Obi-Wan back to the here and now.

"What was what?" His Master must have meant the syzygy; perhaps he hadn't seen it while he sheltered from the dust storm at the Skywalker home. Obi-Wan realized he still flushed, thinking of his awkward bow and his murmured Your Highness as he'd extricated himself from the queen's firm grip on his shoulder. Why had her touch unnerved him so?

"You said that on the starship you saw something different in the queen. In her decoy, I should say."

Obi-Wan glanced again at Sabé, her profile serene as she looked at one of the Elders' carved stone heads lying in the grass like some forgotten toy. Padmé had confessed she felt unsettled by the toppled carvings; but it seemed that Sabé, like Obi-Wan, found them peaceful. Perhaps the Force's presence in this place called to her, too, despite her not being a practitioner. The idea made his heart judder, and he had to sweep the emotion aside.

"It's—" He'd been about to say It's just, but there was nothing just about it. "I think I saw her true self for a moment."

"You mean the person beneath the mask she wears?"

He nodded, grateful that Qui-Gon seemed to understand what he meant.

"Many people wear masks," Qui-Gon said, "those who protect others most of all, for they wish not to appear weak or frightened around those who rely on them. It's a gift to see someone's true essence. A gift to the giver, and to the receiver. It was brave of her to share that with you."

A sudden lurch in Obi-Wan's chest sent a jolt through him. Again, he could only nod.

"Can you tell the difference between them now?"

"Of course."

"Show me." Qui-Gon propped himself up on his elbows.

Obi-Wan studied the profiles of Padmé and Sabé as they sat together in the sun. "Sabé is at least three inches taller than Padmé. She's thinner, too."

"What else?"

"Sabé's chin and nose are sharper." Unbidden, an image of how the bridge of her nose had crinkled when she'd laughed blazed in his mind. He quickly brought himself back to the task of his list. "Her gaze is more shrewd. Her hands are more delicate."

"What else?"

Obi-Wan paused. "She has a kind smile."

"I noticed you said nothing about Padmé."

"I—" A surge of defensiveness coursed through him, though in truth he had nothing to feel defensive about. He breathed until the waves of unwelcome emotion crashed over him and ebbed.

"It's—" But when he tried again to speak, he found he still had no excuse, if his Master even wanted one. Why did he feel cornered all of a sudden? Could Qui-Gon see something he could not? Certainly he could see the color in Obi-Wan's burning cheeks.

"It's all right," chuckled Qui-Gon as he sat up to face his Padawan. "You know my thoughts on the matter."

Obi-Wan did indeed, and there was his answer. "I don't have feelings for her," he said quickly, angry that his Master would choose this moment to teach another lesson about attachment. They were mere hours from attempting to capture the viceroy—presuming, of course, that the mysterious Sith who had confronted Qui-Gon on Tatooine didn't make another appearance. But of course Qui-Gon had never taught according to a proper schedule.

Besides, hadn't Qui-Gon just told the Council that his Padawan was ready to be a Knight? Why was he still teaching him at all? Obi-Wan looked at Anakin sitting between Padmé and another handmaiden whose name he didn't know, a dusty slave boy framed on both sides by royal colors, and felt a strange jealousy.

He closed his eyes and let the feeling slip away.

"Perhaps not," Qui-Gon assented, bringing him back to the conversation once more. "You barely know her. But…you saw a glimpse, did you not? And that glimpse—"

"It didn't change me," said Obi-Wan.

"How do you know?"

"Master..." He wished his tone didn't sound so pleading. He thought of Qui-Gon's insistence that nothing happened by accident. He'd meant it in reference to finding Anakin, but did that mean every connection had a larger significance? If so, how could he prioritize them, make them all fit?

"I want to walk the path of the Jedi," Obi-Wan went on in a lowered his voice—but then it sounded like the queen's, a guarded monotone, though he was powerless to change it now. "I refuse to seek out distraction. It's nothing but trouble."

Qui-Gon's eyes twinkled as he listened, and Obi-Wan's flush deepened.

"How do you know?" his Master asked again.

Obi-Wan pressed his lips together. They'd had this argument before, early in the morning and late at night, analyzing ancient poems about finding what was never sought, going round and round until Obi-Wan wasn't certain where he stood and had to stalk away to try and stop thinking about it. How many times would they discuss the merits of living a balanced life, a life which went against all the teachings of the Council and every holobook he'd ever read about the Order?

"A strong Jedi would not veer from the path," Qui-Gon said, resting a broad hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "A strong Jedi would allow attachment and still choose right."

Though he couldn't know it, Qui-Gon gripped the same shoulder Sabé had held so firmly on the starship. Here was an opportunity to choose right, and Obi-Wan chose to keep his gaze on his Master, blinking as he struggled to prevent it from drifting back to Sabé.

"After all," Qui-Gon went on with a smile, "are you and I not attached? And you choose wisely every day. It's the weak Jedi who must sequester himself and resist this so-called distraction."

"I choose the Force," said Obi-Wan, raising his chin. "I won't fail you."

"Ah, well, that's commendable," Qui-Gon sighed as he sat back again, looking at the statues of the Elders, or their gods, or whatever they once had been. "In doing so, just make certain you don't fail yourself."

25 BBY

On the final day of Queen Amidala's reign, she summoned Sabé Al'Lur to her personal chamber.

Sabé entered the royal apartment with a sense of its vastness she hadn't felt since she first came to the palace as a seventeen-year-old working-class girl from Keren. Her heart fluttered in the cavern of her chest as she crossed the marble tiles beneath the vaulted ceiling. Breaths shuddered despite long inhales and exhales in an attempt to steady them. Her hands shook, too, as she took her place behind the dressing table bench where Padmé sipped caf and watched the HoloNet. They exchanged good mornings, but when the queen said nothing further, Sabé began to unweave the plaits she slept in. She couldn't gauge Padmé's mood or how she'd taken the had to have read Sabé's message; why else would she have sent for her alone? Only when the braids had been let down and Sabé reached to retrieve the ivory-handled brush from the dressing table did Padmé look up from the datapad and catch her eye in the mirror.

"How do you think I should wear it for my last day? There's a poll this morning: Eight Years, Eight Hairstyles of Queen Amidala. Vote for your favorite. I'm glad to know my time as Queen of Naboo has been so noteworthy."

Sabé gave a little snort of laughter as she pulled the brush through the dark, wavy strands cascading to the small of the queen's back. "So we saw."

"I'm sure it gave you all a good laugh over your breakfast." Padmé brought her caf cup to her smirking lips.

In fact Sabé had been too preoccupied to laugh much with her fellow handmaidens, or to eat more than a few bites, but Padmé's amusement settled her now.

"All except for Rabé," she said, smiling back.

"Wasn't she delighted to see her work featured publicly?"

"She pretended to disagree with some of the choices, but yes. Although if you want to leave a lasting legacy in Nabooian hairstyling-" Now it was Padmé who snorted. "-she'd serve you better."

Sabé wasn't an incompetent hairdresser, but as the queen's primary double, she'd spent considerably more time having her hair arranged into the elaborate coiffures than learning to do them herself. As evidenced by the considerably less intricate arrangement of three loops she'd twisted her own hair into today. Sometimes, though, she found it calming to style Padmé's hair. Meditative.

"But there's so little time left for you," Padmé said.

In the mirror, Sabé watched the smile fade from the face that was almost a perfect reflection of her own. Perhaps less so in recent years than when Padmé was a girl of fourteen, but still striking enough in their resemblance as to fool even those who knew them well.

Or a pair of Jedi.

"I was sorry to read your resignation letter," the queen added, her voice low, every trace of humor gone. "And if I'm honest, surprised."

Sabé's gaze dropped to Padmé's hair. She lowered the brush, clutching it in both hands in front of her skirt, the temporary relief from the unsettled feeling gone as guilt hastily took up residence. The bench's legs scraped the floor as it pushed back, and silk dressing gown whispered against brocade upholstery as Padmé rose and stepped around it to face her handmaiden.

"I assumed you'd continue as part of my entourage on Coruscant."

"I'm sorry." Sabé blinked against the sting in her eyes and the bright splendor of the room in the morning sunlight. "I should have-"

Padmé held up a hand, signaling for her to stop. "I shouldn't have. You've been with me for eight years, after all."

"Long enough to make it safe to assume."

"That you wouldn't want to stop living my life and lead your own?" Padmé asked, an eyebrow raised, the corners of her mouth upturned.

Want. That was precisely the problem. Sabé looked down at her hands, still wringing the hairbrush. She didn't know what she wanted. Or rather, she did. But she couldn't have it, and she didn't know what she wanted instead.

Another rustle of fabric. Padmé's embroidered slippers beneath the hem of her gown came into view as she closed the distance between them. She lay her hand over Sabé's, gently prising her fingers from the handle of the brush and turning to place it on the dressing table.

"Why didn't you tell me you were thinking of leaving? You can't have thought I'd be angry."

"No, Your Highness. I was afraid you'd think I was being…disloyal."

"Disloyal? Sabé, you're the very last person I could think that of." Padmé's hands closed around hers again. "You're so much more than my handmaiden. You're the truest friend I've had, as much a sister as Sola." There was no doubting her sincerity, but playfulness glimmered in her eyes as she added, "Which is why I'm asking you to never call me Your Highness again."

"Of course not. After today it'll be Your Excellency, Senator Amidala."

Padmé's laughter rang out, joyful peals that made it impossible for Sabé not to smile even as the queen's compliments tugged at her heart.

She wasn't the first to have paid her such kindness.

Sabé's gaze drifted over the queen's head. Outside the arched floor-to-ceiling windows rose the skyline of Theed, green and gilded domes aglow with sunlight against the clear sky. A pair of double doors swept out onto a terrace that overlooked the Royal Plaza. She could almost see him leaning against the railing-not of this balcony, but one very like it in another part of the palace: a young man slumped beneath the weight of sorrow that was draped over his shoulders as heavily as his brown cloak.

She'd cleared her throat as she stepped through the doors, for she didn't wish to startle him from his reverie, but he'd already straightened up, the folds of his cloak swinging a little as he turned toward her. Nobody sneaks up on a Jedi, stoopa! she chided herself inwardly. His posture, hands folded together beneath the billowing sleeves of his cloak, his expression, pleasant, at peace in the universe, made her question what she thought she'd read in his body language the moment before.

On the other hand, she might not be a Jedi, but her line of work had taught her a thing or two about concealing emotion.

"Obi-Wan," she said, by way of greeting.

He hesitated, barely for the space of a heartbeat, before responding in kind. "Sabé."

It shouldn't have surprised her that he remembered her name, but it did. They hadn't had a chance to speak since her identity was revealed, between the battle and the aftermath and the arrival of the Jedi Council for Qui-Gon Jinn's funeral. In a way, this was the first time they'd spoken at all.

"Are you sure? I could be the queen sneaking away from the feast in disguise."

His eyebrows hitched upward, mirroring her expression. "Quite sure."

"Do your senses tell you?"

For a moment she worried he might think she was making fun of him, or that he wasn't in the mood for teasing, so soon after the death of his Master. But standing before him, she saw the light of quiet laughter in his blue eyes, and the corresponding gentle curve of his lips as he replied, "They tell me young Anakin has kept a hawk eye on Padmé since she revealed herself to be the queen."

With a glance back at the double doors where the party went on, Sabé hmmed. "Yes, you'd better take that one back to Coruscant before the queen decides to replace her bodyguards."

"He's a little short for a decoy. The headdresses would fall down over his eyes."

Laughing at the image, and glad she bore no headdress at the moment but rather her own silvery-grey hooded cloak, she turned back to Obi-Wan. His mouth still curved in a faint smile, but his gaze was intent upon her face.

"It's a bit like telling twins apart," he said, coming back to her question. "Even identical ones aren't entirely…" He gestured vaguely. "…identical. You are the woman I watched the syzygy with."

Sabé had a sudden sensation of standing at a great height, which had nothing whatsoever to do with her physical position on a balcony above much of the city.

"You passed the test. I'm just the handmaiden," she said, hoping her voice didn't sound shaky, though she was short of breath.

Part of her wanted to tear herself away from the observant eyes, which were putting the limits of her composure to another kind of test. A larger part wanted him to know her as she truly was, for she'd felt him watching her like this as Tatooine's twin suns aligned. Sharing an awestruck moment like that while in the guise of another person felt somehow wrong. Which was one reason she'd sought him out tonight.

"I do apologize for the deception," she said. "For deceiving you. It wasn't personal."

"No apologies are necessary," Obi-Wan replied, the small smile returning, his expression kind. "The success of your ruse required complete secrecy. You didn't offend me, I assure you, Sabé."

With a nod, she moved to stand at the ledge. Although the dizzy sensation had passed, she was grateful for the solid stonework beneath her palms. Obi-Wan lingered behind her, as if he didn't know what to do next. Sabé was at the brink of asking if she was invading his privacy when she heard the scuff of his sole on the stone terrace floor close behind her as he stepped alongside her.

He stood just near enough that his cloak almost brushed her shoulder, but not quite. Folded his arms in front of him, hands tucked into the wide a moment they stood in companionable silence. Sabé let out a discreet sigh of relief as she looked down at the cobbles far below, which were still littered with confetti and the detritus of the morning's celebration. The din of this evening's drifted through the open doors behind them.

"So why is the queen's handmaiden sneaking off from the feast?" asked Obi-Wan at length.

"Why is the Jedi?"

Obi-Wan's gaze flickered from hers, darkening, only to return with a glint of amusement. "I may be clearing my head after overindulging in the Alderaan ruge liqueur."

"Easily done," replied Sabé.

Her chuckle felt as forced as his smile looked. Should she leave him be, give him the privacy to frown or weep if he needed, rather than hold his emotion in for the sake of social convention? But he'd looked so alone out here. Like he could use a friend.

"Ruge liqueur's often served at feasts on Naboo," she went on-a dry topic, but safe. To keep him company. "There's an Alderaanian population in Keren. My home town," she added, and he nodded as if this was important information to take note of. "But you don't seem drunk. Or is that Jedi control?"

"Yes, that's what we spend our entire lives training for."

"A very practical application of your skillset."

"That reminds me of a time when Master Qui-Gon and I were on a mission on Mandalore." His eyes crinkled again as he turned to look out at the Plaza. At his use of Qui-Gon's name, Sabé felt an undercurrent of change between them, like a shift in the breeze. He was opening himself to her, even if only a little. "We found ourselves in a cantina that offered a truly vile starfire 'skee-"

"Isn't all starfire 'skee vile?"

"This particular brew contained what I'm fairly certain was reclaimed 'fresher water." His grin widened at Sabé's face and sound of disgust. "We'd been on the run from bounty hunters for the better part of a year, living hand-to-mouth, and Qui-Gon desperately wanted a drink. He'd already knocked back a few, and seemed sober, while I felt the effects of just one. I asked how this could be, and Qui-Gon informed me that he wasn't drunk because he chose not to be. And so he had another."

"And?" Sabé asked, though she could guess where the story was going.

"I had the satisfaction of telling my Master that while he might not have chosen to be drunk, drunkenness certainly chose him. Not the wisest thing I might have said to a hungover Jedi."

At her laugh, Obi-Wan looked gratified, smiling as he returned his gaze to the view, while Sabé took the opportunity to study him. As his smile faded, she noticed that the lines remained etched faintly at the corners of his eyes. He was much too young for that-in his mid-twenties at most. It was as if he'd traded in his Padawan braid for the careworn look of a Jedi Knight.

Which was the answer to his earlier question: the handmaiden had sneaked off from the celebration because the Jedi, who was in no small way responsible for it, hadn't seemed truly a part of it. In fact she'd watched him all day, as closely as Anakin watched Padmé, noting his solemnity during the parade with the Gungans.

"How long were you Qui-Gon's apprentice?" She dared to acknowledge the eopie in the room, since he'd opened up about his Master, praying she wasn't overstepping the mark.

He answered readily. "From my adolescence."

"I could see you and he shared a very close bond. It must be something like losing a father."

This time Obi-Wan didn't reply at once, but kept his eyes fixed ahead, not on the landscape of Theed, but elsewhere, far away. One hand emerged from his sleeve to rub his index finger over his lip. As his silence lengthened, Sabé's anxiety swelled. Kriff. She looked away from him, face flaming. Jedi didn't have attachments. Certainly not in a familial sense.

They weren't supposed to show emotion, either, but when Obi-Wan finally spoke, his voice was thick. "It…is exactly like that. You are most astute."

Sabé had no doubt this was high praise indeed from a Jedi, but he sounded so broken that she'd rather not have received it.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I wish the price of Naboo's joy wasn't your sorrow. That your own achievement wasn't shadowed by loss."

Instinctively, she reached out to lay her hand in the crook of his elbow in a gesture of comfort and friendship. Her fingertips had scarcely brushed the coarse cloth of his robe when her eyes locked with his, and everything, within her and without, seemed to stop. The connection of it surpassed anything she'd ever shared with another person through physical touch. He felt it, too. Somehow, she knew that as clearly as if he'd spoken the words aloud, though he hadn't. Or maybe he had. It was difficult to be certain of anything except the sense of something profound passing between them.

How long they stood like that, she had no idea. Obi-Wan was the one to bring the moment to an end, rasping out a simple "Thank you" that jumpstarted her heart and lungs again. Not knowing what else to say or do, she pivoted away from him and this dangerous feeling that had stirred, mumbling about going back inside, only to be stopped again. Drawn back by his hands closing around hers, delicate and strong at the same time.

"Sabé," he said, and she thought she'd be happy if she never heard any other sound but her name on his lips. "You called yourself just a handmaid. Don't sell yourself short. You did much more than wear the queen's clothes and imitate her speech. You were the queen."

"Sabé."

Not Obi-Wan's voice this time, resonating through her memory, or his hands squeezing hers, but Padmé's. Sabé felt as reluctant to return to the present as she had been to return to the feast. She didn't immediately respond to the queen, allowing herself to linger on the image of the young handmaiden and Jedi, who talked together as the sun dipped below the rooftops and the stars appeared by the sparkling dozen in the dusky violet sky, and tried to pretend that something profound had not happened between them.

Because nothing more ever could.

When Sabé finally returned her attention to the queen, Padmé released her hand but continued to watch her curiously.

"You looked so far away just then," she said, linking arms to draw Sabé toward a seating area in front of the double doors. Padmé lowered herself onto the settee, and indicated for Sabé to sit beside her. "Is that the problem with Coruscant?"

The opposite, in fact. Coruscant was much too close. Sabé had made trips there with the queen over the years, of course. Each time she'd both hoped for and dreaded crossing paths with Obi-Wan, who would surely frequent the Jedi Temple a great deal, training Anakin. Mostly dreaded. If that connection still existed, what good would come of feeling it again, only to be inevitably parted?

And that was only if it existed. Why would it? It may not have been as significant for Obi-Wan as it had been for her, and he'd had eight years to search his feelings and discard anything not in line with the Jedi Code. To discover that this was the case would be the worst of all. Her warring hope and dread had been almost unbearable even over such brief stays on Coruscant. A more permanent residence to guard a senator would only increase their chances of meeting again.

"I had been thinking of something much nearer to home," Sabé replied. "Maybe even in Keren. Make my mother happy, starting a family close by. She's been so lonely, since my father..."

"Of course," said Padmé. She didn't know how close her handmaiden had come a year ago to making her bereavement leave of absence permanent. And Sabé had not fully understood the depth of sorrow Obi-Wan had felt to lose his Master until then.

"You're ready to settle down?" the queen asked. "Is there…someone special?"

Although Sabé was fairly certain Padmé didn't entirely believe her, she didn't want to lie outright. Then again, there wasn't, not in the way Padmé meant it. You couldn't settle down and have a family with a Jedi, could you?

"I couldn't do what you require of me if I had a family." Sabé sidestepped the question. "And if I continue with you, I couldn't do what a family requires."

Now who sounded like a Jedi?

"Fair enough," said Padmé.

She rose from the settee, Sabé following suit, and padded across the tile to the wardrobe. Sweeping the doors open wide, she flicked through the court gowns and ceremonial robes, in seemingly every shade and fabric available in the galaxy. Splendid as Sabé thought the queen was, and proud of their culture, part of her would be relieved not to have to deal any longer with such fussy garments, and to have the freedom to dress more simply herself.

"If you do go to Keren," said the queen, considering a pale green robe with a wide purple sash and then putting it back, "Senator Organa may be able to find a job for you in the Alderaanian sector."

Sabé nodded. She hadn't considered this, but she would, if such a position were available.

"And then you'd have to keep in contact with me," Padmé added. Her smile began as a twinkle in her eyes, and then bloomed on her lips-and Sabé's.

"Of course I'll keep in contact with you. I suppose it would be a terrible breach of protocol to sign messages to Her Excellency the Senator with hugs and kisses?"

Padmé abandoned her wardrobe to pull her into a hug, and pressed her lips to both Sabé's cheeks, in approximately the same positions where she'd worn the twin red spots of makeup. She felt herself flush with emotion at the queen's affection and her words:

"I'm going to miss you terribly. Remember that if you ever change your mind, there's always a place for you in my house. As part of my family."

A/N: Look for Chapter 2 on November 9! Our plan is to keep up a Sunday/Wednesday posting schedule for the next eight weeks.