Title: Invisible Stars

Author: NoobianRose

Pairing: Obidala (for the 2012 OVOC)

Rating: PG (for talk of war, just to be safe)

Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi and Padmé Amidala. Two people fighting a war on the same side, but on different fronts. Two warriors, weary of war, find solace in the connection they share. A connection that is far deeper than either of them expected.

AN: Story takes place after the events of the CW episode “Pursuit of Peace.” Obi-Wan hears the speech she gives to the Senate in Bail Organa’s stead and goes to speak with her about it afterwards.

You couldn’t see the stars at night. Not on Coruscant. Maybe in some of the industrial districts, with the harsh factory lights turned off and the workers all gone home. But not at the planet’s center. Skyscrapers stretched desperate arms, helplessly reaching for the sky above. The rounded dome of Senate building stood to the left, and the unmistakable spires of the Jedi Temple to the right. Hundreds of other structures were scattered in between the chaos, filling in the gaps in the city-scape, and creating endless walls of towering architecture.

This was ironic really, when one paused long enough to think about it – which most people rarely did. The buildings, great examples of power and technology towering above the ground, all bristled with millions of artificial lights. Such illuminations, of various intensities and hues, blocked the beauty of the universe beyond with their very existence. How unfortunate that it was here, in the still beating heart of the Galactic Republic, that one was the most blinded to what lay out there in the galaxy – amidst those invisible stars.

Yet still he searched for them – for those tiny, twinkling lights above – despite the futility of such an action. And, looking up into that vast sheet of inky blackness, surrounded as he was by the thousands of sentient beings and droids moving about him on all sides, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi felt very alone. The relative peace on Coruscant was so surreal when compared to the war taking place on hundreds of those unseen worlds above. Such peace was an illusion, painted by politicians and civic leaders, force-fed to the populace by the spoonful.

The truth was that when one could not see the stars, it was all too easy to forget them.

In fact, it was almost too easy to forget that the Republic was at war at all. Had he not seen the combat for himself, of course. Had he not been there, on the front lines . . .

The war was not going well. Despite the continued and tireless efforts of the Jedi and the clone troopers, system after system continued to fall to the Separatists’ artificial military might. And though Obi-Wan could think of much better uses for his time, he had been forced to spend the last two days planet-side; attending war-council meetings in the Council chambers, speaking to and reassuring the holograms of various Jedi commanders and planetary leaders. General Kenobi, it seemed, had become something of a celebrity war-hero in his absence – much to his chagrin. As his fellow Jedi informed him, Obi-Wan was a well respected and very well known face sitting on the Council itself. And his mere presence at official meetings often made itchy, frightened figureheads from distant systems feel more at ease.

This peeved Obi-Wan to no end. Of course he understood how important these meetings were and, of course, he wanted to help in any way he could. But it was difficult for him to reconcile his current safety and security on Coruscant with the idea of so many others out there now, dying, for the restoration of peace.

He could feel them all, the Force constantly rippling around him and tugging at his nerves. Another clone soldier dead, another system fallen, another family torn apart in a haze of screams and blaster-fire, Anakin in a dog-fight against too many droid pilots. He could sense it all now. What he once perceived as no more than drops in a quiet pond before the war began, was now a downpour beating against a tempestuous sea in his mind and in his heart.

Perhaps he didn’t need to see the stars to remember after all . . .

And so he found himself out on the street. With his hood firmly over his head and his Force powers diverting any and all attention from him, he was able to move about undisturbed. Despite his loneliness and troubled mind, he somehow preferred it that way. Though the war had undoubtedly touched the lives of many of those around him, he doubted that they could truly understand the destruction it was causing on those invisible stars that they couldn’t see. There weren’t many who could.

As he continued to ponder this sad realization, a single sound rose above the din of the city surrounding him. It grew exponentially in intensity and power, quieting the other voices on the street and halting all movement. The Jedi gazed around him in wonder, at all of the people looking upward as he had just done, searching the heavens. But they weren’t looking into the sky. They had begun watching the viewscreens that lined the streets. Normally such screens showed advertisements for new (and often useless) products or played news soundbites from the war which did the conflict and its victims no real justice. Now though, he gazed in wonder with the others, eyes resting upon the face of his friend, Senator Padmé Amidala. He was surprised to see her there before him. As far as he was aware, Bail Organa was set to address the Senate tonight, not Padmé . . .

“Tekla Menow,” she said somberly, “Tekla is one of my aids. Like so many of the people we tell ourselves we’re here to serve, Tekla lives in a district that rarely has electricity or running water as a result of the war. Her children can now only bathe every two weeks. And they have no light by which to read or study at night. The Republic always funded these basic services. But now, there are those who would divert the money to the war. With no thought for what the people need to survive.”

Remarkable. Obi-Wan raised an intrigued eyebrow at her image. Even after spending his entire life in the Jedi Order – surrounding himself always in the ways and teachings of his Masters and the code – the power and providence of the living Force still continued to surprise him. Hearing her words, sensing the passion in her voice . . . It was almost as if Padmé had been down there on the street with him, listening to his very thoughts, sharing his very emotions.

Tearing his eyes from the screen, he stole quick glances at the faces around him. Some watched the feed with a mixture of sadness and confusion, others with skepticism, scoffing at Padmé’s undeniably regal and impressive image. This wealthier part of Coruscant probably hadn’t been forced to endure the hardships that the Noobian Senator was relating. But, based on the story she was relating, it seemed that the heart of the Republic had not been as spared from the war’s effects as Obi-Wan had first believed. There were people here, on this planet, that were as invisible as those stars overhead.

And, again, he noticed the Senate building at his near left, now signaling to him like a beacon. It radiated with her voice and her truth and her presence. Unconsciously his feet began to move, bringing him closer to her words, each syllable from her lips driving his momentum ever-forward. The structure’s large, domed top seemed to his eyes to spread outward exponentially, the closer he got to it. Obi-Wan gently pushed by the people around him, eyes fixed on his destination and his ears settling on her continuing voice, echoing through the eerily silent streets . . .

“If not for Tekla and her children, who are we fighting for?” she pleaded, “My people. YOUR people. ALL of our people . . . this war is meant to SAVE them from suffering, not increase it.”

Obi-Wan had watched many mothers, with many children, of many different species all doing their best to survive. They fought, as hard and with as much dedication as any soldier, to find some kind of stability for their families amidst the chaos of war. Some succeeded while far too many more did not. Padmé was right. What was the purpose of the fighting at all if not to help them? Any semblance of current peace, anywhere, was an imagined illusion.

The Senate’s main entrance was out of the question. The vast staircase, carpeted in rich red, was too well lit, and too well guarded. So the Jedi clung to the shadows, just out of reach of the light, making sure to avoid these hazards by flanking the building to the right. But suddenly he was forced to pause, his eyes widening slightly in surprise at the scene unfolding upon the steps. A growing number of reporters had already begun to arrive, all of them scrambling against one another in an attempt to stake out the best spot on the carpet from which to broadcast. Padmé’s words were already making an impact, already making waves. He could feel the energy changing as it rose, crackling and buzzing between the people in the growing crowd of onlookers. And she wasn’t even finished speaking yet . . .

A nearby side entrance, on ground level, was all but completely unnoticed with but one guard standing watch. Though the man wasn’t really watching the door so much as eyeing the increasing commotion upon the Grand Staircase. “That crowd looks like it might pose a problem,” Obi-Wan said quietly to the guard, lightly waving his fingertips in front of the man’s now glazed eyes, “You really should go and reinforce your comrades’ efforts upon the staircase.” The guard obediently agreed, then trudged off in the direction of the main entrance, leaving his door conveniently unguarded.

With the Senate in session and most everyone else standing enraptured, staring at Senator Amidala’s speech on the indoor viewscreens, no one noticed a lone, hooded figure making its way up to the office level of the complex. Which is exactly how Obi-Wan wanted it. The Jedi Order and the Galactic Senate had a tense relationship at the best of times, and the war had only made that fact more strikingly clear than ever. It wouldn’t really do for those reporters outside to even hear rumors of his presence here. In their harsh, over-reactive media environment, far too much would be made out of something not worth mentioning . . .

“I support our brave soldiers,” her light voice now booming, echoing through the halls of the Senate, “Whether they come from the clone factories or from any of the thousands of systems loyal to the Republic.”

Or maybe it would have been worth mentioning, at that. What on Coruscant was he doing here anyway? A Jedi at the Senate was not unheard of, for official business or meetings. But he was alone and with no official business to warrant his presence, consciously trying not to be seen. In fact, he was sneaking around like a common criminal. It was her voice, the one he knew so well, from so many years. It held a power he did not yet understand, guiding his steps and leading him closer to her . . .

“But if we continue to impoverish our people, it is not on the battlefield where Dooku will defeat us, but in our own homes.”

He emerged from the lift into a spacious and, thankfully, empty corridor. He would have expected Senate aides to be scurrying around carrying papers and preparing steaming cups of Jawa Juice for regular and immediate post-session consumption. But there was nothing. Only his own light footfalls upon the soft, blue carpet could be heard as he passed row upon row of nondescript senatorial offices.

He was almost there. How he knew this was anyone’s guess, since he had never before wandered upon this particular floor of the Senate building. Nonetheless he was certain. Closing his eyes and using his most important sense, Master Kenobi could feel her presence echoing along the hallway as loudly as her voice as it continued to ring in his ears. And he followed his feelings, using them to guide him onward.

“She had been afraid. She had been nervous. But, as always, resolute . . .

“Therefore it is our duty and our RESPONSIBILITY to preserve the lives of those around us . . . By defeating this bill!”

The walls around him exploded and rumbled with the sounds of thunderous applause, a deafening sound which broke his concentration. A sense of urgency tickled at the edge of his well-constructed calm. With the speech over, untold numbers of senators would come pouring out of the rotunda and head right for their offices.

And so, shutting off the seemingly endless roar of approval from the speakers, Obi-Wan opened himself fully to the Force once again, attempting to pick up the echo of her presence that yet lingered down the corridor. It was an easy enough task. Her signature almost sang to him, a single resonant tone sounding out like a harp string being struck. The Jedi Master could hear her clearly, the only person on this impersonal rock of politics and increasing indifference that seemed to understand what the cost of the war really was.

When his eyes opened, he found himself in front of a door. Looking from side to side, he noticed that the door he had been led to looked exactly like the others. Except . . .

Obi-Wan gingerly placed his hand upon the cool, durasteel surface and shuddered, despite himself. He could feel her within the metal. Touching the door was like taking her hand. And, with a growing sense of trepidation, he entered the room beyond.

The Senate rotunda roared with applause, the sound reverberating around the large, domed space and echoing through the nearby halls like a large, violent storm or approval. Padmé took what felt like her first real breath since she began speaking and allowed herself a small moment of pride. It seemed, at least for now, that she had actually done it. She’d gotten through to most of them, enough votes to defeat the bill at least. And, for now, that would have to do.

But it had been a huge gamble for her. Senators who did too much to oppose the status quo had recently met violent ends. And if she hadn’t been able to pull this off, it may have cost her more than just her political career. The senior senator from Naboo had just painted an even bigger target on her back. Thankfully, having just fostered the creation of a new “domestic policy majority,” Padmé Amidala’s would become a more important and influential voice than ever before. Hopefully, a voice like hers would be seen as too valuable to silence now.

When she had at first steeled herself to speak, Padmé trusted her fate to years of experience and skill. She’d been trained at an early age in the art of oral eloquence. And so, facing a crowd was nothing new. This day, she knew what she had to do and the implications of those actions were the very last thing to think about. In that way, her body and mind set firmly on autopilot, the words flowed from her lips like a river: beautiful, coursing, constantly in motion, and powerful, if only under the surface. To all the galaxy she was upright and resolute, strong and confident.

But now that the task had been completed, a deep fatigue settled into her body. The sea of faces before her vision suddenly blurred, her ability to focus upon them waned. Arms felt heavy, knees weak, and she could barely hold herself up any longer. Mercifully, her pod then began to descend, traveling backward toward its normal position. The motion was by now so familiar – smoothly gliding backward, air streaming by her face and hair – but felt somehow different tonight. She could almost imagine herself weightless, nothing to burden or hold her to the ground . . .

But the feeling didn’t last. This time it was the jarring click of her pod locking into place brought her back to reality. Blinking rapidly, the interior of the rotunda came into focus with startling clarity. Padmé felt numb, felt utterly exhausted and she had to get out of this place – away from the insincerely-smiling faces and sycophantic well-wishers. Even away from her friends. Her mind was so full and her soul, tired.

As soon as she cast her vote, the Senator fled. She ducked out of her pod and walked, as gingerly as she possibly could in her long gown and heels, the usual clicking of her shoes muffled by the blue carpet beneath them. This helped to obscure her presence slightly as she moved. Though there were a few people milling about, no doubt waiting for the other Senators to emerge, she was able to elude their wide eyes easily with her head ducked and her pace purposeful, if slow.

The kind of freedom she always craved was so fleeting. As completely as Padmé loved what she did – as powerfully as she felt about the rightness of her work – it was as confining as it was isolating. Such dark, often unsatisfying work, could so easily tear down lesser beings. It could break their spirits with the injustice and corruption of it all.

And though she had not only survived but, indeed, surpassed the expectations of her peers, the struggles and strife of this war weighed heavily upon on Padmé Amidala. In her own mind, and in her own heart, she alone bore personal responsibility for the violent escalation of tension between the CIS and the Republic. In traveling to Geonosis to rescue her friend Obi-Wan Kenobi, she had not only placed herself in considerable danger but had, unknowingly, risked the very Republic she served. This one action had forced the seminal confrontation between Dooku’s droids and the full force of the Jedi Order and a new Clone army. Her intrusion and the Count’s reaction were seen (correctly or incorrectly) as acts of war.

A single, noble action on her part had ignited a war, and sent the entire Galaxy spinning out of control. The speech she made tonight would not even have been necessary were it not for her rash action years ago.

Not that she could have known what would happen of course. She was just trying to save a friend. After all he’d sacrificed in her interests over the years, shouldn’t she have returned the favor? At the time, as she watched Obi-Wan’s hologram disappear in a hail of blaster-fire, she didn’t give the action a second thought. All that had mattered was getting to him. But even so, after witnessing the start of the war and what had resulted since, how could she help but feel responsible? How could she not want to do anything she could to change it? Even if it did mean her life.

Finally, and with much relief, Padmé reached the lift and keyed in the floor of the senatorial offices. A deep exhale pushed passed her trembling lips as the doors slid shut before her eyes. Though she was at last alone, the air in that tiny box pressed in upon her, making it difficult to breathe as the seconds ticked by. Her elaborate gown and the headpiece which adorned her at times felt like such a burden, confining her and hiding who she was underneath. The voluminous folds of fabric covering her petite frame, while familiar, felt very heavy now as she struggled to keep herself upright.

Internal peace was fleeting in her world, true freedom an unattainable mirage. At times she could find solace in her apartment late at night. With no political opponents to test her, no handmaidens to fuss over her, and no bodyguards to remind her of the constant danger she was in. In a life full of fear and chaos, such small moments were like precious jewels – often hidden and to attainable only once chiseled from the hardest stone.

Padmé took a deep breath, letting the stale air fill her lungs and pushing out her growing anxiety as she exhaled. A second later, the doors of the lift slid open with an audible “woosh.” There was a calm, an eerie quiet in the hallway beyond, that was utterly unnerving. The other senators were absent, no pages milling about, no arguments, not even a lone-lobbyist lurking about looking to tap an as yet unused political resource. It was a stark, surprising contrast to the scene that greeted her when that same door opened on any normal day.

Cautiously, the Noobian Senator stepped forward into the corridor. Ahead, she caught sight of her office door. For an outside visitor to the Senate building this would have been a difficult task. There were no nameplates upon the offices – no names, no titles, and no groupings by race, creed, species, or system. The impetus behind this centuries-old practice was equality – in position, in name, and in politics. A small measure which attempted to affirm the notion that no one Senator or system was greater or more important than any other. An honorable notion that, unfortunately, meant far less in the current political climate than it used to.

In a daze, she let her feet carry her forward, unconscious of the journey itself. Now standing in front of her door, Padmé raised her hand to place it upon the identification sensor, palm-down. The machine quickly scanned the prints and lines. Though it may have seemed like endless moments to her, the system responded immediately. It chimed in the affirmative and granted her access.

Nothing but the sound of glorious silence greeted her as she stepped past the threshold. As desperately as she craved the solitude, however, there was something different about the darkness she stared into. The lady felt it there, in the very air she breathed. It was faint and tickled lightly at her senses. It was somehow familiar, making her feel warm inside and safe in the most imperceptible way. And it was just there, a presence in the space amidst the shadows.

Fear should have been her first response; calling security: the appropriate second. Yet she did neither. “Who’s there,” she asked, unafraid.

“It’s me, M’Lady.”

She gasped, the familiar voice as well as its proximity at her near left, startling her. “Obi-Wan? Wh-why are you sitting in my office in the dark?”

A pause, and then, “It wouldn’t do for anyone to see me here. It would look . . . suspicious.”

“To who?”

“Everyone. They’ll be watching you even more closely now.”

Padmé heard the faint rustle of fabric – a light-weight linen tunic and robes. The Jedi was drawing nearer. He was right of course – as he often seemed to be. She’d thought much the same thing not moments ago in the lift. And she’d been thinking about him as well. How strange that he should be here now with her. While hardly concerned or fearful, she was, understandably curious.

“Obi-Wan,” she whispered, “What are you doing here?”

His movement stilled, as if the question caught him by surprise. Either the Jedi Master did not wish to share the answer or he was simply unsure of it himself. The latter seemed more likely. “I heard your speech this evening,” the man said, in an uncharacteristically dispassionate way that left her to wonder about the meaning behind the words.

Padmé arched a quizzical eyebrow that she was thankful he could not see in the dark. “Was it that bad, Master Kenobi,” she asked with false flippancy, fishing for a deeper intent.

While Obi-Wan said nothing in reply, the Senator could see his small, amused grin within her mind – cutting the silence he created as easily as his lightsaber would. “On the contrary, M’Lady,” he said, “I was incredibly moved by it. So much so that I had to . . .”

Obi-Wan was rarely at a loss for words. If fact, Padmé could not recall a time where she’d seen him struggle so with what he wished to say. The Jedi had always handled himself with a calm confidence that she envied, even when he was but a Padawan. Politics – diplomatic relations – could easily be likened to an elaborate ritual dance, a dance made so much simpler if one knew the proper steps. And Master Kenobi was a wonderful dancer. Though he preferred to step back and let others take the spotlight, Obi-Wan’s charm and grace under pressure naturally engendered trust and respect from others – enemy and ally alike.

But he was different tonight, he seemed troubled. And that troubled her greatly.

“You came all the way here to tell me you enjoyed the speech,” she prodded gently, “Is everything okay?”

Slowly, her eyes had begun to adjust to the room’s darkness. Padmé could see the outline of his figure, head hung humbly as he quietly pondered the answer to her query. And the longer it took him to speak, the more nervous she became. Had something happened? Was Anakin – no, she didn’t even allow herself to finish that thought.

“I was on the street when your speech began,” he said slowly, his voice now returned to his usual assured timbre, “I’d been thinking about all the things we lose in a war like this – people, resources, families, entire civilizations. I could not help but think about how . . . empty it can feel at times, to know and see the truth of this fact each day, while those around you – wandering the streets with ease – have little to no true conception of it.”

How right he was. People were all too happy to ignore the plights that they didn’t have to see or endure each day. And far too many others suffered each because of such ignorance. “Padmé,” Obi-Wan said, breaking her from her contemplation, “Your words rang with a truth that most in the Senate are unwilling to face. I found myself feeling uncharacteristically lost tonight, searching the skies for invisible stars and, in hearing you, I thought I’d found them at last. Your voice – your truth – drew me here. I’ve . . . no other answer to give you.”

She was, quite simply, speechless. Obi-Wan Kenobi always seemed in complete control – of his feelings, of his fears. He mastered them, always. So much so that it almost became too easy to imagine the Jedi as more than just a man. But as he stood with her now, in the middle of her starkly darkened office, she could not help but see it.

She remembered the sad shadow that passed before his eyes after his Master was returned to The Force, even as he tried to hide it. And she could imagine it there tonight – feel it – as if she could see him clearly before her. “War takes its toll,” she said sympathetically, “on us all.”

The Jedi’s eyes drifted to the large window at the back of Padmé’s office. Speeders zoomed by his view, the entire city-center spread out before him like a vast urban-wilderness. How accurate a simile, he thought to himself, knowing the harsh political climate currently on Coruscant as he did. He felt his eyelids drift closed, fatigue taking hold of him. “I grow weary, Padmé,” he sighed, “The Jedi are peace-keepers. I fear I was not meant for war.”

Though always mindful, Master Kenobi rarely spoke of his true feelings aloud to those outside of The Order. He dealt with them as all Jedi do – with calm and serenity, allowing them to pass through the mind and into the Force. And Padmé, insightful and surprising woman that she was, seemed, somehow, to understand. Obi-Wan felt the aura the Senator’s presence as it drew closer to him, a hand tentatively reaching out to him. Her fingers wrapped around his with gentle care, quietly acknowledging the sincerity of his feelings. “The Jedi have saved many lives,” she beseeched softly, “The Republic would have crumbled long ago were it not for the Council’s bravery and influence in recent years.”

Strange how comforted he felt by her words; by the tenderness in her voice and the light, innocent touch she now afforded him. He’d always thought highly of her – of her intelligence, compassion, and obvious striking beauty. Obi-Wan kept that estimation to himself as well, however.

Suddenly, in the still silence that had settled between them, the energy he’d felt from her began to recede. She drew the comfort – the connection – back into herself quickly, the ease with which she gave it, now gone. Her Force aura had changed. Obi-Wan could now feel the regret, the guilt rolling off of her in waves. Her hand loosened its grip upon his, instinctively trying to hide, but the Jedi would not let her go. “What are you feeling, Padmé?,” he asked.

She remained quiet, her energy now a wall of shame. “You blame yourself for the conflict,” he stated in quiet realization.

A speeder outside sharply turned a corner, bright headlamps momentarily illuminating the room. The proud senator stood beside him, head bowed and shoulders slumped in defeat. “I’m sorry, Obi-Wan,” she said at last, the sadness on her lovely face an outward symptom of the feelings she carried within.

The moons of Coruscant had at last begun to rise, providing the first bit of sustained light by which the pair could see – if faintly. “Look at me,” he said, gently pulling her by the hand to face him. Obi-Wan searched out the rich brown of her eyes, at last visible to him. And he found the sight of them almost surprising. He’d looked at her before, of course, but never under such oddly intimate circumstances. “Padmé, we were – all of us – pawns. And the playing field was set up long before either of us joined the game.”

The Lady seemed unconvinced. “Obi-Wan,” she said, a pleading note in her tone filling him with sympathy, “I escalated the tension on Geonosis. I charged in there to save you a-and single-handedly gave Dooku two more prisoners to use as bait for war. My presence involved the Senate – made it more than a Jedi matter. It was . . . my fault.”

Senator Amidala – Padmé – his friend. She’d lived with her guilt for years. Through the pain of misplaced blame, she’d bore the weight and suffering of a galaxy at war upon her shoulders. And she’d done so needlessly. So much pressure for one so innocent.

With none of the hesitation that he normally would have felt, the Jedi Master reached for the Senator’s free hand. He now held them both, with the same tender care she had so willingly showed him. He wished her to understand – to see – by his actions as well as his words, how wrong she’d been. “Padmé, this war is driven by a darkness that has been brewing for decades. When Dooku held me captive I felt it there, on the horizon; just out of the reach of my senses. He knew what was to come – all of it. He played us all. And it is clearer to me now than ever before that this conflict was inevitable. Padmé you did nothing wrong.”

Hope flickered behind the chocolate of her eyes, but uncertainty too, as she tried to process his words. She wanted to believe him, he could feel it in the way her hands tightened their grasp on his. “How,” she asked in a breathless whisper, “How could he know that I would come for you, Obi-Wan? When I didn’t know myself . . . Why did I?”

The Jedi watched with all six of his senses as she continued to wrestle with herself. Her eyes frantically searched his, her breath becoming harsher, and her aura rippling with energy. And the physical contact they still shared only made the impact of her emotions more intense. He was intrigued by the connection they seemed to share, even through the simplest of touches. Had it always been there, only now becoming clear through this shared moment?

Perhaps the connection he felt to her in this moment was more than mere coincidence. And perhaps that’s why Padmé Amidala had once risked everything to save his life.

“Only you can answer that question,” he said.

She looked at the Jedi, her friend, in wonder. As connected as they had always been, they’d never been what one would consider close. Padmé stared at the face she knew so well but had never really seen – at least not as she saw it now. Even in the darkened room, she could see the light – feel the power – that lay within him. Though hardly unpleasant, standing with him was an entirely strange and surreal experience. It was like traveling through time; at once reliving the past and seeing the future . . .

Queen Amidala was but fourteen years of age. The first time they met. Regal gowns and ceremonial facepaint first used to impress and inspire – then to obscure and deflect. A queen, yes, but a girl too, filled with the hope and optimism of a youth cut short by responsibility. She could recall with vivid clarity the first time she saw him, the first time she looked into his eyes. The color was unmistakable: bright blue with subtle notes of green, just like the waters in the lake country.

“What are you thinking,” he asked

The Jedi still stood in shadow, his back to the spacious window. While he could see her more clearly, she, regrettably, could not see him. Momentarily stalled by conditioned propriety, Padmé hesitated to answer his question. “I just . . . wish that I could see your eyes.”

Obi-Wan said nothing, but quietly led her to the window at the back of her office. Piece by piece, memory by memory, the moonlight now streaming into the space revealed him to her. His long robes of brown and tan, thick auburn hair and beard, and then, at last . . .

“There you are,” she said, a large smile spreading across her face as she met his gaze.

“Here I am,” her friend smiled in response, the action drawing her attention to the height of his cheekbones and the twinkling in his eyes. Even when the smile was small, his entire face showed it. It warmed her heart to finally see him clearly. He was really there with her, she could now at last trust in his presence – and trust in all they had shared with one another that evening.

Padmé looked at him seriously. “You know, Obi-Wan, I know I’m not a Jedi. I’m not on the front lines with you. I don’t see what you see each day. But . . . I do understand what you face.”

Many a sleepless night, as she lay in bed, Padmé stared out of her bedroom window and looked for the stars. Most nights they were hopelessly obscured by bright city lights, but on those few occasions when the sky was at its clearest, seeing them brought her spirit great clarity and understanding. The sight served to remind her that what she struggled for was so much greater than what existed on the Republic’s capital planet. And that, a small thought in itself, gave meaning to her sacrifice and therefore brought the peace of knowing that what she was doing was right.

“I search the sky too,” she admitted, “For the stars? Though often in vain.”

Suddenly, she found herself being gently pulled forward. Obi-Wan wrapped her within the warmth and security of an unexpected embrace. He held her to him with care, his comfort seeping into her through their contact and making her feel . . .

She: unburdened by guilt at last. He: no longer lost. Their future was bleak, but light still remained. Two people shared years of experience – chaos and victory, horror and triumph. They always worked on the same side, toward the same goals, though often at different paces and through different means. Their lives were intertwined.

Though parted, connected. Always.

Padmé wrapped her arms around Obi-Wan in return, allowing herself to be cradled fully in the fabric of his robes. It was an embrace shared by two people – less than lovers but, ultimately, more than friends. And so, when at last they parted, there was none of the awkwardness that she would have expected. There was no trepidation or confusion. Each fully understood the action and intent of the other now.

When he left, he used the hidden passage. Both of them decided that that was a better idea than possibly being spotted by the media outside. Each office in the Senate had such an exit, allowing for quick escapes in times of danger. The tunnel led to a sophisticated network of tunnels under the rotunda and exited far from the building’s hub.

The Jedi looked back at her only once. “Be well, Padmé,” he said softly.

“And, you, Obi-Wan. You are welcome here at any time.”

A large part of her was hesitant to see him depart. Unfortunately for either of them, however, life beyond the solace of her office walls continued to march on. As the war continued, so must their duty. Though she now, somehow, felt more equipped to handle it than before. And it was her deepest wish that he felt the same. Padmé smiled at her friend with genuine affection. Maybe, if he could not see the gesture from this dark corner of the room, the Jedi could at least sense the feeling behind it. He hesitated but a moment and then, without another word, drew his hood up over his head and melted into the shadows once again.

Obi-Wan emerged from the tunnel unseen – though not because of his skill in stealth or the use of any Force powers. The people that had casually meandered around him before were gone. The street upon which he stood was completely vacant. Businesses were closed. The lights were off. A large crowd, far larger than before, was now gathered upon the Senate’s Grand Staircase. ‘Making waves indeed,’ he thought with a small, sideways smirk.

His eyes fell upon the domed top of the Galactic Senate building. As they traveled around its girth, he noted the tiny spec that represented the window of Padmé’s office. Contentment wrapped itself around him as he regarded the view. Somehow he had the distinct feeling that the senator was looking back at him.

He tilted his head back, looking upward to the sheet of inky blackness that earlier looked so vast and empty. The stars twinkled back at him, emerging like hope itself and pushing through the darkness. All was in perspective again, his direction clearer now than ever before.

Whatever lay ahead, Padmé Amidala and Obi-Wan Kenobi knew, at the very least, that they were no longer alone. Just so long as the stars continued to shine.

To post your Feedback, click here.