Chapter Text
The young woman slipped into the throne room, escorted by the shadows of the queen's most trusted handmaiden and the captain of her guard. Breaking away from her traditional white silk dresses, the young woman wore a coarse black cloak that helped her blend into the palace shadows. Still, her shiny red hair was a bit of a giveaway when she finally lowered her hood.
The doors closed, and soon it was only the young queen and the young woman who once proudly held the title senator. Perhaps she still held her title, but to the queen and a select few she meant Alliance, rebel, and hope.
"Amidala," the woman greeted, taking the delicate hands of the monarch in her own.
"Mon," she greeted with equal affection.
The lights were off in the throne room, and all recording devices were experiencing a one-hour technical glitch. The two women took their seats.
"I hear the election results are in. Who will take over for you?"
"Princess Jamillia won by a landslide I'm told. The people are nervous to lose any more of their power; they wanted a monarch who would not be corrupted."
Mothma nodded but pushed a little further. "I heard they wanted you to stay and continue your reign. They even wanted to amend the constitution to keep you."
"My reign is almost over, and I intend to step down and pass the throne on."
The young rebel heard the slightest bit of relief in her young recruits voice. "Amidala, allow me to be frank. What do you intend to do when you are no longer sitting in power?"
"I've spoken with my advisors, and they think I should become Senator of Naboo to further look out for the people's best interest-"
"But that's not what you want, is it, Dear?"
Amidala stood and walked to the windows overlooking her kingdom. She was still in her full costume, and the lights of the city cast an eerie glow over her painted face.
"I am a servant to the people of Naboo and will do what I can to protect their rights."
Mothma joined her. "You will waste your talents in a system that is indifferent to their rights. You will work until there is nothing left of you only to discover yourself an enemy of the Empire and a failure to your people."
There was a wince under those heavy robes she wore. Mothma was sure of it.
Quiet, so very quiet, were the words that were pure treason as they slipped from Amidala's white and red lips. "What would you have me do?"
The redhead smiled and took the young girl's hands. "Many of our top intelligence agents have all brought back one common piece of information. The construction of a battle station whose magnitude of power they've all emphasized to be vast. They say it's well on its way to completion and that when it becomes operational the Emperor will have the power to surpass the Rebellion."
To her credit, Amidala showed little outward reaction to the news. Years of being queen had given her a perfect political mask that, even without her makeup, left her almost inhuman in her control.
Mon Mothma continued, "We've learned little of this station but that its primary construction is by slave labor and that there have been several uprisings. We've heard that many times Darth Vader has had to surpass their resistance." She finished on a whisper.
Vader, the unknown terror who had been unleashed into the galaxy. Amidala knew little of him except that he was to be feared and that he killed indiscriminately. The Emperor's pet and heir.
"What will you do with this information?" she finally asked, and Mothma knew the girl was ready to help the Alliance.
"The Emperor wants his project completed as quickly as possible. He recognizes that Vader's force may not be enough. He's opened a job position to oversee the critical stages of this battle station's most primary weaponry in hopes of its most efficient completion. We have a man in the Agency responsible for filling this position, and we want you to take the job, Amidala."
It was unnerving to most how calm the young queen could be. So still and cold as she contemplated her options inhumanly fast. Amidala was barely in her twenties after giving up most of her teen years to server her planet, and now Mothma found herself asking the child to also sacrifice her twenties, if not her life. It was not something the woman did lightly, but she knew this was perhaps the only competent ally she had up for the task.
Young, unmarried and unattached. A family who loved her but who had supported such a long and demanding career from the sidelines would surely understand the importance of the burden the Rebellion was asking from their daughter and sister.
"It's risky. I understand if you need time to think it-"
"No. No, I understand, and I accept."
Mon Mothma felt a slight weight lift off of her own shoulders. "We already have a man in field on a lower position. Your job will be to slip him classified information, anything useful. He'll get it to us."
"I understand," her unwavering, robotic voice replied.
The two women continued to stare over the twinkling lights of Naboo, and Mon Mothma wondered only briefly what she doomed their young queen to.
In a sense, Padmé was reborn and Amidala laid to rest when she finally washed away her mask. They applauded at Jamillia's coronation, but afterwards many would come to her and ask what she would do now. Her advisors had told them that she was thinking of running for senator, and they would happily contribute to her campaign if that's what she needed.
In her final elaborate gown as a former queen, she had told them in her deep voice that she had accepted another job whose classifications forbid talk. Some walked away disappointed. Others seemed to instantly resent her. Classified meant Imperial, and if they lost her to the Empire then they were more exposed to the Emperor.
But then there were a select few who knew exactly what she meant when she said classified. They smiled politely and discreetly wished her luck.
The coronation and the party afterwards lasted hours, but Amidala was no longer the center of things. Jamillia accepted the oaths of her subjects as they one by one approached her, and for the first time in years Padmé was free to mingle.
Afterwards, she went to her home. No longer living in the palace, she went to her real home where boxes of her things had been sent.
Ruwee, Jobal, and Sola Naberrie welcomed her home with open arms, and it was Sola who took her into the bathroom and wiped her face clean. She stared at her face for several minutes as she took in the changes she hadn't noticed before. The loss of baby fat, the sharper glint to her eyes and the fuller lips. Her eyebrows were more defined than she remembered.
"You're beautiful, Padmé," Jobal sighed from the door.
Sola put her hand on her sister's shoulder, her engagement ring feeling foreign to the younger girl. "Dad will have to fight the boys away."
But Padmé could only stare at the reflection she struggled to recognize as her own.
Jobal swatted her oldest with the back of her hand. "Your father doesn't fight. He simply sits down with them and has a frank conversation about what he expects."
"That's not what Darred said. He was so afraid that-"
Tearing her eyes away from the mirror, the former queen spoke in her own voice, "Actually, I've already accepted a job."
She left home two weeks later after many tears and promising to return for Sola's wedding. Ruwee was the only one who knew. Although he was a low ranking member of the Alliance, it was seen as fitting to tell him, and it was with pride and fear that he told her goodbye that morning.
Stepping into her craft with its small Imperial crew, she relaxed in her chambers. Somehow, she knew it would be the last time she'd be able to relax in the coming weeks.