Heritage-Prologue

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Eyes snapped open to darkness, breath echoing in ragged gasps through the tiny enclosure. Beads of sweat rose on her forehead, her eyes still roving in vain for any light, any visibility. There was nothing. A moan of internal and external pain choked her, and she hugged herself tightly in the cold and obscurity. Even that simple movement caused her wrists to brush the surface hovering above her face, the scraping noise like an explosion in the silence of the dead.

For the first minute, perhaps, Padmé thought she would go mad. Her mind was still cloudy and unsure, and for the life of her she couldn't gather the unraveled threads that had woven her plan. She knew there had been a plan, but what was it?

Panic and claustrophobia seeped through the blindness into her brain and in a moment of terror all she could do was scream and bang on the narrow space that was her tomb. “Anakin!” she screeched, small fists thrashing on all sides of her prison until her knuckles were raw and bloody, and her feet and knees bruised.

“Anakin. Anakin. Anakin. Anakin...” It became her chant, a tie to her life and the person she had been and would never be again. Like a drum roll she repeated his name over and over again in a monotonous voice, tears streaking her face and her hands beating on the layers of stone in rhythm with her cries for a man who was dead.

She stopped abruptly, poised for another strike. Slowly she pressed her weeping fingers to the surface above her, feeling the cold, moist stone. “What? Anakin?” she waited, ears pricked for a response. None came.

Padme swallowed, trying to keep herself sane. Anakin was dead, the Republic was dead, the Jedi were dead, democracy and freedom were dead. Everything had perished and she was left with the ashes in the dark, more alone than any being had ever been before. There were so many things she had left undone and unsaid. She had to get out, to escape from her coffin and do something.

A light flicked on inside her brain, the only illumination so far.

She had to get out and find her children.

Luke and Leia.

A memory.

She lay on the delivery table, moments or minutes or hours after her precious babies had been whisked away from her. She was dying, or already dead some might say. A beating heart did not always constitute life. Obi-Wan was there, clutching her hand with grief or some other emotion, it didn't matter. Nothing did. Anakin was gone, lost to a fate worse than death.

“You killed him,” she murmured, but didn't have the strength to hate Obi-Wan. He had been too good to her. And it had been his duty.

He ignored her statement. “They say you will live, Padmé.”

She looked away. She didn't want to live. She wanted to find what remained of her husband and die in peace at his side.

Obi-Wan reached out to her again, this time covering her trembling hand in both of his. “He's not dead, Padmé.”

She looked up, hope and tears filling her gaze. But it couldn't be so. She had seen death in Anakin's face, and if Obi-Wan yet lived then her love must be dead. That would have been the only means of his former master's escape. “We have to hide you. He will come for you, Padmé, and through you will find his children. That cannot happen. He will corrupt them. The dark side is seductive, and would be too much for them to resist. They must never know their heritage. Not until the time is right, at least.”

Padmé understood, but at the same time rebelled against his words. They were her babies, all that she had left of the shattered soul that had been her Anakin. Why should they not be with their mother? They needed her, just as she needed them. They were a family, and not even the Force could pry them from her grasp. “Where would you take them?” she asked.

He shook his head slowly. “It is better if you don't know.”

She grabbed his hand suddenly, digging her fingernails into his palm with what strength she had left. “They are mine! What right do you have to do this to me?”

He didn't flinch from her assault. “I know you love them. And that's why I know you will agree with me when you sort things out in your head. For either of them to have any future at all we have to erase what small past they have. And so must we do with you. But alas, that can only be done through death.”

Padmé didn't fear his last words. Instead she opened her arms in offering. “Kill me then. It would be a more desirable fate.”

He shook his head slowly, caressing her cheek with the back of his fingers. “But you have so much to live for. Some day, a time from now when the Force has received the balance it calls for, you can find your children. Don't you want that reunion? That chance?”

Padmé sighed. Death would be easier than the years she was sure to endure, but she had often thought that she would live in hell for her children. Maybe now that is what she was called to do. She closed her eyes and nodded. She felt rather than saw him smile. “I thought so. But you have to die Padmé, to ensure their future. I can put you in a hibernation trance, and after a few days you will revive again. To all appearances you will be dead.” He fingered the necklace hanging from her shoulders. The luck charm Anakin had made her. “When you awake, use this like a key. You will know how. When you are free, show yourself to no one. You can never be Padmé Amidala again. That person is gone.”

Just like Anakin, she thought.

Padmé had felt his gentle hands close her eyes, and before she knew it sleep had overcome her.

And here she was.

Padmé waited in the dark until her breathing had slowed to a normal rate. The pieces were falling back together now. She remembered, and understood what she had to do. She had to live, live for a day when she could hold her babies in her arms again, and tell them all the things they would no doubt need to know.

Her pale and unfeeling hand found the small wooden charm, still around her neck. Slowly she unwound the length of the cord and pulled it out from around her head. Her other hand searched every nook and cranny of her tomb, and finally found the only uneven spot on the whole casket. The tip of her finger could almost fit inside. This must be what Obi-Wan had spoken of. Slowly she inserted the charm into the hole. The result was a very soft click. Hesitantly, Padmé twisted the object in its housing.

There was a rush of wind and outside air as it poured inside her cell. The top began to lift away, swinging up and over, leaving the starry night sky as her new ceiling. A gentle but chilly sea breeze caused the new tears on her face to sting, but she did not wipe at them. What did she have now, if not her tears?

She sat up, observing the surroundings of the place that should have been her eternal home. It was a good thing, she mused, that Naboo culture forbade cremation or embalming of their monarchs. Slowly, with aching muscles and a heavy heart, Padmé swung her legs out of the coffin. It had been made of stone and set atop a large marble platform. Flowers were strewn near its base, as well as letters and pictures. Padmé's heart warmed at the affection of her people. If only she could comfort them in their grief.

Closing the lid and making sure in was sealed tightly, the former queen and senator dropped down to the ground and scurried for the shadows. She needed to rid herself of the cumbersome and betraying ceremonial attire. Not only that, but she needed off Naboo.

She needed a new identity.

[edit] Behind the Scenes

• Part of the Star Wars fanfiction Heritage.

Heritage Prologue| Chapter 1| Chapter 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 4| Chapter 5| Chapter 6| Chapter 7| Chapter 8| Chapter 9