Disclaimer: Star Wars is the property of George Lucas and Lucasfilm. I mean no infringement and make no profit.

A/N: Here it is, the very end of "Home Again." Before we wrap it up, there are a few messages of thanks I'd like to send out there: to Kelly and my Littler Big for putting up with me while I've been writing this, and listening to me go on ad infinitum about how Padmé is, for example, refusing to go upstairs; to Perry, for reminding what it's like to be five; to Evie, for encouragement and enthusiasm; once more, to Alicia for beta-ing wonderfully; finally, to everyone who has reviewed and listed me in favorites and C2 communities, etc. You guys are the absolute best. Please keep it up with this last chapter and in my future endeavors.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, the translation of the Silyara ("star dance," by the way) song is, "Come home, my love/ And come to my center/ At the center is my heart/ And my heart is you/ Come to my home/ Come, my children/ To the place, my home/ My home-- Naboo." Which just goes to show-- Tolkienn, I am not.

Love, thanks, and enjoy the epilogue!


The sun had set hours ago. All over Theed, the capital city of Naboo, people were retreating into their houses and winding up the affairs of the day. Businesses were closed and children were put to bed.

In the backyard of the Naberrie house, there was a party going on.

It wasn't the sort of party one would expect to celebrate the wedding of a Senator, especially one as renowned as Padmé Amidala. Only six adults, two children, and two droids attended. Yet for Padmé, dressed only in a simple gown and with her hair falling around her shoulders, it was one of the happiest nights she could remember.

She sat on a garden bench in the cool twilight, finishing the last of the shurra fruit and leaning against her husband's chest. The world of politics and scandal and the Jedi Code was lightyears away. The Clone Wars were only words, without meaning. The nearest conflict was the gentle bickering of Ruwee and Jobal as they returned from clearing away the last of the dishes.

"We'll be living on leftovers for weeks," Ruwee sighed.

"Maybe," replied Jobal, "but at least that will save us from your culinary attempts for a while."

Ruwee leaned close to Anakin. "I hope you realize you're never going to win an argument again."

"I've given up even bothering to argue," the padawan answered.

"All right," Sola announced. "We've talked, we've eaten, and now… it's time for the Silyara."

Ryoo and Pooja cheered, but Padmé protested. "No, Sola, Anakin doesn't know it."

"Doesn't matter," Sola said firmly. "It's tradition."

"What's the… uh…" Anakin attempted to ask.

"Silyara," Padmé supplied. "It's a wedding dance."

"It symbolizes the couple's journey into their new, intertwined lives," Jobal explained. "It's supposed to bring good fortune."

"It's also symbolizes that it's fun to watch people fall down," Darred added. "Especially people who've had too much to drink at weddings. It's not a good wedding until somebody's too bruised to sit."

Anakin laughed. "I'll do it, if you'll show me how."

And so Padmé did. There was a lot of tripping over one another's feet at first, and getting arms and legs hopelessly tangled. The dance consisted chiefly of spinning, changing positions, reversing direction, and spinning again. But Anakin caught on faster than Padmé would have expected, and soon Sola and Darred and Ruwee and Jobal joined in, dancing and singing the words of the traditional song.

"Alant a nuba, amimé, é alant a carmé…"

After a few verses, the song began to speed up. Padmé realized too late that nobody had warned her husband about that part. Jobal and Ruwee bowed out, clapping their hands to the rhythm. Ryoo and Pooja, on the other hand, joined in, performing their own version of the dance which consisted of holding hands and spinning around in circles until both fell down laughing, then getting up and beginning again. Even Artoo was twirling in place.

"A den car sé cormé, é cormé sé tu. Alantaa a nubamé, alantaa, kylamé…"

Faster and faster they went, until Darred and Sola collapsed in a tangled, laughing heap. Still the music sped up, and Anakin and Padmé danced. Padmé wondered if it was some sort of Jedi skill, how he managed to keep moving so quickly. And if so, it must have been affecting both of them; giggling, moving at a frantic pace, they never faltered.

"A den kino, nubamé—Nubamé, Naboo."

Padmé and Anakin knew that they were each thinking the same thing: they were home, they were surrounded by family, and everything was, for once, just as it should be. It was a perfect moment, one they would forever remember. In the hard times to come they would look back on this time of pure, uncomplicated love—the dance, the song, the words.

Alant a nuba, amimé.

Come home, my love.

And, in one moment stretched out for an eternity, as they whirled barefoot through the grass, the dance went on.

The End