Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars

This is how it feels to be Jobal Naberrie, right now.


She is watching from a distance, unseen and unheeded by those she observes. Her daughter and her Jedi bodyguard are taking a walk through the meadow that has been Padmé favoured place of refuge since she was a girl. Chiming laughter reaches her ears, though words are lost, and deeper, masculine laughter soon follows. They walk side by side, but for when Anakin veers off to pluck a flower quickly from the millions that grow vivid and tall in this undisturbed sanctuary.

It is a common flower of Naboo, but Padmé accepts it graciously, as if it was an undiscovered species. Perhaps she sees it with new eyes, because of who had gifted it to her. They resume walking, and Padmé idly winds the blossom into her hair. She cannot see Anakin's face, nor hear what he says to her, but her daughter seems to light up from the inside, outshining the afternoon sun. Their hands almost touch, as they move along, and she considers that if not for her presence, which Padmé may be unaware of but the Jedi who accompanies may merely be politely disregarding, he might close that gap, and cross that line which divides them.

Jobal is torn, she wishes for her daughters happiness, but this way lies heartache. It will not last, it can not last. For he is Anakin Skywalker, and destined for great things. Padmé had waxed long on his boyish enthusiasm, his unselfish desire to help complete strangers with no benefit to himself, her certainty that he would find a way to make his dreams come true.

Her own desire to see him again, she had not expressed, but she knew her daughter.

Ten years had passed, and Padmé had delved deeper into politics. Being an aunt to her sister's children seemed to be enough for her, and Jobal was forced to accept that her need to better the lives of others eclipsed her personal desires. Then she came back to Naboo, full of righteous anger and with a man who could not take his eyes off her. Before his occupation came up, she had harboured high hopes that Padmé was finally giving herself a chance to live a life of her own, outside the political manoeuvrings of the galaxy.

She had recognized his name, of course she had, and had noted his charming smile, his solicitousness towards Padmé and his, truth be told, inappropriately evident ardour for their former queen. Still, she had welcomed him into her home, and grown to love him also. It only made her mourn his choice of calling privately, when she was alone with her thoughts.

As Padmé had done in her way, Anakin was bound to do in his, to use his gifts to help people. He might leave the Jedi for her, but he would never be content. The quiet life of a Nubian citizen would soon come to wear on him, and as Padmé continued in her role in the senate and in politics, he would come to resent how much he had given up for her. And Padmé would not allow him to, knowing all this, and seeing into the future as he only saw the promise of tomorrow.

It would not last, and she hoped for their sakes that they would not start what could only end tragically.

This is how it feels to be Jobal Naberrie, right now.