![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
matrilWell, I didn't get any responses to the last fic I posted, but I'm going to put this one up anyway. It's from Padmé's POV, which I haven't done since Episode III came out, and I found it very poignant and stuff. I feel like Padmé tends to get the raw end of the deal in fandom, and I wanted to explore her in a sympathetic light. Anyway, here we are:
Something Wonderful
Over the course of their marriage, Anakin had been more often absent than present. Padmé supposed that after three years of living mostly alone, she ought to be used to coming home to an empty apartment. She wasn’t. Anakin’s brief visits made her living quarters all the more folorn when he left. The view from the balcony, the way the lights reflected off the windows at night, every piece of furniture, all served to remind her of scant moments with her husband, slipped in between Senate sessions and Jedi business. And in the silence she could almost hear his soft laughter. It was loneliness as she had never known before, because prior to her marriage she had never known the true meaning of completeness.
At the end of a particularly grueling day in the Senate, Padmé felt as if she were entering a tomb. The emptiness of her quarters was like a physical weight, pressing upon her shoulders relentlessly. She shed her heavy robe to leave the simple dress underneath, and sat on the sofa with a groan.
Working in the Senate had always been an uphill battle, but the war had only made it worse. Unfortunately, most senators wouldn’t agree with her. Palpatine’s emergency powers facilitated more rapid decisions, true, but the Chancellor had an unfortunately heavy-handed manner of waging war which left little room for diplomacy. Every attempt by Padmé or other cautious senators like Organa or Mothma, to reign in the heady rush of militaristic fervor, was plowed over by enthusiastic supporters of Palpatine’s newest extreme measures.
And she had essentially placed him in the Chancellorship herself, in a moment of desperation while the Federation besieged her planet. Could she have been so mistaken in his character?
No. Padmé sat up from her brooding slouch and shook her head. Palpatine was a good man, if somewhat misguided. To think that she could have made such an error in trusting him – no, that was unbearable.
She stretched wearily and rose. There were times she wanted to be done with the whole mess of it, to resign and let someone else worry about senatorial procedures and commissions and diplomatic solutions. She had begun her career at age twelve; it was perfectly reasonable to retire in her late twenties. Settle somewhere quiet in the Lake Country, not too far from her family. It would be easier to keep her marriage a secret there...
And then she always knew she couldn’t. Anakin would never abandon his Jedi duties; his loyalty was too much a part of him. Likewise with Padmé. She simply cared too much.
Cared enough to wage an increasingly futile battle in the Senate. Cared enough to work herself to the bone, to stumble home after a series of committee meetings and conferences with obdurate representatives who ridiculed her idealistic pacifism and refused to acknowledge any validity to her arguments. There were times she wished she didn’t care.
She had been more tired than usual lately. It had gotten to where she entered her apartment, swallowed a few half-hearted bits of a meal – flagging appetite as well – and collapsed into bed before the sun had even finished setting. It could just be that her work was exhausting her, but maybe she was coming down with something as well. She should probably stop by the med center sometime tomorrow, just to be sure. If she could fit it into her schedule.
The fact was, even if she had the time or energy for anything but work and sleep, she wouldn’t want to do much. Coruscant’s bustling entertainment district was too noisy and ugly to do much more than irritate her, and again there was the inevitable matter of loneliness. It drained away her enjoyment of most everything.
Resignedly, Padmé opened the food preparation compartment and heated up a small dish. She looked at it with a wrinkled nose. Her stomach was clenched in a knot, but if she didn’t eat something she’d feel worse in the morning. One bite. She swallowed gingerly. That was almost tolerable. Another. Her mouth twisted around the taste, which for all its blandness seemed the vilest thing she had ever eaten. A third bite? Maybe –
But then the bile rose up, and she doubled over, heaving. She managed to get most of it into the waste unit, but the rest fouled up the carpet in nasty clumps. She looked at it, her muscles aching from the heaves, her throat raw. If she got too close to the smell she’d be sick all over again. But if she let it sit...
“Oh, my, Miss Padmé! Not again!” Threepio had entered from the other end of the apartment, his dismay apparent in his upthrust arms. He hurried forward. “I’ll take care of it; you need to rest. And I strongly suggest that you pay a visit at the med center,” he added in the closest voice he had to a reprimand, as he began siphoning the mess into the cleaning tube.
Padmé nodded vaguely, sinking to the carpet. “Thank you, Threepio. I know, I should.” She leaned against the cool metal of the preparation unit with a shaky sigh. Best not to move until her insides had settled down a bit.
Three times now, she had been outright sick. One of them had happened in the middle of a meeting with the Naboo senatorial committee, and she had to excuse herself very hastily while Jar Jar, Typho and Moteé had looked on in alarm and concern. She hadn’t felt quite herself for – how long now? Two months, at least.
Not too long after Ankain’s last visit –
Padmé’s head jerked up. Could it be –?
They had taken precautions; keeping their marriage secret was difficult enough without further complications. But no precautions could be absolutely certain, and if, in spite of everything, she had become –
Implications flooded her mind all at once, overwhelming her. It would be impossible to conceal it completely – never mind her changing shape, afterwards there would be three to their secret family instead of two, and how long could that remain hidden? Her career in the Senate – her reputation – the possibility that Anakin could be suspected –
Then, from long habit, pragmatism rose up over her fears and set her on a steady course. No use worrying when she didn’t know for certain. Better to find out, and then she’d decide what to do.
“Threepio,” she sad, standing up, “I’m going to the med center.”
The protocol droid had cleaned up the worst of the mess and was spraying the carpet with disinfectant. He looked up. “That’s very good, Miss Padmé. Will you be long?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Don’t worry about waiting for me.” Telling Threepio not to worry was like telling a bird not to warble, but she always said it anyway.
“All right, Miss Padmé. Do take care of yourself.” He finished his spraying and put away the equipment. The harsh odor of the disinfectant drifted toward her nose and troubled her stomach almost as much as the first smell, and she had to breathe lightly as she left to avoid further sickness. The corridor had a faint perfumed scent that was easier to bear, though not particularly soothing.
When had she become so ridiculously sensitive to smells?
She had her personal transport in the apartment building’s dock, but she’d rather let someone else do the piloting right now. Though public transports had lighter schedules in the evenings, they still offered rides to the med center frequently enough, in case of midnight emergencies. Padmé didn’t have to wait long at the dock, not long enough for her resolution to waver and change her mind. When the transport arrived, she boarded with an easy composure. She gave a friendly smile to the other passengers, a handful of decently dressed denizens of Courscant’s upper districts – none that she recognized – and seated herself near the front, smoothing the creases of her skirt serenely.
It was a false calm. She was at the eye of the storm, waiting for the whirlwind to sweep her up again.
There was no reason to get so anxious yet. It was just a suspicion, unproven. She’d probably go home from the med center laughing at herself at the way she had jumped to the most unlikely conclusion.
With a start she realized they had arrived. A mechanical voice was informing the passengers, “Please leave the transport quickly and bring all your items with you.” Most of the others had already gotten off; Padmé hastily followed.
Through the transparent doors of the med center, Padmé could see the small crowd of evening patrons shuffling toward various corridors. They looked, in general, tired and irritable. No one had the appearance of imminent dread that Padmé was beginning to carry.
What if, after all, her hasty suspicions were correct?
No use worrying yet, no use worrying yet...She entered and walked forward with a stalwart determination, halting in front of the med center directory. Scanning it briefly, she found Diagnoses listed as the first room off the fourth corridor. All right, then.
She stopped halfway to the fourth hallway, staring up at a sign labeled Limb Replacement.
She had paced this hallway, on that dark day three years ago. The memory stood out in her mind as if mere days had passed. It was there she had first known that if Anakin lived, she would marry him.
She turned down the fourth corridor.
The diagnosis room was divided into ten separate testing centers, each with a data console and equipment for taking samples. The third one was empty; Padmé took it and closed the curtains after giving a quick glance to see if anyone was watching her. Paranoia, maybe, but the last thing she needed was someone from the Senate finding out about her condition. Her possible condition.
She powered up the data console and entered her credit code. Welcome, Senator Amidala, the console read. At least it was silent. Please enter your symptoms.
Padmé considered, then typed in, Unusual fatigue. Nausea. Vomiting. Moodiness? A strong desire to cut off her sense of smell? No, that was probably enough. She entered the data.
A pause, then – Possible causes: A list appeared, longer than the screen could hold. She scrolled down, but it went on and on, and her patience hadn’t been at its best lately. She pressed the button to continue.
Instructions appeared. Place your arm in the sleeve to give a blood sample. While the sample is taken, answer these questions with a positive or negative response.
The list of questions was nearly as long as the list of possible ailments. Padmé sighed, rubbed her forehead with her hand, and slid her arm into the sleeve. She winced as the needle was inserted, and began to attack the questions. Most of them clearly concerned illnesses that Padmé couldn’t possible have, and she eliminated them rapidly. Towards the end, she had to consider her answers more carefully. She couldn’t decide whether her blinding headaches could be considered a form of dizziness, and didn’t recall for certain if her memory had been failing her lately. Before she reached the end of the questions, however, the results of the blood test flashed across the screen.
Your blood content indicates:
Pregnancy.
That was all.
Padmé sat in numbed silence. It wasn’t a complete surprise – she had come here suspecting it – she ought to have been prepared for it –
Pregnancy.
Her finger rose up in reflex, unconnected to her thoughts, and pressed the button to continue. New instructions sprang across the screen. Suggested treatment: Regular visits to the Female Health Unit. Multi-nutrient tablets. More restful sleep. Counseling. She almost laughed, mirthlessly, from the sheer frenzy enveloping her. Counseling! Yes, a quick visit to the med center’s counselor, that would make everything right. All the problems solved. Her illicit marriage to a Jedi, the war that kept him away so he may very well be a father by the time he came back, the ordeal of explaining herself when the pregnancy was inevitably found out, the child that was going to be born to parents who usually lived light years apart from each other –
A child.
Something altogether different from shock or panic made Padmé’s skin tingle, something like the way she felt when she looked at the lake on Naboo and listened to the birds singing. When the sky at sunrise was so beautiful it made her ache. When Anakin came home for an unexpected visit and swept her up into his arms. Tentatively, Padmé put a hand to her abdomen.
Her child. Anakin’s child. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. She was carrying a child. Couched in terms like a common illness, pregnancy had seemed a burden, a problem, something to be drearily dealt with, in resignation. A mistake. But she saw herself, as if in one of Anakin’s vivid dreams, cradling a child with soft hair and round cheeks, and everything shifted at once. Anakin. Anakin would be a gentle father, filled with wonder and excitement, tickling the baby under its chin...
Padmé slowly removed her arm from the testing sleeve, rubbing the spot where the needle had pricked through. She wasn’t a fool. A baby would complicate their lives beyond anything that had happened thus far, and as the mother she would bear most of the trouble. Until Anakin returned, she would be alone in her preparations for the birth. She may – would probably – give birth without him. And after that – nothing could ever be the same. There would be new worries every day; she had no doubt of that.
She knew all of that, and knew that no trouble, no pain, no price was too much to pay for the life of their child. There would be no regrets. She knew how much she loved the baby, as if she were already holding it in her arms.
“Whatever happens,” she whispered, “you will have a family. A mother and father who love you, who will raise you to be a good and loving person. A mother and father who wanted you, and rejoice in your life.” She closed her eyes. “I promise.”
When she came home again and walked through the darkened outer room, she saw that Threepio had shut himself down, his inert form resting in a corner of the apartment. She noted that he had carefully preserved her meal, probably in the hope that she would try to eat again before sleeping. She would have to disappoint him. Her stomach had only become more unsettled on the way back from the med center. She doubted she would be able to sleep much either.
Drifting through varying thoughts from pleasant to troubling and back again, Padmé entered her bedroom and changed absently into a nightgown. As she smoothed the sleek fabric, her hand brushed her abdomen, and she smiled. That feeling, spreading to every part of her, warm and surprising, frightening and delightful.
Something wonderful.
Something Wonderful
Over the course of their marriage, Anakin had been more often absent than present. Padmé supposed that after three years of living mostly alone, she ought to be used to coming home to an empty apartment. She wasn’t. Anakin’s brief visits made her living quarters all the more folorn when he left. The view from the balcony, the way the lights reflected off the windows at night, every piece of furniture, all served to remind her of scant moments with her husband, slipped in between Senate sessions and Jedi business. And in the silence she could almost hear his soft laughter. It was loneliness as she had never known before, because prior to her marriage she had never known the true meaning of completeness.
At the end of a particularly grueling day in the Senate, Padmé felt as if she were entering a tomb. The emptiness of her quarters was like a physical weight, pressing upon her shoulders relentlessly. She shed her heavy robe to leave the simple dress underneath, and sat on the sofa with a groan.
Working in the Senate had always been an uphill battle, but the war had only made it worse. Unfortunately, most senators wouldn’t agree with her. Palpatine’s emergency powers facilitated more rapid decisions, true, but the Chancellor had an unfortunately heavy-handed manner of waging war which left little room for diplomacy. Every attempt by Padmé or other cautious senators like Organa or Mothma, to reign in the heady rush of militaristic fervor, was plowed over by enthusiastic supporters of Palpatine’s newest extreme measures.
And she had essentially placed him in the Chancellorship herself, in a moment of desperation while the Federation besieged her planet. Could she have been so mistaken in his character?
No. Padmé sat up from her brooding slouch and shook her head. Palpatine was a good man, if somewhat misguided. To think that she could have made such an error in trusting him – no, that was unbearable.
She stretched wearily and rose. There were times she wanted to be done with the whole mess of it, to resign and let someone else worry about senatorial procedures and commissions and diplomatic solutions. She had begun her career at age twelve; it was perfectly reasonable to retire in her late twenties. Settle somewhere quiet in the Lake Country, not too far from her family. It would be easier to keep her marriage a secret there...
And then she always knew she couldn’t. Anakin would never abandon his Jedi duties; his loyalty was too much a part of him. Likewise with Padmé. She simply cared too much.
Cared enough to wage an increasingly futile battle in the Senate. Cared enough to work herself to the bone, to stumble home after a series of committee meetings and conferences with obdurate representatives who ridiculed her idealistic pacifism and refused to acknowledge any validity to her arguments. There were times she wished she didn’t care.
She had been more tired than usual lately. It had gotten to where she entered her apartment, swallowed a few half-hearted bits of a meal – flagging appetite as well – and collapsed into bed before the sun had even finished setting. It could just be that her work was exhausting her, but maybe she was coming down with something as well. She should probably stop by the med center sometime tomorrow, just to be sure. If she could fit it into her schedule.
The fact was, even if she had the time or energy for anything but work and sleep, she wouldn’t want to do much. Coruscant’s bustling entertainment district was too noisy and ugly to do much more than irritate her, and again there was the inevitable matter of loneliness. It drained away her enjoyment of most everything.
Resignedly, Padmé opened the food preparation compartment and heated up a small dish. She looked at it with a wrinkled nose. Her stomach was clenched in a knot, but if she didn’t eat something she’d feel worse in the morning. One bite. She swallowed gingerly. That was almost tolerable. Another. Her mouth twisted around the taste, which for all its blandness seemed the vilest thing she had ever eaten. A third bite? Maybe –
But then the bile rose up, and she doubled over, heaving. She managed to get most of it into the waste unit, but the rest fouled up the carpet in nasty clumps. She looked at it, her muscles aching from the heaves, her throat raw. If she got too close to the smell she’d be sick all over again. But if she let it sit...
“Oh, my, Miss Padmé! Not again!” Threepio had entered from the other end of the apartment, his dismay apparent in his upthrust arms. He hurried forward. “I’ll take care of it; you need to rest. And I strongly suggest that you pay a visit at the med center,” he added in the closest voice he had to a reprimand, as he began siphoning the mess into the cleaning tube.
Padmé nodded vaguely, sinking to the carpet. “Thank you, Threepio. I know, I should.” She leaned against the cool metal of the preparation unit with a shaky sigh. Best not to move until her insides had settled down a bit.
Three times now, she had been outright sick. One of them had happened in the middle of a meeting with the Naboo senatorial committee, and she had to excuse herself very hastily while Jar Jar, Typho and Moteé had looked on in alarm and concern. She hadn’t felt quite herself for – how long now? Two months, at least.
Not too long after Ankain’s last visit –
Padmé’s head jerked up. Could it be –?
They had taken precautions; keeping their marriage secret was difficult enough without further complications. But no precautions could be absolutely certain, and if, in spite of everything, she had become –
Implications flooded her mind all at once, overwhelming her. It would be impossible to conceal it completely – never mind her changing shape, afterwards there would be three to their secret family instead of two, and how long could that remain hidden? Her career in the Senate – her reputation – the possibility that Anakin could be suspected –
Then, from long habit, pragmatism rose up over her fears and set her on a steady course. No use worrying when she didn’t know for certain. Better to find out, and then she’d decide what to do.
“Threepio,” she sad, standing up, “I’m going to the med center.”
The protocol droid had cleaned up the worst of the mess and was spraying the carpet with disinfectant. He looked up. “That’s very good, Miss Padmé. Will you be long?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Don’t worry about waiting for me.” Telling Threepio not to worry was like telling a bird not to warble, but she always said it anyway.
“All right, Miss Padmé. Do take care of yourself.” He finished his spraying and put away the equipment. The harsh odor of the disinfectant drifted toward her nose and troubled her stomach almost as much as the first smell, and she had to breathe lightly as she left to avoid further sickness. The corridor had a faint perfumed scent that was easier to bear, though not particularly soothing.
When had she become so ridiculously sensitive to smells?
She had her personal transport in the apartment building’s dock, but she’d rather let someone else do the piloting right now. Though public transports had lighter schedules in the evenings, they still offered rides to the med center frequently enough, in case of midnight emergencies. Padmé didn’t have to wait long at the dock, not long enough for her resolution to waver and change her mind. When the transport arrived, she boarded with an easy composure. She gave a friendly smile to the other passengers, a handful of decently dressed denizens of Courscant’s upper districts – none that she recognized – and seated herself near the front, smoothing the creases of her skirt serenely.
It was a false calm. She was at the eye of the storm, waiting for the whirlwind to sweep her up again.
There was no reason to get so anxious yet. It was just a suspicion, unproven. She’d probably go home from the med center laughing at herself at the way she had jumped to the most unlikely conclusion.
With a start she realized they had arrived. A mechanical voice was informing the passengers, “Please leave the transport quickly and bring all your items with you.” Most of the others had already gotten off; Padmé hastily followed.
Through the transparent doors of the med center, Padmé could see the small crowd of evening patrons shuffling toward various corridors. They looked, in general, tired and irritable. No one had the appearance of imminent dread that Padmé was beginning to carry.
What if, after all, her hasty suspicions were correct?
No use worrying yet, no use worrying yet...She entered and walked forward with a stalwart determination, halting in front of the med center directory. Scanning it briefly, she found Diagnoses listed as the first room off the fourth corridor. All right, then.
She stopped halfway to the fourth hallway, staring up at a sign labeled Limb Replacement.
She had paced this hallway, on that dark day three years ago. The memory stood out in her mind as if mere days had passed. It was there she had first known that if Anakin lived, she would marry him.
She turned down the fourth corridor.
The diagnosis room was divided into ten separate testing centers, each with a data console and equipment for taking samples. The third one was empty; Padmé took it and closed the curtains after giving a quick glance to see if anyone was watching her. Paranoia, maybe, but the last thing she needed was someone from the Senate finding out about her condition. Her possible condition.
She powered up the data console and entered her credit code. Welcome, Senator Amidala, the console read. At least it was silent. Please enter your symptoms.
Padmé considered, then typed in, Unusual fatigue. Nausea. Vomiting. Moodiness? A strong desire to cut off her sense of smell? No, that was probably enough. She entered the data.
A pause, then – Possible causes: A list appeared, longer than the screen could hold. She scrolled down, but it went on and on, and her patience hadn’t been at its best lately. She pressed the button to continue.
Instructions appeared. Place your arm in the sleeve to give a blood sample. While the sample is taken, answer these questions with a positive or negative response.
The list of questions was nearly as long as the list of possible ailments. Padmé sighed, rubbed her forehead with her hand, and slid her arm into the sleeve. She winced as the needle was inserted, and began to attack the questions. Most of them clearly concerned illnesses that Padmé couldn’t possible have, and she eliminated them rapidly. Towards the end, she had to consider her answers more carefully. She couldn’t decide whether her blinding headaches could be considered a form of dizziness, and didn’t recall for certain if her memory had been failing her lately. Before she reached the end of the questions, however, the results of the blood test flashed across the screen.
Your blood content indicates:
Pregnancy.
That was all.
Padmé sat in numbed silence. It wasn’t a complete surprise – she had come here suspecting it – she ought to have been prepared for it –
Pregnancy.
Her finger rose up in reflex, unconnected to her thoughts, and pressed the button to continue. New instructions sprang across the screen. Suggested treatment: Regular visits to the Female Health Unit. Multi-nutrient tablets. More restful sleep. Counseling. She almost laughed, mirthlessly, from the sheer frenzy enveloping her. Counseling! Yes, a quick visit to the med center’s counselor, that would make everything right. All the problems solved. Her illicit marriage to a Jedi, the war that kept him away so he may very well be a father by the time he came back, the ordeal of explaining herself when the pregnancy was inevitably found out, the child that was going to be born to parents who usually lived light years apart from each other –
A child.
Something altogether different from shock or panic made Padmé’s skin tingle, something like the way she felt when she looked at the lake on Naboo and listened to the birds singing. When the sky at sunrise was so beautiful it made her ache. When Anakin came home for an unexpected visit and swept her up into his arms. Tentatively, Padmé put a hand to her abdomen.
Her child. Anakin’s child. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. She was carrying a child. Couched in terms like a common illness, pregnancy had seemed a burden, a problem, something to be drearily dealt with, in resignation. A mistake. But she saw herself, as if in one of Anakin’s vivid dreams, cradling a child with soft hair and round cheeks, and everything shifted at once. Anakin. Anakin would be a gentle father, filled with wonder and excitement, tickling the baby under its chin...
Padmé slowly removed her arm from the testing sleeve, rubbing the spot where the needle had pricked through. She wasn’t a fool. A baby would complicate their lives beyond anything that had happened thus far, and as the mother she would bear most of the trouble. Until Anakin returned, she would be alone in her preparations for the birth. She may – would probably – give birth without him. And after that – nothing could ever be the same. There would be new worries every day; she had no doubt of that.
She knew all of that, and knew that no trouble, no pain, no price was too much to pay for the life of their child. There would be no regrets. She knew how much she loved the baby, as if she were already holding it in her arms.
“Whatever happens,” she whispered, “you will have a family. A mother and father who love you, who will raise you to be a good and loving person. A mother and father who wanted you, and rejoice in your life.” She closed her eyes. “I promise.”
When she came home again and walked through the darkened outer room, she saw that Threepio had shut himself down, his inert form resting in a corner of the apartment. She noted that he had carefully preserved her meal, probably in the hope that she would try to eat again before sleeping. She would have to disappoint him. Her stomach had only become more unsettled on the way back from the med center. She doubted she would be able to sleep much either.
Drifting through varying thoughts from pleasant to troubling and back again, Padmé entered her bedroom and changed absently into a nightgown. As she smoothed the sleek fabric, her hand brushed her abdomen, and she smiled. That feeling, spreading to every part of her, warm and surprising, frightening and delightful.
Something wonderful.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-05-09 09:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-10 03:19 pm (UTC)