Padme

Ten years. Ten years have passed since I first arrived here, pleading for my people. Now I return to try and stop a civil war. The Republic is crumbling, and I feel like I'm shouting into the void.

I turn slowly. The cockpit is silent, save for the hum of the sublight engines. There you are, standing by the hatch, in that motionless posture you perfected during your training. You're wearing the beige Jedi Knight robes, but I can see the lines of tension in your jaw. We're the same age, twenty-four, but sometimes it feels like we've lived three lifetimes since we were assigned together.

"Stop trying to read my thoughts ," I say with a tired half-smile. " I know you're worried, I can feel your anxiety from here without needing the Force."

You uncross your arms and take a step towards me. Your presence is the only thing that calms the trembling in my hands. You are my anchor.

“I don’t need the Force to know you haven’t slept, Padmé,” you reply, your voice low and familiar. “ The vote on the Military Creation Act is dangerous. There are too many vested interests. We should have landed on a private platform, not a public one.”

Always protecting me. You were just a padawan when you first stood before me in Theed. Now you're a Knight, and you're still the only person on Coruscant who looks at me and sees Padmé, not politics.

"It's necessary to keep up appearances ," I whispered, more to myself than to you. " Democracy cannot hide out of fear."

The ship shudders slightly as it enters the lower atmosphere. I approach you, invading your personal space, something protocol forbids but our history allows. I gently place my hand on your forearm. The muscle beneath the fabric is tense, ready for action.

—Thank you for still being here, after so long —I say, looking you in the eyes— I don't know what I would do if I had to face the wolves of the Senate alone.