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Sabé grew up in a small fishing village with her mother and five older half-siblings. Every morning, after her brothers and oldest sister left for the docks, her other sister, Karin, would get ready for the day with her. Her mother always stood in the kitchen, holding a cup of caf and staring out the window at the sea. On clear days, when the sea was so blue it hurt and not a cloud could be seen in the sky, her mother would sigh.
Then she would say, “It’s days like this I can’t help but think of your father.”
Karin would always stiffen and find some excuse to leave the kitchen. Sabé was always left feeling unmoored as she stared at her mother who stared at the sea. It didn’t matter how many clear days there were, or how many times her mother said the same thing. The words never stopped hurting Karin and Sabé never stopped being abandoned.
Her mother never seemed to notice. She’d just continue to stare at the sea and talk.
“His eyes were that very color.”
Sabé didn’t know if her father’s eyes were the color of the sea or the sky. She never asked.
“His hair was darker than the night but his eyes… I so wish you had gotten his eyes instead of mine. It would have been something to keep with me. To remember him by. The one who got away.”
That was what she always called Sabé’s father. ‘The one who got away.’ It made Sabé think of all the fish that escaped her hook when she went to the bay with her brothers.
It always made her brothers angry. Once, Rovin had gathered his courage and his anger and demanded, “What about our father? What about him?”
Her mother had only waved an unconcerned hand and said, “Your father died. That’s not the same thing at all. I had him. For fourteen long years I had him. Sabé’s father though—”
Sabé didn’t know how the rest of that conversation had gone because she’d left the house, at that point. Her siblings were always kind to her and Sabé did not want to watch her mother hurt them. It was bad enough that sometimes, on clear days, when there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, they’d look at her and their faces would harden. Just for a second, usually, but a second was enough.
When a fancy guard captain from the capital city came and offered her a job, no qualifications needed, all training done at the expense of the government, it was that second Sabé remembered. When her siblings hugged her good-bye at the spaceport, when her mother cried and asked if maybe she’d reconsider, it was that second Sabé couldn’t forget.
That, and the way her mother looked on clear days when the sea was so blue it hurt and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
And so, she was taken to the Royal Palace, inducted into the Royal Handmaidens and told that she would serve directly under Queen Amidala.
The palace was different from the fishing village. But it was also the same. She didn’t have a mother and five older half-siblings but she did have a grumpy captain of the guard and five girls who were awful convinced they knew a lot more about everything than she did. Sabé learned, like Captain Panaka had promised she would, but that didn’t change the fact that Amidala was Queen of Naboo, that Eirtaé had almost been Queen of Naboo, that Rabé had been trained in small arms and complicated fashion styles practically since birth. It didn’t change the fact that Yané and Saché had competed against twenty-seven other girls for their positions in the Queen’s retinue. It didn’t change the fact that she had been chosen only because she looked like the Queen. Sabé always felt like she was at least two steps behind and the other girls treated her like she was at least ten behind.
But that was a feeling she was familiar with and the only thing Panaka ever brought up ad nauseum were tips and tricks meant to make her a better fighter, a better shot. And no one was ever hurt or annoyed by that repetition, unless she counted herself and her pride, which she usually didn’t.
She was also familiar with the way five people of similar ages, cooped up with one another, could argue. She knew when an argument could be successfully defused or when it was best to creep away before things got explosive. She knew how to compromise and scrounge out her own space in a place that already felt full up. In some ways, Sabé thought she might have been better prepared for the life of a Royal Handmaiden than the others, not that she would ever say that out loud.
Even the Trade Federation’s invasion didn’t seem entirely dissimilar from life in her village. She couldn’t honestly say that she’d ever been shot at before or that she’d ever worn a dress anywhere near as uncomfortable or as expensive as the one she’d had to wear while playing at being Queen. But something about the Viceroy’s slimy certainty that the Queen would cooperate made her think of the way the Harbormaster had always so politely asked for a registration fee far higher than the posted cost. Something about their harried rush to the Queen’s ship and then through the blockade made her think of the one time she and Rovin had out-sailed Port Authority to safely make it home with their ill-gotten catch.
Maybe that was why, on Tatooine, when she couldn’t sleep, she did what she’d always done at home—wandered to the largest window and stared out of it.
At home, the largest window had been the one her mother had looked out on clear days. On the ship, it was in the cockpit.
Sabé slid herself into the pilot’s seat and watched as the sandstorm outside roared. It wasn’t the same as the hurricane she and her family had waited out once, when she was very little, but it was similar enough that it almost felt like home.
“Your highness?”
Sabé turned away from the raging sand to see Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi peering in at her.
At home, if Karin noticed she was awake, her sister would come sit with her until she felt ready to go back to sleep.
Maybe that was why Sabé smiled at him and said, “Come in.”
Maybe that was why Sabé said, “Do you know any games?”
She didn’t know why he said, “Yes. As a matter of fact, I do.”
She didn’t know why he had a pair of dice in his pocket. She didn’t ask. She just smiled and they played.
Jedi Padawan Kenobi was the first person who didn’t remind her of her village at all. As a matter of fact, she couldn’t imagine her village ever producing anyone like him. He was genteel, well-traveled, quick-witted, and gorgeous to boot. He made her think of stars and far away planets, of lives lived outside of tiny fishing villages, and a galaxy large enough to hold a home that would never be full-up, a place where she wouldn’t have to scrounge out her own space.
By the time Amidala had miraculously secured the parts they needed for their ship to take off, Sabé was willing to admit, to herself, at least, that she was a quite smitten with the Jedi Padawan. Sabé was also practical enough to know that it would never go anywhere and that he likely didn’t feel the same.
After they defeated the Federation and reclaimed their planet, the newly Knighted Kenobi and his newly chosen Padawan remained in Theed for a few weeks. Supposedly, they were staying to help Naboo rebuild. Privately, Sabé thought they stayed to help themselves rebuild. The lost look in Padawan Skywalker’s eyes made her remember how she’d felt the first week after she’d left her home for the capital. The way Knight Kenobi seemed to spend every spare moment he had mediating made her think of the one time she had overheard her brother Torbin talking to a holo of his dead father when he’d thought no one was around.
She offered to play dice with both of them and, a bit to her surprise, they’d taken her up on it. Her fellow handmaidens looked at her a little oddly the first time they caught her sitting on the floor in a rarely used hallway with the Jedi across from her. But they didn’t say anything, so she didn’t either.
Amidala almost seemed to understand, although Sabé never quite managed to work up the courage to ask her if she truly did. Queen Amidala had saved their planet with but nothing but guts, determination and cleverness. She was deserving of Sabé’s respect, loyalty and reverence in all ways, and the other handmaidens agreed with her. Unfortunately, none of them were quite sure how to approach a Queen who had truly earned that title. And while Sabé had pretended to be the Queen for several weeks, she would never presume to be equal to or even to understand the woman.
All the same, on the day the Jedi were to leave Naboo for Coruscant, Sabé thought perhaps they felt the same thing.
“It will be sad to see them leave,” Amidala said as she and the other handmaidens slowly followed their Queen to the Royal spaceport. “They almost feel as though they belong here, don’t they?”
“Yes,” Eirtaé said, although Sabé didn’t think she meant it.
From the sideways glance Amidala gave Eirtaé, Sabé didn’t think Amidala believed her either. Amidala said nothing more until they reached the small ship that Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker stood in front of.
“Friends.” Amidala smiled her small Queen’s smile.
“Your highness.” Knight Kenobi bowed graciously.
“We are eternally grateful for your assistance and heartbroken to see you leave us,” Amidala said. “We hope you know you will always have place here on Naboo, should you ever need it.”
“That is very kind of you, but unnecessary. We did our duty, nothing more,” Knight Kenobi said.
Amidala and Knight Kenobi continued their polite dance a bit longer than Sabé thought was strictly necessary. Knight Kenobi and Amidala actually got along quite well, on a personal level, as well as a political one. Sabé knew Amidala had privately said her farewells to both Padawan Skywalker and Knight Kenobi the night before. And the only people present at the spaceport were them, the handmaidens and a pilot or two. The political dance seemed unnecessary, but there was a lot Sabé still didn’t know, so she was willing to admit that maybe some unknown purpose was being served here.
Still, despite her best efforts, she found her attention drifting. Young Skywalker stared at Amidala as if trying to commit her to memory. Knight Kenobi looked especially dashing, which Sabé had not previously thought possible, with the Jedi’s unfortunate predilection towards dull colored and uniformly cut robes. But his hair looked soft as it blew in the wind, his hands seemed strong and capable and...
A strong wind gusted past, pushing her skirt taunt against her legs and nearly blowing her hood clear off her head. As she grabbed tight to the corner of the hood to ensure it didn’t sweep off and leave her head mortifyingly bare, she caught a glimpse of the sky.
A storm was coming.
She glanced at her fellow handmaidens, who seemed largely unperturbed, except for Saché, whose hood had actually blown off, leaving her desperately trying to regather all her flyaway hair. Amidala, on the other hand, had skirts so heavy and hair so firmly pinned in place that it looked as though even the wind wouldn’t dare to touch her.
She glanced back at Knight Kenobi and blinked a few times when she saw him staring back at her. His eyes looked like the stormy sky. Tentatively, she smiled at him. He smiled back and offered her a shallow nod before turning his attention back to Amidala. With one more final good-bye, he and Padawan Skywalker boarded the ship and Amidala led everyone to a safe spot to watch them depart.
Unbidden, as the ship disappeared into the storm clouds, Sabé found herself murmuring, “The one who got away...”
Immediately, she flushed and looked down at her feet, praying no one else had heard her and deeply furious at herself. ‘The one who got away’? Truly? Who was she, her mother? No. No, Sabé refused. There were a fair few people Sabé would not mind emulating, but her mother was certainly not one of them. With that thought firmly in mind, she determined that she would banish Obi-Wan Kenobi and his eyes from her memory.
In all the ways that mattered, she succeeded. Until one stormy day, a few months before Amidala’s last term as Queen was to end.
It was a rare free afternoon, and the Queen and her handmaidens had made their way down to one of the palace’s beautiful and, more importantly, private gardens. As Yané and Saché started making flower crowns, and Eirtaé and Amidala fell into conversation about something or another, Sabé found her thoughts drifting towards the eyes that matched the sky she stared at.
“Lost in thought, Sabé?” Rabé asked, gently bumping their shoulders together.
Sabé turned to look at her friend. “Something like that, I suppose. What are you going to do, once Amidala’s term ends?”
For one long moment, Rabé just stared at her, looking flabbergasted. “What?” she finally laughed, shaking her head. “Where did that come from?”
Sabé didn’t know how to say that she had been thinking of Knight Kenobi and his eyes; how, once, a long time ago, he had reminded her of stars and planets, had made her think that, maybe, she could have a life much bigger than she’d ever imagined a life could be. So, instead, she shrugged.
“I don’t know. But it seems like something we should be thinking about, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?” Rabé asked slowly. “I’ve done my years of public service. I was going to go back home, like everyone does. What else would we do?”
Sabé looked at the storm clouds and thought of her little fishing village; her five older siblings who loved her but loved her less on clear days; her mother who stared out a window and thought the one who got away mattered more than the one who had stayed.
“I’m not sure,” Sabé said, although she was certain she would not be returning to her village.
This time, she did not banish Knight Kenobi from her thoughts. Instead, as the months until Amidala stepped down turned to weeks turned to days, she did her best to remember him and the sense of possibility he had given her. One month after her last day as a Royal Handmaiden, Sabé stepped onto a ship headed to Coruscant.
She had accepted a position as a ‘diplomatic aide’. At least, that was her official title. Her unofficial title was ‘spy’. The Naboo were a peaceful people, her new employer had told her, not a stupid one. After the Federation invaded, it had become clear that the Naboo had been woefully unprepared for any sort of attack. Sabé remembered Amidala reluctantly agreeing to finance a new covert ops program, designed to ensure the Naboo people should have advanced warning, should anything like the Invasion threaten to happen again. Sabé was that program’s newest employee.
Once on Coruscant, she was apprenticed to a more experienced ‘diplomatic aide’ and found herself taught all sorts of things she didn’t know a person could learn and some things she was surprised to find she already knew. Soothing tensions, starting arguments, walking into places she wasn’t meant to be, slicing files not meant to be sliced, hearing secrets, spreading rumors and then disappearing as if she’d never existed in the first place all became part and parcel of her daily existence. She visited more planets than she could fully remember, their space ports and their parties, their secrets and their news reports somehow all blurring together in her mind.
Sabé could never quite decide if she was relieved or heartbroken that every planet she visited was far more similar to her old fishing village than it was different. Every planet and every city had its greedy, over-confident harbormasters just as every planet and every city had its old, gruff fisherman willing to lend a newcomer a hand so long as no one pointed out that was what they were doing. Rumors spread the same way and Sabé still knew how to stop an argument before it began, leave before it became explosive, and how to make a place for herself wherever she was, no matter how full-up it seemed.
Sometimes, she found herself staring up at storm clouds on some foreign planet, wondering why this life—this larger than she ever could have imagined life, full of planets and stars and a galaxy full of places that reminded her of home—didn’t make her feel the way she had when she talked to the man whose eyes the clouds reminded her of. Most times, though, she just glanced up at the clouds and began to plan for all the ways the weather might impact her latest mission.
The advent of the Clone Wars changed less and more than it should have. While she was technically still employed by Naboo, she spent most of her time working with Republic agents on Republic missions. However, Sabé still spent her days going places she had no business going, learning things she had no business knowing, and then leaving before anyone thought she might be worth remembering. But the places she went now were full of people who would kill or torture her if they caught her. The information she learned often had life or death consequences. She was, however, still excellent at leaving before anyone could pick her out of a crowd.
Usually, at any rate.
The first time Sabé was recognized was in a glittering ballroom on some mid-rim planet that couldn’t quite decide if it wanted to support the Republic or the Separatists. The ball—which Sabé had not been invited to—was being hosted by some mid-level government official, supposedly to allow the people of the planet to meet officials from the Republic and make up their minds about who they should side with. The Republic actually suspected the mid-level official was holding the ball to help cover up the fact that he was acting as an intermediary between some high-level government officials and Count Dooku. She was to slice into his private holonet, collect as much information from it as she could and give the information back to her employers so they could decide if the official warranted further investigation
.
Sabé had gotten into the ball easily enough and was in the process of deciding the best method to gain further entry into the manor when it happened.
“Handmaiden Sabé? Is that you?”
Sabé did not freeze in place because she was quite good at what she did. Instead, she spun towards the voice, her most brilliant smile already fixed into place. Obi-Wan Kenobi, a tall blond man, and Padmé Amidala, resplendent in red, stared at her. Sabé refrained from cursing out loud only because she did not want to go to prison.
Instead she said, “General Kenobi! Senator Amidala, what a pleasant surprise! And you must be Knight Skywalker—I have heard so much about you.”
“Heard?” The blond man frowned at her. “We met back on—”
Sabé continued to beam at all of them even though she quite wanted to run away screaming.
“Let’s not say any names out loud, shall we?” Sabé glided forward, hooked her arm into Kenobi’s and pulled him onward, in hopes that would make them stop staring at her like she was someone that warranted being stared at. Amidala, always delightfully quick on the uptake, followed her lead, grabbing Skywalker by the arm and tugging him along.
Sabé led them on a leisurely stroll around the ballroom and, beaming, told her Queen, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but my hair is red because that’s the most common human hair color found on this planet. My dress is two seasons out of style and does not highlight my best features, because I stand out less that way. Seeing you three here makes me want to cry. I do hope you know what I’m trying to say.”
“Yes.” Amidala gave her a politician’s smile. “I do. I hadn’t realized you’d stayed in the business after the war. I should have. I am terribly sorry for this.”
“What?” Skywalker muttered.
Amidala turned her smile on him and Skywalker didn’t say another word.
Sabé turned to Kenobi, to make sure he either understood or was willing to keep quiet until Amidala could explain. Then she blinked. His eyes looked nothing like storm clouds. They looked like the sea on a sunny day. How could she have remembered that wrong?
“I understand. I do apologize for interrupting your night,” Kenobi said, as if entirely unaware that Sabé felt as though the world was shifting under her feet.
His eyes should not have that effect on her. No one should have that effect on her.
“Of course,” Sabé said because she had to say something. “It’s an understandable mistake.” She turned to Amidala and gave her the closest thing she could to an actual, real smile. “Anyone could make it. But I’m afraid I do have to go.” She turned back to Kenobi. “If you want to make a habit of walking random women around the ballroom, I would appreciate it.”’
Kenobi blinked at her. “Oh. Well. This is a political party and, I have to say, I’m not overly fond of politicians.”
Sabé resisted the urge to raise her eyebrows at him incredulously. That would not be forgettable. Instead, she embraced the old, traditional method of saying good-bye in a genteel way.
She let go of his arm only to lightly grab both his forearms, stand on her toes and brush her lips to his cheek. She felt his face grow warm and, with a small, niggling worm of pleasure, she switched to the other one.
Just after she kissed his second cheek, she whispered, “I’m not overly fond of prison.”
As she lowered herself back to the ground, she let herself give him one real, actual grin. He stared at her, slightly pink, and something that might have been a smile appeared to be trying to sneak onto his face. Sabé turned to Amidala and proceeded to kiss her cheeks as well. She made to go towards Skywalker, so that she could finish this disaster and get on with her job. But Skywalker reared back, holding his hands in front of him as if to ward her off.
Sabé stared at him. Then she turned to look at Amidala to see her giving Skywalker a look of utter dismay.
“Well,” Sabé sighed. “This is going swimmingly. Toodle-loo!”
She waggled her fingers at all of them and drifted off.
An annoying number of people’s eyes followed her. After about an hour, with Kenobi obligingly walking arm-in-arm with a number of other women, all of whom were considerably prettier than she was, Sabé was finally free of scrutiny.
To her shock and delight, the rest of the night proceeded smoothly. She was able to retrieve the needed information and leave the ball entirely unmolested and, apparently, unsuspected. After dropping her datacard off at the office, she found that she had a two-day break before she’d have to leave for her next mission.
On a whim, Sabé sent Amidala her favorite bottle of wine with a small card that simply read “As usual, you managed to help turn a disaster into a success. Thank you.” She also sent two bouquets of flowers to the Jedi Temple from the Naboo embassy, addressed to Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker. In Skywalker’s card, she wrote, “Next time, try to be a little less conspicuous—it might not work out as well as it did this time!” In Kenobi’s card, she wrote, “Thank you for the assist. I know you don’t like politicians so, fair’s fair. If you ever need someone to go to prison for you…”
She did not sign any of the cards. She did not, in fact, think much of them until the second time she was recognized.
That time, she was ducking between blaster bolts and letting off the occasional shot of her own. The battle between the clones and the droids had not been in the briefing. When she had commed her superiors to let them know that they had dropped her off in the middle of an active battlefield they had, essentially, shrugged and told her the mission remained the same.
Sabé did not appreciate it but knew better than to try and argue with them. An old co-worker had done that and died on his very next mission. Sabé didn’t feel comfortable saying that the two facts were definitely related but she had also head and seen enough that she wasn’t willing to chance it.
So, instead, Sabé muttered a small prayer to any deities that might be listening, tightened her grasp on the blaster she’d stolen from a dead clone, and dashed away from the large piece of debris that had been acting as her cover. She fired continuously at everyone and anyone who might be firing at her.
It was mostly droids, thankfully, but a few of the clones seemed to think she might be worth hitting, too. Before they could, Sabé skidded behind an old stone column, sending the planet’s red dirt flying. She wondered how she might set about retiring.
More and more of her co-workers were coming back to the office with stories of being dropped off on planets with insufficient information, insufficient support, and uncaring superiors, who refused to evac them until the objective was accomplished. More and more of her friends were dying.
Sabé wiped sweat out of her eyes, silently cursed the planet’s heat, and peaked around her column. A droid spotted her. Sabé whipped back behind cover only seconds before a blaster bolt would have taken her head off. The building that held her objective was still about a block away. To make matters worse, the droids were between her and the most direct route.
Reluctantly, Sabé pushed herself to her feet, adjusted her grip on her blaster and prepared to run for the cover of a speeder that had somehow flipped and landed on its side. If she was lucky, she might be able to get the motor working a bit and use it as a make-shift mobile shield.
“Well, fancy seeing you here,” a cheerful voice said.
Sabé whirled around, blaster in hand and heart leaping into her throat. Then, even though she was very good at her job, she froze.
Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, lightsabers lit, faces covered in red dust and blood, stood behind her, smiling. But their smiles faded into something more confused the longer they stared at her.
“You’re not Padmé,” Skywalker finally said.
“No. I’m not,” Sabé said equally slowly. “She’s not here, is she?”
Sabé knew who paid her bills and could send her off to get killed but if Amidala was here… well. There were some people Sabé would die for, without question. Amidala had been the very first person on that list and Sabé had no doubt that Amidala would remain on that list until the day Sabé drew her last breath.
“She was expressly forbidden to come by the Chancellor, but that does not always seem to stop her,” Kenobi answered. “Are you usually sent into active combat?”
“No. Rather wish I hadn’t been this time, either, if I’m being honest with you.” Sabé gestured vaguely at the torn-up streets, crumbling buildings, flying blaster bolts and dead bodies. “This isn’t really my area of expertise, as it were.”
“Sabé? Handmaiden Sabé?” Skywalker said, seeming to have finally put the pieces together.
Sabé smiled. “In the flesh. Although, really, you shouldn’t say my name. I can’t imagine anyone would overhear us, but, you know. Best to form good habits and all that.”
“Is that what you meant?” Skywalker suddenly scowled at her. “About being inconspicuous?”
Sabé blinked at him. But before she could respond, the ground gave a tremendous shake and she very nearly lost her balance.
“What was that?” she demanded.
“Probably the AATs. You really shouldn’t be here.” Without waiting for a response, Kenobi grabbed her arm and tugged her forward. Skywalker was at his side immediately, their lightsabers becoming a whir of light as they marched through the battlefield seemingly untouched.
Sabé, about to protest, immediately shut her mouth and did her best to keep up with the Jedi. It was impossible. Fortunately, they seemed aware of it, as they took turns shoving her behind things and yanking her back up as needed. She shot as many droids as she could before her pilfered blaster’s power pack ran dry. It was about then that she realized that the Jedi had, somehow or another, gotten her within a few steps of the building her objective was in.
“Ha!” she crowed. “You two really are the best! See you around!”
She jerked her arm out of Skywalker’s grasp and sprinted to the door.
“Sabé! Get back here!” Skywalker shouted.
“Can’t! I’m on the clock here!” Sabé crouched in the doorway, hurriedly slicing her way through the security lock.
“Handmaiden! That was not a request!”
Just then, the door gave a loud, happy chirp and opened.
“I’m in!” And, with that, Sabé stepped inside the dark, cavernous entrance hall of the former bank. She had just lit her glowrod when footsteps pounded behind her. Sabé spun around, lifting her useless blaster out of instinct. Again, she stopped, when she caught sight of Kenobi. He was scowling at her.
“That was not a request.” Kenobi’s voice was sharp and clipped, his Coruscanti accent more prominent than usual. He strode up to her, placed a firm hand at her back and began gently pushing her towards the door.
For a moment, Sabé let him, weighing her options as quickly as she could. Then, decided, she dug her feet in.
“Kenobi, I appreciate the help, but I don’t get evac unless I get what I came for. And if you get me out of here without it—look. When you do what I do, you hear a lot of whispers. Let’s just say I’m not willing to bet on them being wrong. I appreciate everything you’re doing, but I have to go.”
Kenobi stopped walking. He turned and stared at her. In the light of her glowrod, his eyes seemed to flicker from stormy grey to sea blue.
“Truly?” Kenobi asked, his eyes searching hers.
Sabé gave him an ironic smile. “Do you know, strange as it sounds, I really wouldn’t lie to you.”
After a moment, Kenobi nodded. “I believe you.” He turned on his comm. “Anakin, go without me. I will escort Handmaiden Sabé to safety.”
“What?” Skywalker’s voice crackled across the comm, outraged.
“The situation has changed. I’ll meet you at the rendezvous.”
Skywalker began to curse but Kenobi flicked the comm off mid -tirade.
“Where to?”
Sabé searched his face but, past the sweat, dirt and blood, all she saw was patience and something that made her think of stars and planets and a home where she wouldn’t have to scrounge for space. But that was just the remnants of a silly, childhood fancy.
“Are you sure?” she asked him. “You don’t have to come.”
Kenobi gave her a small, wry smile. “Oh, I know, Handmaiden Sabé. I thought it might be a nice change of pace. At least in here, no one’s shooting at me.”
“Yet,” Sabé added.
Kenobi’s smile grew a little wider. “Yet,” he agreed.
“In that case, if you insist on using names, you can drop the handmaiden. I haven’t been one of those in a long time. Sabé is just fine.”
“As is Obi-Wan,” Kenobi said.
“Alright then, Obi-Wan,” Sabé ignored the absurd amount of pleasure she felt at using his first name, “If my information is correct, we need to go this way.” She pointed down the hall.
Obi-Wan gave a small bow and gestured for her to go first.
Outside, there was a large crash and someone, or perhaps multiple someones, screamed shrill enough for the sound to breach the bank’s thick walls. Sabé resolutely ignored it and marched forward, glowrod held in front of her.
She was pleased to find that the blueprints she had been given for the bank had been accurate. It took her less than an hour to find and break into the vault she was looking for. She and Obi-Wan had encountered no resistance at all in that time and she found that he was just as engaging a conversationalist as she remembered, even if the tone of their conversations were a smidge darker than they had been on Tatooine and Naboo.
Sabé found the small, black datapad she had been instructed to retrieve and secured it firmly to her waist.
“Mission accomplished,” she announced. “Now, we just have to get out of here.”
Kenobi—Obi-Wan—paused thoughtfully. “Well, now, I might have an idea about that.”
Obi-Wan, it turned out, had very good ideas. Before she knew it, she found herself safely away from the battlefield, sending a message to let her superiors know the mission had been accomplished and that she was ready for evac.
“I have to say, it’s very handy having a Jedi around,” Sabé said as she finished keying in her coordinates. “Thank you, for your help.”
Obi-Wan smiled, his eyes once again sea blue in the light of the sun. “Of course. Although I provided more assistance this time, so I expect my flowers will be correspondingly larger.”
A laugh escaped Sabé before she could stop herself. She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“See that you do.” With another quick smile her way, Obi-Wan disappeared, headed back for the battlefield.
She saw him only one more time before the Battle of Coruscant and the Great Jedi Purge.
As it happened, the Republic part of the business did not look kindly on employees who wished to retire. After she announced her decision to her Naboo superiors, who obliging began to file the necessary records, the Republic took advantage of the gap between the time records were filed to when they were made official. She was sent on three more impossible missions, succeeding mostly through dumb luck. Finally, before they could send her on a fourth mission, her records were processed and she officially retired from service.
Three weeks after she turned in her security clearance and one week after her doctor announced that the experimental procedure had worked and that she was not going to lose any of her toes or fingers after all, she found herself wandering Coruscant at a total loss of what to do. Retiring had been the right decision. Sabé was certain of that. But as she strolled up and down the skywalks, with no clear destination in mind, she found herself wishing that she’d spent more time thinking about what she ought to do after she retired and less time on how she was going to survive the retirement process.
“Sabé? Is that you?” a familiar voice asked.
Sabé looked up from her feet to see Obi-Wan Kenobi standing outside the door to a seedy looking diner. He had bags under his eyes and somehow looked smaller than usual inside his neatly ironed robes.
“Obi-Wan,” she smiled “I didn’t know you were on Coruscant.”
“Not for long, I’m afraid. Anakin and I are back on the frontlines next week. How about you?”
“Me? I retired.”
“Retired?” Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. “You can do that at your age?”
Sabé laughed. “Oh, Obi-Wan. I’m Naboo. Age has nothing to do with anything, when it comes to us. The Republic wasn’t overly pleased to see me go but such is life, I suppose.” She paused and looked at the diner he was standing in front of. “Do you think this place is hiring?”
“Dex’s? I doubt it. You’d certainly fit in, if he was, but his waitress has worked here for ages and he has a stunningly competent droid who does whatever they can’t. I don’t imagine he’ll replace either of them anytime soon.”
“Well, that’s disappointing.”
“I don’t think I could picture you as a waitress, regardless.”
Sabé walked closer to Obi-Wan, surreptitiously examining him. He hadn’t smiled at her once. His clothes were loose, and he clearly hadn’t been sleeping enough.
Unsure what else to do, Sabé flipped her hair over her shoulder, stuck her nose up in the air and sniffed disdainfully. “I’ll have you know I’ve waitressed at some of the most distinguished restaurants in the galaxy.” She gave Obi-Wan a sly look. “And I did it all without even a single day of orientation or training. I didn’t even ask for pay. I think that makes me an exceptional waitress. Any restaurant would be lucky to have me.”
A small smile crept onto Obi-Wan’s face before sliding away again. “Oh, I’m sure. I don’t suppose the Trade Federation or Techno Union had business lunches at any of those restaurants, did they?”
“Well, maybe. I certainly wouldn’t know.” Then, impulsively, because she was allowed to be impulsive now, she asked, “Do you have time to catch up? It’s alright if you don’t, of course, but—”
“As it happens, I was just about to have lunch here at Dex’s. Care to join me?”
Sabé beamed at him.
Over the course of lunch, Sabé made Obi-Wan smile eight times and laugh four, not that she had been counting, of course. And between her and the owner Dex, a besalisk with sharp eyes and an even sharper mind, they also managed to get him to eat a full two meals plus half of another before he realized what they were doing. His outrage had been halfhearted at best.
By the time they left, it was almost dinnertime.
“Are you planning to stay on Coruscant?” Obi-Wan asked as they slowly made their way out of the diner and down the skywalk towards the Jedi Temple.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Sabé answered, although she had a strange feeling that maybe she wasn’t being entirely honest. “I might. But I might also go home for a while. I’ve seen what feels like most of the galaxy and everywhere I go, I end up comparing it to the little fishing village I grew up in. That doesn’t sound right, does it?” she laughed a little. “I think I should maybe see it for myself again, instead of just through my family’s messages, you know? See how it really stacks up compared to the galaxy.”
Obi-Wan was quiet. Sabé glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He had slouched a little further into his cloak and the lines around his mouth seemed a little deeper.
Sabé gently nudged his shoulder with hers, smiling when he looked up at her. “I’m sure I’ll come back here, though. We should meet up again, when I do. I had a good time today.”
“As did I.” Obi-Wan’s eyes once again looked like a storm.
Two months later, Sabé was crowded inside her mother’s living room with her entire family, staring at the holotelevision in horror. They sat, crammed together on the old sofa, for hours.
The Separatists were defeated and the Republic was declared victorious. Then the Jedi were branded traitors. Sabé watched the temple burn on the holo while the reporters praised the brave actions of the clone troopers. At some point, Chancellor Palpatine declared the Republic an Empire and crowned himself Emperor.
Amidala—her Amidala—was reported missing. Then dead.
At some point during that awful day, Sabé had grabbed onto her sister Karin’s hand and found that she couldn’t let go. Eventually, her mother turned the holo off over Sabé’s strident objections and Karin gently led her into the kitchen. Sabé found herself staring out the very window she had hated so much as a child. A storm was coming.
“His eyes were that color.” The familiar words somehow slipped past Sabé’s numb lips. “The last time I saw him, his eyes were that very color. When he saved my life, though, they were blue. Blue like the sea on a sunny day. How can he be dead? And Amidala. How could she—” Words failed her.
Words always seemed to fail her.
The next day, Rabé and Eirtaé arrived on her mother’s doorstep, eyes red and bloodshot. For a long moment, Sabé just stood inside the doorway and stared at them. They stared back and Rabé’s eyes slowly filled with tears. Sabé stepped aside to let them in and then wordlessly led them to the kitchen. Together, they sat in front of the big window and stared out at the sea, the sky and all of its changing colors.
Eventually, Eirtaé tried to talk to them about Amidala’s funeral arrangements. Sabé tried to answer but, judging by the way Eirtaé simply stared at her blankly whenever she tried, she may not have made much sense.
Rabé kept saying, “The baby. That poor baby. How could she not tell us she was going to have a baby?”
Sabé made vague, comforting noises while rubbing Rabé’s arm. She wondered how they could have missed it. Wondered how they’d let Amidala drift so far away from their protection that they didn’t even notice she was pregnant.
They fell asleep at the kitchen counter, still facing the window.
Early the next morning, Yané showed up on Sabé’s mother’s doorstep with a bewildered expression and a wilted handful of wildflowers mixed together with grass and weeds.
“These are for your mother.” Yané shoved the plants at Sabé, seeming completely ignorant of the dirt clumps falling off their roots to the floor.
“Oh,” Sabé said, accepting the odd bouquet for a lack of a better idea what to do with it.
Yané drifted past her, calling out Rabé and Eirtaé’s names. When they answered her from the kitchen and she set off to find them, Sabé glanced behind her to make sure no one was watching and then tossed the plants into the compost pile.
The ‘flowers’ taken care of, she promptly resumed her vigil at the window, watching the sea and the sky change colors and noting when they matched Obi-Wan’s eyes. She tried not to think of the way the waves and the gulls reminded her of Amidala’s stories of growing up in the Lake Country. It was easier to think of Obi-Wan and all that might have been than it was to think of Amidala and all the things they must have missed.
At first, Yané attempted to make small talk but stopped after she asked, “What’s new with you?” and Rabé burst into tears.
Around lunch time, Karin crept into the kitchen with one of her sons and a picnic basket. Sabé vaguely noted her sister whispering instructions into her nephew’s ear but didn’t deem it as worth pointing out to anyone else. When her nephew grabbed the picnic basket with both hands and staggered up to Rabé to sweetly ask if she wanted a sandwich, Sabé knew she had misjudged.
Faced with a child, Rabé resumed her sobbing.
“Here, Daeron.” Sabé knelt down to grab the basket from her alarmed nephew. “I’ll take these. Thank you very much for bringing them.”
In the chairs above her, Eirtaé hugged Rabé while Yané watched helplessly.
“You’re welcome, Auntie.” Daeron handed Sabé the basket and then visibly hesitated.
“Yes?” she prompted him gently.
“Are more crying girls going to show up in Grandmama’s kitchen? Are you going to be sad here forever?”
“Daeron!” Karin hissed, horrified, as she bent down to scoop up her child. “I am so sorry, Sabé. I thought—”
A tiny, helpless laugh had bubbled up inside Sabé’s chest, though, and she couldn’t keep it in any longer. At the sound of her giggle, Karin fell immediately silent.
“It’s fine, Karin,” Sabé reassured her before turning to the little boy in her sister’s arms. “That’s an excellent question, Daeron. Only one more crying girl will show up in Grandmama’s kitchen. And I don’t imagine we’ll be sad here forever. At some point, we’ll have to go and be sad in the capital instead.”
Sabé, though, found that her answer was only half correct. Saché did show up in her mother’s kitchen later that day, but Saché was not sad.
Saché was furious. And she didn’t bring a plan to go to Amidala’s funeral in the capital. Instead, she brought blasters, a starship, and an utterly insane plan to assassinate the Emperor.
No one knew for sure that Amidala’s death was the Emperor’s fault but it didn’t matter. They almost all climbed onto Saché’s ship and went on a suicide mission together in the name of their dead Queen anyway.
But the sea was nearly as blue as Obi-Wan’s eyes, and the sky was Amidala’s favorite shade. So Sabé suggested they stay and watch the sea and the sky instead, and the others reluctantly agreed. She handed everyone a second sandwich from the picnic basket and a shurra fruit to go with it. By the time they finished eating the last of Daeron and Karin’s packed picnic, they had all decided that they really ought to go to Amidala’s funeral before they did anything else.
They fell asleep in the kitchen again. Later the next day, they left for Theed. They stood huddled together on the street, watching the funeral procession pass by. Eirtaé had not let Amidala’s Senatorial Handmaidens know their decision in time, so they were unable to walk behind Amidala’s casket themselves.
Secretly, Sabé was relieved. It was hard enough watching her Queen float past without marching behind her in silence while a grieving planet watched. Rabé started crying again, the moment the procession walked into sight. She didn’t stop until long after the funeral party had passed and the streets had emptied.
They didn’t make it the funeral.
Instead, they stood in silence by the side of the road while the stars slowly flickered into existence above them. Eventually, Rabé ran out of tears. Saché, though, wouldn’t stop clenching and unclenching her fists.
Just when the first hints of dawn started to appear on the horizon, Yané said, “We should start making our way to the funeral, shouldn’t we?”
Eirtaé turned to Yané with soft, kind eyes. “We missed it.”
Yané stared back. Then she said. “Oh. Oh, I suppose we did, didn’t we?”
They fell back into silence as the sun slowly made its way above the horizon. Shopkeepers appeared on the streets, giving them sleepy, confused looks, but saying nothing.
Abruptly, the silence stopped being comforting. The presence of the only people in the world who could truly understand and share in Sabé’s failure, her grief, stopped helping.
“I need answers,” Sabé announced. “I know I won’t like whatever I find. I know it won’t change anything. But I need to know.”
The other handmaidens turned towards her. Slowly, one by one, they nodded. They understood. Sabé wasn’t sure they needed answers the same way she did, but they, at least, understood. She nodded back, then briskly turned on her heel and left in search of the truth.
It took her ten months and every trick she’d ever learned as a ‘diplomatic aide’ to find it. Standing in the light of the dying suns in front of the entrance to a modest looking moisture farm on Tatooine, she found herself wondering if the truth was really everything it was said to be.
A small woman with tired eyes and neatly braided hair answered the door and then immediately froze. “Padmé? But Ben said you’d—”
Sabé’s heart cracked. “I’m not—” she faltered, then tried again. “I’m not Padmé.” The name felt unfamiliar on her tongue. The Queen had only ever been Amidala to her, to all of her handmaidens. Sabé wondered, suddenly, if that was part of why they had failed her so horribly.
“Then who…?” the woman trailed off.
“My name is Sabé. May I come in?”
“Owen!” The woman called, keeping her eyes firmly on Sabé. “Owen, we have a visitor!”
Sabé waited patiently for Owen—Skywalker’s step-brother, if her research was correct—to arrive. The woman was likely his wife, Beru. But Sabé would wait until they introduced themselves. Fleetingly, she wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to disguise herself after all.
A moment later, a burly, dark-haired man appeared in the doorway.
“Who’re you?” he demanded gruffly, gently pushing the woman out of sight behind the door.
Sabé heard the unmistakable sound of running echoing from the house behind him. She sighed.
“My name is Sabé,” she repeated. “I knew your nephew’s mother.”
“Nephew? Don’t know what you’re talking about.” But his hand drifted towards the poorly concealed blaster on his hip.
“Please don’t try to shoot me,” Sabé sighed again. “I assure you, I’m a much better shot than you are and I can draw my blaster much quicker.”
The man jerked back, eyes widening as, despite her warnings, he made to grab his blaster.
Sabé stopped him.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” she told the man who was struggling to escape her grip. “Truly. If I was, I would have done it already. And if I wanted to hurt your nephew, I would have stopped your wife from running off with him. Now, if I let you go, will you promise to discuss things with me, in a civilized manner?”
“Who are you?” the man’s voice was muffled against the worn rug on the ground, but still audible.
“As I said, my name is Sabé.” She wondered how many times she was going to have to repeat herself. “I knew your nephew’s mother. I’m here in search of answers, that’s all. Can I let you up now?”
He stopped struggling beneath her and grunted, “Yeah.”
“Good.”
Five minutes later, Sabé had located the kitchen and ushered him inside. After a few minutes of familiarizing herself with the layout, she made herself at home preparing some tea she’d brought with her as a small present, the way polite people did when they stayed in someone else’s home.
“I’m terribly sorry for the scare I gave you and your wife,” she said as she handed him a cup. “I knew I would likely startle you, but I didn’t know of any way to avoid it without lying to you. It seemed wrong to start off with a lie when I’m here in search of the truth.”
She sat down across from him at the table and took a long sip from her own cup. When he continued to stare at his tea suspiciously, she set down her cup and took a long sip from his before returning it.
“We don’t have any truth for you,” the man said gruffly.
“Master Lars, I very much doubt that.”
He set his jaw mulishly and, narrowed eyes locked on hers, took a drink of his tea.
Nothing terrible happened to him, although he seemed to expect something would. Not very trusting people, these moisture farmers.
After a moment’s pause, Sabé decided on a new approach. Taking another fortifying sip of her tea, she said, “Master Lars, I understand why you don’t trust me and I respect you for it. You were entrusted with—”
“Sabé.”
The teacup slipped from her hands. Vaguely, she was aware of it crashing to the table and tea spilling everywhere. Vaguely, she was aware of the way Owen Lars jumped to his feet and disappeared.
Mostly, though, she was struck by eyes that looked like either clouds before a storm or the sea on a bright day, depending on the lighting. Mostly she was struck by soft hair, capable hands and deep lines around his eyes and mouth.
“Obi-Wan.”
For a moment, she was still, unable to do anything but stare. Then, she was staggering to her feet, running, crashing into him, her arms wrapping around him as tightly as she could, to make sure he wouldn’t disappear again.
“Obi-Wan,” she whispered through a throat that suddenly felt too tight, eyes burning as the tears she had never cried tried to escape.
“Sabé.” Obi-Wan’s voice was soft in her ear as his arms slowly came around her, hugging her back.
She didn’t know how long they stayed like that. She only knew that her tears had escaped, dampening his dull colored tunic and that her own shoulder was feeling a little wet. She only knew that his chest expanded with air when he tuggedin shaky breaths, and then sunk again when he released them; that the pulse in his neck was strong against her fingers.
“So, you know each other,” Owen Lars finally interrupted, his voice as dry as the desert outside.
Blinking, Sabé turned away from Obi-Wan’s shoulder to see Owen staring at them, his stance wide and his arms crossed against his chest. A few steps behind him, the blonde woman was cradling a baby and watching them with wide eyes.
“Oh.” Sabé spun back to Obi-Wan, whose eyes were bluer than she’d ever seen them. “Is that…?”
“Luke,” Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes.”
“May I…?” Sabé wasn’t sure if she should ask Obi-Wan, or Owen or his wife so she asked all of them, her eyes darting back and forth desperately as she slowly slipped from Obi-Wan’s arms and edged closer to the baby.
Owen and his wife—Beru, surely—exchanged wary glances with each other and then with Obi-Wan before, slowly, Beru came forward and offered her Amidala’s child.
“Hello, little one,” she crooned. “Hello. I have come such an awful long way to find you.”
The darling baby boy blinked blue, blue eyes at her before stretching a tiny hand up and yawning.
Sabé stayed on Tatooine for four weeks. Her days were full of Beru’s sidelong, worried looks, Luke’s chubby cheeks, his gurgling laughs and his beautiful eyes. Her evenings and her nights were spent in the tiny hut Ob-Wan had tried to make a home. He made space for her in his life, willingly, easily. For once, she didn’t have to scrounge for it. For once, it felt right.
He told her the truth and she thought that, maybe, he had needed to tell it as much as she had needed to hear it. She held him when he tried not to cry and made him laugh whenever she could. She catalogued the colors of his eyes and all the things that made them change.
Then, he told her about Leia, Amidala’s daughter, who was on Alderaan, hiding right under the Emperor’s nose. Under Darth Vader’s nose. With no Obi-Wan to look after her.
That night, when Tatooine’s suns had set, she went outside, watching the stars and the planets twinkle into view. After a moment, Obi-Wan joined her. In silence, they stared at the sky.
“You made me think I could be more than I was, once,” Sabé finally said. “Back on Tatooine. The first time. You made me think of planets and stars and finding a place I could belong.” She paused. “I don’t know that I’d be me if I hadn’t met you.”
Obi-Wan took her hand in his and held it.
Tears pricked at her eyes but she said it anyway. “I have to go. Someday, Leia will need me. Just as Luke will need you.”
Obi-Wan said nothing, just tugged her close.
The next morning, she crept from his bed, leaving him to sleep as she stole away.
She arrived on Alderaan within the week. The Organas weren’t expecting her and were even less sure they wanted her. But it didn’t matter. They were stuck with her anyway. Sabé had always been good at making space for herself, even in places that seemed full-up.
And she didn’t regret it. Leia needed her. The little girl was like Amidala in all the most wonderful, worrying ways—someday, Leia was going to take on the galaxy with nothing more than guts, determination, and cleverness. Sabé was going to make sure that Leia had the tools she needed to survive it.
And if, some days, she heard Leia’s laughter and thought of gardens full of friends from long ago; found herself looking at birds and thinking of Amidala’s Lake Country; if she sometimes stared up at storm clouds or down at the sea on a sunny day and remembered the most captivating eyes she’d ever seen… well. She never dwelled. She knew better than to long for all the ones who got away.