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It is a courtesy invitation which brings Padmé to Taris. The Council of Neutral Systems is more interested in Senator Palpatine’s company, to see if he is truly serious about becoming the next Chancellor of the Republic, but meeting with the head of a system looks better.
“It’s better they’re convening on Taris,” mother says offhandedly the night before she leaves. “Chernan Kryze has done the devil’s work bringing about New Mandalore, but it will be a long time yet before the galaxy forgets what the system’s wrought on it.”
When moving through the formal introductions Padmé is now all-too acquainted with, she sets her sights on the Duke’s heir. Satine Kryze is about her age and encumbered with as much court dress as she is.
When she is assured the elder statesmen are not paying attention, Padmé cannot help herself from whispering a tart remark to the other girl. (So rarely do these sorts of things have younger politicians.)
“They dress us up for the occasion, and then don’t even want to speak.”
Her face remains impassive and Padmé fears she’s overstepped her bounds. New government or not, Mandalorians are a hard people.
Then, out of the corner of her mouth, the Kryze girl mutters, “Yes, well, I didn’t run so they could put me in this.”
Padmé is unsure if she is being criticized for a lowly interloper when she sees the traces of a smile.
“Besides, they will hear us speak soon enough.”
“They could even hear us roar,” Padmé thinks.
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Just as her advisors asked for Jedi protection five years previous, coming to Coruscant for the first time in her life, in Satine’s eyes, is begging. All the senators of the Republic know of her pride and will sneer ‘beggar.’
Vicious senators, she can take.
She only hopes the planet is as large as they all say. She wants it to be so large it swallows her so her visit will go unnoticed by a sole Jedi.
“Oh my gods! Satine, Satine Kryze!”
Satine turns around to see a face she’d almost forgotten.
Padmé Amidala runs to catch her, then asks the question before she can, “What are you doing here?”
“I could say the same. The Council sent me to be a voice for pacifism and, as they constantly harp on, a reminder of the legal neutrality of our systems. They fear impending war. I suspect Naboo sent you do something similar?”
Padmé flushes, embarrassed. “In as much as I’ve been elected senator. I’m your opposition in the meeting, I’m afraid.”
She reaches a hand out in reassurance. Satine does not expect gestures of the sort, but does not pull away either.
But then Padmé smiles, corners of her eyes crinkling, “I’ll speak to who I can to make sure Mandalore and all the others stay out of whatever’s coming.”
They both know something’s out there approaching their peace, their people, them, but they guard themselves in the ways they can.
Satine wishes the younger woman would not seek war. Naboo has a long history of favoring diplomacy; surely she will be guided by the precedence.
(But then what precedence was father following?)
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Goodbyes with Padmé and Ahsoka are a private affair on the landing pad.
“It was good to see you both again,” and to Padmé, “and one of these days you will pull me away from here long enough to visit Naboo.”
“Do I have your word?”
Satine laughs, “Possibly.”
“Oh all right, yes.”
“Can I come?” Ahsoka interjects.
Padmé throws an easy arm around the girl.
“Of course. You’ll be our Jedi protection and it will be perfectly proper.”
Or it could be in peacetime, when there is no need for protection, Satine prays.
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The delegates cluster into tight groups to discuss, no doubt, Lux Bonteri’s ill-timed interruption. Satine would berate them for falling to partisan politics again, but the boy did already tear the Separatists asunder.
She steps forward to speak to the irate Separatist delegates, but from the corner of her eye, she catches Padmé, of all people almost running for the door.
Of course. Ahsoka vanished almost immediately after Lux Bonteri; it behooves Padmé to know of the young Jedi’s whereabouts.
Satine follows, catching up with her in the hall outside the chamber.
“Padmé –”
“Not now, I have to call Anakin – Master Skywalker – and tell him Ahsoka’s left. Please, I’ll be back momentarily and help in whatever way I can.”
Padmé retreats towards the guest quarters and it is not until Satine reaches the door she realizes what sits wrong with her.
It is not Padmé’s lack of familiarity with Obi-Wan’s former student which catches Satine off guard. No, it is the tiny, flustered gesture across her face – as if she knows better.
Satine almost knew it with Obi-Wan.
For the first time, Satine feels a stab of jealousy in her heart. Not because Padmé is nearer to Obi-Wan, speaks to him, sees him, but because where Obi-Wan would not allow this for himself, Satine imagines Padmé and Skywalker somehow stole what was theirs.
“Foolishness,” she tells herself. It is as much her choice as Obi-Wan’s and besides, she’s letting her imagination run wild. Padmé’s politics may be rash by Satine’s judgment, but her conduct is not.
When Padmé returns, she smiles reassuringly at Satine through two quarrelling Separatist senators.
It is enough for Satine.
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Every time she sets foot on the planet, Satine swears it is a little darker.
Meetings with the Chancellor are certainly more tiresome. He makes a show of being more affable by offering even fewer opportunities for ceasefire but more trade options, ones Mandalore is perfectly fine without thank you.
Satine purses her lips.
She stops at Padmé’s office after. Though it is meant as an informal visit between friends, she cannot help but sense eyes pinned on her back as she waits for the door to slide open.
Padmé moves all over the room. Satine wishes she had work to occupy herself with as well after two hours of concession.
“I know it doesn’t look like it, but there are some of us who are working to reduce the scale of the war. One does what one can on the war committee.”
Finally able to get a productive word in edgewise, “What about Senator Organa? He commands a great deal of respect in the senate.”
Though Padmé’s firebrand tendencies have cooled over the years, Bail Organa is the great moderating force within the senate chamber. If Chancellor Palpatine would not listen to his fellow Nubian, he could not fail to hear the collective voices of those following Alderaan.
Padmé laughs darkly. “The politics are changing. Palpatine might be interested in a party change, or a new one all together, and I don’t know how that affects the Jedi or the clones, let alone the civilians of the galaxy –”
She jerks at some holobooks too violently and more topple off the shelf. She scrambles to pick them up; Satine jumps up to help her.
Padmé sighs, “It seems hopeless doesn’t it?”
“We have to believe it will end. It’s what we work for and we stop for nothing.”
Though only given to impulsive affection with Jerec and Korkie, she grabs her friend’s hand across the stack of holos and squeezes it tight.