Chapter Text
The marketplace in the old city of Theed thrums with activity; colourful carts of wares scattered amongst the heaving crowds of milling shoppers. Here, a stack of droid components, there, fruits in a rainbow of colours laid out on tables out to tempt the passersby. Brightly coloured pennants fly in the gentle summer breeze, catching the sunlight and casting coloured shadows on goods and people alike.
“General,” calls one of the merchants, deep voice resonant above the hubbub of busy market. A young man turns to look back at the Gungan merchant, eyebrows raised in inquiry. “Thank you!” He gently tosses one of the round fruits overhand in the direction of the human male.
Poe Dameron catches the jogan fruit easily, smiling brightly and waving at the merchant over the crowd. He places the fruit in his satchel and continues his determined stride towards the wide stone concourse where city streets join.
As the scattered houses and carts of the living city fall away, they are replaced by tall buildings capped by green domes, the shoppers of the day’s market giving way to scattered palace guards in stiff, burgundy overcoats.
“Hey buddy,” he calls to one of the guards, gesturing him to come nearer. The man’s eyes snap to Poe, hand going to his holstered blaster. “I need some help here,” Poe adds. “I have an appointment.”
The young guard looks side to side, as if to seek support from one of his fellows. He waves over a taller man in a coat with blue sleeves. “Captain Darik,” he calls to the other, gesturing to him to approach.
The captain approaches, his imposing height made all the more intimidating by his ramrod straight posture. His thick leather boots clack firmly on the stones of the palace concourse, echoing softly off the distant walls as he walks towards his underling and the newcomer. He looks Poe up and down. His eyes linger on the blaster at the man’s side. “What’s this about?”
“This man says he has an appointment, Captain.”
“Captain! Pleased to meet you.” Poe says, flashing a rakish smile. He gestures to himself, “I’m here to meet with the Queen.”
The tall, neatly groomed guard captain asks “Who are you?” His thick eyebrows almost meet in the middle of his forehead as he scowls at Poe.
Dameron beams up at the man who stands head and shoulders above him, attempting to look both important and non-threatening all at once. “General Poe Dameron of the Rebellion fleet. I know usually there’d be a welcoming committee and everything,” Poe continues, “but with the way things are—”
He’s cut off mid-sentence by Darik. “General Dameron, the Council already declined your request for a meeting.”
“But the Queen didn’t,” Dameron says, his smile now gone, face business-like. “And Captain, she’s going to hear what I have to say. The Monarch has been one of the biggest supporters of democracy since the day of the old Republic. You can’t tell me that the Queen of Naboo isn’t going to meet with me.”
“Captain, shall I—” the guard starts. He’s silenced by a wave of the captain’s hand.
“The Queen of Naboo isn’t going to meet with you, General,” the captain says stonily. “Be on your way.”
“No.”
“General—”
“Captain, no. I’m staying here until the Queen meets with me.”
The captain huffs in annoyance. “Leave, or we’ll make you leave.”
“Try me.”
The cells beneath the palace weren’t too bad, so far as cells went, Poe thought. After he’d come to from the stun blast, he was surprised to find himself on a relatively comfortable padded bench in a dark room. It wasn’t musty, there were no ominous dripping noises, and there was even a window looking off the side of the cliff on which the edge of the palace was built. All in all, it was one of the better cells he’d been in over the course of his life.
The comm on his wrist chimes and he hits the button to answer. “Poe here.”
“I told you not to piss them off,” chides Connix’ annoyed voice over the comm. “We’ve been trying for weeks to get a meeting with them.”
“I didn’t piss anyone off,” Poe volleys back. “It got me into the palace didn’t it?”
“You are impossible, General.” He can hear the rolling of her eyes in her tone. “Try not to get yourself executed. I managed to get that meeting with Chandrilla and it’s next week. If you show up dead to that meeting after I worked so hard to get it, I’ll kill you myself.”
“Noted. Poe out.” He could hear footsteps approaching his cell as he rang off and ruffled his hair quickly to straighten it. Adjusting his shirt to hide the worst of the wrinkles, he stood to attention as the door creaked open. “Captain Darik!”
“General,” the captain says with a nod, his earlier distrust of the Resistance general gone. “The queen will meet with you now.”
“Told you she’d see me,” Poe grins. “Lead the way mon capitane.”
They walk in silence out from the detention block. As they climb the wide stairway into the palace proper, the darker walls give way to expansive halls of smooth stone. Patterned marble floors the like of which Poe had never before seen stretch between lustrous rust-coloured columns that reach to the domed ceiling high above. He is unable to stop his eyes from roaming as they walk the silent corridors, accompanied only by the echoes of their boots striking the polished floors.
Ahead of them, a group of richly dressed people mill about outside of the large bronze doors of what Poe suspects must be the royal audience chamber. He adjusts the bag on his shoulder and brushes the front of his shirt with his hand, hoping to be at least somewhat presentable to the Monarch. But instead of approaching the people standing by to enter the chamber, Captain Darik turns off into a narrow hallway between two of the gargantuan columns. Poe follows, throwing one last glance in the direction he’d expected to go.
Darik opens a filigreed door, plain in comparison to the rest of the palace’s finery, and ushers Poe through, staying in the hallway himself.
He finds himself in what must be considered a small antechamber in this palace of open spaces. The room would comfortably fit the Falcon, but its low ceiling and many furnishings leave him feeling as if he is in a much smaller chamber. Tapestries covered in flowing designs cover two of the walls while a third is made entirely of windows with gilded trim. An enormous desk of dark wood sits in front of the windows and behind it is seated a young woman. She is dressed plainly, in tans and browns, her only nod to the vibrant colours of her peoples’ dress is the red headscarf that covers her hair. Unlike the portraits Poe has seen of Queens of Naboo, the monarch’s face is plain and she is unadorned by the jewellery and costume of her predecessors.
“Queen Nataya,” Poe says, bowing his head. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
“General Dameron,” her voice is richer than her apparent years would belie, and it was shot through with iron, much like Leia’s had been. “You have been harassing my advisors for weeks, and now my palace guard. How many times to you need to be told ‘no’ before you will listen?”
“At least one more, your majesty,” he quips. “But I hope you’ll hear me out. Ever since Exegol, we’ve been—”
She raises a hand delicately and lifts her chin. Her gaze is steely. “I’ve heard your arguments, General. I’m not interested in hearing them again. You have asked too much of Naboo. We lost our entire government in the Hosnian genocide last year. We had only just started picking up the pieces when your people came begging for ships. We have lost eleven percent of our population in this war, General. Eleven percent of my people are dead. Naboo has answered the call time and time again, and we have paid a dear price to defend democracy. We have bled across the galaxy when answering the call of duty. We must have time to heal. In sixty years, we have known peace for only fifteen. Leave us be, General. Let Naboo heal.”
“Your majesty, if you think this is a time of peace, you’re wrong. The First Order is still out there; they weren’t all at Exegol, and they’re regrouping just like we are. We need to finish this and if we want the free worlds of the galaxy to stay free we have to do it now!” He finishes at a shout, gesticulating widely in an impassioned plea.
“That is enough, General. We have our navy – Naboo’s navy, not yours – to protect ourselves. We will ride out this storm. I thank you, General Dameron, for your efforts this past year. But my people have given enough to help save the galaxy. Let other systems fight their own battles for once. We will not be drawn back into a war that will last another generation.”
Poe’s hands fist at his sides and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping at the queen. Leia’s straight-shooting tactics had not been so effective coming from him. Connix had urged him to try to be diplomatic. He isn’t sure he can. He pulls his lips into a thin line and gives the queen a curt nod. “Your majesty, respectfully, I think you’re making a mistake.”
“It is my mistake to make, General Dameron. You have my answer. You may go.” She gestures towards the door through which he had entered.
He turns to leave, and hears the queen pull open a drawer. “General,” she calls, her voice gentler than it had been a moment before. He turns back to her. “There is one last thing. This was left with me by the palace librarian when she retired. She asked that it be passed on to General Organa.” Poe can hear a note of sadness in her voice as she speaks Leia’s name. “As her successor, I feel it is best given to you.”
Poe reaches for the object the queen is holding out to him. He has not seen many of these in his life aside from the ancient Jedi texts that Rey spent so many hours perusing, but he recognizes the small book he is handed. He opens the cover and sees it is handwritten in a deep blue ink.
“Leia was here on Naboo some years ago, researching her birth mother Padmé Naberrie. She had asked the palace librarian to look up some information for her. This is some additional research that Amyari Jata had put together for her on the topic. She left it in my care.”
“Thank you,” Poe says simply. He opens the flap of his satchel to put the book inside, but finds that he must have landed on his jogan fruit when he was stunned. Pulp and juice are everywhere in the bag. Instead, he tucks the small book into one of the buttoned pockets on the strap across his chest.
“That is all,” the queen tells him. She raises her hand to indicate the doorway, where a different guard captain waits by the opened door. “Be well, General Dameron.”
“And you, Queen Nataya. May the Force be with you.”
As the door closes behind himself and the uniformed guardsman, Poe turns to him and asks “so, who took my blaster and how do I get it back?”
18 ABY
Naboo Royal Library
The room is stifling. It has been a long, hot summer on this part of the capital continent and Leia, having grown up in the milder weather of Alderaan, is unaccustomed to the heat and humidity of Naboo in a roaring summer heat wave. Her careful Mother’s braids are half undone by the curling and frizzing of her hair. She growls in frustration, dropping her head to the desk in front of which she sits.
“Amyari, could you come here?” Her voice is muffled somewhat by the wood of the desk. “I’m hopeless with this.”
“Yes, Senator. What do you need?”
She lifts her head and indicates a notation on the screen of the holopad before her. “I know that this here indicates that Sola had a child, what does this symbol mean?”
“It indicates that she chose to have her child without marrying, so the child could be part of her own house. This would usually be done by families who only had one child to carry on the family name.”
“So her child is also a Naberrie?”
Amyari smiled and nodded. “That is correct. It is a common practice even today. Mostly for inheritance reasons, although this symbol here,” she gestures to a small reddish circle on the next line, “indicates that the line ended there.”
Leia pulled a second holopad closer, flicking her finger across the screen to bring it out of its sleep mode. “And here, what does this one mean?”
The ancient librarian adjusts her spectacles and glances down the length of her nose to read the text before her. “That indicates that he had a child after marrying.”
“Amyari, are you sure?” Leia felt her heart rate increasing. “Are you absolutely sure?”
She nodded, her earrings jingling softly in the still air of the library. “Why yes, our records are amongst the most detailed in the New Republic.” She sniffs lightly, as if to take offense at the suggestion that she may be mistaken.
Leia looked down at the holopad in her hands, her horror growing.
Palpatine had a child.