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One day, long ago, the sun goddess Dal was making her way across the sky, just as she has done for millennia, since the world was new. She had just reached the highest point in the sky over Naboo— though in those days, Naboo was little more than a few disparate city-states— when suddenly her golden ring, her most treasured possession, slipped from her finger. It fell from the sky and fell into the deepest, largest lake in the land, and sank all the way to the bottom. Dal tried and tried, but was unable to retrieve her ring, for she could not long touch the water for fear of her light being extinguished. So she wailed and wept, sending storms all across the sky to rain down on the people of Naboo, who hid in their homes for fear of being destroyed in the goddess’s grief.
Now, it so happened that one of these people was a shaak herder named Araé, who was out in the fields with her herd, and could not hide from the storms the goddess sent down. She heard Dal’s sobs, and, her heart moved with pity, called out to her.
“My lady,” Araé called up into the sky, “Why do you weep?”
Dal heard Araé over the sound of her tears, and peered down at her through the stormclouds.
“My ring,” she replied, “I have lost my little golden ring to the lake, and I shall never be able to get it back. Without it, I cannot continue my travels across the sky. I will stay in my home ever more, and never again bring light to the world.”
Araé gazed up at the beautiful face far above her, and her heart was touched with pity, both for the goddess and for the people who depended on her light. A smaller part of her too was moved on her own behalf; she too had a single piece of finery that she held dear. Her bracelet had been passed from mother to daughter, and someday it would go to her own child. She, too, would have wept bitterly to lose it.
“My lady,” Araé said, “Please, do not weep any longer. I will retrieve your ring, if I can.”
Dal considered Araé, and then she smiled, a glowing smile that broke through the clouds surrounding her for just a moment. “If you do this for me,” she said, “I shall reward you beyond any treasure found on land or sea.”
“I need no treasure, lady,” Araé replied, “For I am but a humble shaak herder. But regardless I will go, and find your ring.”
Araé set off at once, taking with her only the clothes on her back and the bracelet around her wrist. Her shaak, Araé left to a poor family who had no herd of their own. Dal did her best to guide her, but it still took Araé many days to cross Naboo until she finally came to the lake, which was so large that she could not see the other side of the shore. Once Araé had reached the lake, Dal, weakened as she was by the loss of her ring and the many days spent guiding her across the land, retreated behind her cover of clouds. She left only a few rays so that Araé could still see. Araé sat on the bank to regain her strength, and as she sat, she considered the water, deciding on her plan.
First, Araé went to the otters, who played and hunted among the reeds and rushes that grew on the shores of the lake. In those days they were sleek, as the seals of the sea are, and in the winters suffered the cold acutely, unprotected as they were. They ducked down among the reeds as Araé approached. She searched and searched for them, but could not find them in their clever hiding places. Eventually, Araé sat down on the lakeside and said in a forlorn voice, “Oh! If only I could find the clever otters who live among these reeds! For I need to learn to swim, and have no one to teach me. Surely they, as smart and quick as they are, could do such a thing.” Araé had a gift, one which not many living possess any more– the ability to speak to animals, and thus no sooner had the words left her lips, when an old otter poked her head up from the water, where she had been watching Araé. “Why does a maid such as you wish to learn to swim?” she asked in a creaking voice. Araé gasped in delight to see the whiskered head peering up at her. “Your kind have ever avoided this lake, except to take our fish or our shells.” She twitched her grey whiskers, watching Araé with dark, intelligent eyes.
“Grandmother,” Araé said, “I must fetch the sun goddess’s ring, for it has fallen far from the sky and into the deepest parts of the lake. She has bid me find it, or she will despair and never rise again from her home in the east. Please, will you show me how to swim as you do, so that I may reach the center of the lake safely?”
The elderly otter regarded Araé for a moment, and then smiled, displaying her sharp hunter’s teeth. “I shall,” she said, “for a price.”
“Anything you ask of me shall be yours, if I am able to give it,” Araé said eagerly.
“Your hair,” the otter said, and Araé’s hands flew to the long, deep brown hair that was her chief beauty, woven into plaits around her head. “We are naked, you see,” the otter continued, “And ever have we wished for a warm coat such as your hair could provide. Give it to me and my family, and I will teach you to swim just as we otters do.”
Araé thought for a moment, and then she slowly undid the plaits until her hair flowed long and shining in the sunlight. She took up the little knife she kept in her belt and, with a deep breath, cut the tresses from her head, until her lap was full.
The otter eagerly took the hair, and gave it to her daughter, who was watching nearby. Once paid, the old otter taught Araé everything she knew about swimming; how to pull herself along through the water as easily as running, how to float effortlessly on her back as if she weighed nothing, even how to duck beneath the surface at the first sign of trouble. She was strong from her years of walking all across Naboo with her herd of shaak, and soon Araé was cutting through the water with all the grace and skill that the otter had promised. Her family took Araé’s hair and wove it into coats for each and every one of them, so that even today they are no longer naked, but dressed in the silky brown coats they have passed down for generations.
Once the otter had taught her everything she needed to know about swimming, Araé went next to the fish, who in those days had only dull grey scales, which blended into the water and made them hard to find. She swam and swam, peering into the gloom, but saw no fish anywhere. Finally Araé pulled herself up onto a large rock, for it was tiring to swim for so long, and sighed. “Oh,” she said to herself, “If only I could find the fish, who swim all day and all night and never need to come up for air! If I could learn such a skill from such talented folk, I would surely be able to find the goddess Dal’s ring!”
It just so happened that a large school of fish had gathered around the rock on which Araé sat, intrigued by this human who swam as the otters did. They heard Araé’s sighs, and discussed what to do among themselves for a long while, until finally one brave young fish poked his head above the waves. “We saw the ring of which you speak,” he said, his large, unblinking eyes staring at Araé, who did her best to show no uneasiness. “It fell a long, long way into the water, down into the depths where even we dare not go. It scared a great many of us, but if you will retrieve it and take it away, we would be willing to help you.”
Araé gladly agreed. “I thank you, Sir Fish,” she said, “And if I can in any way repay you for your kindness, I shall do my best.”
The fish ducked down below the water again to speak with his family for another long while. When he came back up, he said, “We have seen the stones and shells that glitter along the shoreline, and have seen the stars shining in the night sky. We wish to be beautiful, as these things are. If you give us the bracelet around your wrist, we shall help you.”
Araé looked at the bracelet, a delicate chain of silver and blue stones. It was her one treasure, but after only a moment she slipped it from her wrist. “The light of the sun is more important than any treasure,” she said. “It is yours.” Araé dropped the bracelet into the water.
The fish showed her how to duck her head into the water and draw great gulps. Years of herding shaak and calling to them across distant fields helped Araé greatly in this endeavor, and soon she could breathe just as well as she could on land, staying underneath the waves for a long, long time, longer than any other human ever had. Her bracelet, the fish took and distributed amongst themselves, tucking the loops of silver and blue gems into their scales, so that they shimmered and shone in the light that pierced through the water, just as they still do to this day.
Once she had learned to breathe the water, the only thing left was to learn to dive, so that she could reach the deepest part of the lake. Even the skills of the otters and the fish would not be enough for such a task. So Araé swam to the shore, hid amongst the tall grasses, and watched the skies. She sat for a long, long while, but finally she saw the big, sleek birds that dove from the air to find their meals down below the water. They carried their food to land and feasted, and once one of these had alighted close to where Araé hid, she said, loudly, “Oh! What a joy it is to watch the water birds hunt! If only I could dive as they do, with such grace and power!”
The bird paused in their meal and looked up and into the tall grasses, their sharp hunters’ eyes finding Araé at once. “Who are you, who watches us from the grass? Reveal yourself!”
“I mean you no harm, Friend Bird,” Araé said, coming forward. “I only wish to learn to dive, so that I may retrieve the sun goddess’s ring from the lake.”
The bird regarded her for a long moment, until they finally said, “I would be willing to teach you, for I and my brethren need the sun to light our way as we cross the sky. I would require payment, however.”
Araé nodded. “I have given my hair to the otters, and my bracelet to the fish. But if I possess anything else which would benefit you, only name it, and I shall give it to you.”
Again the bird looked at her, their sharp eyes seeing everything, and then they said, “What is your name?”
No other being, not even the goddess Dal herself, had yet asked her for her name. “I am called Araé, Friend Bird.”
“Araé,” they said, and made an approving sound. “If you give your name to me and my brethren, I will help you learn how to dive.”
Her name! This was the hardest of all her possessions to part with. She took a long, long while to decide, but finally, Araé said, “If you will help me, my name shall be yours.”
The bird acquiesced, and soon they were showing Araé how to angle her body and dive down deep, deep below the waves and into the very darkest parts of the lake, so deep that light no longer pierced through the water. She practiced until it was as natural a motion to her as walking or breathing, and once they were back on the shore, she bowed to the bird, and said, “You have proven true. Please, take my name, as we have agreed.” At once, they sprung up into the air and let out a cry of “Araé! Araé!”, which the other birds around them echoed, until the sky was full of the sound of her name.
Finally, the girl who had been Araé had all the skills she needed to find the goddess Dal’s ring, and so she swam out into the very center of the lake, so far she could no longer see the shore in any direction. She was followed by the otter family, now clad in their silky brown coats, and above her the new-named Araé birds circled in the sky. When she dove, she found the silver and blue clad fish waiting for her. They followed as she swam down, down, down; down into the very heart of the lake, so far that she could see nothing, not even her own hands as she pulled herself through the water.
“You are doing well,” the old otter said as she swam beside her, “keep swimming, as I have taught you!”
It grew cold, so cold she could no longer feel her toes, but still she swam. The otter family had long since been left behind, for it was too deep for them to go. Her legs and arms burned with tiredness, but she pressed on.
“Keep going,” her friend the fish said in her ear, “You have almost reached it!”
She did as he advised and swam, forcing her arms and legs to move. She did not know how long it took, but finally she began to see, glinting through the gloom, Dal’s ring! Its golden light shone up from the muddy bed of the lake, growing clearer and clearer as she drew nearer. Her heart sank as she realized, drawing nearer, that the ring was not the small, human-sized thing she had imagined— instead, it was massive, large enough to slip around the girl’s waist.
“Oh,” she said in despair, staring down at the massive loop of gold, still half-buried in the muck, “How will I carry this to the surface? I am so tired already!”
“We will help you!” Her friend the fish said, and he and his companions swirled around the girl as she dug the ring out of the lake bed. As one, they supported her as she began to swim for the surface, pressing themselves under her arms and against her back to help propel her back up and through the water. The way up was even slower than the descent, but finally light began to filter once more through the gloom of the water, and the girl’s otter friends once more swam down to meet her.
“We will help you with your burden,” the grandmother otter said, and two of her younger grandchildren, both strong and fast in their prime, took hold of the ring, and helped the girl to carry it. With their help she felt a renewal of strength, and kicked her burning legs, eyes fixed on the sunlight she could see shimmering above her.
When the girl finally broke the surface and took a large, relieved breath of air, she was at once met by three Araé birds, who took hold of the goddess’s ring with their powerful talons and lifted it into the air. The otters slipped under the girl’s arms, and helped her to swim until she finally, gratefully, met solid ground once again. She pulled herself onto the lake shore, and lay in a swoon, exhausted.
The Araé birds flew with their burden up and up, through the sky, until they hovered in front of where Dal sat, still despondent, behind her stormclouds.
“Araé! Araé!” The bird called, “Goddess Dal! Your ring has been found!”
The goddess peeked through the clouds, and at once her face lit up again in joy. The clouds around her dissipated and the bright blue sky could once again be seen.
“You bring me great joy!” She cried, and stretched out her hand to take the ring from their grasp.
“It is not we who accomplished this deed, lady,” said the bird who had taught the girl. “It was the one who was known as Araé. She gave us her name, so that she could learn how to dive. She gave her hair to the otters to learn to swim, and her jewelry to the fish to learn to breathe the water as she does the air.”
Dal heard all this with great astonishment and gratitude. “I must find her,” she said, “for she has done more for me than I had ever expected.”
Dal peered down at the land, and soon found the girl asleep by the lakeshore. “She is exhausted,” Dal murmured, and the birds all clamored in agreement and worry. “Fear not,” Dal said, “I will help her while she sleeps.” She shone some of her light down onto the girl, not enough to wake her, but enough to help her heal. The birds flew down and settled down nearby to wait, and the otters curled up around her, lending their comforting warmth. The fish, too, could be seen close to the surface of the lake, looking up anxiously through the water.
Dal watched over the girl for a whole day and a night, until finally she blinked awake. She sat up at once, gazing in astonishment at the animals surrounding her.
“Oh!” she cried, and jumped to her feet. “The ring, where is the ring? I must return it!”
“Calm, my champion,” Dal called. “Your friends the birds have brought the ring to me.”
The girl looked up through the clouds to see the goddess smiling down upon her, the clouds around her soft and white once more, no longer dark and heavy with her sorrow. Instead she shone bright and brilliant, so bright it hurt to look directly at her.
“My lady!” the girl gasped, and fell to her knees, covering her eyes.
“Stand, do not kneel!” Dal said. “You have done a great deed for me, and you shall be rewarded, as I have promised.” She watched as the girl stood once again, and then with a flick of her fingers, she changed the brilliant light around her into a warm, golden glow that suffused the whole land and surrounded the girl in a halo.
“You have shown courage, steadfastness, and determination in your quest,” Dal said. “You have made sacrifices in order to return my treasure to me, sacrifices of every treasure you possessed. I would be amiss if I did not reward such loyalty.” Dal regarded the girl for a moment, and then she smiled. She reached up, and took one of the brilliant golden rays that surrounded her own head in her hands. She bent over the ray, whispering words the girl could not hear, and then Dal opened her hands to reveal a perfectly round, brilliant golden headdress, one that shone brighter than any gold found in the earth. It was a beautiful thing to behold, shaped so that rays of sunlight appeared to circle the wearer’s head, much the same as the one Dal wore herself.
Dal leaned down out of the sky and carefully placed the headdress on the girl’s bowed head.
“This crown will never tarnish nor warp with age. It signifies your courage and determination, and will serve as a reminder of what you have done for me. Keep it, and cherish it well” Then Dal placed a sun-warm hand on the girl’s head. When she next spoke, her words rang as though a massive bell had been struck, sonorous and beautiful.
“For your deeds, retriever of my ring, I name you Amidala. You are beloved of the sun goddess, and from now on, all who hear your name shall know it.” Then Dal drew back, and gestured to the Araé birds, who waited nearby. They flew up to meet her, and to them she said, “Go, and tell the story of Amidala throughout the land.”
The Araé birds flew off to do as Dal asked. Like Amidala, there were a few people then who could hear the language of the animals, and they listened in amazement to their tale. Soon everyone in Amidala’s village had heard what she had done, and when she returned home, still wearing the headdress gifted to her by Dal herself, they gazed upon her with awe. She, however, was content to go back to her fields and tend her herd of shaak.
The story of Amidala’s courage, and particularly of her cleverness and kindness to the animals who had helped her, continued to spread throughout the lands, gaining her more and more prestige until soon, people from neighboring communities were coming to Amidala for help and advice. As she aged she became a bastion of wisdom, one whose opinions were heard with respect and reverence, until finally, she was elected the first queen of the newly-formed land of Naboo.
Amidala ruled happily and wisely for many years. Every year, she traveled to the lake where she had set upon her quest and visited with her friends the otters and the fish. The Araé birds visited her often, and became one of the symbols of Naboo. Amidala herself became the ideal upon which subsequent queens modeled themselves. Many queens throughout history have taken her name to signify their dedication to the goddess Dal, to Naboo and its people, and the creatures who dwell within its borders. Even now, if you listen close enough, one can hear the Araé birds telling the story of their namesake, and how she earned her crown, as they fly across the skies of Naboo.