DISCLAIMER: Star Wars and all publicly recognisable characters, names and references, etc are the sole property of George Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd, Lucasarts Inc and 20th Century Fox. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
Dinner was over. The plates had been whisked away, including all shellfish remains.
"Does there really have to be dancing?" Amidala sighed.
"I like dancing," Westerly said. "Come along, everyone's expecting us to start."
"He's gonna step on your toes!" Frederica called gleefully.
"Brat," Westerly mumbled under his breath.
Sighing again, Amidala rose to her feet, and followed her fiance onto the dance floor.
He nodded to the band leader, who struck up a quiet waltz.
Westerly swept her into his arms, swirling her across the dance floor. He was quite an adept dancer. It had probably been drilled into his head at an early age, along with negotiation protocol, distinguishing silverware, and the three other things he was good at. Amidala frowned slightly. She'd wanted him to be a bad dancer. She'd wanted him to step on her toes and perhaps even trip the both of them. But, no.
Amidala glanced around the room as a few other couples stepped onto the dance floor. She closed her eyes for a second, then opened them again. And then, she very intentionally stomped on Westerly's foot.
He winced, but smiled, embarrassed.
She smiled back, and they kept on dancing.
Obi-Wan stared out across the room, an angry frown marring his features. Panaka had some business to attend to, and had left the Jedi to brood by himself. Obi-Wan swished his water around in his glass, and took a quick swallow. His eyes never wavered from the dancing couple across the room.
Westerly held her closely, his embrace partially affection but mostly possession. As it should be. She was to marry him in the morning.
Amidala stood stiffly, stumbling occasionally. Her face seemed melancholy. As it should be. She was to marry him in the morning.
Obi-Wan took another sip of water. He wanted to do something for her. To make the melancholy go away. To see her laugh and smile the way she had in town the day before. For her? a tiny voice inside him asked. Or for you? The voice sounded a little like Anakin's. Obi-Wan told it to shut up.
"Hey."
Obi-Wan tore his eyes away from the Queen.
"What are you wearing?" he immediately exclaimed.
"A dress," Frederica replied, plopping into the chair next to him. She ignored his reproachful look. "It covers everything."
Most of the females present had chosen long, formal gowns. The handmaidens were again clad in their purple dresses. Amidala herself wore an ornate kimono-style gown embroidered in rich blues and reds. The Princess of Jocar, on the other hand, had decided to go with a form-fitting, electric blue sheath that started much too low and stopped much too high.
"I once had a lightsaber that color," Obi-Wan said distractedly, returning his attention to its previous subject.
Frederica followed his gaze. "Westerly's a doofus, but he can dance. I'll give him that. Nice move with the shellfish, earlier, by the way."
"Thanks."
"What are you staring at?"
"Nothing."
"Good. Then you won't mind dancing with me."
Obi-Wan couldn't get another word out as she dragged him out of his chair.
"Wild week, huh?" Ric said softly.
"Yeah," Eirtae replied shyly.
"Think the brat's gonna come through in time?"
"I hope so."
"Me, too." He was quiet for a moment. "I like your dress."
"I just wore it two days ago."
"I still like it." More silence. "I'm sorry I'm not much of a dancer."
"That's okay. Neither am I."
She looked up at him, and smiled.
He looked down at her and smiled.
It was a pretty safe bet that they were the most contented couple in the entire room.
"Don't you know how to dance?"
"Not really. I kept beating up my dance instructor until Mom let me take shooting lessons instead. But you can teach me how, right?"
"I... guess. First, I hold your right hand with my left, and I put my other arm around your waist."
"You can touch my butt, if you want."
"Er... no, thank you."
"Just a public service announcement. Y'know, it's close, you wanna cop a feel, be my guest."
"I'll remember that."
"'Kay. Can I touch your butt?"
"No."
"That's fine, I'm cool with that."
"Do you want to learn to dance or not?"
"Yes."
"All right, you've got my hand, put your other hand, here, got it?"
"Yup. Nowhere near the butt."
"Correct. Now we just... go." He didn't move.
"Go," she prompted.
"Right. We go."
"No. I mean... go. Now."
"Right. Gotcha." And off they went.
"Okay, we've made some good time," Spath said, looking at his instrumentation. "By my calcs, we should be there by 11:00 am, Theed time. Perfect timing to cruise right into the wedding at noon!"
"Problem," Tare pointed out. "The wedding's at TEN."
"Oh," Spath said. "Guess I better step on it, then."
The song ended, and Amidala stood perfectly still. "Westerly, I'd like to sit down, now."
"Are you feeling all right?"
"I'm fine. Just a little tired. Can we sit down, now?"
"Of course." He gently led her back to her seat. "A little too much exertion, huh?"
"I suppose," Amidala said, smoothing her skirt. "I don't like dancing much."
"Really? Oh. That's disappointing. I love dancing."
"Why don't you go dance with someone else?"
"I think I'd prefer to just sit next to my beautiful blushing bride. Well, I guess not exactly blushing, you know, with the make-up."
"I know."
"Would you like something to drink?"
"No."
"Okay."
Then they both sighed in unison.
Frederica was in absolute bliss. The orchestra had switched to a slower song, and she currently had herself completely pressed up against the man of her dreams. Handsome, polite, charming and heroic. Whoever thought I'd land me one of those? Frederica mused happily. Then she looked up at him and realized he wasn't paying the least bit of attention to her. Those stormy blue eyes were directed somewhere else. Frederica followed his gaze cautiously. And then it hit her.
"Amidala!"
"Huh?" Obi-Wan said, snapping out of his reverie.
"Damn, I'm stupid. Why didn't I see it before? You're jonesin' for her, aren't you?"
"NO!"
"Yeah? You certainly aren't staring all moonie-eyed across the room at my brother. Unless that's why he thinks you're a pervert."
"No!"
"What then?"
"I... I... I don't want her to marry him."
"Because...?"
"Because she wouldn't be happy."
"Try again."
"That's the truth. And because I promised Anakin."
"Who's Anakin?"
"No one."
He's in love with her, Frederica decided bitterly. Aw, nuts, he wasn't my type anyway. "Go talk to her," she grumbled.
"I can't. Your brother's hanging all over her like a mynok on a freighter hull."
Regretfully, Frederica eased herself out of his arms. "Don't worry. I'll take care of him." She winked at him as she headed across the room. When did I get so damn self-sacrificial? she wondered.
As she walked past the exit closest to her brother, Frederica grabbed one of the guards, and kissed him full on the lips.
"MMMPH!" the guard exclaimed.
"Oh, not here!" Frederica squealed.
Westerly's big brother radar detected an enemy fighter and responded in turn.
"GET YOUR PAWS OFF MY LITTLE SISTER, YOU DISGUSTING BALL OF SLIME!"
Mission accomplished, Frederica decided, crossing her arms.
Completely ignoring Frederica's theatrics, Obi-Wan made his way over to where Amidala sat. He made a low bow. "Could I have this dance, m'lady?"
Amidala stared at him, eyes large. "Westerly..." she started softly.
"Your fiance seems indisposed at the moment," Obi-Wan said, a hint of a smile on his lips.
"I... suppose so," Amidala said, taking his hand.
Carefully, he led her onto the dance floor, keeping the distance that was proper between a Queen and a commoner. To his surprise, she leaned into his embrace. Gonna touch her butt? the obnoxious little voice taunted again. This time, it sounded more like Frederica. Obi-Wan told it to shut up, too.
"I wanted to talk to you," he said quietly.
"I figured as much," she said, looking him in the face. Her face seemed cold and stiff behind the makeup.
"You can't marry him," Obi-Wan said suddenly, eyes stormy.
"Prince Westerly!"
"I'm busy!" Westerly said, getting ready to slug the guard.
"WESTERLY!"
He turned, and looked at the distraught handmaiden. "What is it, woman?"
"Kenobi's gotten ahold of the Queen."
"I'll be back for you, later!" Westerly told the guard, and took off.
"What?"
"You can't."
"We've been over this--"
"I know. And I've been supportive of whatever decision you wanted, up until this point. And now I've realized-- you can't marry him."
"Why not?"
"You'd be miserable."
"Not your problem."
"IS my problem. You are my friend. I care about you."
"I'll learn to love him."
"What about Anakin? He'll be crushed."
"It's bound to happen eventually. He's young, he'll move on."
"What about Naboo? You can't put it in the hands of that moron."
"He'll have no say in the ruling of my planet. I've already made sure of it. I can marry him, Obi-Wan. I'm going to marry him."
"You CAN'T! You can't because I don't want you to!"
Amidala's face was frozen in absolute shock. "What?"
The little voice in Obi-Wan's head had piped up again, and was quite insistant this time. Strangely enough, it sounded like his own voice. So he decided to listen to it. "Because I--"
"Can I cut in?"
The question came from two sources at once. Westerly and Rabe.
"Westerly, we're a little busy, here," Amidala started.
"Nonsense! You can talk to your old pal, later. Let's dance."
"But--"
And then she was gone.
Obi-Wan just stood there, Rabe grinning smarmily at him. "What do you mean, you want to cut in? You don't even like me."
Rabe contemplated that matter for a split-second. "That's right. I don't. Never mind." And then she was gone, too.
You didn't tell her, the little voice chided.
Oh, shut up, Obi-Wan replied.
Obi-Wan was currently wandering the halls of the palace. His mind refused to be put to rest, and so neither would his body. He'd tried sleeping. He'd tried meditating. And still that stupid little voice wouldn't shut up. You didn't tell her. You didn't tell her. Well, there was one way he hadn't tried. Obi-Wan headed for Panaka's quarters.
"Hey, Jedi. Missed you after the party. What's up? Westerly blocking your door again?"
"I need some alcohol," Obi-Wan announced.
Panaka nodded sagely. "You've come to the right man."
Amidala sat on her couch, knees drawn up to her chest. Her fingers absently dug into the cotton bandage on her leg.
"You seem troubled, m'lady," Sache said kindly. "Is it the wedding, again?"
"Not... precisely."
Sache sat down beside her. "Do you want to tell me about it?"
"It's Obi-Wan."
"Jedi Kenobi?"
"He tried to talk to me at the party. He doesn't want me to marry Westerly tomorrow."
"Did he say why?" Like he needs a why, Sache added mentally.
"He made a bunch of excuses... something about Anakin, and my happiness. And then he started to say something else, but Westerly interrupted him."
"What was he trying to tell you?" Sache asked cautiously.
"He said I couldn't marry Westerly because he doesn't want me to. Obi-Wan, I mean. Sache, you don't think..."
"I can't say, m'lady."
Amidala nodded.
"I think you should listen to what your heart tells you."
Amidala rubbed the bandage some more. "I'm listening. I just hope it says something useful."
"You sure you're ready for this, Jedi?"
"Will it knock me into an instant drunken oblivion?"
"Probably."
"Bring it on."
"Do you want me to drag you back to your quarters after you pass out, or should I just leave you on the floor?"
"Quarters, please."
"Got it. One Panaka special, comin' right up."
Panaka poured some amber-pinkish liquid in a small glass, and handed it to Obi-Wan. The Jedi stared at it for a moment, then tossed it down his throat. "Hit me again."
"No way."
"Please?"
"If you still know your own name in ten seconds, you can have another shot."
Amidala bit her lip nervously, clutching nervously at her handmaiden's robes. Hands shaking, she pressed the door chime. She had to talk to him. To find out what he had wanted to say. To see if it was what she thought it was. What she hoped it was. There was no response. He wasn't there.
Amidala closed her eyes painfully, and dashed back down the hallway, without a second glance at Obi-Wan Kenobi's door.
Panaka couldn't believe it. Four shots, and he was still sitting up under his own power. His mind was mostly gone, but Obi-Wan Kenobi was still conscious. He seemed content to sit quietly, running his fingers along a long blue ribbon he'd been carrying around. At least he wasn't asking for more.
Obi-Wan sniffed the ribbon for a moment, and closed his eyes happily. Then he opened them again, and stared straight at Panaka. "I never told her."
"Told who what?"
"I never TOLD her," he pressed. And then his eyes rolled back and he passed out completely.
"'Bout time," Panaka said, checking his chronometer. "Twenty minutes. Damn." He hefted the younger man over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "C'mon, boy, let's get you to bed." Suddenly, he noticed the ribbon on the ground where Obi-Wan had dropped it. Panaka carefully picked it up, too. Somehow, he got the feeling Obi-Wan was going to want it in the morning.