Legacy of a Queen (The Mask of Death Part 15)
Vader stopped, and for a moment Sabé almost expected him to whirl around and finally snap. She’d expected him to be tougher, had expected to be dead already. Instead, she was bruised and battered from their last encounter - when she had tried and failed to prevent him from tarnishing the tomb of her beloved Queen and friend. Padmé would never have wanted such an oppressive, dark presence of an Empire she would have despised to taint her memory. Still, she had failed and not only that, she had lived despite her will to die an honourable death reclaiming her former mistress’ honour. She had been a handmaiden of Queen Amidala, and above that, a loyal friend. Padmé wanted freedom, Padmé wanted a Republic where every inhabitant of the Galaxy had an equally important voice. Vader represented the Emperor, the dictator whose authoritarian rule they must all succumb to. Palpatine may have been a child of Sabé’s beloved Naboo, but she would never recognize him as her true ruler.
“Why?” she found herself asking, her voice bouncing off of the cavernous stone walls of the cave surrounding them.
She had tracked Vader down. It had been difficult, nigh impossible. She’d bound together the Amidalans, together with Tonra and Typho. All indebted to Padmé, all grateful for her all too brief time in their lives.
Vader didn’t respond, but neither did he move away. Sabé ground her teeth together, ignoring the ache in her side from the broken ribs he had left her with. In fact all of the Amidalans had lived, even Olié who had come closest to meeting with death. Vader had stabbed him, but it was not fatal. Vader had a reputation for killing every enemy, for taking no prisoners. If anyone lived to tell the gruesome tale, it was by design. Vader wanted them to spread the rumours, wanted to build up his image of terror and dread. His sparing her life, especially in this moment when they were alone and no one would find her remains to decipher what had caused her demise, was vexing. It was frustrating.
Sabé hated Vader. Not merely what he stood for, or whom he served. She didn’t even directly hate his ruthless ways, she didn’t resent the blood of the innocents on his hands. She loathed him for destroying Padmé. He ruled Mustafar, Padmé had died in dubious circumstances concerning visiting Mustafar. So had her beloved Anakin Skywalker. Skywalker, a hero, a Jedi, an inspiration. Sabé had known, how could she not? Padmé had never said aloud, but Sabé had seen it, she had figured it out. Skywalker, too, had perished in the same unrecorded event. She blamed Vader, for who else could have bested a fighter and general of Skywalker’s caliber? Who else could have destroyed the pure hearted goodness of Padmé Amidala?
“Ask no more questions,” Vader simply rumbled, his mechanical breathing steady and evenly paced.
Sabé shook her head, taking a couple of hesitant steps towards the large, towering form of the man before her. He did not respond, and all Sabé could truly see in the dim, gloomy darkness was the sunlight beaming through cracks in the rock reflected against his polished domed helmet, and the billowing black cape that wrapped around his broad shoulders. It was cold, and Sabé wasn’t surprised. She had noted the freezing aura of his presence the very first time she ran into him, to lure him with her to Naboo in order to carry out the assassination attempt organized by her fellow Amidalans. Even on the bright, warm, sunny Summer day she had felt chills down her spine. She’d had goosebumps then, as she did now. Her breath came out in condensated puffs, but she would not relent. Keeping her trusty blaster close to her chest, although she knew it was only for show, she remained stubborn.
“I will not. I need to know why you killed them. Why you killed her,” Sabé pressed, hands beginning to tremble as they clung harder to the durasteel in her slender hands.
“You ask for answers you do not wish to hear,” Vader retorted, and to Sabé’s surprise - it was not only a reply, but the monotone conveyed no anger.
Instead, there was a lingering sense of exasperation to the statement, as if Vader himself knew what his reasons were but had refused to come to terms with them as of yet. Loose gravel slid against the damp, slippery rock formation as Sabé approached with caution. The cold radiated off of him, nipping at her rosy cheeks. She tilted her head to the side, peering as much as she dared over the bulk of his shoulder but seeing only darkness ahead. She assumed he had some sort of night vision sensors built into that mask he wore.
“I would not ask for them if I wasn’t desperate to hear them.”
It was the truth. For over twenty years, Sabé and her fellow Amidalans had never stopped asking the question. Why? Why had Padmé died? Why had she travelled to Mustafar alone? Why had she not shared the name of the father of her child? Why had she been so secretive, despite the fact that most of her former court of handmaidens already knew the truth? Now, beholding the man who had taken Padmé’s life, Sabé refused to see him take the cowardly way out and avoid explaining himself. Still, Vader didn’t paint the imposing picture he had the first time she met him. He seemed sullen, withdrawn, perhaps even pained? It made little sense to her.
“I obviously can’t kill you, but I won’t die for lack of trying. Whatever it is you know, tell me. Who else am I supposed to share it with when I’m dead?” Sabé heard herself saying, and she contemplated whether she meant it only for a moment.
The answer was yes. She would die for Padmé, to avenge her death.
“You are mistaken. It is not you who has failed.”
Again, there was an almost melancholy note to Vader’s voice, despite the fact that nothing within its diction or pacing had changed. His voice was still manufactured, inhuman. But behind the mask, there must be something else. Something to unearth, something to discover. Sabé felt equally confused and frustrated with the situation, her agitation shutting out any fear she may be harbouring deep down for the Dark Lord.
“I will have failed if I cannot kill you, and I have come to terms with that. As such, I only need to know why you killed Anakin and Padmé. Were they intruding? Were they out to put you down to cripple the Empire? Did you just feel like it?”
Sabé narrowed her eyes, her gaze burning a hole in Vader’s back as she stared unrelenting at his cloaked form. This man did not deserve to even think of Padmé. Yet, she’d yet to hear him speak of Padmé with anything other than reverence. As if her name was forbidden for him to utter, as if he himself was aware that he was beneath her. Sabé almost gasped, stumbling a couple of steps backwards when Vader finally did turn halfway to face her. The dead lenses of his face plate looked back at her, their stare cold and dead and empty. His hands hung slack at his sides, and swallowing hard; Sabé expected him to kill her. Expected him to reach out with one hand and seize her neck in an invisible chokehold. The way he had done the first time she stood before him on Vendaxa, when he had allowed her to live. When he had mistaken her for Padmé.
“The first time I met you, why did you not kill me?”
There was no reply, but the meaning behind the silence rang loud and clear. Vader had not killed her, because he had assumed she was Padmé. Hadn't he killed her? Shouldn’t he know she was dead? Still, he had hesitated, believing her to be the former Queen. They did possess an uncanny resemblance, it had led her to become one of Padmé’s decoys in the first place. Even their mothers had struggled to tell them apart, which had only furthered their cause in keeping Padmé safe during her time on the throne. Even now, she was alive. Even now, she could breathe freely as she stared death in the eye.
“You believed I was Padmé, didn’t you? But if you killed her, why would you assume such a thing?” she continued, but yet again her only answer was an eerie silence.
A heavy, tense silence. Wearing her thin, dragging the seconds of time passing out into what felt like hours. Sabé sighed, hanging her head. He would never relent, he would never speak. Killing him would offer her no peace, if he would not share the truth. He was the only person who knew what had happened, and if he did not speak, there was no way to resolve her suspicions. He had admitted to killing Padmé, and Skywalker, but not how. Not when. Not why. All of these question marks without a resolution. A riddle that could not be solved.
“The japor snippet found in the Queen’s tomb.”
Vader’s voice cut through the air like a knife, making Sabé wince as it echoed all around her; a multifaceted statement. It did not answer her questions, and she scowled and she attempted to study the unfeeling expression of his mask.
“What are you talking about?” she huffed, but as soon as the words were out; an inquisitive curiosity began to wonder why he had chosen to address that little trinket.
“Was she buried with it?” Vader continued, paying no mind to Sabé’s perplexed expression.
“Yes. Yes, she was. She wore it often, it appears to have meant a great deal to her,” Sabé clarified, still failing to see how it mattered. “I do not know its meaning.”
“I do,” said Vader, and despite Sabé’s instant desire to scoff at the preposterous profession; she found she couldn’t.
Instead, it felt earnest. Vader sounded sincere, and while she refused to believe there was a single scrap of human emotion or empathy in the man; she could feel the solemn sadness of his aura bearing down on her shoulders like a sodden weight. As if she had been unwittingly made to carry his burdens, and his suffering. She blinked, her legs suddenly feeling weak beneath her as they wobbled but she ignored it.
“That’s nonsense,” Sabé spat. “The only other person who would know its meaning---”
“Is the person who forged it,” Vader interrupted.
Sabé blinked, and there was a gnawing unease settling at the pit of her belly. There was a voice at the back of her mind, nagging at her. She ignored it, but the more she tried to force it aside, the more it demanded her attention. Fingers curling tighter around the blaster, she heard her voice wavering as she spoke again.
“Anakin made it for her.”
Sabé needed no response to know it was true. The tiny, hand carved wooden piece of jewelry had been simple and bare bones when compared to Padmé’s impressive wardrobes and her thousands of embezzled necklaces. Still, she often picked the unbecoming, clumsy trinket above her splendid diamond, ruby and sapphire heirlooms. Padmé, who never wore a dress twice. She would not part with the necklace, and so, she had been buried with it. It had been the physical item she’d held highest in regard in life. Skywalker had made it for her, had painstakingly carved it out of the rare pieces of wood he may have found while kept as a slave. It was as if she could visualize the scene, as if she could see the small blonde boy; sitting cross legged in a rugged hut, lining the details meticulously with a small blade. A handmade gift fit for a Queen.
“Yes,” Vader said, but the acknowledgement seemed to be directed more towards her direct thoughts, than her words.
“How would you know? Who are you, really?” Sabé grimaced, raising her voice as the unease grew into full blown dread.
Vader began to turn back away from her, stalking unhindered by the darkness as he continued forward into the deep abyss of the cave. Sabé didn’t know what he was doing, of why he was there. She couldn’t tell what had possessed him to come to Tytloh, and it’s bleary, gray wildlife. Little could survive here, and although the planet was rumoured to have held a grand meaning for Force wielders in the old Republic, it lay in tatters now. Uninhabited, unless you counted lowlife pirates and smugglers. A man of Vader’s power should find little need to come here, and Sabé suspected she would never get an answer to that question either.
“Perhaps, if I had never offered her the piece, she may have lived.”
Sabé felt her legs give out under her own weight, as if all strength had been sucked out of her. As if the will to go on had been torn from her spirit. As she sunk to her knees in the muck and slippery algae covering the cavern’s innards - she gasped. Vader was already gone, vanished in the darkness as if he had never been there at all. As if he were a demon who had returned to the hole from which he came. As if he had been a figment of her imagination, and for a moment Sabé almost second guessed herself, and she almost believed he had.
Well, I've been wanting to write something based off of the 2020 Vader comic where Vader visits Padmé's tomb, from Sabé's POV. Hence, this one is very much inspired by that, as a sort of compliant follow up to where they left off. I understand why they left it open, but I would have loved to see Sabé realize the truth about Vader, and who he really is. I found it worked as another installment for this mini series, and thus this chapter was born.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/24049894/chapters/69852816
