I decided to do this premise because there are so very few.  I don't consider EK Johnston's canon other than the handmaidens skills. I was just so disappointed in it... just my opinion. Don't come for me🙈

This will have two parts. Let me know what you think 💜

Era of the Clone Wars

Part I

┊ ┊⋆ ┊ .

  She churned the delicate petals laced with honey in the steaming tea, scraping the remnants with the sides of her copper spoon. Settling it back on the saucer, she lifted the porclain floral teacup to her lips, a sigh of contentment following. As the warm liquid coated the walls of her sore throat, it relaxed the strained glands.

It hadn't been on her agenda to come down with a virus. Padmè had insisted she stay back in the Lake Country, rather than accompany her to Theed for the ending sequence of Queen Jamillia's reign. A ceremonial tradition would follow in the coming days, the open plaza congested with the Gungans alongside Nabooians from all walks as a unified front. Festivities just as opulent as the coronations would ensue and the air tossed with vibrant ruby petals of spiced flora: queen hearts that would litter the streets of Theed.

  The former Queen now turned Senator Padmè, was formally requested by the Queen herself to accompany while the old aristocracy gracefully stepped down with a standing ovation, N-1 star fighters left to blaze the skies with jet streams of plasma for the processional send off.

  Queen Neeyutnee would then ascend the grand steps of Theed Royal Palace—often revered as "the Jewel of Naboo"—and undertake the construction of a new tower, mirroring the style of King Veruna's, to honor the reign of Naboo's first monarch, Ars Veruna. This act upheld a sacred, longstanding tradition, marking the arrival of each new ruler to the Royal House of Naboo and symbolizing continuity and reverence for their heritage.

  Motè and Ellè had traveled with her, the very handmaidens Dormé had hired after...Cordé.

The wound was far too fresh for her thoughts to venture towards that profound loss yet. Sabé, though semi-retired, made it her mission to accompany Padmé, personally ensuring her protection. She had arranged for Padmé to be heavily guarded by the Naboo Royal Guard vigilant against any potential assassination attempts.

  Amidala remained dearly loved by the people of Naboo as the youngest Queen ever elected, the planet having flourished abundantly under her reign. For her pivotal role in their victory involving the Trade Federation siege, she had the foreseeable honor of being granted any Nubian skriff for transport.

  However with the galaxy in an upheaval since the start of the Clone Wars, Dormè still worried about her Lady's welfare.

  The frustration was palpable in her posture. She'd been specifically trained alongside Gregar Typho, the nephew of Quarsh Panaka, the former Captain of the Royal Naboo Security Forces that had served Amidala himself. Dormè had undertaken a modified handmaiden training at the Academy, hand selected by the now—Captain, to serve the Senator. She had become the very embodiment of Dormé, as the identity of Dorra faded into obscurity, tucked back into the folds of her adolescence with her family of ranchers in the remote mountains of Deeja Peak, where she had spent her formative years.

  A little cold was hardly a call for being grounded. Thus in the time allotted she'd buried herself in rolls of fabrics, crafting a new dress for her mistress's return to Coruscant. Padmè loved ornate patterns that commemorated their home world, always pleased by Dormè's steady handiwork, a trait passed down from her mother before her in the line of the Odeniêl women. Always had she seen her mother hemming and patching clothes she'd ruined out in their fields as a Weaver. While she'd braided the weeds into a circlets of wildflowers to bestow on her mother later...

Lately the Senator had been leaning towards more crushed velvet textures dyed in dark colors. A visible mourning in relation to the present of the Senate as planetary systems were brought under the hand of Separatist tyrants.

  Dormè was already going over intricate patterns in her mind to lift the Senator's spirits. Emblems of the Nabooian flower. To the hanging vines reminiscent of the palace gardens Padmè yearned to replicate at her senatorial apartment on Coruscant. The light would refract off the silver threads she planned to stitch like starlight with the subtlest movement she made.

The handmaiden just needed to finish the hem and then—

  "Ah," she winced, the muscles in her neck having gone stiff from sitting in the same position for a prolonged period.

  Normally this would not deter her, her body accustomed to sitting for prolonged periods of time in the Senate. But this sickness had put an ache in her bones that didn't easily abate. The crushed velvet dress felt peculiarly heavier than when she'd last worn it too.

  With a light appetite as of late, it appeared she'd lost a few pounds.

  Padmè would be most displeased if she heard of this. Dormè had become more of a sister than a mere decoy as they'd acclimated together.

  Perhaps she should put a meal together, recalling the seven blossom bread lifted fresh from the ovens an hour ago.

  A Nabooian's favored.

  The lake house cooks had bidded their farewells towards the evening to retire to their homes nestled in the mountainside's village.

Because the Lake Country was isolated from the rest of Varykino, this specific area could only be accessed by a boat or ship with special clearance. With new security that had taken up post around the parameters, had come restrictions.

They were not allowed to swim out to the islands as they often enjoyed in their pastime. Even though they were strong swimmers. Padmè had not been keen with the tighter measures, as she preferred a laxer atmosphere when it came to her vacational homefront. In light of recent events however, it was a necessary precaution.

  Secretly, Dormè did not favor the extra layer of surveillance. But handmaidens did not outwardly display their displeasure, their training of propriety and etiquette taking center precedence. Similar to the facial mask they donned to mirror their beloved Senator in the line of duty to blend seamlessly together as decoys. Such an oath carried a weight that was not to be taken lightly. They'd sworn their lives and if ever caught in the line of fire, she would come above all else.

Always.

Of course, Dormè's disdain had little to do with the security set at the borders. Rather it was directed at a certain cocky Jedi she'd long been acquainted with.

  Concocted for whatever reason in that brain of his, he'd made it his life's mission to crack said mask.

  "I can feel your judgmental eye from here, Jedi Skywalker."

  "Tea hardly suffices as a meal, Dormè. Your strength wanes which will only cause your exhaustion to grow."

"I'll take into account your concern. Please do not fret over it, I know my limitations." If she turned her head just a fraction she'd see the moody Jedi leaning against the forged stone of the veranda. His tall unwavering stature was ever presently attuned to his surroundings, a testament to his Jedi training. Arms crossed against a broad chest honed for battle, his face partially hidden in the evenings shadow.

  Why couldn't it have been Jedi Kenobi's assignment here. The man had a calm character that was far more soothing than his brash Padawan. In the beginning Dormè had found Skywalker's conduct amusing. Until she'd witnessed just how reckless the young Jedi could be.

  Fortunately, Padmè had seen it before anything serious had developed. Politics and Jedi principals had overall, not meshed well, especially as the war raged leading them to the inevitable conclusion it was the idea rather than the actual relationship. Thus, her personal infatuation with the Jedi had raptly fizzled.

  Since, they'd been on civil terms but the distance was still visible. Padmè had, since, started seeing other mature men from various planetary systems. Something she'd only confided to Dormè.

  However, Anakin being force-sensitive had found out a few short months ago. Up until recently, he'd stayed in the Outer Rim raging war with the Separatists as the infamous General Skywalker alongside his Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

  Until Jedi Kenobi had grounded him.

Whatever the Jedi had done, it was severe enough to warrant this brief excursion to Naboo, undoubtedly orchestrated by Kenobi as a form of punishment. Kenobi was confident that this assignment wouldn't rekindle the flame he had long suspected between the Jedi and the Senator—at least, that appeared to be the case thus far.

One could only hope.

  She cleared her throat, placing the dainty teacup back on the floral saucer and promptly lifted from the plush settee on the veranda overlooking the stars. A tranquil mirror was reflected in the azure waters with the gentle undulations of the mountainsides, the rich notes of sweet flora carried by the winds.

Never would she tire of Naboo's ethereal beauty. "Thank you for your analysis, Jedi Skywalker, if you are finished, I shall retire for the night."

  She dabbed a silken handkerchief against her nose that had started to dribble, sniffling. She would come back for the bread once the Jedi made his patrolling rounds.

  The plum dress trailed behind her soft steps as she swept into the room often chosen on these excursions, the ambiance mimicking a light and airy resplendence. The lake house accommodations were elegant and rich in architectural design with textured decor. Adorned doors led out to a small balcony framed with hanging drapes of gossamer.

Dormè quick to change out of the heavy material for a light satin nightgown, looked to the opulent gown perched on a stand in the corner, stitched with silver pines through the elegant train that would drape from the bodice.

  Yet to start on the bustle, she checked the chrono on the ivory nightstand.

  Still no word from the Senator. Please be safe m'lady.

  As another raspy cough was squeezed from her lungs, she slipped into the gilded ivory bedsheets of the grand canopy centered in the room, blowing her nose several times with a disgruntled huff.

  She really was sick.

  Best get some rest, she decided. She was no good to anyone if her health wasn't up to par.

  A hand scraped through the long dark tresses that had slipped from her braid, unraveling the leather tie from the ends, leaving a fall of loose waves tumbling over one pillow.

Finally, just as she'd begun to slip into the calm of sleep, an abrupt hard knock jolted her awake.

  Dormè was not a fool, all too aware of just who stood on the opposite side.

  The infamous Chosen One as he was proclaimed, Anakin Skywalker.

TO BE CONTINUED