Disclaimer: Star Wars is the property of George Lucas LTD and Disney. Anything you recognize belongs to one or the other.


i have been made to protect you. only in death will i be kept from this oath.

—leigh bardugo, six of crows.

"You look tired," Padmè said from behind her desk. Her voice was soft as she turned to look at him. He was standing guard by her door, and despite appearing strong and sturdy, she wasn't fooled. Padmè had spent her whole life putting on an act and surrounding herself with people in that great performance as well, she could see right through him.

He looked at her, the words echoing Obi Wan's, but he kept silent. "I'm fine. Don't worry, milady, you're safe with me."

Padmè couldn't help her grin. "That, and Dormè and Eirtaè are also along the corridor, and they'd sooner eat their robes than be bested."

Anakin and Padmè shared a look and she instantly regretted the jest. She hadn't been thinking, even if her mind had yet to let go of the fact a bounty hunter had tried their hand at her. She had suspected it, they all had. No politician in their right mind would attempt a bombing, or any of the other attempts like the two riffle assaults weeks prior, but still. Still! She thought of Yoda when he sat in Palpatine's office: What had they become.

Wincing, she looked at the sleek top of her desk. "I didn't mean it like that," she said, seeing that her words had seemed to wound his pride. The bounty hunter had, after all, bested him when another murdered the one he and Master Kenobi caught.

"I know. Forgive me, milady."

"Padmè," she found herself correcting. He paused, as if unsure. "You and I are going to be spending a lot of time together. You don't need to address me so formally in private."

She knew it was a mistake on some part, just not the ones that mattered to her. Her staff wasn't a staff. Not to her. She trusted them with her life — all of it.

"Padmè," he said and she almost closed her eyes at the warmth it brought her. It shocked her to her very core. He smiled brightly.

It felt like home, her Naboo Sunlight.

"After all," she continued, trying to keep the wave of emotion at bay, "you did save my life last night and I never thanked you."

As impossible as it seemed, he stood taller, his head a few inches above the threshold, "That's my job, you don't have to —"

"I do," she interrupted. "I don't take lightly, the sacrifices you or anyone else with me are taking. I'm in your debt. On Naboo, we honor those," she finished sincerely.

His cheeks reddened and she was surprised at the show of hand. Jedi we're always so distant. Or at least the ones she knew.

"Padmè, even if this weren't a job, I'd protect you with my life."

She was surprised at the confession, but smiled, even if what she said hurt, "Jedi are compassionate, so I'm not surprised."

A look passed his face, but he smiled, "Yeah, our compassion," he agreed and turned, as if expecting Master Kenobi. Even she found herself wanting to explain to the older Jedi what she meant and he meant, because they'd just met less than twenty-four hours ago and it was ludicrous. But, then again, he'd saved her life.

Padmè pushed those thoughts aside. It was stupid and immature, and whimsy. It'd be something she'd expect from adolescent nieces as Sola and Darred filled their heads with fairytales and talks of true love. Padmè had almost once believed in it, too.

It made her think of another boy with dark curly hair, and emerald green eyes — he became a painter and wanted her to follow her dreams. She sometimes wondered if she lied when she said she was.

It didn't matter, anyway. There had never been time for love. She'd been a princess, then a queen, and now she was a senator. Soon, her life would start. Just like how she told herself that after would come.

Turning back to her work, she tried to push away her feelings. It'd been months since she'd been back home. Almost an entire year since she'd seen her family, and she missed them. She told herself lies: She didn't hate Coruscant, she was happy. So happy.


oOo


Padmè could tell he was reserved behind the controls when they flew back to her apartment. There was an impatience that hung in the air, and she held back a laugh.

He turned to her and smiled as they landed on her pad. Opening her door, he escorted her in.

"Are you hungry? It's been a long day, and I don't think any of us ate," she said as she took his arm. If he didn't, he found it hard to remember to slow down. It had been funny to witness him eat up hallways with ease while she had to all but sprint to keep up with him.

He looked down, and she could see the uncertainty. "I could eat," he confessed, but he hesitated.

Padmè grinned. "Everyone has to eat, even a Jedi-to-be," she said before leading him to the kitchen.

"Ellè's been stressed, and when she's stressed, she cooks," Padmè explained. "It makes CD very angry, which weirdly entertains Rabè."

He laughed at that as they entered the kitchen area. Dormè and Eirtaè sat at the table, gossiping with Sabè, who was cleaning a blaster, Yanè, who was stitching the hem of an old robe, and Rabè, who was lounging in an unladylike manner, eating a biscuit. Ellè was at the counter, making five blossom bread and her cheeks were dusted with flour; Padmè grinned at the sight, but it also made her sad seeing the ghosts of Versè and Cordè.

Rabè instantly sat straighter upon Anakin's arrival, and everyone seemed to become more professional.

"At ease," Anakin said in a teasing manner, eying Rabè. Rabè grinned and went into a more relaxed pose than before.

"Are you two hungry?" Ellè asked with a smile. "I tried to feed your Master, but he was busy with Captain Typho."

Anakin nodded, "Starving and it smells delicious. Obi-Wan will probably eat when we're asleep," he said with a teasing tint to his voice.

They all sat, eating and talking and it was crazy how well he fit in with him. He was a pilot, and Rabè's eyes widened in recognition.

"You're Anakin Skywalker," she says, pointing a finger toward him. "You're like one of the best pilots on this force-forsaken planet! I thought the name was familiar when he introduced you yesterday."

"Really?" Padmè asked him and Anakin blushed, but she noticed his chest puff in pride.

"Yeah, that's me," he confirms.

"Wow, what an honor," Rabè breathes in a rare moment of genuine respect.

Sabè grinned, "Pick your jaw off the floor, Rabè."

Rabè flipped her off before shoveling a forkful of meat into her mouth. Padmè rolled her eyes like an affectionate older sister, despite being one of the youngest.

"Whatever, Tsabin," she snorted and Sabè threw a roll at her, causing Ellè and Yanè to scold them.

"So you all rename yourself?" he asked, fully aware of their birth names. Captain Typho had briefed the two Jedi all about the handmaidens and their talents, and that among them, Sabè was their leader. He allowed Sabè to be their leader, their boss, despite her reporting directly to him and him alone now with Mariek's death.

"Yes," Sabè said. "In the beginning, it was to throw people off. Padmè had to change her name, and it felt fair. Right?" She and Padmè look at one another and share a smile. "Now it's a habit, but it does work. It's hard to keep track of all of us."

"Not that I'm complaining, but why so many?" he asks as he takes a drink of his water.

Sabè shrugs. "Why not. A lot of us didn't want to leave, but things have changed."

"When they were younger, Sabè and Padmè were twins. You couldn't even tell them apart if they were out of makeup," Yanè reminisced with a smile. "But then we all matured, and Sabè and Padmè still look related, but growth spurts and body changes. But our talents are still needed."

He nodded. "You're a seamstress, and you," he said with a turn to Eirtaè, "are mechanics."

"Guilty as charged," Eirtaè confirms, dotting her face with a napkin primly. "But you built that little astromech, didn't you? He's a funny thing. Quite independent. I've never met a droid like him."

Anakin grinned. "I found him mostly in a junk heap when I was young, and configured a few things. He's saved my skin many times."

"I believe that," Sabè laughed, "he was furious last night."

"He hates being bested. It's something we share."

He and Padmè looked at one another, and then shared a small grin. There are no hard feelings of her accidental slight and she sips her wine, eying him. What were the odds he'd blend into her life so well?

When she retires, they bow at one another, and before they part and are alone in the hallway to her bedroom.

"Anakin," he says.

She turns back to him, confused. "What?"

"If I'm going to call you Padmè you should call me Anakin. I realize you never address me," he said with a teasing grin.

She grins. "Okay. Goodnight… Anakin," she says.


oOo


Obi-Wan sighs as he gets out of the cockpit of his ship. He was exhausted from the past two nights. Between Anakin's defiance, the death of the bounty hunter, and no leads to who either person was, it all seemed to rest on his shoulders.

It wasn't a rare occurrence to wish for Qui-Gon's guidance, especially when it came to Anakin. He always tried his best when it came to his young padawan, but he wondered, yet again, if his best was good enough.

Obi-Wan had always been an obedient padawan, and it had often annoyed his master, but Obi-Wan understood, in the way his padawan and master hadn't, that there was a hierarchy that must be followed. It was why he was a part of the council, why he'd been more trusted to not go off the deep end and forge his own paths. A part of him envied them, but a realistic part didn't. He didn't want to create waves, where Anakin created monsoons.

Heading inside, he saw the young man sitting on one of the couches, reading a datapad. If one didn't know Anakin they wouldn't know just how exhausted he was. The man couldn't have slept more than twenty minutes the night before, yet here he was, working.

"I don't sleep well anymore."

It haunted him. He'd heard the rumors of him crying out for his mother, and Anakin tried to talk to him, but Obi-Wan didn't know what to do to ease the suffering.

A part of him wanted to cut him loose and let him head to Tatooine, but knew he couldn't. It would be unbecoming to both of them if Obi-Wan allowed this attachment to be fed, but still, Obi-Wan found himself wondering if it was worse to not allow the young man to see his mother and confirm if she was or was not unwell.

He'd asked Yoda about it, but both he and Master Windu had dismissed it. Dreams passed, visions about Shmi Skywalker were of no concern, and Obi-Wan couldn't find himself to agree.

If we deny the chosen one… no! You mustn't think like this. Anakin has never let you down. He took comfort in that. Anakin, with all his arrogance and youthful pride, could take orders, and he took them well. He was loyal, too loyal some would argue, and he'd have Obi Wan's back in the same way he'd have his. They were brothers. Master and apprentice. Their threads were tied too tight to break, and he had to believe that.

"Why don't you get some rest. The senator learned her lesson from last night, and I'll take the first watch." When Anakin looked at him, the argument resting on his tongue, Obi-Wan held up a hand, "you'll be no use to anyone if you collapse from exhaustion, young one."

Anakin rolled his eyes and discarded the datapad. Standing, his joints popped and cracked, and he stretched, his hands grazing the ceiling. Obi-Wan eyed him as he brushed past and went down to the lower level, vowing to be back in a few hours.

"I'd see Ellè before you leave. I heard the handmaidens say they have a soothing tea for nightmares."

Anakin paused, and Obi-Wan sensed the distrust and he held up his hands. "To my understanding, they gave it to Padmè last night for her nerves."

Anakin looked down, guilty. "Thanks," he said, embarrassed. "I'll do that."

Obi-Wan sat down and rubbed his beard, then ran a hand through his hair. He, too, felt the exhaustion of the past two days. They had barely recovered from all they'd done in the mid rim, and now this.

Cracking his neck, he turned to look at the camera, keeping his focus on the senator's room. He doubted an assassin would try that way again, but one could never be too sure. As far as he knew, Sabè was with her tonight, just in case.

.

.

.

When Anakin returns, he looks somehow more exhausted. His eyes lost their brightness, and Obi-Wan doesn't comment. Even without the force, he can tell it would be unwise to comment on it.

Brushing past the boy, he can tell Anakin will be comforted in keeping watch — as a way to occupy his mind, but something else.

Obi-Wan bites his tongue. If he lectures now, there will be a fight and they don't have the time for distraction; it'd be too risky, especially after last night.

Bidding his apprentice goodnight, Obi-Wan heads to the lower level and meditates. He knows something is at play between the boy and senator, but hopes Anakin can keep his head.

It makes him think of Satine, and for a moment, he wants to fade into the memories of her. He'd been young, barely older than his padawan, and Mandalore was under attack. They both were sworn to duty: Satine was to abdicate the throne, and he was to become a knight. He thinks of that moment under the starlight, when the fire blazed and the smoke danced up to the sky. Satine had sat, knees to her chest, watching the flames and he could sense the longing. He held his breath all night, waiting for her to say it. If she asked him then, he'd have left the order. He'd have been right beside her, at any cost.

Obi-Wan never really dwelled on the past. His way had always been forward. He took his lessons and moved on, and knew longing was as pointless as counting the stars, but sometimes, in the quiet moments, he imagined that different life. He imagined Satine asking him not to leave, he imagined himself handing his lightsaber to Qui-Gon. Would he have been a father? And if so, would he have been a good one? Could it have been possible?

Would their love have survived?

He shut his eyes, opting for sleep instead. Maybe his dreams would show him these things, or the answers to their current mission, or maybe he'd find a dreamless peace where neither things mattered. It had been almost two decades since that night, and he let it go, as if it were that smoke floating to the heavens.

After all, Qui-Gon's lesson was always to be mindful of the living force. He had to be focused here and now, where Anakin was, and Padmè, and their assassin.


oOo


When he awakes, he almost whacks himself in the face.

Dex. He would ask Dex where this dart had come from. The former smuggler-turned-business owner always knew, or knew someone who knew someone.

His thoughts of the past behind him, he went upstairs to join Anakin. The sun had barely risen, and he was surprised to see Anakin and the blonde handmaiden tinkering with a project. Anakin was watching as she explained some mechanical doohickey outside of his knowledge, and it was rare to see Anakin look so impressed when it came to engineering and mechanics.

There was very little his padawan didn't have a talent in, outside humility, and machinery had always been at the top.

When he and Qui-Gon had stumbled upon him all those years ago, Anakin had been the only human podracer to exist, with sharp reflexes and the ability beyond his years to pilot. According to his mother, he'd been podracing since the young age of four, and had been tinkering with machines since before then. To see the boy learning a new trick was a pleasant surprise.

Obi-Wan wasn't foolish, or oblivious. He knew these women enjoyed him, even found him handsome, but he'd fit right in with them.

Typho had warned him of Rabè, the former thief, and Sabè who was headstrong but patient, like a nexu waiting for the kill, both girls had a habit of bending the rules to their favor, something, Typho had admitted, Padmè enjoyed.

"Senator Amidala is an interesting charge," the captain had admitted when he'd shown Obi-Wan security two nights prior. A frown had marred his face. "She's quite independent, which normally, I don't mind. My uncle was her former head of security, and he's a lot more traditional and cautious than I am. The girls who serve her, they gave him a run for his money. They came up with the concept of switching places, and tried it often. Don't be fooled, they see everything, especially Sabè. I'm willing to bet she'll sense any danger against Padmè before even you. It's how she survived the first few attacks. Sabè just tackled her out of nowhere. Their bond is strong — the bond between her and the handmaidens, to be honest, I've never witnessed it before."

Obi-Wan could sense that: The camaraderie, and the total understanding without so many words. They were so informal within the walls when they thought they weren't being watched. He'd come into the kitchen the morning before to see a girl near identical to Padmè flip off a slouching Rabè with messy hair and sleeping clothes still on. They had both been mortified until he pacified them, and Rabè had immediately changed and got ready for the day. It was a queer dynamic to witness. They were like soldiers, but also like frivolous teenagers.

Anakin had sensed Obi-Wan enter, probably had sensed him floors down riding up the lift, but he didn't turn immediately, enthralled and unwilling to end his lesson. However, when the door snapped shut with a faint hiss, Eirtaè looked up.

"Oh. Good morning, Master Jedi," she greeted and put the metal box down on the table and hid her grease-stained hands, and bowed with respect.

"Eirtaè," he greeted in kind, giving a slight bow. "I assume all was well last night," he said, turning to Anakin to confirm.

Anakin nodded. "Not so much as a sound last night."

"Good. Let us hope it stays that way," he said and moved into the room. "I have to go meet an old friend in the lower district, I think he might know where our assassin's dart came from."

Anakin nodded, fully aware of Obi Wan's ties with Dex. "Hopefully he knows something."

Eirtaè said nothing, but the shock she felt was potent. Obi-Wan could sense she had a lot to ask, but was well aware of her place. If Rabè or Sabè had sat where she did, it would've been another story. Eirtaè knew when to stay in the shadows, because eventually, the answer revealed itself. It'd been something Sachè taught her.

Obi-Wan smiled at the blonde, unbothered. It wasn't like they could lie to the senator. They had no leads, just a poisoned dart, and a dead changling with no identity to go off of. It was frustrating, and mildly embarrassing for the order.

"Enjoy your lesson," he said in jest, nodding at the box. Eirtaè grinned, as did Anakin, and with that, Obi-Wan was gone.

As he went to his ship, he felt a whisper of something. A presence he pretended was his master, but the words he knew were there were lost to him, but something inside him told him to be wary of Anakin's newfound friendships and to not look too far into the future. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair.

He had to focus on one thing at a time, and right now, that thing was the poisoned dart and why the archives had no information on it, and then and only then, would he learn about Anakin and his friends.


oOo


Padmè awoke, stretching her spine, and turned to see Sabè beside her, awake.

Padmè snickered, "What are you doing?"

"Thinking," she said plainly and turned to her friend. Sabè had a slight frown on her face and Padmè's brow furrowed.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Trust me, my thoughts are not friendly," Sabè assured the senator and sat up, rubbing at her left eye. "I keep thinking about the meeting in the Chancellor's office. It worries me."

Padmè sat up as well, facing her friend fully. "I know we all think it's Dooku, and I know we also think it might be the Trade Federation, but we have to trust that someone will give us answers."

Sabè grit her teeth. "I don't like following bullshit leads, and I don't like my hands being tied on this. War is looming, and everyone wants to act blind. It's frustrating!"

Padmè said nothing, though she agreed in private. Padmè was an idealist, she always had been. While her parents lived humbly and she'd grown up in a small village below the snowcapped mountains where the brooks flowed and the forests were lush and full of life, Padmè knew her family had no humble beginnings. She'd been a lucky girl with wealth and privilege, and her ascent into politics was beyond proof.

She'd gone to the finest schools, had worked in dozens of relief campaigns, and her political career had begun at the age of twelve. She always tried to keep her people in mind, as well as anyone else who needed help.

In her younger years, she believed with all her heart that if she was in a position of power she could make effective change. If she was in charge, she could amplify the voices of those unable to shout and demand for the change they needed, and in an ideal galaxy, that would be the case. But this was the reality: Senators were bought, and sometimes on the cheap. There was a Trade Federation that also had a seat in the Senate, as well as a banking clan and other businesses — these things, these glorified businessmen demanded their companies and wealth not only had rights, but more so than those she knew suffered. It sickened her, but she also knew that she could effect change. Or at least try.

People respected her, though she knew a lot of it was begrudged respect. Padmè was nineteen, after all, and most of the senators she knew were near their thirties and were unwilling to indulge her. She had to dance delicately around egos that were more delicate than mineral glass, and she always acted demure, as if she were still a pupil in the legislative group she'd long since surpassed.

There was so much red tape surrounding the war, and despite respecting him, Padmè didn't see the Chancellor as being effective enough. While she believed that listening and bending to the rightful demands of the systems leaving, Palpatine remained almost neutral. Despite believing diplomacy would resume, she wasn't naive.

Besides the businesses that were on the verge of leaving the Senate, many planets who left were of no humanoid descent, and had claimed the republic didn't care for either them or their people, and Padmè had spoken out in agreement. Their needs were often ignored, or outvoted by humanoid planets who feared that equality meant suppression, and it was maddening to witness. Sometimes, she wanted to scream, cry, and throw a fit in her pod just to make the madness end, to make people listen. Sometimes she'd watch as Palpatine listened, almost with a neutral, or worse, bored expression, just letting it be.

Most would argue that that particular suspicion was a claim for more power, which was ridiculous. Padmè didn't desire more power or wealth, she desired a democratic ruling and a normal discussion among rational people, not ones who were so bought by greed and hopes for power beyond their means.

Padmè touched Sabè's hand softly. "They shouldn't be dead," Sabè whispered, a faint emotion wrapping her voice.

For a moment the two girls allowed this mourning, tears dripping to the bedspread and drying into the expensive cloth.

"If we find the son of a bitch who did that to them, who commissioned their deaths, I swear I'll kill them myself," Sabè hissed. Padmè knew she should tell her not to seek revenge, that it was a poison that'd destroy her and not her enemies, but she couldn't find it within her. If she were being honest, she wanted to kill them, too. To make them pay for the lives they stole, and the ones they ruined.

They had sent the bodies of the three women back at sunset, according to Dormè, before they'd gone to bed. Padmè had cried in her bed and both she and Sabè had cried together. Padmè thought of Mariek. She'd known the woman since she was thirteen years old, and she'd served as the second in command since her time as queen. She missed the wise woman, missed her witty comebacks and her motherly love; it was like a limb had been severed and she was forced to walk uphill, but she couldn't find the balance.

To send Mariek back, to know Quarsh's devastation and Typho's pain, it was far too much to bear without thinking of Versè and Cordè's families.

The two girls got ready, taking their time. They didn't have to go to the senate today, and Padmè was in no mood to be dolled up. Letting her curls flow, she put on a simple dress and some rouge before following Sabè out of the room.

She knew Rabè would sleep until midmorning, knew Yanè was talking with Sachè, and that Dormè and Ellè would be heading to the market to make up for Ellè's fraying nerves, but they were surprised to find Eirtaè and Anakin together with a whirling Artoo, tinkering.

"Good morning," Padmè greeted, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.

Eirtaè turned with a laugh, her cheek had an oil smear under the eye that made Padmè grin affectionately. "Good morning. Sorry! I was showing Anakin a project I was working on," then the blonde turned and was shocked to notice how high the sun had risen and laughed. "Time does fly."

Anakin also laughed, putting down his own tools and wiping his hands on the dark linen pants before standing. "Milady," he bowed, "Sabè."

Sabè scoffed. "It's too early for formality like that, Anakin," she said, then tilted her head. "Can we call you by your name? I've never done that to a Jedi before."

It was his turn to scoff. "I hate being called 'padawan', it feels condescending, and not being addressed constantly irritates me. Besides, we're all kind of stuck here together."

"Exactly. And I can't be so formal in my own home, I'll go mental," Padmè said.

Sabè conceded, then moved to look at the project. "Does it actually work now?" she asked, eying the box.

"With Anakin's help, yeah, actually, it's getting there."

While Eirtaè showed Sabè, Padmè made a move to the kitchen and was surprised Anakin followed her. He went to the sink and washed off his hands as she brought out a platter of berries and offered him some.

"Did you sleep okay?" Padmè asked him, in way of conversation as she put a berry in her mouth and was surprised to see him stiffen slightly.

"Yeah, it was okay. You?" he asked, taking a berry of his own.

She winced. "I've had better weeks."

He laughed in agreement, taking another berry.

Padmè rolled one between her hands, but she was focused elsewhere. "I know it's… improper, I supposed, to be this open, but I keep thinking of the explosion. How it should've been me, but also how senseless it all is."

Anakin looked down at her, "I think you have every right to express that. You're human, and your friends died. Besides that, witnessing death is never easy and it isn't something to be taken lightly."

Padmè looked down and dropped the berry to the counter. "To send them back to their homes in body bags," she said, her breath shuddering and tears bit her eyes. "It feels so coldhearted, so final."

Anakin was quiet, waiting for her to finish and she was grateful that he didn't impose any wisdom upon her. She didn't want to rejoice or celebrate the lives lost that day, she wanted to mourn them, and cry because the last time she'd spoken to them was so insignificant. She wished she'd said something meaningful and memorable, but that was life. In a blink of an eye, you were gone, and you never knew when the blink would happen. "Their families… Versè was a few months away from the end of her service. She was to be married. She wanted to be a mother… How do you look at her fiancé, to a parent, a spouse, and just…" a tear slipped down her cheek as her voice cracked and she was surprised when strong arms embraced her.

Anakin was surprisingly warm, as warm as his smile and personality. He was monolithic this close, and safe, and she felt her eyes close as she let herself be embraced in his warmth, and finally, against her better nature, she sobbed. He said nothing, not even when they parted. He offered her a cloth to wipe her face and squeezed her shoulder in comfort before leaving her, and she was surprised at how cared for she felt. How it felt like something had been lifted off her for the first time in her whole life.

Blinking, Padmè watched him leave, wondering who exactly he was, and just what exactly he was going to be to her.