PART 1: SLIPPING…
"Oh, Anakin. Don't."
He toyed with the Force, ruffling her gown.
"Anakin—stop."
At her command he grudgingly obeyed, helping her by tightening the bodice in back. She gasped as air whooshed from her lungs. Padmé regulated her breathing
so she wouldn't black out—cautiously, since she couldn't let Anakin know
her secret.
"Isn't this a bit old-fashioned?"
She playfully smacked his hand but kept her face sober, to show she forgave him without encouraging further teasing. "That's the point of this festival, Anakin. The Battle of Naboo was a turning point for my people, making us realize that sometimes peace cannot continue." She squelched the urge to loosen the bodice, afraid she'd do it if she wanted it too much, and not necessarily with her hands. "But that doesn't mean the old ways have to die."
Padmé Amidala, Naboo Senator, checked herself in the mirror. As she always did whenever Anakin was around, she'd dismissed her handmaidens, but that wasn't an excuse to appear sloppy.
"What're you hiding your hair for?"
She swatted his hand away, not letting him take out her two rolls. She wanted her hair out of the way, today. It was sort of a concession, too, letting Anakin see her neck since—
"And
what's with this?"
Gritting her teeth, Padmé physically held her blouse in place. As usual, Anakin forgot about the obvious—the bodice atop it—making its removal much easier for her to prevent.
"I am not going sleeveless, Skywalker. Queen Jamillia—"
"Skywalker!" he yelled. "Skywalker?"
"Anakin," she quietly corrected. "You are Anakin, and you are Skywalker. I am Padmé, and I am Amidala. In private, they are no different. It is in public that it matters."
He calmed somewhat—but not completely, she could tell. Anger still simmered beneath; anger eager for a vent she refused to offer it.
"Queen Jamillia asked me to wear this outfit, and I agreed to do so."
He followed her to the door. "…Why that specifically?"
Padmé smiled mysteriously, cocking an eyebrow at her naive husband. Not replying, she headed to the festival.
The gown had belonged to her Jedi grandmother.
"Ugh!"
Her opponent foolishly warned her with a grunt. She leapt over his shoulder, curving and dropping sharply on her hands immediately behind him, using the momentum from her landing to twirl about, plant a kick in the other person's back, and land back on her feet.
All within an eyeblink.
Observers gasped at the young Senator's unnatural agility. The exercise was made even
more amazing by a little piece of cloth she wore over her eyes, interfering with her vision though not blocking it entirely. Her male opponent lacked this item.
That
male opponent was her chief of security.
The exercise continued, each of them trying to unfoot the other.
Suddenly, someone stormed in, too quickly for her to get a good look at him before he started pummeling Typho.
"Anakin, stop!" she cried. She lunged forward, grabbing his robotic arm with one hand as the other whipped off her blindfold. "It's just a security exercise!"
Anakin was very, very still. She tried not to listen to his feelings, but she couldn't
help it. Anger pulsed from him, too weakly restrained to be labeled under
any type of control. But he was no longer attacking Typho.
Her insides curdled, aware she'd probably be on the receiving end of that anger. That was later, though. Now she had to get him out of here without making them seem too intimate.
She decided just getting him out of here would be best, right now. She'd worry about the gossips later. At least they couldn't kill you, and weren't trusted too much when their subject was as beyond reproach as she was.
She pulled him away. "Come on, Anakin. Let him be." Medics were undoubtedly on their way.
"Don't you ever touch her again," he growled.
Padmé cringed. She knew that tone. It was the same he'd used when… "It's practice so no one does hurt me."
He whirled about, and she stiffened, fearing he'd make an outburst— …Moments passed… He didn't move, hate joining anger in the dreadful song she heard radiating from him…
Abruptly, Anakin left. She tentatively followed.
"The cold, hard truth of the matter is," said Palpatine firmly as he
strode across the room, "that all your friends are using you for
their own devices. Consider—" he waved an arm. "The Jedi Council, for example. They don't want you higher than them,
so they keep you low, not sending you on missions where you might better
yourself."
His face darkened. "Master Obi-Wan's the same way."
"I'm
glad you can see that, Anakin." Palpatine smiled. "But if I may point
out… Amidala also takes advantage of you."
He jumped back, stricken. "No!" he thickly protested. "Not Padmé!"
"She
orders you about, does she not? You are very eager to fulfill her demands."
Anakin's breathing quickened as he struggled with control. "She's older."
"By a measly four years." Palpatine's face was sympathetic. "Anakin, even you must admit how keen she is on getting her own way."
The young Jedi's voice rose. "She knows what's best for me!"
"Best for you? Or what she says is best for you? But—" He quickly cut off any more protests. "You may believe as you will."
"Padmé would never hurt me."
Palpatine's face was resigned. "If you say so."
The elderly Jedi reentered, eyeing her respectful nod with distaste. "You may enter."
"Thank you, Master Nu."
Jedi
Master Jocasta Nu huffed slightly, turning away. Padmé silently sent her an apology. It hadn't been her fault so many had died at the Battle of Geonosis. But most Jedi acted like it had.
She stepped gracefully into the Council room—not proudly, but composedly. She had requested this audience with them for a special purpose, and she would not let them consider her a dithering fool for it, nor a conniving politician.
Jedi Master Yoda's seat was empty. Padmé kept her disappointment inside. Yoda would've listened to her. Now she had to convince the rest of the Council—a Council already wary of her.
"Master Windu." She respectfully lowered her head.
The second senior member of the Jedi Council returned the gesture. "Senator Amidala. What brings you before us?"
"—And without your bodyguard?" added Knight Ki-Adi-Mundi.
Padmé glanced around, quickly judging the best way to reach those Council members present. "May I presume Master Yoda is searching the Dark Side?"
Silence answered her.
"If such is true," she said, struggling to keep the bitterness from her voice. "I fear he will someday need go no farther than to look at Skywalker."
This
silence was different. It was an uneasy, even agitated silence. Members
glanced at each other, a few to Master Depa Billaba's empty seat. Depa's was always empty.
The first to fall, she thought in the back of her mind, shielded from the Jedi observers. There will be others. —There have been others, she hastily corrected herself, remembering Master Dooku. She'd studied what
had happened to poor Depa. The necessary killing had driven the Vaapad-taught Jedi Master insane. Such was the nature of war.
"…What makes you say that?" spoke up Jedi Master Adi Gallia when the others refused to speak.
"Anakin is falling." She said it as sternly and directly as she could. "His will to remain a Jedi is faltering. He wants more." Padmé met Master Windu's
shatterpoint-seeing gaze. "He needs to know he's accomplished something since coming here."
"Skywalker has come a long way since Qui-Gon brought him to us," admitted Master Windu.
"Tell him that." Factually, she reminded herself. Keep yourself the concerned babysitter. "Tell him he's improved. Tell him how. Then bring up the problem areas. He's a fast learner. If he has a sense of accomplishment—"
"He'll become even more cocky than he already is." Ki-Adi-Mundi spoke like she was an idiot. "There is no reason to change our behavior to him."
"But
he's turning to the Dark Side!" snapped Padmé, aghast. Were these
Masters really so thick-skulled as to dismiss her concern about her bodyguard?
A muffled chuckle caught her attention. She refused to look at where it had come, focusing
all her attention on Master Windu.
"Master Windu. Anakin's anger grows, and hate joins it. Suffering will follow."
Jedi
Master Mace Windu's cheek twitched. "You are a politician. What can you
know of Jedi affairs?"
Padmé contained her own anger, smoothly converting the fire to ice. "I know more than you might think."
Her quiet statement got their attention, as she'd known it would.
She turned to Master Yaddle, taking a fiery pendant from inside her dress and presenting it to the diminutive Jedi, the same species as Yoda. "This was my grandmother's necklace. Don't tell me you don't know it."
Yaddle left her chair and took it from Padmé's hand. The green ears lifted in unbelief. Widened eyes looked at the Naboo Senator. "You… Fortunate you are." The four-century old Master dropped the pendant back in Padmé's palm. "Know your grandmother's necklace…"
Master Yaddle resumed her seat and poise. "I do not."
Padmé recoiled. "Master Yaddle—"
"I do not," repeated the Jedi, shaking her head. "I do not."
"Would you like to repeat your concern about Skywalker, Senator?" drily asked Ki-Adi-Mundi.
The other Masters actually started laughing
She looked around the Council. Every single one of them thought her a fool. She ended with her gaze on Yaddle.
Liar.
Yaddle knew the necklace. She just didn't want to admit it.
She'd given it.
"…We are a republic, Senators. We may be at war, but that does not mean our government must change so we can handle it!
"Chancellor Palpatine has led us well, I readily admit. But in reacting to this war, we have given him no less power than a dictator. Is that a republic, Senators? Rule by one man's decree?
"I therefore conclude that though Palpatine has offered us excellent guidance in trying times, the illegality of his power calls for another strong leader to step up—"
"And
who will this 'strong leader' be?" Malastair's Senator interrupted. "You?"
"If nominated for the position I would not refuse," replied Padmé Amidala firmly. "But I do not aim for it."
She faltered slightly, then drew herself up as she finished her speech. "I call for a vote of no confidence in Chancellor Palpatine's leadership."
• • •
Her red senatorial robes removed, she had changed into a gossamer white gown, letting her dark tresses fall freely down her back.
She stood in the shadows, near the door. Anakin stood at the window, his back to her. Muscles taut, he faced the fading sunlight.
"Your friend is still in office."
"Good." Her husband's voice was cold.
Padmé looked down sadly, one hand's fingers gently running over her stomach. "We
can't keep it secret, anymore," she said softly.
Anakin didn't move. "Why not?"
She stepped forward delicately, seeking his face. "I'm—" The look in his eyes made her stop.
"What?" he asked, moving towards her.
Her silence angered him. "I asked you a question!" he snarled.
She shook her head, her sorrowful eyes staying on his as she retreated. "Nothing."
He caught her arm, blue eyes burning gray with fury. "What?" he demanded.
Padmé swallowed. "Nothing. I made a mistake."
Anakin's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "A mistake? Mistook me for someone else, maybe?"
She stared at him, uncomprehending. "What do you mean?"
He glared down at her, millimeters away. "You whore."
Without letting her protest, he struck her.
Padmé fell hard on her wrists, gasping with surprise. Wiping blood off her cheek, she nimbly got to her feet and darted away—
He Force-pulled her back, grabbing her ankle and twisting it with a snap. She cried out, doing her best to swallow it.
Anakin's voice trembled with anger. "You're mine. No one else's. Mine."
She closed her eyes, not letting the tears fall. "How can you think otherwise of me, Anakin?" she whispered.
Padmé never saw his fist.