The palatial lounge nearest the throne room had not been in the path of armed conflict several days prior when the queen's fighters stormed and retook the palace in the Battle of Naboo. It stood undisturbed by any trace of structural damage or ransacking, still splendid in its lavish décor.

It was an ideal environment now to provide a refuge of sorts, from the wearisome sight of those areas of the palace that did bear heavy signs of damage.

The lounge also happened to be located within the guarded, innermost wing of the palace, reserved with few exceptions for the queen and her handmaidens. It was in fact designated as a room where the young women in the queen's entourage could quietly slip away from their duties as needed to trade shifts, confer with one another, catch up on task-based minutia, or take a moment now and again to compose themselves.

At present, though, the chaos of anxious nerves and hushed whispers and barely contained argument gave the lounge an air of somewhere more than just lacking in a sense of sanctuary—it was downright uncomfortable.

Padmé entered behind Sabé, to the unfocused din of her other handmaidens' voices arguing and fretting amongst themselves.

Padmé could guess at the reason why.

The boy had crowded himself into the space between the back of a regal-looking armchair and the wall it sat against in the northwest corner of the room. No matter how the handmaidens surrounding the space beckoned or pleaded with him, he would not come out. In fact he hardly seemed to register their words, upsetting them all the more.

Padmé approached, ignoring Saché who tried to start up an explanation or question her by holding up a hand for silence. Padmé was glad for the makeup smoothing her expression as she took in the details of Anakin's condition. She was, not for the first time, grateful that her eveningwear was lighter and easier to move in than her royal dress as she knelt down to face the shivering bundle of achingly thin limbs curled in on itself behind the armchair.

Padmé took in the visage of him hiding there and forced herself to calmly evaluate what she could see, impassively but thoroughly. Because she cared about Anakin, and because she was a wartime monarch who knew how to look for things that others might deem inconsequential. Details that might or might not be significant, but nevertheless ought to be considered.

…He was so afraid.

Anakin sat curled in on himself to hide as much of his body as he could, dressed only in the leggings that he'd worn beneath his tunic upon his arrival to Naboo with his Knight Master. Padmé had no idea why the boy's tunic and undershirt lay discarded on the chair above him, but she knew or suspected the reason he was trying to cover himself was to hide the marks of ghastly abuse he'd suffered from the slave master that had owned him on Tatooine.

Padmé, spending the days since the occupation's end working on coordination efforts toward restoration in the palace court, hadn't been present for the doctor's evaluation of Anakin during his and Obi-Wan's first day moving into the palace. But Sabé and Yané had appraised their queen of what they had seen. Padmé had never so loathed an institution whose practice she could hardly believe existed as the slavery that ran rampant on the planets of the Outer Rim.

She was not a ruler of violent whims. But Padmé could, for the first time, perhaps, understand how a monarch of her position might in a rage order an execution of someone condemned when she thought of cruel hands being laid upon on this child sat before her that was covered in welts and bruises he couldn't hide.

"Ani?" Padmé finally asked, quietly. Her voice was low and calm from years of practice, despite how the sight of him in such clear fright and misery made her feel wobbly inside.

Padmé noted how Anakin's ice-blue eyes were glassy and his gaze seemed far away when he finally flicked his eyes up to her face. His pupils were blown up nearly to shroud the irises in black, and he couldn't stop trembling. From cold, or fear? Likely both. He wasn't used to the temperature here, being raised on a desert planet, but there was no doubt in Padmé's mind that Anakin was horrified.

He opened his mouth to speak, but only a warbling noise came out that broke her heart.

"Ani," she said again, gently, and reached her hand out. He flinched as though struck, and she froze, her expression freezing as well.

Anakin was afraid…of her?

She retracted her hand, almost mechanically, willing her face not to show any hurt. She would not make Anakin feel guilt over her own feelings. For too long, his body had not been his own by law if not by rights, and if he didn't want her to touch him then she wouldn't.

"D-Dah," he whimpered, shaking too hard to speak properly. Padmé kept her expression sympathetic and soft.

"Anakin?"

He mouthed something at her, tears slipping down his thin face. She shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't understand…"

Rabé, to Padmé's surprise, gave a hand signal asking permission to interject. Padmé understood in the next moment. Rabé was the most skilled at all of them in reading lips; she would know what Anakin was trying to tell Padmé.

When Rabé spoke the handmaiden's voice was composed, though Padmé knew the other girl well enough to hear the hint of strain in her words.

"He doesn't…" Rabé frowned, then gave Padmé a helpless sort of look. "…He doesn't want you to look at him, Your Highness."

Anakin whimpered. Padmé glanced from the boy to her handmaiden in shock, nonplussed.

Anakin's face screwed up, rocking anxiously on the floor in jerky, minute little movements. Despite the request, Padmé unconsciously found herself drawn to look at him, her heart a whirlwind of confusion and hurt on his behalf.

"…Ugly," the boy whispered finally, closing his eyes as more miserable tears escaped.

Padmé blanched.

He thought that—

Oh. Oh, Anakin.

Beside Padmé on the floor, Rabé sucked in a breath. She composed herself and when she finally did speak, the handmaiden's words were quiet, determinedly constrained.

"I think I know what happened." Her words were slow and considering, and her voice sad. "I was undressing him to redress his bandages. Since it's been the length of time the doctor recommended," she said, gesturing to the tunic and undershirt on the armchair.

Then, a hint of pleading uncertainty crept into her words as Rabé continued.

"He became upset, when Sabé informed us she was going to fetch you to spend the evening here with us," she said. "Your Highness, he doesn't want you to see…"

Padmé nodded slowly to show she understood and made herself slowly breathe in, then exhale. See the marks on him. See where old masters dared to whip or punch or kick or touch a human being like he was a piece of property. Like he wasn't a person, wasn't Anakin.

Padmé felt tears threatening to slip, and forced herself to close her eyes and breathe deeply. In and out. In and out.

Anakin was hurting and scared and thought that she didn't want to see him because of something as shallow as marks on his skin. He was the child in this situation, and for all Padmé knew she was young for her species she was the ruler here, queen of the Naboo. She'd been elected to keep her head and do what was best for her people, and from the bottom of her heart she now considered Anakin to be one of her people. He didn't need to be faced with her crying like an ordinary teenager in the throes of his own distress. It was her responsibility to him to be the collected adult.

Once she'd fought back her tears and done enough deep breathing to speak calmly, in the regal voice of Amidala, Padmé spoke. She kept her eyes closed, because Anakin had requested he not see her, and even if that request was based in an assumption that couldn't be more wrong Padmé would honor it.

Because Anakin had asked it of her.

"Ani," she said softly. "Ani, I know about what the doctor saw during your examination. I know you were treated…horribly on Tatooine, but I don't care about what your body looks like. I don't care about the marks."

She heard a shaky inhale, and dared to open her eyes at the ensuing silence. Anakin was looking at her, his gaze more focused now and eyes still watery. His expression was full of pain, haunted with grief and the beginnings of hope.

"You—you. I'm," he babbled, sobbing between words, unable to properly catch his breath. He was nearly hyperventilating.

"…Me," Padmé echoed softly, shifting on the floor to be sitting closer to his level. "Can I please keep talking to you like this? I'm Padmé. I'm your friend, Ani."

He let out another warbling cry.

"You don' deserve—" he tried; his voice was so shaky the words were hardly recognizable. "Y-You shouldn't have't—I-I'm not. I, I." He sobbed.

"I'm sorry for upsetting you," Padmé said. "I didn't mean to interrupt at an inappropriate time, or scare you…I came because I wanted to spend the evening with you. All I want—all we want is for you to recover and be safe."

He stared at her, hiccuping sobs, and eventually nodded, lifting her spirits slightly. Enough for Padmé to cautiously continue: "Will you let Rabé and I help you with your bandages, Ani?"

Anakin hesitated. He gave her a long, searching look, reddened eyes blinking several times as more tears rolled down his cheeks.

"I d-don't want to be any trouble," he whispered.

"You are no trouble," Padmé said firmly. "I would do the same thing for any of my handmaidens, or for Knight Obi-Wan, or my people. You helped save us all from the Trade Federation, Ani, remember? I hate that you were hurt by anyone, and I want to do everything in my power to help you." She tried for a gentle smile. "That's why I asked you and your Knight Master to come live here. With me."

Anakin bit his lip and looked at her, sniffling. Padmé lowered her voice, and deliberately softened her expression enough so he'd be able to see it in spite of the makeup on her face.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't mean it," she promised. "Will you let me help? I won't think any less of you no matter what. I swear it."

He shifted in front of her, uncertain, his face twisting painfully.

Then—Padmé wasn't quite sure who reached out first, him or her. But all of a sudden the two of them were holding each other: Anakin a quivering, crying bundle cradled close to her and sobbing heavily into her gown, tangled in her arms, and she in his. She tightened her hold protectively and then forced herself to relax it, not wanting to hurt him.

"It's all right," Padmé told him, stroking a hand down his bare back and hoping he didn't notice the way her own body was shaking too. Padmé blinked back more tears for Anakin's sake, at the feeling of too-scarred and broken skin beneath her hands. He was nine, but he felt so much smaller in her arms.

"I'm so sorry, Padmé," Anakin sobbed. He clung to her like he was afraid he was going to die if they separated. "I'm so, so sorry–!"

"It's all right," she repeated with finality, cradling the back of his head with her other hand. It would be all right. It would. Padmé had to believe that.