Videtur: Welcome to a co-story written between me and my dear friend, Darth Ruinous! I begged and pleaded until DR agreed to write a Palpatine/OC story with me. The original character's PoV is my work, and Palpatine's is DR's. Please enjoy, and leave a review! Let us know what you think! *cue shameless puppy eyes*
Chapter One: Surprise, Surprise!
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"You did what?!" Namita might have said much more, but her father abruptly stood from his chair and stalked toward her, eyes flaring. She clamped her jaw shut and backed down immediately, but her submission came far too late.
Kwilaan Malik's eyebrows twisted and furrowed above his deep set green eyes, eyes that he shared with his daughter. He stood over her chair and glared down. "You might show a little gratitude, you know. I've gone to a great deal of trouble to arrange this for you."
The thought sparked her rebellion once more, and clenching her hands around the fine wood, she demanded, "For me? When I wasn't even consulted?" Even then, she didn't dare to meet his eyes as she spoke.
Malik rumbled an unpleasant sound. "You weren't consulted precisely because I knew you would react this way. You don't know what's best for you, my daughter."
"What I don't know is him," Namita studied the gleaming white tiles of the floor, but they stubbornly refused to help her. She finally glanced back up in the tense silence and met her father's gaze. "I don't know him, Father, and from what little I've heard, I don't want to know him."
"His record is spotless, Nami," her mother lifted her slender, perfect hands helplessly from where she sat at the other end of the long table. One of the servants approached, confused, and she waved him off. "Not you. He hails from one of the oldest, most established noble families of Naboo. Why, he might even be King, someday, if the gods favor him."
"I don't want a king," Namita started and then bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood and stop the angry words from following. "I want someone that I can get to know on my own terms, in my own way." She looked to her beautiful mother, pleading with her eyes.
Charis only laughed, a bell-like sound that Namita normally loved, but now she loathed it. "Arranged marriages are nothing new, Nami. Your father and I met through our parents, and it turned out very well. You'll get to know him in time, but you must be patient."
The young woman dropped her gaze to the food on her plate and stared at the slices of shurra fruit neatly arranged and drizzled with a condensed blossom wine dressing. She could barely see them for the wet sheen that was forming under her lids. The fire drained from her, the exhaustion pouring into her veins and leaving her boneless. "Will you please reconsider? I'll give up my art. I'll go into music, Father, or, or engineering! I'll even stop writing to Master Swani –"
He shook his head, cutting her off, and returned to his chair, slumping into it as though he had caught her sudden lethargy. His frown smoothed into a studiously blank expression. "No, no, it's much too late for that. The deal has been made, Nami. We must honor our word."
I'm not the one who gave it. Namita lifted her head toward him in one last desperate grasp for her freedom. "And what about him? Does he even want to be saddled with someone like me, or is he in the dark about this as much as I was?"
"Ars Veruna has assured me that everything is taken care of on that front," her father said, the severe wrinkles at the edges of his mouth softening with faint affection. "Besides, he'll be lucky if he realizes what an arrangement he's getting. Our family is not without its noble history. This match could make us great again."
Namita felt the beginning of harsh tears in the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them back furiously. This isn't fair, but then life's not fair, is it? What have you done to me, Father? But she did not know what else could be done. He always got his way.
Suddenly, she could not stand the gleaming pity in her mother's eyes or her father's solemn silence, and she pushed back her chair and stood, the sound scraping loudly in the long room. "Excuse me…" she whispered and fled, her long gown billowing out behind her.
When she reached her room on the second floor, she dashed aside the painting on her bed and collapsed onto it with a sharp sob. "I won't do it!" she snarled at the row of sculptures aligned on the far wall, but she knew she lied, because the minute her father stood before her, she would fold to his wishes just like she always did. You're twenty-eight years old, and you live under your father's roof, almost as penniless as the day you were born. Because of that, her arguments with her father carried no weight when he could simply turn her away and prove her own folly to her.
"There is no place for a modern artist on Naboo. You know our people appreciate the classic forms," he told her once, nearly seven years ago when she had been a bright and enterprising university student. However, too easily swayed by the carefree spirits of her artist friends, she pursued her life passions only to find at the end that all of her friends had substantial inheritances to rely on in tough times. She had her parents, and they took her back. I should be grateful, she thought rubbing her hand over her eyes.
Speak of the gods, and they would appear, and she heard her mother tapping gently at her door. "Come in," she said and wiped at the tears on her sharp cheekbones.
Charis Malik moved graciously, no matter where she went. Her back stately and straight, she drifted to the side of the bed and perched along the edge like a delicate bird. Her long fingers stretched out and stroked along the dark brown hair of her daughter. "My dear, we know you are upset by this news. If only we could have told you some other way, but you needed to know."
"Mother," she whimpered and reached out, and Charis gathered her into her arms with a soft and soothing cluck. "I don't understand," Namita sniffed into the warm embrace. "I've not even met him before."
"Shhh, darling girl," Charis said. "You know why. Your father is determined to advance in this next election round. Ars Veruna has offered him that path. And you will have a chance to meet him before the marriage. Veruna has temporarily recalled him from Coruscant."
If her mother was trying to comfort her, it was not working. Namita pulled away. "How am I supposed to just accept this, Mother? I've lived my whole life free, and now I'm to be joined to a man I've never met?"
"Perhaps we were too indulgent with you," Charis sighed. She noticed the painting on the floor and reached down and picked it up, soothing one of the wrinkled edges with an absent gesture. "You were always so bold, so free. Your father and I liked that about you, but we didn't realize what it might do to your future chances."
"A husband is not the end-all of life, Mother," she protested.
Charis grinned without humor. "And neither is a career as a modern artist, Nami. Whether you believe us or not, this will help you. We won't always be here to provide for you, you know. Our house is impoverished of monetary value."
The thought of her parents gone proved too much to bear, and she shook her head. "I can make it on my own. I just need the chance…"
"It's done, my dear. Your father's mind is quite made up." Namita watched her mother rise from the bed and move to the door. She paused in the frame, the light from the hall leaving her in a cold silhouette. Namita shivered when Charis took a deep breath. "You'll make it, Namita. We all have. It's a matter of perspective. Please try to find some before your father loses his patience."
Namita nodded, perfectly miserable, and Charis disappeared into the hallway.
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The antique and priceless statue crashed to the floor with a push of his mind, and he indulged in a sharp snarl of displeasure, rending it into a dozen more pieces with the Force before his ire cooled enough to gather his thoughts. The honorable Senator Palpatine had barricaded himself deep within his apartment in Theed upon learning of this unexpected development. Ars Veruna, the greedy simpleton, had seen fit to contact Palpatine and recall him from Coruscant for an "important decision." He soon discovered that the decision had already been made. Arriving expecting some sort of political maneuver, Palpatine found himself speechless when the true motive became clear.
A wife… a wife? How in all of Korriban? He kicked the broken statue with savage force and watched the chunks spin down the long hallway into the shadows of the bedroom beyond. This simply would not do. He paced after the littered pieces, the lights of the apartment flickering on as they registered his presence. The Maliks were so far beneath his notice, he barely knew of them. What possessed Veruna to commit to such a mad scheme without first consulting Naboo's senator? Was this Veruna's ill-advised attempt to put him in his place?
The com clenched in his left hand sounded a low beep, and he activated it. The long and pale face of Magister Hego Damask swam into focus. Palpatine had not seen him in person since a month after the assassination attempt four years ago, and he looked little better by holo, his face drawn and narrower than ever, breathing mask bulky and obtrusive over his jaw and mouth. "Master…" Palpatine hissed. "We have a situation here."
The Muun's gaze wandered over the face of his apprentice. Finally, the transpirator clicked into action, emitting a series of tones, and what was left of his voice rumbled over the com's transmission. "I was deep in my research, Lord Sidious. I trust you have a good reason for contacting me."
Palpatine pushed away his irritation with ruthless self-control. "I think it merits your attention. It certainly got mine. Veruna did something very foolish."
"Veruna?" Plagueis's sunken eyes widened with faint surprise. Faked or not, Palpatine did not bother to guess.
"Yes, he's evidently gotten impatient with our promises and is angling to create his own, independent support. He's reached out to the Malik family."
Plagueis titled his long head. "Malik?"
"One of the lesser noble families, Master. Enough so that I did not foresee any importance." He would never assume again with the lowlifes of Naboo. "Veruna feels that Malik's support will bring over two dozen of the lesser nobles to his side in the coming election. I find it difficult to believe that, but he was quite smug on that front."
"Too smug," Plagueis inferred across subspace. "He is sending us another message."
Palpatine nodded. "I look forward to the day when he realizes just who is in control here."
"That day is not yet arrived," Plagueis warned softly. "Be mindful, Lord Sidious, and do not let your anger distract you from your purpose."
Palpatine ducked his head. "Of course, I apologize. Regardless, Veruna has demanded that, in return for this paltry political support, I am to marry the eldest daughter of the Maliks. Master, that's simply not possible! Our work will not permit –" he stopped when Plagueis raised a hand into view.
"Marry? Truly…" the Muun mused quietly, barely coming through on the transmission. Palpatine felt the Force tremble in reply to silent query. He waited until Plagueis spoke again. "This is unexpected but not impossible, my apprentice."
Are you – Palpatine buried the errant, irreverent thought deep and said instead, slowly, calmly, drawing the false veneer effortlessly close, "I do not understand. The delicate nature of our situation makes domestic ties a nuisance at best, a compromising danger at worst. If I am married, my life will become more public than it already is."
Plagueis continued as if Palpatine had agreed with him. "Which may benefit us in the long run. A wife will lend your public persona a softer side, Lord Sidious, winning the hearts of the more sentimental fools among us."
"But my traveling, my missions…" Palpatine protested.
"Are growing fewer and fewer with each passing year, as you insinuate yourself into the upper levels of the Senate," Plagueis nodded. "Your training ground lies in the Senate chambers now, Lord Sidious, not on the distant worlds of Sith legend as it did when you were Ambassador. In fact, she may even prove useful in the field of diplomacy. Often, spouses are the power behind other beings. She may provide you with additional insight."
Did Plagueis even now seek to rein in his apprentice, to prevent him from furthering his knowledge in the ways of the ancient Sith masters? Palpatine wondered but kept his opinions to himself. "And she may interfere. My privacy will be greatly limited in this, Master."
"Then you will have to improvise," Plagueis said. "And if she becomes too troublesome, then she will merely become a tragedy that only increases sympathy for you in the Senate."
"A heartbroken but determined widower," Palpatine allowed slowly. "It would work…"
"Then I see no reason not to let Veruna continue believing that he is in charge," Plagueis turned and gestured toward something just outside the holo's frame of reference. "Put it there, please." He looked back at Palpatine. "He is not yet useless to us. Consequently, I extend my congratulations on your approaching nuptials, Senator Palpatine. I regret that I will not be able to attend in person."
"I'll keep you apprised," Palpatine promised and watched as the transmission faded away. Anger still festered in his heart, creating a slow burn that galled him, but the issue was moot, anyway. Plagueis would not be open to further discussion.
His thoughts wandered briefly to the unknown factor, the woman herself. Would she be intelligent or insipid? Ambitious or withdrawn? Then he decided, it really did not matter as long as she stayed out of his way. For woe to her if she did otherwise. He straightened his mussed tunic and turned back to the main living quarters with one last, indulgent, vengeful kick at the shattered statue. He might as well find out what he could before he met his future bride.
Force…
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DarthRuinous: Well, my friend has me conspiring on a Palpatine/OC story at last. I daresay this could be quite an adventure. The story is set in 48 BBY, two years before Veruna becomes King and when Palpatine is a relatively fresh senator and 34 years old. Since I'm the one in charge of editing, apologies for any typos or mistakes found within.