The next few days were filled with the clean up of Grievous' galactic mess; one task, in several, was the relocation of the Nubians from Sullust. Anakin was under no obligation to go, and was fully aware of the fact, but thought it would be better if the women, after so much trauma, saw a face they could recognize. That was what he told Windu, anyway.

As Anakin had instructed them, the Nubians had made it to the Republic embassy, helped by those who had heard of their planet's destruction and were sympathetic. He found them in the embassy apartments, clean and well-fed but still anxious. They were obviously relieved at the sight of him, knowing that something might actually get done now.

The motherless boy was still with them, but he looked much less lost now. He smiled shyly at Anakin when their eyes met, finger lodged firmly in his mouth.

Anakin found the woman to whom he had given the boy and asked, "Does he have any relatives he could live with?"

She shook her head. Her voice had in it the faint Nubian lilt that made the words sound almost musical. "His mother was a friend of mine," she said, "and I never heard her mention any kin."

Anakin felt disappointed. He didn't want to send this child to an orphanage, where his future would be likely unhappy and never certain.

"Excuse me, Master Jedi—" The woman, talking at his peripheral, gave a vague little half-curtsy, not knowing what courtesy to afford a Jedi. Anakin, with an effort, gave her his attention. "Nenno—the boy—he's only a bit younger than my own daughter, and they get along well. If he has no home…perhaps I could take him? I swear to you I'd raise him as if he were my own son."

Anakin, surprised at her generous offer, felt no deceit or selfishness in her words. There was only simple, blank earnestness, as he had come to expect from most Nubians. Theirs had been a beautiful race—the last victim of Grievous' rampage.

"Yes, that would be acceptable." He found himself taken aback, searching for words. "That's very…very kind of you."

Her eyes smiled. "I only do my duty, sir, and what I think is right."

"What about you? Do you have anyone you can stay with, any money?"

"We'll manage. I have family on Alderaan."

"Then I'll see you get there safely," said Anakin.

Though it took some time, he eventually managed to speak with the rest of the refugees. Most had family on some planet or another that they planned to stay with, and one fortunate woman's husband had been off-planet on business during the explosion, and would be joining her here on Sullust soon.

Some women were going as far as Muunilist, and these Anakin felt obliged to escort. He was uncomfortable with the idea of shoving them into a transport and leaving them to fend for themselves. However, a comm from Windu interrupted his altruistic plans.

"The Chancellor has requested your presence back on Coruscant immediately."

"Why?" asked Anakin, immediately alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Quite the opposite, in fact. She has decided that what the Republic needs now is a formal announcement of peace. That means a ceremony." In Windu's next words Anakin could hear the tactfully restrained disapproval of this idea. "She'll be honoring all of the Jedi who were taken hostages, myself included—but especially you."

Anakin searched for an excuse. "But I have to stay here, to help."

"There's nothing there that needs your immediate attention anymore—and besides, Anakin, this is important."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes."

So Anakin flew back to Coruscant, to the Jedi Temple. Grievous's blockade having fallen after his death, it was an easy matter. Drin was waiting for him.

"Did you hear about the ceremony?" Drin asked him as soon as they saw each other. His excitement was obvious. "Chancellor Amidala herself is going to be commending us!"

Anakin, having spent more hours than he could count with Amidala, had forgotten that this was not a common experience. If he thought way back to his days as a Padawan, he could vaguely remember the excitement he had felt at meeting the leader of the free universe.

"Yeah, I heard," he said, trying—for Drin's sake—to infuse some enthusiasm into his voice. "So when is this thing, anyway?"

Drin looked at him. "It—it's today. We're actually supposed to be leaving just as soon as the Masters are ready. Didn't Master Windu tell you?"

"Oh." On Sullust, when Anakin had left, the sun had only just begun to set, which meant that Anakin's biological clock was way past its bedtime. He had been hoping for a day or two to recover from—from everything. Apparently that was not to be offered.

"Come on," said Drin, a giant grin still decorating his face. "I want to hurry."

The ceremony was not held in the Senate Chamber, as Anakin had expected. (Privately, he held a belief that Amidala left that place only once every few years.) Instead, it was at a place Anakin had never been before, the home of a Rodian diplomat who had volunteered his dwelling for this occasion. Anakin soon figured out why they had chosen this location, rather than a public place; attached to this house, overlooking kilometers of empty space (a rare thing in Coruscant, and considered a beautiful view) was a wide balcony.

The number of sentients here took Anakin's breath away. The crowd stretched as far as the eye could see, thousands of Coruscantians who only wanted to see their saviors. The thought that this was only a fraction of Coruscant's population was enough to make his head spin. They were chattering amongst themselves, excited, as Amidala stepped out onto the balcony, followed by an aide carrying a sizeable wooden box in his arms. The Jedi followed shortly, standing in a line. Anakin was at the far right, next to Windu.

Even before Amidala opened her mouth to speak, five cam-droids had zoomed up to her, recording her every move. Anakin knew that this event would be great press fodder; what he didn't know was that it was being broadcast, live, all over Coruscant.

"Citizens of the Republic!" cried Amidala joyfully, and the crowd cheered, sending up momentous noise. She waited a moment for them to calm, and then began her speech.

"Citizens: look at the ground on which you stand. It belongs still to the Republic, to freedom and to democracy! Look at your wrists—there are no chains there! Were it not for a brave few…"

At that very moment, another gray cam-droid zoomed up from the crowd and perched itself on the balcony railing, and then—pointed itself at Anakin's face. At first he couldn't believe it—the stupid thing was deliberately ignoring the Chancellor and recording him. Who, when the Supreme Chancellor was making a speech which would be remembered for years, would bother recording a nameless Jedi?

He shot it a glare. It didn't budge—hardly surprising. Its owner was probably having a laugh right now. Anakin was tempted to twitch a finger and sent the thing toppling from its perch, but decided against it. No one could prove it hadn't been an accident, but still, better not.

He tried to refocus his attention on Amidala's speech. She was describing now the battle against the clones on the station, and this was a part Anakin wanted to hear, having been absent from that fight. He rallied his self-control and ignored the droid.

"But victory rarely comes without a price. It is my deepest regret to say that Jedi Knight Ka'ela Brun was killed in the ensuing battle. She gave her life, but every one of these Jedi would have done the same if necessary, to protect—"

What the kriff? Suddenly there was another droid sitting next to the first. Both of them stared, unblinking, at the daunted Jedi before them, unfazed by his annoyance.

Now Amidala had finished her speech. The aide came forward and opened his box, revealing a glittering array of golden medals hung from purple ribbons. In turn she moved toward each Jedi, starting at the end opposite Anakin, and the respective Jedi bowed his or her head as she placed the medal around their neck. The crowd applauded enthusiastically.

When she got to Anakin, she stopped.

The enormous crowd beneath her hushed; her dark blue robes of state swirled around her feet as she turned to face them. Bewildered, Anakin looked over at his Master, expecting to see the same confusion in his face, but Windu was smiling.

Didn't I tell you? said the Master. Your fight was greater than ours.

"Even as Nubians and Jedi battled side by side," said Amidala, "Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One of the Force, was locked in a struggle with General Grievous himself."

The people below her gasped.

"Alone, Master Skywalker fought against Grievous with all of his might, strengthened with righteous anger. He had only one blade, while Grievous had four, but still he held the advantage, until Grievous destroyed Master Skywalker's weapon and blinded him."

Two thoughts flashed, almost simultaneously, through Anakin's mind.

My lightsaber. I miss it. I should make a new one. and

Alone? No, I wasn't alone. I had Obi-Wan.

Amidala had her audience's full attention now. Her every word rang in the silence as she cried, "But even without his sight, he fought on against Grievous. Bewildered, the General tried repeatedly to strike down his enemy, but his evil was useless against the might of the Force that lived in its Chosen One! In the end…" she paused for effect "…there could only be one outcome."

Anakin expected polite applause once more, but utter silence covered the air. Slowly, Amidala took the last medallion from her aide and turned to Anakin. Her dark eyes met his with words pouring out of them.

"I owe you everything," she said, so quietly that no one else could hear. The heavy gold weight of the medal landed on his chest. And then—in a gesture so swift that Anakin knew it was unrehearsed—she fell to her knees before him.

As though someone had flipped a switch, suddenly there was sound everywhere, shouts and cheers and the sound of a million hands applauding, and there was something different in that sound from all of the other times the crowd had reacted. The story was better than anything they had seen in the holo-vids, but their cheers went so much deeper than that.

Every last sentient being in that field knew and believed that without this man standing before them, the universe as they knew it would have changed. If Grievous had suddenly, magically appeared at that moment, Anakin would not have had to lay a finger on him before he died. Anakin belonged to Coruscant; he had saved them, and they loved him for it, adopting him and shielding him.

It seemed as though the noise would never die, that he would stay caught in this moment forever, feeding solely on the adoration of those he had sworn to defend. But Windu was motioning at him with an odd, scooping gesture, and Anakin realized suddenly that Amidala was still on her knees. Bending down, he helped her up, and gradually the applause died away.

Then there was nothing to do but go home.

It felt like the end, but it was only two days later that Amidala contacted Anakin once again with a favor to ask.

"I've been consulting with my advisors," she said, her holo-image flickering, "about the fate of Grievous' weapon. It isn't easily disposed of, given its size. But eventually we decided that a series of set detonations should destroy it."

"That sounds like the best course of action to me," agreed Anakin, who was sitting on the end of his sleep couch with one boot in his hand and the other one halfway across the room. He couldn't reach for it without looking rude, and he didn't understand what this had to do with him.

"I've already spoken with one of Coruscant's top demolition experts, and he's assured me that he and his men won't have a problem with it. But I feel I should be there, to see it destroyed for myself. And…" She almost sounded shy. "I was hoping you would come with me, Master Skywalker. I need a Jedi to come with me, for protection, and to help me ensure that it gets done, and you have been on the station before. I thought…"

She trailed off vaguely; it was a moment before Anakin realized he was supposed to answer.

"Of course, milady," he said. "Of course I'll come. Just tell me when."

"Tomorrow," she told him, a smile flitting across her face, "at noon, Coruscant time. Can you meet me there?"

Anakin nodded. "I'll see you then, Chancellor," he said, inclining his head. He couldn't be sure, but through the fuzzy blue lines he thought he saw her blush.

The next day found Anakin asleep in his starfighter. He was dreaming: not unusual for any human, but Anakin found it comforting that the nightmare no longer awaited him when he slept. There were no visions of Naboo's destruction anymore, just the simple nonsense that most people experienced.

The sound of gentle beeping broke him out of sleep. Anakin looked around, groggy, before remembering where he was and what the beeping meant. Reaching out, he pulled himself out of hyperspace, and Grievous' weapon shot into being before him. This time, though, there was a Republic cruiser next to it, hovering like a guard. Anakin brought his fighter up beside it and within moments had received permission to board.

"Master Skywalker!" said Amidala warmly, coming up to greet him. "I'm so glad you could come."

"I'm honored that you thought of me, Chancellor," said Anakin, bowing. Privately, he wasn't surprised at all.

Amidala's cumbersome robes of state were gone, and in their place hung a light sheath of silk, light blue. Anakin wondered whether her dismissal of formal dress was common for her when meeting privately with someone; it seemed out of character for her. Her hair was twisted loosely at the back of her head, of which she gave Anakin a full view while leading him to the cockpit. It was empty except for them.

"The pilot is below deck," said Amidala. "I gave him a few hours off."

Anakin smiled. "You read my thoughts, answering a question before I asked it," he said. "Perhaps you should be the Jedi of the two of us."

It was a silly thing to say, not deserving of a response, but Amidala's head ducked, and Anakin could have sworn he saw her blush again. Unsure of himself, he moved toward the viewport, through which he could see clearly the battle station below.

"When will the detonation be?" he asked, and to his relief Amidala came to stand beside him, her calm regained.

"The supervisor has been giving me regular updates over the comm channel. I think in half an hour they should be ready."

For a while they simply stood there, side by side, silent. Then he heard Amidala sigh.

"So this is the thing that killed Naboo."

"That," Anakin said, "and Grievous, and Dooku, and Palpatine. Nothing in itself is evil, milady; it is only people that twist it to be so."

"More Jedi wisdom?" asked Amidala, the corner of her mouth turning into a smile. Anakin, unable to find an answer to this, only nodded.

"I feel I owe you an apology long overdue," Amidala said after a moment. "For when you exposed Palpatine for what he was. I recall being…less than accepting toward you, and your accusations at the time."

"It's not necessary, Chancellor," Anakin reassured her.

"This is my fault," Amidala whispered, as though she hadn't heard him, and Anakin knew she was thinking of her loved ones on Naboo, gone forever. "Was I so blind, unable to see what was in front of me for all those years?"

"The Sith are masters of deception," Anakin said, wanting to make her feel better. "If they hide something, you cannot see it even if it is right in front of you."

"Perhaps you're right," she murmured. "But I was willing to be blinded. I wanted to see nothing but goodness in him. I—" Amidala hesitated, wavering on the brink of saying something. "I have often wished that—that I were able to wield the Force. I have spent my whole life searching for truth and justice, but find them always hidden behind greed and lies and selfishness. The Jedi—it seems to me that they have a clearer path toward what is right."

From the corner of his eye he looked at over her, saw her eyes firmly fixed upon the weapon.

"Chancellor, may I ask you something?"

She turned surprised eyes on him, but behind the surprise Anakin thought she looked pleased. "Of course. Anything."

"How did you get into politics? I know you're a few years older than I, but even so, you began very young. It—" He searched for a way to complete the sentence without sounding condescending or otherwise disapproving. "It seems like a harsh life."

Slowly, Amidala nodded. Pondering his question, she slipped into a chair nearby, and Anakin followed suit. "It is harsh," she agreed. "I was only fourteen when I was elected Queen of Naboo. Our leaders have always been young—we believe that the innocence of children allows them to rule without tyrannical temptations or aspirations of power." She smiled wryly. "Of course, there is no quicker way to rob a child of her innocence than to place her in such a situation."

"You are stronger than I would have thought, Chancellor," said Anakin. "I couldn't have survived that. Politics seems futile to me. Nothing is ever decided, nothing is won. You're lucky to get a compromise, and even then someone will cheat you out of it." It occurred to him a second too late that Amidala held all of these things very dearly. "I—I'm sorry," he said, chagrined.

"Don't be," Amidala reassured him. "In some ways, I confess you're right. Politics is a much more delicate and hard-fought game than using a lightsaber to end a debate. When everyone wants something different, it's very hard to get your own way."

"It's not something I could do," Anakin admitted. "I've found people listen to you better if you've got a weapon at their throat."

For the first time, Amidala smiled and showed her teeth. "I know," she said. "Perhaps you thought I forgot, Master Skywalker, but I remember when we found you on Tatooine, when you were just Ani. You always did speak with your actions, even then."

Embarrassed, Anakin looked down. "It's a hard habit to break. I should—"

Amidala gasped. "Oh, I didn't mean—no! I admire that in you! And I could never forget that you were the one who saved my homeworld from the Trade Federation."

"Yes…" Anakin hesitated. "I'm just sorry that I couldn't save it again."

A wave of sorrow rose behind her eyes, and Anakin couldn't restrain a question. "Milady, are you—all right?"

She frowned, as though thinking very hard. "I am," she said at last, "but…it is a very hard thing, to know that your homeworld is gone, everyone that you grew up with and loved."

"I understand."

Amidala looked at him. "Do you ever miss your mother still?" she asked him.

"Yes," said Anakin, thinking also of a new loss, fresh in his heart and still bleeding.

"Then you understand how I feel."

"Yes," said Anakin again. "It feels like—like a part of your heart is missing. Like, even if you grow to love someone or something again, you can never give them all of yourself. Like you're walking around broken inside, and no one can tell the difference by looking at you."

Now it was Amidala's turn to look at him in wonder and breathe the word, "Yes. Yes; and it is so lonely."

There, Anakin shrugged. "You, Chancellor—I could understand your loneliness. Grievous took your family and your home from you. But Jedi are used to standing alone."

Her lips parted, bright red, as Amidala leaned forward. "But don't you ever feel lonely, Anakin?" she asked him. "Don't even Jedi wish sometimes for a shoulder to share their burdens, and a sympathetic ear?"

Something in her tone made Anakin's senses jump, quivering, to attention. There was something, something that he could feel in the Force but didn't quite understand, and that unnerved him. When he finally opened his mouth to answer, he was interrupted by a voice crackling over the comm.

"Your Excellency, everything is in place," said the demolitions supervisor. "I've already ensured that every last one of my men is safely off that thing, but could you have the Jedi double-check?"

Anakin could sense Amidala's frustration at being interrupted, but it didn't show in her manner at all as she smiled at him and asked, "You don't mind, do you?"

"Oh—no, of course not." Standing, Anakin moved toward the window. The whole exchange had confused him, something he wasn't used to, but practiced as he was, it took him only a few short seconds to forget what had happened, where he was, and send all of himself down to Grievous' weapon.

"There's no life there," Anakin said after a moment, jerking his thoughts back into the Republic cruiser. "It's safe to blow."

"Whenever you're ready," said Amidala over the comm.

There were a few seconds then in which both Anakin and Amidala thought that the message hadn't been heard; perhaps it should be repeated. Then without warning the weapon exploded in a burst of fire and light and sound, and the cruiser, caught in the shock waves of the detonation, gave a great lurch, feeling precariously close to tipping over.

Amidala shrieked, and the lights around them flickered. Anakin's feet firmly planted, he grabbed for her a second before she lost her balance and fell to the steeply-slanted floor. He could hear the high-pitched ping! noises as hundreds of pieces of shrapnel bombarded the ship, and instinctively held Amidala against him tighter.

His ears were ringing in a very distracting manner; it was a moment before he realized that the ship had righted itself and the shrapnel noises had stopped. And there was a voice coming over the comm, a man's voice, panicked.

"Chancellor, are you all right? Please come in!"

"She's fine," Anakin answered loudly, at the same time that Amidala called, "I'm okay!"

An audible sigh of relief could be heard through the channel. "Oh thank the Force," said the man. "Chancellor, I'm so sorry—I did all the calculations, I thought you would be safe at that distance! There must have been some explosives we didn't know about onboard that thing. I'm so sorry, I'll never forgive myself if you're hurt—"

"I'm all right," Amidala said again. "It was an honest mistake."

Stammering apologies, the supervisor left the comm channel. Anakin was still breathing heavily; his instincts had been honed to such a fine point over the years that anything sudden or out of the ordinary put him in battle mode, like a cat intuitively arching its back and flaring its fur. He realized suddenly that he was still holding Amidala tightly in his arms.

Looking down at her he opened his mouth to apologize. Then his gaze caught hers. Amidala said nothing; her cheeks were flushed pink, and her eyes were bright. A strand of hair that had fallen out of place now curved delicately around her ear. In an instant Anakin understood why she had asked him to come here today.

With the coolness of a professional he let go of her waist. "I have other duties at the Temple, milady," he said, straightening. "May the Force be with you." His cloak flapped around his ankles as he turned and walked away from her. He only got halfway to the airlock before a hand on his arm and a voice stopped him.

"Anakin, please—!"

It was the desperation in her voice that gave him pause, an urgency that he could feel through the Force as well as hear. Anakin turned to see her standing before him.

"Don't go. Please don't go," she said, looking up at him. In her gaze Anakin could see everything she wanted to tell him, everything she wanted to ask. Compassion overwhelmed him; the loneliness he felt within her was a deep ache. Her slight frame had not been made to bear the burden now upon it, and she had no one—no one—to hold her when she cried.

"The Jedi are called to higher things," Anakin said softly. "What you want from me, I cannot give. Padmé—" He had never called her by her first name before. "You are the most courageous woman I have ever met. You have things in you that make me believe that goodness and beauty have some hope in this universe. And when your troubles grow too great for you to bear—because I know that they do—I hope that you will come to me, as a friend."

Gently he lifted her hand to his lips. "Milady," he murmured.

Just before he turned to go, he heard her whisper, "Thank you."