A/N: In case this helps anyone imagine it, the visual inspiration for Vox Montoa is British Colombia/American Pacific Northwest meets California's Sequia National Park (where the trees with trunks wide enough to drive through are).

I had a blast chronicling this date, and I hope you enjoy. Thank you to those who continuously knock me over with their reviews.

6 HRS POST-POSTING A/N: Somehow, an early version of Anakin and Padmé's "arrival & landing segment" got loaded instead of the final version. A lot of dialogue, descriptions, and important moments were missing. If you read this chapter in the first 6 hours after it went up, I certainly recommend rereading that bit (the discrepancies are contained within those horizontal bars). Apologies, still not sure how this happened.

Chapter 54. Vox Montoa, Part Two

He looked at me like I was the stars
when all I'd ever felt like
was the dark nothingness between them.
― Ranata Suzuki

The Jedi Council waited respectfully so he could walk down the ship's ramp before them.

Technically, the boots that met the plaza floor first were those of his new guard. New to him— not new to the position. Each of these stone-faced men was already tall, but the black plumes jetting out from their helmets added to their imposing frames. Neither the movement of their uniformed march nor the innocent wind could bend the stricken feathers. The uneducated eye would think these virile men in their metallic armor were the more formidable unit, in stark contrast to the variably aged Jedi Masters hanging behind in their soft, unassuming robes. Their weapons were on full display. This was about presentation as much as it was about protection. The guards covered as much vertical air as the Neimoidians with their own high hats, yet in their bearing the sentries possessed none of the defeat or cowardliness.

He didn't look at the failed oppressors when he strolled right past them; there wasn't even rudimentary acknowledgment of their existence. Perhaps that should have been a sign, but clues are more difficult to spot when you aren't aware you should be looking for them. He was nothing but grins and celebration. Widely puffed sleeves swung left to right as he traveled forward. This was when he still infused his wardrobe with welcoming blues and browns in the fashion of Naboo's wealthiest— carryovers from decades spent representing them. Long fabrics in charcoal, black, and blood red came later.

I observed from afar as he cordially greeted Obi-Wan first. The mild distance and the breeze prevented a clear listening, but I heard him say something about bravery. Then his eyes shifted to the blond-haired boy standing at the Jedi's hip. No amount of space between me and the trio could filter the beaming smile which spread till maxed, nor could I miss the way his eyes went from polite automation to enthralled.

Then I watched— as a pleased spectator to this moment, and as a friend— when the new leader of the Galactic Republic placed his hand on Ani's shoulder. The boy was just as worthy of adoration and admiration as anyone, but I still recognized what a special moment this was. Though he was so much more than his background, Ani was a former slave from the Outer Rim, only recently indoctrinated into our Republic's fold. The Supreme Chancellor— the most powerful figure in the galaxy; a demon who knew exactly what he was doing— was placing a hand of friendship and blessing on the very tunic Ani had worn during his slavery.

Claiming him. Publicly claiming him in front of all of us— the Jedi Council, Obi-Wan, and although I was the unexpected factor no one saw coming at the time, he even claimed Anakin right in front of me.

None of us realized what we had just witnessed. When we felt the breeze snake through our ranks, we never suspected it was Fate infiltrating the show. Brushing up against our shoulders. Whispering condolences behind our ears. I remember the weight of my black gown, donned for mourning. I remember the relief I felt at his victory, though Naboo had already secured hers without it. I remember the paleness of his hand as it briefly rested next to the boy's tan neck. A bloodless beast touching the sun god heir.

Still grinning, he paraded next towards my group, success at his public and private triumphs electrifying his eyes. Congratulations were exchanged between us like tokens. He smiled at me, and he spoke pretty words for "peace" and "prosperity."

I smiled back and welcomed him inside the palace. Later that evening, we stood next to each other as Qui-Gon Jinn burned.

If I'd known then what I know now, I would have run forward while Palpatine was still disembarking from the ship, put my body between him and Ani in order to shield the boy, and screamed.

Our chrome ship sliced through gray clouds like a knife cutting mist. I leaned forward in my copilot's seat, as if the marginal increase in proximity as we soared through the atmosphere would help my eyes map the terrain.

After the spectrum of biomes Anakin and I had recently visited, I hadn't known what to expect of Vox Montoa. Swamps? Grasslands? Explosive, boiling geysers stretching to reach the sky? Due to the semi-amphibious nature of the Slythe, I anticipated bodies of water, but I'd ventured to enough planets to know water did not always equate beauty the way it does on Naboo. Yet, as barrier clouds gave way to snow-capped mountains, deep green forest, and tranquil lakes, the enchantment immediately spoke to me. The last time I'd been so instantly charmed by a planet's geography was my first time seeing Alderaan.

Still, I kept my guard up and my surveillance critical. I knew my own planet well; I wasn't about to be naive for another one's sake. Even Naboo has hostile titans lurking beneath her surface.

One of her worst monsters was even born on land… not that I was privy to this knowledge yet.

Anakin and I had decided it was best to find a settlement experiencing the sunset hour upon our arrival. There was no guarantee we were the only tourists in town, and night's blanket would give us an extra layer of stealth. We could have flown directly to a village already able to grant us this nocturnal shield, but, as we knew flying into this foreign world, we were humans— and as such, bound to the natural curiosity which drives our species. Put simply, we arrived early enough before nightfall because we wanted to see Vox Montoa, not just walk on it.

Even Anakin, who had been to this place once before, was in obvious awe as we flew. The valley sat between two aisles of mountain hedges. It was carpeted with trees— massive giants of timber and foliage, which looked like they would tickle the belly of our ship if we'd only sailed low enough. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

I smiled as I looked over at him, my excitement for this idea multiplying. "It's breathtaking."

"Just wait till you smell that air." He inhaled deeply, as if the reinforced glass of the cockpit had suddenly dematerialized. "It almost bests the flowery scent around the palace." At my raised eyebrow, he winked and emphasized, "Almost, Your Highness. Theed's title is secure."

We'd singled out a village while in space, but as Anakin steered us towards it and my eyes further scanned the scene, my lips turned down in mild concern. "I don't see a spaceport."

"There isn't one. The Slythe are welcoming to outsiders if they happen to drop by, but courting them isn't a priority. We just need to find a nice, wide clearing."

"There!" we announced simultaneously, though only I lifted a hand and pointed it northeast to our position. Anakin flew alongside the clearing in a curve, confirming the ground was level and devoid of boulders enough to work. As he completed his circle to come in for the landing, I used the last opportunities of sunlight and our advantage above the treetops to take in the village. It was modest, with wide cabins made of logs. All the dwellings were arranged in a large circle, in the center of which seemed to be a bonfire. I thought I saw a figure walking near one of the buildings but told myself it was impossible— what I observed was much too large.

After we touched down and began the brief process of securing the ship, Anakin was surprisingly fast to his feet. "I'll meet you at the top of the ramp. There's something I need to grab."

Before I could ask him what, he was running towards the back of the cockpit and through its door.

"Threepio?" I turned to the man of metal standing behind a few meters away. "Would a droid of your talents be capable of speaking the language of the Slythe?"

"Fhergughn? Oh, like it was my mother tongue, Senator." He immediately proved this by launching into a low, grumbling speech that sounded like a frog trying to talk with a fly stuck in its throat. But that wasn't why I quickly interrupted him.

"No, remember, you cannot address me as Senator, or mention the name Amidala here. I'm not a Senator tonight. I'm just Padmé."

"Yes, my apologies. I will remember, Miss Padmé."

I vaguely heard his assurance. My focus had already been diverted by the words I myself had said.

I'm not a Senator tonight. I'm just Padmé.

A rush of excitement and freedom I hadn't felt since standing inside of an island hut coursed through my body. I ran my gloved hands down my thighs, as if making sure I wasn't hallucinating the absence of a cumbersome gown. Like a child, I clicked the end of my feet together and heard the satisfying thump— two boots meeting, not high heels. Right on time, this rush had to war with the instinctual urge to never forget I was Senator Amidala. Representative of the Chromwell sector. Voice for trillions. The woman whose mother gave up her dream life in a mountain village so that her daughter may have better opportunities.

"Miss Padmé?"

"I need a moment, Threepio, thank you."

The cockpit went quiet again. My eyes were cast on the gloves. They began at the tips of my fingers and finished above my elbows. I hadn't been on many dates, but I could suspect and hope there would be the holding of hands on this one.

Like a present slowly being unwrapped when one is nervous to know what will be revealed underneath, I pulled the left glove down my arm. I wasn't even meaning to hold my breath, but I realized I had went I let out an exhalation when the material cleared my wrist. The color wasn't back to normal across the skin, but the bruises were better; more faded than they had been just a few hours ago. In dimmer ambiance than the cockpit's bright lighting, they wouldn't even stand out. The removal of the other glove quickly followed. As the right wrist had incurred less pressure from Anakin's mechanical grip on the wall above my head, its color palette was even less noticeable.

I set the discarded pair on the counter. Both droids followed as I rose from my chair and led our way through the ship. When I walked into the bay from which the ramp descended, Anakin was already there, looking far more casual than he had before. He had removed the belt and black tabard, leaving his long-sleeve brown tunic as his topmost outerwear. It was untucked; its hem loosely draped at the top of this thighs. Slung over his right shoulder was the strap of a dark brown satchel. The pouch rested against his hip.

"Hoping to shop for souvenirs?"

Anakin patted the side of his bag. "My lightsaber is in here. I can't display it, but I'm not leaving it behind." Suddenly, his thoughtful focus shifted to Artoo. "Actually, I wonder if there's a way to…" After another pause, he looked back up at me and shook his head. "Never mind." His eyes skimmed my bare arms, but he said nothing. If anything, his expression looked… amused? That was unexpected. "Are you ready?"

I better understood his wry demeanor when he produced a pair of black gloves.

"Where did you find those?"

"Same place where I found this bag— in the maintenance supply bin."

I stepped closer in order to run my fingers over his satchel. It was obvious now that it had been a tool bag of some sort, no doubt quickly emptied after Anakin ran from the cockpit.

"Interesting find," I murmured, my attention truly focused on watching as he donned the gloves. Their thick, rubbery material was meant to protect hands during repairs to the ship, when sparks or dangerous chemicals could easily fly. The finger sleeves were noticeably looser around his skeletal digits than the flesh ones, but anyone who wouldn't know to look for such a detail would never notice it.

"Slythe aren't good at distinguishing humanoid faces. But a golden arm is unusual and memorable." Lines formed when the skin between his brows constricted. "And I've joined the very small club of Jedi who have an arm that looks like this." Back and forth, Ani flexed the fingers into an open palm and a balled fist. His frown shifted and he bit down on his lip. "Feels strange," he mumbled. "The inside of the glove against the sensors…"

I felt a pang of worry as he silently adjusted the fit. His logic was sound. And yet, I couldn't help but wonder how much his strategy of hiding the hand was partnered with insecurity.

Letting that conversation go for the moment, my eyes moved to his left hand. "Do you need to wear both?"

"Wouldn't it look odd if I was only wearing one glove?"

"Wouldn't your date be sad if you touch her, and she feels this…" I ran my thumb over the abrasive, cushioned pad of his palm. "Instead of this…?" I brought my same hand to his cheek and stroked it, letting him feel by my touch all the sensation I wanted to be able to feel from him.

He smiled and immediately began tugging the left glove off. "Can't argue with that."

A white-bellied bird with a wingspan as wide as mine flew over us as we neared the village's border. It let out a lame caw, like a bored town crier tasked with announcing our arrival. Anakin and I had walked through the forest, taking our time to inhale the fresh, delicious air, as well as to mind the fallen branches. The circumference of many of them was as much as a speeder bus on Coruscant. The sun rested behind the green and white mountains quickly after we disembarked, ending a performance for which we'd arrived just in time to see the final bow at curtain's call. Night was cool here, but not cold— which was moderate enough to make Anakin happy— and on the more humid side, which was enough for me for it to feel like home. My date walked on my right side always, specifically so he could grip my hand with his human one. I preferred it to his glove anyways. It was a good thing we didn't feel rushed in making our way, as we had to accommodate the limits of Threepio's joints and Artoo's wheels. No matter the planet, forest floors never seem to be kind to droids.

The village's "border" wasn't really more than a sudden opening in the tree line. To the right, several feet in front of us, was a boulder covered in brown moss. Beyond that was the settlement, its roaring bonfire sending a confetti of embers into the sky. Far at the opposite end of the village was what looked like a beach, which I suspected led into a lake I'd seen from the atmosphere.

It seemed like a sleepy town. I hadn't seen a villager yet, but I could hear the universal hum of community softly emanating from up ahead. However, the cabins themselves, which had appeared normally sized from above, gave me pause as I continued to stare at them from ground-level.

A sixth sense told me my fiancé was watching me closely. He kept stealing looks in rapid succession as we took our first steps out of the forest. "See anything interesting?" he asked, too innocently.

I peered at the houses, blaming the dwindling twilight for what was surely a false approximation.

"Anakin, do giants live here?"

I'd somewhat meant the question as a rhetorical joke, but when he only grinned at me and quipped, "Follow me," with that unmistakable glint in his eye, I started taking renewed stock in my surroundings. As we neared it, I realized the boulder up ahead wasn't one at all— it was a wagon. A massive wagon built from enormous tree limbs, held together in places by rope as thick as my torso. There wasn't even a question of whether I'd be capable of handling such a cart with ease—l wouldn't even be able to reach its parallel steering bars.

More hints as to the size of the natives were gleaned the closer we got to their circle. A forgotten child's doll in the grass that was the size of an actual human child. An ax as long as Anakin resting near a pile of logs. "Oh, dear," Threepio whined as we continued forward. "Perhaps, I should wait for your return on the ship. There are cleaning duties I can attend to—"

"It'll be alright," Anakin interjected, squeezing my hand. "This is where the fun begins."

As the last word left his mouth, a gasp let loose from mine. I stopped in my tracks, forcing Anakin to halt along with me by a yank on his arm.

Two enormous beings, both standing twice as high as Anakin, emerged from a door and began walking towards the bonfire. They moved on two legs and had two arms. Webbed hands swung casually at their sides. Their round heads sat on short necks, and it was difficult to tell for certain due to the distance and encroaching darkness, but it appeared they had a third eye where a humanoid's bridge of the nose would be.

The green-skinned Slythe were dressed in shades of brown and gray clothing. One of them laughed as they neared the fire— or that's what I credited the scene to be when he threw his head back and an oddly pleasant gurgling sound erupted from his truncated throat.

Anakin was opening scrutinizing me like he wished he could read my mind. "What are you thinking right now?"

"They look like… supersized Gungans."

My avid listener looked at the Slythe while he processed my description. "I never thought of it that way, but yes, I guess they do."

"They're very…" I looked at Ani warily— I, whose head already lived closer to the ground than his own. "Tall."

He pulled on my arm to lead us forward again. "Don't worry— we have Artoo with us."

I laughed at his smirk, charmed by his recycling of what had possibly been the first private joke between us. I'd declared a version of that sentence the very first night of our reunion, when we were debating over the merits of luring in the assassin. He used it the next day in a humorous and successful attempt to pivot what had been a moment of fear.

For his part at hearing this, the astromech behind us let out a low, ominous "woo-oooo" after Anakin's reassurance. Which was fair. The Slythe were tall and burly enough to crush Artoo if one accidentally sat on him.

Still smiling, I walked closer into my date and interwove our elbows. As Threepio went on about his hatred of surprises, what shock and nerves I'd borne disappeared. I was on the arm of Anakin Skywalker. With him, adventures were a given, but I would always be safe.

Our stroll now moving fluidly across the grass, the architect of our date unexpectedly queried, "What do you think all that business was Obi-Wan, when he brought up what happened on The Credence with my arm?"

His question pinched my brow into a sad grimace, not directly because Anakin had to ask, but because I wasn't necessarily surprised he didn't already know the answer. "He heard, after the fact, that you almost died. It must have come as quite a shock to him." My voice was permeated with sincerity. "He cares about you more than you give him credit for, Ani. I see it." Memory resurfaced of the look on Obi-Wan's face when his Padawan was rapidly deteriorating in Dooku's hangar— the panic in his voice as he called for a medical capsule. "I hear it."

Anakin only bounced his head a little in a small nod, as he digested what I'm sure he only saw as one possible theory of many. He didn't expand on the topic, and I didn't push him to discuss it more.

He was sniffing at the air a second before the mouthwatering aroma drifted into my own nostrils. "Do you smell that?"

"Yes." Our speed increased, our empty stomachs propelling us as much as our feet were. We nodded politely at the Slythe who were now adding logs to the bonfire. All six of their combined eyes blinked and squinted at us as we passed them. The fire wardens raised a friendly hand in greeting and smiled, but otherwise continued on with their work.

It wasn't difficult to discern which building was the local eatery, nor why the village seemed so devoid of pedestrians. One of the larger buildings in the circle of dwellings had little tells indicating it was a hub of community and business— its chimney discharged the most smoke, its windows glowed with the most light, and the noise of its patrons filtered out into the street. Even better, there was a small sign in the corner of one window which read, in Aurebash— the written form of Basic, "Tavern, welcome off-worlders".

"Do you think they meant to say 'Off-worlders welcome'?"

Anakin rolled his eyes at my perfectionist's appraisal. "Does it change the messaging? C'mon." He pulsed his clasp around my hand and tugged me forward. "Threepio, get ready to do some translating."

"I would be happy to, Master Ani. Just, oh, please don't let me be toppled by one of these creatures. I was hit by a rogue bantha in the streets of Mos Espa last year. I swear on my circuits, I had bruises!"

I threw a look at Threepio as we neared the tavern's door. This was not the night for another discussion about bruises. And there was the matter of the droid's filter. "Best if you don't refer to them as creatures while you're translating for us."

"Of course, but, Miss Padmé, if that is all you heard from what I said, I must further explain what happened. You see, when the bantha was spooked— a full-grown male, might I add— I was standing right in—"

Anakin swung open the gigantic door with one hand and put the other on Threepio's "mouth", all in one wide and effective movement. The wooden door creaked as it revealed the world within. My eyes feasted, eager to take in all the offered stimuli.

Most of the village had to be here. It was a bustling spread full of Slythe, necessitating the tremendously high ceiling. The tavern was lit by a collection of candles on tables or counters, but most were placed in scones two-thirds up along the walls. Brilliantly, mirrors hung even higher above at a steep angle, so that the firelight bounced back to the southern half of the space. Along one side was a row of tabled booths, most of which were occupied. On the opposite side of the space was a bar, where Slythe stood or leaned as they engaged in animated conversations. A door directly opposite us led to what I presumed was a kitchen, as a Slythe carrying a tray of food was emerging from it. In the leftmost corner of the tavern, a live band was setting up their musical instruments on a slightly elevated platform. In front of the band's corner, in the center of the structure, was an open space where patrons holding drinks were currently congregated. Whereas everywhere else the ground was soil, here, wooden planks covered the floor in a huge square. It was easy to see how the area could easily be transformed into a dance floor. Four or Slythe who were my height or shorter— younglings— weaved in and out of the crowd, chasing each other.

Heads turned our way upon our entrance, but most patrons seemed too engrossed in their own going-ons to notice. The expressions of those who did look up mirrored the ones given by the fire tenders— very friendly, a mild attempt to squint at our faces, and then a return to what they'd been doing or saying before.

I raised up on my heels to speak quietly into Anakin's ear. "Do we seat ourselves, or do we wait for—"

Right on cue, a wide-set Slythe approached us with a cheerful smile. Deep grooves that looked like gills fluttered like thin wings on his cheeks. He bowed at us, which we repeated, and then he opened his plump lips and spoke in what was going down in history as one of the most peculiar languages I'd ever heard.

"Rnnnghhh chrun obja bajoonna."

Threepio rose to the occasion so quickly, he earned proud smiles from us before he'd even gotten the first words of his translation out.

"Oh, I'm here, I'm here!" He shuffled himself forward to stand to the side between us and the Slythe. "He asked, 'Do you speak Fhergughn?'"

The droid's moment of our grand appreciation floundered as he looked at us expectantly for an answer. The longer he waited for it, the more our smiles drooped off our faces.

"No, Threepio. That's why you're here." As his boyhood creation turned and relayed this for us, Anakin leaned down and whispered into my ear, "I swear, when I left him, his neuro circuits were sharper than this."

I smiled at Ani but felt bad for poor Threepio. "I don't think he's had an oil bath since I gave him one. He's probably still got sand shifting around in his circuit boa—"

"Hold a minute, when did you give him an oil bath?"

"At the homestead. I lifted him in all by myself."

"By yourself?" He raised his index finger to run the back of it down my cheek. "Padmé, my love, that was very sweet of you—"

"Don't. I did it as much for me as for him. I was going sick worrying for you and waiting—"

"Um, Master Ani! Miss Padmé! We are being directed to follow, please!"

We cut our slow-speed embrace short and did as we were told, timid smiles on our faces. Even on a foreign world, surrounded by a cluster of beings we'd laid eyes on only seconds before, it had taken me and Anakin less than a minute to forget anything existed outside of our own intimate bubble.

We held hands as we navigated the outskirts of the crowd. Threepio continued his conversation with our guide in front of us while Artoo trailed along behind. I couldn't shake the feeling that— though I knew I'd never seen him before in my life— something about this particular Slythe was familiar. I filed it away as a mishap of my imagination.

During our honeymoon, Anakin and I laid a blanket down in our meadow by the waterfalls. We created a precious memory lying on our backs, pointing up at the sky as we called out what the shapes of the clouds looked like to us. One of my husband's adamant declarations was that one particular cloud was in the shape of a Slythe's head. We debated whether or not this was true for so long, the cloud got bored with us and morphed into something else. Over the years of our secret marriage, on an occasion when we were surrounded by others, one of us would smile and nonchalantly say to the other, "I saw a cloud in the shape of a head the other day," and the respondent would ask, "A human's?". Then the initial speaker would reply, "No," and so the other would begin to name off a long list of species, from Azumels to Twi'leks, but never, ever guessing a Slythe. All the while, those around us would be oblivious to our little game of taking ourselves back to our first official date, as well its connection to our honeymoon. Afterwards, we were always so proud of ourselves for duping our company with what surely looked like a mundane line of chitchat. Relationship espionage was obviously our strong suit.

We took our seats in the third booth. Anakin wanted the side which would give him eyes on the entrance, just in case. He managed to lift himself into the bench with ridiculous ease, and he had a fantastic time watching me struggle to do the same. It wasn't my fault the top of the seat rested at the level of my hip. In Anakin's defense, he did offer to help me when we first approached the table, but I refused. I'd climbed my way up an execution pillar with a bloodied back; I could make it into a restaurant booth. Not soon enough, our host and waiter was asking us— through Threepio— if we knew what we wanted to eat or had any questions.

"I know one thing," Anakin declared confidently, stealing a glance in my direction to wink at me. "Anything but guelee fish."

I rolled my eyes at him, but his smile was infectious.

But when Threepio finished the possibly unnecessary translation to our waiter, the Slythe looked so disturbed that he took a step back and began to stutter. An unmistakable expression of dismay was plastered all over his green face, which I think was going pale.

Anakin looked back and forth between the waiter and me. "What did I say?" Then he fixed a much tougher stare on our translator. "What did you say?"

Threepio waved his arms in distress. "Oh, my. They do not serve fish of any kind here, Master Ani. They see fish as a sort of a, well, a cousin to their species."

"Then why did you translate what I said?"

I dropped my forehead into my hand, which didn't stop me from shaking it as I stared at Anakin through a small gap in my fingers.

He shook his head right back, grinning at me half-apologetic, half-wildly amused, all threat. "Don't start. Or I'll tell them what your home world's number one export is." He leaned forward to comically emphasis his warning. "And how many trade deals you've signed off on to strengthen it."

We managed to get two orders in without further revealing ourselves as carnivores to the Slythe's expanded family. Threepio was thanked for his help, and told he was free to either move around the room and make friends, or to silently stand near— but separate from— our booth. The droid's company wasn't unwelcome, exactly, but it didn't need to be said that Anakin and I wanted this to feel like a date between us— not us and the ever-chatty C-3PO. Artoo was content to observe the room from his position near my left thigh, thus not requiring any instructions. Kindly, though, he volunteered permission to place my hand on his domed head the next time I needed to get out or back into the booth.

When all was sorted with the droids, Anakin and I paused and simply gazed at one another across the table. Without needing to say anything to initiate the movement, our hands lifted from our laps at the same time and stretched across the wooden plane, meeting in two loving cradles.

"I'm glad we're doing this," I sighed. "We haven't really had a moment to just…"

"Take a breath?"

I nodded. "Yes. And with not knowing how often we'll be able to sneak away like this— to sit openly in a public place, and be able to…" I rubbed the palms of my hands against his slowly, the way a woman in love would. "I'm going to cherish every moment."

Anakin smiled back, equally drunk in love. "For ten years, I knew this would come to be. That vision I had when we first met never felt anything but real. I just…" Light poured from his eyes. "I just knew. But here I sit, still unable to believe an angel has chosen me to be her husband."

I pushed away the sleeve on his left hand and traced circles on the bare back of his wrist. "It's simple. I would rather hold hands with you in secret than walk down a street on any other man's arm. Besides," my leisurely smile widened. It wasn't coincidence that I was about to echo a line of thought I'd actually used against us once. "There are dark streets. Hidden streets. Even on Coruscant. I think we passed over a few on our way to your rooftop. We don't need to go into the closets of the galaxy to find normalcy, Ani."

"Normalcy," Anakin sighed as he repeated the word. He flipped his left palm on the table so he could gently catch my hand in his. "I can't promise you a normal life, but I can promise I will do everything in my power to make the alternative worth it."

I lifted a shoulder, shrugging it without much spirit. I wasn't sad. I was peaceful. My fate was decided long ago, and there was no fire in me to contest it. "An uncomplicated life with you is impossible. But an uncomplicated life without you wasn't possible anymore either. Losing you would have haunted me forever." I cupped my hands in his larger ones. "It was an easy choice." My palms turned to wrap around their holders. "And it's already been worth it."

He rolled his full lip under the top one before he answered. Eyes a queen would throw herself over a waterfall for beckoned me. "I know how to love you, Padmé. It's easier for me than breathing. But I don't know how to love you and not have you in my life every day. Every hour. Going back to that way of living will be…" Anakin leaned farther forward in his seat, till the table's edge disappeared into his stomach. "My heart beats for an existence where I wake next to you in the morning, see your smiles throughout the day, and kiss you to sleep at night." He nodded his head gravely. "I respect and will not forsake our duties. But know, I will be missing you every moment of every day." He rose halfway from his seat in order to plant a solemn kiss to the inside wrist of my right hand. "Every day." Another kiss, this time to my left wrist, before he receded back to his side of the table.

I knew he spoke the undiluted truth. Our separation would affect me the same. Anakin and I were doomed to be half-alive unless we were in each other's presence.

I regarded him steadily. My low voice was even. "Then, let's make tonight count."

My delivery gave him pause, as he stilled somewhat to examine my expression— no doubt wondering to what extent I intended my words to go.

Minutes later, faster than any restaurant I'd ever been to, our waiter presented us with our dinners. I'd chosen a vegetarian option, while my dining companion had gone for smoked muzulu meat— something neither of us had heard of and only Anakin had been brave enough to order. Both of our plates were massive, not just in portion, but in the actual plate's size. Even our waiter laughed as he placed a dish twice the size of my head in front of me. In my small hands, the utensils looked long enough to serve as Master Yoda's new walking sticks.

After our waiter left us to our meal and we'd devoured several mouthfuls of it, Anakin swallowed and seemed to survey our immediate surroundings. Then he fixed me with a large grin. "Hey, Padmé. Who am I?" He pressed his lips together loosely and blew through them while violently shaking his head.

I stared at him incredulously, frantically wondering if this was the result of sudden-onset food poisoning. "Someone who has lost their mind?"

"No! Boss Nass! Doesn't our waiter eerily look like him?"

I tried to hide a laugh behind my hand but failed. He'd made the connection my brain struggled to link ever since I'd laid eyes on our gentle Slythe. Yet Anakin's mimicking of Yoda and Obi-Wan were still fresh in my memory, so aloud, I only half-teased, "I think you should leave impressions to the professionals."

He challenged me with a deep tilt of his head. "You're the one who said they look like Gungans."

I only retorted with a giggle and a smile, which seemed to appease him just fine.

"It's amazing the people we have to thank for this."

I looked up from my plate to meet Anakin's eyes. The atmosphere of the tavern had transitioned by this point. Children had been taken home, the bar counter was growing in popularity, and the band had begun to supply background music. The dance floor, though, was still a spot of conversational gatherings.

I swallowed, clearing my throat. "How do you mean?"

"Well, the Chancellor, obviously."

I nodded as I dabbed at my chin with a napkin the size of a shower towel. "Unexpectedly, but obviously. Dormé."

"The two dejarik players who teased us about me sleeping on the floor. I never would have been forward enough to get into the cot with you on my own if you hadn't demanded it."

"I was trying to avoid a scene."

Anakin's smile doubled. "Sure you were."

I pushed my flatware to the side and crossed my forearms on the table. The face of another contributing factor flashed into my mind. "We can extend our gratitude to Master Windu, too. You said he was the one who initially ordered you— just you— to take me to Naboo."

"Should we send him a thank you note?"

I nodded back, enlivened by Anakin's wicked grin. "It would be rude if we didn't. We should sign it 'From, the Skywalkers.'"

"Naturally." But Anakin's face grew flushed with an emotion I couldn't immediately label. After a moment, he pushed his own plate— long emptied— to the side. He reached for me across the table with open hands; I met them with my own like activated magnets. His eyes dropped to watch our interlocking, caressing fingers. He started to say something, but the words died on his exhale.

"Ani?"

He at last met my gaze, yet opened his mouth several times before he finally spoke. "The Skywalkers…" The plural use of the name obviously affected him. Blue pools searched mine. "I know you were teasing just now but… You don't mind…? Even if only we know it's your last name…"

I put a hand on his forearm, and we exchanged a look that didn't need words.

When I eventually pulled my hand back, it was to take a sip from my drink. "Like it or not, we also have Jurue to thank for this getaway, for multiple reasons."

Instead of Anakin giving me his half-hearted agreement like I'd expected, his face hardened into a deep frown. "I think you should reexamine that friendship."

I stiffened, already not liking where this conversation was going. "We've been over this."

He used my reply as a springboard instead of a fence, launching into his argument. "Don't you find it curious he stayed on The Credence a full two hours after it had docked? And yet you said he showed up right as you were heading to the hangar."

"He said he had things to take care of."

"What things?"

"I didn't ask. Maybe he was arranging his transportation from the port."

"For two hours? And you said it was his idea to use the ramp, correct?"

"There were valid reasons to put myself in front of the cameras. I'm a public servant who hadn't been seen by the public in over two weeks. Dormé and Captain Typho gave their support." I let my expression communicate how displeased I was at the shift in conversation. "This is starting to feel like an interrogation."

Anakin bowed his head, apologetic, but resolute. "Just let me get one last thing out, and then I'll drop it forever."

I raised an eyebrow. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

He regarded me seriously. "Jurue Batar very much thinks you have a path to being Supreme Chancellor one day. That was clear. I researched him on the HoloNet." Neither of us blinked. Anakin admitting this was as unsurprising as him admitting he'd eaten something for dinner. "I saw things about a politically ambitious family, with a disgraced uncle who'd torpedoed everything. It sounds like the young Batar doesn't have much of a career in the public sphere while running on his own last name." His head tilted with exaggeration. "Adopting someone else's, however, and riding along with their monumental success—"

"Anakin, you have spent minutes around the man and are the single most biased person in the galaxy when it comes to anyone who—"

"I'm almost finished, I promise."

I fixed him with a warning stare, but I waited.

"All I'm saying is, you said he took your rejection of his marriage proposal well. I don't doubt that. I don't like him— that's no secret— but even I'll admit he's no Sith lord in disguise. But—" Anakin ran over my loud sigh, "But— he's still a politician. And while Naboo has produced two of the most admirable people I've ever met— both of whom are, remarkably, politicians— possibly the two people I admire most of anyone alive— you and Chancellor Palpatine are exceptions, not the standard." Anakin leaned back and, with a smooth confidence, crossed his arms over his chest like he'd solved a case. "I think he realized he wasn't getting a famous and powerful wife, so he tried to get his name mentioned with yours one last time in the only way he could. He waited onboard, steered you towards a public departure, and knew who'd be watching when he went in for that embrace."

Awkward silence stretched between us. I tried and failed to look neutral.

{Do you love me?}
{I… well. I admire you very much. I think we make such sense. And we get along so well.}

{Forgive me, but… wouldn't it be best if you disembarked on the public ramp?}

{I think there are still some HoloNet reporters camped out there. I saw them earlier from my window.}

Other moments from the past year filtered through my memory. I was uncomfortable that there was evidence pointing to Anakin being right. I wanted to lay everything at my jealous fiancé being judgmental and overly critical, but my beloved, jealous, judgmental, and overly critical fiancé was also a Jedi. Jedi were renowned investigators, and I was sitting across from their Chosen One— who, as it were, had studied under one of the best investigators for ten years.

He hadn't said enough to convince me, but he'd said enough to make me doubt. Without a definite answer to this unaskable question, doubt was almost worse. When holding onto innocence and faith is as perilous a task as any idealistic person in the political game can endeavor to do— and when genuine allies in that arena are incredibly hard to come by, and friends even more difficult to recognize— this plausible charge against Jurue pierced me on a level more sensitive than Anakin might've anticipated.

The Jedi prodigy wisely read my disheartened expression. His arms lowered to his sides. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

I nodded, accepting his apology quickly, if only because I wanted to move on from this moment and this mood. "Let's talk about something else."

He dipped his chin in agreement, but one of his cheeks pulled the corner of his mouth back into a smile. "Let's set some parameters first."

I gave him a bemused look. "Parameters?"

He nodded. "No Jedi."

A beat. Then I smiled. "No politics."

"No Neimoidians."

"No war."

"No Count Dooku."

"No complaining about guelee fish."

"No conniving suitors."

"Who may—" My well-established system of hope and optimism was finding its footing again. "Very well be well-meaning, if misguided, friends."

Anakin leaned forward and extended his open palms. I slid my hands into his. His voice was quiet. Intimate. "No nightmares."

"No misunderstandings."

"No prophecies."

"Just a girl."

He smiled, and I flew higher in his sky. "Just a boy."

We beamed at each other, as any young couple madly in love with each other would. Our prior moods were as far behind us as the farthest edge of the known universe.

We'd occasionally repeat this "no" exercise over the years, when stress had overcome one or both of us. It was our way of excluding the rest of the galaxy and finding only each other again. Of all the sweet habits adopted during my relationship with Anakin, this tradition remains one of my favorites.

Nightlife in the village tavern was in full swing. The music filling the space was loud enough to make conversations between Slythe standing a meter apart difficult for participants to hear. Their tall bodies leaned towards each other to make up for the boisterous melodies, but all looked to be thoroughly enjoying themselves. The dance floor had started to be used for its most fun purpose. Slythe of all shapes, sizes, and ages were enjoying themselves on the wooden planks, but it was the younger crowd who dominated the square the most. It seems some patterns in society are consistent across species.

Anakin had already given up the ability to use the excuse of loud music, however. He'd abandoned his side of the booth and slid into mine before the band shifted into high-spirited tunes. We could only endure being separated by a table for so long. Like a hungry suitor relishing in breaking a rule, he'd smoothly joined me on my bench, taking me into his warm arms and filling me with his scent. We shared a fraction of the power of the kiss we wanted to unleash, but we still found our new arrangement much improved from the reaching we'd had to do before.

We giggled with each other, doused in happiness as his right arm ultimately wrapped around my shoulders, and his left hand caressed whatever bare skin of mine he could find. We were a squished nest of torsos, hips, and thighs on a bench wide enough to sit five humans. I traced the dark planes of his face where the nearby candles failed to make their mark. It was all the better that there was less firelight hitting my— now our— side of the booth. The shadows were our friends, protecting us from eyes that weren't even seeking us out. It was everything we could never hope to attain on Naboo. That pocket of safety and euphoria became our own little world. He whispered into my ear like we were lovers huddled together under a bed sheet. I twirled his Padawan braid around my finger and forgot what it felt like not to smile.

In the mist of this, Anakin inquired, "Does Padmé mean anything in Nabooian?"

I ran my fingers over his jawline. "Do you remember me saying a ryoo is a blue and yellow flower that grows on the hills near Keren?"

He grinned. The muscle moved under my fingertips as he did so. "You endowed me with a lot of family history in the span of a few seconds on that walk. But yes. I remember. Ryoo. Named for one of your and Sola's grandmothers, a woman who was probably also named for the ryoo flower. Pooja. Wants to be a different profession every week. Pet Voorpak."

"A great-grandmother," I corrected, not for the first time. But I was beaming at his other recollections all the same. "Naming a girl after a flower is common tradition in our family." I paused, suddenly aware I was possibly about to broach a mood-shifting subject. "There's a reason the Naberrie cemetery is called Edum Talla. It means "rest for the flowers"."

Anakin stilled, but if the mention of a family cemetery brought to mind the image of a tombstone newly erected on a moisture farm, it didn't show. Instead, a new smile was growing on his face. "Naberrie means flower in Nabooian?" At my nod, the corners of his mouth pulled back even further. "That is the most fitting thing I've ever heard."

I skimmed the column of his throat with my fingers as I explained, "Padmé isn't the name of a flower exactly, but it's close. Padémia is the original name."

Now Anakin's face dropped in puzzlement. "Padémia? Is that your actual given name?" I saw a hint of panic. "Have I not known your real name all these years?"

"No, no," I shushed, slightly shaking my head. "My name is Padmé as much as yours is Anakin. My parents just lifted inspiration from it. They didn't love the sound of 'Padémia', so they made a modification."

"Padémia," he repeated, as if his tongue were studying the word. "Padmé," he then breathed, like he had found buried treasure. I loved the way he said my name. He smiled at me adoringly, his preference between the two options plainly visible. "What does it look like? This flower?"

"Small, white. I was a very tiny baby when I was born. It sprouts up along rivers, especially near Theed. I'll point it out to you the next time we walk past one."

Our conversations branched off into tangents that led to three or ten other tangents, as can happen when two people are so ecstatically ensnared. We'd already had hours of conversation with each other at this point, but it was apparent we'd only scratched the surface of our histories. So many opinions, fears, hopes, and knowing smiles had yet to be shared. Before we knew it, we embarked on path into an amusing and in-depth discussion on languages— namely, Huttese and Nabooian versus the widely-used Basic. My rearing in the Republic, quality education, humanitarian work, and— not to be understated— my freedom and ability to travel had given me personal experience to Basic's catalog. Anakin, however, who'd spent the first half of his life on a desert planet in slavery, wasn't exposed to an array of vocabulary until after he joined the Jedi. There had been a lot of catching up to do, and Obi-Wan or other Masters had to fill in the blanks for him multiple times when Ani couldn't put the context clues together himself. To his credit, he turned moments which were obviously embarrassing to him at the time into entertaining stumbles.

"I knew well what a lizard was, but why does it sound so much like blizzard? What does a reptilian creature usually found in deserts have to do with a weather event, much less a winter storm of snow?"

I laughed at the perplexed look on his face. "Basic is peculiar. There's a Senator every session who puts forth a different language to replace it as the standard."

He made a face like he wasn't surprised to hear this. "I didn't know what a rainbow was for the longest time. I thought it had something to with archery. You know, 'bow' and 'bow'—" He made the explanatory gesture with his arms, or as best he could with one of them still draped around my shoulders.

"Yes, Ani, I get it." I encouraged, greatly amused by his animation.

His mind suddenly centered back to its favorite topic. Me. "Alright, Miss I Grew Up in a Paradise. Your first day in Mos Espa— was it your first time experiencing a sandstorm?"

I vividly remembered the way the sand had blasted my skin on our way to shelter, but I grinned at him. "Of course." I tried to throw the kind of jester's look at him he was so naturally talented at giving to me. "Why else would I follow a strange little boy I'd only just met into his house?"

""Funny little boy."" He wagged a playful finger at me. "You called me funny."

"I must not have seen your impressions yet."

His shoulders shook as he laughed, but he straightened them and countered, "You liked my juggling."

I smiled as I remembered the moment in the meadow. A perfect un-official first date. "That's true."

Despite the shadows of our surroundings, I could envision how the sun had bounced of his hair; the manic cackle after he pulled off his stunt with the shaak. There was another wisecracking, sarcastic quip on my lips, but instead I choose to widen them into a demure smile, completely captivated by the handsome man holding me.

As I searched my brain for other odds pronunciations in Basic, a thought popped into my mind I'd meant to ask him numerous times before. At the last second, though, I hesitated.

Finally, "Anakin?"

"Hmm?" He was watching me closely, no doubt picking up on my new shade of shyness.

"What was the language you were speaking… in the maintenance hallway?"

A smile that curled my toes spread across his face. "Are you talking about the maintenance hallway on the refugee freighter? I believe I spoke Basic the whole time."

I reproached him with a flimsy glare. He knew well I wasn't talking about our hunt through the Jendirian Valley as he'd tried to find the engineering room. "Noo-oo."

His hands were magic and his breath stimulating, but Anakin's best seduction weapon was his stare. "You have to admit, we seem to have a thing for maintenance hallways."

Molten heat spread through my body and rushed into my cheeks. "Stay on topic."

He smiled and dropped his gaze to our clasped hands, which were now resting where our thighs met. A seriousness etched lines into his face. "It's called Amatakka. It's the secret language of the slaves on Tatooine." I let go of his hand to caress his cheek again. Waiting. Patient. "It's illegal to speak it. Masters fear the slaves using a language they don't understand to build a coalition; the first step towards a slave uprising. The worst beatings Watto ever gave me were when he'd catch me using it." He let out a puff of air like he'd rejected its taste. "Even broke bones in my hand once. Never did that again, though. Put me out of fixing things for two months."

I lightly ran my finger along his eyebrow. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was the hand that's gone." Anakin lifted his artificial arm up and over my head. Its hand came to a measured landing on the table. The metal under the glove landed with a hard sound no flesh hand would create. An edge cut his voice. "I'd like to see that old maggot try to break it now."

I continued caressing his face until the anger lines in it smoothed out.

After several moments, he raised his arm and tucked it behind my neck and the back of the booth's headrest again. He spoke much more softly when he volunteered, "My mom was a good student." The corners of his lips rose. A memory was playing behind his eyes. "I'd hear her mumbling the same Amatakka words to herself when Watto wasn't around. Over and over till she knew them as well as Basic or Huttese."

The teacher's pride in his tone was undeniable. "You taught it to her?"

"Had to. My mom wasn't native to Tatooine. Do you remember her accent?" I nodded. It had been ten years since I'd heard Shmi Skywalker's voice. Unfortunately, I no longer remembered the actual sound of it, but I recalled its gentle kindness, its protective flame when speaking about her son, and— yes— how its melody had stood out as unique amongst those around her. "To learn a new language after she was already grown up— kids pick up languages so much better than adults— it was hard for her." He seemed to register my somber expression. "Hey, no, it's alright. It's not a sad memory." Anakin used the hand I'd let go of to stroke my face like I had his. "And now, Amatakka has new life for me."

I felt another blush coming on. "New life?"

He angled his head, looking like a model from a holomagazine. "Absolutely. It lives on in my family. It was the secret language of me and my mom. Now, it will be the secret language between me and my wife. Something that's ours— something the rest of the galaxy would want to take away from us, but we won't let them." His quest to have me swooning complete, Anakin dipped his head in for a kiss. I obliged more than happily. But our lips hadn't touched for more than a few seconds when he suddenly pulled back. For once, he actually seemed to be wholly embarrassed, even stricken, by a thought. "Well, of course, not that I ever used it with my mother the way I used it with you."

A laugh shook my chest. "Right now, less talking— in any language." I placed my hand high on the back of his neck, stubbornly bringing him near as I leaned in. Our lips melded. This time, Anakin stayed on mission.

He and I were getting better and better at kissing the more we explored our techniques, which we never tired of doing. We carried on like this for several wonderful moments until the voices in the back of our heads reminded us we were in public. Reluctantly breaking apart, I gazed into his eyes as he brushed hair back behind my right ear.

Fascinated by this man— and his mouth— I asked, "How many languages can you speak?"

"More than you might expect. Watto closed most deals himself, but I wasn't any good to him if I couldn't talk to most of the clients walking through the door. I learned quickly." Anakin's face exploded into a grin. "You should hear my Jawaese." Without waiting for me to ask for a sample— or giving me a chance to veto this idea— he immediately began a series of loud, high-pitched notes that had nearby patrons turning around to gape at us.

I dove my face into the crook of his neck, using the hovel to hide the uncontrollable, shrieking giggle bursting from my lips.

A/N:

I am so glad I split this chapter from the last one. It gave this installment the freedom to hold more content. So much so... it became the longest chapter in the fic. This was after it had already been split! When it hit 15,500 words, and knowing there are still bits that need to be expanded in the second half, I decided it was time for another split. Part Three of Vox Montoa coming when it's ready.

Chapter 55. Vox Montoa, Part Three (conclusion)
Chapter 56. Conversations in the Light
Chapter 57. The Holy Man Returns
Chapter 58. Padmé Amidala Naberrie Skywalker
Epilogue (posted on the same day as the final chapter)

Thank you for reading, reviews always appreciated. And yes, the link between Padmé and the small, white flower... if you know, you know. *passes tissue*