Chapter 36. Aggressive Negotiations
O happy dagger! This is thy sheath; there rust, and let me die.
― William Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet
When you become monarch at a very young age, you learn to mask. To suppress. To reign in. Letting lose and living in the moment is an experience afforded to those who don't operate under the pressures of leadership and the lens of cameras. My composure and presence of mind are the true stitches buried throughout my wardrobe. Apprehension over release constricts my breath daily far more than my tightest corset.
I have a duty to imbue the persona of a dignified former queen. I am a Senator of the Galactic Republic representing a pacifist people. I'm educated in the manners of how to act gracefully according to the customs of a multitude of systems. I don the elaborate gowns, I speak for peace from influential podiums, and I've attended the glitzy galas that serve Daruuvian champagne. At times, I've had to ally myself with the very delegates who pushed for an aid-delaying committee during the Invasion of Naboo. It's the political game. It is what one makes of it. I've worked hard to navigate the rules honestly— to stand apart from the duplicitous Senators for whom being-two faced is part of their morning makeup.
But, truthfully?
I didn't realize how much I was guilty of pretending too, until all hell broke loose in a Geonosian arena.
Under those stitches and smiles festered ten years of scars, aggravation, frustration, and painful memories all hidden under a dignified exterior.
Maybe that's why shooting at Trade Federation battle droids felt really, really, really good.
The hailstorm of combat had detonated. Well over a hundred Jedi were on the sand and in the audience tiers, their expert saber swings mowing down animated metal. Geonosian "warriors", for all their delight and passion as spectators, fled like dried leaves gusted by wind at the first sign of the fight coming to them. With the outbreak of the fray, I'd seen a trail of smoke descend from the luxury box the Count and Nute Gunray occupied. I was sure the falling figure was meeting their death, but the roasting cloak was quickly shed by none other than— the standing— Master Mace Windu. His uniquely purple blade was back in action mere moments later.
In the tidal waves collision of the breathing and the mechanical, our mounted trio had suddenly been forgotten. We'd rushed to the side of our saviors but were shortly knocked off the panicked beast by a ricocheting blast. Fortunately, I landed within reach of a blaster; I was on my feet and putting the weapon to use within seconds.
The execution cart— the intimate stage for one of the most important moments of my life— was running amok. The sole creature pulling it by harness straps was wildly bucking across the arena. As the opportunistic operation neared, I took aim at two Geonosians lingering in stations previously belonging to Anakin and myself. My initial aim proved fatal, but I'd already run out of time to shoot the second passenger. Instead, I broke into a sprint, charging for the four-legged animal in the small window I'd been gifted to catch up to it.
I hoisted myself into the saddle and gripped precariously with my thighs. It wasn't designed for a human body. I'd thought shooting at distant Federation droids from behind the marble pillars of the Palace of Theed was an exercise— targeting from a speeding mount when my thin adversaries were intermixed with my rescuers was something else entirely. But the active motion also made me a difficult mark for the droids, and my success at picking them off would've stirred pride in the chest of one Captain Panaka.
By the time I remembered the remaining insectoid in the tugged cart behind me, the oddly consistent hum of a single lightsaber registered. Among the chaotic chorus of the many blades I passed, this one remained at a stable nearness to my ears. I looked over my shoulder and found, not a lone Geonosian, but Anakin. My ever-mindful Jedi protector was thwarting the threats at my back. Surprise never came. I felt a rush at the sight of him which had nothing to do with the adrenaline of battle.
Rapidly coursing through the war field, we made an excellent team— me dispensing blaster shots, and my partner politely delivering others back to their owners.
The moment Anakin Skywalker had a lightsaber in his hand, he became a different person.
Faster. Smoother. Both more in control and yet unleashed.
Sexier.
The green blade was a blur; his arms moved faster than eyes could keep up with. I'd known of his piloting skills for a decade— I'd watched as he not only competed in the Boonta Eve Classic but came back from a late start to win it. His orbital heroics during the Battle of Naboo was a tale parents told their children at tuck-in for the hundredth time.
But if his skills in a cockpit could be outmatched anywhere, it was on a battleground with a lightsaber in his grip. I'd witnessed this ability briefly and from a distance in the droid factory. Here, tucked into the fallen execution cart alongside him, I had a new appreciation for what he could do.
My steed had been taken out by enemy fire. I rolled once before scrambling to my feet, hissing air when the nexu's scratches bit graveled sand. Seeking shelter in the waylaid wagon, I'd used the unexpected turn of events to my advantage. I alternated between issuing firepower and using the rim of the cart as a barrier when needed. Whenever a horizontal rain of orange death fell upon us, Anakin deflected the bolts as if they moved in slow motion.
So efficient was our joint endeavor, we actually created a pocket where any immediate threat was temporarily absent. I felt him turn towards me, though I kept my focus on the scene in front of us.
"You call this a diplomatic solution?"
I looked up at him. My sassy warrior in the sun, alive. Finally aware that I loved him.
I was so wildly, ecstatically happy to be here— be anywhere— with him, that I broke into a sly grin and flirted back, "No, I call it aggressive negotiations."
A blaster bolt landed in the sand too close for comfort. I promptly returned to the immediate business of self-preservation, but Anakin's smile was too big and too bright to miss out of the corner of my eye.
I successfully alleviated the danger for another moment and watched as he did the same on his end with twice the number of droids in half the time. My eyes scanned, looking for more opportunities to turn the tide in our favor. Despite the battlefield around us, I actually heard him laugh— a slightly deeper sound this time— followed by, "What did we say about persevering your modesty once we left Naboo?"
I dared a second to give him a look. He was in the middle of stealing a look himself— at my bare midriff. The man had seen almost my entire body, save the intimate parts concealed behind a risqué swimsuit, and here I was— with just a fraction of skin showing in comparison. Dirty, sweaty, bloody, and dusted in his least favorite thing— sand. Yet he was looking at me in that hungry way he first had when I was stuffing suitcases on Coruscant.
"Really, Anakin?" I rebuked, but I couldn't suppress a smile. "Now?"
He chuckled, his simmering eyes meeting mine before they danced back to the targets around us. "Always."
The mood of the battle was changing. Gone was my abundant relief at the Jedis' arrival. An ever-growing number of bodies in tunics and brown cloaks littered the arena floor. Caught up in the disarray, silver cylinders rolled on the ground like seeds unplanted. No matter how many were burned into decommission by lightsabers or my blaster, armed droids kept flooding the war zone and depleting our reserve of energy and hope. Endless streams marched forth from the black gates, replenishing every one droid that fell with ten more behind it.
B2-series super battle droids had married into the massive ranks of the standard single-shot adversaries, greatly adding to the deadly threat droidekas already administered. They took multiple shots from my blaster to bring down, time our side didn't have to spend. Even sabers could only deal them damage at a distance fatal to any misstep.
The dwindling Jedi were being pushed towards the center of the arena. The very many who couldn't or wouldn't retreat joined their motionless brethren on the ground.
"We have to move!"
Anakin took a daring step out of our shelter with his yell in order give me better coverage to do the same. He shielded us both as we abandoned the cart and followed the foreboding trajectory of the Jedi. With my focus staying on the advancing droids while my feet took me backwards, I nearly fell multiple times over bodies comprised of either fried circuits or stilled blood.
As we moved, my eyes caught the incredulous sight of a small, dark-haired child looking on from a shadowed enclave. But then a blaster bolt whizzed past my shoulder near enough to feel the burned air in its wake, and I returned to the literal heat of battle. I heard a body drop behind me. The plasma bullet had found a home.
Anakin remained on my right as we finally joined the circle of survivors. Every second was a brush with death— there was too much blaster fire for the Jedi to do anything but desperately defend, much less push back against. Just when I was certain we didn't have more than a handful of seconds left, the legion surrounding us froze. As if they'd all received the same signal at once, the B2 super droids retracted their knuckled pistols and came to a relaxed pause. The B1-series likewise came to a straightened rest.
One of the strangest experiences one can have is to hear their world abruptly transition from the loud theater of battle to eerie silence, especially when the swarm of death-dealers continue to stare you down. As I caught my breath, I took in the pitiful size of our group, and my heart plummeted. So many Jedi had hastened to action after their reveal. So very few remained alive.
"Master Windu!"
The Count of Serenno's voice boomed from the balcony above. At seeing him there, I barely quenched a maddening rage. He hadn't even possessed the decency to come down and face his former family during the conflict. Instead, he'd watched their slaughter from his elevated spectator's box.
"You have fought gallantly. Worthy of recognition in the archives of the Jedi Order. But now, it is finished." Around me, Jedi looked at each other wearily. I recognized Ki-Adi-Mundi as the Cerean Jedi Master was escorted with another into our faction. I'd last seen him in the Supreme Chancellor's office a lifetime ago. He'd been the first to dismiss my belief that Dooku was behind the cruiser attack.
{He's a political idealist, not a murderer.}
What is your opinion on him now, Master Mundi?
If I'd cared about it more, I would've thrown him a pointed look. But then I felt guilt for such an impulse. My being right meant he was surely about to die.
"Surrender, and your lives will be spared."
My eyes darted to the young man on my right. Streaks of blond sung under the sun like they had on a faraway island's beach.
"We will not be hostages to be bartered, Dooku!"
As Windu's answer roared decisively on my left, my eyes collided with cobalt blues.
I love you.
"Then," my focus lifted back to the man who held all our lives in his palm. When the microphone carried his graveled words to our ears, I almost found myself believing them. "I'm sorry, old friend."
The menacing B2 droids encircling us went from idle to intent. Their skinnier artificial brothers crouched back into offensive stances. Elimination was a few breaths away.
Beside me, Anakin swirled his green lightsaber around and up, defiantly hitting a warrior's pose. His frame was open to me, almost… strategically. I looked at him, suddenly truly terrified for the first time since entering the arena. I'd meant what I said— I wasn't afraid to die. But I knew Anakin would try to take as much of the blaster fire intended for me as possible. He'd be successful with his blade for as long as he could, but eventually, he'd use his own body to shield me.
From the first night he'd been assigned to my protection, I'd been fearful of exactly this— Ani dying trying to save my life. My feelings for him had since compounded beyond measure. Yet, cruelly, that original worst-case scenario was about to play out directly in front of me. And all for nothing, for I was guaranteed to follow shortly thereafter under the barrage of fire. I made a solemn commitment to myself to lower my own weapon the moment the man I loved hit the ground. My lungs don't want to breathe in a galaxy where Ani's can't.
Precious milliseconds sped by. I'd presumably had my final sight of Anakin. Now I wanted one last gaze of Naboo. Of home. Willing myself to believe Geonosis was oriented just the right way, even though I knew all I'd see were beige clouds, I tilted my head back to send one last surge of love towards my family.
No sooner had my chin moved that my eyes took in our salvation. "Look!"