Chapter 10

Obi-Wan felt marginally better when Padmé and Anakin's transport finally took off. Smuggling the Senator off Coruscant in such a way was not without risk, but it was still the safer alternative to letting her return to Naboo in any official capacity. Such would only pose more danger for her own life as well as that of his Padawan's.

Obi-Wan couldn't stop his breath from hitching as he imagined Anakin slowly leaving Coruscant's atmosphere without anyone by his side. He knew Anakin was ready for his first solo assignment, but he couldn't shake the ominous feeling accompanying him. He hadn't dared to say anything about it out loud yet. Years of his Master, his friends, and his Padawan groaning at him whenever he brought up that he 'had a bad feeling' had trained him out of the habit. He also didn't want to distress Anakin any further. He had been holding up fine while talking to Padmé, but Obi-Wan knew the nightmares of his mother kept him awake at night.

Obi-Wan could only hope that whatever warning the Force was trying to send him, it wasn't meant for his Padawan, but for Obi-Wan.

For now, he had a bounty hunter and their extraordinary weapon to research.

"Here's to hoping Dooku didn't annoy Jocasta again," Obi-Wan mumbled. He was not looking forward to being the unwilling victim of their fights again.

X

Padmé couldn't remember the last time she had laughed so much.

In a quiet voice, Anakin told her of his adventures with Obi-Wan and the other Jedi. She had heard some of the stories before already, but she didn't mind listening to them again, especially not when Anakin was practically shaking with excess energy while narrating them.

The experience of just seeing each other in the real world and be there within touching distance added a whole new layer to their conversations. Padmé had always been a physical person, an aspect that had often clashed with her personality as the Queen. Her wardrobe, yet another beautiful defense mechanism, was meant to keep people away from her. Only when she was surrounded by her friends and family could she relax and pull them close to her.

Over the last years, Anakin had become a dear friend to her. She didn't always understand the deeper meaning of his words, couldn't quite grasp what it meant when he described the Force as an endless air-bound water current, but she listened attentively anyway.

She didn't think he was too interested in the Senate's gossip or Naboo's high society either. However, he still grinned when Padmé explained how Theed's current Princess had embarrassed herself only to quietly curse in front of their Queen and ask for a do-over.

When they had first started talking, so many years ago, Padmé hadn't been too sure whether they could actually keep a conversation going given how different their interests were. Her willingness to stay in contact had not just been because Anakin had been kind to her during their mission, but also out of pure selfish desire and hopelessness. What if the Trade Federation came back? What if the Senate was still too slow to act?

Naboo had needed someone in their corner and staying on good terms with a Jedi Padawan had been a smart move in that regard.

To her surprise, within weeks that thought had moved to the back of her head as she'd genuinely started enjoying Anakin's company. Now here they were, ten years later, still smiling at each other and getting lost in those precious blue eyes—

Oh no.

X

Naboo's nature was the topic of many precious poems, worshipping it as the first and truest masterpiece of the galaxy. Everyone was quick to prescribe a trip to the countryside as an easy fix-it for all your troubles, claiming it worked wonders for the soul.

Padmé had spent a few weeks in the countryside after her tenure as the Queen had been over. She had taken a break to learn who she was as a person and who she wanted to be. Sitting at the beach, the water swirling around her feet, she had begun to write an itemized list of topics she wanted to address as Naboo's future Senator.

She had been still a bit naïve back then, hoping she could solve all these issues or, at the very least, bring them to the Senate's attention. She knew by now that her earlier resolve was idealistic, but she refused to give up on dreaming yet.

By all means, she should be able to breathe here openly.

Instead, she was exhausted before the first day was even over. Her datapads were hidden at the bottom of her suitcase, all motivation she had wanted to dedicate to her work gone. The thought of the upcoming vote wasn't leaving her alone, and her inability to do anything against it from here was frustrating her to no end. When night fell, she couldn't keep her eyes closed and drift away to the realm of dreams, and so, after hours of tossing and turning in her bed, she found herself sitting on the veranda, watching the lake and sipping on a cup of tea.

"Mind if I join you?"

Padmé nearly spilled her tea over her nightgown, too surprised by Anakin's sudden appearance.

"Anakin!" she exclaimed. "Don't scare me."

"Sorry, sorry, I apologize," he replied, his hands raised in a placating manner. He slipped onto the bench she was sitting on, cross-legged, and allowed her to bury her feet beneath his thighs to keep them from freezing.

It was comfortable, domestic.

"We both look like shit," Padmé said, for once foregoing all her usual diction.

Anakin only huffed in reply and rubbed over his red-rimmed eyes. Perhaps her words had been too kind. Padmé looked horrible and Anakin looked as if the world had ended and it had been his fault.

"You don't look as if you were crying," he replied, open and vulnerable as Padmé hadn't expected him to be and she had trouble expressing.

How strange to think that the Jedi, of whom the galaxy painted such a stoic picture, were all so profoundly emotional when the gossip rags of Coruscant liked to interpret Padmé's entire mood by a single hair out of place.

She wondered who else Anakin allowed to see him in such a delicate state of mind. Obi-Wan, likely, Anakin couldn't hide a thing from his Master, and Ahsoka probably also got the same courtesy, being his future apprentice.

"No, just my thoughts keeping me awake," Padmé said. "I worry for the Republic, the Senate. We are failing, falling, breaking apart, and there is nothing I can do from here. It is driving me insane."

"Yeah," Anakin breathed. "So many possibilities on your fingertips and yet you can't move, hold back by too much."

Silence fell between them. They had spent many hours in silence since the first night on the transport, Anakin waking up, screaming—

"Is it still the same nightmare?" she asked. "Your mother—"

She didn't even have to finish; Anakin simply nodded. "Yes, it's still about her. I know I shouldn't keep thinking about it, she can handle herself, but the dreams remain and I can't figure out why."

The sun was starting to rise, slowly turning the surface of the lake into gold. The artists of the past weren't wrong when they called Naboo a treasure.

"DO you want to go swimming?"

"What?" Anakin stared at her half-confused and Padmé tried to ignore the part of herself that said it would be a lot of fun to kiss that confusion away. She didn't have time for crushes and the way Anakin made her heart beat quicker.

"Do you want to go swimming in the lake," she repeated. "I dislike feeling unproductive and sitting around here is nothing but that. So we could go swimming, hope the water wakes us up a little more or exhausts us enough so that we can fall asleep. And if it doesn't, we can eat breakfast."

Anakin blinked, then he squinted at her. "Do you really want to wake up your attendants at 4am for breakfast?"

He was focusing on the wrong thing. This wasn't about breakfast, this was about getting washed by the cold so she could stop thinking about the slight freckles on his cheeks, his smile, and the fact that their Republic was slowly turning into something hideous and monstrous.

"I can make breakfast," Padmé elaborated and immediately pouted when Anakin's expression turned into that of pure theatric fear. "Oh, shut up! My cooking isn't that bad!"

"Yeah, I heard your handmaidens talk about it. Have you actually eaten it?"

"Yes, idiot, and I tell you it's fine."

"Sure."

"Don't say anything until you've tried it."

"Of course, milady."

"Anakin!"

Padmé didn't end up cooking but was swiftly places at the kitchen table, still dressed in her now drenched nightgown as Anakin commandeered her kitchen. It was a terribly lovely sight, one she could enjoy for longer than this moment lasted.

X

Shmi was having a brilliant morning and for just a moment, she wished it would last forever.

She knew there were plenty of Jedi that would look at her with the same expression they usually directed at her son's lineage for this thought. Certainly, there were better things to be done at three in the morning than get up and hash out an attack plan on Jabba's palace, but Shmi Skywalker had missed the Tatooine sunrises. She hadn't missed getting up after not enough hours of sleep to drag herself and her son to work, but the few minutes Anakin and she had always observed the sunrises together, those had been special in her heart.

At that moment, listening to just their breaths and heartbeat and that note she had come to associate with the Force, the universe had almost been perfect.

Then reality had come crashing down on her again.

"We don't have enough manpower to take Jabba," Shmi decided, running her fingers through her hair and tying it up so it would cease falling into her eyes.

The freedom fighters on Tatooine had welcomed her with open arms. Not too many remained of Shmi's time in Gardulla's ownership, either having left the planet or having died for their cause, but those that did remain respected her and her tales.

"So what are we supposed to do? Our resources are running dry and we can't continue on for much longer."

That was true.

While pirates were quite willing to ship weapons to the rebellion for the right price, they sold to Jabba all the same, and the rebels didn't have the backing of the Hutt Council. If things went even more sideways, the pirates would stop aiding them. It wasn't like they could promise them much for the future, unlike the Hutts. The only reason their Council hadn't intervened yet was the fact that they hoped to claim Tatooine once Jabba was gone. The Hutts didn't even care about each other, only profit counted, and the rebels were in the way of that.

This entire situation was less than ideal.

"What of the moisture farmers?"

"Some will help," a blond girl – Beru was her name if Shmi remembered correctly – spoke up. "My fiancé and his father and their friends are willing. They're sick of the endless fighting and Jabba's taxes aren't easy on them but…"

"The rest are slavers themselves," a togruta man spat next to her. "They're just waiting for us to die out, unwilling to raise a finger because they won't survive without their bought labor."

That, too, was a problem.

Shmi sighed and tiredly rubbed her eyes. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and Shmi, as much as she wanted, couldn't openly interfere. It was a fact she loathed, but if they lost, if too much shifted because of her unsanctioned interference, she might be marked a traitor to the Republic, even though Tatooine didn't belong to it.

The possible backlash against the Jedi was also nothing to gamble with. The fact that her teacher had let her go meant that she had placed her utmost faith in Shmi to do the right thing and make the wise choices.

If they won, it was no trouble. The Republic would welcome the hyperspace lanes attached to Tatooine and the control they would be able to exercise.

If they had a new government standing.

If they had the right support.

Damn it.

If Shmi had someone else here, Dooku or Quinlan, maybe then she could think of something else. Shmi didn't take missions into war zones or complicated political situations for a reason. Natural disasters were more her forte. She always got too emotionally involved and Tatooine was the epicenter of all that had hurt her once.

Dooku and Quinlan were well versed in Outer Rim politics and where to get what resources. Had she been just a little more foresighted, he would have anticipated the troubles and called them before leaving. It would be better if she could get the help of someone who specifically knew Tatooine well—

"A'Sharad."

Shmi stopped breathing, stopped moving as an impossible idea formed in her mind.

"I'm sorry?" Shmi turned her head to the right, where she found Tal'oola looking at her with concern.

"No, I just— I had a thought. I was reminded of another Jedi."

A murmur filled the room. Jedi had quite the reputation, even her on Tatooine, and the presence of a second was already unimaginable.

"Will they be able to help us?"

Shmi shook her head. AS far as she knew, A'Sharad was halfway across the galaxy with his new apprentice. "No, no. But that is not what counts. His name is A'Sharad Hett. He came to the Order about five years after I did."

"Hett?" Beru frowned and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Like that Tusken?"

Shmi nodded. "Yes, A'Sharad was born and raised here by his father, a former Jedi, among the Tuskens. He told me about Tatooine when he came to the Order and described the terrible fate that had befallen his tribe. We don't have enough people, but perhaps we don't need to go look further than the desert."

"You want to get help from the Tuskens?" another one asked, fear clearly written all over them as they shook like a windchime during storm season. "That is doomed to kill us."

"Why would it?" Shmi asked in turn, surprised with herself when she felt like a teacher in a classroom. She put the thought of Qui-Gon asking when she would take on a Padawan aside. "The Tuskens have never had any quarrel with us."

"They killed us!"

They had, but never out of pleasure. The Tuskens valued fighting a strong opponent and defeating them, as well as bringing destruction down on the people who had stolen their land.

Slaves were never their actual targets.

"No, they killed what they thought were intruders on their land. I am sure they would be more than happy to work with us if we were to extend our hands. The various tribes are splintered and not unified so they can't openly fight back. If we combine our forces, we can take on Jabba."

Tal'oola nodded along, the deep scar on her face making her expression look darker than it actually was. "And how would you convince them?"

"We let the Tuskens take back what was theirs in the first place, all those moisture farms outback, and we keep the capitals, maybe establish some trade routes or safe passages. They aren't brutal savages. They raise their children and tell them stories. We just need to convince them that we are honest since nobody else has truly tried talking with them before."

"And you will go talk to them?" Tal'oola asked concerned and put a hand on Shmi's shoulder.

Shmi had been instructed in the fine art of diplomacy and she knew how the Tuskens spoke with one another, what they respected and expected. She had enjoyed the lessons A'Sharad had been able to teach her. It had helped her understand more about her former prison and the grieving teenager had learned to let go. They had healed side-by-side and once this was over, Shmi would thank him by bringing him a meal of his people.

Shmi knew that she could do it; she had to. While Yoda was not her teacher, Yaddle had been fond of his saying as well.

Shmi exhaled. "I will."