Star Wars AU work in progress: Becoming Love: I, In You: The Rise of the Clone Wars
First Half of the Ninth Chapter of a SW AU work in progress (broken into two posts because of the LJ’s troublesome word/character lengths)
Series Title: Becoming Love: I, In You
*Story Title: The Rise of the Clone Wars
*Tentative/working title only - subject to change, as I’m not sure I like it!
Pairing: Mainly Dormékin with some background Sobidala (Sabé/Obi-Wan/Padmé Amidala).
*Rating: Uhm, probably a borderline PG-13/R-ish, overall, maybe (?)
*This may be subject to change, in a few very specific later parts.
Disclaimer: I do not own the lovely boys and girls from Star Wars, more's the pity! What I do have is an extremely contrary muse that refuses to shut up and leave me alone (or to make up its bloody mind about certain things) . . .
Summary: What if Senator Padmé Amidala had refused to go into hiding on Naboo, during the events of AotC and a scheme were instead hatched that involved sending Dormé Tammesin (the Senator's only surviving handmaiden on Coruscant who’d been trained as a decoy) into hiding as Amidala, with Anakin Skywalker to accompany and protect her, while Obi-Wan Kenobi went searching for the individual(s) responsible for the attempts on the Senator’s life and the first of the Senator's decoys (now one of the primary trainers of her new handmaidens), Sabé Dahn, brought her newest students to Coruscant to help Jedi Knights Siri Tachi and Garen Muln in their new assignment to hide and protect Padmé, while she remained on Coruscant to covertly continue the fight against the passing of the Military Creation Act? What, then, might have followed . . . and how would events have turned out differently than in the film saga? Dormékin AU of AotC!
Author’s Warnings: 1.) Please see the Author’s Warnings for the preface and prologue and first chapter of this story, as they continue to hold true pretty much throughout the rest of the story!
2.) Again, this story does not have a beta - I’ve proof-read and checked the grammar, but I won’t swear that there aren’t any typos! I will be happy to fix any errors that are pointed out to me!
Author’s Notes: 1.) Please see the Author’s Notesfor the preface and prologue and first chapter of this story, as they continue to hold true pretty much throughout the rest of the story!
2.) Again, please keep in mind that a lot of the basic background for this story is essentially congruent with the backstory for my SW AU series You Became to Me, at least up until the point where Dormé is the one who is sent to Naboo with Anakin. Thus, Nabooian customs are the same here as in You Became to Me (including traditions involving one’s coming of age and the giving of ritual names), Sola Naberrie has had two miscarriages that can in some way be linked to her little sister’s status as a (now former) Queen of Naboo and has a history of strong feelings of jealousy and envy towards Padmé, Sabé has essentially been an informally adopted or foster daughter of the Naberrie family since soon after the family moved to Theed, Dormé’s family has (with the exception of her youngest brother) been neglectful at best and borderline abusive at worst towards her, and etc. If there are references to past events that readers don’t get and are curious about, I invite questions. Some things I can probably explain fairly easily. Others, though, may need to wait on the progression of the actual story!
3.) Again, I have a journal entry with a running list of costumes/images that work (somewhat) as "illustrations" for much of this story, a more complete/updated version of which can now be found at http://polgarawolf.livejournal.com/136333.html and, when the story is completely done, I will likely go back and either create specific entries with links for each chapter or include the proper information on costumes and such for each chapter in that chapter post.
Star Wars
Becoming Love: I, In You
The Rise of the Clone Wars
Chapter Nine: Proof of the Impossibility of Returning Home
1,000:05:23 After Ruusan Reformations (25,001 After Republic’s Founding), 13 days prior to the Battle of Geonosis
Forgiveness means giving up the hope that the past can change.
- Ancient saying of the Shamans of the Whillis
Of all the things Dormé must put up with or suffer through in the course of discharging her sworn duty, perhaps the most difficult and discomfiting thing of all is the majority of the immediate family - loving, warm, caring, concerned, and absolutely nothing like most of the individuals she grew up amongst, in the Tammesin household - of her sworn Lady. Milady’s family is, by and all, so very friendly and open and loving that she feels smothered by their care and concern. She has no idea how Milady puts up with them. The children aren’t so bad - they’re good, sensible girls, Ryoo and Pooja. Young as they are, they’re already showing signs of extraordinary intellect and ability. Ryoo is already a fierce, formidable protectress and obviously has it in her to be a talented handmaiden, and Pooja is already so much like her aunt (charismatic, witty, caring) that Dormé finds it extraordinary that she’s that saidhín of a nugig Sola’s baby. (Tis a pity Sola is not more like her children and that is a fact. There’s a bad seed if ever there was one. Concerned with what she can gain and with looking as good as she possibly can in the eyes of others for as little effort expended as possible, the woman alternates between saccharine sweetness and false concern and coldly calculated backstabbing. Dormé’s not entirely sure how such a nasty piece of work like Sola ended up with a husband as fundamentally good and kind as Darred Janren, but she’s fairly sure that there was plotting and stealing/seducing involved. The girls obviously take after their father and their mother’s family, not their mother, and that is a fact) - but the others!
Nisaba bless, but sometimes she thinks that it would be better (or at least easier on her) if the other Naberries were more like Sola! At least then Dormé would know how to deal with them without feeling like such a damned fraud. Nisaba help her, but she just doesn’t feel right, when faced with such obvious affection and concern. It’s one thing for Milady to care about everyone - she’s Padmé Amidala. Of coruse she’s going to care about everyone! - but for an entire to be like her? It’s . . . unsettling, is what it is. Disconcerting. Like being dropped down in some bizarrely idealized alternate world. She keeps expecting to find herself waking up or for masks to fall off of the Naberries’ faces to reveal true, far more fallible forms. Jobal, especially, just makes her nervous. After all the things she’s gone through in the course of her life and for the sake of her work, it would undoubtedly seem strange to others to be so afraid of a concerned and loving mother, but this is Jobal Naberrie, for stars’ sakes! She’s what Padmé likely would’ve been, if she’d gone into social work and had a family rather than going into public service as a politician. And, worse, Jobal is terrifyingly, fiercely protective of and concerned for what she deems her youngest daughter’s right to a “normal” life. She hates how much Milady has given up, to serve the people, and can be observed to cry simply at the thought of the amount of danger associated with being Queen or Senator. She’s proud of her youngest, to be sure, but it kills her that Milady is still in service and not ready to retire and start a family of her own.
The Naberries met Master Kenobi only briefly, in the direct aftermath of retaking the capital, and were apparently not privileged to have much interaction with the young man in the relatively brief time he remained on Naboo, after that. In mourning for his brutally slain Master, adjusting to the reality of being Knighted and of gaining a Padawan, having to essentially fight for the right to fulfill a promise to his dying Master by training Anakin, and, moreover, ordered to help collect evidence of the Trade Federation’s illegal activities on Naboo for the eventual trial, the young man was, understandably, too busy for much socializing, even with the family of the Queen whose planet he’d helped to save. For some reason, though, Jobal Naberrie apparently doesn’t think that he had a good enough excuse to have avoided spending more time with them, nor is she particularly impressed by either his duty to Anakin or the vows binding him to the Jedi Order as a reason to keep him from being with Padmé and Sabé now. On the contrary, Jobal appears to be even more unsympathetic towards his determination to carry out his duty than she is by her own youngest daughter’s similar determination to best serve the peoples of Naboo.
Dormé would suspect that Missus Naberrie harbors prejudice against the Jedi Order and their members (likely for their anti-family ways, as most individuals on Naboo regard the Order’s tendency to eschew attachments), if not for the singular lack of sympathy the woman exhibits for her own daughter’s preoccupation with duty. It would be humorous, in an ironic sort of fashion, for the one so very responsible for Milady’s determination to serve to also be the one most disapproving of that same dedication to duty, if it were not for the fact that Jobal Naberrie is so very stridently against the continuation of Padmé’s political career, on the grounds that it keeps her from ever having a “normal” life for herself. As it is, it’s far less funny than it simply is detrimental to Milady’s happiness and peace of mind and therefore both distracting and harmful in the eyes of the handmaidens. Missus Naberrie certainly means well, but largely all she’s accomplished is to fret herself and the handmaidens ragged and to make Padmé feel miserable and guilty for not giving in to her family’s increasing pressure on her to retire and settle down and start a family of her own.
So. She is not particularly looking forward to the stop at the Naberrie home, especially not when she knows they will end up spending most of the day (if not longer. Probably longer) before they can make good their escape to Varykino. It will be good to see the girls again - her heart gives a queer aching sort of leap every time she hears one of those dear sweet younglings call her their mamaithryn, as though she were as much their aunty as Lady Sabé or even Milady Padmé herself - but otherwise . . . it will not be pleasant for anyone, she fears, much less the Naberries themselves. Nisaba knows she isn’t going to enjoy this overly much, especially not decked out as she is, in a favorite casual two-piece soft aqua dress of Milady’s, which is so revealing that Dormé feels practically naked, whenever she removes her cloak (especially since her hair is curled tight and pulled back and up high in a blue headpiece made to match the dress). The snug long sleeves and high neck of the top and the long drape of the flared skirt do very little to provide any real sensation of coverage. Though she is fairly close to the same size as Milady, her body is not quite as soft as Padmé’s, and, between her longer torso, longer legs, slightly more slender waist but slightly more flared hips, and the fact that the top is midriff-baring with a mostly cutaway back and the skirt a wrap design that fastens tightly at the left hip and, despite the overlap of the fabric, leaves a slit far up that left side that tends to show quite a bit of leg, if she takes too long of a stride or goes up any stairs, she feels positively indecent!
Anakin’s eyes had practically bugged out of his head, when he first caught sight of her in it, and she has to fight hard not to blush, just remembering the odd feeling of lightheadedness and warmth that had insistently beset her, under his shocked but blatantly admiring gaze. Between the embarrassment caused by the costume meant to disguise her as Milady and the discomfort of being surrounded by the Naberries, she’s not likely to feel as though she’s able to take even so much as a truly deep breath between now and whenever they finally are on the road to Varykino. Her discomfiture, though, is no reason to subject Anakin to uneasiness or agitation, so she makes sure to keep her face schooled to calm composure as they make their way down the carefully landscaped streets. Anakin is so busy drinking in the sights that he might not pick up on her anxiety, but there’s no reason to risk altering him to her upset unnecessarily.
In any case, soon enough, they’ve made their way to the Naberrie home - a large home of pale but warm golden-tinged native stone, with several flowering plants and vines all along the walkway leading up to the front of the house and a large open yard with a beautifully landscaped garden out back - and Ryoo and Pooja are practically flying down the stairs to the street level to greet them, their exuberant joyful cries of, “Mamaithryn!” and “Aunt Padmé! Aunt Padmé!” making her heart clench and ache. Ryoo all but launches herself from the steps into her arms, long dark brown hair and warm apricot and butterscotch golden skirts flying behind her, and Pooja is only a few moments behind, her mop of light brown curls bouncing and pale yellow skirts billowing as she hurries to catches up with her older sister.
“Ryoo! Pooja! I’m so happy to see you girls!” Dormé finds herself laughing easily in return as she catches them up and twirls them around in her arms in a wide circle, her churning uneasiness receding as she plants kisses on eagerly upraised cheeks. Only when she’s knelt down to let the girls slide back down through her arms onto the flagstones and turned to look back over her shoulder to call to Anakin, only to notice him lagging behind, a look of bemused wonder in his eyes, does her smile start to slip again, becoming slightly flustered. A little bit reluctantly, she rises, turning about with her hands placed gently against the girls backs until they are all facing in his direction, and explains, a little bit awkwardly, “This is Anakin. Anakin, this is Ryoo and this is Pooja. They’re Sola’s girls.”
Under other circumstances, the blush on the pair as they shyly tell Anakin (who is once again in his Jedi garb) hello would have made her burst out laughing - the girls are, after all, normally quite fearless - but their charmingly rosy cheeks make her remember her own (likely far less becoming and more violently red) flush, so she is relieved when the girls notice the little droid rolling behind Anakin, trying to catch up.
“Artoo!” they shout happily in unison. Breaking away from Dormé, they rush past Anakin to the little astromech, leaping upon him, hugging him cheek to dome.
R2-D2 seems equally thrilled to see the girls, beeping and whistling almost as happily as Dormé has ever heard, and Anakin smiles, chuckling a little, clearly amused. She takes advantage of his momentary distraction to self-consciously tug her cloak a little closer around her, even though she knows she’s going to have to take it off almost as soon as they go into the house.
Sure enough, the moment she turns to make her way up the steps to the door, a figure appears in the doorway. Sighing quietly, she moves to meet the woman halfway and mentally braces herself.
Sola Naberrie is a beautiful woman. Taller than Milady - about Dormé’s height, actually. Perhaps a centimeter or so shorter, though she holds herself so upright with such effortless grace that it’s always been difficult for Dormé to tell for sure - slim (and yet somehow still curvy), graceful, and in possession of strongly defined bones in a classic oval face, dark brown hair, and almost shockingly bright blue eyes, she is, in fact, so lovely that she tends to outshine everyone else in the room . . . so long as Milady is not also present in that room. Though undeniably lovely in every classical sense of the word, somehow compared to Padmé, Sola has always come off as something artificial, a pale and imperfect imitation of real beauty, and she knows it . . . and hates it. Her vividly stained lush mouth thin and her vividly pale eyes narrow, for a moment, on seeing Dormé, before her lips twist and deform into a wide and (to Dormé’s eyes) patently false grin. “Little sister! There you are. Mom and Dad will be so glad to see you looking so well. Goodness! I might almost have mistaken you for a water sprite or a sea nymph, in that dress, if only there were some more water about!” Her laugh tinkles - high, musical, beautiful, perfectly formed and eerily empty of real mirth - like bells shaken in a wind, and then she is reaching out with slender hands to pull Dormé in for an embrace, carefully staged to look far closer than it truly is, before turning to notice Anakin, who has paused at the base of the stairs. “My, my! You are traveling with interesting company, aren’t you? Come! Come inside, both of you! Here, let me take your cloak. Come along! I’m sure the girls will be able to amuse themselves with little Artoo for a while. Come say hello to Mom and Dad! They’ve been worried sick these past few weeks.”
Sola is wearing only a simple body-skimming light blue gown - sleeves and skirt both long and seemingly modest - under a contrasting navy cloak of fragile, unlined lace, but the way she holds herself is so confident and regal that it would make Dormé want to squirm, even if she weren’t in a borrowed dress cut far more revealingly than she would prefer. She has to fight to avoid fidgeting with her clothes (Nisaba, is it really that obvious that the costume wasn’t made for her body? Does it look painted on? She knows the material of the top is stretched more than it should be, especially given that the skirt wants to hang far lower on her hips than the fastening for the edges of the top at the back of the skirt really wants to allow for, but is she really as ridiculous as Sola’s coolly uplifted eyebrow and smirking smile seem to suggest? Does she look as foolish as Sola seems to be suggesting?) as she is unceremoniously stripped out of her cloak and ushered the rest of the way up to the house. Only Anakin’s warm smile, as he hurries to hold the door open for her, keeps her from flushing with embarrassment.
“I hope to be able to provide them with some peace of mind,” she ventures.
Eyes sparkling with vicious amusement, Sola simply warns her, “You mustn’t hope for too much, little sister,” her voice pitched in such a way as to mimic sympathy. “I’m afraid they’re likely to worry until this whole thing has finished blowing over. But enough of such gloomy things! Mom is making you dinner. As usual, your timing is perfect.”
Dinner. Goddess help her! A full Naberrie dinner. It’s worse than she’s been expecting (worse even than she’s feared), if Jobal is planning on grilling them over a family dinner. Missus Naberrie must be extremely upset with recent events, if she is cooking for a lowly handmaiden as she might for her youngest daughter. Most of the time when a handmaiden is sent to the Naberrie home in Milady’s stead, while great pains will be taken to keep the illusion whole everywhere that someone not in the family could possibly overhear or oversee anything, the illusion will be dropped indoors, and the handmaiden will be left alone to go about her business or to entertain herself until such time as “Amidala” is called on again to leave. For Jobal to be planning a family sit-down meal as if Milady were truly home . . . Nisaba bless, but she must be frustrated to the point where she doesn’t care if whatever point she wants to make has to go through someone else to get to her daughter, so long as she knows that it eventually will get to her. That . . . that is not a good sign. A distressed, frustrated Jobal tends to mean an unhappy, unpredictable Naberrie clan. Goddess knows what that might mean, with Anakin thrown in the mix. Though capable of quite a bit of patience and sympathy for those he has deemed worthy of such empathy, Anakin has a bad tendency to react first and think later, and Dormé is also painfully aware of the fact that he tends to be very protective of the individuals he likes. If the Naberries are short with her, Anakin is liable to take umbrage on her behalf for what he will perceive as their uncalled for rudeness.
Cringing internally, Dormé lets herself be ushered further into the house, bracing herself for the coming storm.
*********
Anakin is . . . confused by the Naberries. Especially Sola Naberrie. Though he can see bits and pieces of Padmé scattered throughout her family - in the look and manner of her nieces (who stay close by each other in a way that reminds Anakin a little of Padmé and Sabé); in her mother’s bright smile; in her father’s compassionate eyes; in the regality of her sister’s bearing - his overall impression of the family (well, aside from the two little girls) is not one of welcoming but rather of bare tolerance and thinly veiled frustration. And the longer they remain within the Naberrie home, the stronger the sense of dread and agitation he can sense spilling through the cracks in Dormé’s mental armor. It’s . . . confusing. Distracting. The place is almost idyllic - the interior of the house is just as simply wonderful and just as full of life and soft color as the yard. There are no glaring lights, no beeping consoles or flickering computer screens, no sense of artificiality to any of the trappings or furnishings of the house. The furniture is all plush and comfortable; the floors are made of cool stone blocks, polished parquet, carefully set mosaic tiles, or else covered in soft carpeting or gaily patterned rugs; decorations manage to seem both beautiful and functional; and, while everything is obviously of high quality, it all has the look of items that have been both well used and well cared for, as though the family truly lives and loves among the items scattered throughout this house. Yet, smiles are strained, or false, or fade far too quickly, and the matriarch of the family, despite her seemingly kind face, feels, to him, like a thunderous roil of frustration, fury, and heartsick worry, her emotions churning up the Force like the winds of a hurricane might disturb the surface of the sea.
What makes it worse is that it’s so easy to see Padmé in her mother (the expressiveness of those dark brown eyes, the shape of the face, the luminosity of that smile) that he’s simply not sure how to react, given the darkness of her obviously dissatisfied spirit. Even worse, there is something in the way that Jobal Naberrie holds herself and conducts herself - ushering enough piping hot, delicious smelling food out of the kitchen to feed a small army - that reminds him painfully of his own mother, making him feel clumsy and small and tongue-tied and ashamed, as though he must have done something terribly wrong, to make her so unhappy, and as if he is worth less than the dust on his boots, to have made someone clearly so giving so distressed.
And then there is Sola.
His first impression is of a blade, something long and slender and elegant and lovely and perfectly capable of cutting someone down in the blink of an eye, and it is an impression that he cannot quite shake, no matter how many seemingly warm smiles (that don’t quite reach those bright blue eyes) she casts in his direction. The easy thing to do would be to think of her as being somewhat like Padmé and then to simply dismiss her from thought, but the truth is that the more he looks at her and the more closely he attends to her, the less like her little sister she seems. The longer he is in her presence, the more sure he is that, though it might certainly be easier to think that she is just an older, taller, slimmer, sharper version of her sister, with blue eyes and darker hair, and not pursue the matter any further, it’s simply not true. Or at least it’s not the whole truth. She’s taller, yes, and older, but rather than seeming more worn than Padmé, she instead strikes him as having been frozen, at some point, in stone. She’s like a doll or a mask, lovely and glittering to behold but only imperfectly given life. Her mannerisms are all slightly off. Either her expressions don’t reach her eyes or her eyes speak of emotions and thoughts not expressed by either her face or her tongue. And her movements, though undeniably graceful, also strike him somehow as being performed at a carefully monitored speed, as though in imitation of human movements and gestures. She strikes him as vaguely unreal, as though she’s less a person than she is an object, as if she’s missing some vital spark of humanity that might make her real.
He senses nothing from her in the Force, and that makes his hair want to stand all on end.
Ruwee and Jobal are both strong enough in the Force to make a definitive impression on it - Jobal, in her anxiety, affecting the Force like a dark storm, whereas Ruwee feels more like a deep pool of still water in the shadowy depths of an old-growth forest, projecting a sense of calm and steadiness and permanence and deeply rooted strength in a way that almost reminds Anakin of a meditating Jedi Master - but Sola . . . it’s like she’s not even there. She laughs and smiles and speaks and flits lightly about the house, helping her mother carry out platter after platter and bowl after bowl of food from the kitchen to the dining room table and teasing Jobal all the while about how it’s far too much food and how she’s quite sure someone must have fed them at some point between when they left Coruscant and arrived here; yet, when Anakin reaches out into the Force, to try to catch some sense of her (of how she is, as a person, and of what she might be feeling) he feels absolutely nothing, not even the faintest muffled echo of life he might catch from the dumbest of nonsentient beasts. If it weren’t for the fact that he can still perceive Ruwee and Jobal and even Dormé (despite her shields) so clearly, he’d be tempted to wonder if there weren’t something wrong with him.
He’s still trying to figure out what else his inability to sense anything of (or from) Sola in the Force might mean when a tallish, slender young man (probably in his mid twenties) with sharp features and dark, riotously curly hair comes wandering through the kitchen into the dining room, absently scrawling something across an old-fashioned touch pad and asking, “Dad, what do you think about adding another fountain to the plaza behind the square where we want the main library . . . ?” He looks up, stops short at the sight of them all gathered around the table, blinks, and, a little bemusedly, exclaims, “Oh, dear, is it that day already? I’m so sorry to barge in! I’ve just been working on the project plans for the new city and I’m afraid I tend to lose track of the hour. And the day. Dormé Tammesin, so good to see you! Ryoo still talks nonstop about how you complimented her form, on that practice kata, some months ago. And you must be Anakin Skywalker! You won’t remember me. I believe you were mostly asleep, when we met, before. That young man who’d been Knighted was carrying you, in any case. Pleased to formally make your acquaintance! I’m Darred Janren. Ryoo and Pooja’s father,” he adds as he comes around the table to bends over and offer Anakin his right hand to clasp, grinning at him affably, flashing deep dimples at him. As he leans down, the light happens to hit his hair just right, revealing a wealth of bright cinnamon highlights lurking in his dark corkscrew curls, and Anakin finds himself blinking and having to concentrate hard to push away the sudden unshakeable certainty that this man is far more like Padmé than Sola ever will be.
“Glad to meet you. I’m ashamed to admit I don’t really remember you. Did we meet more than the once?” Anakin asks politely, returning the man’s smile and clasping his hand.
Darred Janren shrugs slightly, easily. “Just the once, I think. Your young Master usually left you with the handmaidens, when he’d come ’round to check on me. How has that remarkable young man been? You will convey my regards for me, won’t you? Tell your Master I’ve never stopped listening for the tides to turn. If he remembers me at all, he’ll know what I mean.”
The man is like a tightly contained sun - all light and energy and warmth and power - and it’s more than a little startling, to be so near to someone so strong in the Force and to know absolutely that the man has never had any training whatsoever in his life. “Ah, I’ll be sure to tell him that. I’m sure he’ll remember you. He tends to remember everyone and everything. Won’t you sit down?” he asked, half out of politeness and half out of simple curiosity about the man. “I’m sure there’s plenty of food to go around!”
Darred, though, just waves a hand in airy dismissal. “Oh, the girls and I tend to eat earlier than Mother Jobal appreciates having to dine. It’s why they’re out tearing about the garden - probably under the watchful eye of that quirky little astromech of Padmé’s - instead of in here nattering your ears off. I’ll come back through in time for dessert. I just want to try to finish up some work on this little plaza first. Dad - ?” he asks, turning back towards Ruwee Naberrie.
“If it looks harmonious to you, then I’m sure another fountain needs to be put in. Go with whatever you feel is right, my son,” Ruwee tells him with a beneficent smile.
“Right. Harmonious. In that case, perhaps a gazing pool with some sort of weeping fruit tree that will flower in the spring . . . ” Darred mutters as he turns and wanders back towards wherever he came from, further back inside the house.
Anakin can feel his eyebrows trying to crawl their way up into his hairline. That’s Sola Naberrie’s husband? He’s so shocked that he finds himself wondering just what in the names of all the stars could have possibly induced a man with so much personal warmth to wed someone as seemingly cold and hollow as Sola. In all honesty, he would’ve found it easier to believe that Darred Janren was Padmé’s brother by blood rather than by marriage, and far easier to believe the man Padmé’s blood relation than to believe the same of Sola. He’s about to make a comment to this effect when Dormé surprises him by reaching her hand under the table to grasp him by the wrist, briefly but tightly. When he turns to look at her, there is a warning in her eyes, and so, with a small mental shrug, he simply quietly remarks, “I take it he’s an architect, then, too?”
Ruwee nods in easy agreement. “A very good one. We’re quite proud of him, aren’t we, Sola my dear?” he asks, turning towards his oldest daughter with a smile.
“Endlessly proud,” she immediately agrees, smiling hugely and making Anakin want to shiver uneasily at the sheer lack of life or presence behind that seemingly blindingly bright wide smile. “All things considered, I believe Darred and I have done quite well, if I do say so myself.”
“Speaking of which,” Jobal abruptly interjects, scowling darkly and wringing her hands in her napkin, “just when is my youngest daughter planning to come home again and give up this insanely dangerous career of hers? We’ve been so worried about her!”
Slightly too late, Ruwee shakes his head, the light catching on the silver threading generously through the brown, and cautions her, “Dear, perhaps not now.”
“If not now then when? When she’s returned to us for her funeral boat?” Jobal only flares furiously back, flinging her napkin down violently on the table.
“Dear - ”
“Don’t! Don’t ‘dear’ me! Do you have any idea how many young girls were killed when that ship exploded, on Coruscant?” Jobal only demands, voice shrill with borderline hysteria. “Our daughter could have easily been on that ship!”
Anakin finds himself turning to look at Dormé - half because her mental wince at Jobal’s proclamation reflexively leaves him scowling and wanting to reassure her (again) that what happened to the handmaidens on that ship wasn’t her fault, and half because emotions are escalating so rapidly that he’s wondering if it mightn’t be prudent for them to duck out and let the Naberries continue this argument in private - but she’s sitting frozen in place with a look of such shock on her face that he quickly turns his gaze back to his plate and returns to trying to pretend that the contents of his plate are so fascinating that he can’t even spare attention enough to take in anything anyone else is saying or doing.
Patiently, Ruwee tries to explain, “Dearest, that’s why the Jedi have taken a personal interest in - ”
“Oh, the Jedi!” Jobal only laughs raggedly, cutting him off, waving a hand curly in dismissal. “As if the Jedi have ever done anything but add to Padmé’s heartbreak!”
“Jobal!” The crack of Ruwee’s voice makes Anakin (and, he’s a little relieved to notice, Dormé, too) jump visibly. “You go too far. That young man cannot be held accountable for our daughter’s chosen path in life, and you know it. Be reasonable, my dear!”
“‘Reasonable’? ‘Be reasonable’! That young man ruined our daughter’s chances for a normal life! You and I both know it, whether you want to admit it or not! And if - ”
Voice quiet but firm, Ruwee cuts his wife off before she can quite manage to become entirely hysterical. “Jobal, Padmé made her choice long before she met Obi-Wan Kenobi. To blame him for the life-path she chose would be like blaming fire for the blossoming of a flower in the spring. Be fair, beloved. She would not be our Padmé if she were not so concerned for the welfare of others. And that young Jedi loves her as dearly as Sabé.”
“Love! If they truly loved her, they would convince her to come home and live her own life, not let her keep going on like she has, daring thugs to take shots at her in the dark!” Jobal chokes a little on the last few words, and, sobbing, pushes herself violently back from the table to flee, vanishing with surprisingly rapidity into the depths of the kitchen.
Ruwee sighs tiredly, rubbing a hand across his eyes as if the light pains him. “I’m so very sorry. Please, excuse my wife. These have been troubling times for us, of late. Please, finish your meals. I’m going to go speak to Jobal to try to calm her down and give her some peace of mind.”
Anakin and Dormé are then left alone at the table with Sola, who, after a handful of strained silence, viciously pronounces, “I hope you are both quite happy with yourselves.”
Dormé just blinks at her, staring, wide-eyed, for several long moments, as if she’s sure she cannot possibly have heard Sola correctly. “Excuse me?” she finally asks, clearly bewildered.
“You heard me. And don’t even pretend like you don’t know what I mean, little sister,” Sola only spits hatefully. “Do you people have no hearts or souls at all? My poor parents have been worrying themselves sick! Mom’s nerves are so frayed it’s a wonder she can even get up out of bed! And you, you just come waltzing in here as though it’s nothing, as if it’s perfectly alright for you to basically be here on vacation while your sworn Lady and my baby sister stays behind on Coruscant and puts herself deliberately in harm’s way all for the sake of some insanely ridiculous principle of democracy that no one actually upholds anymore! You let her stay and you bring him - a Jedi! - here to my parents’ home! Could you not bear to let him out of your sight for even a few hours? Are you so jealous of his time and attention as that? You had to bring him - Anakin Skywalker, of all individuals! - here to flaunt before my poor parents? You couldn’t have just sent him on ahead to wherever it is that you’re going? Asherah be blessed, are you really that selfish and shallow? I hope you’re damn well proud of yourself, Dormé Tammesin!”
Dormé just sits there, pale and gaping, apparently too stunned by the vicious accusations to even move, but Anakin is instantly on his feet. “Hey! You watch your tongue! I’m only here because I was assigned protective detail for the lady and told to treat her as I would the Senator and stay with her at all times, not because I was asked to tag along or even because I wanted to come here, and Dormé certainly isn’t responsible for your little sister’s choice of career or your parents’ worry, any more than I am! And you could show a little bit more respect for your sister! This planet is only free because of her!”
“Free!” Sola makes a harsh noise that falls somewhere in between a snort and a pained cry. “You and my sister - all of you - you think you’re so high and mighty, so righteous, because you helped oust the Trade Federation from Naboo! But tell me, whose fault is it that they were here in the first place and whose fault is it that they managed to land an invading army of their damned droids? Who broke all the arrangements the previous monarch of Naboo and his people had made with the Trade Federation and its allies? Who was it who allowed a greedy corporation like the Trade Federation enough leeway and power to order its own personal army of droids? And where the hell was my precious little baby sister when her people were stuck here, suffering, while the Viceroy and his goons played lords of the manor? Where were you and your precious Master or you and your precious sworn Lady at when I went into premature labor and lost the baby who would have been my firstborn? All those lives you claim you saved or improved, by defeating the Trade Federation and its droid forces, and where were any of you when I needed you? Where were any of you when any of the people who truly suffered during the invasion and occupation could have been helped or saved? Where was your precious Jedi Order or her beloved Amidala or the damned Galactic Senate and their rules and laws and justice, either then or afterwards? What justice has Naboo ever received? Our attackers were free to go and now they foment rebellion among so-called Separatists and my baby sister is called away again, to deal with the mess and keep it from exploding into all out war. Meanwhile, it is her family - those who truly love her, by Asherah! - who suffer, just as it always is! And why? Why, I ask you? So she can look good for her untouchable Jedi beloved? So she can pretend her life is more exciting or more fulfilled than that of others? So she can tell herself that she is doing good and so didn’t make the wrong decision, all those years ago, when she chose to go into politics and so threw over the one who loved her for the sake of that career?” Sola half snarls and half sobs, shaking with frustrated fury and all but bursting with emotion, hands knotted up violently into fists, the words tumbling out of her with such rapidity and such fervor that all either Anakin or Dormé can do is gape dumbly at her. “Why are you even here? If this proposal is so vitally important, why aren’t the both of you back on Coruscant? Why aren’t you guarding her, so she’s safe and free to do her magic? Do you even know it, yourselves? Well, I’ll tell you why! It’s because it’ll be more triumphant for her, that much more of a miracle for her to tout, later on, when she succeeds, if it’s against higher odds because she’s there virtually alone, but for Sabé and maybe a few only partially trained handmaidens! It’ll make her look that much better for that damned Master of yours, little Padawan, and that’s why she refused to come away to Naboo, to safety, herself, and leave fighting this proposed bill up to Sabé or Dormé and the other handmaidens! It’s because she’s so damned self-centered that she can’t even fathom the possibility of anyone else ever being able to stop whatever unspeakable disaster it is that she thinks this proposal being passed could cause, and because the Jedi Order wants to keep encouraging her dependency on Obi-Wan Kenobi’s good opinion of her! She’s so much easier for them to manipulate and control, when she’s so busy panting after an unattainable Jedi lover, that - ”
“You shut your mouth!” Dormé finally gasps out, her own hands doubling over into fists. “Evil, despicable woman! You’ve no idea what you’re talking about! Your sister - ”
“I think I know my sister better than you, little handmaiden! Scrabble after scraps from her table as you will: that doesn’t mean you know her - or that you are as good as she is!” Sola only snarls back, cutting her off. “By Asherah, I swear sometimes I cannot make it clear in my mind which it is, whether you want to simply worship at my baby sister’s self-made altar or to take her life for your own! You act as though you want to take Sabé’s place, but then you show up here, in my sister’s stead, with this Jedi - !”
“That’s enough!” Anakin manages to interject before she can really get on a roll again, almost shouting. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but don’t you dare - !”
“I’ll dare whatever I please! If you don’t like what I have to say, then you can leave! This isn’t your home or your family! And you, little Jedi, are most certainly not welcome here! I don’t even know how you dare to show your face here! What, it’s not enough that your damned Master take up every stray thought of my sister’s or that he’s ruined her and Sabé both for any kind of a normal life or relationship, he has to send you here, too, to check up on Padmé in her absence? Does he trust his hold on her so little or hold her in such contempt that he would send you, his little Padawan piteóac sáibhnaidhe - ”
“Sola! Enough! Don’t you dare to speak such filth! You know as well as I that Master Kenobi is sworn to - ”
“I know nothing of the sort! I know his supposed obligation to the Order makes a good excuse to keep him from her bed and with this young man glued to his side, at his every beck and call, just as he once was for that Qui-Gon Jinn fellow! I know it lets him string her and Sabé both along and fill their heads with unreasonable, ridiculous hopes for a future that never comes and never comes and likely never will come! I know it lets him curry favor with Naboo and all our allies, gathering alliances and support for himself, while still remaining in his precious Order and retaining access to all the wealth and information and privilege of the Order! And I know - ”
“You know nothing except how to run your mouth in the most hurtful way imaginable on subjects you know little about and understand nothing of, woman. And you can shut your mouth and cease your poisonous spewing now, wife, or I can remove you to a private room where your hysterical ravings won’t bother anyone,” a voice (seemingly cold enough to quench an erupting volcano) abruptly interrupts mid-rant, as Darred Janren reappears from the kitchen to stalk over to the table with the deadly ease of a well-trained martial artist, all of his earlier vagueness and preoccupation forgotten, his focus trained on them like a highly refined beam of strong light, the impression of him in the Force almost more like some kind of tightly contained self-perpetuating explosion than a sun, self-righteous anger feeding him as though he were a furnace. Anakin finds himself having to blink a little, and not just because the man’s sudden reappearance has caught him off guard (though, to be fair, it has surprised him, the waves of fury and pain and frustration and hatred blasting out from Sola so strong that he hasn’t had enough attention left to spare for anything or anyone except Dormé).
Sola bares her teeth at him. “Husband - ”
“Keep your tongue between your teeth!” he only barks, interrupting before she can try to say anything else. “If you stopped to think at all, you would know you were simply spewing bile! This young lady is a devoted handmaiden to a great woman who just happens to be your baby sister, and there’s nothing else to her presence here but that, just as there’s nothing else to this young man’s presence here, save that he was ordered to accompany and protect her as though she were the Senator herself, to draw attention away from the fact that Padmé Amidala remained on Coruscant. There is nothing here for you to take offense at or be suspicious of, Sola. They’re here to protect the baby sister you supposedly love - the sister who has pledged her love and fidelity to this boy’s Master and to her childhood sweetheart both - and you’ve no right to accuse them or her or Obi-Wan Kenobi of anything else.”
Sola, though, just sneers up at him in venomous disgust. “I call it as I see it and you damn well know it! Just because you’ve always had a soft spot for Padmé and her girls - ”
“Sola, for pity’s sake! Just because I’ve always gotten along well with your family - ”
“Oh, you get along, alright! You get along so well I wager you’d happily crawl into bed with Padmé and Sabé and that damned Jedi - !”
“Stop right there. Stop. You know better than that! Of all people, you know better than that. I made my decision a long time ago. Don’t be petty, just because you’re unhappy and - ”
“Unhappy? Unhappy! I’ll tell you about unhappy, you - ”
“Sola, stop. You’re frightening our guests and our girls are just right outside - ”
“Let them hear, if they want! They deserve to know what kind of a man their father is, what kind of a woman their precious aunties are! It’ll save them the inevitable disappointment of finding out you all aren’t perfect, later on, when it’ll only hurt more!”
“Oh, for Asherah’s sake! As if anyone’s perfect, much less in this family!”
“You seem to think little Padmé and her paramours are perfect enough, you - ”
“Alright, enough. I have never cheated on you in my life and you know that. Stop being so paranoid and hysterical. You aren’t even making any sense!” he accuses, plainly disgusted with her and fed up with the whole conversation. “Who exactly is it you’re afraid I’ve set my sights on this time? Who are you jealous of now? Dormé, for being Sabé’s protégée and so much like your sister that you seem unable to see the real woman whenever you look at her; Sabé, for remaining faithful to your sister even when honor dictated that she couldn’t have her; your sister, for being who and what she is and for gathering so many loyal, devoted hearts; Obi-Wan Kenobi, for loving Padmé and Sabé both enough to pledge himself as their third, when he eventually retires from the Jedi Order; this boy, for being important enough to Obi-Wan to keep him in the Order a little longer than he might have otherwise stayed; or me, for being able to respect and get along with all of them?”
“That damned Jedi has - ”
“Not another word, Sola Itami Naberrie, so help me, or I will remove you to your room until you’ve gained control over yourself again! You know I count Obi-Wan Kenobi as a friend. That young man saved my sanity and my life, when you lost the baby and we thought we were going to lose you, as well, for a time! He kept me from throwing my life away on some useless gesture of vengeance, and he - ”
“And maybe he shouldn’t have! Maybe he should have let you avenge yourself and me and the baby and all of us who suffered on those damned Trade Federation mucáti raib sgàirtós! Maybe then at least some of them would have paid for what they did to us! They’ve never been punished and they never will be, now! This damned Republic is broken and next to useless for us, out here, and you all stand around and preach about how important it is and how vital it is that democracy be preserved and defended and for what? For what? To protect the interests of the rich, of the corporations and the crooks on the Core Worlds they pay off for the rights to plunder and abuse and reave from the rest of us? To keep the career politicians in power, so that nothing ever changes or can change? They care nothing for the common people, nothing for us! They left us here to rot under the sallaigh Trade Federation and would have done nothing to help us and they can’t be bothered to do anything to punish those who hurt us, either! You! You damned Jedi, you’re good for nothing but stealing children from their homes and families and supporting the crooked politicians and greedy corporations! And you! Fine lady that you are, you do nothing but support and enable my baby sister in her foolishness as she perpetuates a broken system! What have you ever done to help anyone but yourself? What have any of you ever done to help those who truly needed it? You and all your fine words and high intentions! You do nothing but keep the truislleach criminals in power, your hypocrites! Nute Gunray and his cronies are still free to cause trouble because no one ever dared upset the status quo enough to punish them!”
Darred Janren’s face is so eerily still that, even without being able to feel the storm of power gathering about him, it would have been obvious that he’s drawing dangerously near to the end of his patience. “You would have preferred to lose your husband and your child both?”
“I would have preferred to see justice!” Sola snarls, leaping to her feet. “I would still prefer to see justice! Is that so hard to understand? Real justice, not this sham of legality the Senate and the Jedi extract! Instead, we’re forced to sit idly by, able to do nothing but worry, while Padmé and her girls and all of her allies among the Jedi and the Senate work to broker peace with beings who should be cast out into the outermost darkness for the sins! Why not let them secede? Why not secede ourselves? What has this damned Republic ever done for us?”
“Sola, be still. You’re speaking treason - ”
“I’m speaking sense, and you know it, in your heart of hearts, if no other place, whether you want to admit it or not! What Padmé and the Jedi and these others are all doing is wrong. The Republic is wrong. This democracy is broken and has been for a long time! Why are we trying to support a government that doesn’t even work?”
The urge to say something about Obi-Wan’s real intentions and the third side Anakin so recently urged Queen Jamillia to support, if it should come down to civil war - if only to shut the damned woman up! - is strong, but Dormé is hanging onto his wrist and squeezing in a way that Anakin knows means she wants him to keep quiet, so he just scowls darkly at the teary-eyed woman while her husband acerbically points out, “It’s people like the Jedi and your sister who keep the criminals from flourishing and who are trying to fix what’s wrong in the Republic and right the wrongs plaguing the galaxy!”
Sola just laughs raggedly, derisively, in her husband’s face. “How?” she all but howls, her face contorting with fury. “By letting the politicians and the corporations control everything? By mind-tricking people into behaving according to the laws, whether they want to or not, whether the laws are just or not? By concentrating power and wealth in the hands of the privileged few and ignoring the reality governing the lives of the many? For Asherah’s sake, you were a slave, Anakin Skywalker! How can you bear to enslave yourself willingly to the whims of the High Council governing the Jedi Order? That Master of yours might as well be your owner! When are you ever allowed time for yourself, to do what you want to do, much less to think for yourself or feel the emotions and attachments your Order forbids its members? How can you stand it, always having to answer to the High Council and obey your Master without challenge or question? Have you the right even to refuse your Master anything he might demand of you?”
The bones in Dormé’s hand creak ominously as her fingers tighten convulsively around his wrist, but Anakin is so angry he can’t keep his mouth shut any longer.
And then everything goes rapidly to hell.
*********
Series Title: Becoming Love: I, In You
*Story Title: The Rise of the Clone Wars
*Tentative/working title only - subject to change, as I’m not sure I like it!
Pairing: Mainly Dormékin with some background Sobidala (Sabé/Obi-Wan/Padmé Amidala).
*Rating: Uhm, probably a borderline PG-13/R-ish, overall, maybe (?)
*This may be subject to change, in a few very specific later parts.
Disclaimer: I do not own the lovely boys and girls from Star Wars, more's the pity! What I do have is an extremely contrary muse that refuses to shut up and leave me alone (or to make up its bloody mind about certain things) . . .
Summary: What if Senator Padmé Amidala had refused to go into hiding on Naboo, during the events of AotC and a scheme were instead hatched that involved sending Dormé Tammesin (the Senator's only surviving handmaiden on Coruscant who’d been trained as a decoy) into hiding as Amidala, with Anakin Skywalker to accompany and protect her, while Obi-Wan Kenobi went searching for the individual(s) responsible for the attempts on the Senator’s life and the first of the Senator's decoys (now one of the primary trainers of her new handmaidens), Sabé Dahn, brought her newest students to Coruscant to help Jedi Knights Siri Tachi and Garen Muln in their new assignment to hide and protect Padmé, while she remained on Coruscant to covertly continue the fight against the passing of the Military Creation Act? What, then, might have followed . . . and how would events have turned out differently than in the film saga? Dormékin AU of AotC!
Author’s Warnings: 1.) Please see the Author’s Warnings for the preface and prologue and first chapter of this story, as they continue to hold true pretty much throughout the rest of the story!
2.) Again, this story does not have a beta - I’ve proof-read and checked the grammar, but I won’t swear that there aren’t any typos! I will be happy to fix any errors that are pointed out to me!
Author’s Notes: 1.) Please see the Author’s Notesfor the preface and prologue and first chapter of this story, as they continue to hold true pretty much throughout the rest of the story!
2.) Again, please keep in mind that a lot of the basic background for this story is essentially congruent with the backstory for my SW AU series You Became to Me, at least up until the point where Dormé is the one who is sent to Naboo with Anakin. Thus, Nabooian customs are the same here as in You Became to Me (including traditions involving one’s coming of age and the giving of ritual names), Sola Naberrie has had two miscarriages that can in some way be linked to her little sister’s status as a (now former) Queen of Naboo and has a history of strong feelings of jealousy and envy towards Padmé, Sabé has essentially been an informally adopted or foster daughter of the Naberrie family since soon after the family moved to Theed, Dormé’s family has (with the exception of her youngest brother) been neglectful at best and borderline abusive at worst towards her, and etc. If there are references to past events that readers don’t get and are curious about, I invite questions. Some things I can probably explain fairly easily. Others, though, may need to wait on the progression of the actual story!
3.) Again, I have a journal entry with a running list of costumes/images that work (somewhat) as "illustrations" for much of this story, a more complete/updated version of which can now be found at http://polgarawolf.livejournal.com/136333.html and, when the story is completely done, I will likely go back and either create specific entries with links for each chapter or include the proper information on costumes and such for each chapter in that chapter post.
Star Wars
Becoming Love: I, In You
The Rise of the Clone Wars
Chapter Nine: Proof of the Impossibility of Returning Home
1,000:05:23 After Ruusan Reformations (25,001 After Republic’s Founding), 13 days prior to the Battle of Geonosis
Forgiveness means giving up the hope that the past can change.
- Ancient saying of the Shamans of the Whillis
Of all the things Dormé must put up with or suffer through in the course of discharging her sworn duty, perhaps the most difficult and discomfiting thing of all is the majority of the immediate family - loving, warm, caring, concerned, and absolutely nothing like most of the individuals she grew up amongst, in the Tammesin household - of her sworn Lady. Milady’s family is, by and all, so very friendly and open and loving that she feels smothered by their care and concern. She has no idea how Milady puts up with them. The children aren’t so bad - they’re good, sensible girls, Ryoo and Pooja. Young as they are, they’re already showing signs of extraordinary intellect and ability. Ryoo is already a fierce, formidable protectress and obviously has it in her to be a talented handmaiden, and Pooja is already so much like her aunt (charismatic, witty, caring) that Dormé finds it extraordinary that she’s that saidhín of a nugig Sola’s baby. (Tis a pity Sola is not more like her children and that is a fact. There’s a bad seed if ever there was one. Concerned with what she can gain and with looking as good as she possibly can in the eyes of others for as little effort expended as possible, the woman alternates between saccharine sweetness and false concern and coldly calculated backstabbing. Dormé’s not entirely sure how such a nasty piece of work like Sola ended up with a husband as fundamentally good and kind as Darred Janren, but she’s fairly sure that there was plotting and stealing/seducing involved. The girls obviously take after their father and their mother’s family, not their mother, and that is a fact) - but the others!
Nisaba bless, but sometimes she thinks that it would be better (or at least easier on her) if the other Naberries were more like Sola! At least then Dormé would know how to deal with them without feeling like such a damned fraud. Nisaba help her, but she just doesn’t feel right, when faced with such obvious affection and concern. It’s one thing for Milady to care about everyone - she’s Padmé Amidala. Of coruse she’s going to care about everyone! - but for an entire to be like her? It’s . . . unsettling, is what it is. Disconcerting. Like being dropped down in some bizarrely idealized alternate world. She keeps expecting to find herself waking up or for masks to fall off of the Naberries’ faces to reveal true, far more fallible forms. Jobal, especially, just makes her nervous. After all the things she’s gone through in the course of her life and for the sake of her work, it would undoubtedly seem strange to others to be so afraid of a concerned and loving mother, but this is Jobal Naberrie, for stars’ sakes! She’s what Padmé likely would’ve been, if she’d gone into social work and had a family rather than going into public service as a politician. And, worse, Jobal is terrifyingly, fiercely protective of and concerned for what she deems her youngest daughter’s right to a “normal” life. She hates how much Milady has given up, to serve the people, and can be observed to cry simply at the thought of the amount of danger associated with being Queen or Senator. She’s proud of her youngest, to be sure, but it kills her that Milady is still in service and not ready to retire and start a family of her own.
The Naberries met Master Kenobi only briefly, in the direct aftermath of retaking the capital, and were apparently not privileged to have much interaction with the young man in the relatively brief time he remained on Naboo, after that. In mourning for his brutally slain Master, adjusting to the reality of being Knighted and of gaining a Padawan, having to essentially fight for the right to fulfill a promise to his dying Master by training Anakin, and, moreover, ordered to help collect evidence of the Trade Federation’s illegal activities on Naboo for the eventual trial, the young man was, understandably, too busy for much socializing, even with the family of the Queen whose planet he’d helped to save. For some reason, though, Jobal Naberrie apparently doesn’t think that he had a good enough excuse to have avoided spending more time with them, nor is she particularly impressed by either his duty to Anakin or the vows binding him to the Jedi Order as a reason to keep him from being with Padmé and Sabé now. On the contrary, Jobal appears to be even more unsympathetic towards his determination to carry out his duty than she is by her own youngest daughter’s similar determination to best serve the peoples of Naboo.
Dormé would suspect that Missus Naberrie harbors prejudice against the Jedi Order and their members (likely for their anti-family ways, as most individuals on Naboo regard the Order’s tendency to eschew attachments), if not for the singular lack of sympathy the woman exhibits for her own daughter’s preoccupation with duty. It would be humorous, in an ironic sort of fashion, for the one so very responsible for Milady’s determination to serve to also be the one most disapproving of that same dedication to duty, if it were not for the fact that Jobal Naberrie is so very stridently against the continuation of Padmé’s political career, on the grounds that it keeps her from ever having a “normal” life for herself. As it is, it’s far less funny than it simply is detrimental to Milady’s happiness and peace of mind and therefore both distracting and harmful in the eyes of the handmaidens. Missus Naberrie certainly means well, but largely all she’s accomplished is to fret herself and the handmaidens ragged and to make Padmé feel miserable and guilty for not giving in to her family’s increasing pressure on her to retire and settle down and start a family of her own.
So. She is not particularly looking forward to the stop at the Naberrie home, especially not when she knows they will end up spending most of the day (if not longer. Probably longer) before they can make good their escape to Varykino. It will be good to see the girls again - her heart gives a queer aching sort of leap every time she hears one of those dear sweet younglings call her their mamaithryn, as though she were as much their aunty as Lady Sabé or even Milady Padmé herself - but otherwise . . . it will not be pleasant for anyone, she fears, much less the Naberries themselves. Nisaba knows she isn’t going to enjoy this overly much, especially not decked out as she is, in a favorite casual two-piece soft aqua dress of Milady’s, which is so revealing that Dormé feels practically naked, whenever she removes her cloak (especially since her hair is curled tight and pulled back and up high in a blue headpiece made to match the dress). The snug long sleeves and high neck of the top and the long drape of the flared skirt do very little to provide any real sensation of coverage. Though she is fairly close to the same size as Milady, her body is not quite as soft as Padmé’s, and, between her longer torso, longer legs, slightly more slender waist but slightly more flared hips, and the fact that the top is midriff-baring with a mostly cutaway back and the skirt a wrap design that fastens tightly at the left hip and, despite the overlap of the fabric, leaves a slit far up that left side that tends to show quite a bit of leg, if she takes too long of a stride or goes up any stairs, she feels positively indecent!
Anakin’s eyes had practically bugged out of his head, when he first caught sight of her in it, and she has to fight hard not to blush, just remembering the odd feeling of lightheadedness and warmth that had insistently beset her, under his shocked but blatantly admiring gaze. Between the embarrassment caused by the costume meant to disguise her as Milady and the discomfort of being surrounded by the Naberries, she’s not likely to feel as though she’s able to take even so much as a truly deep breath between now and whenever they finally are on the road to Varykino. Her discomfiture, though, is no reason to subject Anakin to uneasiness or agitation, so she makes sure to keep her face schooled to calm composure as they make their way down the carefully landscaped streets. Anakin is so busy drinking in the sights that he might not pick up on her anxiety, but there’s no reason to risk altering him to her upset unnecessarily.
In any case, soon enough, they’ve made their way to the Naberrie home - a large home of pale but warm golden-tinged native stone, with several flowering plants and vines all along the walkway leading up to the front of the house and a large open yard with a beautifully landscaped garden out back - and Ryoo and Pooja are practically flying down the stairs to the street level to greet them, their exuberant joyful cries of, “Mamaithryn!” and “Aunt Padmé! Aunt Padmé!” making her heart clench and ache. Ryoo all but launches herself from the steps into her arms, long dark brown hair and warm apricot and butterscotch golden skirts flying behind her, and Pooja is only a few moments behind, her mop of light brown curls bouncing and pale yellow skirts billowing as she hurries to catches up with her older sister.
“Ryoo! Pooja! I’m so happy to see you girls!” Dormé finds herself laughing easily in return as she catches them up and twirls them around in her arms in a wide circle, her churning uneasiness receding as she plants kisses on eagerly upraised cheeks. Only when she’s knelt down to let the girls slide back down through her arms onto the flagstones and turned to look back over her shoulder to call to Anakin, only to notice him lagging behind, a look of bemused wonder in his eyes, does her smile start to slip again, becoming slightly flustered. A little bit reluctantly, she rises, turning about with her hands placed gently against the girls backs until they are all facing in his direction, and explains, a little bit awkwardly, “This is Anakin. Anakin, this is Ryoo and this is Pooja. They’re Sola’s girls.”
Under other circumstances, the blush on the pair as they shyly tell Anakin (who is once again in his Jedi garb) hello would have made her burst out laughing - the girls are, after all, normally quite fearless - but their charmingly rosy cheeks make her remember her own (likely far less becoming and more violently red) flush, so she is relieved when the girls notice the little droid rolling behind Anakin, trying to catch up.
“Artoo!” they shout happily in unison. Breaking away from Dormé, they rush past Anakin to the little astromech, leaping upon him, hugging him cheek to dome.
R2-D2 seems equally thrilled to see the girls, beeping and whistling almost as happily as Dormé has ever heard, and Anakin smiles, chuckling a little, clearly amused. She takes advantage of his momentary distraction to self-consciously tug her cloak a little closer around her, even though she knows she’s going to have to take it off almost as soon as they go into the house.
Sure enough, the moment she turns to make her way up the steps to the door, a figure appears in the doorway. Sighing quietly, she moves to meet the woman halfway and mentally braces herself.
Sola Naberrie is a beautiful woman. Taller than Milady - about Dormé’s height, actually. Perhaps a centimeter or so shorter, though she holds herself so upright with such effortless grace that it’s always been difficult for Dormé to tell for sure - slim (and yet somehow still curvy), graceful, and in possession of strongly defined bones in a classic oval face, dark brown hair, and almost shockingly bright blue eyes, she is, in fact, so lovely that she tends to outshine everyone else in the room . . . so long as Milady is not also present in that room. Though undeniably lovely in every classical sense of the word, somehow compared to Padmé, Sola has always come off as something artificial, a pale and imperfect imitation of real beauty, and she knows it . . . and hates it. Her vividly stained lush mouth thin and her vividly pale eyes narrow, for a moment, on seeing Dormé, before her lips twist and deform into a wide and (to Dormé’s eyes) patently false grin. “Little sister! There you are. Mom and Dad will be so glad to see you looking so well. Goodness! I might almost have mistaken you for a water sprite or a sea nymph, in that dress, if only there were some more water about!” Her laugh tinkles - high, musical, beautiful, perfectly formed and eerily empty of real mirth - like bells shaken in a wind, and then she is reaching out with slender hands to pull Dormé in for an embrace, carefully staged to look far closer than it truly is, before turning to notice Anakin, who has paused at the base of the stairs. “My, my! You are traveling with interesting company, aren’t you? Come! Come inside, both of you! Here, let me take your cloak. Come along! I’m sure the girls will be able to amuse themselves with little Artoo for a while. Come say hello to Mom and Dad! They’ve been worried sick these past few weeks.”
Sola is wearing only a simple body-skimming light blue gown - sleeves and skirt both long and seemingly modest - under a contrasting navy cloak of fragile, unlined lace, but the way she holds herself is so confident and regal that it would make Dormé want to squirm, even if she weren’t in a borrowed dress cut far more revealingly than she would prefer. She has to fight to avoid fidgeting with her clothes (Nisaba, is it really that obvious that the costume wasn’t made for her body? Does it look painted on? She knows the material of the top is stretched more than it should be, especially given that the skirt wants to hang far lower on her hips than the fastening for the edges of the top at the back of the skirt really wants to allow for, but is she really as ridiculous as Sola’s coolly uplifted eyebrow and smirking smile seem to suggest? Does she look as foolish as Sola seems to be suggesting?) as she is unceremoniously stripped out of her cloak and ushered the rest of the way up to the house. Only Anakin’s warm smile, as he hurries to hold the door open for her, keeps her from flushing with embarrassment.
“I hope to be able to provide them with some peace of mind,” she ventures.
Eyes sparkling with vicious amusement, Sola simply warns her, “You mustn’t hope for too much, little sister,” her voice pitched in such a way as to mimic sympathy. “I’m afraid they’re likely to worry until this whole thing has finished blowing over. But enough of such gloomy things! Mom is making you dinner. As usual, your timing is perfect.”
Dinner. Goddess help her! A full Naberrie dinner. It’s worse than she’s been expecting (worse even than she’s feared), if Jobal is planning on grilling them over a family dinner. Missus Naberrie must be extremely upset with recent events, if she is cooking for a lowly handmaiden as she might for her youngest daughter. Most of the time when a handmaiden is sent to the Naberrie home in Milady’s stead, while great pains will be taken to keep the illusion whole everywhere that someone not in the family could possibly overhear or oversee anything, the illusion will be dropped indoors, and the handmaiden will be left alone to go about her business or to entertain herself until such time as “Amidala” is called on again to leave. For Jobal to be planning a family sit-down meal as if Milady were truly home . . . Nisaba bless, but she must be frustrated to the point where she doesn’t care if whatever point she wants to make has to go through someone else to get to her daughter, so long as she knows that it eventually will get to her. That . . . that is not a good sign. A distressed, frustrated Jobal tends to mean an unhappy, unpredictable Naberrie clan. Goddess knows what that might mean, with Anakin thrown in the mix. Though capable of quite a bit of patience and sympathy for those he has deemed worthy of such empathy, Anakin has a bad tendency to react first and think later, and Dormé is also painfully aware of the fact that he tends to be very protective of the individuals he likes. If the Naberries are short with her, Anakin is liable to take umbrage on her behalf for what he will perceive as their uncalled for rudeness.
Cringing internally, Dormé lets herself be ushered further into the house, bracing herself for the coming storm.
*********
Anakin is . . . confused by the Naberries. Especially Sola Naberrie. Though he can see bits and pieces of Padmé scattered throughout her family - in the look and manner of her nieces (who stay close by each other in a way that reminds Anakin a little of Padmé and Sabé); in her mother’s bright smile; in her father’s compassionate eyes; in the regality of her sister’s bearing - his overall impression of the family (well, aside from the two little girls) is not one of welcoming but rather of bare tolerance and thinly veiled frustration. And the longer they remain within the Naberrie home, the stronger the sense of dread and agitation he can sense spilling through the cracks in Dormé’s mental armor. It’s . . . confusing. Distracting. The place is almost idyllic - the interior of the house is just as simply wonderful and just as full of life and soft color as the yard. There are no glaring lights, no beeping consoles or flickering computer screens, no sense of artificiality to any of the trappings or furnishings of the house. The furniture is all plush and comfortable; the floors are made of cool stone blocks, polished parquet, carefully set mosaic tiles, or else covered in soft carpeting or gaily patterned rugs; decorations manage to seem both beautiful and functional; and, while everything is obviously of high quality, it all has the look of items that have been both well used and well cared for, as though the family truly lives and loves among the items scattered throughout this house. Yet, smiles are strained, or false, or fade far too quickly, and the matriarch of the family, despite her seemingly kind face, feels, to him, like a thunderous roil of frustration, fury, and heartsick worry, her emotions churning up the Force like the winds of a hurricane might disturb the surface of the sea.
What makes it worse is that it’s so easy to see Padmé in her mother (the expressiveness of those dark brown eyes, the shape of the face, the luminosity of that smile) that he’s simply not sure how to react, given the darkness of her obviously dissatisfied spirit. Even worse, there is something in the way that Jobal Naberrie holds herself and conducts herself - ushering enough piping hot, delicious smelling food out of the kitchen to feed a small army - that reminds him painfully of his own mother, making him feel clumsy and small and tongue-tied and ashamed, as though he must have done something terribly wrong, to make her so unhappy, and as if he is worth less than the dust on his boots, to have made someone clearly so giving so distressed.
And then there is Sola.
His first impression is of a blade, something long and slender and elegant and lovely and perfectly capable of cutting someone down in the blink of an eye, and it is an impression that he cannot quite shake, no matter how many seemingly warm smiles (that don’t quite reach those bright blue eyes) she casts in his direction. The easy thing to do would be to think of her as being somewhat like Padmé and then to simply dismiss her from thought, but the truth is that the more he looks at her and the more closely he attends to her, the less like her little sister she seems. The longer he is in her presence, the more sure he is that, though it might certainly be easier to think that she is just an older, taller, slimmer, sharper version of her sister, with blue eyes and darker hair, and not pursue the matter any further, it’s simply not true. Or at least it’s not the whole truth. She’s taller, yes, and older, but rather than seeming more worn than Padmé, she instead strikes him as having been frozen, at some point, in stone. She’s like a doll or a mask, lovely and glittering to behold but only imperfectly given life. Her mannerisms are all slightly off. Either her expressions don’t reach her eyes or her eyes speak of emotions and thoughts not expressed by either her face or her tongue. And her movements, though undeniably graceful, also strike him somehow as being performed at a carefully monitored speed, as though in imitation of human movements and gestures. She strikes him as vaguely unreal, as though she’s less a person than she is an object, as if she’s missing some vital spark of humanity that might make her real.
He senses nothing from her in the Force, and that makes his hair want to stand all on end.
Ruwee and Jobal are both strong enough in the Force to make a definitive impression on it - Jobal, in her anxiety, affecting the Force like a dark storm, whereas Ruwee feels more like a deep pool of still water in the shadowy depths of an old-growth forest, projecting a sense of calm and steadiness and permanence and deeply rooted strength in a way that almost reminds Anakin of a meditating Jedi Master - but Sola . . . it’s like she’s not even there. She laughs and smiles and speaks and flits lightly about the house, helping her mother carry out platter after platter and bowl after bowl of food from the kitchen to the dining room table and teasing Jobal all the while about how it’s far too much food and how she’s quite sure someone must have fed them at some point between when they left Coruscant and arrived here; yet, when Anakin reaches out into the Force, to try to catch some sense of her (of how she is, as a person, and of what she might be feeling) he feels absolutely nothing, not even the faintest muffled echo of life he might catch from the dumbest of nonsentient beasts. If it weren’t for the fact that he can still perceive Ruwee and Jobal and even Dormé (despite her shields) so clearly, he’d be tempted to wonder if there weren’t something wrong with him.
He’s still trying to figure out what else his inability to sense anything of (or from) Sola in the Force might mean when a tallish, slender young man (probably in his mid twenties) with sharp features and dark, riotously curly hair comes wandering through the kitchen into the dining room, absently scrawling something across an old-fashioned touch pad and asking, “Dad, what do you think about adding another fountain to the plaza behind the square where we want the main library . . . ?” He looks up, stops short at the sight of them all gathered around the table, blinks, and, a little bemusedly, exclaims, “Oh, dear, is it that day already? I’m so sorry to barge in! I’ve just been working on the project plans for the new city and I’m afraid I tend to lose track of the hour. And the day. Dormé Tammesin, so good to see you! Ryoo still talks nonstop about how you complimented her form, on that practice kata, some months ago. And you must be Anakin Skywalker! You won’t remember me. I believe you were mostly asleep, when we met, before. That young man who’d been Knighted was carrying you, in any case. Pleased to formally make your acquaintance! I’m Darred Janren. Ryoo and Pooja’s father,” he adds as he comes around the table to bends over and offer Anakin his right hand to clasp, grinning at him affably, flashing deep dimples at him. As he leans down, the light happens to hit his hair just right, revealing a wealth of bright cinnamon highlights lurking in his dark corkscrew curls, and Anakin finds himself blinking and having to concentrate hard to push away the sudden unshakeable certainty that this man is far more like Padmé than Sola ever will be.
“Glad to meet you. I’m ashamed to admit I don’t really remember you. Did we meet more than the once?” Anakin asks politely, returning the man’s smile and clasping his hand.
Darred Janren shrugs slightly, easily. “Just the once, I think. Your young Master usually left you with the handmaidens, when he’d come ’round to check on me. How has that remarkable young man been? You will convey my regards for me, won’t you? Tell your Master I’ve never stopped listening for the tides to turn. If he remembers me at all, he’ll know what I mean.”
The man is like a tightly contained sun - all light and energy and warmth and power - and it’s more than a little startling, to be so near to someone so strong in the Force and to know absolutely that the man has never had any training whatsoever in his life. “Ah, I’ll be sure to tell him that. I’m sure he’ll remember you. He tends to remember everyone and everything. Won’t you sit down?” he asked, half out of politeness and half out of simple curiosity about the man. “I’m sure there’s plenty of food to go around!”
Darred, though, just waves a hand in airy dismissal. “Oh, the girls and I tend to eat earlier than Mother Jobal appreciates having to dine. It’s why they’re out tearing about the garden - probably under the watchful eye of that quirky little astromech of Padmé’s - instead of in here nattering your ears off. I’ll come back through in time for dessert. I just want to try to finish up some work on this little plaza first. Dad - ?” he asks, turning back towards Ruwee Naberrie.
“If it looks harmonious to you, then I’m sure another fountain needs to be put in. Go with whatever you feel is right, my son,” Ruwee tells him with a beneficent smile.
“Right. Harmonious. In that case, perhaps a gazing pool with some sort of weeping fruit tree that will flower in the spring . . . ” Darred mutters as he turns and wanders back towards wherever he came from, further back inside the house.
Anakin can feel his eyebrows trying to crawl their way up into his hairline. That’s Sola Naberrie’s husband? He’s so shocked that he finds himself wondering just what in the names of all the stars could have possibly induced a man with so much personal warmth to wed someone as seemingly cold and hollow as Sola. In all honesty, he would’ve found it easier to believe that Darred Janren was Padmé’s brother by blood rather than by marriage, and far easier to believe the man Padmé’s blood relation than to believe the same of Sola. He’s about to make a comment to this effect when Dormé surprises him by reaching her hand under the table to grasp him by the wrist, briefly but tightly. When he turns to look at her, there is a warning in her eyes, and so, with a small mental shrug, he simply quietly remarks, “I take it he’s an architect, then, too?”
Ruwee nods in easy agreement. “A very good one. We’re quite proud of him, aren’t we, Sola my dear?” he asks, turning towards his oldest daughter with a smile.
“Endlessly proud,” she immediately agrees, smiling hugely and making Anakin want to shiver uneasily at the sheer lack of life or presence behind that seemingly blindingly bright wide smile. “All things considered, I believe Darred and I have done quite well, if I do say so myself.”
“Speaking of which,” Jobal abruptly interjects, scowling darkly and wringing her hands in her napkin, “just when is my youngest daughter planning to come home again and give up this insanely dangerous career of hers? We’ve been so worried about her!”
Slightly too late, Ruwee shakes his head, the light catching on the silver threading generously through the brown, and cautions her, “Dear, perhaps not now.”
“If not now then when? When she’s returned to us for her funeral boat?” Jobal only flares furiously back, flinging her napkin down violently on the table.
“Dear - ”
“Don’t! Don’t ‘dear’ me! Do you have any idea how many young girls were killed when that ship exploded, on Coruscant?” Jobal only demands, voice shrill with borderline hysteria. “Our daughter could have easily been on that ship!”
Anakin finds himself turning to look at Dormé - half because her mental wince at Jobal’s proclamation reflexively leaves him scowling and wanting to reassure her (again) that what happened to the handmaidens on that ship wasn’t her fault, and half because emotions are escalating so rapidly that he’s wondering if it mightn’t be prudent for them to duck out and let the Naberries continue this argument in private - but she’s sitting frozen in place with a look of such shock on her face that he quickly turns his gaze back to his plate and returns to trying to pretend that the contents of his plate are so fascinating that he can’t even spare attention enough to take in anything anyone else is saying or doing.
Patiently, Ruwee tries to explain, “Dearest, that’s why the Jedi have taken a personal interest in - ”
“Oh, the Jedi!” Jobal only laughs raggedly, cutting him off, waving a hand curly in dismissal. “As if the Jedi have ever done anything but add to Padmé’s heartbreak!”
“Jobal!” The crack of Ruwee’s voice makes Anakin (and, he’s a little relieved to notice, Dormé, too) jump visibly. “You go too far. That young man cannot be held accountable for our daughter’s chosen path in life, and you know it. Be reasonable, my dear!”
“‘Reasonable’? ‘Be reasonable’! That young man ruined our daughter’s chances for a normal life! You and I both know it, whether you want to admit it or not! And if - ”
Voice quiet but firm, Ruwee cuts his wife off before she can quite manage to become entirely hysterical. “Jobal, Padmé made her choice long before she met Obi-Wan Kenobi. To blame him for the life-path she chose would be like blaming fire for the blossoming of a flower in the spring. Be fair, beloved. She would not be our Padmé if she were not so concerned for the welfare of others. And that young Jedi loves her as dearly as Sabé.”
“Love! If they truly loved her, they would convince her to come home and live her own life, not let her keep going on like she has, daring thugs to take shots at her in the dark!” Jobal chokes a little on the last few words, and, sobbing, pushes herself violently back from the table to flee, vanishing with surprisingly rapidity into the depths of the kitchen.
Ruwee sighs tiredly, rubbing a hand across his eyes as if the light pains him. “I’m so very sorry. Please, excuse my wife. These have been troubling times for us, of late. Please, finish your meals. I’m going to go speak to Jobal to try to calm her down and give her some peace of mind.”
Anakin and Dormé are then left alone at the table with Sola, who, after a handful of strained silence, viciously pronounces, “I hope you are both quite happy with yourselves.”
Dormé just blinks at her, staring, wide-eyed, for several long moments, as if she’s sure she cannot possibly have heard Sola correctly. “Excuse me?” she finally asks, clearly bewildered.
“You heard me. And don’t even pretend like you don’t know what I mean, little sister,” Sola only spits hatefully. “Do you people have no hearts or souls at all? My poor parents have been worrying themselves sick! Mom’s nerves are so frayed it’s a wonder she can even get up out of bed! And you, you just come waltzing in here as though it’s nothing, as if it’s perfectly alright for you to basically be here on vacation while your sworn Lady and my baby sister stays behind on Coruscant and puts herself deliberately in harm’s way all for the sake of some insanely ridiculous principle of democracy that no one actually upholds anymore! You let her stay and you bring him - a Jedi! - here to my parents’ home! Could you not bear to let him out of your sight for even a few hours? Are you so jealous of his time and attention as that? You had to bring him - Anakin Skywalker, of all individuals! - here to flaunt before my poor parents? You couldn’t have just sent him on ahead to wherever it is that you’re going? Asherah be blessed, are you really that selfish and shallow? I hope you’re damn well proud of yourself, Dormé Tammesin!”
Dormé just sits there, pale and gaping, apparently too stunned by the vicious accusations to even move, but Anakin is instantly on his feet. “Hey! You watch your tongue! I’m only here because I was assigned protective detail for the lady and told to treat her as I would the Senator and stay with her at all times, not because I was asked to tag along or even because I wanted to come here, and Dormé certainly isn’t responsible for your little sister’s choice of career or your parents’ worry, any more than I am! And you could show a little bit more respect for your sister! This planet is only free because of her!”
“Free!” Sola makes a harsh noise that falls somewhere in between a snort and a pained cry. “You and my sister - all of you - you think you’re so high and mighty, so righteous, because you helped oust the Trade Federation from Naboo! But tell me, whose fault is it that they were here in the first place and whose fault is it that they managed to land an invading army of their damned droids? Who broke all the arrangements the previous monarch of Naboo and his people had made with the Trade Federation and its allies? Who was it who allowed a greedy corporation like the Trade Federation enough leeway and power to order its own personal army of droids? And where the hell was my precious little baby sister when her people were stuck here, suffering, while the Viceroy and his goons played lords of the manor? Where were you and your precious Master or you and your precious sworn Lady at when I went into premature labor and lost the baby who would have been my firstborn? All those lives you claim you saved or improved, by defeating the Trade Federation and its droid forces, and where were any of you when I needed you? Where were any of you when any of the people who truly suffered during the invasion and occupation could have been helped or saved? Where was your precious Jedi Order or her beloved Amidala or the damned Galactic Senate and their rules and laws and justice, either then or afterwards? What justice has Naboo ever received? Our attackers were free to go and now they foment rebellion among so-called Separatists and my baby sister is called away again, to deal with the mess and keep it from exploding into all out war. Meanwhile, it is her family - those who truly love her, by Asherah! - who suffer, just as it always is! And why? Why, I ask you? So she can look good for her untouchable Jedi beloved? So she can pretend her life is more exciting or more fulfilled than that of others? So she can tell herself that she is doing good and so didn’t make the wrong decision, all those years ago, when she chose to go into politics and so threw over the one who loved her for the sake of that career?” Sola half snarls and half sobs, shaking with frustrated fury and all but bursting with emotion, hands knotted up violently into fists, the words tumbling out of her with such rapidity and such fervor that all either Anakin or Dormé can do is gape dumbly at her. “Why are you even here? If this proposal is so vitally important, why aren’t the both of you back on Coruscant? Why aren’t you guarding her, so she’s safe and free to do her magic? Do you even know it, yourselves? Well, I’ll tell you why! It’s because it’ll be more triumphant for her, that much more of a miracle for her to tout, later on, when she succeeds, if it’s against higher odds because she’s there virtually alone, but for Sabé and maybe a few only partially trained handmaidens! It’ll make her look that much better for that damned Master of yours, little Padawan, and that’s why she refused to come away to Naboo, to safety, herself, and leave fighting this proposed bill up to Sabé or Dormé and the other handmaidens! It’s because she’s so damned self-centered that she can’t even fathom the possibility of anyone else ever being able to stop whatever unspeakable disaster it is that she thinks this proposal being passed could cause, and because the Jedi Order wants to keep encouraging her dependency on Obi-Wan Kenobi’s good opinion of her! She’s so much easier for them to manipulate and control, when she’s so busy panting after an unattainable Jedi lover, that - ”
“You shut your mouth!” Dormé finally gasps out, her own hands doubling over into fists. “Evil, despicable woman! You’ve no idea what you’re talking about! Your sister - ”
“I think I know my sister better than you, little handmaiden! Scrabble after scraps from her table as you will: that doesn’t mean you know her - or that you are as good as she is!” Sola only snarls back, cutting her off. “By Asherah, I swear sometimes I cannot make it clear in my mind which it is, whether you want to simply worship at my baby sister’s self-made altar or to take her life for your own! You act as though you want to take Sabé’s place, but then you show up here, in my sister’s stead, with this Jedi - !”
“That’s enough!” Anakin manages to interject before she can really get on a roll again, almost shouting. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but don’t you dare - !”
“I’ll dare whatever I please! If you don’t like what I have to say, then you can leave! This isn’t your home or your family! And you, little Jedi, are most certainly not welcome here! I don’t even know how you dare to show your face here! What, it’s not enough that your damned Master take up every stray thought of my sister’s or that he’s ruined her and Sabé both for any kind of a normal life or relationship, he has to send you here, too, to check up on Padmé in her absence? Does he trust his hold on her so little or hold her in such contempt that he would send you, his little Padawan piteóac sáibhnaidhe - ”
“Sola! Enough! Don’t you dare to speak such filth! You know as well as I that Master Kenobi is sworn to - ”
“I know nothing of the sort! I know his supposed obligation to the Order makes a good excuse to keep him from her bed and with this young man glued to his side, at his every beck and call, just as he once was for that Qui-Gon Jinn fellow! I know it lets him string her and Sabé both along and fill their heads with unreasonable, ridiculous hopes for a future that never comes and never comes and likely never will come! I know it lets him curry favor with Naboo and all our allies, gathering alliances and support for himself, while still remaining in his precious Order and retaining access to all the wealth and information and privilege of the Order! And I know - ”
“You know nothing except how to run your mouth in the most hurtful way imaginable on subjects you know little about and understand nothing of, woman. And you can shut your mouth and cease your poisonous spewing now, wife, or I can remove you to a private room where your hysterical ravings won’t bother anyone,” a voice (seemingly cold enough to quench an erupting volcano) abruptly interrupts mid-rant, as Darred Janren reappears from the kitchen to stalk over to the table with the deadly ease of a well-trained martial artist, all of his earlier vagueness and preoccupation forgotten, his focus trained on them like a highly refined beam of strong light, the impression of him in the Force almost more like some kind of tightly contained self-perpetuating explosion than a sun, self-righteous anger feeding him as though he were a furnace. Anakin finds himself having to blink a little, and not just because the man’s sudden reappearance has caught him off guard (though, to be fair, it has surprised him, the waves of fury and pain and frustration and hatred blasting out from Sola so strong that he hasn’t had enough attention left to spare for anything or anyone except Dormé).
Sola bares her teeth at him. “Husband - ”
“Keep your tongue between your teeth!” he only barks, interrupting before she can try to say anything else. “If you stopped to think at all, you would know you were simply spewing bile! This young lady is a devoted handmaiden to a great woman who just happens to be your baby sister, and there’s nothing else to her presence here but that, just as there’s nothing else to this young man’s presence here, save that he was ordered to accompany and protect her as though she were the Senator herself, to draw attention away from the fact that Padmé Amidala remained on Coruscant. There is nothing here for you to take offense at or be suspicious of, Sola. They’re here to protect the baby sister you supposedly love - the sister who has pledged her love and fidelity to this boy’s Master and to her childhood sweetheart both - and you’ve no right to accuse them or her or Obi-Wan Kenobi of anything else.”
Sola, though, just sneers up at him in venomous disgust. “I call it as I see it and you damn well know it! Just because you’ve always had a soft spot for Padmé and her girls - ”
“Sola, for pity’s sake! Just because I’ve always gotten along well with your family - ”
“Oh, you get along, alright! You get along so well I wager you’d happily crawl into bed with Padmé and Sabé and that damned Jedi - !”
“Stop right there. Stop. You know better than that! Of all people, you know better than that. I made my decision a long time ago. Don’t be petty, just because you’re unhappy and - ”
“Unhappy? Unhappy! I’ll tell you about unhappy, you - ”
“Sola, stop. You’re frightening our guests and our girls are just right outside - ”
“Let them hear, if they want! They deserve to know what kind of a man their father is, what kind of a woman their precious aunties are! It’ll save them the inevitable disappointment of finding out you all aren’t perfect, later on, when it’ll only hurt more!”
“Oh, for Asherah’s sake! As if anyone’s perfect, much less in this family!”
“You seem to think little Padmé and her paramours are perfect enough, you - ”
“Alright, enough. I have never cheated on you in my life and you know that. Stop being so paranoid and hysterical. You aren’t even making any sense!” he accuses, plainly disgusted with her and fed up with the whole conversation. “Who exactly is it you’re afraid I’ve set my sights on this time? Who are you jealous of now? Dormé, for being Sabé’s protégée and so much like your sister that you seem unable to see the real woman whenever you look at her; Sabé, for remaining faithful to your sister even when honor dictated that she couldn’t have her; your sister, for being who and what she is and for gathering so many loyal, devoted hearts; Obi-Wan Kenobi, for loving Padmé and Sabé both enough to pledge himself as their third, when he eventually retires from the Jedi Order; this boy, for being important enough to Obi-Wan to keep him in the Order a little longer than he might have otherwise stayed; or me, for being able to respect and get along with all of them?”
“That damned Jedi has - ”
“Not another word, Sola Itami Naberrie, so help me, or I will remove you to your room until you’ve gained control over yourself again! You know I count Obi-Wan Kenobi as a friend. That young man saved my sanity and my life, when you lost the baby and we thought we were going to lose you, as well, for a time! He kept me from throwing my life away on some useless gesture of vengeance, and he - ”
“And maybe he shouldn’t have! Maybe he should have let you avenge yourself and me and the baby and all of us who suffered on those damned Trade Federation mucáti raib sgàirtós! Maybe then at least some of them would have paid for what they did to us! They’ve never been punished and they never will be, now! This damned Republic is broken and next to useless for us, out here, and you all stand around and preach about how important it is and how vital it is that democracy be preserved and defended and for what? For what? To protect the interests of the rich, of the corporations and the crooks on the Core Worlds they pay off for the rights to plunder and abuse and reave from the rest of us? To keep the career politicians in power, so that nothing ever changes or can change? They care nothing for the common people, nothing for us! They left us here to rot under the sallaigh Trade Federation and would have done nothing to help us and they can’t be bothered to do anything to punish those who hurt us, either! You! You damned Jedi, you’re good for nothing but stealing children from their homes and families and supporting the crooked politicians and greedy corporations! And you! Fine lady that you are, you do nothing but support and enable my baby sister in her foolishness as she perpetuates a broken system! What have you ever done to help anyone but yourself? What have any of you ever done to help those who truly needed it? You and all your fine words and high intentions! You do nothing but keep the truislleach criminals in power, your hypocrites! Nute Gunray and his cronies are still free to cause trouble because no one ever dared upset the status quo enough to punish them!”
Darred Janren’s face is so eerily still that, even without being able to feel the storm of power gathering about him, it would have been obvious that he’s drawing dangerously near to the end of his patience. “You would have preferred to lose your husband and your child both?”
“I would have preferred to see justice!” Sola snarls, leaping to her feet. “I would still prefer to see justice! Is that so hard to understand? Real justice, not this sham of legality the Senate and the Jedi extract! Instead, we’re forced to sit idly by, able to do nothing but worry, while Padmé and her girls and all of her allies among the Jedi and the Senate work to broker peace with beings who should be cast out into the outermost darkness for the sins! Why not let them secede? Why not secede ourselves? What has this damned Republic ever done for us?”
“Sola, be still. You’re speaking treason - ”
“I’m speaking sense, and you know it, in your heart of hearts, if no other place, whether you want to admit it or not! What Padmé and the Jedi and these others are all doing is wrong. The Republic is wrong. This democracy is broken and has been for a long time! Why are we trying to support a government that doesn’t even work?”
The urge to say something about Obi-Wan’s real intentions and the third side Anakin so recently urged Queen Jamillia to support, if it should come down to civil war - if only to shut the damned woman up! - is strong, but Dormé is hanging onto his wrist and squeezing in a way that Anakin knows means she wants him to keep quiet, so he just scowls darkly at the teary-eyed woman while her husband acerbically points out, “It’s people like the Jedi and your sister who keep the criminals from flourishing and who are trying to fix what’s wrong in the Republic and right the wrongs plaguing the galaxy!”
Sola just laughs raggedly, derisively, in her husband’s face. “How?” she all but howls, her face contorting with fury. “By letting the politicians and the corporations control everything? By mind-tricking people into behaving according to the laws, whether they want to or not, whether the laws are just or not? By concentrating power and wealth in the hands of the privileged few and ignoring the reality governing the lives of the many? For Asherah’s sake, you were a slave, Anakin Skywalker! How can you bear to enslave yourself willingly to the whims of the High Council governing the Jedi Order? That Master of yours might as well be your owner! When are you ever allowed time for yourself, to do what you want to do, much less to think for yourself or feel the emotions and attachments your Order forbids its members? How can you stand it, always having to answer to the High Council and obey your Master without challenge or question? Have you the right even to refuse your Master anything he might demand of you?”
The bones in Dormé’s hand creak ominously as her fingers tighten convulsively around his wrist, but Anakin is so angry he can’t keep his mouth shut any longer.
And then everything goes rapidly to hell.
*********