this addition has been edited as of january 6, 2020

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE PLAZA AROUND THE NABOO PALACE WAS GLEAMING and glorious. Sunlight glinted off the pearly floor, smoothed and polished so that Artie could see her dim reflection move beneath her as they walked. Queen Jamillia, the woman who assumed the throne after Padmé became a Senator, had requested an audience as soon as they arrived; they would carry their luggage while presenting themselves to the queen.

Once inside, Padmé was their only hope of navigating. Artie had visited the palace once with her, but it had been so overwhelming she lost all sense of direction. Padmé marched through the halls expertly, gasping fondly at various vases, paintings, and rooms she had left behind so many years ago. This had been her home, after all, for quite some time.

"Queen Jamillia is quite concerned about the attempts against my life," Padmé told them with a slight roll of her eyes and shake of her head. "She wants to talk ways to prevent further attacks, but I believe she's still under the impression it's the fault of spice farmers." She glanced back pointedly at Artie and Anakin. "Needless to say, we have updated information."

They stepped into the vast, sun-filled throne room, greeted immediately by bowing servants and the Queen's murmuring entourage. Jamillia sat on the Nabooian throne, hands folded in her lap, dark eyes trailing on them as they came to stand before her. Her kind face was painted white, save for red lips, and her dark hair was sculpted up in a complicated hairstyle Artie could absolutely imagine Padmé wearing. Standing around the throne was an older man with white hair called Sio Bibble (Artie was relieved she had remembered his name), other advisers, and a fleet of ready handmaidens.

Padmé stepped up to the throne and took Jamillia's offered hand tightly. "My dear," the Queen said, smiling brightly, "thank heavens you are safe. We were all so worried."

Padmé bowed her head. "Thank you, Your Highness. I only wish I could have served you better by staying on Coruscant for the vote."

Jamillia gave her a sympathetic look. "I know. Your bravery is unmatched, Padmé, but I agree with the Chancellor—your safety is for more important." Queen Jamillia paused. "How many systems have joined Count Dooku and the Separatists?"

"About two-hundred," Padmé whispered. Jamillia's face fell.

"It's unthinkable!" Sio exclaimed heatedly. "There hasn't been a full-scale war since the formation of the Republic!"

Jamillia scowled. "Do you see any way—through negotiations—to bring the separatists back into the Republic?"

"Not of they feel threatened," Padmé shook her head. "The separatists don't have an army, but if they are provoked, they will move to defend themselves. I'm sure of that. And, with no time or money to build an army, my guess is they will turn to the Commerce Guilds or the Trade Federation for help."

"The armies of Commerce!" Jamillia hissed. "Why has nothing been done in the Senate to restrain them?"

"I'm afraid that, despite the Chancellor's best efforts, there are still many bureaucrats, judges, and even Senators on the payrolls of the Guilds."

"They control everything," Artie mumbled.

Jamillia's head snapped in her direction. "Artie! I didn't even see you. Come here, it's been so long."

Artie hopped up the steps and joined them. Jamillia grasped her hand and kissed it. "Your Majesty," Artie said, dipping her head. "I'm so glad to see you in good health."

"Physical health, maybe," Jamillia scoffed. "But I've never been more worried."

"I firmly believe we're taking steps in the right direction," Padmé insisted. "We were able to convince the courts to reduce the size of the Federation Army."

"Yes, but," Artie pointed out, "you mustn't forget the rumors. There are whispers that the Federation did not follow orders."

"The Jedi have not been allowed to investigate," Anakin said suddenly. Artie had forgotten he was there, he had been so silent. "It would be too dangerous for the economy, we were told."

"We must keep our faith in the Republic," Queen Jamillia stated determinedly, setting her jaw. "The day we stop believing democracy can work is the day we lose it."

"Let us pray that day never comes," Padmé said with a small smile.

"In the meantime, we must consider your own safety," Jamillia decided.

Sio Bibble waved his hand leisurely and all other ambassadors, advisors, and attendants were excused. The Counsellor turned to Anakin. "What is your suggestion, Master Jedi?"

"I don't think it's up to me," Anakin said evenly, though it looked like it cost him. There was the slightest edge to his voice, and Artie remembered that he was still just a Padawan. He couldn't really make any decision if he wanted to.

"I'll be returning to my home," Padmé told Jamillia, "and Anakin is accompanying us as protection. I have every faith in him—he's as capable as any Master. Artemis will be with us as well and she has equal the resolve. I don't believe any more measures are necessary. Very few know where I grew up, anyway."

Jamillia eyed Padmé skeptically. "If you are certain . . . then of course, we concede. I had an audience with your father yesterday—he and your mother are worried sick."

"I expected so," Padmé agreed. "Hopefully I'll be able to convince them that everything will work out just fine."

"They're your parents, Padmé," Jamillia chuckled. "There won't be any convincing them."

• • •

PADMÉ'S HOME WAS THE LOVELIEST place Artie believed she'd ever been. It was simple, humble, but so beautiful. The front steps were bearded with ivy and flowered vines that climbed up the apricot-colored walls all the way to the tiled roof. Blossoms bloomed in every flower box and all the windows were open wide to let in the fresh, sweet-smelling air.

As they approached, the front door glided open, and out bounded two little girls with deep brown hair and matching overjoyed grins on their faces. Cries of "aunt Padmé!" and "aunt Artie!" muddled together and filled the quiet street. Padmé's nieces clambered down the steps and crashed into her and Artie. The smallest, Pooja, who was only four, grasped at Artie's sleeve. "Up!" she squeaked. "Up!"

"Little Pooja!" Artie laughed, scooping her up and twirling around. "How have you been?"

Pooja only grinned and squealed in delight, baby fat still plumping her cheeks. She spotted Anakin over Artie's shoulder and craned her neck in curiosity, twisting in Artie's arms. She laughed in amusement and brought Pooja over to him. "Don't tell me Anakin Skywalker has gone shy!" she teased. "Say hello to the funny boy, Pooja."

"Hello!" Pooja giggled. She grabbed at Anakin's braid.

He smiled and moved her chubby wrist away, but let her little fingers wrap around his one. "So you're Pooja," he said. "I've heard much about you." Pooja kicked her feet and laughed again.

"Don't fall for his charms, little one," Artie said, tossing Anakin a playful glare. "It's a Jedi mind trick." She shifted Pooja onto her hip and beckoned Anakin inside. "It's rude to linger, you know."

"It's rude to imply I use tricks," he said back.

"It's just a joke." Artie grinned. "Ease up, or I'll think you've gone as rigid as your Masters."

"Impossible," Anakin shook his head. He followed her up the steps. "The day I have a worse sense of humor than Master Windu is the day I quit the Order."

note.
Oh my gosh that was so cute to write! I love writing Anakin and Artie so freaking much.
I HOPE YOU ENJOYED