this addition has been edited as of january 7, 2020

CHAPTER NINE

ARTIE THOUGHT AFTER HER VERY FIRST time meeting the Naberries that they were some of the most wonderful people she had ever met. And now, as she was reunited with them once again, her opinion remained unchanged. As soon as she and Padmé stepped inside the sitting room they were met with jubilant greetings and embraces; Sola tackled her sister in a hug, shouting about how Padmé never came to visit, and their mother, Jobal, seized Artie by the arms, grinning delightedly. "Look at you!" she gushed. "Oh, my dear, your beauty has grown tenfold."

Artie blushed furiously. "Mrs. Naberrie, please, how much could I have changed in a few months?"

Jobal pinched her arm affectionately. When she smiled, despite the lines around her eyes and mouth, she looked astonishingly like Padmé. "You look older, dear flower. How are your studies? My daughter isn't overworking you, is she?"

"Mama!" Padmé protested indignantly from Sola's grasp. "I keep her adequately busy!"

"It's grueling, Mrs. Naberrie," Artie whimpered, flashing Padmé a triumphant look. "Nothing but annotations and watching holovid after holovid of her old speeches. I've got them all memorized—I can quote them perfectly."

Jobal grabbed Artie in a hug. "Padmé, how cruel." They burst into laughter as Padmé's face screwed up.

"All right mother, just come out and say you don't approve of my work!" she cried.

"I approve fine," Jobal said, releasing Artie. Pooja came darting over and Artie picked her up settled her on her hip. "I'm immeasurably proud of you! But I'm terrified, my love, of what may happen to you in this current climate, all this unrest—"

"You and everyone else," Padmé cut a look at Artie, who threw up her free arm in indignation.

"I won't apologize for caring!"

Padmé jutted her chin. "What about jumping out windows?"

Jobal's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Artemis Adhara, you did what?"

Artie scoffed but shifted uneasily under Jobal's astonished glare. "Well, we found the assassin, didn't we?"

"Assassin?" Sola and Jobal shouted together. Padmé whipped around to face Artie fully, and if looks could kill, she'd be out an apprentice. So, they hadn't told her family assassins and bounty hunters were involved . . . .

"As concerned as we are, Jobal," broke in a man's voice, deep and steady like a still lake, "we should show our guests to the meal; lunch is getting cold." Artie spun around, much to Ryoo's delight, to find Ruwee, Padmé's father, standing with Anakin, who looked amused and slightly frightened. Ruwee smiled. "I'd hate to see Sola's hard work go unappreciated."

The women were mellowed, marginally, and the party migrated to the cozy kitchen. Sola's eldest daughter, Ryoo, abandoned her attempt to ride upon R2 and clambered to take Artie's free hand. "Can we play in the meadow?" she asked hopefully, beetle-black eyes wide and pleading. Artie let her lead her to the dining table and assign her a seat (Pooja, despite her adamant protest, had to sit with Sola) before answering with a sly whisper, "Only if you finish your whole plate."

The meal began silently, much of the glorious reunion's excitement lost at Artie's revelation. She was almost guilty, almost, but nothing would make her regret putting Padme's safety first. Nothing at all. Without Padme, the galaxy had no reason to go on; there would be no light to be found if its source was taken.

"So," Ruwee risked, setting down his fork, "Padme. Would you . . . care to tell us anything?"

Padmé nodded solemnly. "Oh, yes. You're right, Papa. Artie shot someone yesterday."

Artie, mouth full, inhaled sharply and covered Ryoo's ears. She glared at Padmé, who raised her goblet in a mock toast and took a long swig, barely concealing her smile.

"In her defense," Anakin offered, "it was the assassin. And it didn't kill her," he added quickly.

Artie kept her eyes on her plate, tempted to mention that he had cut off Wessel's hands in an attempt to dilute her part in the story, but decided against it. For some reason she did not understand, she wanted the Naberries to wholly approve of Anakin.

"Padmé, my flower, be sincere," Jobal pleaded, taking her daughter's hand. "Anakin is with you both for protection, isn't he? In case someone follows you?"

Before Padmé could reply, Sola lifted a finger. "I thought he was just Artie's boyfriend."

Artie coughed. "What?" she croaked. "We're not—I'm not—we've only just—"

"We're friends," Anakin corrected Sola with a smile.

"Oh," Sola shrugged, glancing at Padmé and lifting her cup to hide a smirk. "My mistake."

"Ani's a Jedi, remember?" Padmé offered, forcing down a grin and throwing Artie a delighted look, seeming very pleased that the subject had been changed.

"So, a bodyguard," Jobal snapped pointedly. "You little sneak, I knew it—"

"Mama," Padmé sighed, "please. I'm . . . I'm worried enough as it is. Truly. I'm taking this seriously, I just think now, here, we shouldn't dwell on it."

Jobal frowned, her dark eyes filling with concern; Padmé would never convince her to stop worrying altogether. But she nodded softly, folded her hands on the table, and managed to pull together a subdued smile. "I understand."

Sola twisted a charm on her long necklace. "How's the Creation Act looking?"

Padmé pressed her lips together tightly. "I'm not sure. Really, it could go either way. But . . . I fear these attacks on me have been carefully calculated." She shifted her gaze out the window. "They're meant to instill fear in the Senate—the idea that we'll need an army to answer to the Separatists."

"Won't we?" Ruwee murmured.

Padmé looked scandalized. "What?"

"If the Separatists continue their aggression," Ruwee went on cautiously, but Padmé's eyes pierced him nonetheless, "and plunge us into war, won't we need troops? Forces to help keep the citizens safe?"

Anakin cleared his throat. "The Jedi mean to—"

"The Jedi aren't soldiers," Padmé cut him off. "Master Windu said so himself. Any militaristic action by the Order will only increase the people's fear. Our goals can be achieved through negotiations. I know they can."

Jobal looked down at her hands. "My darling, if they cannot?"

Padmé straightened and set her jaw. Her eyes were amber discs of fire. "Then I shall consider it a great and personal failure."

• • •

LUNCH CONCLUDED SOON AFTER, and Artie kept her promise to Ryoo and took her and Pooja to the meadow behind the Naberrie house. The girls had not finished their plates at all, but Artie thought it best to let Padmé have time with her mother and sister alone. Some subjects were simply too sensitive, and she didn't want the little ones to hear any more talk of war. In her opinion, they shouldn't even know the word.

"Pooja!" Artie laughed as the tiny girl lay down and rolled through the swaying grass, soiling her little frock. She picked up a chubby fistful of dirt and tossed it into the air.

"Snowing!" Pooja cried, giggling as the soil came to rain down on her. "Snow!"

"It's not snow," protested Ryoo from next to Artie, eyes narrowing. She curled away from her sister, clutching a flower tiara Artie was helping her weave. Pooja ignored her and threw another shower of dirt over herself.

"Aunt Artie," Ryoo whined, holding out the flowers; a section in the crown had come loose. Artie carefully looped it back to normal and set it atop Ryoo's earth-colored curls.

"You look like a queen, little one," she said, gently arranging the wreath so it best complimented her freckled face.

Ryoo climbed into Artie's lap and began sticking extra blossoms in her braids. "How come Aunt Padmé is upset?"

Artie brushed a clump of dirt that had fallen from the flowers off her nose. "She's not upset," she lied cheerfully, "she's just very dedicated to her job. She wants to make sure all the people are happy."

Ryoo seemed to think for a moment. "I'm happy," she decided.

"That's all we want, little one," Artie said. She pinched Ryoo's sides and she crumpled into her lap in a fit of giggles. Pooja leaped over to join in on the fun, trying to clamber onto Artie's shoulders despite her tiny legs. She succeeded eventually and Artie pretended to collapse to the ground, wailing of their unsurpassable power. The girls laughed themselves silly and lay down beside her, poking and prodding and insisting she was all right. Artie was about to deny it, claim utter destruction in their wake, but before she could get a word out two new pairs of footsteps approached and something blocked the glare of the sun. Artie stared up and found Anakin, along with Ruwee, both looking warmly amused.

"Girls!" cried Ruwee, "what have you done to Artemis?"

"Oh, they got me Mr. Naberrie," Artie sighed. "They are far too powerful."

Ruwee chuckled and held out his hands. Ryoo and Pooja took them happily. "My dear, if you could come with me and Anakin. We have a thing or two to discuss."

Artie climbed to her feet and followed, ending up between Ruwee and Anakin. She tried not to be embarrassed by Sola's earlier comment—there was no reason to be embarrassed—but as they walked she could not help but wonder why she'd thought what she did.

"I'm asking you both to be frank with me," Ruwee said. "My daughter is clearly in danger. She is wanted dead. Perhaps she considers her work worth her life, but I do not. Help me understand—how do we keep her safe?"

Anakin glanced at Artie. "Keep her here," he said, and Artie nodded her agreement. "At least on Naboo. She's restless, but . . . we'd rather have her anxious than . . . gone."

"How long should she stay?"

Artie thumbed an earring. "Probably until the Act is either passed or denied."

"You think the attacks are politically motivated?" Ruwee sounded vindicated.

"Yes," Anakin and Artie said together. Artie felt her face redden and she cleared her throat. "Padmé believes so, too," she went on, "and that Count Dooku orchestrated them. The Jedi Council is unconvinced."

"But they've sent my Master to investigate," Anakin added. "Obi-Wan Kenobi—you should know him."

Ruwee nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, yes. He was a great help to Padmé all those years ago. You're confident he will produce answers? Enable us to press charges?"

"As best he can," Anakin said. "There's no one more capable."

"I do hope you're not mistaken," Ruwee sighed, his voice suddenly heavy and tired. "I don't see how our family could go on without Padmé."

Artie felt dread fill her and tears mist her eyes. The trepidation of living a life wherein Padmé was an agonizing memory was almost unbearable. She was that extraordinary. That kind. So selfless that the good of a vast society she would never fully know trumped the good of her own life. It was grace and courage Artie knew she could never exhibit. In all fairness and legalistically speaking, Padmé had all the makings of an excellent Jedi.

But her heart was too big. Her soul too rich—things Artie knew, in the deepest folds of her heart, that the Jedi would never understand.

note.
wow, two consecutive updates. That's a first. This chapter was boring as heck, but it had to be done. I hope you enjoyed! Leave a comment or vote if you want. I looooooveee you all!