[ 006 ] sand
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SLEEP was uneasy that night, and Araminta woke early and with heavy eyes, pushing through it to do her usual morning routine, as if nothing had happened. As if Anakin hadn't tried to strip her security from her, as if she hadn't looked deep into herself and hated what she saw just hours before.
She couldn't even bring herself to feel angry, not that morning, just a pit in her stomach where his words had sunk in. She had spent all night rolling over them, until she had fizzled out her anger and only felt numb. She was good at that– acting as if she had never been in pain and she was untouchable.
Octavian would've been so proud of that, but not much else.
The sunrise was beautiful that morning, dancing dreamily through the regal halls and chambers of the house, casting golden glows throughout. But Araminta couldn't appreciate it, only wishing to be done with her post and back to actively protecting Obi-wan. Watching Anakin pine for the senator who was more likely to go for the third wheel was grating on her, now more than ever.
Araminta had planned to try and get into contact with Obi-wan, try to get herself out of there. But as she walked throughout the halls, trying to find a private place away from all the servants, she knew he wouldn't take to it. She knew her place– she was an assassin who followed his orders or else she would get punished. He wouldn't believe her, or take her seriously, and she knew that.
And as she turned a corner, she saw the culprit of that, drenched in pink light from the sunrise as he stood shock-still on one of the many balconies, simply gazing out to the lakes.
Araminta swallowed thickly, knowing he sensed her presence, but knowing he wouldn't say anything, as she turned away. Amidst her sleeplessness, she had heard him crying out in his sleep. Another nightmare, worse than she had ever heard them, and she hated the part of her that had felt bad. She shouldn't care about his suffering or his nightmares.
"We're leaving," he said, abruptly. Araminta paused, not turning to look at him, as he kept his back to her.
She bit back any comments, about how sudden the decision was, the question of whether she was included in that "we" or not, or about how surprised she was that he actually talked to her.
Instead, she remained silent, and she heard him turn to her and take a few steps forward at her lack of reply. She didn't want to talk to him, she wanted to remain silent and exit the mission as soon as she could. She wanted to escape the living reminder that was Anakin Skywalker. But she couldn't, because as with so many things, she was a slave to survival.
Araminta finally lifted her eyes to his, shrugging. "Okay."
Anakin's face shifted, in a way that told Araminta he wanted to say more, but the assassin already knew he wouldn't as her keen ears heard someone approaching. She glanced over her shoulder to see Padme, who looked at the other girl warily, and Araminta picked up on her nervous body language immediately. Something had changed overnight.
"I was hoping to intercept you before we departed," Padme said, quietly. "May we talk?"
Araminta's eyes flicked to Anakin, who was still looking at her in that weird way that she couldn't quite decipher, but her curiosity for Padme overruled it.
"Sure," she said, casually.
"I'll prepare the ship," Anakin announced.
Araminta ignored him, giving no response as she followed Padme inside and to a small living room off to the side– which, realistically, was still bigger than anything Araminta had ever lived in.
"Why the sudden trip, by the way?" Araminta asked, ignoring the way the senator almost flinched at her movements.
"Anakin wants to go home... to check on his mother," Padme told her slowly. Araminta wasn't surprised. Given the constant nightmares and Anakin's general rebelliousness, she knew this would've happened eventually, and it confirmed her suspicions that this wasn't an authorised trip for Padme's safety or the mission.
Araminta tried to ignore her curiosity about Anakin's home. She knew so little about him, only that he had been with the Jedi since a similar age to her and Octavian, but she wondered what made the Chosen One tick.
"Was the plan to exclude me?" Araminta asked, lightly.
"No," Padme denied.
"Good. Someone needs to protect you and actually follow orders," Araminta replied. Her assignment was Obi-Wan, she was here for Obi-Wan, under the orders to protect Padme. Anakin wasn't Araminta's problem.
"I...I heard some of last night," Padme admitted, cautiously. Araminta perked up, quickly figuring where the conversation was going and why the senator was so on edge with her. "Is it true... about Octavian?"
The way she asked it made Araminta smirk. "What? That I used to work for the king of assassins or that Anakin is the real reason I'm here at all?"
Padme shrugged. "Both, I suppose."
"Do you fear me now?" Araminta answered instead.
"No."
"You're lying."
Padme swallowed thickly. "I won't tell anyone. I assume there's a good reason it's not public information," she said, earnesty.
"Yeah, good publicity," Araminta scoffed.
"Did you leave willingly?" Padme asked, cautiously.
Araminta tilted her head. "If I ever see Octavian again, only one of us is coming out alive," she said, bitterly.
The senator's eyes widened, looking caught off guard by the assassin's answer. "You'd kill him?" she asked, sounding horrified despite the man's identity.
Araminta shook her head, wistfully. "I wouldn't have a choice. He would kill me."
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THE SILENCE on the flight to Tatooine was palpable. Anakin and Araminta remained callous, both ignoring the other, while Anakin simultaneously ignored Padme, apparently too focused and worked up about heading home. Araminta had theorised the padawan had had one last horrible nightmare that had been the final straw in his homesickness and worry of something potentially real happening.
She had never picked Anakin for a mummy's boy, but here they were.
Tatooine was a metaphorical dust ball. Araminta wasn't excited for that, having the physiology best-suited for the snow planet Zyris, but she was nothing if not flexible. But Tatooine was a far cry from Naboo, that was for sure.
It was expectedly-dusty, filled with ill-dressed citizens and a decaying smell to the place, and if Araminta was anyone else, she would've felt beyond unsafe. But her years of training and honing made her secure in the fact she could defend herself if any of the many, many suspicious figures approached her, as they trudged through the sand off their ship.
This was where Anakin had grown up, was all Araminta could keep thinking as she observed the environment, one filled with poverty and hierarchies and unjust treatment. Even from the small window Araminta saw as they moved was enough to tell her that, as she stuck carefully close to Padme and refused to let her eyes focus, as she dutifully kept an eye out for any threats.
The trio had taken a carriage – if it could even be called that – to their destination, with R2-D2 trailing behind. Anakin offered Padme a hand down from the ride, but she got out on her own. They had entered the outskirts of a village now, but the civilisation on the planet seemed so distant and sparse it was hard to tell.
"Wait right here," Anakin told the driver. Araminta got out as well, her feet creating dust clouds, and she strolled to Padme's side as Anakin walked ahead and led the way. They came to stand in front of a dirty looking creature, with a stubby trunk on his face and small wings on his back that barely looked effective.
Anakin greeted him in a language Araminta didn't recognise. This went back and forth for a while, Araminta picking out words like 'Jedi' and 'Shmi Skywalker' which caused the creature to go quiet and stare thoughtfully at Anakin.
"Ani?" he asked. Anakin didn't answer as he continued to work on the device that he swiped from the creature. "Little Ani?" Araminta looked between the two, wondering how they knew each other. Anakin placed the device back down and the creature straightened up, pointing a triumphant finger at the boy. "You are Ani! It is you!" He laughed and his little wings sprung into action, lifting him up to a hover as he held out his arms.
"You sure sprouted, huh?" the creature continued to chuckle. "A Jedi... whaddya know! Hey...maybe you could help with some deadbeats who owe me a lot of money?"
"My mother," Anakin cut in.
"Oh, yeah. Shmi." The creature pulled away and rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, she's not mine no more. Uh, I sold her."
"You sold her?" Araminta spoke up. The creature fixed his beady eyes on the girl behind Anakin.
"Years ago," the creature responded, turning back to look at Anakin. "Sorry, Ani, but you know, business is business, huh?" He chuckled like it was no big deal. "Yeah, I sold her to a moisture farmer named, uh, Lars. At least I think it was Lars." Araminta furrowed her brows. "Believe it or not, I heard he freed her and married her! Can ya beat that, eh?" The creature chuckled again.
"Do you know where they are now?" Anakin asked, calmly.
"Ooh, long way from here," the creature replied. "Someplace over on the other side of Mos Eisley, I think," he went on, thoughtfully.
"I'd like to know," Anakin said, firmly.
"Eh, sure. Absolutely!" He chuckled again. "Let's go look at my records, huh?" He hovered inside, and Araminta stayed where she was. Anakin made to move but the assassin spoke up.
"You were a slave." It wasn't a question. Anakin stopped in his tracks. "Sold to the highest bidder for service," Araminta concluded, the scenario painfully familiar.
"What about it?" Anakin's voice was edgy, as if he only needed a small push to go over the edge. But Araminta didn't want to provoke him, not this time. Something about seeing where he'd come from had lessened her desire to make fun of him this time around, something about how her words the preceding night had turned around.
"Nothing," was all she said.
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WHEN Anakin returned with the location of his mother, the group trudged back to the ship in tense silence. Anakin walked with more purpose than Araminta had ever seen, and even Padme seemed to know not to try and talk to him. Even if Shmi's fate sounded fonder than the nightmares Anakin had been having, the padawan still clearly didn't believe it, and that meant his mood would stay sour.
The flight to where Anakin's mother now apparently lived wouldn't take long, so Araminta took the chance to change on board into something that worked better for the hot weather, anything to make her less stifled and help her natural physiology cope with the heat.
She'd just finished pulling on a tank top, her brand exposed to the world now that it didn't particularly matter, when a voice spoke up.
"How did you get them?"
Araminta didn't visibly startle, but she did give Anakin a distasteful look over her shoulder. He was standing there, eyes hooded. Araminta sighed and rolled her eyes, knowing he'd seen the marks of years of training and assassinations scarred across the skin of her back as he had entered– for whatever reason.
She picked up a light jacket to protect from the sun outside and threw it over her shoulders, the fabric covering up until her elbows. The assassin nimbly resheathed her knives, one by one, all the while Anakin remained where he was, seemingly refusing to leave until he got an answer. Araminta glanced at him, hating his consistent stubbornness.
"Disciplinary punishment," Araminta finally answered after the silence stretched on. Anakin furrowed his brows, looking somewhat surprised by the answer. The girl looked away from his intense gaze. "They're from years ago before I was sixteen and branded. Tried to heal but...they're scars now, I guess," she added, nonchalantly.
"Why?"
Araminta looked back up at the padawan. "Why what?"
"Why were you punished?"
She allowed herself to frown at the memory. "I tried to help my sister," she admitted.
Anakin looked surprised. "You have a sister?"
"Had," Araminta corrected. A tense silence stretched onwards, the hum of the ship on autopilot being the only sound.
"What happened to her?" Anakin asked, tightly.
Araminta sighed. "Not everyone survived Octavian's training," she replied, looking up at Anakin. "Her name was Leia. And I stepped out of line to stop a deathmatch. I failed and I was punished anyway." She shook her head and looked at her feet, the memory seeming to reinvigorate the pain in her back. "Octavian made me sit on my knees with the back of my shirt open, as every single one of my classmates cut me."
Araminta couldn't look at the padawan, already knowing the way he'd be looking at her, the pity, the attempted sympathy, and she could hear it in his voice with his next words.
"I'm sorry," was all he said.
"Yeah," Araminta said, swallowing thickly. "You seem to think that I respect Octavian. That I still have loyalty to him." She glanced back at Anakin now. "The day I tried to kill you, I tried to run from him. Octavian ruined me, and I owe him nothing but hate and pain."
Anakin was quiet for a moment, as the pair simply looked at each other, as if taking each other in for the first time.
"Why did you tell me that?" he finally spoke.
Araminta blinked, thoughtfully. "I don't want your pity. I just want you to know," she answered, as honestly as she could piece together.
"Pity isn't a bad thing," Anakin retorted, furrowing his brows.
"I didn't survive because of pity," Araminta sneered.
"It doesn't mean you can't now," Anakin said, firmly.
"I just didn't want you to associate me with Octavian anymore," the assassin answered. "I am what he made me. I'm an assassin who feels things when I need to. I will kill, and lie, and hurt to get what I want. I'm not a good person. But I will never be Octavian again."
Anakin looked at her, as if regarding her in a new light. There was pity, of course there was still pity, but there was something else. Respect. And Araminta looked right back at him, mouth in a firm line and shoulders squared, acknowledging him for the first time as something other than a failure.
She had hesitated in killing him on that fateful day. He was a constant reminder she had not been strong enough for Octavian. But as it had turned out, he had given her a second chance. He had gotten her away from Octavian, a blessing in disguise, as she scrambled desperately at the set up of that final mission. Not living up to Octavian's standards had saved her from his cruelty when he had turned his back on her.
Anakin was still a failure, but he was also a stepping stone. Araminta was a bad person. She was an assassin carved by years of blood, torture and bitterness. She was steel carved into a girl's body, violence coated in sapphire and the final smirk of death. But for the first time in her arduous life, she was her own person.
And maybe that was okay.
"You're not so bad, Solarii," Anakin finally murmured.
"We'll see, Skywalker."
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THEIR DESTINATION was an open expanse of desert as far as the eye could see, all except for a structure that looked like an igloo, only made of sand, surrounded by structures that could only be related to the farm part of the land. The sparseness was eerie, and despite feeling as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, Araminta was still burdened by her training and was constantly on watch as they approached.
A glint of silver caught their attention, an android of some kind, hobbling around almost aimlessly, Araminta instinctively bending her knees and subtly hovering a hand over her knife.
But Anakin merely slowed to a stop as they neared the machine, the android moving to face them, showing a face that was almost comical. "Oh! Um, er, hello. How might I be of service?" he spoke, his voice oddly chipper and human for an android. "I am See–"
"Threepio?" Anakin finished off, looking unusually happy as his eyes scanned the android up and down.
"Oh– the maker!" C3PO exclaimed. Araminta furrowed her brows, hand falling from the hilt of her blade. "Oh, Master Ani! I knew you would return. I knew it!" The android's head moved to Padme. "And Miss Padme. Oh, my."
"Hello, Threepio," Padme greeted with a grin. Araminta watched the exchange in confusion. She knew Padme had met Anakin and Obi-Wan in the past, but how far back or how in general were a mystery to her that she had never much cared to ask.
"Oh! And who might this be?" C3PO questioned, almost startling when he came to focus on the shorter girl.
"Araminta," the assassin introduced, simply.
"Bless my circuits! I am so pleased to see you both!" C3PO announced, referring to the padawan and senator, before turning his head slightly to the dark-haired assassin. "And to meet you, of course!" Araminta only scanned him up and down.
"I've come to see my mother," Anakin told the android, abruptly.
If an android could've looked and sounded nervous, then C3PO did in that moment. "Oh. Um, I think perhaps we'd better go indoors."
As it turned out, the sand-igloo only served as an entrance to the main part of the home, an intricate underground assortment of tunnels. C3PO led the trio into an airy courtyard, potted plants placed precariously on the walls surrounding them. Araminta couldn't help but look around as they descended deeper, scanning everything, left in awe of the simplistic beauty of the home.
"Master Owen, might I present three most important visitors," C3PO declared as they reached the bottom of the courtyard, Araminta's feet making little noise as she stepped off the final stone step.
There was a man there, looking a little older than Anakin himself. Accompanying him was a blonde girl, her hair braided back tightly. Both were dressed in covering, airy clothes, commonplace on the deserted planet.
"I'm Anakin Skywalker," the padawan greeted.
The man looked between the three newcomers quickly. "Owen Lars," he introduced himself. "This is my girlfriend, Beru." He gestured to the blonde girl at his side.
She smiled politely. "Hello."
"I'm Padme," the senator spoke up. Eyes focused onto the silent assassin, who sighed out her nose.
"Araminta," she said, not used to introducing herself so often.
"I guess I'm your step brother," Owen shrugged. "I had a feeling you might show up someday."
Anakin looked unsure of the situation, and drifted slightly from the gathering of people. "Is my mother here?" he asked.
"No, she's not," came a gravelly voice. Araminta turned her head to see an older man gliding over in a hovering chair. "Cliegg Lars," he introduced, holding out a hand, which Anakin shook. "Shmi is my wife."
"Is she okay?"
"We should go inside. We have a lot to talk about," he said, instead, wincing as he turned around, as if even the slightest movement caused him pain. Araminta frowned, the heavy feeling of dread cementing itself in her stomach, eyes focusing on Anakin's stoic face, trying to read him.
They followed the small family inside, silently, until they came to a dim room only lit with natural light, which illuminated an arrangement of a table and chairs. Araminta positioned herself on the end of it, so she was facing Cliegg directly as he explained what had happened to Anakin's mother.
"It was just before dawn. They came out of nowhere. A hunting party of Tusken Raiders. Your mother had gone out early like she always did to pick mushrooms that grow on the vaporators. From the tracks, she was about halfway home...when they took her." Araminta glanced cautiously at Anakin, who was stiff and staring at the table as Cliegg spoke.
Cliegg sighed heavily as he continued. "Those Tuskens walk like men but they're vicious, mindless monsters. Thirty of us went out after her...four of us came back. I'd be out there with them, but after I lost my leg...I just couldn't ride anymore until I heal." Cliegg's voice had started to shake, and he looked visibly distressed recounting the story. Araminta looked back over at Anakin, who was looking worse by the minute. "I don't want to give up on her but she's been gone a month. There's little hope she's lasted this long."
The words were followed by silence, as if everyone was gauging Anakin's reaction to the horrible news. She could feel it radiating off him; a hate and anger she knew well, and had learnt to recognise. She hated the taste of it, and she had never felt it to the degree she did then. It was almost scary.
Anakin abruptly got up, pushing his chair back and making to leave. Araminta got to her feet as well, moving quickly to grab his wrist. The boy stopped in his tracks, but he didn't turn to look at her, as she kept a firm hold on him.
"Where're you going, Skywalker?" she asked, evenly.
"To find my mother," the padawan responded.
"Your mother's dead, son. Accept it."
"And if she isn't?" No one answered. Anakin took one last look at the table of people before storming out, tearing his arm from Araminta's grip. The assassin watched him go, sensing the storm brewing in his path, as she stayed where she was.
"We have to stop him," Padme said, in a delayed sort of panic. And then she gave a pointed look to Araminta. "He'll listen to you," Padme said, quickly.
"Since when am I in charge of damage control here?" Araminta huffed, but gave in as she filed out the room and followed where Anakin had disappeared, moving quickly, unsure of what he was going to do.
She couldn't have him messing up the mission, she told herself. Getting himself killed pursuing a path of revenge or anger. Obi-wan would kill her for letting him do something so reckless under her watch. Yes, that was it.
She found him outside, standing on his own, facing the barren expanse.
"You're going," Araminta stated.
Anakin turned, looking caught off guard that she had pursued him. "Yes."
"Nothing I can do to stop you, right?"
"Right." Araminta sighed and watched as Anakin went over to a rickety-looking speeder-bike, the assassin padding over to his side. "Save it, Solarii," he hissed.
"I wasn't going to say anything," she scoffed.
Anakin turned to her. "You're lying."
"You know Obi-wan will kill me if anything happens to you, right?" Araminta pointed out.
"Nothing's happening to me," Anakin retorted. "You'll be fine."
"You're being reckless," Araminta chastised.
"Stop it," he snapped. "I have to do something. I can't just sit by and not do anything." He swallowed thickly. "I have to try."
"Then be smart about it," Araminta told him, grabbing his wrist roughly to make him look at her. She met his eyes, which were blazing. "Don't let emotions control you. Stop being reckless, okay? Be in control."
And she meant it. She couldn't stop him, she knew that. The best she could do was give him some form of advice, whatever she could simplify for him. And she didn't underestimate his skills, he was better than any man Cliegg would've gone after his wife with. If Anakin didn't lose his cool, Araminta figured the risk was reduced. Figured.
If Anakin was surprised by her indirect permission, he didn't voice it as he gazed at her, as close as their height difference would allow. "Why do you care anyway?" he asked.
"Because I don't want to be guarding Padme alone."
The way Anakin looked at her told her that they both knew that wasn't the whole truth.
"I'm coming back. We both are," Anakin said, firmly, as Araminta's hand slipped from his arm.
The stone at Araminta's throat burned, as if searing into her skin where it lay against it. And she nodded, understanding him, even if he didn't know that. "Just don't die."
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[ edited '23 for araminta's family ]
creative chapter title said NOPE but here's this choppy chapter
i'm really gunning to get through act one/attack of the clones asap because the clone wars is where this book really takes shape and i'm actually excited for it and it's about time this story stopped collecting dust
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