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      TELLING Padme that she had let him go felt like a failure, but Araminta only ignored the senator's concerned chatter and the moisture farmers' fearful gossip. Araminta could only think of how Anakin had looked in that moment, eyes blazing and more driven than she had seen him in a long time. She recognised the look in his eyes– it was the same way he'd looked the day he'd stepped out of line to save her.

Maybe she was weak, sympathetic and pitiful. Maybe she was everything Octavian would hate. But despite that, she did not regret letting him go, the stone around her throat heavy with woe and a chance to prevent a similar pain. She could only trust him to be careful and smart while she stuck to the mission, eyes trained on Padme, who retreated into the kitchen and began to make herself dinner.

Cliegg had offered them to make themselves at home for the night until Anakin returned, claiming them to be "friends of the family." The sentiment was nice, but lost on the assassin, who padded after the senator.

"Do you think he will be okay?" Padme asked for the millionth time that evening, as she began to boil something on the stovetop. She had offered to make dinner as a favour to the Lars family for their kindness, while Araminta merely watched, the only job in her eyes.

"Skywalker's strong," Araminta said, simply, from her place on the floor where she was sitting cross-legged, the sandstone cool against her skin.

"I'm worried for him. What if he finds something terrible?" Padme continued, sounding panicked.

"Terrible things are a part of life," Araminta replied, casually. Padme huffed at the negativity, while Araminta mused at her own dramatics. She was actively trying not to imagine Anakin finding anything terrible, and only hoped he found nothing and turned back. The consequences on the emotional padawan would be severe.

Araminta continued to observe the senator like a cat, as she moved about the kitchen, easily and with grace. The assassin tilted her head. "Where does a senator learn to cook?" she inquired, voice more condescending than she intended it to be.

Padme's cheeks flushed. "I baked every day as a child."

"No maids?" Araminta quipped.

"I did not rise to nobility until later in life," Padme said, quickly. Araminta blinked at her, not expecting the answer. She didn't care enough to ask more, but she nodded, accepting the response with respect. "And what about you?" The senator asked, pans on the stovetop sizzling, the kitchen chamber beginning to fill with an amazing smell.

"What about me?" Araminta asked.

"What was Zyris like?"

Araminta sighed at the mention of her homeworld. "I already told you, I don't remember much. I was eight when I left."

Padme regarded her carefully, clearly wondering where her family stood in relation to everything. "I've heard it's beautiful."

"It is," Araminta managed to reply.

"I am sorry for what the Pantorans are doing to your people," the Senator told her softly. Araminta froze at the words, before deciding to ignore them. Padme sighed at the silence. "I feel like you would've given your parents grief," she said, lightly.

Araminta didn't have the energy that day to correct her. "Sure."

"Anakin was the same when he was a boy," Padme mused.

Instead of saying that he was still a boy, Araminta rolled her eyes. "Skywalker and I aren't the same."

"You didn't know him like I did," Padme continued, sounding wistful, while Araminta only wished to be done with the conversation. "He was good, and kind. I fear being a Jedi has changed him."

"That tends to happen," Araminta said, dryly. "Why do you care so much anyway? You have a crush on him or something?" she asked directly.

"Gods, no," Padme laughed, awkwardly.

"Oh, he'll be crushed," Araminta whined, teasingly.

"He's like a little brother," the senator admitted.

"Aw," Araminta said, mockingly.

"I let him down easy, promise!" Padme exclaimed.

"Oh, I believe you," Araminta said, holding her hands up in a defensive manner.

"I do care about him," Padme assured the assassin, who didn't care that much. But then Padme gave Araminta a side-glance, eyes gleaming. "You care about him, too."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, senator," Araminta said, coolly.

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      CLIEGG offered the pair rooms to stay that night. The homestead was so extensive, that spare mattresses and blankets in a mainly empty room formed the girls' stay for the night. Araminta didn't mind, but hated the lack of privacy. None of the rooms in the place had a door, only carefully placed alcoves that stopped anyone passing by from seeing in, but it was only too easy to just turn and walk in.

She slept with her fingers around the hilt of her favourite knife that night, never quite relaxed enough to get a good rest, but enough to have energy. It was a well-practised art the assassin had mastered early on, as Octavian liked surprising his pupils with drills and tests, under the claim being relaxed was asking for death. Araminta could scarcely remember a time she wasn't on alert.

Thus, Araminta was the first to hear him. Her keen ears picked up the arriving sound of the speeder he had taken. Relief was the first thing she was aware of, that he had survived and returned, as she ascended the steps of the homestead to the dunes above, Padme and the Lars' with her as they heard him get closer.

Padme was beaming with relief, which quickly dropped as the glare from the rising sun cleared. As Anakin got off the speeder, and retrieved a human-shaped bundle of cloth. Araminta felt her stomach drop, and immediately felt the agony from Cliegg behind her. Anakin approached them without a word, and refused to meet Araminta's eyes as she desperately searched his face.

He remained stoic as he descended the stairs, coming to place her body on the table. He pulled away slowly, as he turned to Cliegg, who already had tears welling in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Anakin got out. "I was too late."

And then he was gone, leaving Araminta to listen to the mournful cries of Cliegg above Shmi's body.

Grief had always been an odd thing to her. Something she had never felt she could feel properly, but had processed in her own way. Araminta endured pain quietly, because otherwise Octavian would beat it out of her. She had seen it happen, so she had learnt to be quiet about it. But there was something about loud grief that was terrible, as she stood by Cliegg and Padme.

She didn't stand by long, feeling out of place and inappropriate as an observer, retreating back to the room she had slept in, which had early morning light streaming in from a small window above. Cliegg's mournful cries eventually died out, but Araminta could still hear his quiet sobs.

A knock on Araminta's door thankfully drew her attention, the assassin furrowing her brows at the thought of who would actively seek her out. She got up, turning her head around the "door" to find Anakin standing there, eyes heavy.

He looked terrible. She wasn't sure what she expected, given the circumstances, but he almost looked years older, face hard and eyes heavy. He was still covered in a layer of dust and what appeared to be blood, but Araminta couldn't recall seeing any blood on Shmi's cloths.

"Can I ask you something?" Anakin said before she could express her surprise at him seeking her out.

She blinked at him. "Okay."

"How do you cope with the bad things you've done?" he asked.

"What?" Araminta said, immediately. He continued to look at her, almost looking pleading, which was an expression she wasn't used to from him. "I don't know," she said after a beat, frowning. She glanced around, seeing no one else, but still moved aside. "Come in."

Anakin silently entered the room, which had Araminta's makeshift mattress on the floor, and not much else. The assassin kept her distance from him, watching him warily, knowing the odd conversation was far from over and not liking the idea of others overhearing it.

"What's the worst thing you've ever done?" Anakin spoke up.

"Oh, that's... a question," Araminta breathed out, biting the inside of her cheek. Anakin was watching her intently, but all the assassin could muster at the invasive question was, "I don't know."

"I did something terrible, Solarii," Anakin whispered so quietly no one else would've heard. Araminta furrowed her brows, but at the severity of his tone, bit her tongue. "I killed them all. Not just the soldiers... but the women and the children, too. I was so angry. I wanted them dead."

Araminta gave little reaction to the news, eyes fixed on him, as he finally looked to her. She should've been horrified, disgusted, normal reactions to finding out someone had taken such gory revenge on an entire tribe of people. But only one question was on her mind.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, softly.

"Because I feel like you're the only one who won't hate me for it," Anakin told her. "You understand violence. You understand anger."

"So because I'm a bad person you think I'll understand your bad actions?" Araminta asked, bluntly.

Anakin swallowed thickly. "You don't?"

"I've never killed out of revenge," Araminta told him, and Anakin looked away, looking bashful. But Araminta continued, "I killed out of worse. I followed orders, transactions. I was sold off and hired to do the dirty work of anyone worth the effort, anyone who had money, or reputation. Sometimes the work was the payment; a favour for a favour. Most of the time I didn't know who I was killing, just that I was expected to. And I met those expectations, every single time, without question."

Anakin was hanging onto her every word, as the assassin shrugged. "I don't understand it. But I stand in no place to judge," she concluded, honestly.

"You don't?" the padawan asked, sounding hopeful.

"Don't make me repeat myself," Araminta sighed.

"But you were an assassin. I'm– it's not the Jedi way," Anakin insisted. "I'm a Jedi, I'm meant to be better than this."

"What they don't know won't kill them," Araminta said, nonchalantly.

"I shouldn't be a Jedi," Anakin said, frantically, shaking his head. "I can't–"

"Shut up," Araminta snapped. "It may not be like the Jedi to want revenge or be driven by emotion but it's human. It's how I was taught, to control my emotions rather than let them control me, unlike you. But they're still there, because I believe they give me strength. Suppressing them like the Jedi say is inhuman. To feel, is to be human."

"You did a terrible thing, which you feel remorse for, which is something. Stop thinking about the Jedi and think about you. Everything you were feeling in that moment is human and raw– something uncontrollable and unfamiliar. It is a powerful thing, something which the Jedi don't help you with. You will be okay. You are more than capable of learning from this, Anakin."

"Anakin," was all the boy said.

The assassin looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"You called me Anakin."

She was silent for a moment. She hadn't even realised what she'd said.

"It's your name, isn't it, Skywalker?"

The words sunk in as Anakin stayed still, seemingly processing it all, as Araminta pulled away, running a hand through her long hair.

"Why aren't you scared of me?" Anakin asked, abruptly.

"Hmm?" Araminta hummed.

"After what I did, why aren't you scared of me?" Anakin's voice was surprisingly shaky.

Araminta narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you want me to be?"

"No."

Araminta regarded him for a second before slumping against the wall, leaning back. "I've been surrounded by death my whole life. It still shocks me sometimes but I'm not scared," she told him, honestly.

Anakin's eyes were glazed over, in the way someone who was holding back tears would have. "Have you killed someone innocent?" he questioned.

"Yes," she said, automatically and without shame.

If Anakin was surprised by the answer he didn't show it, as he calmly said, "Tell me."

"Most of the people I killed were innocent," Araminta scoffed. "I was an assassin, after all."

The answer didn't seem to satisfy Anakin as he finally snapped in exasperation. "How? How can you just be okay with it?" Araminta knew the question wasn't judgemental, and frowned, feeling his inner turmoil amidst the words.

"I was a child being taught to kill. I never questioned it. Compartmentalising and killing became a habit to me. I am beyond desensitised," she explained, simply.

"What was it like the first time?"

"Nothing. I had spent my whole life preparing for it," Araminta answered, coolly. "I didn't throw up, I didn't cry, I didn't react. I completed a job and moved on." Anakin's face fell as he paced a bit, Araminta's eyes trailing him like a cat. "You keep expecting these honourable answers that redeem me. But you're not gonna find them. I was an assassin," she pointed out. "I can't give you advice to live with this because it has always been my life."

"Not always," Anakin snapped. "How did Octavian even convince you?"

"I went with Octavian because I didn't have a choice," Araminta laughed, a hollow sound that bounced off the walls. "I was eight, and my sister and I came home to find our family dead and the farm destroyed. A massacre. And Octavian... he showed up and promised us a home. And we believed him, because we had nowhere else." Anakin only looked at her. "The only time that I have ever wanted the Jedi was when I found my family killed. And they weren't. I was a helpless child who was easily manipulated into being taken by Octavian."

"He brainwashed you," Anakin murmured, sounding pitiful.

"Not really," Araminta deflected, bitterly. "I was young. Violence became the only thing I could remember."

"Why are you telling me this?" Anakin asked.

Araminta tilted her head. "You're a slave who just slaughtered a whole tribe. What're you gonna do, judge me?" Anakin looked hurt by the nonchalant way she talked about his actions, but nodded, accepting the answer. "I also want you to realise why I can just be okay with everything I've done. Otherwise I think you'd tear yourself apart going crazy thinking something was wrong with you."

"Something is wrong with me," Anakin hissed.

"Hardly," Aramints said, dismissively. "You're having a very real reaction. I'd be more concerned if you were actually coping." She shrugged, gesturing to herself. "If anything's wrong with anyone it's me."

Anakin looked at her, in a way so alien to her, even to this day. Like he saw right through her, as if he saw her and not the assassin she was. Something she once hated him for felt almost warm, reassuring. He accepted her as her, he always had, and when it came down to it, she could talk evenly about his actions.

He had done something horrible, and yet she looked at him no different. For who would she be if she did? He came to her with the worst part of himself, and she didn't care. In the same way he knew the worst of her, the harsh reality that as much as he wanted her to be someone good, she wasn't. And he didn't care.

"I'm sorry about your family," Anakin said, quietly. Araminta only nodded. "If... the Jedi had done better... if they had saved your parents and you'd never gone with Octavian, do you think you would still hate them?"

Araminta gave him a sad sort of smile. "My mother hated the Jedi. From as early as I could remember, she told me they were cold and emotionless, and she told me that as soon as I was tracked down for being Force-sensitive, not to go with them. It wasn't an honour, it was a trap."

For once, Anakin didn't look offended by the conversation, only curious. "Why?"

"Turns out her brother was a Jedi. And after he left... he was never the same. He was cold, he didn't care for her like when they were kids, and she blamed them," Araminta said with a shrug. "Octavian nurtured my hatred for the Jedi, but he didn't start it."

Anakin sighed. "I wish you could see us as heroes."

"They're not heroes to me," Araminta said, sharply.

"Were you close with them?" Anakin asked, softly.

"Yes. My mother was the kindest person I knew and I can still remember what my father's laugh sounded like as he threw snowballs at us... and my brother. He was there, too," Araminta said, wistfully, hand finding its way to the pale stone around her neck, Anakin watching the movement. "It was my mother's," she explained. "It's made of moonstone– what we consider a piece of Lunae."

Anakin looked confused. "Our Moon Goddess," Araminta told him. "Everything revolves around the three moon's cycles on Zyris. It was how we dated everything, how we chose leaders, how our prophets saw the future. Everything went back to the moons." She dropped the pedant. "The day I left... I took this from my mother's body and now I wear it wherever I go, as if that somehow makes me belong to a people that's not Octavian."

Anakin blinked at her. "Do you feel like you don't belong anywhere?"

"I don't belong anywhere," Araminta retorted, because she refused to go deeper. She would tell him facts, but never the inner turmoil. Never the rolling waves of doubt and crisis, the nights spent itching her brand wondering what Octavian would think of her, what it meant to be an assassin. He could never know that. Never. "I have no home, no religion," she added, simply.

For a moment, it looked like Anakin wanted to deny it, tell her otherwise. But he didn't, because realistically he couldn't. And they both knew that, as Araminta stared him down, waiting for him to say something. But nothing came, as they lapsed back into a surprisingly comfortable silence.

Araminta remembered her words to him, the final blow, and before she knew it she'd opened her mouth, "I'm sorry about your mother."

Anakin turned his watery eyes to her, a fresh wave passing over his features at the mention of the recently deceased. "You don't mean that."

"I know what it's like to lose a mother. Maybe even see it," Araminta said, slowly, choosing her words carefully. "And I know what it's like to suffer by being sold off, and maybe to pretend like you never did in the first place." Anakin looked at her in silent understanding. "So, yeah, I am sorry."

"Why'd she have to die?" he murmured after a moment. "Why couldn't I save her? I know I could have."

"Tell me about her," tumbled from her mouth.

Anakin smiled, a weak and watery look. "She was all I had as a child. She was kind, loving. She wanted so much more for me, and she told me everyday how sorry she was for being a slave. But I never blamed her for it, I blamed the men standing above us. And I still do." He quickly wiped at his eyes, sniffing, before the tears could fall. "I never should've left. I should've come back sooner, I should've been better for her." He said, voice harder. "I could have stopped this."

"Then be better," Araminta told him, pushing off from the wall. Anakin looked at her, furrowing his brows as the assassin closed the gap between them. "Use the hurt, the anger, the pain– use it instead of being used. Use it as a force."

"But–"

"I know," she cut him off. "Not the Jedi way. But rather control it then let it control you."

Anakin shook his head, looking at the ground. "I can't–"

"You can," she told him. "Look at me," she snapped. He did. "Do what is necessary to survive," Araminta said, firmly.

"Is that what you did?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, breath fanning her face. The gap between them felt electric.

"It's what I'm doing," Araminta breathed.

Anakin's eyes flickered, lowering past her eyes, before glancing back up at her, and then he pulled away, standing straighter so their height difference reappeared. He swallowed thickly, Araminta watching him intently, unsure of the unsatisfied feeling in her stomach.

"I need some air," Anakin finally said, clearing his throat through the grief building again.

"Skywalker," Araminta called, as he left quickly. He stopped at the turn of her 'door', looking over his shoulder at her, eyes lidded and heavy. "I am sorry," she said, as earnestly as she could muster.

"I believe you."

And then he was gone.

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[ edited '23 for araminta's family and species ]

this chapter is just talking sorry

now okay it's chapter 7 and their dynamic has dramatically shifted from the beginning very quickly but the entire point of that is that by the time clone wars starts in act 2 there's a  timeskip. it's important to see araminta being a person before then, and revealing her back story instead of it just being told after years yknow?? idk i don't want to people to think i'm fast burning these two and their characters but pace wise it's what works best for this story

and considering they're so slowburn in the future

but it will take a bit more for araminta to even admit to herself or consider that she wants to redeem herself from octavian and being an assassin, rest assured we're not that fast burn here she's still in denial and self-deprecation

also padme and araminta are vv important to me

god we are so close to clone wars i am so excited