━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

      ARAMINTA had learnt to hate her scars less and less overtime. It was an inevitable part of the life she led– from the moment she had found blood in the snow to the present day where she slept with a knife within reach. She wore the worst one of all on her right shoulder, a lump of scar tissue to symbolise what she had done to survive.

She was branded like a weapon. No matter who she worked for, it would always be apparent where she had come from. Some days, it felt okay, to know she had survived and the scars meant she had been strong enough. Other days, she wished she could tear them off her skin, take back the childhood that had been stolen from her. But what was done, was done. Ruminating on a past she could not take back would only ruin her.

Some of Octavian's lessons were useful. Others had given her more scars at twenty-one than any veteran should have.

Obi-wan had become gentler since their extended mission with Satine. The assassin couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something had shifted. True to her word, they had not discussed what was said on the Coronet again, and the only other person alive who knew was Anakin, who had also ceased gossiping about it. Araminta still saw Daesha in ways she wished she didn't, but for the most part, things were normal.

"Normal," Octavian would scoff at her.

Araminta would stay quiet. Anything was better than the normal she had lived at the facility.

But it wasn't without its excitement. A knock on her door in the middle of the day was unusual, and always cause for concern without a call or brief sent ahead. Araminta paused, paintbrush hovering above the paper. Anakin wasn't supposed to be back quite yet– he had been assigned to teach young clones for the day.

She got to her feet cautiously, setting the brush aside. Padme's flowers, her subject for the day, sat on the windowsill. With a hand hovering over the handle of her knife, Araminta opened the door.

"Ahsoka?" she said in confusion. The padawan very rarely bothered her outside of work.

"Araminta," she said urgently. "It's Anakin."

The assassin tried to keep her expression even at the news, but couldn't help her eyes widening. "What happened?"

"An assault on the frigate," Ahsoka said quickly. "The ship went down–"

"Where is he?" Araminta cut in.

"Here," Ahsoka murmured. "He's safe. Me and Master Plo rescued him and Master Windu from the wreck." Araminta's face shifted at the events she had been excluded from. "There wasn't time to retrieve everyone," Ahoka said quickly at her expression.

Araminta nodded. "Is he in the infirmary?" she questioned.

"Yes, but–"

Araminta ignored the padawan and moved past her, Ahsoka's eyes widening at the gesture.

Anakin Skywalker was known for being an unstoppable general. He was not known for lying in a hospital bed with bruises and cuts littering his skin, unresponsive as the heart monitor beeped in the background. Ahsoka hadn't said anything as they entered the temple's infirmary, and Araminta had gone very still.

She was briefly reminded of Maridun, where he had looked fragile and out of character, just the same as he did then. Araminta wanted to take a hold of his hand, but the padawan hovering behind her prevented that. Instead, Araminta stepped forward with a sigh and just scanned his face.

"Is Master Kenobi here?" Ahsoka asked quietly.

"No, he's... on an outreach mission," Araminta told her.

It was a half-truth, Obi-wan had used the break they had been given to visit Mandalore, and therefore Satine. Araminta hadn't asked to go, and he hadn't asked her either, leaving her a small time of reprieve on Coruscant between death-defying missions.

The painting supplies had been the first thing she had bought for herself in a long time, and Anakin had spent the day with her at the markets insisting on being her tour guide. It had been a day of running through alleyways, holding up stupid trinkets to the other, and sitting on a roof eating lunch. It was the most normal she felt their relationship had ever been. Padme had also been right, painting added life to an otherwise grey room.

"Master Windu is already awake," Ahsoka continued. "If you–"

"No," Araminta said simply.

"Okay," Ahsoka sighed. "Don't forget to come down for dinner."

Araminta only nodded, listening to the door close behind the padawan. With a frown, the assassin placed a hand to Anakin's forehead, moving some of his hair from his face. He had been changed into pale hospital robes, which made him seem almost more washed out.

The modern, bleak temple infirmary offered a seat beside the bed, a cube cut out in the wall, but somewhere to sit nonetheless. It bent her back painfully, but she stayed there, hand resting just next to her hip where her knife was concealed, carved handle barely visible from the sheath.

Coruscant sped past outside as day turned into dusk, Araminta unmoving. Medical droids came and went, checking Anakin's vitals and giving her an estimate on when he would wake. She half-listened, eyes fixated on his limp face and the way his chest shakily rose and fell.

She got to her feet when the medical droid announced he was ready to be woken from the daze they had put him in to heal. Araminta wasn't sure of the modern healing the Republic utilised– in Octavian's facility it had been crude, more traditional. They had bandaged wounds and hoped not to split stitches while training. Bacta tanks had been a privilege. Medical droids did not exist.

"Rise and shine, Skywalker," Araminta said quietly as his eyes wearily opened. The heart monitor rose slightly as he came out of the induced sleep, and the medical droid switched over the fluids he was on.

"You're here," Anakin murmured, tongue sounding heavy.

"No shit," Araminta mused, but she couldn't keep the relieved look off her face at him being conscious and alive. "You look awful."

"I feel awful," he groaned. Araminta watchfed the medical droid briefly as it left, before turning back to him. Her hip slightly leant against the hospital bed.

"At least you're alive," Araminta told him.

"It– wasn't the crash," Anakin got out. "There was a bomb in the wreckage. Bounty hunters..." he trailed off, as if trying to piece together the memory. Araminta took his hand in her, squeezing slightly. He squeezed back.

"You're much more fun when you're awake," Araminta teased.

"You're lying. You enjoy the quiet," he fired back.

"Maybe," she scoffed.

Anakin swallowed thickly, looking up at her with furrowed brows. "How long have you been here?" he asked.

"All day."

He turned his head slightly to see the nightlights outside the window.

The assassin's ears twitched. Araminta pulled her hand from his as the door opened, Windu entering in a matching set of hospital robes and a frown etched into his face. His eyes widened slightly as they saw Araminta, who was scanning him up and down as if he were a threat.

"Solarii," Windu greeted coolly.

"Should you even be up?" she said snidely.

"Technically, no," he responded. Araminta scoffed as Windu moved so he was next to Anakin's bed, too. "How is he?" Windu asked as the pair stood together.

"He's fine," Anakin retorted.

Araminta shrugged. "Ignore him."

"I always do," Windu responded.

"I'm right here," the younger Jedi said in exasperation.

Araminta scrunched her nose up at him, before looking at Windu more seriously. "What happened?" she asked simply.

"Jango Fett's son," Windu sighed.

Araminta's eyes widened. That was a name she hadn't thought of in years. "How?"

"Snuck on board. Rigged a trap on my quarters and damaged the whole ship. He got away– but we believe he had help," Windu explained

"He wants revenge," Araminta stated. Windu nodded. "You did kill his father in cold-blood," the assassin pointed out.

"Jango Fett was a dangerous bounty hunter," Windu said firmly.

"So was I," Araminta jeered. She made a gesture with her hand to her throat. "You took his head clean off. A peacekeeper."

Windu's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Ignore her," Anakin sighed. Araminta shot him a look.

"This is a discussion for when you're well," Windu told Anakin.

"No, I–" Anakin winced as he tried to move into a sitting position, slowly laying himself back down, breathing heavily.

"Idiot," Araminta hissed.

"Get some rest, Skywalker," Windu said pointedly. He moved towards the door, glancing back. "Solarii?" he inquired.

She shook her head.

"You don't have to stay," Anakin told her.

"I want to," she echoed.

"Out of all the traits, I wouldn't have picked you to be loyal," Windu remarked.

Araminta sucked on her bottom lip, choosing to keep her mouth shut rather than snap at him as he left the infirmary room. Anakin gave her an appreciative look as the door closed behind Windu. His hand weakly reached for hers, and she took a few of his fingers in her grasp.

The assassin hung her head slightly, the moonstone around her neck swinging.

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

      LEIA SOLARII was the first to die. Araminta's older twin sister by just a few minutes, born beneath the same moon cycle she was in the Resherra Highlands, raised opposite her amongst the snow and the starlight. Araminta remembered her as radiant, with an edge she hadn't had as a child. She had stood up to Octavian after they had found their parents slaughtered, she had stood in front of Araminta as she mourned in the snow. She had been the one to urge them to leave, but Araminta had wanted to take a moment.

It would have saved them, Araminta believed sometimes. If she had been strong like her sister.

But strength had gotten Leia nowhere but the ground.

In exchange for giving a home, Octavian expected them to fight for his cause– or at least that was what he had told them. It took years for the conditioning to sink in, before their true purpose was revealed and they accepted it. Araminta still remembered her first day in the facility, surrounded by other kids her age with wide, scared eyes and lips slightly parted. It was hard to make sense of at such an age, but she had clung to Leia's hand as they moved.

"You're lucky," one of the other children had told them once. "You're not alone."

Araminta knew that. And she valued it.

Other children tried their best to strike up friendships, but Octavian discouraged the bonds, and by the time Araminta was ten he had begun to cull their numbers himself. Punishments became harsher, discipline became more violent. Araminta knew of a child that had been starved, and was too weak to continue fighting, killed in a 'practice' match with another.

Nothing was set in stone, but as Octavian preached to them, they had to be adaptable, do what was necessary to accomplish whatever mission they had. And their mission was to be strong.

Araminta remembered the day she had been made strong.

At twelve, a normal day, waking up in a room lined with beds, dressing in the same outfit they always trained in. A morning routine overseen by an older assassin, who used a small, sharp knife to adjust their form and posture for any errors in their movements and posture. Araminta had two small cuts on her ankle and knee by the time they headed to the mess hall for breakfast.

"Here," Leia told her in their mother tongue, passing over an extra potato. Araminta bit the inside of her cheek but accepted it nonetheless.

She had not been making enough progress, and her rations were cut from normal portions. Octavian told her she had to earn it back. She knew from experience many didn't come back from being starved out.

They were escorted to their positions by a droid, the massive high-ceiling training room she had come to loathe. Araminta was placed in the shooting range. Many different kinds of blasters were offered in the facility, but Octavian had started them on small, pistol-like ones. The Adanei girl looked over her shoulder as she was separated from Leia, their hands coming apart as the older twin headed for the fighting squares.

They were crudely marked on the cushioned floor. Octavian liked to remind them he'd remove the padding soon– no matter if they were ready or not.

Araminta chewed on her bottom lip as training began, picking up the blaster awkwardly. It wasn't an extension of her hand, it felt dangerous and clunky as she raised it, breathing out the way she had been taught. The Force lended itself in many ways, and meditation and focus had been one of the first things Octavian had taught them.

To her left was a Mirialan girl who had only been inducted the past year. She was older than when most of them had started, but her shooting seemed to keep her alive. Octavian liked her– he praised her publicly, which was rare.

Araminta hated the noises in the facility. She hated the sound of blasters, the sound of fist on flesh. She could hear someone hissing in pain as the knife they were trained with sliced their thumb. Above it all, Octavian watched. She knew he was watching her hand shake as she tried to hit the target. She couldn't get it to stop shaking– her blood sugar was too low.

She leaned her head back slightly, trying to see if a different angle would help her, but her golden eyes caught sight of her sister instead. She had left the shooting range before anyone could stop her, before the girl she would one day know as Somskay could even glance her way.

"No! Stop!" Araminta cried out.

Leia made no sound as the knife gutted her throat, or when it was removed, she only slumped to the ground, coughing once. A moment later Araminta had collided with the boy who had killed her as a part of a training match, sending him sprawling so far he hit the concrete outside of the fighting square.

The boy that Araminta would come to know as Yjax in the future was covered in blood, knife still held in his hands. His eyes were wide, but not in a horrified way, in a stunned way– surprised that she had stepped out of line. The entire room had gone quiet, kids were looking at them, and Octavian had fixed his dark eyes on her.

Araminta could feel herself shaking, moving to her sister's side, knees wet with the blood pooling around her. Leia was dead before Araminta could even open her mouth– her throat had been slashed too deep.

The sound of Octavian hitting her across the face shook the room, as the tears were knocked from her eyes and she hit the ground, looking up at the man who had saved them from the farm.

"Do you think you are better than everyone else in this room?" Octavian said, looking down at her. She stayed quiet, choking back a sob. Her sister's blood was still on her knees and under her nails. "That the rules don't matter?" She shook her head because she didn't know if words would come out. "Get up," he ordered.

Araminta scrambled to her feet, eyes finding her sister's body only a few feet from her. Octavian didn't seem to care that her attention was elsewhere. "I ask one thing of you," he continued, coldly. "Learn to attack and defend– but you can't even do that."

The accusation drew her attention back to him. "I was defending," Araminta bit out.

Her jaw erupted in pain as he struck her again, sending her to her hands, cheek pressed against the cold floor. She could smell the iron beneath her, and across from her, she could see her sister, paused in her last breath, eyes unseeing. They had not been identical twins, but it was still as if looking in a mirror.

Octavian stepped over her, blocking out the view of Leia. "If it came down to it, I expect you to be able to kill your sister if I told you to," the assassin master informed her.

Araminta said nothing, still choking back sobs. She couldn't control the tears leaking out of her eyes. Octavian lifted her back up, grabbing her by the hair, ignoring her noise of pain as he dragged her up. "Get on your knees and stay there," he instructed.

Her knees hit the concrete, her mother's necklace swung with the movement. They were moving further and further from the fighting square. She couldn't bear to raise her head and look around her. She knew everyone had gathered. All she could do was look down at her bloody hands.

"Yjax, give me that," she heard Octavian say, heard the rustle of fabric.

The coolness of the air hit her back as the blade cut through the back of her shirt. She pressed her upper arms closer to her body, holding the fabric to preserve her modesty as she waited for something to happen.

A cut directly across her upper back; she winced. She heard Octavian step back slightly, saw his shadow move from where she held her head.

"Everyone here is a survivor," Octavian announced. "On your own terms– you have made it this far. With no favours, no pity." Araminta could feel warmth as blood trickled down her back. "And that is how it will stay."

The second cut came unexpectedly, and Araminta couldn't bite back the hiss of pain she made.

"Thank you for that, Yjax," Octavian said softly. "And next."

Araminta guessed there might be sixty kids she trained alongside. Maybe more, maybe less. It was hard to keep track in their ever changing ranks. And like clockwork, each stepped forward and contributed a cut to her back, as if painting a canvas. Octavian barely spoke– everyone knew what to do, and to not refuse.

This was a punishment for stepping out of line. Araminta knew that. She didn't know how much time had passed before the cuts stopped coming, she had solely been focusing on staying conscious. The pain had not faded– everytime she thought she was used to the ache, another slash would come.

She swallowed thickly, staring at the concrete, where there were small wet patches from tears and sweat. She could feel blood, both old and new, running and crusting on her back. Some of the cuts were deeper, less clean, others barely scratched the surface.

In the future, she would wonder how she endured. Maybe it was a refusal to let him win. Maybe she knew he would kill her if she passed out.

Octavian now knelt beside her, but she couldn't bear to look at him. Across the room, Leia still lay discarded. She had gone rigid now.

"She needed to die," Octavian told her through the ringing of her ears. "She was weak. And she passed that onto you. She held you back." Araminta squeezed her eyes shut, as if they would block the voice out. She would have clenched her jaw if it wasn't already sore. "Look at what you can survive when it is necessary."

The knife, coated in her and her sister's blood, clattered on the ground next to her. She hated that she flinched, ears pinned against her head. "Keep it," Octavian told her. "As a reminder."

Araminta shifted forward to pick it up, hands trembling as she did so. It was a classic combat shape, slightly notched at the end with two overall points but one main. She ran a thumb over the hilt, which fit her small hand almost perfectly.

"Get to the infirmary," Octavian instructed. "And take some time to think."

He did not help her up, and she did not ask for help as she stumbled to her feet. The other children still watched.

Leia may have been the first to die, but Araminta believed some part of her had died that day as well.

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

      ARAMINTA STAYED beside Anakin that night like a guard dog. Damn Windu and his presumptions, damn her disdain for being classified as a guard dog in the first place. The medical droid had come back in and put him to sleep, replaced his drip, and then recommended Araminta get a good ten hours of sleep and a hearty meal.

She had ignored the advice and returned to her seat, eyes lazily scanning the window, then the door, and then back to Anakin's peaceful face. Her arms were lazily crossed over her body, but one hand rested strategically above the handle of her knife, ready to be drawn at the slightest movement. She doubted anything would happen to Anakin, especially if Windu had been Boba Fett's target, but she imagined her own body battered and broken, forced into a medical sleep for the night. She would have felt safer if Anakin stayed beside her.

Sunrise caused Araminta to lift her head slightly, her mother's pendant resting against her chest where it always did. As the light filtered in through the window that overlooked the city, the medical droid returned to wake up Anakin and removed his IV. Apparently he would be well enough to eat a real dinner that night, and apparently Araminta now needed an extra nap to avoid health risks of undersleeping. She hated the medical droid scans.

"You're still here," Anakin said quietly.

Araminta shrugged. "No shit."

He moved into a sitting position, not wincing in comparison to the night before. Anakin glanced at the window and morning sunlight. "Have you slept?" he asked critically, turning back to her. She shook her head. "You should."

"Not here," she murmured, moving from the seat she had melded to all night. The hospital bed dipped with her weight as she sat near the end, her feet not able to touch the ground.

Anakin looked at warmly. "Thank you," he breathed.

"Shut up," Araminta said, looking at the sheets.

"They were after Windu– not me," Anakin pressed.

She gave him an annoyed look. "Do you expect me to sit beside Windu's bed all night?"

Anakin grinned. "Touche."

"How're you feeling?" she asked quietly.

"Better," he said with a nod.

"Considering someone tried to blow you up I'd say that's good," Araminta said lightly. Anakin scoffed, sliding his legs to the side. The assassin got off the bed, looking at him like he was crazy. "What're you doing?" she asked as he got to his feet.

"I need to pee," he said innocently.

"Oh."

"And then I'm talking to Windu."

Araminta glared at his receding back. "Take as much time as you need," she said dryly.

"You look better," Windu remarked as the pair entered his room a few minutes later. He was making his way through a book on his bed, looking very calm for a man who'd had an attempted assassination a day ago.

"So do you," Anakin told him.

Araminta gazed past him and outside the window in Windu's room. "You have a nicer view," she said thoughtfully.

"You're not here to see how I'm doing, are you?" Windu sighed, not looking up from his book.

Anakin narrowed his eyes. "No. What're you planning to do with this son of Jango Fett?" he asked directly. Araminta rolled her eyes.

"I'm not planning to do anything," Windu responded.

"That kid destroyed an entire cruiser to get to you, and you're just gonna let it go?" Anakin asked in exasperation.

"Is there something else I should be doing, Skywalker?" It wasn't a question. It was thinly veiled annoyance.

"How about tracking him down?" Anakin suggested. He looked to Araminta, as if for support, but she was only admiring the view. Getting between the pair was not something she was partial to.

"So I should behave as this child does?" Windu asked, like a parent to a child. "I should seek revenge."

"No. How is it revenge if you stop this kid and bring him to justice?" Anakin retorted.

Windu finally lifted his eyes from his book to look at Anakin. "In case you hadn't noticed, we are fighting a war."

The door opened abruptly, Araminta turning to see Plo Koon and Ahsoka enter. Neither paid her much attention, or seemed to find it odd she was there, and it was immediately clear they were not here for a wellness check.

"We have a situation," Plo Koon announced. "We received a transmission from the bounty hunters." Anakin gave Windu a smug look, the older Jedi shaking his head. "They apparently took hostages."

Anakin's face fell as Plo Koon walked over to the projector in the infirmary room. Windu got to his feet, walking past Anakin and Araminta without a glance as Plo Koon brought up the recorded transmission. The blue hologram had many people in it, but most notable were the two clones and a human man Araminta recognised as an Admiral of the Republic.

"Mace Windu, you were lucky to escape. Your friends here were not so fortunate." Boba Fett was indistinguishable from the young clones Araminta sometimes saw training, standing behind the hostages with a small blaster in his hands. Araminta couldn't tell Windu's reaction to the declaration from the back of his head.

"Until you face Boba, these men will be killed one at a time," one of the bounty hunters, a woman, continued. "What's your name?" She demanded of the trooper closest to her. He stayed quiet until she kicked him from behind. "Name," she snapped.

"CT-411," he grunted.

"Ugh, pathetic. Boba, do it," the bounty hunter scoffed. The young boy raised the blaster to the back of the clone's head, but did not shoot. "Boba," she urged. Araminta watched the boy squeeze his eyes shut, still not pulling the trigger.

Anakin flinched as the bounty hunter did it herself, the clone falling limply to the side. "That was Ponds," he murmured.

"Only two to go, Windu," the bounty hunter said lightly, holding out her arms invitingly. "Come and find us. We'll be waiting."

The transmission ended.

"I'll go," Windu said immediately.

"I thought you had bigger concerns," Anakin pointed out with an air arrogance.

"That was before we knew hostages were involved," Windu snapped.

"You are too injured to travel, and your presence would only aggravate the boy," Plo Koon cut in. "I shall go and take Padawan Tano with me." Ahsoka lifted her chin slightly. "Solarii can stay and make sure nothing is attempted here," Plo Koon continued, looking at the assassin. Araminta only nodded.

"This is my fault," Windu said through a clenched jaw, but didn't fight the instruction.

Plo Koon looked as if he might have wanted to say more, but seemed to know better as he and Ahsoka left the hospital room. Anakin exchanged a glance with Araminta as they, too, headed for the door. Anakin exchanged some words with his padawan, Araminta hanging back, before he rejoined her.

"Didn't see that coming," Anakin said as they reentered his hospital room. "You okay?"

"He didn't want to pull the trigger," Araminta said simply. "He's not ready to do what it takes."

His hand found the small of her back. "You think they'll catch them?" he asked.

"Yeah, I do," Araminta relented. She looked up at Anakin, who was already looking at her intently. "What?" she asked.

"What?"

"You have this look like you want to ask me something."

Anakin sighed, arm falling from her frame. Araminta watched him curiously, eyes flicking up from his chapped lips to his own baby blues. "Would you ever take revenge on Octavian?" he asked quietly.

Araminta blinked up at him, ears going back. Anakin frowned at her, and the assassin could only drift and look out the window. "I won't search for him, people stronger than me have tried. But... if I ever see him again, I'll have to kill him before he kills me," she told him honestly.

"He'd never get the chance," Anakin said firmly.

Araminta pressed her lips together. "I know you're trying to be sweet."

Anakin inclined his head. "But?"

"If it ever happens, I only hope you're not there," Araminta told him softly.

He kissed her lightly and unexpectedly, too brief for her to even return the gesture. "Your problems are my problems now, you know that?" Anakin said.

"Oh, really?" she jeered.

He didn't return her teasing. "I mean it."

Araminta regarded him wholly, taking in his pleading features. He wanted her to believe him, he wanted to be there for the worst of her problems. He did not seem to care if he cut himself on the edges she had, and time and time again he had proven his devotion to her. It was hard for Araminta to remember a time he had not looked at her like she had put the stars in the sky, a time when she had not felt safe falling asleep beside him.

"Okay," she said softly. He kissed her again, slightly more passionate than the last time. "All I said was 'okay'," she mused as they pulled away, settling back onto her heels from standing taller to reach him.

"I know," Anakin said with a shrug. "But all I could do in the wreck was think as we waited for help. I thought of you."

She smiled at him. "Maybe you should almost die more," she said lightly.

"You wish," he jeered.

"I'm glad you're okay," she said, more seriously. "I hate the idea of something happening while I'm not there," the assassin continued, shaking her head.

Anakin brushed her cheek with his thumb. "You're cute when you worry."

"I have a knife," she hissed, grabbing his hand and moving it from her face, fingers hooked with his.

"If you're into that," he teased.

"You're a pain," she rolled her eyes dramatically and turned away. Her eyes found the lightsaber hilt beside his bed– Plo Koon must have brought it back for him.

"You imagining yourself with one?" Anakin teased, lips against her ear.

"Stop it," she hissed, lightly shoving him away as goosebumps flared up from his breath on her neck. "And, no. Don't be a Kenobi."

"You used one on Mandalore," Anakin said, leaning forward. "And on Grievous' ship."

Araminta raised her eyebrows. "Yes, I was there," she deadpanned.

Anakin leaned back, swaying on the balls of his feet. "Why'd you use it?"

"Because I had to," she responded dryly.

"Exactly," Anakin said brightly. Araminta scoffed loudly at the direction her partner was going. "Why're you so stubborn about this?" he asked.

"Because I'm not a Jedi," Araminta said sharply, giving him a glare that he was completely unfazed by.

"Using a lightsaber doesn't make you a Jedi," Anakin fired back. Araminta gave him a look at the contrasting statement. "You know what I mean," the Jedi sighed.

"No, I don't." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Okay," Anakin said, accepting the challenge. "Sometimes you need a better weapon." Araminta narrowed her eyes at him. "It's not about being a Jedi– it's about doing what's necessary for the mission. Which is very different to what you used to do, but it doesn't take away from that."

Araminta watched him cautiously– hating that he was right. A lightsaber deflected blaster fire in a way no other weapon, even her bracers, could, and she was being shot at a lot more than she ever had before. A lightsaber was the only way she could protect Obi-wan from Grievous, a threat they ran into consistently. A lightsaber was the best weapon against the droids.

If it was about doing what was necessary, and adapting to the situation, Araminta's stubbornness was putting her at a disadvantage. The longer the Clone War raged on, and her order to Obi-wan's side lasted, the less useful she was. Anakin was right– it was a balance between her old morals and the person she needed to become to survive the new situation.

What is necessary.

"Okay," she relented. "But," she said sharply at Anakin's excited look, holding up a finger. "It's a backup. For when it's necessary."

"Yeah, of course, yeah," he said quickly.

"You're way too excited about this," she scoffed.

He shook his head. "I'm... normal," he told her.

Araminta tilted her head. "If you say so."

"How are your duelling abilities?" he asked eagerly.

"They're fine," Araminta responded.

"Gotta be better than fine," Anakin said snidely. Araminta furrowed her brows "What? Did you think we'd give you a lightsaber straight away?"

"With the way you and Kenobi nag? Yeah," she said matter-of-factly.

Anakin ignored the jab, looking her up and down. "You've used swords before?"

"Of course," she responded in defence.

"They're very different," Anakin said with a shrug, moving towards the door. "Come on," he called over his shoulder.

Araminta gave him a stunned look, lips slightly parted. "You're still hurt," she protested.

"Too hurt to hunt down an assassin, not too hurt to train one," he said innocently. She sent him an annoyed look. Anakin sighed, shoulders slumping. "Please? I'm bored."

"Fine," she relented at his whining.

Araminta was half-expecting someone to stop Anakin, given he was still in his hospital robes. The Jedi Order didn't skimp on expenses, it seemed, as the robes were fully fitted and covered, nothing like the open-backed gowns Araminta was used to seeing in medical facilities. But nobody stopped them– a couple troopers saluted their General, but that was it.

Anakin led them to an empty training room, the assassin scanning the pattern on the floor as she was shown the small array of weapons. She scanned them, intrigued, from wooden play-swords, to actual blades, to small lightsaber hilts and mechanical masks. She had seen younglings train with them sometimes, practising their reflexes while unable to see.

"Take a wooden one," Anakin told her, taking one himself. Araminta furrowed her brows down at the slightly curved piece of wood, a noticeable handle at the end. Anakin gauged her reaction. "What? You thought I'd start you off with an actual lightsaber."

Araminta narrowed her eyes at him, not wanting to back down now. "No, you're right, I'd probably win," she jeered, taking one from the rack and weighing it in her hand.

Anakin rolled his eyes. "Usually, that would bait me," he admitted, moving towards the centre of the room. Araminta followed him.

"But you had a change of heart?" she asked in mock sympathy.

"Oh, never. I just think you're right at the moment," he said, stretching slightly.

"Hmm," Araminta hummed in response. His wounds would put him at a disadvantage. She looked back down at the wooden sword in her hand, moving it between her fingers, testing the weight of it in different grips.

"We start the younglings out on them– so they don't hurt themselves or others," Anakin explained as he watched her.

She adjusted her grip, tightening her fingers around it. "Good to know."

Anakin picked up on her tone, chuckling. "Come on, we'll catch you up soon."

"Get me a knife and I'll–" she stopped talking when he put a finger to her lip. "Don't shush me," she snapped, gently slapping his hand away.

"Make me stop then," he said lowly.

Araminta narrowed her eyes, knowing she'd have to strike at one point or another, and taking advantage of how close he was, sliced the sword to the side. Anakin let out a breath at the unexpected attack, jumping back to avoid being bruised. She kept up the pressure and her first-strike advantage, giving chase, driving the blunt blade down, cracking against Anakin's weapon as he blocked.

She pulled back, twisting the blades together before stabbing for his abdomen, the blunt point only gently hitting his flank. His eyes widened in surprise at the disarm.

"And, you're dead," Araminta grinned, pulling the blade back and holding it at her side. "You're holding back," she added.

Anakin only blinked at her. "You've duelled before?" he asked.

"You sound surprised," she scoffed.

"Just never seen you use that sort of weapon," Anakin pointed out.

"I'm rusty," she admitted.

Anakin nodded. "Have you been trained? Or just picked it up?"

Araminta paused. Octavian had trained them in many facets, making them as well-rounded and adaptable as possible. She could pick up any weapon and know how to kill with it, but actual techniques were learned through specialisation. She had passed her graduation by using a knife, but Daesha, the person she had been closest with, had won with a sword.

The assassin pressed her lips together. "Sort of," she responded. "If there's a weapon– I'll figure it out."

Anakin smirked at the response, adjusting his stance slightly. Araminta watched him cautiously, holding the blade with two hands, moving so the hilt was held near her ear. He charged first, slashing down as Araminta spun on her heel and out of the way, switching the sword to one hand as she moved, holding it up to block Anakin's next strike.

She shoved the blade away and slashed forward, forcing Anakin to skip backwards. Exchanging blows in training was often a vicious act to Araminta, something she had done as a kid to weasel out the weak from the strong. It had been about survival, and proving yourself worthy, or to die trying.

As she duelled Anakin, wood cracking against wood, his bright eyes watching her as they moved together, it was hard to believe how different it felt. Even as he definitely didn't hold back, even as he gained the upper hand and she was forced onto the defensive, not once did she fear the result of the fight. If anything, she almost felt closer to him.

With a precise strike, Anakin clipped the bone in her wrist. The wooden sword went flying from her hand as it slackened, leaving her with the tip of Anakin's at her throat. He was breathing heavily from the effort, as she looked down at the mock weapon warily. With a triumphant grin, Anakin pulled away.

"It's okay," he told her. "It's a good start."

He moved so he was behind her, reaching around her torso and holding the wooden sword in front of them both. Swallowing thickly at how close he was, she took a hold of the wooden handle, one hand above the other. Her bottom hand was slightly loose, almost as if it were sitting in her palm.

"Just remember," Anakin said, chest flush against her back. "It's not a real sword. A real lightsaber is much lighter. You can get creative with the way you hold it."

"Right," Araminta muttered. "This was how a teammate held it."

"And if it was metal, that'd be perfect form," Anakin agreed. He gently moved her hands, Araminta letting him. "A lightsaber is much sharper than a normal blade. There's less risk of it overbalancing while you're moving since it just cuts through everything." Araminta nodded. He then placed both his hands over hers, moving her arms down slightly. "Put your right foot further back."

Araminta did so, bending her left knee in response as she leaned into her right hip, sword held vertically in a way that would be very unnatural for an actual sword. Anakin finally stepped away, looking proud of her form.

"That's good," he told her. "You'll be able to step into it."

Araminta swayed slightly, testing her balance on her knee and hip, before straightening up. "Something tells me the Council doesn't want you showing you this," she mused.

"Well, there's a lot the Council doesn't want us doing," Anakin said simply.

"Touche," she laughed.

Anakin laughed with her, face lighting up, and if they were alone, she would have kissed him, melting into the smile she was coming to adore.

They went again, wood against wood, Araminta's movements getting faster as her confidence grew, while Anakin's grew slower as his already-injured frame kept moving. Araminta continued to check in, giving her small looks and raising her eyebrows, but he continued to train with her.

"No," Anakin told her after she won another practice match. "With a real lightsaber, you wouldn't be able to rely on leaning against the blade."

Araminta nodded as he reclaimed his wooden sword from the ground that she had disarmed of him by bracing the wooden sword against her arm. She supposed that was an impossible technique with a plasma blade, but unlearning a decade's worth of training wouldn't happen in one day.

They continued, Araminta started to treat the wooden sword lighter. She attempted some of Anakin's fancy spins – which didn't work so well – and tried new ways of disarming him. She did not remember a time she had laughed more in a long time, teasing back and forth as they fake-stabbed each other and Anakin baited her into continuing, even if she kept making sure he wasn't unwell.

Araminta wasn't sure how long they had been running around, the sound of wood cracking against wood overly familiar to her sensitive ears now, as she continued to parry him. With an expert twist, Anakin forced her defence to the side, leaving her torso almost completely exposed.

With her guard broken, Anakin was free to kick her in the stomach. She hit the ground on her back, wheezing as the wind was knocked from her.

Anakin stood over her, looking down with a grin. "Hi," he said brightly.

Araminta scrunched her nose up at him before sweeping his legs out from under him. "Hi," she echoed, sitting up as he lay on the ground, wincing.

"A night in a bacta tank," he wheezed, "doesn't make that much of a difference."

"Then don't volunteer to train me," Araminta retorted. "Idiot."

"I wanted to," Anakin muttered, wincing as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

Araminta looked at him with brilliant gold eyes, not quite touching him from how they were sitting, but close enough a passerby would have picked up on the intimacy. She pulled her knees to her chest, resting her chin on top as she gazed at him, shining from the effort to train while injured.

"Thank you," she whispered suddenly.

Anakin's face softened.

Araminta felt she could have stayed in that moment on the training room floor forever, midday sun catching his features in a way that made him look as radiant as he made her feel.

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

i love trauma dumping araminta. also yes that knife in the flashback was araminta's favourite knife :)

araminta's "jedi" arc starts now, but this chapter was also a pain to put together because it's technically technically a three part boba fett arc, so i had to splice it up a bunch to get what i wanted out of it and it ended up being mainly original content outside of the episode, lots of dialogue but i think sometimes it's nice to have a filler, fluffy break between the action. not too fluffy tho because absolutely dreadful flashback in the middle

i have to go actually do my uni asessments now but i hope everyone enjoyed the 3 chapters in a single week, it will never happen again

episodes 220, 221, 222

we are 10 chapters away from act 2 end! i'm gunning for it because so much happens before that and it's all stuff i've had planned for so long. please vote or comment if you enjoyed <33 i love my regular readers but the individual amount of people commenting is very low