this addition has been edited as of
january 1, 2020

CHAPTER TWO

"I SUPPOSE you've never actually met Obi-Wan, have you?" Padmé said as she combed through Artie's dust-caked hair. Padmé's fingers worked deftly, re-braiding the gold tresses so that they were off Artie's shoulders and woven neatly atop her head.

"I guess I haven't," Artie realized, "though you talk about him so much it feels like I must have."

Padmé swatted at her. "Oh, hush." She pinned up the last piece of hair and moved to stand in front of Artie. "You'll love him. He's very kind and charming, and I believe he's bringing his Padawan—Anakin will be about your age now, won't he?"

Artie shrugged. "How would I know? I've never met him either." She glanced down at her tunic; it was covered in soot and blood and torn at random. Embarrassed that this was how the Chancellor and Jedi had seen her, Artie wiped at her pants awkwardly. "Should I change?" They were back at Padmé's Coruscant apartment where Artie also had a room, and the temptation to strip, bathe, and sleep for hours was overwhelming. "Is there time?"

Padmé looked her over. "You look like you've been in a fight." She smiled. "Very tough."

"You don't mind your apprentice looking like she took an ugly hit in a pod race?"

Padmé rolled her eyes playfully. "If we were hosting a formal dinner, I'd insist you clean up. Fortunately, they are simply visiting for precautionary measures while we try to solve a problem—"

"The problem being an attempted assassination," Artie interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

"Well," Padmé broke her gaze, "yes. Yes, but everyone is overreacting. Even you're carrying a blaster—really, Artie? Who gave that to you?"

"Typho . . ." she admitted. "He said it couldn't hurt—"

"Obi! Obi! Obi! Mesa so smilen to see'en yousa!"

Artie nearly leaped out of her skin. Oh, she could just kill that Gungan. Why had they even brought him in?

"It's good to see you too, Jar Jar," a deep and unfamiliar voice replied from somewhere in the entryway. Artie mollified, curiosity piqued at once.

"And this," Jar Jar went on, sounding like he had regained some composure, "I take it is your apprentice—nooo!" the calm dissolved. "Ani? Little bitty Ani?"

The strangers appeased Jar Jar's ecstatic greetings with gracious conversation Artie could not make out. She thought, at the very least, they must be very patient. Things went quiet after a few moments, and two pairs of footsteps approached the parlor. Artie turned around in time to see two men, one much younger than the other, enter the room. They were both donned in Jedi's robes.

Master Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped forward and held a hand out to Padmé. His ginger hair brushed a little past the nape of his neck, and a full beard took up the lower half of his young face. His eyes were startlingly wise for someone who could not have been older than thirty-five. "It's a pleasure to see you again, my lady."

Padmé took his hand and smiled warmly. "It's been far too long, Master Kenobi. I'm so glad our paths have crossed again. But I must warn you, I believe your presence is unnecessary."

"I'm sure the Jedi Council has their reasons," Obi-Wan said with a gleam in his eyes. He stepped to the side, and tilted his head to Artie. "I don't believe I've met you. You're Senator Amidala's apprentice, I assume."

"You would assume correctly," she replied with as pleasant a smile as she could muster. "I'm Artemis Adhara, but you can call me Artie—everyone does."

Obi-Wan smiled. "Of course."

He maneuvered around her to speak with Padmé once again, giving Artie a clear view of the boy he had brought with him. He was much younger than Obi-Wan, with cropped hair and a long Padawan braid hanging at his shoulder. His soft features were immediately appealing to Artie.

"Hello," she said, lips tilting. "I'm Artie Adhara."

The boy gave her a crooked smile. "Anakin Skywalker."

"You knew Padmé when you both were children, right?"

Anakin gazed at Artie, blue eyes intent and unwavering. "I met her just before I joined the Order." He paused. "I didn't know Padmé had a shadow."

Artie lifted an eyebrow, watching him with hesitant amusement. "Try protégé. She took me in about a year ago after I tried to steal from her ship on Tatooine."

"And you were rewarded with an apprenticeship?"

"When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous," Artie replied, cracking a smile.

"Did you say you were from Tatooine?" Anakin asked. "That's my home planet."

Artemis crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back slightly on the balls of her feet. "I grew up there. I hated it," she said, deciding to spare him the ugly details. "Do you ever miss it?"

"I miss my mother, if that counts for anything. I grew up a slave. There's really no nostalgia for anything else."

Artie opened her lips to speak, perhaps to offer some apology to Anakin's experience as a slave or to ask him more about his mother, but any prospect of conversation was cut through by Padmé's prompt, but sweet voice. "Artie," she called suddenly, "come with me a moment." Artemis came to her side, and Padmé offered Kenobi and Anakin a soft, concluding smile. "If you will excuse me, I think I'm going to retire for the night. Artie will return in half a moment." Padmé bowed her head and ventured deeper into the apartment, Artie following close behind as they strode down the brief hallway to Padmé's quarters.

Once inside the still, silent bedroom, Padmé let out an audible sigh, though out of relief or exasperation Artemis couldn't tell. She settled on her broad, silken bed and let her shoulders slump defeatedly.

"No offense," Artie began, sitting down beside her, "but you look awful. Really, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Padmé shook her head slowly, her rosy lips curving into a tired smile. "I'm fine," she insisted, though her droopy eyes suggested otherwise. "I do realize I've been too caught up in preventing the war. I've grown . . . careless. I should have known that an attempt on my life would put you and everyone else in danger."

Artie sighed heavily. "To be honest, most of my life has been dangerous. I was beginning to miss the excitement."

"I absolutely will not have you or anyone put at risk for my sake," Padmé said sternly. "It is inexcusable." The crease between her brows deepened. "And that includes Obi-Wan and Anakin. They may be warriors, but they're not invincible. And now they're here, in all kinds of danger, when they really needn't be." Padme rested her forehead in her hand. "Anakin is just a boy, he's far too young for this kind of assignment. Oh, I was so distracted I didn't even say hello . . ."

Artie rubbed her arm. "It's fine, I kept him company. And the Jedi are here to ensure your safety because you're their friend. They're doing this because they care."

Padmé remained silent for several moments. Finally, she lifted her head. "You spoke with Ani?" she asked. "How did he seem? I haven't seen him in nearly a decade."

Artemis thought back to their brief conversation. "Clever," she decided, "and pleasant enough. A bit cocksure, isn't he?"

Padmé snorted. "I suppose he hasn't changed, then."

"He's very intense, too," Artie went on. She remembered his eyes. "It's like he looks right inside your head." It struck her a moment too late that that was exactly what Jedi could do.

Padmé glanced at her knowingly. "He was looking at you quite a bit."

Artie nodded along. "Oh, yes, probably wondering if I'd ever had a bath before."

"I doubt he even noticed," Padmé chuckled. "Really, how many women do you think they get to meet on the battlefield? You're probably the prettiest thing he's seen in months."

Artie bat her eyelashes and grinned goofily. "You really think I'm pretty?"

Padmé shook her head exasperatedly. "Oh, get out, you fool. Die an old maid for all I care."

"Padmé, he's a Jedi," she exclaimed as she headed for the door. She wrinkled her nose, eyes mischievous. "The Order's a glorified chastity pact—he'll die the old maid."

Padmé laughed, but it came out as more of a shocked gasp. "And I'll tell them you said so!"

"Can they deny it?" Artie challenged, spreading her arms.

"Out."

Artie chortled gracelessly, highly amused at how easily scandalized her teacher was and darted back down the hallway to the parlor. As she went, she caught her reflection in a mirror. A girl with a crown of thick yellow braids and moon-pale skin stared back. Her lips were curved in a smirk and her face was scratched, scraped, and specked with blood. She looked wild, somewhat feral, and Artie wished more than anything she had opted to clean up.

She only hoped the Jedi were too courteous to mention it.

note.
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