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Tsum-Tsum T-shirt, by Disney
WALLPAPER

Untitled
by Grant Gould (for StarWars.com)

FAN ART
by master--burglar
by master--burglar
FAN FICTION
Rush
by Love and Rock Music. (TCW) The first half of "Destroy Malevolence," as Anakin and Padmé make their way towards each other.

P/A SITE
The Anakin and Padmé Gallery

CALENDAR
Desktop Calendar // March/April 2015

 


FAN FICTION : ATTACK OF THE CLONES ERA

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Morning at the Naberries'

by Leia Naberrie

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A new dawn had begun. The twin moons hung in perfect symmetry at the opposite ends of the horizon, casting a bluish tint on the valley. The young sun, peaking tentatively from the North edged every profile in dark red relief. The dual light was symbolic. Each day in the mountain village started bright and colourful, bursting with choices and possibilities.

In the large kitchen, Sola Naberrie was finishing her Halo Thee. As was her usual practice, whenever she stayed in her parents' house, she had woken earlier than the household in order to prepare the first meal. It was force of old habit. In the old days, when the Naberrie home had been a large crowd of extended family, the children would be awakened early, gathered outdoors and made to sing a communal Halo Thee. Then they would disperse to carry out individual and necessary chores in the farm. Those times were no more, of course. The famine and the consequent exodus to the city had changed their lives irrevocably. Ruwee Naberrie had returned to the university and the farm had remained a secondary means of sustenance even after they returned to the village. Padmé Naberrie had fallen in love with political life and had gone on to become Amidala - Princess of Theed and later, Queen of Naboo and now, Senator of the Nubian Sector. The pension granted to the Naberrie family on behalf of their daughter had been enough to ensure that nobody in that family ever worked again. Their cousins had been trained and had settled into their own homes. Most were in the city now or off-world; few had indeed returned to the mountain village for permanent residence. The Naberrie were a driven lot.

The flour had been kept overnight under the skylight in order to be burnt papery by the blue-light of the double moons. Sola took it down before the sunlight made it revert permanently to its previous elasticity. The Naberrie still kept their farm; most of the work done now was by new settlers in the village who had been rented portions of the land by Ruwee Naberrie in exchange - not for money - but for a fair ration of the produce.

At times like this, Sola missed the old days. The discipline would have been very good for her children; Ryoo and Pooja were asleep and definitely would be for the next two hours. Sola had flirted with the idea in the past of making them rouse earlier but she could not bring herself to justify it. Sure, the extra help making first meal would have been welcome but she only ever cooked for five - seven today adding Padmé and her Jedi. She could cope.

First meal was traditional dinjuslaw, typical only to this particular village. Padmé would not have eaten it in almost three years. Sola smiled. It had been her little sister's favourite as a child. She was sure Padmé would be pleased.

She cut up the other ingredients and her smile faded. Recently, thoughts of her younger sister tended to give her pause. Her mother had truly believed that Padmé was retiring from public service when she had refused to be re-elected unconstitutionally by the public. Sola had known better. The spirit of politics was in Padmé's blood. Her idealism and her own personal ambition - to wield power and effect justice had been a driving factor in her life for too long to be laid aside easily. It was her direct legacy from Winama - something that had skipped Ruwee Naberrie and that Sola had never inherited. It had been evident ever since they were children in the city - the glow in Padmé's eyes, the passion in her face whenever she returned from her too frequent visits to their grandmother at Theed.

No, Sola had not been surprised when Padmé had returned to active service. What bothered her - the disappointment she shared with their mother, was the way Padmé continued to let her career drive her life – become her life. Her career consumed her whole existence. Objectively, it was a comfort to know that their leadership was in such dedicated hands, but subjectively, Sola was very worried about Padmé. She knew her sister better than anyone else. She knew that Padmé dreamed about a family - a home of her own. She saw the look in Padmé's eyes when she played with her nieces and it pained her that Padmé might prevent herself from becoming the wonderful mother she could be to her own children.

Padmé's present predicament only served to add to their mother's fears. Sola wondered what Jobal Naberrie would think if Sola confided in her how many times in the past Padmé had discussed with her in their rare meetings in Theed about threats and attempts on her life. Sola was not unduly worried about her sister's safety. The only peculiarity about this particular incidence was the galactic climate in which it was occurring and of course, the fact that the present Chancellor was a native Nubian who had always had a great deal of affection for Amidala. The place Padmé would be going to hide was perfectly secure, known only to the closest of kin. In any case, Padmé Naberrie was more than capable of looking after her own self. And if she somehow could not manage to be, there was always the Jedi to protect her.

Sola's pensiveness lifted.

The Jedi.

She had finished chopping the spices. Carefully, she arranged them in the plastitherm plate in the Iioje pattern. She used a ladle to spoon out a generous amount of flour and sprinkled it evenly over the arrangement.

Of course, Padmé herself probably had not realized how atypically she had behaved yesterday. The jaded galactic senator in the traditional maiden dress. Padmé would never look down on her native culture, but she tended to be painstakingly conservative at all times. She dressed natively but in older matronly costumes - to the demands of her position and to the eternal lament of her mother and sister.

Sola smirked.

There had been nothing of the Senator in Padmé yesterday. She might have been Sola herself when Darren first followed her down to the old farm house. Just another young girl who had brought a boy home to meet her parents. Not that Padmé had or would ever admit that. And that was even more satisfying to Sola. As satisfying as the impulsive way her sister's hands had kept on touching Anakin's at the table - cutting his food, placing his hands properly on the strange utensils. Later, Padmé had insisted that she had been merely motherly - she had known him when he was a little boy after all.

Sola burst out with loud laughter and scattered the flour. There was nothing in the least bit childish about the hungry, almost desperate glances the Jedi had sent towards Padmé's bare back whenever he thought he was not being watched.

She had just finished cleaning up the mess when Anakin entered the kitchen.

"Good morning."

Sola glanced up and wondered why she was not even startled. He seemed to have been summoned by her thoughts.

"Good morning to you." She replied with a grin. "Early riser, aren't you?"

Anakin shrugged. "I've been up for a while. You woke up at past three."

"Oh did I?" Sola asked mischievously.

"Yep. You usually do so at home anyway. This used to a big house back then. All the kids had to wake up at this time and do the farm work." He started wondering around the kitchen. "Can I get something to drink?"

"There's milk in the cooler," Sola managed. She watched him as he bent his tall frame to peer into the cooler. She tried to recall what she had learnt about the Jedi Code and Culture at the university - their connection to the energy source they called the Force and the ability it gave them to be almost physically and mentally super human, their rudiments of self restraint, self discipline, and discretion as the better part of valour.

Definitely, showing off his ability to read minds should not have been typical Jedi behaviour. But then, Sola would appreciate him less where Padmé was concerned if he was anything like a typical Jedi.

"Can I help?" he had poured himself a glass of milk and come to stand beside her.

Sola widened her eyes at him. "You mean you can't tell if you can?"

He grinned. "Perhaps I don't tell to know if I can?" His blue eyes widened innocently.

She laughed. "Get on with you. There is a barrow of gover outside. I need about a dozen."

The barrow was just outside. He stood in the doorway and filled the basket he had taken with him. His whole profile was silhouetted in the yellow glow of the now arisen sun. Sola studied him unreservedly.

He was as lean as a snake but there were muscles rippling under the thin gauze of the shirt he was wearing. His face would have been almost too pretty for a boy's if not for the scar on his chin and the hard edge that seemed set into his expression. His blue eyes had been clouded and unreadable for most of yesterday. But she had now discovered they could be mischievous and flirtatious when he liked. And, of course, even yesterday, they had flashed with something almost carnal whenever they rested on her sister.

Without a doubt, a Jedi was not suitable husband material. By their very natures, they were dedicated to dangerous causes and atheistic lifestyles. This one – an apprentice apparently, was more or less semi-renegade to want Padmé. But that was just what her sister needed – a wild passionate fling that would break her heart and force her to realize what was badly missing in her life. Anakin would return to the Order, a better Jedi for having sampled the forbidden fruit and satisfied himself that the Order was what he was destined for. Padmé would no longer be willing to be on her own and better still, no longer be able to so effectively maintain that Ice Maiden stance that had so successfully deterred all but the most persistent admirers. Interesting possibilities would develop in her sister's love life. Perhaps, something to do with the Senator from Alderaan that she was constantly talking about?

Anakin had straightened up and was walking to her with the 80-pound basketful of govers balanced effortlessly in his arms. Sola wondered idly if he had won that shirt in order to perform early morning aerobics. Though his skin was not sweaty it was slick on top of its tan and his hair had turned dark bronze with dampness. He really was amazingly attractive.

Oh yes, he would do. He would do very nicely.

"Where do I put these?" He was eyeing her quizzically.

Sola realized with a blush that she had been staring. "Over there," she gestured at the grinder droid - "It's quite straightforward."

She turned her attention back to her cooking as he fed the droid. The dinjuslaw had set. She sprayed the setting foam over it and carefully placed it in the mechno-oven. Then she started preparing another one. One was usually enough for five but she knew that Padmé would want a second serving.

"So tell me," Anakin said conversationally. "Are you really going to need all this govers for first meal or are you conducting a private Jedi experiment?"

Sola laughed as she watched him remove what must have been the tenth bucket of 15-pound gover juice from under the droid.

"I probably should have conducted an experiment. This would be a good test of Jedi endurance under monotonous situations."

He rolled his eyes as he effortlessly heaved another bucket out from the droid.

"But actually, the droid can only work with at least ten govers. Anything less and the mechanism can't kick in."

"Really?" Genuine interest was in his voice. "If you want, I can take a look at it. It's probably the igno-motor. Its setting can be tapered down so the droid can start with two govers and still work effectively." It was more than interest, Sola realized. His eyes were positively shining with enthusiasm. Vaguely, she recalled what Padmé had told her so long ago, after the Battle of Naboo about the strange boy that had saved them all and was training to be Jedi.

"He was an absolute genius with machines. You should have seen the protocol droid he built for his mother."

Nine-year old Anakin Skywalker, hero of the Battle had seemed ageless in Sola's mind. It had not been too difficult to dissociate him from the grown man that had sat at dinner with her family yesterday and gazed longingly at her sister. It was strange but Sola did not like the idea of connecting Anakin Skywalker, child hero with Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Padawan and Padmé's Paramour (if she had anything to do about it). There was something about the little boy's story that, strangely enough, had given her disquiet way as far back as even then when the euphoria of freedom had been all over their world. How had Darren, her then boyfriend put it?

"That kid is like a powerful weapon just waiting to be used. And with all the angst he's seen at his young age - slavery, battles, murder - he's more likely to want to be used for violence than peace."

Anakin was staring at her.

Sharply, Sola came to. How melodramatic and judgemental she had been as a teenager. A whole world celebrating the boy who owed them nothing and had given them so much of himself and she and her boyfriend had sat in their cosy dorm room and analyzed him into a potential psychopath.

"Well, we have to wait until all the juice is ready." She replied in response to the earlier conversation.

He shrugged, lifted the next bucket and took it away. She watched him apprehensively and wondered if he had - being a Jedi and all- somehow picked up on her uncharitable thoughts.

From somewhere upstairs, the sound of a door slamming came. It was too early for either her parents or daughters to be rising. Padmé was awake.

"You're almost through." She peered at the neon indicators on the side of the droid. "Just three more buckets left."

"They're coming out slower now."

"Yes. It's like that when it's almost done. Care to fix that as well?" She ventured.

He grinned unreservedly. "Sure."

The beeper went off in the mechno-oven, just as the second serving of dinjuslaw set. Carefully, she lifted the cooked dinjuslaw from the mechno-oven and Anakin helped her place it under the skylight where it would be kept warm. The second serving then went in.

She peered at the neon. "One more bucket to go."

Anakin fidgeted. He looked like if he couldn't wait to get his hands on the mechanism and take it apart.

"Won't you like to know what your cooking tastes like?" Sola asked.

"My cooking? You mean the juice?" He asked with surprise. "I just fed the thing into the droid."

"You didn't just put it in!" Sola laughed. "Did you?"

Anakin nodded.

Sola gasped with shock. "Oh no." The bemused look on Anakin's face took the edge off her dismay and turned it into amusement. "You mean you don't know how to make gover juice? You just put it in the droid? How did you know which govers were ripe for juicing then?"

His silence answered her question. This time she shrieked with laughter.

"Oh dear. I thought you Jedi knew everything."

"Not everything that counts after all." Anakin retorted but there was a grin on his face. "Look, I'm really sorry. I hope I haven't wasted the juice or anything like that."

Sola grinned. "Oh you will be sorry." She went to really inspect the buckets he had placed on the cooler pavement. The liquid was thick and orange. Actually, it looked OK. But if the droid had not pulled out all the seeds... She took a ladle and dipped into the gover juice.

She shoved it in front of Anakin like a weapon. He appreciated that and backed away.

"Taste."

"No way." They were circling round each other in mock attack/defence stances.

"Taste it."

"No way in Sith."

They were both trying not to laugh.

"Big strong Jedi like you - afraid of your own cooking?"

"Jedi are vulnerable to our own cooking." He retorted. "Jedi do not eat food of our own hands. It's one of the tenets of the Jedi Code."

"Well I studied the Jedi Code in the university and it had nothing like that in it." She had backed him right into a corner. He would have to push her away to escape drinking the gover.

"It's a new tenet all right!" He all but yelped. "We review the Code every one hundred years."

"And when was this added?" The only space that separated them was the size of the diameter of the ladle that hovered almost against his mouth.

"Ten seconds a- ump!" He managed and then he could either gulp down the gover juice or choke.

He gulped it down.

Sola watched him with supreme satisfaction and wondered at the strange prickling on her neck.

"Your turn!"

He almost took her surprise. One hand was gripping her arm and the other was ramming the ladle against her face but Sola had anticipated a counterattack. Her mouth was firmly shut and the juice only splashed her face. She jerked out of his grasp and then - he cheated. Both of his hands came out to grip her firmly on her shoulder, the ladle floated towards her.

"Come on, it's not that bad."

Her mouth remained firmly shut. She glared defiantly at Anakin's dancing blue eyes. They flickered over her shoulder and back again.

"Well, if you insist."

Suddenly, her right shoulder was released from its firm grip and his hand was on her ribs, behind her ears, the sides of her torso- everywhere that this particular kind of torture was most effective.

"Aaah!" She would have shouted her laughter if the ladle hadn't emptied its contents into her mouth just then.

"See? I told you it wasn't that bad."

It was not really. When Sola had stopped coughing and spluttering, she managed to appreciate its crude sweetness.

He let go off her and she was conscious of juice all over her. "Look at me, I'm a mess." She grumbled.

In one swift movement, Anakin had turned her around so she was backing the wall. He took the edge of his sleeve and wiped it almost tenderly across her face. His eyes seemed to take in the whole of her face. "You could never be a mess." His voice was not low but it was soft and intimate.

Sola's breath hitched.

What was he doing? Was he trying to - and how fickle - She could barely articulate her furious thoughts in her own mind, when her eyes glanced over his shoulder. Her eyes widened in shock and she quickly looked back at Anakin.

He continued to wipe her face with tender earnestness.

Play along.

Her hands went to the sides of his shirt. Wickedly, she allowed them to linger there as she appreciated the sheer muscularity of his build. She might as well get something out of this - he was incredibly sexy.

"I'm OK now," she replied in a voice that succeeded in being both intimate and clear. "Thanks for cleaning me up."

Anytime." He murmured loudly.

She slowly removed her hands from his shirt and for good measure, just before he pulled away; she brought her mouth to his cheek.

Her eyes were shut so she could not visually appreciate the effect she was trying to impact but if the ominous prickling on her forehead was anything to indication, then she was succeeding.

Anakin pulled away completely and Sola sighed dramatically. The Jedi turned so they could both face the figure that was standing in the doorway, staring at them. The squat droid that was Pooja's current fascination hovered behind her. Its neon lights seemed to flash crossly at Sola and the Jedi.

"Why - good morning, Padmé. Were you planning on helping me with first meal?" Sola asked brightly.

"Good morning, Sola." Each word was enunciated carefully. "And I should think you've helped yourself enough already."

Sola blinked. It was the effect she had been aiming at, of course, but she did not expect it to be so... uncouth.

"Good morning, milady," Anakin put in courteously.

Padmé glanced at him coldly. "Good morning, Anakin. When you have finished here, please remember to arrange for our transport. I intend to leave before second meal."

Possessive, aren't we? This was better than Sola had hoped.

"Change of plans, milady?" He murmured meekly.

"Yes." Padmé replied curtly and made as if to leave at once.

"I promised Sola I'd fix the gover juice droid, milady," Anakin put in quickly. The emphasis on Sola's name and Padmé's title could not have failed to pass Padmé.

Padmé did not turn. "Let me know when you're ready then." And she left. The little droid paused long enough to give them one querulous squawk before it followed her.

Anakin and Sola looked at each other.

There was a momentary awkwardness in which Sola tried to recollect if the elaborate scene that she had just participated in had been really for a common purpose. Its effectiveness was uncertain. Padmé was no longer a possessive little girl who had a fierce streak of competitiveness. Public service had probably trained that out of her. However, if her little sister was anything, she was a fighter and she liked to win, of that Sola was sure. Of course, her battles now were more selfless and altruistic; however there would always be that something in Padmé that always wanted to be the victor. And, besides, there was always human nature. It was one thing to take for granted something that you believe you owned and need never use. It was another thing entirely to give it up to another person.

"I think whatever is in the oven should be ready by now."

Anakin's matter of fact voice brought her sharply to the present. Sure enough, the indicator in the mechno-oven was glowing red.

Much later, as Sola poured rak milk from the pitcher into Anakin's glass, Jobal Naberrie commented. "Really, dinjuslaw always tastes better when it's a little burnt."

"We always drink gover juice with dinjuslaw!" complained Pooja for the third time.

"And next time we will - if you wake up early enough to help me," Sola replied sweetly.

Pooja's brow furrowed as she thought of how to counter that one.

"I still don't understand -" asked Ruwee Naberrie for the third time. "Why won't Padmé come down to first meal?"

"She is probably used to getting up a lot later in Coruscant," replied Sola.

"But she always used to -"

"And besides, she mentioned something about adjusting some of the clothes that Winama gave her. She wants to wear them at the Varykino, I believe, for the Festival of Lights."

"She could have done that yesterday," grumbled her father.

"I thought she'd never take those clothes!" exclaimed his wife. "I had almost given them away. I've been persuading her to use them for years now."

Sola smiled serenely as she swallowed rak milk. Out of the corner of her eye, Anakin cut his dinjuslaw deftly with the utensils that must have been foreign to him and looked as harmless and well-mannered as could be. Sola knew better. Whatever Padmé was planning for him, Sola was confident that he would be able to hold his own.

"Well," murmured Sola. "Maybe she's finally found an occasion for them."

Jobal Naberrie stared at her daughter. Then her eyes widened and glanced quickly at the Jedi than back at Sola. Her daughter replied with an almost imperceptible nod.

Padmé's longsuffering mother sighed happily.

"Well. Better late than never," she murmured. Her eyes turned fondly on Anakin. "Have some more dinjuslaw. It's really a shame Padmé didn't come down to first meal. She loves them. It's native to this village you know. Many wonderful things are."

Anakin blushed and nodded gratefully as Padmé's mother heaped his plate.

Later, when the Senator had departed with the Jedi in tow, Sola and Jobal Naberrie retired into kitchen where Jobal Naberrie admired their newly improved, more user-friendly grinder droid. She praised Anakin's skill and sincerely hoped he would be as skilful in his handling of her daughter as he was of her droids. Sola marvelled at the strength of her sister's jealousy when provoked. Padmé had hardly said two words to her before she left. And, later, when Sola had gone to inspect exactly which of Winama's dresses Padmé had taken to the Retreat, she had been almost worried about the Jedi.

Almost but not quite.

 
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