Work Text:
Kashyyyk’s holiday market unfurls high among the native Wroshyr trees, a constellation of colour and sound with suspended walkways arced between massive trunks. Bioluminescent lanterns pulse like slow moving fireflies above and below — their warm glow caught in the latticework of leaves and woven platforms.
Deep within the canopy, Wookiee choirs sing in harmonics that resonate through bark. Thrumming notes which cradle the entire market as stalls cluster along walkways, each one spilling its own universe of craftsmanship: braided root ornaments, carved wooden figurines shaped from Kashyyyk’s dense hardwoods, and Life Day orbs that somehow glow even brighter when you approach them.
Every echo seems to stem from the vast and ancient harmony of these majestic trees; an entire world celebrating life and the simple joy of gathering beneath their towering boughs. They even filter into the open-air council platform where Senator Padmé Amidala stands with Chief Tarfful and Elder Roruun, celebration’s hum drifting up to them like a beckoning pulse.
She had spent the afternoon navigating diplomatic channels — discussing supply allocations as well as the Republic’s commitment to safeguarding Wookiee villages caught too close to Separatist pressure. It had been productive, if exhausting, and she was already arranging the next round of talks in her mind when Tarfful genially rumbles in Shyriiwook “The elders invite you both to walk our local Life Day market. We would be very honoured to share its light with our esteemed guests.”
The Senator and Jedi General Skywalker, standing by her side, exchange pleased looks at that. “The honour would be ours,” he bows his head in earnest respect as she smilingly adds “Thank you, Chief Tarfful. Elder Roruun.”
Padmé must swallow any excitement before it can betray her expression too much, however. Why? Well. It is but an evening spent amongst allies, their chance to observe a cherished tradition, and — if they allow themselves to admit as such — an opportunity to move together like husband and wife in the smallest, most stolen sense. Perhaps even pretend as though they are shopping for a new home that isn’t her official senatorial residence.
After all, between her staff’s constant comings and goings or the HoloNet reporters forever parked nearby? 500 Republica has hardly been a site for privacy these days.
It is a lovely night. The market deepens as Padmé and Anakin peruse different wares before they pause by a stall with shelves spiralling upwards. Each hold small wooden carvings of creatures from Kashyyyk’s dense forests. Tiny kinraith poised mid-crawl, miniature interceptors with the grain of its wood guiding their wings, and—
Anakin grins and picks up a carved tach, the little primate perched on a branch with its fur carefully etched in delicate strokes. The piece is light in his palm, soft with hand-sanded edges. “He’s sweet,” Padmé leans in to look.
“I think he might be a she,” Anakin turns the figurine over “Look. They’re holding a nut pod.”
Obi-Wan had, of course, tasked Ahsoka to provide him with an entire stack of datapads on Kashyyyk’s terrain and wildlife before their departure. A “gentle suggestion” to be prepared. It annoyed him at first, but Anakin had read more than he cared to admit — staying awake long past the library’s closing hours only because he didn’t want to look completely uninformed in front of Padmé. The very least he could do was meet her brilliance halfway.
His smile softens, “Let me get it for you.”
Before she answers, he swiftly moves toward the seller himself: a broad-chested Wookiee with grey streaked fur behind the counter. He sets the tach down “How much?”
“Thirty.”
Anakin blinks, stupefied. “For this size?”
Ivory tiers sink into Padmé’s bottom lip. Her husband always did have a more aggressive approach when it came to haggling — one of many habits borne from a childhood spent arguing with traders who held no qualms about trying to cheat a starving slave boy on Tatooine.
“You can’t be serious. I could buy three figurines like these in Mos Espa for that. Fifteen.”
“You’re out of your mind. Twenty.”
“Eighteen, or we walk.”
“Ugh. Fine.”
She places a comforting hand on Anakin’s shoulder then, smiling. “Please forgive my companion. He is a very…” their eyes meet in pointed meaning just as he cocks a puzzled eyebrow “passionate man.”
The Wookiee shrugs at that, rumbling amusedly. Padmé still carries on whilst they finish up with their transaction “Your craftsmanship really is quite beautiful, sir. It’s a privilege to bring a piece of Kashyyyk home with us.”
“Thanks. I hope this guy is much less stingy with you. Lovers should never quibble over credits.” He firmly places the tach back in Anakin’s hands with a mischievous grunt.
The two Republic representatives exchange even quicker glances this time. “What? Oh! We’re not—”
Hearing nothing of it, however, the seller waves them off with a massive paw to receive his next customer. The motion is so final that Padmé can offer him no more than an awkward bow until Anakin smoothly guides her away.
Once they’re a few paces into the market lights again, he leans over to check his wife’s expression and immediately sees her faint blush. A lopsided smile tugs at his mouth. “Hey,” he murmurs conspiratorially “Don’t worry, angel. I could sense that he was only teasing.”
She laughs. “No… I’m not worried about that.” The warmth in her cheeks almost deepens “It was just… nice. To be seen for what we are, whether or not he truly knew.”
The walkway curves into a narrow archway where hundreds of orbs hang in sweeping ribbons, suspended from branching vines like stars caught mid-fall. Each glimmers faintly at rest — but brightens when a hand or shoulder brushes beneath it, blooming into greater warmth for a heartbeat before dimming again.
Anakin’s boots slow to a stop here, where he fully turns toward Padmé, expression gentling into something stripped of his earlier bravado. Earnest. “I liked it too,” he says and there’s no flippancy whatsoever “Being seen with you. As yours, even for a moment. Even as a joke.”
Staring up at him, her breath catches and it’s the sort of involuntary reaction most people don’t catch at first glance. The tiny tremor of pleased surprise that skips across her face for about a microsecond till she remembers to school it into an even calmness — remembers exactly where they are in the public eye.
Regardless, Anakin notices everything and steps closer. Not dangerously so as to draw attention. No, but enough that her senses are now filled with the heat of him in between spiced sap and woodsmoke. Shiraya. Padmé wishes she could bottle the delicious scent up for herself.
Gently does he take her hand, in any case, and places the carved tach there. “Here,” his smile turns self-conscious as he somehow finds himself explaining “Jedi aren’t supposed to own possessions and so I never get to give you much… at least, not in the ways you deserve.”
With a stern frown, her fingers curl protectively around the tiny wooden creature “Anakin.”
He shakes his head, subtle, a quiet plea for her not to temper the moment with reason. These are the depths of his feelings — their highs and lows — and there is nobody else he trusts them with more than Padmé. His thumb ghosts across her knuckles and withdraws eventually, leaving a trail of warmth behind. “I mean it. All of it.”
Her brows draw together with unwavering tenderness then. “Anakin, you’ve given me far more than I can dream of…” she whispers “Your heart. Your courage. The parts of yourself you only share with me. That is worth more than anything I could ever hold in my hands.”
Then, as though sensing the heaviness settling, Padmé lets a playful glimmer soften her gaze. She lifts and tilts the tach forward between them so its carved snout can appear to point accusingly at him “… but I do love this wonderful lady, as you say.” The young woman teases, warmth threading through her voice “… and I intend to treat her with the utmost respect. So, thank you, Ani.”
Stars help him, Anakin adores her when she’s like this. He can’t help it. Laughter bursts forth, as her antics are wont to prompt, making him look startlingly young despite the war on his shoulders. She never even has to try and yet the knots in his chest are untied altogether.
He’s still smiling when Padmé smooths her robes open to carefully slip the figurine into their inner folds — but then a sharp crackle suddenly interrupts them. Ahsoka’s voice filters through the comlink at his belt, bright and entirely oblivious: “Master? We’ve secured the perimeter. Rendezvous at the north transport in five.“
Padmé sighs. The moment inevitably shatters, for duty always finds them. Her shoulders drop and betray the disappointment she cannot voice aloud as Anakin taps his com to acknowledge their next coordinates. “Well,” she reclaims her senatorial composure as soon as he brusquely signs off “I suppose our date is over.”
“Just for now,” he counters with a promise “We’ll steal another.” Her smile widens. She has to believe that that is true. Overhead lanterns hum nevertheless, casting shifting gold across both their faces when they rather casually step back into the flow of Kashyyyk’s holiday marketplace.
Just another Jedi and Senator.
Walking side by side.