The Lucky One ⋆ Anakin Skywalker

𝖝𝖎𝖛. The Righteous

          "Your Highness, you can't possibly think of following Anakin..." Thalia turns to him sharply, and he shrinks under her glare. "I'm sure he knows how to handle himself."

          "How would you know? You've seen him for all of five minutes, and weren't even smart enough to notice royalty sitting at your own table," she easily counters. "Anakin is capable of handling it himself, that does not mean that he should. Considering how you treat the woman you love, I doubt you'd understand that."

          Threepio comes back, and Thalia follows him outside the house, not caring for Owen's response. The droid hands her a holo-map. "This will lead you to the Tuskens' lair," he promises. "Please, be careful, your Highness."

          Thalia nods, taking the small pad. "I promise. Thank you, Threepio."

          The droid, for all his steel face, seems anxious. "Oh, I cannot believe that I am enabling you with this!"

          "It is much appreciated."

          Thalia is already halfway to her ship, which, if Anakin had forgotten, she had not, had a speeder.

          Owen comes barreling in front of her ship, arms extended, out of breath. Thalia stops, and considers him. Surely he is of no relation to Anakin; the Padawan was, at the very least, intelligent enough.

          "I cannot let you do this, your Majesty."

          All things considered, both seemed to think that Thalia needed to be coddled. Thalia was tired, she was hot, this desert planet had sucked the life out of her, and if the crown on her head had turned her into a human being in his eyes, the flimsy green dress she wore deprives her of strength.

          "I do not know how long you have known Anakin for–"

          "Three weeks."

          "Surely your life isn't worth a three week love affair."

          Thalia clenches her jaw so hard she's sure her teeth shatter. That's it, isn't it? Just like Shadril – she has to be doing this, she has to be helping or be distracted, or be hurt because of a boy, because of her feelings.

          Steel glints in the sun. Before Owen can register what's happened, a Beskaar sword is pressing against his throat. Thalia frowns at him, red hair flowing in the scalding wind, regal chin turned up.

          "I am doing this because it is the right thing to do. You are not letting me do it," she reminds him. "I am leaving. With, or without your left hand."

          She doesn't know the Tusken Raiders, but she knows Anakin. She knows he is a skilled fighter, and that rescuing his mother would be an easy feat for him, it would be for any Jedi, she gathers. Therein lies the problem. It'd be too easy – too easy for him to lose himself. There had been something in his eyes, smoke billowing from afar, that Thalia would be a fool to ignore. He was temperamental, angry, in ways that Jedi aren't allowed to be. Ways that could lead him to the Darkside, if no one was there to stop him.

          There is no doubt in her mind that this is what she has to do. He had told her the paths that led to the Darkside, and she would be the obstacle in his course. This was, after all, her fault. Wasn't it? She's the one who lets him entertain feelings he shouldn't have. Maybe if she hadn't, he would have had enough restraint to go against whatever she knew he was doing. This is on her head, a thorny crown of guilt.

          But he would listen to her, this, she doesn't doubt it either. Whatever relationship had been built over the last few weeks had proven this to her. He would come when she calls. Just as she follows where he goes.