This story is out of date and currently being reuploaded under the same title on my profile. Please read the new version! April 17, 2024
House Naberrie stands on its hill, warm yellow light pouring out onto the grounds, visible from a mile away in the darkness.
It's a house seemingly made of windows, which peer out into the night like eyes, spilling their glow out onto the grounds. Circe leads a group of Younglings up the path through the garden, their dresses catching on rose thorns and nettle leaves. Music can be heard from a distance, a waltz of some kind, growing louder and then fading out as the Naberrie guards open and close the front doors for the guests.
The small group makes their way up the path, Circe counting heads every few minutes. The rather large group of children has been split into smaller ones; more manageable for the Jedi leaders that are charged with escorting them into the safety of the guarded house.
Though she knows they're all safe under Padme's care, the darkness of night makes her nervous. The rustle of the wind in the gardens and the sound of bubbling fountains from every direction keeps her on edge, searching every corner for someone using the noise to hide. She keeps her eyes fixed on the shining manor before them, anxious to get inside and relax. To find Anakin.
This will be the first time they see each other wearing anything other than training gear or robes. The excitement of it all is more overwhelming than she'd anticipated. It's the same anticipation she feels waiting for him to return from an off-planet mission, or when she's landing a ship and senses him inside the Temple.
It's the sun and the moon, always aching to be close, holding their breath each time dusk or dawn approaches.
Inside, the giant house is glowing. The ballroom is not quite so crowded that she has to push her way through, but a number of people are gathered there. She's dazzled by the spectacle of it all. Fabrics of all kind swaying loosely around the floor, shimmering silks that change color as the light bounces off them, gems and expensive metals hanging off necks, and wrists, and ears. Some women wear light, linen quilted skirts and leather corsets laced up the back, the very best a young maid has in her closet. Others heave jewel-clad gowns around with them, the weight of the fine stones and beaded threads too heavy to dance with.
Most of them seem to be Padme's friends from within town. Circe did not expect to see so many people. She feels danger lurk around every corner. Behind every brilliant skirt is someone darting towards her Younglings. With every sway and turn of the crowd, someone is sneaking up behind them, hidden under the chatter and the music.
She shakes her head. There is no point in losing her mind to anxiety. She must stay calm, and alert, and it wouldn't kill her to enjoy the effort her friend has put into preparing a party for the Jedi. Padme has spared no expense.
A vast table stretches across Nabberrie's ballroom with food unimaginable to the children, who have spent much of their lives eating the Temple's clean, sustainable diet. Candied plums shine under the candlelight as though they were covered in ice, chocolate bonbons and strawberries laid atop cream puddings, a spectacle of fruits and vegetables lures them in. All the kids, done up in the clothes that their parents sent for them, rush to the table to pick at everything within reach.
It's beautiful. The ballroom's floors are slick and shining from a fresh wax. The candles overhead flicker and bounce playfully. It feels like a dream.
Behind her, the doors open and another group of loud and excited gasps sound. It must be the second group arriving from their alternate route.
She turns to show them the way to the table, ushering them forward as they stare, wide-eyed, at everything around them. The Jedi Temple is grand but it's not decorative like House Naberrie is. Their eyes sparkle with delight at every pretty thing before them.
As the last child runs towards the table, Circe stands back up and catches someone's eye, coming up behind the Younglings.
"Anakin," She breathes, staring up at him.
He flushes. "Circe," He answers, taking in her appearance as quickly as he can.
He's never seen anything like her.
A blue dress drapes down her figure, deep like the sky after the sun has set, covered a million tiny gems. It clings to her waist and falls down her hips, glinting at him every time she shifts her weight. It has Padme written all over it. She would never choose something like this by herself, but Anakin is suddenly grateful for the Senator. He's seen Circw in training clothes, but never like this. The way the fabric hugs her body, the paleness of her shoulders and collarbones under the depth of the blue, it all makes his heart jump. He can't muster the words to compliment her, or say anything at all, so they stare at each other for a few moments.
Circe, with her hair pinned up and shining like cold, white starlight, and her arms and neck exposed, suddenly feels very aware of her the air on her skin.
She wonders if he can see the blush creeping across her chest and up neck, her skin turning scarlet under his gaze.
He's gorgeous.
She realizes it. She says it to herself. She admits that he's like something out of a fairytale. He wears a black tunic, the fabric flowing loosely around his arms and chest but tucked neatly into a pair of slim-fit trousers. They hug his thighs tightly and cling to him all the way down to his black boots, the ones he wears every day. Intricate gold thread decorates his shirt, rich and warm like the color of his skin and hair, and he practically glows in the light. Circe's heart makes itself frustratingly known, fluttering in her chest like the wing-beat of a bird.
It almost hurts to look at him, she thinks. It's addicting. She can barely tear her eyes away.
"Did you get here okay? No trouble?" He asks suddenly, remembering that his voice does in fact work, and that he should probably use it.
She nods, a pair of crystal-white earrings swinging from her ears. "Yes— yeah, we got here fine. Did you?"
He nods.
The music behind them fades out, before picking up into another melody. She curses under her breath, her eyes darting to the band and then back at him. The Starlight Dance. Such a cliché song for them to be playing, and such a cliché for Anakin to be smiling at her, a taunting edge in his eyes. Do you remember this? They seem to say, When we were children?
"We should dance," Anakin says, giving her a courageous smile, despite how wildly nervous he feels.
Her heart bounds out of her chest.
"No, we can't," She answers, "What if something goes wrong?"
"Come on, Cirs. Live a little."
"But we'll be distracted... and besides, we're the only ones—"
"Obi-Wan is close," He interrupts, taking her hand in his, "Trust me," He whispers, close to her ear.
A shiver runs up her exposed back.
She lets him pull her towards the middle of the room, where several children are already dancing in circles, and couples twirl in each other's arms. Everyone knows the dance, apparently.
When they were kids, their nannies would take them into the city when they were done with their work for the day. It wasn't often, but Anakin had always begged Circe to join when they went. They'd go to a movie showing, or walk around those huge arcade-like parks, the loud chime of tin ball pieces rattling off gameboards and fluorescent buzzers sounding in their young ears.
There was a dance floor in the middle of the arcade, the kind with the linoleum tiling made to look like wood, where young couples from the city would go to hang out. They always played the Starlight Dance at least once, usually towards the end of the night when Anakin and Circe were tired from running around.
Hearing it now, as young adults, it means something different to them than it did back then. Anakin wonders if this is how those couples had felt, when they all cheered and got up to dance to it. If any of them had been nervous, the way he is now.
His throat is very dry, and his hands are unsteady, but he places one on Circe's waist anyway, and takes her hand in the other. The touch alone sends his nerves spiraling out of control.
"I can't believe you're really wasting our time on a childish dance," She says quickly, "We can barely keep an eye on the Younglings this way."
"Really? I can see them just fine," He replies, watching as the Jedi-in-training sway in groups to the song.
Circe is hypnotized. She can hear herself breathing quick short breathes in response to the complete and utter breathlessness he's drawn her into. It's like nothing else exists. It's just Anakin's eyes, pale and blue, hooded with thick eyelashes and freckles dusting the skin around them. The scar cutting upwards on his face. Just his hand on her waist, firm and strong, as if he were holding her up with them. There's no one else, she thinks.
No chatter, no interruption. Time and space stand still for them. And Circe wonders if this is what it means to fall in love. She pushes the thought away immediately, almost too fast to properly understand it, and it's probably best that she does. One moment longer and she would have melted in his hands completely.
Anakin is not far from suffering the same fate. He's bewitched. Utterly, completely enchanted like nothing he's ever experienced. There is nothing beyond them anymore. The planet has ceased to spin around the sun, and gravity is nothing but a distant dream.
It's just her.
"Circe," He says, so quietly he's not sure he said it at all.
They stop moving. Her breath catches in her throat.
"Anakin."
They're very close now, chest to chest, faces only an inch apart. He looks down at her, something terrible aching in his chest and stomach. He doesn't breathe, neither of them does. Everyone else continues to swirl around them, too wrapped up in their partners to care about the two Jedi standing still in the middle of the room.
He is painfully aware of the feeling of her hand in his, the curve of her back—the softness of her skin against his palm, and the way her breath trembles from her lips. He can feel her heart hammering against his chest. The curve of her body pressed to his. The sensation is dizzying.
Across the room, Obi-Wan has led his group in, late as ever. He spots Anakin and Circe, the only ones not moving within the crowd, and he's caught off guard. They stand alone in the middle of the dance floor, candlelight raining down on them like sun touching the earth for the very time. There is a naivety on Circe's face, a softness in her eyes that in turn makes her partner seem all the gentler. Anakin's rough edges are worn away by her as a shore is carved out by the ebbing of the sea. Obi-Wan has seen that look on her face a dozen and one times.
He's filled with a mix of sadness and anger. He should pull them apart, he knows it. It would be better for everyone if he put a stop to the madness—it's what the Council would expect of him. But something about the way they look at each other, how they're clinging to the moment before it disappears, like trying to grasp a dream as you're waking up, he can't bring himself to interfere.
It reminds him of his own Satine. What he would have given to hold her like that. To be looked at by her the way Circe is looking at Anakin. Like he's the very air she takes into her lungs. The only thing that gives her life.
His sense of duty to the Jedi and their code urges him to approach them. Not yet, his heart whispers. Not after everything they've been through, and everything they probably will go through. Not when Circe stands like glass in Anakin's arms, fragile and vulnerable and so, so, so precious to him.
At the end of the night, Padme guides all the kids to their rooms. They sleep in groups of five, their little heads poking out from beneath their quilts. They fall asleep before she even has the chance to turn off the light. Guards stand quietly outside, nodding at the Jedi as they pass, and House Naberrie falls quiet.
Circe carries her shoes in her hands, feet aching from standing all night, and Anakin follows behind, his stomach still in knots from earlier. He can sense Obi-Wan watching him as they walk to their rooms.
"You'll be alright for the night? I'm down the hall if anyone needs anything," Padme says, yawning into her hands.
"Padme, this has been absolutely delightful. Thank you so much," Circe says, "I can't believe you did all this for us. You'll never know how grateful we are."
The two women break off into conversation and Obi-Wan comes to stand next to Anakin, his arms crossed. He doesn't look at his old student when he speaks.
"You know what I would say to you," He says quietly.
Anakin's neck burns with embarrassment.
"She is relieved that this worked out," He answers, "It meant a lot to her."
"You mean a lot to her."
He inhales sharply. "We are partners. She would die for me, and I for her, and both of us for you. That is what it means to be a team."
"Do not pretend your devotion to each other is the same you have for me," Obi-Wan says, his blue eyes like two daggers in the low light, "You know it's different."
"What are you saying to me?" Anakin demands quietly.
"Tread carefully. The Order will not allow its Chosen One to stray from our path."
"Thank you, Padme." The younger Jedi says loudly, his eyes fixed on Obi-Wan's in defiance, "We owe you."
The Senator smiles warmly at him, her eyes glowing happily. "Of course. I'm going to retire for the night. I'll see you all in the morning."
Obi-Wan nods to them as he turns into his room, closing the door softly behind him. It's just Anakin and Circe now, a million things unspoken between them.
"Did Obi-Wan want something?"
He shakes his head. "No. He's proud of you. We both are."
Circe smiles. "Good night, Anakin."
They both go to their separate chambers, Anakin pressing his back to the door once he's closed it.
The Order will not allow its Chosen One to stray from our path. The words stick in his mind as he gets ready for bed. His path was chosen for him long ago, laid out before he even joined the Order. No matter which direction his heart pulls him, he will always be redirected. They would send Circe away if it aided their efforts, separate them without a second thought. He cannot bare to think of it.
As he climbs under his covers, he wishes something he has not wished once since he become a Jedi. Something he never thought he'd come to resent. Anakin wishes he was not burdened with the responsibility of saving the Jedi. He wishes he had never been born the Chosen One at all.