Chapter Text
The agent bearing the name of Arica had a rather predictable profile. She was a graduate of the Terephon Royal Academy, and from there had become a highly competent member of the Royal Navy. True, she’d had the misfortune of serving under a man, but his supervising officer had confirmed the evaluation. In short, Arica seemed to have all the appropriate qualifications, and thus, the Mistress of her Excellency’s Household, Watcher of the Court-- Watcher, for short-- signed off on her joining the Queen Mother’s service without much thought. The file had already been cleared by both the Queen’s consort and the Fountain Palace’s head of security.
As was customary, a test of a candidate’s skill was arranged. The assassin would approach the Queen Mother during the Festival of Lights. If the snipers caught him before Arica, she’d be summarily dismissed.
He’d no more emerged from the crowd than Arica, rather plain-looking once one had a good look at her, had drawn out her blaster. She was a bit on the thin side for a guard, but her movement spoke of long years of training, the blaster a mere extension of her body. That was one of the skills the Queen’s Royal Guard, the chume’doro, were known for.
“On the ground!” she yelled above the gasps of onlookers, who’d scattered, far, but not too far that they’d miss the action. An assassination attempt was always an event.
The assassin didn’t blink and the shot caught him on the shoulder. Already, the other guards had arrived. Some of them subdued and started dragging the assassin away back to the prison from where he’d been recruited, the others escorted the various courtiers out.
Captain Astarta, the head of security, was seething at finding the blaster on the man, but Watcher knew that to be an act, one Astarta repeated with some variation for every candidate. Arica had moved incredibly fast.
“He was armed,” was Astarta’s acknowledgement. “You should have taken the shot.”
“I did,” Arica replied, not without an edge to her voice. As if she were not used to being second guessed, Watcher thought. Strange for someone from a middle tier military background.
“To kill, chume’doro. Did they teach you nothing during training?”
Her green eyes were narrowed, but her head tipped at the title, recognizing she’d made it. Still, she compressed her lips into a tight line.
“Make sure it doesn’t happen again. Go introduce yourself to the Queen Mother.”
And the Queen was staring at the bodyguard. Not that Watcher could see through the Queen’s veil, but she’d gone very still, as if she’d just seen a ghost.
“Fast reflexes,” Watcher had commented to Astarta.
In the distance, the Queen had clasped the bodyguard’s hand between both of hers, body language exuding gratitude and relief in a manner Watcher found distasteful. It was no more than a guard’s job.
By her side, Astarta was nodding. “Faster than I expected. She’ll do well.”
--
This had been after the Dathomiri Jedi had been found dead and the Queen Mother stopped holding court, well over two months ago.
Watcher stood with the Queen Mother’s retinue on the platform as the ship touched down at the Royal Hangar. For all the ceremony, the masses of guards -- both hers and her consort’s, and the advisers behind them, Ta'a Chume was conspicuously absent.
The idea for a new guard had been Ta'a Chume’s, the former queen and mother of the Queen’s consort. It had been her House that suggested that the Jedi’s replacement be found quickly, and placed within the Royal Guard. Their mistrust towards Jedi was widely known. In response, the Queen Mother had sent notice that she’d asked the Jedi Order for another bodyguard and would hold court only after the new Jedi’s arrival.
Holding court meant ruling, and for a sovereign queen to sequester herself could only mean that the Queen Mother was afraid. That she would rather entrust her safety to offworlders --and Jedi for that matter-- meant her suspicions were solidly on Ta'a Chume.
This disturbed the former queen enough to come pay the Queen a visit, but the Queen Mother had barred her and her entourage from the palace. Why it had escalated to that so suddenly, no one was certain. Most of the Queen Mother’s inner court and House had rallied around her after the Jedi's murder, whispering that Ta’a Chume’s House was in decline, after all. Loss of power crippled Houses from the inside out, made Heads reckless and unstable, that was true. Watcher herself remembered seeing a page in the former queen’s retinue with contusions on her face and thinking that the former queen should see to the proper presentation of her House before daring to plot against the Queen. But that had been before the days turned into weeks and the court at large began wondering if Teneniel Djo was truly that weak.
Watcher’s eye fell on the Queen Mother who was leaning her head on her consort’s shoulder as they waited for the Jedi Master to disembark. Unseemly. The court knew it was he who ruled for her. The Queen's blatant affection for him only made it more obvious.
The hatch of the ship came open and a cloaked figure strode out, pushing back his hood. The Queen Mother dashed forward, the long translucent tail of her cerulean sheath dress trailing behind her bare legs. Watcher suppressed a sigh as the group of bodyguards were forced to fan out after her, ducking into strategic positions that all but the most discerning eyes would miss. Even Watcher lost sight of them.
Unfortunately, adding to the Royal Guard, just as enlisting another Jedi bodyguard, would have the same result. It would have been safer and simpler for the Queen to have pledged herself to Ta'a Chume, otherwise she was just as likely as her kinswoman to end up in a decorated box. There was speculation that Ta'a Chume was only biding her time for her son to produce an heir she could claim into her House.
“Master Luke Skywalker,” the Queen Mother’s voice echoed out, still too girlish for her position. Her face was veiled with the same translucent blue fabric used for the tail of the dress, but one couldn’t fail to hear the smile in her voice. “You finally honor us with your visit.” She looked behind him into the ship. “And your fellow Jedi?”
He bowed, a bit stiffly to Watcher’s eyes. “Thank you, Queen Mother.” The pleasantries were soft spoken, but he had the well modulated voice of one who was used to speaking before an audience.
The formal reason for the Jedi Master’s visit was the presentation of the new bodyguard, but it was the topic of payment for this that had generated talk. While the Dathomiri Jedi had been duty bound to the Queen out of their being kinswomen, the Queen Mother had little to offer the Jedi Master. They said he was uninterested in riches -- his Order was well supported by his sister’s New Republic. And despite inane chatter about the Queen’s special abilities, she was not part of the Order. In fact, having served her for close to five years now, Watcher had never seen anything to think that the Queen Mother was anything but ordinary. Had she not been, she’d have had no need to call on her Jedi kinswoman or to reach out to the one who had sent her in the first place. The nature of the Queen Mother's connection to the Jedi Master was not well known.
“It’s just me, for now,” the Jedi was saying. “I'm sorry the circumstances aren't better.”
The Queen Mother’s shoulders sagged a little, whether at the reference to her fallen guard or the absence of her new guard, Watcher couldn’t guess. Ta’a Chume would be thrilled when she found out about the absent Jedi, at any rate.
She turned and walked back towards her retinue, the Jedi falling into step beside her.
The Chume’da stepped forward with his own greetings. “Master Skywalker, it’s been too long. We hear that you’ve done well and that your Jedi Order continues to grow.”
Throughout, Watcher could not help thinking that for all the exploits that she had heard about the Jedi, he cut an unassuming figure. This was the famed war hero? The linchpin of the nearly defunct Jedi? He seemed a bit short and slight, hair neither short nor long, its color neither pale nor dark. A bit bland overall, especially next to the glory of the Chume’da, stunning in his tapered black pants and burgundy shirt, long pale hair pulled back in his customary low ponytail. Sometimes it seemed to Watcher that the worlds outside of Hapes had very little to offer.
“Little by little.” The Jedi responded modestly. He looked around as if surveying the whole of the hangar. His gaze appeared to focus on somewhere off to the side and he almost smiled, but seemed to school himself. Odd.
The Chume’da was turning to the ship. “This, I did not expect though. A SoroSuub Personal Luxury Yacht 3000, right? She’s beautiful.”
The Jedi grinned, suddenly boyish. “Isn’t she?” He looked up at the craft’s snubbed nose and back at the Chume'da as if he wanted to say more.
The Chume’da’s eyes had fallen on the flame pattern painted on it. “Not what I’d imagine you flying, though. Have you had her long?”
The Jedi shook his head ruefully. “Oh, it’s, ah, not mine. I’ve borrowed it.” His expression turned distant and he seemed to scan the room more deeply. Something about his gaze was unsettling and Watcher wondered again about all those stories about Jedi. Her only experience with Jedi had been the Dathomiri witch and Watcher had never seen her do anything extraordinary. The stories said that Jedi could read minds, that they could see the future, but if that were so, the Dathomiri witch might still be alive.
“We can discuss transports later,” the Queen Mother interrupted, pushing her waist long fishtail braid over her shoulder. “I am sure Master Skywalker wants to rest a bit and there’s the matter of the honor guard.” The Queen took hold of her consort’s arm.
Watcher gestured to the servants to attend to the Jedi’s personal things, then followed the Queen, her consort, and the honored guest from a few paces back as they walked towards the attached palace grounds.
“Will your Jedi arrive later?” the Chume’da asked. “Are they perhaps on another assignment?”
The Jedi cocked his head and lowered his voice fractionally. Watcher could still hear though, and found herself looking over her shoulder to see who else did. “Given the loss of Kirana Ti, I thought it would be best to get a sense of what the Queen Mother’s needs are.”
The Chume’da’s tone turned guarded. “Of course.”
He was aware, just as Watcher was, that uncharitable whispers said the Queen Mother could offer herself as tribute, not as herself, simple offworlder she was, but as the sovereign of Hapes with all the attendant power and influence. Of course, such a move would be tantamount to treason in some quarters. So perhaps offering a Hapan wife from one of the influential Houses was a passable substitute. But those machinations were beyond the Queen, and besides, they said the Jedi Master was celibate anyway.
The Queen’s voice had a teasing lilt. “Well, nothing provides an introduction to Hapes like having your own honor guard.”
“Honor guard?” The Jedi shook his head. “I have no need--”
“Nonsense,” the Queen Mother waved a jeweled hand. “This is Hapes. Every guest of standing needs an honor guard.” She let out a low laugh. “If you had any hope of privacy on the way to the refresher--”
The Chume’da cleared his throat loudly enough to interrupt her, flashing her a warning look. The Queen turned her head, exasperation written in the gesture. Watcher shook her head in spite of herself.
“The Queen would be rude not to provide one,” the Chume’da continued evenly.
“It is only proper, Master Skywalker,” the Queen Mother loaded the word with disdain.
The Jedi seemed resigned. “Alright then. One. I won’t have any more people than necessary in danger because of me.”
The Queen Mother nodded. “We will pick her from my own staff.”
--
The Queen had given the Jedi time to settle in his quarters, but sent a page not long after requesting his presence back at the palace’s gymnasium. This would give the team enough time to set up the system. Perfect.
The retinue continued to be considerable. Too much for a contest of this sort. Watcher wondered why the Queen had not dismissed the advisers at least. Maybe she had too much on her mind. Watcher really should check in with the Queen’s protocol tutor. He’d been most remiss in his lessons of late it seemed.
When the Jedi appeared, he was without his cloak, which made him look even less imposing. His plain brown tunic and pants were out of place in the finery that surrounded him.
The Queen sat at the dais at the head of the ring, where Watcher had the servants arrange the voluminous silk cushions of various dark colors, the Chume’da by her legs. Watcher stood, with the rest of the staff off to the side, their more muted uniforms a contrast with the colorful silks of the advisers and courtiers packed at the other side of the dais.
The Queen gestured to the cushion in front of her by the mat.
The Jedi looked confused, but took the seat, arranging himself crosslegged on the cushion. He craned his neck to look towards the Queen and her consort. “I thought you would pick from your staff?”
“This is how it goes.” She snapped her fingers and the four main guards stepped out in front. Watcher noted the Jedi made as to look at them, but stopped himself.
“Hapans,” the Queen explained. “Are very much about ritual and ceremony. And you are my honored guest. It is an honor to be tasked with your protection. Something like that shouldn’t just be given away. Contests and duels are held for much less.”
She turned her attention to the guards and the Jedi turned with her, taking them in with a measured gaze. “It is only fair that the shortest service have more to prove. Arica and Ellia, one of you will face Darina. We will save Ubris for last since she has been under Astarta the longest.” She looked at the head of security for confirmation.
Astarta gave the Queen a nod. “Dara’ur style.” She named what Watcher knew to be a simple grappling form. “No bloodletting, no broken bones, I need you all in top form still.”
Privately, Watcher wondered if the restraint was simply to avoid showing the crowd how lethal the guards could be -- Astarta was nothing, if not shrewd. There was an excited buzz from the courtiers around them. One couldn’t blame them. Since they often aimed for invisibility, seeing the Queen Mother’s guards in action was a rare treat. A pity that the guards had dispensed with their elegant black and red uniforms to more drab, slim-fitting sleeveless two piece outfits. It diminished the theatrical quality of the display.
Arica and Ellia bowed to the Queen, bowed to her guest, and took their positions at the mat. Watcher thought Arica looked a bit too quickly away from the Jedi. Well, that was normal. Distrust of Jedi was commonplace, after all. But all associated with the Queen Mother had their positions due to professional competence, Arica would fight for the honor regardless of her personal feelings on the matter.
Meanwhile, the courtiers whispered, placing bets.
Ellia had only been in the service for maybe a year more than Arica, and while taller and more muscular, the differences did not stand out too much. Ellia’s hair was a more brownish shade of red to Arica’s red gold and, certainly, Ellia was far more beautiful. Both women nodded at each other, then bowed to the Astarta, the Queen, and the honored guest.
Astarta signaled the start. Ellia kicked with her right leg and Arica took the hit, grabbing the leg just below the knee, went a few paces to gain impulse, lifted and tossed her opponent down. Ellia tried to push her off with her legs, but by then Arica had a solid arm bar on her. Astarta called it in Arica’s favor. The entire bout had been faster than Watcher had anticipated. She looked towards the dais.
The Chume’da stared intently, a hand on the Queen Mother’s knee. Inappropriate. Ta'a Chume would have never allowed it. Watcher long suspected impropriety was contagious.
But the second match had already begun, and Watcher turned her attention back to the it. This guard, Darina, was of a similar build as Ellia, but her movements were more cautious. Arica struck first this time. Darina had no trouble blocking the swing, but in doing so, she lost track of her footing. Arica swung again, more forcefully, and when Darina ducked away, slid a leg sending her sprawling. Darina grabbed Arica’s leg lightning quick and Arica rolled down with the pull. Darina managed to keep her hold and tried to trap the leg, but Arica lifted her hips and jerked it back, using her free one to kick at her opponent’s hip. Gradually, she inched her leg away from Darina’s hold, all but the heel, and in a movement to fast for Watcher to track, Arica turned to the opposite side, pushed Darina’s knee down, slid her arm under her neck, and straddled the taller woman’s hip. Her heel was out, and Arica slid her body across. Darina's neck was caught between her own shoulder and Arica’s arm in a choke hold. Darina tapped out.
Watcher turned to Astarta in surprise. The head of security simply raised her eyebrows.
Watcher’s eyes skittered toward the dais where the Queen Mother and her consort leaned forward as if afraid to breathe. She expected the Jedi to be a counter to that, and while not having the kind of tension the royal couple radiated, he, too, stared intently. As well as he should, Watcher couldn't help thinking, one of these women could be all that stood between him and certain death.
There was something else to the intensity in his blue eyes. Watcher, who prided herself a better reader than most, incongruently thought it seemed to register a quiet ownership, as if he had a stake in the proceedings, but also an unshakable certainty on which way they would go. But that made no sense.
Arica gestured for time. The entire court watched breathlessly as she rubbed the sweat off her forehead and patted her hair. Like the rest of the bodyguards, her hair was pulled away from her face in a dense wrap around braid. Watcher thought she looked more like an acrobat or a dancer than a guard, and yet she’d taken down two of her cohort with relative ease.
Despite being the object of so much scrutiny, Arica’s face did not acknowledge anyone’s gaze. Her own expression was inward focused, tight with determination.
Her opponent, Ubris, was waiting by the side of the dais. The last bodyguard was taller and heavier, and by now Arica had faced two opponents. Even though she looked fine, she had to be tired. A bruise was darkening on the side of her cheek. Watcher was sure it wasn’t the only one. So it was only logical that she would lose.
Finally, Arica nodded to Astarta. The head of security gestured for Ubris to approach. Ubris nodded to Astarta and to Arica, she bowed to the royal couple and to the Jedi. Arica repeated the gesture, although there was something...impudent about it.
Astarta signaled for them to begin and Ubris went on the offensive, Arica took a kick to her side, and another, she had an arm on Ubris’ bicep, and then was airborne, a leg at Ubris' side, slamming down on the mat on her upper back and using Ubris’ own body weight to bring her down. They crashed on the mat, Arica locking her left knee under Ubris’ chin and pulling her arm tight against her chest. Ubris quickly tapped out
Watcher gaped, the whole court seemed to hold its breath. Even Ubris looked dazed. Both she and Arica stood. It had been the shortest match yet.
Watcher couldn’t see the Queen’s face due to her veil, but she saw that the Queen’s posture had relaxed, at odds with the surprise that spread through the entire gymnasium. The Chume’da, too, looked pleased. The Jedi for his part folded his hands primly before him, previous intensity replaced by mild interest.
The room exploded in cacophony.
In the fuss, the Queen beckoned to Arica. There was rich amusement in her voice, when she turned to the Jedi.
“Master Skywalker, it seems our Arica has won the honor.”
The bodyguard still had that impudent expression. Watcher wondered if winning had gone to her head that quickly. She was almost acting like her win was no more than she deserved.
“So it seems,” the Jedi murmured as Arica approached, following her with his eyes and there was a brief flash of something hotly possessive for a brief second, jarring enough that Watcher looked again. But, no, all Watcher saw now was that distant regard.
Watcher spoke first when Arica was before them, Astarta behind her. “Congratulations,” she said with a nod.
Astarta stepped to Watcher’s side and gestured to where the other guards gathered. “Go clean up then move your belongings to Master Skywalker’s quarters.”
The Queen, violating all protocol, stood and put her hands on Arica’s shoulders before she could leave. Watcher grimaced and gestured furiously to one of the servants for a towel.
“You were marvelous. I don’t think I’ve seen anything quite like it. Even back home, Kirana Ti could climb a rancor in a jump and roll, but then again, I should have expected no less--”
The self satisfied look on Arica’s face was replaced by something like alarm. The Chume’da squeezed the Queen's arm. The Jedi stood suddenly.
“Queen Mother,” Watcher interrupted, flashing the Chume’da a pointed look at his breach of proper conduct, as she offered the Queen the towel. “Maybe you’d like me to announce the conclusion of this event and a proper recess until dinner?”
The Queen blew out a breath in a most undignified manner, wiped her hands, and gave Watcher back the towel. “Yes, please do. I will have no more need for you until then.”
“Understood.” Watcher bowed her head. “Oh, and Arica.” The bodyguard’s head snapped in her direction. “Do go to Sinoval at some point before the dinner.” She made a mental note to contact the court’s cosmetologist to tell her the bodyguard would be coming. “It will not do to show up to a formal dinner with that.” She pointed to the bruise on her face. The former queen's watcher might have gotten careless, but the sitting queen's wouldn't. Someone had to uphold the protocols of the House of Djo.
Arica shook her head lightly. “That won’t be necessary. I can take care of it.”
Watcher threw her a look of disbelief. “Make sure you do as good a job as Sinoval, or I’ll send you back to him, and tell the head of security to have Ubris to take your place for the evening.”
Arica bristled, but only said. “You won’t even know it’s there, Watcher.”
“Good.” She turned back to the Queen, her consort, and the Jedi. “If you’ll excuse me.” Watcher gestured for a servant to bring her the chimes and she called the end of the contest.
Off the corner of her eye she saw the Queen Mother making her way out of the gymnasium, alongside the Chume’da. The Jedi turned to follow, but before that his eyes sought the bodyguard. Their eyes met furtively and a small smile played on Arica's face. It could have just been triumph, should have just been triumph, but it wasn't. Watcher didn't know what it was. That lasted for a second before Arica's expression was back to her usual aloofness as she joined her cohort.
Watcher managed the clearing of the room, not quite shaking her unease.
That, she told herself, was precisely what surveillance was for.