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ARAMINTA had been the best. Octavian had placed a crown on her. She had known that from a very early age because he had told her. He had compared her to the others, to her squad, to her sister who she had torn herself open for trying to save. He liked to remind her she was the best, remind the others, too, something extra to hold above and pin against them whenever he could. She knew some of the others had loathed her for it, even felt jealous in their own twisted way, but she had not cared.
She knew she was valuable, her skill had won her a second chance with protecting Obi-wan, and it further allowed her to follow them into whatever mission they were assigned. She had never been a dead weight to them or someone who objectively needed saving, she was an asset in her own way and she could take care of herself. Araminta was never quite sure if she was grateful for it. Being a weapon had kept her alive, it helped her out of situations and allowed her to be on par with Jedi. But she thought, sometimes, of the girl she was before everything.
Araminta would clutch at the moonstone around her neck and think of what might have changed had Octavian never approached them. Would she still be soft? Would she have stayed unsharpened? Was she intended to be kind or was something always bound to twist inside her? Would her fingers have ever been calloused as they were? Would she be able to wear whatever she pleased without worry for scars or branding?
She had long learnt it was a very dangerous rabbithole to go down; a complete downward spiral.
So she preferred not to think of her young self too much.
The skillset she had built, her reputation and capabilities– it was what made her the best– and it equally allowed her to slip into the Republic with ease, if anything. It was why she was sometimes honoured that Obi-wan would send her along on missions to do her own thing, separated from his flank she so diligently watched. That was a very mild way of describing it, as Anakin was still present as her superior, she was far from trusted independently.
She hadn't a clue on her rank in the army, only that she had no jurisdiction to give anyone orders and the second the Jedi in command disappeared, the responsibility fell to the clone commander or the padawan present to tell her what to do and how to help.
But sometimes it was nice– to feel as if she wasn't simply a bodyguard trying to save her own skin.
Other times, however, it dragged her into the Outer Rim territories to provide backup.
Araminta had been stationed with Anakin's fleet when the emergency call had come through, the Jedi Aayla Secura who was stationed in the far reaches of the Quell system was being overwhelmed by Separatist forces. They were the closest and most well-armed fleet they were quickly told, and without a moment's hesitation, they were sent into hyperspace to help.
The Admiral was present on the main ship as they finally left hyperspace. Araminta was organising her weapons, as well handing out others to the troops as they passed her. Anakin was in his rare mood of calm that came with such dire missions, unwavering and in a zone far away from Araminta's sarcasm and Ahsoka's cheeky remarks.
