Rest for the Wicked:
The End of Palpatine
Madness.
In life, there were many who called the man known as Palpatine mad. They were all mistaken. To call a tyrant insane is to give him an excuse, to imply that his horrible crimes are not truly his own fault, that he was a victim of circumstance or disability beyond his own control. An insane creature is not capable of the schemes and machinations necessary to exert control over entire worlds, entire galaxies. He had made displays, of course, first under the guise of Darth Sidious, and later when he became Emperor, to make him appear simply as a mad man. But they had been orchestrated, to make some think him more harmless than he truly was, and to make others fear him as they rightly should. On rare occasion, he had been prone to genuine fits of violence or glee that could only be described by an civilized being as madness. But this was not the result of true insanity, no, he was like an alcoholic or drug addict, but his only vices were power and death. When he drank from the cup of tyranny, all of civilization suffered.
Madness in the end.
In the end, madness.
There was little that the Dark Lord had not studied about the Force during his long life, but there was one aspect he had never given much thought. The greatest of mysteries, the afterlife. The most powerful Sith Lords had found ways to bind their consciousness to existence, to keep themselves anchored in the realm of the living as though clinging to the tiniest semblance of life they could manage, existing as intangible spirits who could only loosely communicate with those who sought them out. The Jedi, of course, believed that all who passed from mortal life simply returned to the Force, to become one with the all powerful field that existed within everything. The Emperor had not given much thought to any of these philosophies, because he had never intended to die. Through the teachings of his master, Darth Plagueis, perhaps the only Sith Lord in their history who had been more obsessed with life than death, and strangely enough, through ancient Jedi texts he had discovered on a long forgotten world, he had learned to keep his consciousness alive beyond physical death, to manipulate and control his very existence on the deepest level.
Dead but alive.
Awake but unconscious.
From this, only madness.
The Emperor was not capable of regret. He had once thought himself incapable of failure, but had learned many times since then that was not the case. Instead of regretting his mistakes, he simply made note of them, filed them away in the most complex and devious mind the galaxy had ever seen, so that he would not make them again. It had, he now realized, been a mistake not to give more study and thought to the afterlife while he had the chance. Even though he had never intended to truly die, it would have at the least been information that could have proved useful in the final destruction of the Jedi. It certainly would have been useful to him now.
You are dead.
Yet you exist.
That this is so, is madness.
It had taken Palpatine some time to deduce what he could about his current state of existence. He was unsure, and how rare it was for him to admit as such, even to himself, that he actually did exist any more. He was capable of thought, or some semblance of thought, but little else. He could not see, hear, or feel the Galaxy around him, though he knew he must be somewhere in the void. His senses were gone, and he did not miss them, because in whatever state he was in, he could not comprehend or remember what it had been like to have them. The Force was completely gone from him. Perhaps not gone, as indeed, it existed in everything, but he could not feel it. He knew the power it once gave him, indeed, he knew all he knew in mortal life, or at least he suspected he did. He could not touch the Force, and he often wondered if the Force could touch him. But he did not miss it, did not want for it, save perhaps as a solution to his dilemma, because he could no longer comprehend sensation, and thus its absence was simply a notable fact that could create no longing.
Madness over time.
And more so without time.
The Sith Lord did not know how long had passed since his latest death, his final death, the one that had put him in this state. Time no longer had meaning to him, it was now beyond his ability to feel its passing. His human memories, though, still understood the simple concept of passing time, but there was no input or stimuli to let him reach a sensible conclusion about it. He had guessed, though, it had been a considerable amount of time. Years, decades, perhaps even millennia. He remembered joy, or at least the vile, twisted version of it he was capable of feeling, and thought that outliving the Jedi by such a long period, even in this pathetic state, would have brought it to him when he existed.
The madness you brought
now stands before you.
In infinity, it has no limit.
His final conclusion about his state of existence had come at a time he imagined was not long ago, but well after it began. Whichever philosophy had been correct about the afterlife, the Jedi or Sith, he had damned himself to be unable to partake in either. He could not anchor himself to the mortal world, as the Sith holocrons had taught him, as he had needed to be free to enter new bodies. He certainly could not join the Force itself, as he needed to retain his identity. Now, in the end of ends, both were beyond him. The final sacrifice that destroyed his very essence had indeed not been in vain. He was not what he was once, neither as a living man or a spirit. The Sith understood the laws of the universe better than any scientist, for it was their intention not just to understand them, but to manipulate them, to bend physics and nature to their will. Palpatine new that matter could not be destroyed, nor created, and in his studies he had long ago discovered that one's consciousness was indeed something that physically existed. His conclusion, than, was that his ultimate destruction had left these tiny pieces of his existence scattered across the Galaxy, but somewhere, a few scraps had remained close together. A handful of molecules in the vastness of space, the tiniest fragments of his own existence. This is what the mighty Palpatine, Emperor of the Galaxy, had been reduced to: a tiny stain somewhere in the universe.
The greatest of kings,
reduced to nothing.
Not madness, no, but justice.
These dots of thought were in motion, though if they moved through space or merely writhed in place, he did not know. On occasion, they would come close enough together to form a thought, to give him a brief moment to ponder his situation and the past, as it did now, before pulling apart again. Sometimes they moments were rare, and sometimes they were frequent, almost constant. There was no discernible pattern to it. When those few remaining specks of consciousness were not together, though, there was no way to describe what it was like. There were no words in any of the thousands of languages across the Galaxy that could describe the true, utter emptiness that was not existing. Palpatine, for sake of prosperity, had assigned the closest word he could approximate:
Madness.
He could not feel the elation of triumph, but again, he did remember what it felt like, and under what circumstances such a sensation would be caused. Palpatine imagined he'd be feeling it, with the knowledge that the universe, the laws of nature themselves, could not defeat him. Even the tiniest fragment of his consciousness could not be consumed by the universe and put to a greater purpose, for there was no purpose greater than his continued existence. The void could not, or would not, consume him.
Maybe the universe just won't eat you because you don't taste very good.
It was not a voice, for he could not hear. It was a thought. It was not his own. It had been accompanied by the closest thing to a sensation he had felt in his entire time in the void. It was beyond mortal description, but ever the master of words, and always with his need to absorb information, Palpatine had described it as a 'bright light.' He could never feel, never see, but on the rare occasion this presence was there, it was as close as he would come. At first, it had just been the light, and the Emperor imagined he truly was moving through the void, and perhaps it was those tiny pieces of himself moving through a star or some other anomaly. After a time, though, the light had always been accompanied by a thought that was not his own, as if some presence was speaking to him in the only way possible given his current state.
The Emperor still could not comprehend time, and did not know how long it had been since the bright light had last appeared. Those pieces of himself had come together many times since. He imagined that it was only for fractions of a second at a time that they did, but with time meaningless for those dead in the void, it was long enough for him to string together thoughts between the madness. He imagined that if living beings knew of his current state, they would picture him thinking about what he had done in life. Only the brightest of optimists would actually think that the Dark Lord of the Sith was capable of growing to regret those actions, of wanting to atone for his sins. It was not true, anyway. Yes, on occasion, during one of those brief moments of reality, Palpatine would consider some action from his life. But that is all he would do, remember it, as if just to ensure he actually could. There were no emotions for him, not any more, but he remembered enough of how he felt when he existed in a more physical state, and knew that even if he was capable of feeling as such, he would never regret his actions, and certainly never atone for them.
It was at that thought the bright light returned. This time, it was stronger. Much stronger. What remained of Palpatine could almost actually feel it, as though those few molecules of existence shuddered in their presence. Those thoughts that were not his own returned, but they were a jumbled mess and he could not understand them. It was as if a thousand different beings were speaking a thousand different languages he did not understand trying to convey a thousand different thoughts he could not comprehend all at once. He realized, now, the light was not more powerful, but that this time, whatever this visitor was, it was not alone. There were more of them.
The thoughts that were not his own continued, moving through his consciousness. He imagined, if he could actually hear them, they would be like a strange alien symphony. The way they flowed, and occasionally stopped abruptly to start again. He realized, then, what was happening. The light was trying to communicate with him, as it often did. But something had changed since it last did so, or perhaps now that there were more of them, the process was more difficult. The way those incomprehensible thoughts entered his facilities, than cut out only to be replaced, was perhaps comparable to a poor man with a bad holonet receiver trying to find a better signal. Finally, over time, he understood scraps of those thoughts that were not his own.
He does not understand.
He cannot. Perhaps you were wrong, there is not enough of him left.
No. There is.
Enough to make the decision? Enough to even understand it?
There is.
He cannot communicate as we do. We will have to attempt something else.
Indeed, the Emperor could not communicate with them. He imagined if he could feel desire, he would want to do so. He was never a man who needed company or friendship, but they may at least have answers for him. Perhaps even a way to reform more of himself. He was not capable of hoping he could make himself whole again, but enough to be in constant thought. To escape the madness.
How they communicated, he did not know. It was not through any sound or visual stimulus, for he knew if that were the case, he could not understand it. It was not through thought, that was the only thing he himself was capable of, and this was clearly different. It was certainly not through emotion, as some empathic species were known to do. He did not know how he had managed to actually understand, to comprehend, that snippet of conversation, simply that he had. In a moment, it would not matter.
There were many things, there at the end of existence for Palpatine, that he could not describe well. Some were things he had once known, in life, but was incapable of knowing now. Some where new things, in death, that there was no mortal way to explain. What happened next was more incomprehensible than either.
He was whole again.
It was a sensation, at first, and that was how he first knew. A sensation. He existed. The destroyer of countless worlds felt complete again, for the first time in what seemed all eternity, and could feel enough to relish it. He could see, though there was not much to see, the same light he imagined was there before now surrounded him. Him. The physical him. He glanced down and saw the dark robes that had covered him in life, a withered, pale hand outstretched, opening and closing, just to feel the sensation of doing so. He cackled with insane glee.
The noise came forth.
He heard it.
And in that moment, the tyrant felt true joy.
Slowly, his devious mind turned to logic. This could not be real. He was not alive in the way he had been, inhabiting a body and free to interact with the physical world. That was impossible. Palpatine knew what was actually going on. He was not in the physical realm, no, he was in communication. Jedi and Sith alike would communicate like this over great distances, projecting themselves into each other's minds through the Force. In life, it would have been a simple act for the Dark Lord, and a common one. In life he also would have known what he felt was not real, just a pale imitation, an imprint of true feeling, sensation, and emotion.
In death, it was the most vibrant and real thing he had ever experienced. Compared to the void. Compared to the madness.
It was difficult for Palpatine to differentiate ideas like distance and space. In part because he had not been able to do so for so long, but also because he was not in a physical place even now, merely the illusion of one. Still, up ahead, cutting through the light that surrounded them, he made out three shapes. Three orbs hanging there, somehow even brighter than the light all around them, glowing with a blue energy the Dark Lord had never seen or experienced in life or in death. Slowly, they began to take shape. It took a few moments, but Palpatine realized they were taking on vaguely humanoid forms. It was obvious to the Sith that they were hesitant in doing so, deliberately coming into being very, very slowly. Perhaps the process was difficult for them, or they had never attempted it before, or at least in a long time. Perhaps, whoever they were who wished to communicate with him, were giving him time to adjust to the shock of feeling whole again.
No, no. Of course. They were afraid, apprehensive. They were showing the proper reverence to their Emperor.
There was a laugh, a chuckle, low and soft.
"Revere you, we do not."
Oh, that was a voice the Emperor knew very well.
The forms took shape. In the center was the one who spoke, the diminutive form of that miserable insect Master Yoda. The one who had dared challenge him on the day of his final victory against the Jedi, and whom he had sent scurrying back into whatever disgusting hole the creature chose to hide in, never to be seen again.
"And you are the Emperor of nothing. Only your own madness."
To his left stood Obi-Wan Kenobi. Palpatine had little to say about Kenobi, he had been a competent fighter during life, but he was of no value or concern to the Dark Lord of the Sith. He was the most minor of annoyances, a threat to those far beneath himself, such as his first apprentice, but one who's existence he could have blinked away whenever he had wished. He could not help but wonder, now, why one so unremarkable stood beside the Grand Master in death.
"It's interesting that you chose that form…"
The third voice, and the third man, were unfamiliar. It took the former Emperor a long moment to recognize the one who spoke. The tall, thick, middle-aged man seemed almost out of place next to the two venerable Jedi. He was dressed in the same robes, but there was an enthusiasm about him, a more casual stance and tone, and he seemed to glow even brighter than Yoda. It was than, that Palpatine knew.
"…you did choose, you realize. Perhaps not consciously, no, but you've appeared as you felt you should. I imagined you were going to appear much younger. I made the same mistake once, myself, when I was still clinging to the vanity you taught me. Of course, I've learned not to be so foolish since. I guess you've always been a man of many masks, though, so wear whichever one you desire."
It was Anakin Skywalker. The chosen one. The most powerful Jedi to ever exist, and exist he still did. His apprentice, and ultimately, his betrayer. His murderer. Rage boiled inside the Sith Lord, and strangely, in the familiar comfort of that fury, he found his equivalent of calm. Despite the situation, he suddenly felt at ease with his wrath.
"What is the meaning of this?" His voice croaked, harsh and desolate.
"You know that we've been watching you," Skywalker continued, "well, what's left of you, and there isn't much. Your own thoughts on the matter are not too far off from the truth, actually. You see, we have become one with the Force. We do not exist in such a way that you understand, or that can be explained, without having experienced it. However, we have not completely slipped into the netherworld itself, either. For now, we study, we learn, we reach an understanding of the universe that we could never have achieved in life. It's kind of funny, I think, to look back at how little we actually knew of things when we were alive, how little we understood."
"But now, we are reaching the end of our journey," this was Kenobi. His tone was not as light or casual as Skywalker, which was interesting to Palpatine, because he remembered him being an impetulant little man in life. "We now understand much, and are ready to move on. There is, however, one aspect of the Force, of life, we are still learning about, still studying. We are trying to better comprehend evil."
"Of evil, no greater example is there," Yoda reached a single, three-clawed hand pointing toward the Emperor, "than you."
In this state of existence, the Emperor could easily discern truth from fallacy. This was no typical Jedi lie. These men were who they claimed to be, and their intentions were exactly as they stated. A long moment would pass as Palpatine gathered himself. It had been a long time since he'd actually spoken, though it was a gift he had always had, it would take a moment to consider precisely how to address these spiritual figures before him. They merely watched him, unblinking and unconcerned. Finally, he moved forward, reptilian eyes blazing with the fire of rage, his voice filled with the rage of a man who'd been betrayed and murdered more than once.
"…and that is it, than? Oh, how powerful you've become, then, to consider the mightiest Sith Lord to ever live but a quaint experiment to pass the time!" Palpatine's sneer was close to a grin. He had never considered sarcasm beneath him. "You must be forgetting, you miserable Jedi scum, who it was that put you in this position in the first place. You consider yourselves powerful? Reduced to mere observers, learning the true nature of the Force but unable to use it? You impotent, pathetic, fools! If you truly wish to learn about what you call 'evil,' you certainly don't need me. Another Sith Lord walks among you, isn't that correct, Lord Vader?"
"Anakin has redeemed himself, your majesty." It was Kenobi again, with that dry humor Palpatine remembered finally showing through. It fueled his fury.
"Ah, of course, of course. That miserable, sick man lives a lifetime doing the bidding of the Dark Side, but in his final moment, in a single act of foolish betrayal, he murders an old man while he isn't looking, and all his previous crimes are forgiven. That's the Jedi way, is it?"
"Wrong, was much of what we called the Jedi way," Yoda was looking down, and his head slowly rose to Palpatine. "But wrong, was ALL of what you called the Sith way."
"I am forgiven for nothing," Skywalker shook his head, though he did not seem frustrated. "There is no one who could provide such forgiveness, even if I deserved it. That is not the way of things. It is not so simple. But I have made peace with my actions, Palpatine, just as I have made peace with you."
"Peace," Palpatine muttered, "is a lie."
"Perhaps it is," Anakin exchanged a knowing glance with Obi-Wan, "from a certain point of view. You were many things to me over the years, Palpatine. Yes, you were my oppressor, my torturer, my manipulator. But you were also my friend, and closer to a father than I'd ever had. I am not naive, I know you were never being genuine with me, but these moments, these emotions, had to come from somewhere within you."
Palpatine burst out laughing. It was the same vile cackle that had filled the halls of the Death Star just moments before his death. The same disgusting symphony of evil laughter that had burst forth when he'd slaughtered Mace Windu and done battle with Yoda. "You pathetic fool! That's what this is about? You truly think that you can come and save me? Redeem me as you claim to have done for yourself? Even in death you cling to such pathetic Jedi ideals as to actually consi-"
"No," Anakin was quick to cut him off. "There is no redemption for Palpatine. We know much about you now, about the young boy from Naboo, about the scheming murderer Darth Sidious, and about the brutal oppressor Emperor Palpatine. Nowhere, at any point in your life, was there ever a single shred of humanity in your cold, black heart. Never a single feeling of compassion or love for any thing or any circumstance. You were never truly a human being, and that is why you accomplished what you did. You were born to be the ultimate Sith Lord, to fulfill their goal of controlling the Galaxy and destroying the Jedi, and that is what you did. You are personally responsible for more deaths than any being that has ever lived, and through our foresight we imagine that is a feat you will maintain for all eternity. Even such terrible actions as you have committed, the destruction of worlds, the genocide of billions, can still be forgiven, can still lead to internal peace. For another man, perhaps, but not for the monster that is Palpatine. You do not have the capacity for good, the capacity to regret, and you cannot learn them. This, perhaps, is the saddest part of the tale of the fall of the Jedi, my former master. That the universe was cruel enough to bring a creature such as you into existence. This is how I've come to peace with you, Lord Sidious. You were never a man, but a force of nature, causing destruction because that was all you were capable of."
Palpatine did not seem phased. In fact, he seemed bored. "Very well. Then, again, I ask, why am I here? Have you merely come to gloat about your supposed victory? To berate me with babbling speeches concerning your assessment of my character?"
"No. We come to you with an offer."
"Unprecedented, this moment is." The wise, green master looked up to his rival in life, the innocent wonder in his wide eyes never fading with age.
How Palpatine longed to pluck them from his skull.
"We have given it much thought, much discussion." Kenobi chimed in, as he had a habit of doing. "Not just the three of us. Many others, who's lives you affected, who's deaths you caused. Even more that came long before us, from ancient times long forgotten. And some from after our time, those who have died too young."
"You see, Palpatine," Anakin spoke again, though his features had softened. He looked to Palpatine with such confidence, such certainty. He was for a moment reminded of the young man he'd spent countless hours instructing in his office, molding into the perfect servant. "You may have never felt compassion, or love, or a single good thing all your life, but you understood them. You may have understood them better than any of us, and that is why it was so easy for you to manipulate those around you. You knew what they were, you just weren't capable of feeling them, nor did you want to. You were the most intelligent man of your day, perhaps the most cunning thing to ever roam our galaxy. And you were without a doubt the most powerful Sith Lord of all time, your mastery of the Force was without question and without equal."
"Often wondered, we have," Yoda chimed in, those wise but innocent eyes looking directly into Palpatine, "what great things you would have accomplished. If for a noble cause, your abilities had been used."
"And despite yourself, it was through you we learned many of the great truths," Kenobi gave Yoda a pat on the shoulder as he, too, gazed upon the Emperor. "Perhaps more than anyone, in life I clung to the Jedi ways. But now we realize that we did not understand things as much as we thought we did. The Jedi way was not infallible, and was not the ultimate truth. We were wrong about many things in my time, Sidious. It was not your intention, but through you we corrected many of our past mistakes, and have learned much from them."
"We do not make this offer lightly, my friend," Anakin had resumed speaking, and there was not a trace of sarcasm in his tone. "Your intelligence and mastery over the Force were unparalleled. In trying to destroy the Jedi, you taught them the error of their ways, and lead to a greater understanding of the Force itself. You brought pain and suffering to the galaxy, but through those actions, beings everywhere learned to appreciate freedom and fight for what they believe in. The Sith were an abomination to the Force, a sickness on the Galaxy at self that was never meant to exist. It was through you, and only through you, that the prophecy was able to be fulfilled, that balance was able to be restored. We have become one with the Force, Palpatine, and we now see things differently. We do not see things in the same simple terms we did when we were made of crude matter. We do not see you now, reduced to almost nothing, as a Sith Lord, or as an oppressive Emperor. We see you only as a single man, as Palpatine. A man of great intelligence, a man of great power, and a man who taught the galaxy it's most valuable lesson.
We offer you this, Palpatine: let us teach you what we have learned, so you may join us and become one with the Force."
There was silence. It could have lasted an eternity, though Palpatine had begun to suspect this entire encounter had lasted only a fraction of a second in actual time, as they seemed to exist as beyond such concepts as he did. Again, the three Jedi spirits watched him, patient and unblinking. They had placed a heavy burden on him, now, and knew it was a decision he would need time to consider.
It took no time at all, in fact.
Palpatine's hand shot forward, pointing a gnarled finger at them. He could almost, almost feel that oppressive lightning that had slain so many Jedi beginning to manifest itself from his form, but he knew it was not possible here. His voice was harsh, the tone he'd used on inept officers and even Vader himself when he was displeased, but Skywalker did not flinch in memory, and Yoda and Kenobi still simply stared at him as if this had been expected.
"Of course! You've revealed your true aspiration. Now I see why you've brought me here, Skywalker. Why you've hunted me down as you have, why you've embarrassed me, given me the hope to feel whole again for just this brief moment. You cannot stand to know I still exist. It eats away at whatever pathetic form you've chosen to take for yourself, to know that, ultimately, you were the chosen one… and you've failed, Skywalker. You've failed because I'm still here. Through it all, I still exist. But you should be used to it, Skywalker. You always fail, don't you? You failed to save that disgusting little wench you called a wife. You failed to defeat your miserable little friend there on Mustafar. You failed to destroy the Jedi, to defeat the Rebellion when you limped around the Galaxy as a grotesque monster, inspiring nothing but fear in the weakest of fools. Your useless offspring couldn't truly defeat me after your death, they've failed just as horribly as you have. I'm still here, Skywalker, and you can't accept it. In the end, the Dark Side has triumphed, as it was always destined to. I see your offer for what it is, Jedi… you want to finish me. You want to drag me out of existence with you, to know that you've truly fulfilled the destiny you were too weak to accomplish in life!
No one will defeat me, Skywalker, not you, not that wretched little creature, not your senile old master, not your miserable children or their pathetic friends. You have failed, my apprentice. I live, Skywalker, I exist and shall do so for all eternity. For thousands of years we waited, for thousands of years we tried, but I was the only one, Skywalker. I was the only one who could bring the galaxy to it's knees. I was the only one who could destroy the Jedi. My power is unlimited, even now, in death, and that is why you cannot finally defeat me. That is why you the so-called chosen one is reduced to petty bargains and pathetic words. You were never strong enough, because no one was! No one ever will be! I am Darth Sidious, the mightiest Dark Lord of the Sith, the Emperor of the Galaxy, and I shall live FOREVER!"
"He does not understand," Kenobi's response was instant.
"Understand, he does not," Yoda echoed. He looked down again, those pointed ears on either side of his head sagging in sadness, and the two of them began to disappear.
"…He does not understand…" Anakin's voice was shaky, hesitant, lacking the confidence it had before. The face of the man who had once been Darth Vader, who's name had once been synonymous with needless murder and wanton death, looked truly pained. His presence began to fade, the light around them grew dim, and Anakin Skywalker met the gaze of Emperor Palpatine a final time before disappearing into the Force.
"So be it, Sith Lord."
Madness.
The minor remains of the consciousness of what had once been the most powerful Sith Lord to ever lived returned to their form. Without sensation, without emotion, with only the capacity for occasional thought, the tyrannical Palpatine floated through the cosmos once again. The experience with the three Jedi, it seemed, had left him slightly more aware than he'd been before, at least for the moment. It seemed, to him, the Jedi had chosen their moment well. The last two minuscule neurons of Palpatine's existence were pulling apart again. Somehow, he knew, this would be the final time. The last remnants of the matter that made up his consciousness were moments away from tearing apart and careening off in opposite directions, unable to be destroyed, the ultimate and final law of the universe, but too far apart for him to ever experience the occasional thought again. The Jedi, it seemed, had chosen their moment well.
In that final moment he would not question his decision. Emperor Palpatine would cease to exist without a single regret. He would not curse the Jedi, or his predicament, or those who'd put him there, either. He had spent a lifetime bringing them suffering, and his mission as a Sith was fulfilled. If he had the time to do so, he would have considered the final thought that entered his mind before he slipped, forever, into the madness to be quite strange. As existence darkened around him, as the madness engulfed him, and as the tiniest thread connecting two neurons snapped, the Emperor of the Galaxy could only repeat a single phrase:
I do not understand.
Though this is the end of the age of villains, the wicked know no rest.