A/N: A bit of a clarification, this fic borrows material appearing in Legends and canon, but will in itself not follow the canon story line. It's an attempt to write a somewhat decent Vader/OC story, with hopefully some meat to its bones. Mostly this is written for fun. ;) Opinions are appreciated, but I would rather not have flames if it can be helped.
Hope you enjoy this first chapter.
"Melia Motti, you are daydreaming again." Jumping guiltily at the sound of her aunt's voice, the addressed Melia turned around in order to face the advancing Thalassa Tarkin. Her aunt's statuesque form came to a halt before her own seated self. "Whatever am I to do with you, girl?" Though tinged with exasperation, the words were not unkind. "Stand and let me look at you."
Doing as she knew she must, Melia gently rose, allowing her aunt to give her the once over she'd promised. A critical judge and ever difficult to please, the older woman wrinkled her nose. "This will never do. You cannot appear before the Emperor dressed as pauper." Melia looked down at herself. She did not believe there was anything particularly objectionable about her garb, but then it had been provided by the lady herself and thus one supposed she'd thought it fitting.
"This is to be a grand occasion," Thalassa continued. "And my husband is counting on us to preserve our good image." Glancing over her shoulder, she ordered her droid to fetch the tiny box from her rooms. The tiny box, unlike it's name suggested, was a fairly large miniature chest containing all manners of adornments. Once in possession of the box, her aunt rummaged through pulling out all items that struck her fancy. Before long, Melia had been brought up to a standard which pleased the Grand Moff's wife. "Melia, dear, you might exert yourself to speak a few words."
"Forgive me, aunt, I simply do not know what to say." She glanced at her reflection. It was not that she took issue with the clothing, or even with the obvious display of wealth. In fact, she quite enjoyed the effect of shimmery sparkles, foolish as it made her feel.
"Then you had best find your words until we reach the banquet hall, hadn't you?" Melia gave an uneasy nod, thinking to herself that in spite of her sumptuous apparel, she was no more elevated than before.
"I will try, aunt." Thalassa declared herself pleased, reminding her that she had long before they must leave. The woman departed, presumably to see to the last of the necessary preparations.
Melia turned from her reflection. The Grand Moff's wife had been kind to take her in, especially considering the remote degree to which they were related. But she would never be able to meet the woman's demands. Her conversation, even in the best of circumstances, was lacking. What if she spoke the wrong words? What if she dashed any chance at respectability? What if she foolishly exposed her kin to peril? No, she had to guard her lips, she had to halt any reckless behaviour, else she would end up like her parents, dead before her time.
Perhaps she was being a tad overdramatic. Smoothing a palm over the long fall of her skirts, Melia considered the dark shimmersilk. It was a lovely piece in its simplicity. She had loved it the moment she saw it. It was nothing to the elaborate dress of her aunt or to the garb senators of the Old Republic used to wear. In other words, she would attract little enough attention. Then there would be no need for her to find her words, or to appear charming and witty. She could find a little corner all of her own and sit the revelry out.
Melia did her best to assume a neutral expression as she left her room for the vehicle which was to transport them to the Imperial Palace. The two stormtroopers in attendance nodded at her entrance. "Calo. Farn," she acknowledged. "I hope I have made good time."
"As always." Calo, the more expansive of the two lead her to the customary seat she occupied. "Planning to dance the night away, kid?"
"It remains to be seen." She added a small smile to that, hoping the words had no come out too harsh in her delivery. "I hope you shall have a good time of it as well."
A droid entered the shuttle, carrying her cloak. Melia draped it across her knees and gave her thanks absently. For a brief moment she recalled a moment from her childhood, holding a similar cloak in her arms. Not quite as fine as the one in her lap, but her mother had cherished that piece of cloth. She recalled putting it on the fire along with the last of her parents' possessions.
Before she could sink into those very memories, Thalassa finally announced her arrival with a sharp order. Her aunt was seated but a moment later, her cloak draped securely around her shoulders. Looking over to her, she tsked, pointing to a tendril of hair. "Did you not put enough gel in that, girl?"
Melia drove the stray strand back, praying it would stay in place. She did her best to secure it. "I am certain I have." The result of her fumbling seemed to please the older woman, for she nodded her head at long last
By that time, they had already taken flight. The shuttle was relatively fast, thus they would make it on time. And even more so because, not unlike her husband, Thalassa left nothing to chance. Melia had not been given a chance to forget what was expected of her either.
"Now, pay attention," Thalassa snapped her out of her thoughts. "You will not have to do much but follow my lead. Smile at those I smile and keep your distance from those I do not favour in such a way." Melia nodded obediently. "If I leave you alone in the presence of a man, do your best to engage him in conversation. And for your own good, attempt to sound as though you prefer that to being skewered."
"I shall do my best." Thalassa shook her head at the promise, though she had a somewhat amused smile upon her face at the same time. "Truly, aunt, I will speak to whomever you wish."
"That's a good girl." Appeased the woman launched into a discussion of what her success might entail. "If you acquit yourself with grace, there will be much for you to look forward to." Those words offered some measure of hope. Aunt was not unreasonable; in her own fashion she might even be pursuing an enviable fate for her. She was simply more concerned with the immediate gains which successfully launching Melia into high Coruscanti society might throw her way. Hopefully, playing her part adequately translated into later reprieve.
The shuttle was quick to convey them to their destination. Calo and Fran walked close behind them as they stepped upon the red carpet, offering a warm welcome to the new arrivals at the Imperial Palace. Melia gazed up at the structure in awe, before her gaze shifted to the curious glanced thrown their way by those milling about the gardens. Some were guests, or so suggested sumptuous attires. Others were doubtlessly servants engaged for this occasion, with their droid helpers close at hand.
Aunt did not linger overlong beyond a brief perusal of the courtyard. She tugged Melia along, reminding her that the Grand Moff had left clear instructions. As per orders, the two troopers engaged for their protection, led them to the great lobby where the head of the household awaited them.
The Grand Moff had a soft greeting for his wife and a mildly approving look for her. Melia had the distinct urge to tug on the choker wound around her throat. She resisted the impulse, settling for a shaky smile as man and wife exchanged words that she was unable to make out on account of her thoughts rioting against the occurrence she knew must not be long in coming to a head. If, however, she thought her aunt might tolerate some amount of fumbling, she was fairly certain the woman's husband would not. And that knowledge only worked to amplify her unease.
Whatever her feelings, however, she was forced to push them back as an understanding was clearly reached by the Grand Moff and his wife. Thalassa turned towards her, beckoning her closer. Melia approached, doing her best to keep her head held high as she had been instructed too many times to count. "It is time."
Those three words sealed her fate. Though she would not know it for some time yet, Melia would often look upon the moment as the starting point of what some might call an eventful life. Placing her hand into the crook of Wilhuff Tarkin's arm, she did her best to match her pace to his, pushing herself to speed up her normal gait.
Thus commenced her entrance into the upper echelons of Coruscanti society and thankfully, among the first faces she came across was that of her hosts' son. Garoche Tarkin was standing in a circle of boon companions, no doubt. The man paused briefly to acknowledge his parents and her. Abbreviated introductions were exchanged and to her great relief she did not have even a moment to get a word in edgewise. Beyond a somewhat strained smile she had little contribution to bring to the moment. Their round continued about the grand hall and before long Melia had a collection of names and an assortment of faces to puzzle over.
"And that there is the Emperor," her aunt whispered gently nodding towards a seated figure. Melia, who had until that point done her best only to stare in front of her least she was overwhelmed, wondered how she might have missed the clearly striking figure. Not in any way made remarkable by handsomeness or even any other pleasantly distinguishing feature, the Emperor was an old, menacing-looking fellow in spite of his obvious frailty. "The Jedi have served him ill indeed." The caul drawn over his head did not help matters any either.
"Do I have to meet him?" The words came out as a furious whisper. Melia's fingers twisted into the long folds of her skirts. The Emperor's attention was not upon them, thankfully, this her scrutiny went unnoticed.
"Indeed not," her aunt scoffed. "If he approached us we shall undoubtedly make mention of you, but otherwise be certain to stay out of his way." The older woman touched her cheek. "Your manners are yet unpolished," she said, not unkindly.
In spite of the twinge of annoyance she felt at being this described, Melia was likewise filled with relief that she would not be brought before the Emperor. "Oh look, Senator Organa approaches." Snapped out of her own reverie, Melia did her best to push the remnants of worry away. "But I do not see his wife."
The man, who could not have missed them as they stood directly in his path, paused, giving a perfunctory bow. If her aunt was reserved in her return of the pleasantries, Melia did not know, so concentrated was she on her own. "A pleasant evening, is it not, ladies?"
"Viceroy." Her aunt acknowledged his comment with a mere smile. "I do not see the Queen. Was she unable to make the journey?" A noncommittal reply was given to the question and Thalassa was forced to concede gracefully. "A pity that she should miss the celebration."
"My wife regrets the absence, but it is necessary. And who would you be?" he asked of Melia, gazing intently at her face. There was something about the man, something warm and inviting. "I have not had the pleasure of an introduction, I believe."
"She is family, Viceroy. Melia Motti." That did not deter the Viceroy.
Melia graced the new acquaintance with a smile and promptly nodded when she was invited to join him on the dance floor as the band struck up a tune which had been popular in her own mother's childhood. She had but a moment to observe her aunt's disapproval. Nevertheless, she could not bring herself to regret her choice. And the Viceroy returned her to her kin's side soon enough.
"The man is married," her aunt told her sharply. "Do not dally with his kind, there is little to be won in that quarter." She'd not been looking to win anything. It was simply that there had been something quite like kindness in the man's face and she'd been compelled to enjoy her moment in the sun, as it were.
Tension swelled. A hush fell over the hall. A figure, dark and arresting, strode within. Her aunt blinked, focusing her attention on the newly arrived man. By reputation he was well-known. In fact, in the short space since Palpatine had dissolved the Republic and assumed the throne, his right hand man had made quite the name for himself. Even someone as lacking in knowledge as Melia had heard of Lord Vader. His presence was unmistakable, not only because of his distinctive garb, but for the very reaction he inspired in others. And he did make quite the striking appearance, casting a large shadow over all else.
Lord Vader, unlike the other guests, seemed to have no intention to mingle. He strode past senators and serving men alike, ignoring both grand dames and royalty. It would be unfair to say Melia was not intrigued for all of a moment. Had the man no intention of speaking to anyone? Had he no desire to forge connections of his own? Let alone questions regarding his identity. Darth Vader had appeared out of nowhere, sweeping past other heroes of their age, rising in rank with surprising swiftness. And for all that, so little was known of the man.
None of these questions would be answered. Melia recognised as much in the first moments of lucidity after witnessing the giant's entrance as her ears picked up the orchestra's lively jingle. She exhaled upon the realisation and was gratified to see Garoche approaching, at his side another man whom she did not recognise.
"Mother," the Moff's son addressed her keeper for the night, "allow me to introduce Shale to my cousin." About as tall as Garoche, the man staring down at her with dark eyes seemed a pleasant enough sort if one looked past the severe mien. And one necessarily had to with military men. They were the lot of them abundantly blessed with dourness. She suspected the regimented lives they led must have some say. "Melia, Captain Shale Lumos. We attended the Academy together. Shale, my friend, this is Melia Motti of whom I've told you."
Blushing to know herself a subject of previous conversation, Melia glanced downwards. She could not attend the top of her shoes too closely, however, as Captain Shale called her to attention with his speech. "Told me too little." He had an unexpectedly smooth voice. "I should have suspected him when he offered barely a hint." Turning to his friend, he grinned widely. "I'll get you back for this, Tarkin. But in the meantime, Lady Tarkin," he spoke to her aunt, "may I have the pleasure of a dance with your Melia?"
"If Melia is amenable." And that, Melia knew, meant that she had to be or else she would hear words upon their return home. While putting herself forward into the grasp of the Captain was not something she could say gave her no reason for uneasiness, for unlike the nearly fatherly regard of Viceroy Organa, this man looked at her with some as though some understanding stood between them. Or rather between himself and Thalassa's son. The determination in his eyes was enough to put her on edge.
Nevertheless, he would have her on the dance floor. Thus she went, her answer a single spoken word, tempered by a tentative smile. Some men, unlike Garoche who could be charming when he so desired, would never inspire comfort in those around them. They were a breed too odd for her to understand. Doing as she always did when uncomfortable, she allowed herself to drift, moving to the beat of the music in her partner's arms.
"Why do I sense that I am being ignored?" She faltered, missing a step at the sound of his voice in her ear. Captain Shale steadied her.
"I," she began, absent a battle plan. The words, never easy for her to find, had somehow managed to secure even better hiding spots. Her mind drew up a blank, leaving her stuttering a single syllable before she caught on and put an end to it. Melia cleared her throat. "My apologies."
"I make you uneasy." She jerked in his hold. A protest, feeble as it was falling from her lips, did not dissuade him. "Please; I would have to be blind not to notice." He smiled down wolfishly into her face. "But truly, I am not such a frightening fellow."
Choking on involuntary laughter, she brought a hand to cover her mouth. "It is not you, Captain." Melia did her best to hold his gaze. "I fear the fault lies with me, unaccustomed as I am to current company."
Thankfully, the man did not mock her for the admission. Something in the harshness of his mien gave way to an almost understanding expression. "I am no danger to you. Try to keep that in mind." She nodded, allowing him to give her a twirl, before they resumed a more sedate movement from side to side. "You truly need to grow used to the company if you mean to stay at Lady Thalassa's side."
"I suppose I must," Melia allowed. She caught movement from the corner of her eye. That would not have been unusual. The dancers were slowly drawing to a halt as the melody drifted into quietness. Rather what had held her was the fact that the Grand Moff stood beside his seated wife at one of the tables, the Emperor in quiet conversation with them.
"Don't look," her own partner hissed. "The Emperor's hound is making his way there as well. By that she supposed he meant Lord Vader. "I could take you out on the terrace."
"No. Perhaps the Emperor will have left before we have arrived at my aunt's side." No such luck. But the Captain still accompanied her back, placing her hand in the crook of his arm solicitously asking whether she wished something to drink after the exercise.
"That would be much appreciated." It was no rescue, but it was better than nothing.
"I believe this is the most words you've spoken to me thus far." His jest failed to calm her nerves as Melia was engrossed in thoughts of her own.
She would not have to speak, after all, if she was busy swallowing whatever beverage the man would bring her. Unfortunately until she had even that flimsy of an excuse not to communicate, she had to take a deep breath and looked towards her aunt for clues on what she was to do.
"There she is now," Thalassa spoke, gaining her the attention of all three men, the Grand Moff, the Emperor and Lord Vader. Her aunt's husband beckoned her over in a gesture reminiscent of the orders he gave about the house when not abroad. "Captain." Melia did her duty by the long-established protocol and struggled to keep from showing her anxiety. Captain Shale excused himself.
Left with only her kin and the other two, Melia surreptitiously moved closer to her aunt, seeking her protection. The Emperor had a smile upon his face, a twist of lips, looking more like a grimace of pain than anything else. His hound, as the Captain had called him, faced her as well. But with his helmet on it was impossible to tell whether he watched her or was simply looking ahead. This close she could hear harsh breathing, to her surprise. Such a sound could only mean that the hulking creature before her was a man and not a machine as some malicious rumours had suggested. Had he been harmed by the Jedi as well?
"A lovely young woman." The Emperor's voice cracked, as though too brittle to endure the weight of even a scant amount of words. "Tell me, my dear, what do you think of our little entertainment tonight?" He motioned towards the other occupants of the hall.
While her brain scrambled for a response, Melia felt her cheeks heat. "A most wonderful event," she managed after a few moments, knowing her floundering had likely displeased her aunt. But the Emperor did not seem to take issue the answer. In fact, his eyes glinted with something like satisfaction.
"Let us hope you have the chance to witness many similar events then." That seemed to be the extent of the attention he was willing to afford her before addressing his Grand Moff and the man's wife, leaving Melia to consider the possibility of engaging the silent giant into conversation.
She bit into her lower lip as dark lenses seemed to move with every small jolt she experienced. He had to be aware of her discomfort. Melia sucked in a shaky breath and glanced away just in time to see Captain Shale approaching with a couple of glasses in tow.
Her relief was a near palpable thing.