On A Mirror's Edge
Disclaimer – Star Wars belongs to George Lucas
AN: This is the story that was written completely (ie, as much and more as is written here) in my notepad. I do have a direction I want to take with it, but bear in mind that it is, in subtle ways, AU throughout the story. So if something doesn't jam with what happened in the movies or books, that's why. Except when I haven't even read certain EU stuff.
I wouldn't know the motives for killing a person, but. . . as far as helping a person is concerned, why should there be a logical mind? – Kudo Shinichi, Detective Conan. (Golden Apple case)
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Anakin's – no! Vader's – mind was in a whirl. It didn't show on the outside, of course. He was too used to hiding his volatile emotions as a Jedi and now that he was a Sith, covering them up with anger and hate.
Sidious' words echoed through his head.
Kill the Jedi.
He didn't need to be told that his new master had meant all of the Jedi; after all, he had been there to hear Order 66 being given, and there were Padawans in the field serving under their masters. He was under no illusions that very many of them had survived, and to be honest he had not cared. The Jedi had betrayed them. The young had been poisoned with lies.
He had killed Master Windu. There was no going back for him.
He stood.
"Anakin, no!"
His eyes narrowed, hardened. The memory of a dead man's voice, who could not shut up even in death.
It was all Qui-Gon's fault anyway. His fault for dying. His fault for leaving him alone among the emotionless Jedi, for leaving him with only Obi-Wan.
He listened with only half an ear to what Sidious' plans were. This wasn't what he was here for. He was here to be able to save Padmé.
"I'm going to be the most powerful Jedi ever! I'll even learn to stop people from dying. . ."
Well, said a snide voice in Vader's mind, you're not stopping anyone from dying now.
Vader told the voice to shut up, but it was coming from the one person he couldn't control – himself.
You've never been able to really save anyone – not when it actually matters. Not your mother, not your wife, not your children.
Vader – or was it Anakin? – froze, ice in his veins. Nothing he said would shut the voice up. He would save Padmé. He would save his daughter. His son.
He tried to imagine what they might look like in a few years' time.
He couldn't.
He instead saw his step-niece and –nephew. Playing in the meadow as he talked with Padmé – and Obi-Wan watching on nearby. He tried again and saw the youngling group he had tutored, the only time he could remember that the Force had granted him patience.
"I killed them, Padmé. And not just the men, but the women, and the children also. I slaughtered them. They're like animals! I hate them!"
Kill the Jedi.
Kill the Masters. Kill the Knights. Kill the Padawans. Kill the Initiates. Kill the –
No. No, no, no, no. . .
The children.
Eyes flashing amber with irrational yet righteous anger and hate, Palpatine didn't even get the chance to fight back. From the fearful look in the old man's eyes, he hadn't even the chance to predict the seemingly random attack.
Unable to defend himself against the fully ignited rage of the Chosen One, the would-be Emperor pleaded to deaf ears.
The children. My children. You won't hurt my family!
---
The explosion that came as a result of Darth Sidious' death resounded around the building of 500 Republica, the noise travelling swiftly to miles around. The remaining windows blew out, transparisteel shards scattering like the rain that Coruscant the city world never had, bringing danger to the 'speeder ways.
From the Jedi in their temple, all the way to the other side of the planet; from the Core to the Outer Rim, all felt the death of the Sith. The release of so much darkness into the Force.
Meanwhile, in the one place where no one would have expected him to be, Darth Vader sat, knees to chin, in one corner of the devastated room. Still garbed in the black hooded cloak, hood still covering his eyes, hands still clutching his deactivated lightsaber loosely at his side.
Slowly but surely, his began to get unsteadily to his feet. Thrown back against the wall by the explosion, he had not only been shocked, but his balance, hearing and sight had all been affected temporarily.
After only a few shaky steps, he fell back to his knees. In stark contrast to just a few minutes earlier, he was the image of the fallen, lost and isolated being that he was.
Gradually, the emptiness in his eyes gave way to a deadened, pain-ridden blue.
Jerkily Sidious' red-bladed lightsaber moved toward him and stopped close enough that he could shoot his arm out and grab it from the floor as it rolled the last short distance.
His Master's 'saber.
No – Vader's master's 'saber.
Is there even a difference?
Treachery is the way of the Sith.
Dozens of voices of the Jedi that he had met who had said that very thing to him over the years repeated the saying in one voice.
He had first betrayed the Jedi, breaking the Jedi Code to marry his wife and now by joining their enemies, the Sith. He had then betrayed the Sith by placing his attachments and weaker emotions before the will of his new – now late – master. His master had betrayed him, so he had returned the favour.
For the first time in his life, he was truly free. Not a slave. Not a Jedi. Not a Sith. His own master. Commander of his own fate.
But the brutal truth of the matter was, it terrified him.
Wordlessly and almost without thought, the fallen Jedi rose, both lightsabers in hand. One went to his belt, the other to his pouch, hidden by the various tools he had meant it for.
Out to where he'd left the speeder and straight into the pilot's seat, slipping seamlessly into the traffic flow below the gaze of the guards and the troopers as emergency vehicles rushed towards the building complex and its environs.
More people paid attention to him in the more populated and less panicked sectors of the skylanes, due in part to his still-wild method of driving, but any who saw him quickly looked away again and minded their own business, aware on some subconscious level of the danger he posed.
The distance to the Jedi Temple grew less and less, the building itself looming larger with every second that passed. He clutched at the steering controls in an effort not to hold his head against the onslaught of mental pain. The memories.
What he'd left behind.
The speeder flew on.
Outside the temple doors, two Padawans were standing there, waiting to welcome visitors and Jedi alike into a place of peace, safety and knowledge. When they saw him, however, there was a fear in their eyes that Jedi were not supposed to be able to feel. Anxiety in the face of the darkness in his soul made them freeze.
Anakin walked straight past them, all too aware that the moment he had done so, they practically collapsed with relief.
If it hadn't been for –
He walked on.
With every step he passed a dozen more Jedi, catching some of them at ease and others at work or on errands. With every Jedi he saw came a vision of them, dead by his hand, by his lightsaber. Running from him.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and carried on.
Hands clasped in front of him and hidden by the large cloak sleeves, his steps resounded throughout the corridors and hallways he walked down.
Masters shielded their Padawans from him, as was their right. Younglings and Initiates were taken away for their safety.
A blond-haired, blue-eyed boy of maybe seven or eight years stared at him.
He paused, arrested in motion. Though there were many differences, none of them mattered. Look, whispered the Force. This could have been your son.
His fists clenched and his eyes glowed unnaturally amber at the idea. I won't let that happen. I'll get stronger. I will. Maybe I will even learn to save lives.
He blinked and the boy was gone, whisked away by a flash of brown and red. Amber born of determination flickeringly stayed.
By the time he reached the turbolift that went all the way up to the High Council chambers, he was travelling alone, accompanied only by whispers of suspicion, fear, guilt and anxiety carried to him by the Force.
His heart pounded. Not because of an upcoming fight; there wasn't going to be one. But because of what he had to do.
He arrived at the doors – the doors to the same room in which, thirteen years earlier, he had been rejected.
It was ironic, really.
Here everything had been started. Here, everything would end.
The simple yet ornate doors slid open, untouched by human or alien hand.
All of the Council Masters except those who were unable to attend even by holo due to Order 66, were there. Few were missing. Obi-Wan was among those, but even so his heart knew that his old master was still alive and well, somehow.
A wave of strong emotions flowed over and though him, the susurration of whispers both heard and unheard.
Slowly, he reached into his pouch and removed Sidious' lightsaber. He switched it on.
The blade bathed the room in its deadly red glow, silencing all occupants. If it hadn't been for one decision, lives chosen and rejected, they would all be dead by now.
In an angry gesture he switched the thing off and threw it at one of the empty places. Yoda's, maybe. Yoda, who should have been able to see it all and had never trusted him.
"Darth Sidious, former master of Darth Vader, is now dead." Shock and surprise resonated about the room. Sidious was dead. Good news. But no one had heard of Vader before. If all had gone according to Sidious' plans, they would never have even heard his name before their last breaths.
It hit him as he stood there before the Masters, remembering Padmé, the children, everything, that Vader should never have been born at all.
Master. . . help me!
His hands reached up, clutching at hood-hidden hair. His eyes closed tight, he tore the hood from his head in one motion.
"And Anakin –" his throat constricted slightly. "Anakin Skywalker wants his old Master back."
He fell limply to his knees, ignoring the surging maelstrom of emotions now hitting him on every side.
"Please."
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To Be Continued.