Hello there, here comes the next chapter! I'm going to save all the spoilery rambling I have to do until the end, because half of the fun of deciphering the characters comes from doing it yourself. Enjoy.

Do I own this? (all together now) No I don't!

Chapter One – Awake

Channel 2156. "Breaking news just in - Emperor Skywalker today delivered a revolutionary speech to-"

Channel 2157. "Join us again for another round of celebrity gossip, games and-"

Channel 2158. "On Galaxy News tonight: the Emperor has spoken after another successful campaign, his wife Padmé Skywalker still conspicuously absent-"

Channel 2159– "My lady?"

Blinking, I raised my head, dropping the control to the vid-screen on which I had been channel-hopping. My neck stiff from being in one position for so long, I turned sluggishly to face the direction the enquiry had emanated from. It was Dormé – officially my handmaiden, unofficially my only friend in this hostile new galaxy – standing patiently in the centre of the large room.

"Do you want any food, or…" she paused, hesitant, "I'm sorry Padmé – you look so bored."

I almost laughed, wondering how I wasn't supposed to be bored to tears: the suite on Vader's ship I called 'home' looked depressingly featureless and familiar, although it was more of an elaborate prison cell than a home – I had been confined to my quarters by Vader in the interests of my 'safety' for the last two years. Instead I arranged my face into a rough imitation of a smile; it looked like a grimace, "The monotony is killing me."

Dormé shrugged, "There are worse ways to go."

I tilted my head inquisitively – the realization struck me that everyone seemed so much more accustomed to death now, after the war. Dormé had, as my protector, seen her fair share of danger and death, but over the course of the last few years she had hardened. Maybe that same transformation had happened to me, but I hadn't realized. It wasn't surprising – war does that to people, turns them into unfeeling creatures.

The war: officially, it had been declared finished nearly two years ago; officially, diplomacy, peace, had resumed. But from the keyhole-glimpses I had snatched of the galaxy, we were still at war – opponents may have swapped roles, but ultimately this war was about as finished as my husband was redeemable.

My husband: Darth Vader. I had long since given up hope of him realising his wrongs, changing his ways. My head had, after a bitter struggle, accepted that Anakin Skywalker was permenantly lost; my heart, however, stubbornly refused to believe anything it saw anymore. This was part of the reason why I had not attempted an escape from my glorified prison yet – the lonely spark in my cold and shattered heart still bound me tightly to the man bearing my love's face. The other half of the reason was that trying to escape without help would be suicide – I'm not stupid.

Dormé broke into my reverie, "Are you sure you're alright, my lady?"

I nodded in reply, too lost in my thoughts to speak – a dangerous place to be. "Very well, I'll leave you in peace," she murmured, turning to leave, "I'll just check on the twins."

The mention of Luke and Leia was like an electric shock to my lethargic brain, jolting me upright, "No!"

Dormé whipped around, immediately on guard as I lurched drunkenly to my feet, "No, I'll check on them – I need something to do." My companion raised an eyebrow as I staggered past, my head spinning from getting up too fast. Thankfully she decided to humour me, and left me alone.

Luke and Leia slept peacefully in the room adjacent to mine, for once not making any noise at all. If I had been in a more sentimental mood, I would have said it still felt like only yesterday the twins were born. The reality, however, was that time had dragged – the children were only now approaching their second birthdays; I was glad they were not yet old enough to realise the full scale of the world they lived in, or the parts they had yet to play.

My breathing slowed to match that of the sleeping twins as I watched them, their small faces illuminated by the soft yellow glow of the lamp in the room. The windows on the far wall looked out on black, starry space, offering no appeal – no planets or notable stars to tell me where I was, or where I was headed. The uneasy feeling in my stomach reminded me that I still wasn't used to just being a passenger on a ship, not having any control or information.

Looking around the small room, I sighed – I had tried to disguise the tasteless lack of individuality in the spaceship's interior here, for the twins, but it hadn't really worked – it was like trying to jazz up a warehouse with tinsel. The room still had an unmistakeable cold feeling, a mark of my husband.

With another sigh, I kissed each of my children on their smooth, unblemished foreheads, stared at them until it felt like the impression of their faces was burned into my mind, then switched off the lamp and left the room.

It was the 'night' shift of the daily cycle on board Vader's flagship, the Executor, and there was comparative silence – save the engines, which never slept. Dormé had disappeared into her room, her familiar clattering quieted for the night. My chrono read 0030 hours, standard time – in response, I yawned widely.

Despite having just been crashed out on the sofa, I fell back there again, staring at the delicate chrono on my wrist as if I could make time past faster just by staring at it. For this was the ultimate paradox of my existence: I spent half of my day wishing time would go faster, and the rest lamenting on how I've wasted two years of my children's lives, with nothing to show for it.

I moved around, restless, and closed my eyes in a futile hope that sleep would come – but I couldn't relax. It was late, and in my exhausted state, suppressed memories came to the forefront of my mind to taunt me: Mustafar, that awful planet where – no, I couldn't think about that; the wild, blinding confusion of the twins' birth, somehow finding the will to hold on; seeing the heart-breaking change in my husband for definite, hearing for the first time the terrible declaration: Empire; the embarrassing and overblown formal wedding ceremony, Vader completing his transformation to a power-hungry dictator; finally, the long time spend isolated from the galaxy on Vader's ship, quite literally a prisoner in my own home.

My heart sank even lower in my chest, and I had to forcibly remind myself why I was still here: the twins. If I was so selfish to do away with myself, no one would be left to protect Luke and Leia from Vader's dark and corruptive influence – all my past friends and allies were either dead or suppressed, forced into hiding by Vader's dramatic shows of force. No one would be left to care for them, guide them into instigating peace and change into the galaxy of the future. If I wasn't here, Vader would surely seek to turn his children into smaller versions of himself – something I wouldn't stand for, no matter what.

Among the shattered remnants of my life that remain, Luke and Leia are the only things that remain vaguely solid, the only things I can cling to that won't crumble beneath my hands. It is this, more than anything, which gives me the strength to stand, to guard their lives with my own – if it came to it.

As I wallowed, I felt something solid brush the back of my hand – startled, I opened my eyes, only to relax again as I realised what it was. The pendant I wore constantly had come to rest on my hand – the talisman I had received as gift, all those years ago, from a young, newly freed slave boy from Tatooine: Anakin Skywalker. He had been so bold, so eager to prove himself even when he was nine, I remembered, but he had been so kind, so selfless. Unconsciously, I fingered the small square of carved wood, bringing it close to my chest as if it could protect me.

In its own way, my pendant was a talisman – all of my good memories were associated with it, and by wearing it now, in this time of darkness, I could keep a reminder of the lighter times close. Vader had noticed that I still wore it – I suppose he would think it meant I still loved him, but he couldn't be more wrong. I wear the pendant to remember my real husband, Anakin Skywalker, who died that day on Mustafar – I despise the monster who took his body, and everything that Vader stands for. These are the black and white beliefs I hold – if only things were so simple in reality.

Across the room a mirror caught my reflection, and I had to stare at it before I recognised myself. I was pale, and shadows hung under my eyes like bruises, highlighting how dull and flat my eyes looked. I now permanently wore the impassive mask I had developed whilst being a Senator (another part of my former life that I was now robbed of) that hid any emotion from view of the outside world.

I wore a loose shirt and trousers – since my day's activities were limited to my small apartment I had no need for formal clothes anymore.

It was while I was reminiscing that I felt a dark shadow growing at the corner of my mind, like a malignant cloud passing over the sun. It was peculiar, but I had grown to realise that feelings like these signified a dark presence, namely Darth Vader. I hadn't spoken of this strange talent to anyone since it had very gradually manifested itself, during my pregnancy – I preferred to keep my own secrets these days. I had no idea why I could feel people's presences, but was sure it would come in useful someday.

Now, it gave me the warning I needed to compose myself, before Vader swept through the doorway. There was no other way to describe it – he had a lithe, fluid grace about his movements, though the ruthless determination in his stride hadn't been there before.

I didn't respond as he entered, something I purposefully did because I knew it infuriated him. Smirking internally, I stared resolutely towards the vid-screen – I hadn't even realised I had turned it back on – watching the "news" – or rather, the propaganda-controlled news that told the citizens of the Empire only what Vader wanted them to hear. On the screen, a woman with a plastic smile was telling the galaxy how Vader had heroically crushed another pocket of rebellion – I looked away from the footage with sorrow, lamenting yet more unnecessary deaths.

"Aren't you even going to look at me now?" said Anakin's voice – as if the sound were a magnet I turned, against my will, and looked. Darth Vader was dressed entirely in black, the cloak and robes he wore making him seem even taller than he was. His hair was still the same – dark brown, curling at the ends, effortlessly swept off his face – but his face had changed. The pure azure of Anakin's eyes was gone, hardened into ice-like chips that seemed as sharp as knives. When he was consumed by his anger, his eyes changed colour, seared through with red and yellow – like the lava out of which Vader was born – a distinctive mark of the Sith.

But there was no trace of red in his eyes now – indeed, he looked smug as I answered his question, "Not if you insist on keeping me locked up here like a prisoner."

Before I knew it, Vader was beside me, one of his black-gloved hands wrapped around mine, "Don't you realise that I'm doing this to keep you safe?" His voice was soft and low, painfully persuasive, "I won't lose you again, Padmé."

I shifted uncomfortably, trying and failing to extract my hand from Vader's iron grip, "Your wish is my command, Emperor Skywalker." I spat, using Vader's official title. This didn't seem to put him off, however – maybe because he knew he had already won.

"Oh my angel, why do you hate me so?" This was the worst part – Vader still had a horrifying ability to melt whatever steel I made to barricade myself into my mind, just with words. As a Sith, it seemed he had learnt to be charismatic when he wanted.

"I never loved you, monster, and you never loved me." I raised my chin, looking squarely back into Vader's face. My voice sounded strangely small and uncertain, but it was the truth I spoke – from that day 2 years ago on Mustafar, my 'husband' had never loved me, only been possessive, like I was a pretty trinket.

Vader had a short temper, and it seemed I had got to the end of it – he threw my wrist away from him and stomped to the other side of the room, his back to me. His voice was hard and forced, "We've been through this before, I am still your husband, and you will respect me."

"Respect," I mocked, intoxicated with a dizzying mix of love and hatred, "I will respect you when you give me back my freedom." I felt only a twinge of guilt at throwing insults at Vader – whatever he believed, he was a different man now, the man who had ruined my life.

His fists clenched at his sides with suppressed anger at my disobedience, Vader changed the subject, "I came to see you with news of an old friend."

Really, I thought sarcastically, I thought you had them all killed?

Vader ignored my mental jibe, which had doubtless picked up through the Force, "Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore is being moved onto the ship."

"Really?" I turned my head – Satine was an old ally and friend, "What did she do to deserve your attention?"

"She was the leader of an attempted rebellion on Mandalore, and is being transported to Coruscant for public termination." My old self would have been horrified at this news, would have made a stand, but I had seen too much death to feel anything at all now.

I shook my head to myself – another appeal for democracy had been viciously subdued, its leader publicly humiliated as an 'example to others', "And why are you telling me this?"

There was an evil glint in Vader's eye, "The Duchess is an inspiring and potentially useful leader – I would hate to see her terminated. I thought you could convince her to help the Empire, her co-operation in exchange for her life."

Once again, I raised my chin, "And if I refuse to do as you say?"

"You won't." Vader's look of steel would have been terrifying, if I hadn't been so numb and exhausted.

I said nothing, and heard Vader striding back towards the door, guarded outside by two stormtroopers, "I will arrange for you to meet with the Duchess tomorrow morning. Goodnight." With that cold farewell Vader left, off to whatever he did in the depths of night. I had made a stand that I should have my own private room, and at times like these was grateful that I could have my own space.

As I staggered into my bedroom and got into bed, I shuddered, remembering the time, early on, when I had been forced to share a bed with Vader. Now, I only ever saw him when he came to 'tell me something' like just now – this was a curse as much as a blessing, for there was nothing to stave off the boredom.

But at least tomorrow would herald a temporary break from the monotony – I would have the chance to relive more memories from my old life, in the form of Satine. What must she think of me, now? However reluctantly, I was still the wife of the Emperor, and will be expected to convert her to the Empire – I wouldn't blame her or even be surprised if she hated me.

Nevertheless, if she realises that we are the same, both keen supporters of a rebellion that would see peace and justice return to the galaxy, then perhaps I could regain an old friend yet.

I drifted off into an uneasy sleep, with my wishes of democracy filling my dreams.

So, there you go – I thought I would leave an expectant ending, as Satine is a great character (this of course has nothing to do with the fact that we share a common love for a certain Obi-Wan...) and I would like to devote a whole chapter to looking at her character.

Speaking of which: As you no doubt will have already noticed, in this fic I have tried to explore the two characters of Padmé and Vader differently from how I usually do.

Since this story is from Padmé's viewpoint, expect a lot of her judgements, particularly of Vader, to be twisted to what her hatred wants her to see, as a result of her restricted freedom and emotional torture at Vader's betrayal of everything she valued. Vader meanwhile, believed what he is doing is actually right, and is less blood-thirsty than Original trilogy Vader although he's still a Sith, ruthless, rash, narrow-minded, possessive... I took inspiration from the dreaded "you're going down a path I can't follow" scene from ROTS and made Vader very volatile – one minute he could be stroking Padmé's hair, the next strangling her – and surprisingly adept at persuasion.

Oh, one last thing (if you're not already bored out of your mind): I can't decide whether Vader would have kept the name given to him by Sidious, and be known to the galaxy at large as Emperor Vader, or whether he would have used his Skywalker surname and be known as Emperor Skywalker (as very few people will have known that he was really a Sith, and he still has Anakin's face). Padmé, always keen to defy convention, calls her husband 'Vader' to make a clear distinction between Anakin and Vader.

Hmm, I wonder if I'm thinking about this too deeply...