"I'm bringing you a gift, Master," she murmured, a Force tendril out to ensure Skywalker was still asleep. "He is ripe for the Turning, but you alone have the skill."
"On what pretext do you bring him?" Her Master's ochre eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Threnody smiled.
"Oh, he thinks he's coming to kill you. Don't worry, his skills are no match for yours. He is as arrogant as his father."
Teeth as yellow as his eyes showed in a slash of a grin. "I'm not worried, child."
She wasn't expecting it, but she wasn't surprised, either, when her Master's red saber slashed across her in a painful wound to cause Skywalker's fury and fear to heighten. It was her actions that were both unexpected and surprising – to her Master, at least. For her, at a crucial moment, to slam into his arm, knocking aside his parry and leaving him open to Skywalker's thrust, was unthinkable. For one of his agents to betray him was inconceivable. She wasn't Vader, she wasn't Sith – she should be loyal to the end.
But Threnody wasn't loyal at all. With both hands removed, the Emperor was in shock, unable to either wield a saber or project lightning. Threnody pressed on his shoulders, forcing him to his knees in front of her, before Luke. "All hail the new Emperor and Empress, Master," she hissed venomously, before looking up with flaming yellow eyes. "Kill him, Luke, for all he's done to us, kill him!"
The young man stood over his defeated enemy, held in place by his lover, coldly looking down. Calling the fallen red saber to his flesh-and-blood left hand, he position the two lightsabers like scissors, ready to snip off the Sith Lord's life thread. Golden eyes widened in horror and dark recognition as from over the ancient head a voice crooned. "Yes, good, Skywalker, kill him. Kill him now..."
He didn't even have time to speak.
As they stood over the body of their fallen enemy, she leaned forward and kissed Luke – slowly, passionately. She pulled back to stare up at him coyly, murmuring suggestively. "Name yourself Emperor, Luke. Bring this conflict to a resolution. Marry me, name me your wife and consort. Hold the power that is yours by birthright, together, we will rule, for the galaxy lies in the palm of your hand."
He looked down at her, not a hint of the former blue of his eyes left among the yellow. Deactivating the sabers, he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers again, whispering against them. "Yes."
Alliance High Command was badly shaken at Commander Skywalker's desertion, even more so at his subsequent declaration of himself as Emperor. However, they celebrated the public execution of Darth Vader and the majority of the former Imperial Ruling Council. They were still celebrating when the Star Dreadnoughts dropped out of hyperspace right on them and blasted them into oblivion.
Emperor Skywalker stood gazing out upon his city-planet. His wife, he knew, was at her former Master's tomb, mocking paying respects. A mirthless smile curled his lips. He well knew the blood running through her veins – it was unmistakable, that Force presence that she no longer hid – she deemed herself his equal, but how wrong she was. Skywalker blood was and always would be strongest, and while at least his child's power wouldn't be diluted by the weakness of a non-sensitive, as his had been, the puny woman came nowhere near his own power. Her father… yes, he had close to Skywalker-level power, but Threnody's alien mother, while no doubt sensitive (he doubted her father would bother to keep alive the child of a non-sensitive mother) had nowhere near the raw energy at his own fingertips.
The Emperor held his left hand up before his face, watching the blue sparks spitting and dancing there. His cold smile grew as he envisioned the child that his consort, all unwittingly, even now grew inside herself. Yes, the Skywalker dynasty would continue, paired with, lacking as they were, the other most powerful Force-sensitive bloodline to be found.
The dried dead flowers rustled in the grim breeze dusting dryly over the cold marble tombstone. Threnody smiled cruelly down at the slab, murmuring conversationally to it. "You taught me too well, Master. Surely you knew that though I could never be your equal, I would seek to supplant you. It is your heritage. If I could not do it myself – as you ensured before you allowed me to live – I would fashion a tool to do it for me. A tool to which you sent me." Her smirk widened. "Some would call that justice, Master. They say the Force has a sense of humor. But then, you always discounted those weaker than yourself, didn't you? And I certainly always was. But between my knowledge of your lessons, and the powerful instrument you sent me to wield, your defeat was inevitable."
She stood, placing another bouquet of dead flowers in the appropriate slot. "All hail the Emperor of dust and decay. So many you sent to death, Master. How does it feel?" The Empress Consort stood, studying the tomb of her former Master another moment before smiling contemptuously and turning away in dismissal, picking her way through the somber stones and exiting.
Well, this is it. Only an epilogue left to go and this whole morbid dreadful thing will be all wrapped up. But at least I can say I've written Dark!Luke. I'll probably post the epilogue tomorrow, it's already written but I can't finish it entirely in one day, can I?
