Chapter Ten
Briari's face was pinched into one of obvious worry as she stood in the doorway to Padme's room. Padme, for her part, was hunched over the bed, packing the last of her two bags. She leaned forward on the lid of her second bag—having not yet acquired a wardrobe anywhere near her previous one—putting all her strength into getting it to snap shut. A lock of her red hair fell into her peripheral vision. It was funny to think that just several weeks ago, she would still jump at the sight of the stranger in the mirror. Now, the body of Triana Sarbarn almost seemed as familiar as her old one. Almost.
Padme glanced up, seeing Briari looking as if she might curl in on herself with her concern. She flashed her a smile.
"I'll be fine, Briari. I will," she said.
The case finally shut with a satisfying snap, and Padme righted her body. Briari seemed rooted to the spot in the door, one hand gripping the threshold as if she might brace herself in between her sister and the rest of the world. Padme rounded the bed and stopped just before the blonde, gently laying a hand on both shoulders.
"I can take care of myself."
It was something that old Padme would have said to any number of her old friends, colleagues, and family. They would have nodded, solemnly knowing that the young girl who grew up to be queen and senator of Naboo was ultimately right. In most situations, Padme could more than handle herself. But now, as Triana, the sentiment made Briari snort out a laugh. Padme arched a brow, and the amusement quickly faded from the other woman's face.
"I'm sorry. It's just… you were never good at taking care of yourself. You know… before. I know that you're different now. I've seen the proof of it, what with the success you've had in your job. You hardly ever go out anymore either. And, while that's both worried me and made me very happy… This is different. This… assignment is a whole different scenario."
Padme retracted her hands, folding them in front of herself. Briari, one of the few living links she had to the world after the end of the Clone Wars.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
Briari blew out a sigh. "Lord Vader… He's… He's not… I scarcely want to say anything, honestly, for fear of who might hear. But… he's not normal."
It hurt, to hear someone describe her Ani as "not normal." But she understood where Briari was coming from. Given that she was supposed to have been in a coma before Vader's rise to power—and that she wanted to get as much information as Briari might have on Vader from a more average person point of view—she shrugged.
"He can use the Force, like the Jedi could. I know that much. I do comb over the HoloNet for a living."
Briari shook her head. "No, Triana. No. He's… he's dangerous. He's not governed by the rules that the Jedi were. He's violent. He's dark. Honestly, dangerous isn't a word big enough for what he is. He's death incarnate, Tria. And the Emperor is sending you away to be his vassal."
Death incarnate. That was a new description for the terrifying Vader that Padme had yet to learn. From what she had learned, though, it fit. The Force had a greater plan for her, however, which left Padme with only one thing she could do right this moment. She reached out and enveloped Briari in a warm, tight hug.
"I'll be careful. I swear it," she said.
Briari returned the hug with the tightest grip she could muster. With that, Padme gathered up her cases and went to the designated landing platform to meet Vader. She understood that Briari did not want to see her off there.
On the platform was Vader, overseeing the loading of supplies, as well as some sort of servant. He was robed in deep purple, and he stood as if he was expecting Vader to bodily slap him at any point. He grinned, and it was a terrible sight—what Padme imagined a rat would look like if it smiled. She had no idea what his rank could be, or what his purpose was, but she approached both Vader and this man without fear.
Vader looked briefly away from the pair of stormtroopers and two red-clad Imperial Guards that seemed to be finishing up to put his attention on her. Padme felt as if a weight had been set upon her shoulders. She stood up straight and looked right into the imposing black orbs on his mask.
"You're on time," he breathed, his voice resonating with that unnatural deepness.
She nodded. "As ordered, milord."
Inwardly, she cringed at being so formal with her husband. But, given the givens… Vader turned from her, gesturing to the old man that stood stooped by his side.
"This is Vanee, my personal attendant. He will oversee most things at Dark Monolith."
Padme arched a brow. "Dark Monolith, Lord Vader?"
There was a pause, in which only Vader's breathing and the general bustle of Coruscant filled the air.
"The name of my castle on Mustafar," he answered.
"Ah. I understand, Lord Vader."
Oh, how she longed to call him by his true name. Before that feeling could deepen, a stormtrooper rushed over, announcing that the supplies had been loaded onto the ship. Padme glanced up at the vessel. It was large, but not as large as a cargo carrier. It was Imperial in design, but overall very nondescript. This was not the style of ship her Anakin would have chosen, but one that someone who was trying to stay fairly unnoticed would. If Padme had to guess, Vader was taking this vessel so only the select few he wished to would know that he was going to Mustafar.
Vader dismissed the stormtrooper, turning to Vanee.
"Take Sarbarn to her quarters on the ship," he ordered.
Vanee bowed deeply, answering with a simple "yes, milord" before Vader swept by him. Vanee straightened—or, at least as much as he could—and reached for one of Padme's bags. She grabbed the other, and he gestured that she follow him.
"And… where will Lord Vader be during our flight?" she tried to inquire as casually as possible.
Perhaps her nervousness was misread as fear, since Vanee grinned at the question. They climbed the gangplank, and Vanee turned left, gesturing to a small archway set diagonally from where they entered. There was a small communal area, one more room set on the opposite side from the gangplank, and then the door to the cockpit. Beyond the communal area, there was another archway, this one seemingly leading to a storage area. The stormtroopers and Imperial guards were standing in the communal area, and Vader was nowhere to be seen.
"Lord Vader will be the one piloting the vessel. Now, if you will please secure yourself inside your room for the take-off. Lord Vader recognizes that the Emperor would not want someone instrumental to his plans injured before said plans could be implemented," Vanee answered.
He was flying. Of course, he was flying. Padme fought the smile coming to her lips. Anakin had loved to fly, and it brought her great joy to know that he still enjoyed such pleasures. She thanked Vanee and entered the small room. It had no space for sleeping, but she knew from experience that Mustafar was not so far from Coruscant as to warrant that. A table was bolted to the far wall, as well as a cushioned chair. A rack on the wall to the right of the door provided just enough space for her cases, and she securely fastened them in before following with herself in the chair. The door to her room slid shut, and she heard the distant engines flare to life. Before long, they were in Hyperspace, and Padme was left alone with nothing but her cases and her thoughts. She felt no urge to socialize with the troopers, guards, or really anyone else but Anakin.
Though, truth be told, she wasn't yet ready to speak to Anakin either. There were still things she needed to figure out, things she needed to fix. Problem number one, the inability to mention her true name or anything specifically dealing with her past life. How was she ever going to remind Anakin of the good he still had within him if she couldn't remind him of the good things of his past? After all, from what Padme could see, his present was filled with joys that were few and far between.
"I'm Pa—"
Her own name caught in her throat, refusing to finish. She was alone, and yet she still could not speak the truth. She sighed. There had to be a loophole. From what she remembered of Qui-Gon's reputation, he was known especially for finding loopholes. If he was her otherworldly sponsor in this venture, then there had to be one. She lost herself in her thoughts, tapping her fingers on the arms of her chair. She tried several sentences, all getting cut off at the important details.
She could hear movement outside her quarters after a while, and she realized that they must have been in Hyperspace for at least an hour now. She groaned. She knew they still had a couple of standard hours left in space before they would arrive. She had yet to make any progress.
"I wore lace at ou—"
She growled as the words died before they could even reach her lips. Her brow furrowed. Loophole. The word swirled through her head. Loophole, loophole, loophole. Then, it hit her.
"I wore lace at my wedding."
A complete sentence. She marveled at the feel of it, the truth she had conveyed. She tried again.
"I am from N—" she paused, rethinking after the forced stop. "I have been to Naboo."
A grin broke out across her face, and she could almost squeal at the joy she felt. If she kept the details impersonal… that was it. That was her loophole. Well, politicians were skilled at vague, yet informational words. This was it. This was the key to getting closer to Anakin, to letting him know the truth.
A slight jarring, just barely perceivable, alerted her to the fact that they were now leaving Hyperspace. Another several minutes passed, and she felt the ship make its landing. She unbuckled herself, opening the door to find Vanee standing, waiting, on the other side.
"Lord Vader commands me to escort you into Dark Monolith, to show you your quarters within. The stormtroopers will bring your cases in due time. Please, follow."
She nodded, her ears catching the sound of Vader's familiar, regulated breathing. She glanced beyond Vanee to see him exiting the ship. Vanee turned, and both he and Padme followed after.
The moment her feet hit the landing platform, she froze. The metal was warm, despite being built to be personable even though it was suspended above lava. She could still feel the heat through the soles of her shoes, and it surrounded her. Beads of sweat formed on her brow, and a cold sweat formed on the back of her neck. Images flooded her. She could hear herself—her old self—begging. She could feel the press of invisible hands on her windpipe. She could almost feel the tears in her eyes as she continued to beg, to try and profess her love. And then, clear as day, she could see him—her Ani. His hand outstretched, never touching her, but strangling her all the same. She could see the yellowed eyes, the anger, and the hate. She could see the sting of the perceived betrayal. But… why? Why had Anakin thought she had betrayed him? She struggled, trying to dig beyond these images, to access the rest of the horrific memory.
The memories vanished as her knees struck the metal of the platform. Back in the present, she gasped, finding herself staring at platform beneath her. She was held up from it on shaking hands and knees. Her breath was coming in huffs and sweat was pouring down her face. In the next moment, once her breathing was just a tad more controlled, she realized that someone was staring at her.
She looked up, seeing not only Vanee, but Vader staring down at her. She blinked, launching herself to her feet. She was relieved to find herself relatively stable. Vanee scoffed, shaking his head like a disapproving teacher.
"Lord Vader deserves an honorable procession. Not some clumsy bantha tripping and falling over herself," he snipped.
Padme's face screwed up in anger. "Perhaps if I wasn't expected to wear such ridiculous skirts in such insane environs, I would not have been overcome by the heat, you simple-minded sycophant."
The words were out of her mouth before she could even think. Her eyes widened, landing on Vader. This man before her—not her Ani—was known for violence. For disciplining subordinates with strangulation and lightsaber slashes. The Sith Lord eyed her through the emotionless globes of his mask. Then, he turned away.
"Keep up, Sarbarn, or you will be left," he said, continuing into the looming obsidian castle called Dark Monolith.
"Yes, my lord. My apologies," she muttered, losing no time in catching up.
The less time she spent out amongst the environment of this planet, the better.