Astral learns that being a bride the second time around is very different than the first. She's not walking into a bridal boutique with her mother and her close girlfriends to spend hours debating gowns. This time, Astral walks in alone and has to clarify that she's not the mother of the bride. She's here for her own wedding dress and, yes, it's a second marriage so no white please. Astral wants something age appropriate and simple. Nothing costumey either. She wants to look like the bridal version of her regular self. It proves to be a much harder task than she imagined. There's considerably less anticipation and giggles, and a lot fewer options to choose from, twenty years later.
Where is the ceremony? On a beach? In a church? At an event space? Maybe a private home? Astral doesn't know. Probably on Lord Vader's star destroyer or at his castle, she figures. But neither are acceptable answers, so she fibs and claims it's a very private ceremony in a secluded location. Just you, the witnesses, and the judge or minister? Again, Astral improvises with vague white lies. She doesn't even have an exact wedding date. 'As soon as practicable' was what she and Lord Vader had agreed upon. And who knows what that means with his schedule? He's fighting a war and chasing his son, after all.
Strangely enough, the ad hoc approach is fine by her. Her younger self had obsessed over all the minor wedding details, but now Astral is content to let all that slide. She wants a dress and some flowers, and that's it. The rest doesn't matter. For she learned from last time how completely meaningless all the pomp and circumstance were to her long-term happiness. What really matters is who you are marrying. Whether they have the same expectations and commitment that you do. And luck. Every marriage needs a little luck. Lord Vader would say there's no such thing as luck, but Astral disagrees. Call it the Force, call it karma, call it God, call it whatever. But every relationship needs a little grace bestowed upon it now and then.
Astral settles on a very plain dress in a supple fabric. The wide neckline perches on the edges of her shoulders to show a little skin but the tight sleeves hug her arms for an elegant line. The dress falls to the floor with an attached watteau train to lend it gravitas. Something about officially becoming Lady Vader makes Astral feel like she needs a cape. The dress is a dove grey with a subtle, silvery sheen. There is nothing flashy—no bling or ornament—to upstage the woman wearing it. After a critical look in the mirror with the saleslady hovering, Astral's one concession to relieve the outfit's chic austerity is a crystal hair ornament. Her hair has grown back long enough to pull up into a tousled chignon.
"You look like an Empress," the saleslady gushes. And yes, that's the point. Astral could someday fill that role if all goes well. And if not? Well, she is content to keep the status quo. Astral is mostly concerned that Lord Vader and her are safe, happy, and together through whatever the future brings. That's the legacy of Alderaan showing, she knows. For once your entire life is blasted to cosmic dust out of the blue, you learn to let go of the need to control little things and to plan too much. Great loss is an emotional upheaval that brings a new perspective. You pare down the list of people and things you care about, and you let go of the rest.
As she exits the bridal shop, Astral catches her surveillance man following her. That she's marrying Lord Vader won't stay a secret for long, she suspects. She's not telling people, of course, and neither is he. But the groom is far too public a figure for his crew and his subordinates not to begin to notice her existence over time. She's not sure how they will handle that problem, actually.
In fact, she and Lord Vader haven't spent any time talking about how their lives will change with this marriage. That's mostly because the future is so unsettled. Luke Skywalker is the wildcard that could change everything. For they both know that Lord Vader's future is inextricably linked to his son's fate. The choices the two men make and the consequences that flow from those decisions will determine many things. But in the meantime, until that boy is found, Astral is hoping that life will stay as is except there will be a formal commitment between her and Lord Vader. So while nothing is really changing, everything is changing. And in the long run, her life could be radically different. It's too soon to tell just yet.
And perhaps all that uncertainty makes this a foolish time to embark on marriage. Maybe they should be waiting until there are fewer unknowns. But they're not kids waiting until they finish school. They are mature adults who know better than most how fleeting happiness is. And that makes Astral want to grab it and hold tight. To seize the day and plan to weather whatever storms lie ahead. That attitude is yet again the legacy of Alderaan showing. For Astral knows in a very real way that tomorrow is not promised to anyone. Least of all to the Sith Apprentice who plots to subvert his Emperor Master and to hide away his adult enemy son.
So much of this secret wedding is unorthodox and impromptu that Astral can't help but wonder why they are even doing it. She's doing it for Lord Vader mostly. He seems to want more certainty that they are committed to one another. However their current relationship can be described, it's clearly not enough for him. Astral knows what he wants, of course. He wants love. He dances around it a lot, but he never goes there directly. Even the night of their engagement, there was talk of commitment and trust, words of endearment and hope for the future, but no mention of love. Neither of them wanted to go there, Astral suspects. Probably because she's too scared to offer love and be let down, and he's too scared to offer love and be rejected. So they both took refuge in euphemisms as a proxy for those magic three words.
That's enough for her, but is it enough for him? She wonders. He's so needy. It took Astral awhile to realize just how desperate for love Lord Vader truly is. He hides it well with his fearsome demeanor that rejects everyone at the outset before they can reject him. But it all makes perfect sense. This is a man who never got the mother's love he wanted and who lost the wife he needed far too soon. The many long years of physical isolation in his suit and mask have only compounded his loneliness. And that's not counting the effect of his high rank and his Force, which combine to make him especially intimidating to others. Quite frankly, Darth Vader has no peers other than the Master he loathes. And that means he has spent far too much time alone with his own thoughts. Mulling over his regrets and frustrations, working himself into a deeper and Darker depression without anyone to help him cope.
And so, Astral can't help but worry: is she a fool to be marrying this man?
Is Lady Sidious right, and she should be running fast the opposite direction?
Maybe so, but it's too late for that. Astral is smitten. Because thanks to the combined calamities of the Death Star and his Master's cruel punishment, Astral became Lord Vader's caregiver and then his friend. She next progressed to confidante, then to lover, and now to wife. All in record time.
How exactly did this happen? It's because Astral sees sides to Darth Vader that no one else does. For he reverts to his gruff, brusque, and ruthless persona with all but his closest helpers. It's one part defense mechanism and one part deliberate public image. It's a stance crafted long ago by his Master's desire for a bad cop counterpart to his good cop role. And also by Lord Vader's own insecurities about his daunting infirmities. It's very effective posturing. No one questions the man's power and fitness—they are too busy being terrified of him.
But Astral knows the truth. The powerless, scorned slave boy grew up to crave power and position, even when he was still working within the Jedi tradition. It's no accident that he eventually flipped Sith and ran wild with galactic ambitions. But he can't quite succeed at being truly power mad like his Master. The former Anakin Skywalker is just too altruistic at his core. Therein lies his conflict. He's simply not selfish enough to be fully Dark, even if he is too selfish to be a Light Side Jedi. He needed people too much for the Jedi Order. Wanted to be admired and adored as well. Even now, decades later, Darth Vader still wants to be the hero. Astral loves that about him, actually.
But Lady Sidious is right—Lord Vader is a bit of a mess. Who knew so powerful a man could be so insecure? Who knew a man so fierce could be so vulnerable? It all comes out in moments like that night she got marched out of the restaurant at gunpoint. That was aggressive, possessive, jealous Darth Vader handling things the way he usually handles them—by flexing his muscles. He's not a man with much subtlety—mainly, she suspects, because his role is to play the heavy. After their argument about his stunt was over and Lord Vader's motives were revealed, Astral had been less angry than she had been concerned. He's still so scarred by his first wife's rejection and betrayal, she recognizes. But he handled it all wrong. Upset Darth Vader seems to react first and think later. That worries her for the future, most especially for the inevitable first meeting with Luke Skywalker.
But that's a problem for another day. The issue at hand is marriage. Through Vanee as messenger, Astral and Lord Vader agree to meet at Mustafar Castle. For once, she will get to plan in advance to see him. That means she can request time off work and arrange for all the bridal beauty lead up appointments she desires.
Suddenly, Astral is excited. Anticipation kicks in and she truly feels like a bride. She's anxious for the big day to come and a bit scared as well. It's a good sort of scared. The sort of scared that speaks to the meaning of the commitment she will make, as opposed to outright panic. Yes, Astral was maneuvered into this wedding. But instead of resenting that fact, she is secretly relieved. She needed a nudge to get this far, but in truth she does not regret it. In fact, as time slips by, she finds herself counting down the days until she becomes Missus Darth Vader.
Finally, the wedding is upon her. Astral arrives to the remote castle with Vanee. He reintroduces her to the regular castle staff, most of whom she met a year ago right before she left for Coruscant. Clearly, this time around the staff has been told that she's important. Everyone is especially polite and solicitous whereas before Astral was mostly ignored as irrelevant.
Astral is shown to her old room. It is the room for the mistress of the castle. The one that adjoins Lord Vader's chamber. This time, no one comments that this placement is highly unusual.
Where is Lord Vader? He's in his bacta bath. Knowing her way around, Astral heads next to the medical facilities. She is walking through the double doors where she once kept guard duty when a familiar voice shouts her name happily.
"Astral!"
She grins. "Doctor!" It's Doctor Levy, Darth Vader's personal physician. Unlike the arm's length formality of the castle staff she just met, he rushes up to envelope Astral in an exuberant bear hug. It lifts her off her feet.
When he sets her down, she's laughing. "Look at you—a man in uniform!" She's never seen the baby-faced young doctor wear anything other than baggy medical scrubs. They're usually dirty, too.
"I'm in the Imperial Navy," he admits sheepishly, now straightening his spit-and-polish, sharply tailored officer's uniform. "I rarely wear the outfit. Too much blood and gore in my line of work."
"Well, I like it," Astral approves. "It makes you look important. And older. Like a real doctor," she teases.
Like longtime friends who instantly resume where things left off even after a long separation, Astral and Doctor Levy now carry on their easy rapport from those long, hard days of Lord Vader's recuperation. "Come to see the boss?" he asks.
She nods. "Vanee says he is in the tank."
"He should be done soon. You know how much he hates the sticky stuff. Come on," Dr. Levy beckons her forward towards the chamber at the end of the hallway where Lord Vader's bacta tank is housed.
Like everything else at the castle, the tank is customized for his specific needs. Inside the murky, bubbling cylinder full of super healing fluid, Lord Vader floats suspended on an internal harness to support his limbless frame. The steam from the tank obscures things a bit, but you can still see the exposed injuries of Lord Vader, including the full extent of his amputations since the prosthetics are removed for the treatment.
"No privacy?" Astral remarks, feeling reflexively protective of her Sith. She doesn't like that his tank is surrounded by red robed Imperial guards. Even though they are facing away, she worries he will be gawked at.
Dr. Levy shrugs. "He's used to it. And he is very vulnerable like this. You never know when some Rebels might show up."
He's right, but Astral still doesn't like it. She says so. "I don't like it."
"I can get you a gun if you would prefer to stand guard yourself," the doctor jokes. "No one will object. You've been known to get your man when it comes to intruders," he alludes to the Imperial Inquisitor Astral shot to death.
She groans. "Don't remind me. It wasn't my proudest moment."
The young doctor puts things in perspective. "You're alive, aren't you?"
"Good point." But anxious to change the topic from those bad memories, Astral invites, "Tell me what's new with you."
The doctor catches her up on what he's been doing and Astral shares updates of her new life on Coruscant. They chat away as the bacta tank hums and splashes and the Imperial guards stand silent and still for sentry duty. No doubt the guards are listening closely. That keeps Astral from sharing the news about her marriage openly. But she suspects that the doctor and everyone else already knows.
"He sure is ripped these days," the doctor observes of Darth Vader as they wait.
It's true. Lord Vader has been swinging his sword a lot in practice lately. It's how he blows off steam. But it's given him quite the muscled physique underneath his suit.
"I knew those heavier prosthetics would bulk him up, but damn . . . he's like a disabled superhero."
Astral stifles a smile. Strange though it might seem to others, she thinks Lord Vader has a very attractive body. What's left of it, that is. And the burn scars really aren't so bad once you get used to them. The worst are on his face, unfortunately.
"He looks good. Great, in fact. This is the healthiest I've seen him." The doctor slants his eyes her direction. "Your doing, I suppose?"
Astral says nothing, but her eyes twinkle.
"He still rages around a lot, but even the crew thinks he's a little happier. They all think it's due to the recent victories over the Rebels, but I know better. It's the Astral effect," Doctor Levy teases under his breath.
Maybe some of Lord Vader's improved humor is her doing, Astral muses, but she mostly credits his lifted spirits to hope-hope for Luke Skywalker. The emergence of Lord Vader's son has given him renewed interest in the future. After the initial shock of the discovery and all the unhappy memories and true fear it dredged up, Darth Vader has come to embrace the idea of his long-lost son. Luke Skywalker gives Lord Vader new reason to soldier on these days. The stakes are higher than ever, but that seems to be a good thing. The man loves a challenge.
A loud whooshing sound alerts them to the bacta tank draining. The shower jets deploy to wash the sticky fluid from Lord Vader's body. "Looks like he's done. Maybe you should do this." Dr. Levy shoots her a conspiratorial grin. "You remember how to attach the prosthetics, right? Arms first."
"Of course." Astral never assisted with the bacta baths during her time at the castle. Vanee and the doctor had handled all the highly personal matters for Lord Vader. But she cleaned those implanted collars plenty when she lived here. And she knows how to help him don his mechanical limbs.
"Good. Then here." Dr. Levy hands her the towel he's holding. "Go be all wifey," he whispers. "Give the old guy some TLC."
"Okay," Astral agrees but mumbles, "He's surrounded by guards. It's not like we're alone."
"All the red dudes face out," the doctor reminds her. "And none of them have the Force to know what you're doing over there without looking. So if you start the honeymoon early and there's a happy ending, they won't know—"
"Doctor!" Astral huffs.
"I'm just saying—from a clinical perspective, sex is good for your health-"
"Get out!" she orders, her face flaming.
He laughs. "That's very Lady Vader of you. Giving commands like that."
"Get out!"
"I'm going . . . I'm going," he laughs, his hands raised in mock surrender.
"Careful, or I'll make sure you get choked," Astral grumbles.
"Nah, I'm more likely to get a promotion if I prescribe him—"
"Out!" she bellows imperiously.
Dr. Levy exits humming 'Here comes the bride' as red faced Astral fumes.
She gingerly steps past a pair of guards and around to the far side of the bacta tank. The shower jets are finished. The upright cylinder slides open. Next, the harness inside lowers automatically to deposit the dripping patient onto a bench that deploys.
"I knew you arrived," Lord Vader tells her as she steps forward. His voice is muffled from the oxygen mask he wears to breath inside the tank. But he must be smiling because his eyes crinkle at the corners and his cheeks lift behind the apparatus.
"Hello, my Lord," Astral smiles back. She immediately reaches to towel off the prosthetic collar on his right arm and then his left arm. She knows how helpless he feels without his artificial limbs, so Astral wants to get them on as soon as possible. The rest of him can wait.
"Did you ditch Levy?"
"It's just us and the guards," she nods. "Ready?" Astral holds up the longer of the two arm prosthetics. It's the replacement for his right arm, the one he lost to Count Dooku. It's also his dominant side and his sword arm. Astral knows to reattach it first. The heavy artificial limb clicks in easily. Then, she turns her attention to the left arm. It slides into place straightaway as well.
"Good?" she asks.
"Good." Lord Vader nabs the towel with his newly attached arms and starts drying off as she reaches for a leg prosthetic. "Are you sure you want to sign up for this job permanently?" he asks offhand, watching her.
"Yep. Hold still while I do this." She repositions his right leg.
"It's not too late to back out."
"Sure, it is," she answers, knowing full well that he's only pretending to talk her out of marriage. It's really her cue to recommit. To reassure. This man can be very insecure at times. So, she responds lightly, "I've already bought the dress, and it was expensive. You have to marry me now."
He lifts the stump of his left leg for her to attach its replacement as well. "Well, if you insist—"
"I insist." She snaps on his remaining limb. "You must make an honest woman of me, my Lord."
Astral now grabs an extra towel to wipe at the moisture beading on his face and head. She starts making her way down from there. Neck . . . shoulders . . . chest. She's careful around the implanted electrical ports where his chest plate connects. They are often sore, she knows. But they need to be fully dried before his chest plate can connect. Short circuits will hurt him.
"You're better at this than Levy," he observes as he ceases his own wiping and submits to her efforts.
Astral teases, "I'm used to seeing you naked."
He grunts. "It's not a pretty sight." Again, he prods, "It's not too late to back out. I'm serious. You don't have to marry me."
Astral ignores him as she keeps patting and wiping off water and the random detritus of congealed sticky bacta fluid. "So how exactly do we get married? How do the Sith marry?"
"A blood oath in the moonlight in a Temple ritual chamber followed by sex on the altar."
Astral is sorry she asked. She drops the towel. "S-Sex where?" she gulps wide eyed.
"It's an ancient custom." Lord Vader is clearly enjoying her flustered reaction, but he immediately concedes, "All that hocus pocus Sheev loves has very little to do with the Force. I want to move past all that."
"Okay. Good." Whew. "So—"
"You're off the hook for consummating things in a cold, dark Temple."
She frowns. "Sounds uncomfortable."
Darth Vader laughs at her prosaic assessment. He so rarely laughs. It makes her giggle a little too loudly in response. With a self-conscious glance towards the guards who surround them and surely overhear, Astral asks softly, "How did you and Padme marry?"
"It was a civil ceremony on Naboo. The Jedi have no marriage traditions."
"Right. That makes sense." She worries now, "Is there a robe or something?" This man is entirely too exposed to march around his castle in underclothes that are currently the male equivalent of a wet t-shirt contest.
"On the hook behind you," he prompts.
"Oh, right." She turns to reach for the garment. It's black, naturally.
"We can't do a civil ceremony," he tells her, reverting back to the topic of marriage. "You and I can't show up at some courthouse and get a marriage license. It would be all over the holonet and you would never be able to continue living anonymously afterwards on Coruscant."
"So where does that leave us?" Astral asks as she helps him put on the robe. "Can the captain of your starship marry us?"
Lord Vader dismisses the idea. "Piett's an idiot. Not him."
"Fine. But I don't want your Master to marry us."
"Hell no," he groans.
"Then who?"
"Why don't we just do it ourselves?" Lord Vader suggests as he stands up and ties the robe over his dripping undershorts. Next, he busies himself detaching the oxygen mask he wears that is connected to the tank equipment. In its place, he puts on the regular oxygen mask he uses around his castle.
"Don't you need some authority figure? A public official or clergy?" she worries.
"I am a public official. I guess I'm technically a Dark priest, too."
"But don't we need witnesses? You know, to make it legal."
"The galaxy is a dictatorship. The only legitimate authority comes from Sheev."
She nods glumly. "I guess you're right."
"We'll do whatever you want," he offers, "but I just figured we would do it ourselves."
"How?"
"We exchange promises."
"Okay." That could be sweet. "When?"
"Today?" he asks hopefully.
Why not? "Sounds good," she agrees.
Lord Vader now slips off his dripping undershorts and dumps them on the pile of wet towels. He's covered by his long, thick robe, but Astral is scandalized. "Are you . . . commando?" she squeaks.
He shrugs. "It's my castle."
"Yes, but there are people around." Lots of people around. "Where's the suit?"
"Down the hall. Come on," he drapes a bare prosthetic arm over her shoulders in full view of the guards as he steers her towards the exit. This is Lord Vader in his own home, metal feet scratching the shiny floor, leaving a trail of water droplets and a pile of dirty laundry behind him. He's relaxed and happy. It's homey and nice.
But wife-like, she worries, "Aren't you cold?"
"This is Mustafar. It's hot, remember?"
He dons the suit and she disappears for an hour to primp and zip into her dress. When she emerges from her room, Lord Vader is waiting with his helmet under his arm. Pretty much the whole household staff—including those red guards from earlier—wait with him. Everyone, it seems, has come to see the bride. As Astral walks out, her slightly wilted, but still pretty little nosegay in hand, they break into spontaneous applause.
Astral blushes to the roots of her hair. She hadn't expected this reception. But she gamely walks forward to accept her groom's outstretched gloved hand.
"You look beautiful," he tells her in front of everyone.
She ducks her chin. "You don't have to say that."
"I know. I want to say it. You look beautiful. You are beautiful. Ready to get married?"
"Yes," she says without hesitation.
"Good. Come." He leads her to the castle entrance and out onto the landing pad. His personal TIE fighter awaits idling. Lord Vader helps her inside and directs her to the gunner's seat. "Strap in."
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
The TIE lifts off and Lord Vader directs her attention to the landing pad below. The household staff has followed them outside. They stand as a group waving and cheering. It makes Astral grin. Darth Vader might be the most hated man in the galaxy, but he has his select group of fans. She's not surprised that the people who know him best are his supporters. They know what she knows—that there is more to Lord Vader than his public persona.
"Where are we going?" she asks again as he navigates the small fighter through the planetary shield gate and jumps to hyperspace.
"We're going to the most beautiful place in the galaxy. What better place to marry a beautiful woman?"
"Does it have a name?"
"The Queluhan Nebula. I used to think the most beautiful place in the galaxy was the moons of Iego until I saw this nebula . . . and until I saw those moons."
"They were a letdown?"
"The Separatists were encamped there. War sort of ruined it for me. But this place is still good. There's no war, and it's close. It's basically the edge of the Unknown Regions."
When they exit hyperspace, Astral unbuckles and shimmies past the equipment to Lord Vader's pilot side of the fighter. The big circular TIE window provides a fantastic view.
"Wow . . . " she exhales, mouth open. She's momentarily transfixed as she stares out. "Just wow."
Lord Vader reaches to gently tug her down into his lap. "Do you like it?" he whispers huskily in her ear. He's got his shiny helmet off and he's wearing just the basic pilot's respirator mask.
"It's amazing." Truly amazing. Just look at those colors. It's like a rainbow in space. "I love it."
"Maybe someday I will be able to give you the galaxy, but for now this will have to do."
"I love it. It's perfect. And I don't need the galaxy. I only need you." She turns to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Ready to say 'I do?'"
"Astral, I . . . I . . ." He falters. It's so uncharacteristic to see him at a loss for words, that she waits patiently. She knows that whatever is coming next, it is important.
He tries again. "In my life, I have let a lot of people down, but I haven't broken promises. The only commitment I have forsaken was to the Jedi." As always, when he speaks of the past, his eyes plead for her to understand. "I took that oath at age ten. I had no idea what I was signing up for. By the time I was an adult, I was trapped in a life of celibacy and service. I wanted some of it, but not all of it. And they didn't trust me. I knew that there were things about the Force they weren't telling me. They held me back on purpose . . . putting me on the Council but withholding the rank of Master . . . things like that." Astral can tell that even decades later, those old slights still sting.
"Over time, I wanted out. But there was no procedure for that short of disgrace or joining the Separatists." Lord Vader's face is earnest as he complains, "I didn't feel like I was wrong for breaking the Jedi Code I didn't believe in. And I was no traitor. So neither option felt like the right way to exit. I tried to find a way to make it work by keeping some of my commitments and avoiding the conflict. But then, Asokha left . . . "
Astral nods. She's heard the story of the young Padawan who was framed by a Separatist faction of Jedi. In the end, the truth came out, but not until after considerable damage was done. The Jedi Council's missteps with that young woman sowed the seeds of their demise at the hands of her aggrieved Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker, who had added yet another complaint to his growing list.
Lord Vader's face is bleak as he recalls those days. "When she left, at first I was disappointed. But over time, I was jealous. Asokha had the courage to find her own path. It was a good example. When the time came for me, I chose my own path too. Things ended . . . abruptly," he chooses mild words for what Astral knows was a sweep of executions across the galaxy. He's not proud of Order 66, she knows, but neither does he disavow it.
"With religion, there is very little room for compromise. Reforms are slow and incremental. I wanted to do something big and bold. And I needed to stoke my Dark power to save Padme . . . or so I thought . . . " Lord Vader's face is now hard with hate. Astral knows just how duped he feels by his bait-and-switch Master Lord Sidious.
"When you find Luke, you need to tell him all this," Astral urges. She's worried that when father and son meet it will end up a snippy shouting match of righteous testosterone, sort of like how Darth Vader and Darth Plagueis interacted. And that dynamic will impede understanding, not promote it. "Luke needs to hear your truth. My Lord, all he knows of you is what's on the holonet and whatever lies the Jedi have told him. You will be the villain."
This is her worry, for he's not the villain. Not really. Lord Vader's mistakes were all somewhat well intentioned. That matters, Astral firmly believes. Because bad people are people who want to do bad things. But Darth Vader is a good person who wants to do good things, even if they have turned out badly. And in his position, he doesn't make all the decisions anyway. He is accountable to his Master who builds things like Death Stars. If there is a true villain in the Empire, it is Lord Sidious. But will Luke Skywalker be able to see that? Or will he believe the public accounts that have Emperor Palpatine the wiseman statesman and Darth Vader his cruel henchman? Astral has much trepidation about what will happen when the Skywalkers finally meet. More and more, she worries it could be a disaster.
Lord Vader is still in hot pursuit of his son. But to no avail. "I have to find him first," Lord Vader complains glumly. "We lost his friends in the asteroid field. We chased them weeks but they got away."
"What now?"
He sighs. "More bounty hunters and probe droids. I'm back where I started."
"And Luke is with Master Yoda."
Lord Vader grumbles, "He's not my biggest fan."
"I figured that. Tell you what—I'll be your biggest fan," Astral volunteers.
"I'm counting on that." He hugs her closer to him. "Look, we've wandered a bit, but my point is that I take my promises seriously. The Sith might deceive and betray, but I don't. What we promise today matters. This marriage matters to me." His golden eyes are fervent with sincerity. When he speaks like this, Darth Vader is so compelling. The man beneath the mask has a strange charisma that few see, unfortunately.
Astral nods. "I know. Me too."
Again now, he is vulnerable. Not the casually commanding man who sweeps down shuttle ramps and stalks through corridors of power. Darth Vader looks a little rueful now as he confesses, "I never thought I would do this again."
"Me neither." She had sworn off love years ago. Too disappointed by her first failed marriage and too discouraged by her dismal and sporadic dating experiences that followed. But here she is. Taking terrible risks to marry this man. And there's more than just her personal happiness at stake this time—it's her life, maybe his life, the future of the Empire, and the fate of the Force hanging in the balance. Astral ought to be petrified. But she's not. She's hopeful.
"It's both harder and easier the second time around."
"This time, it will work. I'm going to do everything I can to make this work," she promises.
"It will work," he responds with conviction.
"I mean it," Astral stresses her point. "Look, Leo may have cheated on me, but I could have been a better wife. In retrospect, I see that. I didn't give him what he needed and so he went looking for it elsewhere. He needed more time and attention and I was busy with my career and my friends. I won't make that mistake again, I promise. Even though we live apart, I will be there for you," she vows. "Summon me and I will drop everything."
"I know. Ready?"
"Ready."
And now, as impromptu and informal as this intimate moment is, it feels very real. Even without witnesses, Astral is suddenly nervous. She feels butterflies in her stomach and her heart starts to pound. When Lord Vader reaches to grip both her hands, they tremble slightly.
His touch is firm, but Lord Vader's face betrays his own anxious excitement. This man might be the coolest head in the room and the calmest warrior on any battlefield, but this isn't war or politics. This is personal. That makes it emotional, and where emotions are concerned, Lord Vader is anything but subdued. In this moment, even with the yellow eyes and the respirator, he looks very, very human.
Seeing his nervousness helps Astral. She smiles up at him encouragingly. They will get through this—and through the rest of their lives—together.
He begins solemnly, "Astral, I promise to be a faithful and honest husband. I promise to care for you and to honor you all the days of our lives until we return to the Force."
It's simple and sweetly said. It's also concise and to the point. Just like Darth Vader. This is not a man given to flowery words or to long preamble. His boss is the one who gives the speeches.
Now, it's her turn. "My Lord—"
"Anakin," he corrects her gently.
Her eyes widen. "Are you sure?" He never uses his given name, treating it like a separate identity he has left behind.
But apparently not completely. He replies, "I'm sure."
"Alright." Astral begins anew. "Anakin." She has spoken his real name so seldom that it feels foreign on her lips. So she says it again with more conviction. "Anakin, I promise to be a faithful and honest wife. I promise to care for you and to honor you all the days of our lives until we return to the Force."
And that's it. There's no 'in sickness and in health' since they've already established that part from the earliest days they knew one another. There's no 'for richer and for poorer' either, maybe because credits and luxury mean nothing to Lord Vader. He now swipes aside his respirator to seal the deal with a kiss. But even that is a bit truncated because the groom can't breathe on his own.
"That's it?" she asks. "We're done?"
"Done," he confirms after he has replaced his oxygen mask. "We are husband and wife, Lady Vader."
Astral exhales, "Good." They just got married with her leaning on his lap in a TIE fighter. There is no music, there are no guests, there are no witnesses. There is no party afterwards and there will be no rings or gifts. Nothing is the way it normally is at a wedding, and that's fine. It's a non-conventional setting for a most unusual marriage between a completely improbable couple. But Astral thinks it's perfect. Neither of them was looking for this outcome, but it found them all the same. They might be the one good thing to come out of the Death Star, Astral thinks, as she smiles at her new husband.
Lord Vader takes her on a joyride through the nebula. She rides strapped into the gunner seat behind him, marveling at the majestic natural beauty they tour. It's fun and lighthearted. Completely different from their usual modus operandi of late night treason and sneaking around before onlookers. Astral loves it. She also loves seeing this casual and easy side of Lord Vader. He likes to fly, and he's very good at it.
He insists that she learn to fly. Astral agrees so long as he will be her teacher. Truthfully, the request has nothing to do with his skill. It's motivated by her desire to get Lord Vader back in the cockpit again regularly. This man needs more fun, Astral decides. He needs more diversion from the stress of ruling the galaxy and finding his son. Wifelike, she silently determines to make sure he gets more downtime.
But in the end, duty calls. Astral only gets one flying lesson and they only get three stolen days together. Then, she's back to her normal life on Coruscant. No one is the wiser that the few days' vacation she took were for her wedding to the second most powerful man in the galaxy. Astral is as incognito as always, except for the discreet security man who tails her to and from her apartment.
It's not a surprise to Astral that the earliest days of their new married life are spent apart. This will be the norm, she knows. But that all ends abruptly on a Monday morning two weeks later. Astral exits a meeting and learns that she has a visitor waiting for her.
It is Milo, Lord Sidious' longtime servant come from the Palace. He is stern-faced and tense looking.
"Good morning," he announces. It is a perfunctory greeting accompanied by a smile that never reaches his eyes.
"Hello," Astral responds, wondering what is afoot. This man's presence cannot bode well. She is instantly wary.
"My Lady," Milo begins formally, drawing a questioning look from her curious boss who looks on, "there is an emergency. Your presence is requested immediately."
"By whom?" Astral is cool.
"The Master."
Oh. Astral digests this news. Apparently, she is summoned by the Emperor.
"Please come quickly," Milo requests. "There is no time to waste."
"What's wrong?"
"I will give you the details in the speeder," Milo answers. He's giving nothing away.
Astral stares the older man down for a long moment before she relents. "Very well." She will accede to the request so she doesn't get escorted out in handcuffs by stormtroopers. Being arrested once was enough. She will retain her dignity this time.
Astral fetches her purse and follows Milo outside to a waiting speeder. It's one of the Palace interorbital transports that is heavily armored with official license plates and opaque black windows. It draws many looks, she notices. Thankfully, she doesn't spy any stormtroopers.
"Please climb in," Milo requests as he opens the speeder door. "You too," he orders to Astral's security guard who has suddenly materialized to make his presence known. "In the front. Passenger side," Milo instructs to the man curtly. "Let's go."
When they are inside with Milo at the controls, the security guy beside him, and Astral in the back, the speeder takes off fast. It begins weaving swiftly through the thick traffic.
"What's going on?" her heretofore anonymous security guy demands. "I wasn't notified of anything."
Milo does not answer. He produces a small snub-nosed blaster that he fires at point blank range into the security guard's chest. It kills him instantly before the man can react. His body slumps forward in a smoking, grisly scene.
Astral shrieks. "You killed him!" she accuses. She's aghast. And suddenly very scared.
"Yes." Milo is nonplussed. "We need no loose ends."
Loose ends? "Pull over!" Astral screeches. "Pull over. Now!" She's worried that the next person to take a laser blast to the chest will be herself.
But Milo ignores her command. "Relax, my Lady. You are in no danger. Very likely, I am saving your life."
"Pull over! Now!" Astral is very skeptical of this man. Lord Vader doesn't trust him either, she knows.
"Vanee has a cruiser in orbit. He will take you from there."
Vanee? He's involved too? "Where? Where am I going?" Astral hisses, wishing very much that she had some means to contact Lord Vader for help.
"I do not know your destination," Milo replies calmly as he continues his piloting at breakneck speed. "It's best that I do not know. That way Lord Sidious can't take it from my mind."
Astral's own mind is racing as she recalls whose deeply embedded spy Milo really is. "So by 'Master' earlier, you meant—"
"The Master. The real Master. The forever Master."
"Lord Plagueis," she whispers.
Milo nods without looking back. "He values you highly. He wants you safe."
Astral immediately understands the implications of Milo's reveal. "He found him," she breathes aloud. Lord Vader has finally found his son. That explains this immediate evacuation.
"Not yet, but he will soon," Milo corrects. "One of the bounty hunters Lord Vader hired found the ship with young Skywalker's Rebel friends. Skywalker will come for them once they are in pain."
Astral gulps. "Oh."
"It's a classic trap. The boy will present himself to save his friends. Those Jedi types always do. Lord Vader used this tactic many times successfully during the Purge," Milo assures her.
"Oh. So this is really happening . . . " she says out loud.
"Yes. Lord Plagueis has a deal with the bounty hunters and the Master pays better than Lord Vader. It's the head's up we need to get you to safety." Milo takes the speeder in a near vertical climb now up towards the Coruscant atmosphere. "For all we know, Lord Sidious already knows what's happening. That's why you need to flee."
"Fine, but you didn't need to kill—"
"I did," Milo overrides her. "When it comes to the power plays of the Sith, there is no mercy. It's kill or be killed. That man might be the first to die for you, but he won't be the last," Milo informs her grimly. "That's how this works."
Astral is outraged. "I refuse—"
"My Lady," impatient Milo cuts her off again, "these are the risks of your position. Be grateful for this chance. It's more than your predecessor got. Now then," he continues, "do not out me to Vanee. He thinks he's taking you to meet Lord Vader for a honeymoon. Just play along."