Chapter One:
In a conflicted sort of trance, Anakin stood by the window, watching the sun set over Coruscant. It was a beautiful sunset, the kind that made the horizon look as though it was on fire. The clouds burned brilliantly in hues of red, orange, and yellow, and the smog of the great city mingled in with it, creating a realistic smoking affect. Against the blaze were giant skyscrapers, at the moment merely shadows, but soon star-rivaling towers that gleamed in the night like diamonds.
It was breath-taking, but there was something tragic in it. The sunset, so natural, so raw, so marvelously inimitable, was contrasted by ever-growing technology that had slowly blocked it out, and would continue to do so until the horizon was gone entirely— just like similar institutions would choke the life out of the galaxy until it remained nothing more than a high-functioning machine liable to break down at any given moment.
But Anakin was not thinking about the sunset. He was not thinking about the city. He was not thinking about the eery contrast of pure majesty slowly being destroyed by monuments of Coruscant's intrusive technologies.
He thought only of Padme, the divine angel who brought light into his slowly collapsing world. She took his breath away, but she gave him life. She was his anchor, his dream, his heart's desire, and his best friend. In the eyes and mind of Anakin, she was more beautiful than the brightest supernova in the Outer Rim, and kinder and wiser than anyone else in the galaxy. She was the sun, the lightest and warmest star, the center of his universe.
But even stars burned out. Even angels could fall. She could die. She was going to die.
The very notion ripped the very fabric of his being apart, and it hurt. It hurt so badly it made his limbs ache, and fingers tremble. It kept him from sleeping, eating, and even drinking water, because it made him sick. His stomach was constantly churning in dread apprehension, and not a moment went by when his head was not on the verge of splitting open for the pain.
So he had turned in the one man who could save her, because the Chancellor had said he could.
But he had told the Council to arrest him.
Why? Because he was a Sith. Because he had been behind the war. The war that had killed many, and the war that had torn the galaxy apart like an old garment. The war that had left people in constant fear. The war that had corrupted the Jedi Order and forced him, Anakin, to have the maturity of a thirty-five year-old when he was only twenty-three. So he had done the right thing, and even so, they had left him out. The Council had not let him come to apprehend the villain. Mace Windu had not let him come.
They had been gone for a while now. . .
Finally, the war will end, and Palpatine will be caught. There will be no more Sith, and everything will be all right again. He thought, taking a deep breath and trying to swallow the lie again.
But no matter how many times he repeated the words in his head, he could not bring himself to believe them.
He could not rid himself of the feeling that he had thrown away her only chance of survival, and not only her chance, but the child's.
"Let go of what you fear to lose." He muttered under his breath, scoffing.
What kind of advice was that? Who did Master Yoda think he was kidding? He'd never loved anything but duty and the Order. He'd never known what it was like to be loved, or to even feel pain. Even pragmatic Obi Wan knew love, and Ahsoka had left the Order from pain.
Both were better people than he could ever hope to be.
Not the Jedi, those cold peace-keepers who did everything in the name of the Republic, which they claimed to love. But Jedi didn't love. How could they keep the peace, how could they show compassion, if they didn't know what it was like to love?
They were hypocrites. He had known it for a long time. But he had been too invested to leave.
But not now, when his soul was crumbling like sand, was he too invested. Not now, did he care about the Jedi or Sith.
He cared that Padme was dying, and that Palpatine could save her.
He cared that they were going to kill him.
The decision, which he'd been mulling over since they'd sent him to the Council chambers, had brought tears to his eyes.
But no longer. He had to decide what to do now.
The Jedi? Or Padme?
In those terms, there was no contest.
He flew his speeder towards the Senate building as fast as he could, resolved to get what he needed from Palpatine, and in his desperation did not care how he retrieved it. He would not fail her like he had his mother. He would not be forever subject to the guilt of not doing enough to save someone he cared about.
The skies darkened, and a plethora of lights slowly blinked in the dusk. Tears made them blurry. Apprehension drowned out the sounds of the city, and more importantly, the angry beeps of speeders honking at him for the way he was piloting his vehicle, which was, in all honesty, too fast, and too reckless.
But he would not hit anyone. He knew that much.
Anakin was barely conscious of his own being as he raced to the Chancellor's office. His heart pounded, as he neared it, and his palms began to sweat.
He slackened his pace as he reached the lobby, and he walked into the office. Fear and determination shielded his eyes from the dead Jedi sprawled on the floor, charred with lightsaber gashes.
Palpatine and Mace were next to a wide, broken window, shadowy outlines illuminated against the busy Coruscant skyline.
Mace, a tall, demeaning figure, lording over Palpatine, who was leaned fearfully against the wall, trembling in fear, held his lightsaber threateningly toward the old man.
The Chancellor's placid face had fallen into panic, and the violet glow of the lightsaber reflected in his teary blue eyes.
"You are under arrest, my lord." Mace spat, glaring at Palpatine with eyes that could have killed.
Palpatine frightendly looked over at Anakin as he approached, wrinkled face ever imploring, and Mace, catching the glance, turned as well.
"Anakin, I told you it would come to this." Palpatine gasped, breathing heavily. "I was right, the Jedi have taken over."
"The oppression of the Sith will never return." Mace told him furiously, confident that Anakin was here to help. "You have lost."
"No! No! NO! You will die!" Palpatine thrust his hands forward and out of them came blinding bolts of electricity, which were blocked promptly by Mace's saber.
Anakin had only witnessed such power from Dooku, and backed away, shielding his eyes from the charges that penetrated the air. The heat turned the cool room warm as electrical wind coursed throughout it, and everything suddenly smelled of burnt lightning.
Anakin's metal arm suddenly ached, just from being in close proximity of the electrical death rays.
"He is the traitor!" Mace yelled, still trying to block the bolts of electricity with all the power he had left.
Though strong a mere minute ago, he had been drained extensively.
"I have the power to save the one you love!" Palpatine panted, as the electricity both surrounded and penetrated his own frail body. "You must choose!''
"Don't listen to him, Anakin!" Mace groaned.
"Don't let him kill me." Palpatine moaned. "I can't hold it any longer."
They were both struggling, weak, each almost at their verge of collapse. Palpatine's face became twisted and charred. Its wrinkles deepened and widened to a frightening degree, and its skin taughtened to rubber. His eye sockets grew wide, and his eyes became horribly red.
It was. . . inhuman.
"Anakin!" Palpatine finally managed to shout. "Anakin! Help me!"
And then it stopped, the once noisy room quieted into a dead silence.
"I can't hold on any longer." Palpatine panted.
"I am going to end this once and for all!" Mace exclaimed, his saber hovering very near the hideous face that was once the Chancellor's.
"You can't." Anakin managed to say.
Mace looked at him with a mixture of anger and disbelief.
"He must stand trial!" Anakin cried.
"He has control of the Senate, and the Courts, he's too dangerous to be left alive!" Mace argued.
"I'm too weak; don't kill me, please." Palpatine interjected pathetically.
"It's not the Jedi way!" Anakin shouted.
He was desperate. Palpatine had to live; it was the only way.
"He must live!" He persisted.
No, Mace couldn't kill him. . . he couldn't!
But Mace could, and he would.
He gritted his teeth, resolved.
"Please, don't!" Palpatine gasped afrightedly.
"I need him!" Anakin yelled.
Mace ignored him, he raised his blade above his head, ready to deal the final blow.
"Please don't." Palpatine muttered again.
But Mace swung the lightsaber downwards.
"NO!" Anakin screamed, crazed panic finally controlling every aspect of his tortured mind.
He sliced Mace's arm off in one swift motion. Palpatine had to live. He had to help him save Padme, because without Padme there was nothing. Without Padme he could not live.
The electrocution began again, and Mace got the full blast of it; he screamed from the pain.
"POWER! Unlimited POWER!" Palpatine shrieked, and for the split second that Anakin looked at him, he was suddenly aware of the sadistic pleasure behind the man's eyes.
Pleasure. . .
Every deepened wrinkle, every damaged tooth was making up a sickening sort of smile that was repulsive to even observe. There was laughter in his warped voice, and the energy emitting from his warped body was that of jubilee.
This had played out exactly how he had wanted it to.
What had been played out, Anakin didn't know, but he wanted to stop it more than he wanted anything else in the world. More even, than he wanted to save Padme.
He brought his saber down on the chancellor's gnarled hands, the source of the electricity. There was a brief shriek of pain, and sickening thud as Mace hit the floor, and the room became quiet once again. And all that could be heard was the traffic of the busy Coruscant airways.