Recovering from Bespin, a feverish Luke Skywalker lets slip his parentage, but what will the Alliance do with the son of Darth Vader? Their mistake proves monumental and delivers Luke into the hands of his worst nightmare. Destiny goes into an about turn where there's only one person who can save Luke from the darkside - his father

C h a p t e r F o u r

"This is it?" Palpatine nudged the small, stunned body beneath his feet with his boot, but it gave no indication other than a little, weak moan that it felt anything. He sniffed disapprovingly. This 'thing', this weak little forlorn figure laid out before him, gazed blankly with muddy blue eyes, firelight caressing its cheek.

"Yes, my Master."

Mara stood to one side, gaze bright and alert but unimposing as her Master studied his newest toy. The Skywalker child gave a little vain attempt at movement which only brought the Emperor's gaze back to where it lay on the soft padding in front of the hearth of an open fireplace. The child was so small, so utterly tiny that he felt he could take it in his hands and just... snap. If it would only get up, the fun he could have with it! Testing just how weak it truly was, knocking it down again and again and again. He let the pleasure of that thought coat thin, cruel lips with a dextrose smile.

He knelt at its side, black robes pooling over its feet, and savoured the wide-eyed stare and the terror that passed over its lips but was never voiced. He smiled again at his Hand's swiftly delivered work.

"What did you give it?"

"Just a sedative," she replied, voice deliberately unimposing. Apparently she realised that this was a delicious moment for Palpatine, one in which he wished to relish to every last morsel and not be plagued by interruptions.

"Oh?"

"The rebels seemed disinclined to treat him. It made his capture easy."

He cackled at the obvious lack of the word she was clearly thinking – pitifully easy. Delicious.

"Good. Mothma is better than I thought." His words crackled darker than the fire licking at the sides of the hearth, maw-like opening swallowing the small boy in front of it in red light and leaving the rest of the cavernous room in shadows. Mara stayed within those dark confines and if she wondered at his statement, she never asked.

Palpatine ran a long, cracked fingernail across the child's cheek, watching the shivers of fear spark outwards from its panic-stricken eyes and mingle with fire embers. This little thing... had Vader found it so difficult to track? Perhaps it had hidden in the smallest of holes, buried itself far from its enemy. Perhaps, but no wonder it had been found and brought to him, by Vader or not; it burned too brightly in the Force to stay hidden. As his hand brushed the warm cheek with fingertips as cold as an open grave, he felt the power trickle behind them in little rivulets released by its fear. He traced them backwards with his hands, greedily sucking up the power released by the fear, intoxicating in its potency, as sweet on the tongue as a matured red wine and as deep in flavour as hot Corellian whiskey. He found his lips curling up with pleasure from this little thing, bursting with power as did ripe fruit laden with promise on hot summer's afternoons. The fire provided the heat; the child the power.

"Did you leave any trace?" The words sounded drunk even to him and he laid his palm flat against the child's face, covering those wonderful, bright, delicious eyes and let himself swim in power such as he had not felt since... well, since Anakin.

At the momentary pause, though, he turned and pierced his Hand with yellow eyes burning with intensity beyond flames in the hearth. Underneath his suddenly tight hand, the youth whimpered from the pressure closing around its temples; eyes; mouth.

"Mara?"

She shifted her feet barely perceptibly and met his gaze. "There was little time for planning my Master. They moved quickly; I had to convince them to let me onto the shuttle they planned to destroy with him aboard."

Palpatine laughed cruelly "Such an unglamorous end for our little Jedi." His hand squeezed further, drinking on the fear beneath his palm, the little sounds of protest ricocheting against skin as dry parchment. Oh, yes, he had done right bypassing Vader. He might never have had this opportunity otherwise.

She inclined her head but offered no comment on that. Instead, her deep voice, silky like fine Alderaanian linen, carried on her explanation, "I killed the crew, planted a shrapnel explosive and set it of off before we jumped. I believe it fooled them."

"But you do not know?" The words bore as deep into that hardened soul as his gaze did, his body framed in the firelight. Outside, beyond carved stone walls and parapets, blizzards whistled and white snow buffeted the walls in a powdery tempest as furious as his concern that this, his... toy, might be taken from him.

"No."

The word bore no remorse, no fear. Mara Jade had long since learnt that Palpatine did not enjoy weakness in his servants, only submission. But it was a hard word for her even then, bitter and small and falling on her lips like spoiled and sour crushed fruit. He let her ponder it for a few seconds broken only by the Skywalker child's feeble little complaints that neither paid any heed to.

"It seems I will have to contact dear Mon to make sure you left no errors behind." He was as surprised as she to discover no reprimand in the words. It was, perhaps, because he knew she would have done her best and the speed of the assassination was out of her control, or that he was preoccupied by his catch.

Mara inclined her head and, again, asked no questions. Palpatine leered a little at that, knowing how inquisitive she must be, both about her captive and her mission. "You wonder, don't you, my young Hand?"

There was no sound but the crying of the gales and the little Jedi. Then Mara stepped a little into the firelight. "Yes, my Master."

He looked away from her for a moment and back at the small boy, taking his hand from its face for a few seconds. It was so bursting with power. Its reconstruction would be so utterly delicious. Mara had carried out her orders, brought it to him with very little delay and no interference from its father, so why not reward her?

"Do you remember a 'Peace' mission Mothma attempted a little over a month ago?" he asked, eyes on boy. The fire made wonderful patterns on its brow, a strange tableau of alien writing on its face and side. The other side, the shadowed side, burned just as brightly in his mind as he studied it, measuring, deciding how best to break it, and then repair it. Shape it with a little pain here, a little hope there; remake it. It would require him to knock it over again and again and again and that he would enjoy.

"I do. Mon Mothma left rather abruptly." Her red-gold hair burned brightly in kindred spirit with the blazing fire and sconces dotted around the room in small pockets of light. Her tone was as icy as the turbulent weather outside though, bitterly cold and destructive. It was one of the things he valued her for.

"Oh yes, but not after we had a little chat." He cackled and the fire shivered, shadows tottering around them, drunk by the power at their feet. For itself the child barely noticed the sudden crackling of the atmosphere in apprehension and Palpatine ran a finger across the full lips admiringly. What a wonderful job the Alliance had done - subdued this little Jedi so that he was ripe for the taking with nothing more than lack of medical attention! How the little Princess would cry to see this! How delicious her tears would taste, salty and bitter with betrayal and loss, by far the best combination to savour in his enemies.

As he turned back to his Hand, he saw something in her stance; a small window to her feelings quickly covered again by an emotionless expression made cruel by the play of firelight and the howling wind. Palpatine frowned at that but continued his explanation.

"Mon agreed that it would be prudent to keep an eye on our little Jedi."

Would she see it – ah! There was the twitch in the corners of her mouth- she knew there was more.

"You planted a suggestion?" she asked, silky tones betraying no emotion.

"No... no...." Ah... he had thought she was so close! "A mind link. Quite handy, don't you agree, to be able to keep an eye on the Leader of the Alliance when she's running around the rim worlds trying to hide?"

As he spoke, he continued to drink in the fear beneath him, although to his disappointment it was subsiding a little; the sedative dragging the small form towards unconsciousness. Perhaps the rhythmic caress of the firelight also lulled it further. Palpatine pursed his lips in annoyance, having not yet discovered enough of the child to begin breaking it, or to stop revelling in his victory. His fingernail brushed neat welts into the lips until they bled a little. That helped; the pain brought something akin to awareness back to it and it struggled weakly. Much better.

"Yes. You control her thoughts?" Mara asked.

Again, when he turned back to her there was a quickly concealed disturbance on her expression and Palpatine's frown deepened. Annoyance bled with the boys lips and he studied the hard lines of his favourite assassin's face, searching.

"No, merely gave her a little perspective. Something troubles you, my dear."

She flinched, but not before her gaze flickered to the youth on the floor. The wind seemed to grow in volume outside the mansion walls, biting with icy white teeth at the large, velvet-draped windows.

"No, Master."

He tsk-tsked her mockingly and turned back to the boy in understanding. "You dislike this?" His hands stroked the hard line of its jaw with long white fingertips. He didn't need to look at her to feel disgust light in that crumpled heart before being rapidly extinguished.

"I have no feelings for or against the boy," she said.

He laughed, a cruel little laugh but it echoed in the room, bouncing off stone walls. "No, not that. This."

Deliberately opening himself to her Force presence and the feelings she could never hide from him, he let his hand wander down from the boy's face and to its covered chest, fingernail softly drawing a red welt along the collarbone there.

He sensed the disgust again and wondered at it as his fingers stroked the soft skin. It was not attraction she felt; not compassion. It was not a sense of ownership being infringed upon, nor even disgust at the actions themselves. It was... what was it? Hard to say; very hard. His Mara could be so complicated sometimes, behind a steely mask of competence she hid a turbulent storm of emotions which she never dared acknowledge. Perhaps it was jealousy? Perhaps not.

The boy was regaining his voice, he noted with some pleasure. It was attempting to make some plea for him to stop. Palpatine drank it up as Mara looked on silently, the moment of indiscretion gone as soon as the boy started to fight back, however feebly. Perhaps it was contempt at exploiting someone who could not fight back? But her Master did that on countless occasions. This girl was still a mystery sometimes.

"Well?"

His hand strayed further down, revealing soft pale skin on the hip of the child and caressing it. It made waves of pure, absolute terror roll off the child and into the Force, such turbulence that the Emperor had to concentrate on maintaining a disconnection from pure feelings and keep himself grounded in the real world, such as it was.

"I have no problems," she said, voice absolutely calm.

"Good." He pursed his lips, believing her. It was not the actions it was... something else.

But this had been revealing, in more than one way. When you had your Jedi child subdued at your feet, how did you go about breaking it? Oh, he could hit it, maim it, knock a little blood out of it to colour his walls. But there were little stirrings of doubt in his mind, nibbling at the corners of his half-formed ideas like vermin. Doubts that said this child wouldn't submit simply to pain. He could offer it riches and power, but it plainly didn't want that. What was left? Where was the soft spot he could prod until it burst and released that power tenfold to what he felt from it now?

It blinked up at him with sad blue eyes, lips trembling. "St-op."

The voice was small and cracked through a weeks worth of fever and confusion. It was also rich and empowering, if a little provincial.

"Why, Little Jedi?"

It flinched beautifully at the designation, muscles tightening in little waves that ran from head to toe. Palpatine emphasised the question with a squeeze on the soft skin, looking for the bursting point.

The boy sucked in breath around sore red lips, shining in the firelight, but it didn't have the strength to lift its head from the stone floor to implore. Poor, little, weak thing; he would show it strength.

"Pl-ea-se," It begged much as its father had twenty years ago; without any real hope. The eyes had crystallised with fear and the fingers shook.

He looked at his hand on its hip, then at the distraught face, and the soft spot that would yield the power, would burst this ripe fruit, was abundantly clear. Mara had shown it to him, perhaps inadvertently.

"I think it's a virgin, my dear," he commented as his hand left the soft flesh, regretful of the loss of the connection to such potency. "I don't think it liked that."

"No." Was her only comment, and he chuckled at her tartness. It was not directed at his actions, he knew, but at the reaction of the boy.

His hand went back to the cheek of his new toy, and he wasn't surprised to see little trails of tears there like spice veins in Kessel rock. He brushed at them. "You know who I am, child?"

"Y-es." It tried to nod, but the gesture was futile with Palpatine's strong grip on it.

"Good, good. I wish to complete your training, my little apprentice." Little, tired, terrified, strong apprentice. His mouth curled into a smile as it blanched and tried to shake its head free of his grip. The fingernails only dug in harder, shadows of their imprints deepened by the fire.

"N-o."

"Oh yes, in time you will understand." He stroked the cheek almost affectionately and again there was a violent reaction in the child, trying to shake free. Yes, he'd found the weakness. Anakin's had been his lust for power but no such thing existed here. This boy's weakness was his innocence, of mind and of body, and Palpatine was wonderfully adept at exploiting that. This would be deliciously easy; the weak ones never truly understood what was happening to them and it left them floundering in a smothering darkness until they could no longer escape.

"I-"

"Shssh now... sleep." The gnarled hand rested on his forehead and the boy's eyes rolled backwards, body slumping into unconsciousness. Palpatine studied it a moment longer before standing, cloak swirling over its face. It covered the boy like a funeral shroud.

Finally, he turned from the inert form to his Hand, standing silently by, probably understanding that she had given Palpatine the leverage he sought.

"I must consult Mothma."

"I believe she is a little busy at the moment," Mara commented. As they talked they moved from the firelight to the huge window dominating the far wall and the Emperor gazed at the little white flecks beating the glass in the moonlight. It was so futile a gesture from the storm... as futile as the child's attempts at resistance, now and in his future training. The snow pounding to get out; the child's strong heart hammering against its ribcage to escape. He did love those little ironies.

"Indeed, Vader is not happy," He chuckled, knowing Mara wondered at the hidden meaning but not divulging the necessary information. "I believe the rebellion has bitten off more than it can swallow with this latest mistake."

"It appears so." There was an unvoiced question there that the Emperor did not deign to answer. He gestured to the child.

"Take it back to its room, have it treated for that fever." It was uncommonly kind of him, but it was less fun working with injuries you hadn't yourself inflicted. "And bring it to me tomorrow."

"Yes, Master." She bowed in reverence and he didn't acknowledge it, his thoughts elsewhere; on the child's training, and on his Hand's somewhat unusual reaction to his interest in it. Did she think he had a sexual interest in it, was that it? Well, it certainly was pretty, but not in the ornamental sense. He chuckled; if he wanted sexual pleasure he wouldn't go to such trouble to kidnap a virgin farmboy. It didn't exactly seem like the type to be proficient at such things. No; it simply intrigued him.

"And then you must leave me, my dear. I have other missions for you to complete. You have done well here, and I know I need not remind that you must speak of this to no one." He gazed at the snow beyond the window; the Manari mountains of Imperial Centre obscuring the lights of the vast city at the mountain's knees.

"No, my Master."

He dismissed her with a wave of a crinkled hand, but watched with intent dirty yellow eyes as she removed the unconscious little Jedi from before the fire, carrying it into the shadows and the darkness beyond. A feral grin touched his lips at the thought of Darth Vader, out on a mission of revenge for its death, chasing down Mothma and her little rebel band with fury unmatched since the death of Amidala. Apparently, his block on the child's connection to its father was working wonderfully, bolstered by the fact that Vader fully believed the reports filtering through to him of young Skywalker's demise.

His pleasure erupted in a cold laugh and the squalls of snow laughed with him.