Chapter 25: Pascuntur Draco

—Part One—

It had been approximately one standard hour since Padmé had abruptly left his apartment. Which meant that it had been precisely that long since Master Olin had asked him that blasted question, the same question that was presently plaguing Bail Organa's mind. Damned Jedi and their feelings, always complicating things. If it was one thing he'd learned during his time with Obi-wan, it was that one never dismissed a Jedi's feelings, no matter how inane or absurd they seemed.

Bail shifted his feet and glanced to the Naboo royal guard unmoving beside Padmé at her desk. The so-called "Commander" hadn't taken his dark eyes —or his blaster rifle for that matter— off of Bail since he'd entered her office. His face was hauntingly familiar, reminding Bail of some of the clones he'd encountered during the war. Not that that was terribly unusual, since the fall of the Republic, many older clones had been redeployed into local planetary security and labouring roles. Still, the Commander's earlier reaction to Ferus and Caleb in his apartment had left a rather sour taste in his mouth.

"Lower your weapon, Commander," Padmé ordered, not looking up from her desk. "I believe you are making the Senator nervous." The officer obeyed her order and holstered his blaster, but his gaze remained fixed on Bail.

Bail quickly checked himself. How could she have possibly known that? He was certain his body language hadn't given any hints as to his present discomfort. He was a seasoned professional; appearing calm and controlled even in the most trying of situations was his profession. Perhaps he should just come straight out with it and ask her. After all, they were still friends, weren't they?

"I am sorry to have kept you waiting," Padmé impassively apologised, shutting down her terminal. She rose from her seat, pulled a data disc from the reader and slid it into her corset. "I had to prepare the submission for the meeting this afternoon."

"That's quite alright," Bail said, and he pushed the nagging questions to the back of his mind for the moment. "We still have plenty of time. Can I help with anything?"

Padmé shook her head. "No, it's done now." She left her desk and started toward him. "All that's left is for us to present it to Palpatine."

"And hope that it has the desired effect," Bail put in, falling into step alongside her.

"Yes," Padmé agreed. She seemed to drift off into thought for a minute, but whatever the thought was, she abruptly shook it off and gestured toward the door. "Come. We should get going."

The Senate grand vocational hall was the usual hustle and bustle of activity prior to any upcoming session of congress. Hundreds of senators, accompanied by their many aides and security personnel, were milling about together in large groups turning the rotunda's main arterial passageway into a literal obstacle course of ears and hot bodies.

Bail glanced across his shoulder to Padmé and her Commander. They'd been walking together in silence for the most part and had barely exchanged more than two words since leaving Padmé's office. Now more than ever, Bail despised the silence. It left far too much open space in his mind to think.

What he really wanted was to ask Padmé about Obi-wan and whether she had managed to contact him. The last time he and the Jedi had spoken had been straight after Vader's visit to Alderaan, when the angered dark lord had come looking for Padmé and, in his bitter disappointment, had so kindly decided to rearrange Bail's face with his boot.

Bail had suspected Vader's identity back then, and Obi-wan had confirmed it shortly after. But then the Jedi had sworn him to secrecy, even going so far as to make Bail promise he wouldn't tell Breha, his own wife.

Did this vow of silence stretch to include him not telling Padmé? Despite Bail's best efforts at subtlety, he still hadn't been able to determine if she was aware of what had become of her wayward Jedi husband. And yet, how else was he supposed to find out if he couldn't properly discuss it with her?

With a heavy sigh, Bail turned his eyes back toward the passage and continued to walk. After five more minutes of agonising silence, he couldn't take anymore. "Padmé," Bail asked turning to her. "Earlier in your office, you told your Commander that you believed he was making me nervous. What made you think that?"

Padmé glanced sidelong at him. "I had a feeling," she said, not once breaking her stride.

"Huh!" Bail snorted, making a face. "Yeah, right… a feeling. You should have been a Jedi, Padmé," he said.

That careless comment earned him another glance, one not quite as friendly as the first.

"Funny… Obi-wan once said that exact same thing to me," Padmé said, her voice suddenly going quiet as if she had drifted off into memory. "Only a few hours before he left to confront Grievous on Utapau." Then out of nowhere, she chuckled, but only for a second. "Even if I had been born with the ability to use the Force, I would never have made a successful Jedi."

"Why not?"

Her expression tightened. "Their rules were too outdated, too restrictive," she explained. "No love, no attachments, no life. What kind of existence is that?" She glanced sidelong at Bail again. "I couldn't do it. I would have broken their rules and been expelled from the order."

Bail met her stare, and without thinking, blurted: "Breaking Jedi rules never seemed to bother your husband."

Padmé whirled on him then and scowled. Bail knew straight away that it had been the wrong thing to say, but by the time he'd realised, it was already too late. He waited for Padmé to respond, to say something … anything. But she just stood there, rigid and stiff, those fierce hazel eyes of hers boring deep holes into him. If Bail could've found a rock right there to curl up and disappear under, he would have.

"Senators!" a feminine voice called out from behind, and Bail, Padmé and the Commander turned back as one.

A figure was hurrying toward them; a slim, red-headed woman dressed in long ivory-coloured robes. Another figure was following her, a man of similar age to Bail with shoulder length brown hair half-pulled up on top. He was roughly the same height as the woman but had a much stockier build.

Bail quickly turned back to Padmé, acutely aware of the tension that had been steadily building between her and the approaching Mon Mothma. Judging by the look on her face, if Padmé had been a Jedi, both he and Mothma would have been in some serious trouble. Bail instinctively reached for Padmé's arm —something he found himself doing a lot more often of late—

And she instantly put her hand up, recoiling away from his advance. "Excuse me for a moment," Padmé said, then she turned and walked away, the long silver-black train of her gown trailing on the ground behind her. The Commander followed her across the passage. He stood guard beside the restroom as Padmé quickly hurried inside and closed the door.

"You are still convinced of her allegiance?" Mon Mothma asked, coming to a stop beside Bail, her eyes glued to the restroom.

Bail hesitated. Convinced was such a strong word. Did he believe Padmé would join their cause? Absolutely. Because what they were fighting for was democracy and freedom from oppression, core values that he knew Padmé was deeply passionate about.

But was he convinced? Convinced implied absence of doubt, and right now Bail definitely had his doubts. Still, Mon Mothma didn't need to know that. And besides, what Bail had managed to convince himself of was that the Padmé Amidala he remembered—the young, idealistic and outspoken champion of democracy—would eventually come back to him when he did finally manage to get her alone and away from all of this. And more importantly, away from her dark lord husband's influence, whether she was aware of who he was...or not.

.

Padmé closed the fresher door and checked each stall. To her relief they were all empty; nothing but one long row of open doors and vacant cubicles. She hurried across the restroom to the last sink and braced her hands on the counter. Her stomach was in knots; churning and twisting and threatening to revolt.

Ever since leaving her office she'd been assaulted by waves of anxiety and fear. The grand vocational hall was full of it, like the walls themselves were radiating hostility and it only seemed to get worse with each passing group of senators.

Was this what Anakin had been talking about when he told her he could "feel their pain"? Was this the kind of torture he'd been living through during the war? If so, was it any wonder he'd become so beaten down by the end of it? Her heart was already aching.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror and tried to settle her nerves. Forced herself to focus on each shaky inhale, and exhale. But each time she tried to breathe out, her stomach would retch, once again threatening to unburden itself.

Had the Senate Rotunda always been like this, so full of fear and hate and anger? She hadn't noticed it during her first pregnancy, and that was when the conflict had been at its peak. But back then, she also hadn't known what it was she had been feeling. Not like now —thanks to Anakin's explanation this morning— where she was consciously aware of it.

And why was Bail being so insensitive lately? Was he actively trying to upset her? So, what if he knew that Darth Vader was Anakin. That didn't necessarily mean that she did. As far as Bail was concerned, Padmé believed her Ani was dead, and she hadn't consciously given the Viceroy any indication that should suggest otherwise. Fancy constantly bringing up someone's dead partner—it was in bad taste. And not only that, but to speak derogatively about him all of the time? It made her blood boil.

Her stomach surged again, and she gasped and buckled forward. That stab was so intense it nearly dropped her to her knees. Gripping hold of the sink, she dragged her heavy head back up and glowered at her watery eyes in the mirror. She slammed both hands on the counter in frustration. No! She was absolutely not going to go through this here. Not now—not today. Not when she still had several long hours to go before her meeting with Palpatine. Not when Mon Mothma was standing out there waiting.

Ignoring the pain, Padmé forced herself to stand tall, drew in the deepest breath that she could, closed her eyes, and squeezed her hands so tight that her fingernails knifed her palms. Then, she determinedly opened her eyes, and with one final check of the mirror, spun on her heel and strode from the fresher, ready to face whatever was thrown at her, head-on.

.

Bail stiffened the instant he saw Padmé approaching. She walked with a powerful determination, like no matter what obstacle was put before her she would simply barge straight through it and continue on. And for a split-second, Bail actually found himself feeling nervous. With her Commander in tow, Padmé strode across the passage and inserted herself between Bail and Mon Mothma.

"Good morning, Senator Iblis," Padmé greeted, giving a respectful nod to the brown haired Corellian Senator stood on the other side of Bail. Then, she half turned to regard the Chandrilan redhead on her right and inclined her chin. "Senator Mothma."

Mon Mothma didn't flinch at Padmé's uncongenial welcome, instead she appeared to rise to the younger senator's veiled challenge.

"Padmé, Bail tells me that you have completed your submission for the meeting this afternoon," Mothma coolly countered. "I trust everything is in order."

Padmé sharpened her unrelenting stare and folded her arms. "If you are referring to our meeting with the emperor...," she started, her stolid tone merciless and authoritative, "that same pivotal meeting you feel you are too busy to personally attend, then...Yes."

"Some things cannot be postponed, Senator Amidala," Mothma said.

"And others should not go ignored, Senator Mothma," Padmé reprimanded. "Not when people's lives potentially hinge on the outcome."

Bail expelled a weary sigh and looked between the two women. There was no point in Padmé and Mothma futilely fighting each other for control, and even if there had been, the senate grand vocational hall was hardly the place for it. Both women had equally valid reasons for doubting the other's motivations, and Bail was not foolish enough to presume they would go on unaddressed indefinitely. Still, perhaps it was time he intervened before the situation got out of hand.

Audibly clearing his throat, Bail turned to the Corellian representative on his left and tried to shift the focus of the conversation. "So Garm, will you be joining us this afternoon?" Bail asked.

Bel Iblis lowered his head and sighed. "I'm afraid not, Senator Organa," he said, sounding genuinely disappointed. "I discussed it with my wife this morning, and she feels my involvement could negatively impact the possibility of Santhe Shipyards securing the new Imperial supply contract. She has requested that I sit this one out."

Bail's eyes flicked to Padmé. After her impassioned speech to Mothma he'd half expected her to go on the attack and reiterate her previous statement regarding priorities. To Bail's surprise, she actually smiled at Bel Iblis and there was a sudden hint of compassion twinkling in her eyes.

"I understand completely, Senator," Padmé said, softening her stance. "If I have learned anything over these last few difficult years, it's that nothing is more important than family. Nothing. Not war, not money, not religion or appearance ... not even politics." She punctuated her statement by directing a sudden and sharp warning glance at Bail.

What was that all about? Bail raised a brow at her in question. Surely, she wasn't still angry at him over adopting Leia. He had only done so because he'd believed that's what Padmé would've wanted. Breha had handed the infant back of course, despite Bail's warnings, and now the loss of their daughter had become a massive point of contention between Bail and his wife; one that he was struggling to overcome. Perhaps that was why he spent so much time away from Alderaan lately. Up until now he hadn't really given it much thought. He glanced back at Padmé, gearing up to try and say something to salvage their relationship—

And Padmé had gone completely stiff. She was staring up the passage, her eyes wide and unblinking like she'd just seen a ghost. Bail traced her gaze, saw nothing ahead but a herd of mingling senators. Although, Orn Free Taa did seem to be in quite a hurry. The bloated blue-skinned twi'lek representative for Ryloth was shuffling down the hall with his two dancing girls faster than Bail had ever seen him move.

But other than that slightly disturbing sight, everything else appeared relatively normal. Bail looked back to Padmé, went to reach for her hand and stopped short. Not breaking her stare, Padmé suddenly scowled and balled her hands into fists. Then, without warning, she stormed forward, heedless of Senator Iblis as she charged past him and up the hallway, headlong into the mass of gathered senators. Not even half a breath later, Padmé's Commander pushed his way through their group and took off as well.

"What do you think that was about?" Mon Mothma demanded.

"I have no idea," Bail said, not taking his eyes off Padmé's advancing figure for a second. "But I'm going to find out." He left Mon Mothma behind with Bel Iblis and chased off up the passage after Padmé.

• • •

"Your emperor has given you your answer, Senator Taa," Vader snarled, moving to stand menacingly over the morbidly obese twi'lek and hooking his thumbs to his belt. "That is all you should require."

The emperor snickered at his apprentice's aggressive display and called out to him along their Force bond. "Easy, my friend. Before you give the bloated glutton a heart attack."

Vader obediently relaxed his stance and deferred to Sidious. The twi'lek Senator took the opportunity to excuse himself and quickly fled from the two Sith, his two dancing girls hurrying off with him down the Senate grand vocational hall.

Determined to continue with their stroll, Sidious gestured for Vader to follow, and they both carried on, the two dark lords stopping on occasion to converse with the odd power-leaching bigot intent on gaining their favour. Vader remained silent for their walk, speaking only when spoken to, seemingly lost in the swell of his own thoughts.

The emperor observed him from within the security of his hood, and for a moment caught himself thinking of his past relationship with his own ill-fated master.

Tell me what you regard as your greatest strength, so I will know how best to undermine you. Tell me of your greatest fear, so I will know which I must force you to face. Tell me what you cherish most, so I will know what to take from you; and tell me what it is you crave, so that I might deny you.

The instructive words of Darth Plagueis echoed inside Sidious's mind. It had turned out to be one of the Muun's more important teachings, one that Sidious had meticulously implemented over the years in his mission to corrupt and attain the Jedi Order's precious Chosen One; Anakin Skywalker. He glanced across his shoulder to the towering behemoth encased in black walking alongside him and smiled. To think he'd taken their Jedi saviour and twisted his mind so sedulously, that he'd transformed him into becoming their very Order's executioner.

But doing so and keeping him there was not without great effort on Sidious's part. Every so often the entombed Jedi inside him would awaken, and Sidious would need to resort to savage tactics to beat him back down.

It was on days like today that the emperor got to see the alter ego of his apprentice rise to the surface. The possessive, controlling and irrational nature of the jaded young Jedi that he had painstakingly nurtured for years as part of the boy's corruption. There was, however, one minor setback when Skywalker decided to make an appearance out in public. With his more effective—and arguably more brutal—methods of subjugation out of the question, Sidious found controlling his apprentice to be somewhat of a challenge. Especially on the rare occasion Vader was successfully blindsided. Like he would be today.

During this morning's meetings with Mas Amedda, the emperor had sensed the arrival of his apprentice's wife at the Senate and had immediately set his plan into motion. But what he hadn't expected was for his young apprentice to become so non-responsive.

Sidious nudged the preoccupied Vader along their Force bond. "You are distracted."

Striding silently on his right, Vader bowed his head. "Yes, Master."

"I need you to be focused," Sidious reminded him.

Vader gave a disparaging grunt. "Yes, Master."

He could've sworn he'd heard his apprentice's eyes roll in that pre-programmed response. Sidious may as well have been talking to himself. He sighed and shook his head. "Perhaps I should re-assess your dosage upon our return to the palace. The serum appears to be losing its potency."

There was a long pause, then Vader responded: "I ran out of the serum two days ago, Master."

"That explains a great deal," Sidious muttered. "You should have notified me sooner, my boy; when I could have done something about it."

Vader groaned. "Forgive me, Master."

Yet another automated response, most likely the result of the many years Skywalker had spent suffering the never-ending castigations of that overinflated former master of his. This time it was Sidious's turn to roll his eyes. Almost one full standard year had passed since he'd been rid of that pretentious Jedi nuisance, and yet still he was subjected to the aftermath of Kenobi's blasted influence.

The emperor caught sight of a woman in black charging toward them in the distance. She was roughly thirty metres away from him and Vader, but steadily closing.

Sidious sniggered. "It appears we have been spotted, Lord Vader."

"Several times," Vader's resonant voice rumbled from above his shoulder. "Hundreds of beings surround us in this hall."

Grinding his teeth, Sidious impatiently waited for the reaction he knew would come when Vader did eventually lay eyes on his wife. But the reaction never came, and Sidious surmised his apprentice was still blinded. He was hung up on his obsession with that siren wife of his. So hung up, he hadn't even sensed her approach. His continued emotional dependence on the woman was becoming nauseating.

A dependence that Sidious was intending to break, starting today.

About twenty metres ahead of them a group of senators started to separate, and Amidala—that precocious little wife of his—came stampeding through them. Oh... and did she look upset. But the best part was seeing that pesky Alderaanian Viceroy, Bail Organa, urgently chasing after her.

This was simply too perfect. Almost as perfectly orchestrated as the time he'd facilitated the fall of the Banking Clan with Padmé and Rush Clovis. That little manipulation of events had been a stroke of genius on his part. Already well aware of the relationship that had once existed between the pair, Sidious had used his position as Supreme Chancellor to force the former couple to work closely together. Too close for comfort for young Skywalker. His jealous rage had driven a powerful wedge between him and Amidala, one that had almost destroyed their marriage. And as planned, the boy had seamlessly gravitated toward Sidious seeking attachment.

This new rift between her and Vader over Organa could prove to be just as instrumental, if he played his hand right.

A frenzied clap of thunder suddenly hammered across their bond, and the emperor inwardly flinched. He checked his apprentice out the corner of his eye, noticed him stiffen. So, he had finally spotted her. Good. But more importantly, going by the tidal wave of jealousy fuelled bloodlust he'd just received, he'd also seen the Viceroy.

A crooked smile stretched across Sidious's face. Now all he needed was to keep Vader restrained and let his fear take care of the rest. Knowing Skywalker as intimately as he did, he didn't need any Force vision to predict what was about to come next. Vader would lash out at Organa with such uncontrolled fury that he would see the entire Senate dissolve into chaos.

But Coruscant and its Senate belonged to Sidious. This was his arena. If anyone was going to be tearing it down, it would be him. Sidious hissed at Vader. "Control yourself."

But his apprentice was too lost in his rancorous state to hear the stern warning. A deep rumbling growl resonated from Vader. Then, he reached for his lightsaber, took one heaving stride forward—

And before he could take another step, Sidious grabbed hold of his throat with the Force and yanked.

A strangled cry barked from Vader's vocoder, and he jerked to a stop. To the oblivious passers-by the reprimand would have been almost imperceptible. But to Sidious; it felt like he'd been tugging on the neck of an enraged zillo beast with a choker-chain. Vader dropped back into step alongside him and groaned.

"I told you to control yourself," the emperor scolded, glancing across his shoulder. "Do not make me do that again."

Vader snarled in response. "Organa."

"Yes, I know," Sidious snapped. "It changes nothing."

"Yes Master."

The emperor assembled his most accommodating Chancellor face and held his hands out ready to greet his apprentice's wife. She closed the last few metres and stopped before them. With her hands on her hips, Padmé gave Vader at his side a quick once over glance then turned her attention to Sidious.

"Emperor Palpatine," Padmé said, wearing a smile that did nothing to conceal the indignant fire burning in her eyes. Then she looked to Vader and nodded. "Lord Vader. I wasn't expecting to see the two of you here."

"Ah, Padmé, such a pleasure to see you again," Sidious said. He laid the charm on thick for anyone who happened to be watching. Eyes roving over her figure, he allowed his gaze to linger on the swelling of her stomach that she'd managed to squeeze inside that military corset. Even if he hadn't been aware of the child growing inside her, the powerful tremors he'd sensed echoing from her through the Force would have successfully given away their secret.

"I must say... you look rather radiant today." Sidious turned to Vader. "Don't you agree, Lord Vader?"

His apprentice didn't respond to his shrouded question, and Padmé frowned and folded her arms. Sidious chuckled to himself. Whether Vader had caught his indirect reference to his wife's pregnancy or not, was unimportant. His intuitive little wife had, and she'd instinctively moved to try and conceal it.

"Will you be joining us for the meeting this afternoon, my lord?" Padmé inquired, once again looking to her husband.

Standing on Sidious's right; Vader bristled. He swung his mask toward Sidious and growled across their Force bond. "What meeting?"

Ignoring his inquest, Sidious answered for his apprentice. "Oh, I'm afraid not, my dear. Lord Vader has other, more pressing matters to attend to. I'm sure you understand."

Padmé's expression drew dark. She levelled a glare at Sidious, and when she spoke her tone was that of a hissing viper preparing to strike. "I understand more than you realise, Emperor."

Sidious matched her glare, felt his own ire rising to the surface. The feisty little minx was challenging him, and through the Force, Sidious caught a distinct wave of possessive protectiveness coursing between her and Vader. She was staking her claim on her husband. Baring teeth, Sidious went to respond when his bond with Vader shook again, sending a stabbing shockwave through his mind; distracting him.

Bail Organa, and one of Vader's clone troopers stopped at Padmé's side. Organa looked puffed, like he'd just run a marathon. The trooper, curiously disguised as a Naboo Royal guardsman, took his position on Padmé's right. The Alderaanian Viceroy glanced between Padmé, Vader and the emperor; his expression perplexed; as if struggling with pieces to a puzzle and trying to make them fit.

"Your excellency. Lord Vader," Organa greeted, nodding to both the emperor and Vader respectively. Then he turned to Padmé, put his hand on her shoulder, and the two senators each stared at the other in a sudden and uncomfortable silence.

"Just like old times, isn't it, apprentice?" Sidious mentally sent to Vader, observing the familial interaction between the two senators. And when his apprentice failed to reply, he eyed him from beneath the shadow of his hood.

.

Vader stood rigid beside his Master, hands fisted at his sides, his masked eyes fixed on Padmé. More specifically... on Organa's hand resting on her shoulder. His filthy rebel fingers were touching his Angel. Vader imagined himself breaking them one-by-one, slowly bending each knuckle back until it forced the joint and snapped. The venomous dragon inside his head whispered: Organa's going to take her.

"Harvest it," his master hissed across their bond, reminding Vader of the lesson he'd once taught him, to hold on to his hate and anger and save it for later.

But he didn't want to hold onto it. He couldn't even bring himself to respond. So again, he said nothing. Just left the rhythmic rasp and hiss of his respirator to speak for him.

After a minute they continued with their conversation. They were talking politics again, as usual. What exactly was being said, however, he wasn't sure. He was far too busy watching his wife—taking in her every tiny detail. From the way she barely blinked when she was annoyed, to the subtle red flush of her skin that started at her breasts and slowly crept its way up the sides of her neck. Force, she looked beautiful when she was angry. Vader chewed on his lip, flexed his gloved fingers. Great. Now all he wanted was to rip that damned corset off.

His Master suddenly said something, and he missed it. Something about reunions and how it was nice to become reacquainted with close friends; and the way that he'd said it made Vader wish he'd been paying more attention. A heady warmth pulsed through the Force from Organa, and Vader felt his heart race. Then he glowered at the Viceroy as he smiled at Padmé and gently took her hand.

"Yes," Organa said, gushing at Padmé, and Padmé was smiling back at him. "When I brought Padmé back with me to Alderaan, Breha was overjoyed to see her again. She, like many of us, had taken the tragic news of her death quite hard."

Now he was holding her hand. Right in front of him. Was Organa purposefully going out of his way to provoke him? Vader couldn't hold it in any longer. He saw red.

"And how is your wife, Senator?" Vader snarled. "I regret not having seen her during my previous visit."

The sudden sharpness of his tone shocked both his wife and the Alderaanian Viceroy. His Master cackled, even as Senator Organa stared up at Vader wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

Organa stammered. "Your... your previous visit, my lord?" Vader saw memory flash across the man's face, and his free hand—the one not still holding onto Padmé's—quickly brushed down the length of his jaw.

The very same chiselled jaw that Vader's boot had become quite fond of back on Alderaan.

"Indeed...," Vader growled, and he angled the top of his helmet down slightly and leaned forward to help get his threat across. "It must pain you a great deal, leaving your wife alone and unprotected, whilst you remain here mired in politics."

Organa seemed to recognise his threat. The Alderaanian's brow furrowed, and his affronted dark eyes drilled holes into the blackened lenses of Vader's mask. But apparently the threat wasn't enough. He was still holding Padmé's hand. And then, as if to add further insult to injury, he tried to protectively usher Padmé behind his back. To what? Protect her from her own husband?

Inwardly, Vader growled. Perhaps it was time for a more forceful approach. He relaxed his fists, reached out with the Force and surreptitiously pinched the gloved fingers of his right hand together.

The Viceroy soon became uncomfortable. Organa cleared his throat and made quiet little grunts as he tried to no doubt ease the invisible pressure squeezing around his neck. Then, he released Padmé's hand—finally—and started to discretely tug on the high-necked collar of his grey tunic-coat.

Padmé soon wised up to Vader's antics, of course. She looked to Organa, saw him struggling, then turned her attention to Vader and raised a brow at him.

Knowing she would be sensing his disquiet; Vader shielded his emotions from his wife and instead matched her interrogatory stare. Then, without warning, a paralysing vice of dark-side power suddenly seized hold of Vader's mind, and he winced.

"Release him!" came his Master's command across their bond, and Vader, powerless to resist, obediently let go.

Seeing stars and dizzy from his Master's penetration, Vader slowly opened his eyes and fought to focus. His heart was pounding, both out of fear and fury. He glanced to Padmé, saw her staring at him, her big hazel eyes shimmering with concern. She must have seen his flinch in response to his Master's reprimand. Grinding his teeth, Vader immediately crossed his arms and stood tall, refusing to show signs of weakness in front of either his Master or Senator Organa.

"Now, now..." the emperor said, intentionally keeping his eyes on the two Senators stood before him. "We must all make sacrifices in the name of peace." He turned to Vader on his right and added: "Isn't that right, Lord Vader?"

Sacrifices. He was forever making sacrifices. Not to mention him having to sacrifice himself. But he drew the line when it came to Padmé. He wouldnot—under any circumstances—be sacrificing her. He had already more than paid his Master for her with the blood of dead Jedi he'd left splattered across the temple.

Vader snarled and poured every ounce of hate and anger he was feeling into his voice. "Indeed."

Glancing over his wife's shoulder, Vader saw another two senators making their way toward them. One of whom he recognised; the redhead Chandrilan, Senator Mon Mothma. He vaguely remembered her from some of Padmé's official gatherings during the war. The other though, a man with shoulder length brown hair half-tied atop his head, was unfamiliar to him.

"Well, I'm sure we all have a great deal of work to do," the emperor said, in a tone that signalled he was done with their conversation. "As always, it has been a pleasure, Senators. But I'm afraid Lord Vader and I must now continue on."

Padmé and Organa both wished the emperor off, and Vader hesitated. His pulse throbbing in his ears, Vader watched his Master's deceptively frail form round Commander Bly's right side then start off down the hall. Vader looked back to Padmé. He didn't want to leave her alone with Organa, not now knowing of the Viceroy's supposed designs on her. The dragon whispered again, and he tried to silence it.

Seeming to notice his unease, Padmé gave him one of her questioning glances, as if to ask him if he was alright. Of course, he wasn't alright. How could he be? The serpent of a man who'd once stolen his daughter was now angling to try and steal his wife. No, he wasn't alright. He was far from alright.

But right now, standing with Padmé and Organa out in the middle of the grand vocational hall...

with hundreds of senators surrounding them...

and two in particular that were about to stop right behind them...

Vader couldn't tell Padmé that. He couldn't even give her a hint.

After holding his wife's stare for one agonisingly long minute, Vader clenched his fists and swung his mask around to face Organa stood beside her—his respirator loud in his ears. The smug Viceroy challenged Vader's glare, matching the dark lord's stiffened posture and folding his arms. Senator Mothma and her unknown associate came to a stop behind Organa and met Vader's hidden glare. A mix of curiosity and fear rang from them through the Force and he greedily absorbed it.

"Lord Vader!"

Hearing his Master's call, Vader shot up, focused on the hall over his wife's shoulder and saw his Master waiting for him. Grinding his teeth, he looked once more between Organa and his wife, then, with a dramatic flourish of his cloak, roughly shouldered his way past the Alderaanian Viceroy and strode off down the hall to join his Master.

His master didn't say a word when Vader finally reached his side, merely turned away and continued walking. He didn't need to say anything; the silence alone was explanation enough. Vader's reactions had displeased him, and he was no doubt going to cop a severe flogging later as a result. But he didn't care. He could take whatever punishment his Master decided to dish out. All that mattered right now, was finding a way to get Padmé away from Organa.

Vader and his Master walked the remainder of the hall in relative silence and came to a stop when they reached the more isolated entrance to the main podium's antechamber. His Master turned his back to the antechamber doors and faced Vader. And just when Vader expected his Master to say something, a loud chirp sounded from Vader's wrist-com and interrupted them.

"Who is it?" his Master demanded.

Vader checked his comm, then met his Master's glare. "The Grand Inquisitor, Master."

"Go. Deal with him," the emperor hissed. "We will discuss the rest of what transpired here, later."

Vader subserviently bowed his head. "As you wish." Then, he spun on his heel and started to walk away. He'd barely managed four steps before his Master called out to him once more.

"Lord Vader."

He turned around.

"I trust I need not remind you that I still have further use for Senator Organa," his Master warned. "I will be most displeased if he suddenly winds up dead. Do I make myself clear?"

Vader bowed his head again. "It is clear, my Master."

"Good. Now go, see to your Inquisitors. We wouldn't want them becoming restless now, would we?" The emperor waved his hand in the air dismissively, then turned away and proceeded through the antechamber doors.

Vader growled. He whirled on his heel and charged down the hall toward the exit. Lifting his wrist, he tapped at the comm and waited for it to connect. Seconds later a familiar trooper sounding voice rang through the static.

"I'm busy."

"Whatever it is, it can wait," Vader snarled. He reached the end of the hall and stepped inside the vacant turbo-lift. "I have a job for you."

The doors closed and the lift started its descent. "You have my attention," the voice answered.

"Good. I am sending you co-ordinates." Vader tapped at his comm to transmit the file. "Meet me there in precisely one hour. Do not be late."

"As you wish."

Vader keyed off his comm and impatiently waited for the lift to reach the main platform where his Lambda was waiting. Wanting to pace, he hooked his thumbs to his belt and anxiously rapped his fingers on the thick waistband to quell the urge.

If everything went according to plan, Organa would soon be wishing that he'd kept his filthy hands to himself. Soon, he would be too terrified to even think Padmé's name, let alone touch her. It was only a matter of time. Sure, Vader might not be allowed to kill the Viceroy yet, but that wasn't to say that he couldn't put the fear of death up him in the meantime.

Or say... hire someone else to.

Because, whether the Viceroy realised it or not—

This was war.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Bit of a long one this time. I split the chapter into two parts due to length, the second part is already half finished so the wait shouldn't be as long.

For those of you who don't know who Rush Clovis is, I highly recommend checking out the Rise of Clovis arc in Season 6 of The Clone Wars animated series (episodes 5, 6 & 7) it's very dark for a cartoon.

Thanks for all of your reviews/favourites/follows, they are truly humbling.

Anyway, thanks for reading and as always, MTFBWY.

Guest (01-11-22) Sorry no Darth Talon at the moment, but she was my inspiration for the character. Syrennè has blonde hair, blue eyes, and a slim figure (the rest I'll leave up to your imagination) we return to Syrennè and Obi-wan at Dromund Kaas very shortly (after part 2 of this chapter)

x-wing grievous (01-24-22) Palpy is a manipulative little so and so isn't he? I have tried to stay true to his character as much as possible, but also wanted to convey a hint of attachment between him and Vader. I've always believed that despite his cold-hearted exterior there was a sliver of affection for Skywalker lurking in the shadows.

Sfloresf (01-28-22) thank you for your kind sentiment, I am truly humbled to have such a loyal follower. I only wish I could get more time to write so that I didn't need to make you wait so long for the next chapter. As for the big confrontation, this is part one of a two part chapter… stay tuned.