A/N: YES! Last chapter finally finished! It's been racking my brain for weeks, and I finally finished…
To those who were disappointed with chapter two, I'm really sorry. That was the first time I ever attempted something like that, and like I told Darth Flirt, it was my "experiment". I hope this makes up for it. I incorporated a theory of Anakin's fall to the Dark Side that came from a message board at the official website. This sort of has an open ending…
Hope you guys like it!
Pain is inevitable.
Suffering is optional.
Padmé brushed her hands through his short hair, touching his skin, which, even in the harshest of atmospheres, could never be stripped of its softness. His rigid body lay motionless in her lap. For hours, they had sat together like this, lost in the image of the falling snow in the quiet city, succumbed by peaceful trances.
All the while, she thought he was at peace. She was happy to assure herself of that.
A high-pitched buzzer sounded in the bedroom, muffled but still audible. When seeing that he was not budging from his spot, Padmé patted his bare chest gently.
"Ani," she whispered. "Your comlink."
"I know," came the deep, and surprisingly abrupt answer. Anakin left his resting spot in her lap, and off the floor in which they had buried themselves in a thick quilt, seated on a rug of thick, wooly Bantha fur. His utility belt hung over the side of a chair, a clear view from where Padmé observed.
As he held the device in his fingers, his bare feet remained planted in the floor. He didn't move. Didn't speak. He didn't even breathe.
"What is it?" Padmé dared to ask, but did so hesitantly.
He slowly began to walk back to her, looking down at his hand and the little buzzer that still called for his attention. Instead of returning to his spot with her, he continued to the opposite window of the foyer, never peeling his eyes from his comlink.
In the silence, all that was there was the faint, high ring. When it stopped at last, a deep voice, almost a mumble from her distance, spoke to Anakin.
The message proceeded for several moments. And then it stopped. The speaker had not even finished, stopped abruptly in mid-sentence. In a brief second, the comlink was being hurled across the room, back into the bedroom in which it came.
Padmé jumped slightly beneath the blanket. Anakin veered around to face her, and his eyes said all that was paining him.
It was all there— fury and frustration, and even the slightest hint of sadness. He looked wounded, only it was distorted by the anger that was written all over his features. To add to that, his sharp breathing indicated just as much, his chest and broad shoulders rising and falling more visibly than normal.
"They're waiting for me to come back." His voice cracked. "I have to leave again."
Padmé nodded in understanding, but bowed her head in silence and wrapped the blanket further around her.
"I'm sorry," he choked.
"I know. You serve the Republic, I understand how it works."
Anakin stormed into the bedroom. He returned moments later, his pile of clothing in his arms as he began to dress.
Padmé sensed his anger. "They need you."
"They don't." He thrashed his boots on futilely. "Besides, I'm not going to the Temple."
"Where are you going?"
As he slipped on his numerous layers, he met eyes with her. "Guidance."
She still didn't understand. "But… Obi-Wan—"
"I've had enough of Obi-Wan," he snapped. "I'm done with him."
"Anakin!" Padmé jumped to her feet.
He inspected his belt, and adjusted his dangling lightsaber.
Padmé's eyes wandered to the cylinder. "What happened on Berchest?"
"Enough indication that I don't need him." He paused, and stood motionless. For a brief moment, he looked hurt. Of course, he brushed that away just as fast. "And that he doesn't want me."
"No!" Padmé strode to him, looking puzzled in disbelief. Her eyes alone scolded him. "How could you say such a thing?"
"He said it himself! Right to my face."
She shook her head vigorously. "He loves you, Anakin!" She grasped his sleeve. "Like a father loves his son. And you know that." She turned her back to him, unable to watch him speak the words—hoping that they weren't coming from his mouth.
"He's not my father." Anakin pulled his robe over his shoulders as he spoke softly, as much to himself as to Padmé. "I was always unsure where his faith lied. Did you know that he didn't even want to teach me? He was obligated." His voice choked once again. "That's what I was told. He never wanted me…" Feeling his emotions bearing down on him, he pursed his lips for a moment. "I hate him," he said softly.
He rubbed his eyes as his vision blurred, out of no reason at all. He wasn't crying, even though he felt the urge to. He just couldn't, and that was all.
When he looked up, he saw something that puzzled him. He rubbed them again, trying desperately to relinquish the blackness that enveloped around everything he saw— all but what lay in front of him. It was then that his mind began ringing aloud, pounding in his head like a deep heartbeat. He threw his hands to his head, grinding his teeth.
His body felt warm suddenly. His flesh felt like fire, and his inside felt like molten lava. The heat inside of him was getting intense, and the horrific pain was gone, completely replaced by that enormous burning. He gripped the nearest sofa.
Suddenly it was as though everything became clear. He felt a sensation of control, just automatically. And hate… the anger welled up inside him so greatly that he didn't realize it was there. Clutching the sofa, his nails embedded in the fabric, he was wishing it was Obi-Wan's throat. He envisioned it. The painful cry, the desperate plea under his unmerciful hands, the limp frame that followed…
He tore himself away, letting out a struggled yelp.
Padmé acknowledged him, unable to discard her concern. Beads of sweet hung from Anakin's face, and he looked horrified. Terror was read in his eyes.
"I…" He had to leave. He had to get help. Or was it too late? The last time he had felt like that was when he was twelve. And he murdered for the first time in his life. But even then, it had never been so intense. And Obi-Wan…
Padmé's hand came upon his face. Not in a comforting way— her touch was gentle nonetheless— but in a manner of observation. "Good gods, Ani, you're burning up."
Anakin met her eyes, feeling fatigued, dizzy, confused…
Though he was making perfect eye contact with her, his attention appeared to be in some faraway place.
"I need to see somebody," he said quietly, almost sadly. His eyes fell into an expression of sympathy, like he was near tears. "I'm sorry, I need some time. Please don't hate me." He cupped her chin in his hand. A wistful smile crept along his face. "You're so beautiful."
With that, he walked to the door, moving calmly but still looking insecure and puzzled. As he passed through the doorway, he spoke without looking back. "Maybe it's time for change…"
After that, her legs seemed to carry her, not her mind. Part of her was still standing at the sofa, watching him leave, while the other scurried to the nearest transmitter. She tapped in a code, fingers trembling. A small bulb lit up.
"Obi-Wan if you're there," she breathed. She couldn't find the words…or maybe she didn't want to admit to them. "It's happened."
"I didn't know who else to turn to. You're the only one who understands."
Chancellor Palpatine turned away from the window. Striding calmly to where the young Jedi stood, he looked upon him with sympathy, and, Anakin noted, interest. There was something else written on his face, and it was an expression he'd never witnessed before. Not that it made him pensive— in fact, it gave him some confidence. Palpatine always listened, always understood, always looked for ways to help. And managed success. Every time.
"I'm glad you came to me, Anakin." He put a sure hand on his shoulder. "Please. Sit. We have much to discuss."
As he approached the nearest seat, he eyed the Chancellor in a puzzled way. "…We do?"
Palpatine sat behind his large desk, looking superior in the morning glow. "Do you understand that there are incredible changes at hand? There are things occurring within the heart of the Republic— plans that will alter the shape of this galaxy?"
"Well, yes. It's apparent with all the war that—"
"No, no, Anakin," Palpatine shook his head impatiently. "There is more. Great things are about to happen." He lifted his chin proudly. "All in which I have conjured up myself."
Anakin listened intently, for his advisor was the wisest and most ambitious of all the men he knew. He definitely looked up to him as an inspiration. But despite his interest, he was absentmindedly reflecting on the relevance of the topic.
"Chancellor, I don't mean to be impetuous, but I was hoping you could help—"
"Help you." Palpatine closed his eyes in reflection, nodding with recognition. "Indeed, I was on the right track, my young one. Perhaps I should get to the point." His expression became solemn as he leaned forward in his seat, his voice deepening and speaking in a manner of secrecy. "You know you are gifted. I have watched you ever so carefully since you started to undergo training at the age of nine. Nobody recognizes or admires your abilities more than I. You will be the most remarkable being in the face of this galaxy."
The words, like all other times, were greatly accepted by Anakin. Of course he knew that he was the greatest Jedi— no, Padawan, in the history of the Council. Over time, he had slowly diminished the habit of blushing, or merely denying it out of shyness. Yes, that was long ago. Now he observed every word, hearing and feeling the intensity rising within the heart of Palpatine's voice.
"You don't even need anyone, Anakin. Consider me, though, as a real friend—"
"Padmé," Anakin began slowly and clearly, subtly offended, "I need. I wish that you wouldn't put words into my mouth, Chancellor."
Palpatine did not take it into offense. "Of course. Forgive me. I merely meant in the interest of… business."
"Business?" Anakin echoed.
"You are fed up with the system, aren't you, Anakin?" he inquired, enthusiasm evident in his voice.
Anakin nodded. He was beginning to understand. "Are you suggesting we make a drastic change to the Republic?"
"Oh yes." Palpatine liked that the Jedi Padawan was following along.
"With our wisdom, it's definitely possible." Anakin sat erect in his seat, considering in deep contemplation. "We can change it for the better I suppose. There isn't anything I'd want more. And I'm sure Padmé…" He stopped. "Padmé," he whispered in realization.
"What is it about the Senator, Anakin?"
"She's faithful to the Republic, regardless of the corruption." He looked up doubtfully. "Do you think she'd agree with change?"
"Amidala does what is in the interest of the people. What is good for them. That is my sole purpose, to create something completely new. Something where all is done for the good of the people, but not decisive in their part. So things will get done the smart way. A fine leader's way."
"Dictatorship," Anakin murmured to himself, reflecting on Padmé's disapproval on such an order of government. "Why?"
"Because we can. You… and I."
Anakin rose from his seat more abruptly than necessary. "No," he groaned. "But it's not right. It doesn't feel right."
"Perhaps it is necessary." Palpatine stood up as well. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. We both want a change in the Republic." He paused. "And the Order."
"There's nothing we can do," Anakin muttered through his teeth. "You make me sound like I'm all powerful, that I can do anything! I can't!"
"You can," he insisted. "Under my guidance, definitely.
Anakin's heart beat rapidly, heat welling up inside. But he was calm— strangely placid. "So what you're telling me is that I should abandon the Order, and… partner up with you? Lose all chances I may have of becoming a Jedi?"
"You like the treatment? The criticizing, the constant pressure, the mistrust? The jealousy…"
Anakin's artificial limb trembled. His fingers twitched. "I… can't leave. It wouldn't feel right."
"In time, when you come to realize you will not benefit any more from the Jedi, it will." Palpatine approached him slowly.
Anakin felt petrified on the spot, unable to move, to think clearly.
"For the good of the people, Anakin. For you, Senator Amidala, your future family… Seize what was wrongfully taken from you. Your mother's death was caused by the injustice of this system, in places I had no control over. We want control. For the better." The man stood behind Anakin, close enough that he could feel his breathe against his neck. And in addition to that, he sensed the powerful surge of determination, confidence… malice?
The next time the man spoke, his voice was distant. He stood at the window, looking out onto the bustling city world. "It will be where they least expect it… beneath their noses. One of their own, and possibly their greatest hope. There's more for you to learn. They shall teach it, and you will then be able to use it for your own benefit. I will teach you the rest."
All the while, Anakin was staring down upon his lightsaber, glistening slightly as it dangled from his belt. Seize what was wrongfully taken from you.
Grimly, he walked to the window, feeling unsure and vulnerable. But there was nothing he wanted more than justice.
"Look up," Palpatine instructed.
Up in the sky, the sun shone. Even though it was nearly broad daylight, what lay beyond was something immense. That was what he was indicating. The Galaxy, and beyond. Most of it could be his to command, he realized. But he wouldn't be manipulated easily— he would want a fair share, and the opportunity to seek out what he desired. He actually… liked the thought. Justice in his own hands.
"Now, my apprentice." Palpatine, flattered by the appealing ring to the young man's title, pointed to the far stretch of the city, where structures that far away were only silhouetted in a faint light. Along the way were many buildings, towering mostly, but all in varying sizes and architecture. One stood out from the rest.
It was open, symbolic, tranquil, and almost beautiful. To some eyes— Anakin's— it was a whole new image.
As the two shared a knowing gaze upon the distant form of the Jedi Temple, Palpatine spoke. "There, we shall begin. But first, in honor of your acceptance, there is a duty I would so grandly love for you to uphold…"
He paced slowly and steadily in the silence of the dark, taunted by anxiety, driven by the mad rush of adrenaline.
Garbed in dark attire, he was part of the shadows, as swift and misleading as the very blackness that bathed him. In his mind, he saw a path. He no longer knew where he stood, but remaining focused on his senses and on keeping his presence cloaked, he journeyed silently down wide steps, around pillars, and across a floor of steel. He could feel his rival nearby— distant, but his sickening presence was clear.
His arms swayed loosely beside him, his mechanical arm making the odd winding, hydraulic noise as he twiddled his fingers. Excitement welled up within him. He was virtually fearless. He had no doubt that he would get what he wanted. With this thought his anger grew, reflections of all that he had suffered for replayed in his mind.
And he began to sing a tune in his head, remarkably keeping his senses focused all the while. A melody escaped his lips in a hum, murmuring the song and even managing to add in a few words.
This was the song his mother always sang to him as a child. The song he had repeated on Ansion, bringing the presence of Shmi to him when he felt it was virtually impossible. The song he would never hear from his mother again…
He eliminated singing the words, and pursing his lips, he continued humming to the melody. His voice echoed, and the song was eerie in the silence. There was a sense of confusion from behind the enormous pillar he rounded— it was very close.
As he stepped into the open, so did his opponent.
He stood firmly, murmuring the song, feeling the intensity of the man standing numerous feet in front of him.
"How… cunning of you to reveal yourself before me in such a way." There was a dry chuckle. "Foolish boy…"
"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us," Anakin said. He hummed to himself yet again, clasping his hands behind his back and pacing around, looking absentminded.
More confusion. "I must say, I was not expecting the confrontation of a mere teenager. A defeated foe, in fact."
"Consider it a rematch. I'm sure you saw it coming." He reached within his robes and unclipped his cylindrical weapon, but with the least bit of intimidation. "This 'mere teenager' has learned a few things. I have found myself a plan, discovered what fate may have in store for me. As the saying goes, 'do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail'. Now we get to see what fate has in store for you." He tossed the lightsaber in the air, veering around swiftly to face his opponent while capturing the weapon in his hand, igniting the blue blade to life. It whirled in the air above his head, waiting. The sapphire glow illuminated half his face, the other half shadowed in the darkness.
On his opposite side, a red blade hummed in the withered, skilled hands of his foe.
Twirling his weapon at his side, he raised the blue blade to his face in the formal way of challenge. "Tyranus."
His opponent did the same. "When you fall this time, young Padawan, I can't guarantee that you'll walk away as easily."
"That's right. I'll walk away a happy man." He paused. "Right over your dead body."
Anakin darted through the darkness, hollering in all his fury, letting it lead him. It was a spectacle of agility and impressive displays of whirling light, struggled cries and raging intensity.
Banked anger was threatening to spill over, an unconverted tumult of unimaginable strength, rising with each strike. And Anakin let it overpower him to victory.
It ended too soon for his opponent. With a strangled cry, Darth Tyranus collapsed to the steel floor, bloody and wounded, while his much younger foe hovered over him, unharmed.
The old man spoke in raspy breaths, still persisting his taunts. "You're full of fear, boy. You're weak."
Anakin crouched down beside Tyranus' fallen body, lightsaber at his side and twitching with anticipation in his artificial hand. He eyed him with curiosity and seething hate. "I finally know what to do with my power. You saw it before. And you could've spared your own life to have given into it. You could have lead with us, you know." Tossing the lightsaber to his left hand, he threw his other arm in his face. "But consider this, yet. And now, you'll die." Throwing the lightsaber into the air once again, Anakin caught it with his right hand. So swift was his action that the Sith had no time to even yell out in pain.
The blue blade was immersed into the side of his body, ripping through skin and bone, raising a stench of burning flesh into the air. The blade tore upwards in the same direction it had entered, slicing his enemies body in half. As it neared his throat, Anakin pulled away, deactivated his weapon, and clipped it to his belt.
Wiping the beads of perspiration from his forehead, he stood to his feet, gazing down at the massacred body. All in his own doing, he reflected proudly.
With a last look of satisfaction, Anakin scowled. "What an dishonorable way to die. That, is the death of a coward. What made you think for a moment that that would be my end…"
Heavy footsteps echoed along the floor as he strode off. Approaching a corridor, his robes swirled behind him in the swift rush of air that followed his brisk pace. Humming his tune, Anakin Skywalker descended down the long winding steps… and descended into darkness.
THE END
(…let the havoc begin!)
-CF
A/N:
Tell me know what you guys thought! I love input, even if it's mean, hehe. I can take it.
If any of you get the chance, check out my other SW fics! They're all short stories— just a thought!
Thanks for reading, dudes! Happy Thanksgiving! WOOO! LONG WEEKEND!!!!!!!!