"Oh let me yet the thought of those past times renew,
When as that woody kind, in our umbrageous Wild,
Whence every living thing saw only they exiled,
In this their world of waste, the sovereign Empire swayed."

Michael Drayton, Poly-Olbion


Darth Vader stared into the tinted lenses of his helmet as they reflected the destructive flames melting his suit into slag. He believed it an end fitting for him; his death deserved to mirror his birth. The fires of Mustafar had stolen everything from him; Anakin Skywalker had died that day alongside his wife. Darth Vader was the dark phoenix that ascended in his place. Now, decades later, even the indomitable Sith succumbed to the fire.

The parallel fit too perfectly. Vader smiled at the sight as the last remnant of his identity began to warp in on itself, becoming ever more unrecognizable. Soon, Darth Vader would fade to dust, forever forgotten by the galaxy.

He turned his attention to the sole attendant of his funeral and felt an unusual swell of pride. Luke, hopelessly naive optimist that he was, had believed Vader worth fighting for. Luke had proven himself to be so much more than Vader could have envisioned in his child. It was a shame that he'd never reach the acclaim he deserved. The rebels would be all too quick to turn this victory into a movement for their cause; they wouldn't care that Luke had ended Sidious's reign as emperor, no, they'd be too focused on reforming—and how Vader hated the idea of the empire reverting into its prior useless government—the galaxy to suit their needs.

"Quite a beautiful evening, isn't it Anakin?"

Kenobi. Vader would never forget that damnable accent, even as he acknowledged, reluctantly, that the man had done a decent enough job protecting Luke during his youth—aside from telling him that Vader had killed his father, that was.

However, realizing that there was no escape from the man in death, Vader bit out a response, hoping that his former mentor would get the message and leave him alone. "What do you want?"

"Can an old man not take time to converse with his padawan?"

Vader turned his head towards the man, raising an eyebrow but otherwise not reacting. Originally content to cow him into submission, as he'd done with so many subordinates previously, Vader was forced to remember that Obi-Wan's patience and stubbornness made the attempt pointless.

"I am not your padawan."

"Oh Anakin," Kenobi sighed, "when will you learn to release your hate and pride? It has only ever caused you suffering."

And that suffering had made him great; it had fueled his power, making Vader the most formidable force-user in the galaxy. Kenobi was the one that didn't understand. But, as it had always been, the old man refused to believe he could be taught something.

"Why am I here?" Vader asked instead.

"Because you were the Chosen One, Anakin. You brought balance to the Force."

He snorted at the words, unable to keep himself from reacting, and crossed his arms in front of his chest before turning back to Luke. "If by balance, you mean destroy both sides until only a handful of untrained initiates remain, then sure. I am no savior, Obi-Wan; I was the cancer that killed off everything it touched. If you want to equate indiscriminate death and slaughter with balance, then be my guest—but know that wasn't what the rest of the Jedi touted me as."

"That's not quite fair—"

"I was the one that killed the Order," Vader interrupted. "From temple guards to younglings, they all perished by my hand.

"I was the one that enforced Palpatine's rule over the galaxy, culling any potential challenges to his reign.

"I—I was the one who choked my own wife, tortured my daughter, and maimed my son."

Even now, Vader could feel Leia's Force signature—and how hadn't he realized she was his child with the amount of brightness radiating from her? No doubt she was off with that smuggler, celebrating his death along with the rest of the rebels. The thought that his own flesh and blood hated him enough to see his passing as celebratory caused him more pain than any physical injury could.

For a brief moment, he thought of appearing to her, of prostrating himself and begging for her forgiveness in a way that he'd never before contemplated doing in life. The only thing that stopped him was the fear of rejection. How else could she react to him, he mused. Leia was not Luke. She had grown up with a loving family; she had lost that family while fighting against the Empire; Darth Vader was the figurehead of everything she despised in the galaxy. The best thing he could give her was his absence, no matter how much it destroyed the part of him that had always cherished family and had looked upon his wife's once smiling form and had believed in the exuberant felicity of life.

Now older, Vader knew there was no such thing. He did not deserve that long dreamt of daughter; every misfortune that had fallen on Leia came from his hand. He had no right to impinge on her life now, not when she was finally free of him.

Vader exhaled, thinking back to his many failures in life. For all that he'd always commanded respect from everyone around him, he truly was a weakling when it mattered. It seemed to Vader that he could never do the right thing. He always made everyone else's life worse.

"I stood by while everything Padmé represented and defended was torn apart.

"I watched as Tarkin obliterated Leia's home world, uncaring of the suffering and trauma it caused her.

"I condemned Luke to a childhood of labor and poverty in Tatooine's deserts."

"—Now, you can't claim responsibility for that last one, Anakin." Obi-Wan protested, interrupting his catalogue of sins. "I was the one to take Luke to Tatooine. If anyone's to blame for that, it should be me."

Vader inclined his head in acknowledgment, yet still refused to absolve himself of responsibility. "Be that as it may, Luke would have never had to endure that hell had I been able to provide even the least bit of protection to Padmé and our children."

"You're too hard on yourself." Obi-Wan tried. "The chancellor fooled everyone; he orchestrated every detail from both sides of the war to achieve his goals. You cannot hold yourself to that impossible standard when no one else had proven themselves any better."

"But wasn't I supposed to be better than everyone else?" Vader questioned cynically. "The Hero with no Fear, the Chosen One, whatever other honorific the public heaped on me. Were those not your words too, Obi-Wan?" Angling his head so that Obi-Wan could see the hard lines of his face, he sneered the words that occurred so often in his dreams back at him: "You were the Chosen One! It was said that you would destroy the Sith, not join them. It was you who would bring balance to the Force, not leave it in Darkness!"

Guilt flashed across Obi-Wan's face, though he quickly hid the emotion behind a more neutral mask. "And in the end, you redeemed yourself. You destroyed the Darkness, just as the prophecy claimed." He said instead, insisting on his rhetoric that Vader had fulfilled the Jedi's vaunted prophecy.

Vader remained unconvinced. Oh, he was sure Obi-Wan believed what he was saying, but Vader had spent enough time alongside the man to know he wasn't as selfless as others believed him. Obi-Wan would take reality and warp it to suit his worldview. He wanted to make a victory of Darth Vader's death and the best way to do that would be to fall back on that damnable prophecy so that he could boast the power of the Light Side and its triumph over the Dark. It didn't change anything. Obi-Wan was simply trying to confuse the facts, something that was useless to both of them considering that they'd experienced the events themselves.

"Even if I had achieved Balance," he hadn't, but arguing the fact was redundant, "it came at far too late a time to be worth anything."

He returned his attention to the smoldering remains of his suit. Its form still stood among the flames, allowing him to continue staring into the mask that was his identity.

"The only thing I ended up balancing was my own crime—my own existence. Darth Vader's birth cast the galaxy into darkness; his death signals the end of the Sith."

"You sell yourself too short, Anakin."

He scoffed in contempt. "No, I don't think I do, Obi-Wan. Had I never Fallen, Sidious would have died, and the empire never born. Everything wrong that happened to the galaxy is my fault."

Sighing, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to simply exist in the Force. For the first time in decades, it was tranquil and serene; vacant of malice. Vader had never liked the peacefulness—too often it heralded a coming storm, and that wasn't even mentioning that a time of peace meant a time of idleness. He could never afford to be idle, not when the galaxy was in constant turmoil. Now, however, he let the Force flow around him, soothing inexistent injuries in a way that the roiling cloak of the Dark Side had never allowed. Vader gazed at the supernova of brightness that was his son and basked in his warmth.

He didn't deserve redemption; he was no hero. Luke may have forgiven him, but Vader had not. As much as he loved his son, indeed Luke's wellbeing meant the galaxy to him, he was not the only one wronged by him. Nor was he the only one that mattered. Padmé. Leia. Ahsoka. Countless other faces appeared in his mind.

Vader opened his eyes. The suit had begun to break apart as it finally succumbed to the heat. Vader wished that he'd never survived Mustafar, that he'd given in to the pain and agony Obi-Wan had left him in. At least then, he wouldn't need his own son to make his funeral pyre.

Looking down at his spectral form, Vader turned his hand over so that he could stare into the lines of his palm. He squeezed his hand into a fist, marveling at the fluidity of his movement. He'd spent so long in the suit that he couldn't remember the last time his body had moved with such ease.

"It's astonishing, isn't it?" Obi-Wan knowingly asked from beside him.

"Undeserved is what it is."

"Anakin…" he chided, "enough of the pity. Despite what you may think, you did fulfill the prophecy. You may have stumbled along the way but, when it truly mattered, you returned to the Light and destroyed the Sith. Your actions warrant reward, and I am sure that I am not the only Jedi to believe so."

"Perhaps the Jedi see this as a victory." He acceded. "But I am no Jedi, Obi-Wan; I cannot claim the name of Anakin Skywalker any longer. He died on Mustafar the very day Darth Vader rose in his place." Vader looked around the vast canopies of Endor, noting the contrast between the verdant greenery and his own desolate remains. "This afterlife is not my deserved reward." He concluded. "I will not accept the reward of a single good act in spite of a life of Darkness. The ends do not warrant the means, Obi-Wan."

"What do you think you deserve, then?" Obi-Wan asked cautiously, likely aware enough of Vader's personality to know the answer regardless—not that such foreknowledge would save him from Vader's answer.

"Hell." He stated icily, sincere in his own self-damnation. "Endless torment as repentance for the crimes that went unpunished during my life."

Obi-Wan reared back as if physically struck. Vader did not know why the reaction was so visceral. Surely the man thought the same behind his veneer of geniality. After terrorizing the galaxy for over two decades and oppressing the very people he'd once sought to help, there could be no recourse other than punishment. Even Anakin Skywalker, foolish slave boy that he was, knew that some crimes were too heinous to be absolved, some people too despicable to be redeemed. Darth Vader was one of them.

He looked back to his hand, still clenched into a fist, and focused, truly focused, on what he was seeing. The Force was nothing more than a tool and Vader had spent more time than most understanding how to wield that tool to suit his purposes.

Ah, there it was. Vader felt as the tightly coiled energy frayed slightly, a loose thread coming free. Yet, before committing to this action, he cast one more look at his son. If he went through with this, he would never see his children again. He may not even remember them in time.

He'd forgotten Padmé once. Why would Luke and Leia be any different?

And yet… where did his care and protection of Padmé take him? Darth Vader, Anakin Skywalker, they were destined to become Sith. Obi-Wan wanted to say that he'd redeemed himself; Vader knew better. The only person that his 'redemption' had saved was Luke who, as Obi-Wan seemed to conveniently forget, was in danger because of Darth Vader and the Empire.

His gaze fell from Luke's solemn face, landing instead on his prosthetic. He had not contributed a single benefit to Luke's life—and he'd done even worse to Leia. He would not be selfish and impose himself on his children's lives simply because he had the power.

He'd always coveted power. Now, looking back on his life, Vader acknowledged that very determination, that greedy wish for superiority, had led to the downfall of everything he cared about. Power came at a price; he had just always been too blind to see that.

Vader pulled the thread, feeling as his essence slowly began to unravel. "Tell the rest of the Jedi that Darth Vader is gone. He will not join them in the Force."

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan asked, watching as Darth Vader's body began to fade and blur. "Anakin!" He repeated—and did Vader hear a note of panic in his voice? His hearing must already be compromised if that were the case.

He looked back to the pyre, watching the flames reflect in the tarnished lenses of his mask. He looked to his son and saw the somber acceptance in the boy's face. The selfish, emotional side of Darth Vader that had once called itself Anakin wanted nothing more than to put the past behind him and help Luke forge a new course in the galaxy. He wanted to watch his son grow old and find the joy he never had in life.

The only thing stopping that from happening was himself. Darth Vader's shadow loomed large and, even now, he could see it everywhere around him. It would be easy to listen to Obi-Wan and let go of his sins. It's what everyone he cared about would have wanted.

It was not what he deserved. Darth Vader did not deserve peace and happiness. He was a failure. The only thing he'd ever succeeded at was causing misery and death. People like him have no right to instant redemption. They needed to earn it. Vader wasn't sure he'd ever be worthy of looking after his children. Not after everything he'd put them through.

Peace is a lie. Darth Vader accepted that philosophy; he believed in it for the majority of his life. He would not turn on it now. If he had to live on after death, it would not be to the sweet melodies of tranquility sought after by the Jedi; it would be to the passionate hellfires of suffering. A cracking sound broke the stillness of his funeral as the blackened suit finally lost its structure and collapsed in on itself. His chest piece caved inwards, and the wires emitted a burst of sparking embers as the flames devoured them. Vader wished he were still inside the suit.

He wished he were still on Mustafar, as his limbs convulsed in agony and acrid smoke invaded his lungs, burning him from the inside out, as tongues of flame licked at his bared skin, leaving trails of bubbling flesh in their wake.

"—Anakin! Stop this!"

Why was Obi-Wan still talking? Didn't he want Darth Vader gone as much as anyone else? He'd even told—poisoned—Luke to believe that Darth Vader had killed his father in a bid to pit them against one another.

"Please Anakin," Obi-Wan began to plead. "Don't leave now that the galaxy is finally in balance!"

His words prickled against Vader's mind. Turning his head—did he even still have a head? So much of his essence had already dispersed that it was hard to tell how much corporeality remained—he sneered at his former master.

"I am not Anakin Skywalker. I will not…exist… among the Jedi as if I were one of them!"

"And what of Luke? Of Leia? Who will watch over them if you were to vanish?"

Vader's glare hardened. It would be just like Kenobi to guilt him into compliance. No, he'd already accepted that he was undeserving of such an honor. Kenobi would not sway him. "You did not allow me that privilege in life. I cannot accept it in death, having already witnessed my own failures as a father. Luke and Leia's lives will only prosper without me darkening their faces."

He felt as the energy holding his form together began to fluctuate erratically and, forcing the energy to expand, he willed every individual particle to scatter. As had happened on Mustafar, Darth Vader tore the body of Anakin Skywalker asunder, mutilating the once bright presence before the eyes of his former master. Stubbornly, he stared into the shocked and saddened eyes of his first mentor, hoping to impart that, for once in his life, Vader wanted to make his own decisions. He would not follow the path set out for him by Obi-Wan.

The Force called to him, urging his consciousness away from the sky above Endor. If he took the time, he could almost convince himself that the Force was asking him where to go. It tugged at the back of his mind like an eager pet. Releasing a final sigh, Darth Vader obliged the entity, closing his eyes to Obi-Wan and throwing all his feelings, memories, and emotions into the Force.

It latched onto them with a zeal he'd rarely felt and, soon after, Darth Vader's essence began to warp in a feeling that was peculiar in as much as it was ingrained into his very being. This was the Force, the building block and dictator of the galaxy and everything within it. He was everywhere and nowhere simultaneously; sated and starved; complete and empty; everything and nothing.

And then, it stopped.

One moment the Force was transporting him along its waves—while also flowing through him in a paradoxical cycle of infinity—and the next, he was singular again. The whispers he hadn't known were present stopped and the numb sensitivity of his consciousness faded into corporeal feeling.

His eyes were open. When had he opened them? Perhaps more importantly, why was he so short? He didn't even reach past the boots of the person opposite him. Had he been transmigrated into a tooka or some other creature?

It took a moment, but Vader soon realized that he was free of the suit—and that his body—his human body—was in immense agony. Despite the pain, he relished in the feel of real air, no matter how hot and stifling it was, against his skin and the writhing mobility of his limbs as they flailed about on the rocky beach, beating and scraping against his surroundings with a vigor and freedom he hadn't felt in decades.

As the rushing sound of molten liquid crashing against the stone reached his ears, realization clicked into place. He was on Mustafar; the Force had given him his wish. His skin—and how long had it been since he'd been able to feel his skin? —threatened to tear as his lips pulled tight. A choking laugh bubbled out, uncaring of how his throat convulsed in protest.

Slowly, with delicious pain, his head craned upwards, tracing the outline of the person before him. If the reason for this movement was to identify the being, it was unnecessary. Vader recognized the form and attire the moment he set eyes on it.

The only question was: what the kriff was Obi-Wan doing here? The levity vanished from his face as he snarled at the man. This was his suffering, dammit! Why couldn't Obi-Wan just leave him alone?! Vader's blurry eyes, bleeding a sulphuric yellow, tried to focus on him. It was harder to see without the mask and its ensemble of amenities, Vader noted, but he persevered, nevertheless.

"You were the Chosen One..."

Was he still going on about this? Wasn't it enough that he'd decided to follow him in the afterlife? Did Obi-Wan really think he could change Vader's mind?

He didn't care what Obi-Wan thought of him. He didn't care how pained and betrayed the man sounded. His choice was his own. Obi-Wan had no right to pester him as he was. All Vader wanted to do was suffer in peace!

Oh, and he was talking back, apparently. Too caught up in his inner diatribe, Vader hadn't realized that the painful reverberations thrumming along his throat were words. He only now acknowledged that the gurgling voice clawing its way into the world was his own. It sounded so different than he was accustomed to without the vocoder implanted within his voice box to translate every pitiful whimper or the modified helmet that had taken years to fully grow accustomed to.

"—Hate you!"

Oh. Oh. Vader understood now. This wasn't death; this was a memory. He really should have known better; he'd certainly relived this moment in his dreams enough that he should have been able to recognize his surroundings. Damn the Force for giving him hope.

Still, he supposed that it was a better punishment than he'd had before. At least here, Vader could bask in his suffering, even if it were only for a fragment of time. Idly, he wondered whether the memory would simply repeat itself after concluding or if this hallucination would force him to relive every moment of pain in his past life.

His arm feebly clawed at the loose strands of rock. How pathetic. Vader had almost forgotten how pitiful he'd been, nothing more than a power-drunk lunatic incapable of deciphering the world around him. It was no wonder he'd lost so soundly to Obi-Wan. And he'd thought this was true power! Loathing washed over him. This was nothing more than delusion.

To think, he'd tasted this and actually believed it possessed the power to save Padmé and their children! All it had done was feed him false truths—and he, the fool, had accepted them without thought, throwing away everything he'd believed in and sought to protect without even the slightest resistance.

"You were my brother, Anakin—"

"P-Padmé…"

He'd been so foolish, so naïve. The Dark Side did not save; it destroyed. He may not have killed Padmé directly, but Vader knew, despite what any autopsy may report, that his actions caused her death.

"I-I'm sorry, Padmé." He cried, burying his face in the rocks. They burned at his face to the point that he wasn't even sure his tears could escape. It didn't matter; he'd survived worse. Padmé hadn't.

"I tried!" He wailed. "Everything I did—it was for you!" His sole remaining limb slammed onto the bed of coals. "I should have never met you. It would have been better. Everything would have been better!"

"Anakin?"

That was Obi-Wan, he realized. What did he want, now? It didn't matter. He'd leave soon, abandoning him to the fires of Mustafar until Sidious arrived to collect him. All Vader had to do was wait him out. He had experience doing that. He'd spent ten years waiting for Obi-Wan to reveal himself, a few moments would be nothing.

"What did you say, Anakin?"

Who knew that Hell could be so annoying? Vader was beginning to regret his choice if it kept insisting on these needless interruptions.

"Leave!" He hissed, jerking his head up to glare at the man.

Obi-Wan jumped back, startled. Odd, Vader felt that he would have distinctly remembered something like that the first time around, no matter how blinded he was by molten rage. Obi-Wan remained staring at him, seemingly on the precipice of coming closer or leaving.

Vader had enough, he decided. Whatever this illusion was, he tired of it. Honestly, if he wanted to hear Obi-Wan's useless prattle, he wouldn't have exorcised his own spirit from the afterlife. Grasping the surrounding Force in a stranglehold, Vader mercilessly rent it apart in an attempt to break whatever hallucination held him captive. Perhaps the next memory would prove more apt for the fate he desired.

Contrary to his wish, the scene did not change. All his act managed to do was send a billow of residual energy around him, kicking up some ash and sending a handful of pebbles trickling into the river behind him as a result of the displaced energy.

Vader looked around at his surroundings, trying to comprehend the situation. His use of the Force should have either dispelled whatever mirage bound him or, if this truly were a memory, failed entirely. Instead, he remained laying there. Nothing had changed. The Force continued to swirl around him as it had prior to his expulsion of energy.

Knowing that he could not rely on his senses for any sort of dependable reading—he hadn't utilized any of those faculties after entering the suit; he wasn't sure he even knew how to understand their signals on his own—Vader delved into the one sense that never led him astray, the Force itself.

The response startled him. Across the galaxy, specks of light flashed like stars in the inky darkness. He could hear each of the presences' harmonies as they symphonized with the greater flow of the Force. Yet, it was a sad song that played in his ears, one of lament and anguish as crescendos of shock and pain danced with orchestrated rhythm. Repeatedly, like a hammer blow, the beat echoed across the force, marching the doleful song into a hushing spiral whose only outcome was silence.

It was too much. He craved the darkness; the light burned his mind, overwhelming him and his finely tuned senses with the sheer volume of cacophonous tones. Hastily, he pulled back, reigning in his perception until only he and Obi-Wan remained in sight.

The Force… it was alive. It sang to him with life and vigor in a way that Vader had never seen before. Even as it cried out with every harsh beat, the brightness was still too much. It was as if he really was back on Mustafar during that fateful duel. But if that were the case…

He tentatively extended his range, cautious and reluctantly hopeful at what—at who—he might find a short distance away.

There!

Her presence pulsated in the Force just as he remembered. Except, Vader noticed with distress, it was too dim; it was fading! Padmé… Padmé dies today.

No. Vader refused. He would not lose her. The Force would not take her from him!

Yet, what could he do? Dismembered and defeated, Vader was stuck on this Force forsaken spit of land until Sidious arrives. By then, it would have been too late.

He couldn't save her.

Perhaps this is the Hell envisioned for him by the Force. Here he lay, his greatest desire just out of reach. He had to admit, nothing could be more cruel than reliving the death of his love while being powerless to stop it.

"I'm sorry it had to end this way Anakin." Obi-Wan's voice broke past his thoughts. Looking up, he saw as the man turned away from him, both of their lightsabers clipped to his belt. Just like the first time, Obi-Wan was leaving him here to die. Vader watched the man he had once considered a brother slowly travel further away from him, leaving Vader to his fate.

"Run, Obi-Wan!" Vader called after him, unimpressed with the pace he was setting. If Obi-Wan was going to leave him for dead, the least he could do was be quick about it. Vader was unsure if the garbled words reached his former master, but the bundle of intent he shoved through their fragile Force bond certainly served to hurry him along. Soon, the man left his sight and Vader had to rely on the Force to track him.

"Padmé," he muttered as he felt Obi-Wan draw close to her, "Luke… Leia."

He would not fail them, not this time. His children would grow up loved, even if he was not present. They would have Padmé; Padmé would have them. Vader contented himself with the thought. He would not allow others to scatter his family across the galaxy.

That begged the question, though. What was Darth Vader's role in his family? Destroyer of the Republic and Second in Command of the Empire, he knew that Padmé would not accept him. He was not Anakin Skywalker, the dashing hero of democracy. He was Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith, and more machine than man. He doubted Padmé would even recognize him when they next met. If they next met. It would be in line with the rest of his life for the Force to give him hope of Padmé's survival only to rip it away from him.

Vader grit his teeth, tamping down on the despair and letting it fill him with energy. The cold embrace of the Dark Side washed over him and, while always keeping a watchful eye on his beloved through the Force, Vader dug the remaining stumps of his legs into the scorched, jagged ground and began the slow crawl away from the molten river.

Every agonizing brush against the rocks cut into his burnt flesh and fueled another step; every breath of ashy smoke and burning gas that shriveled his lungs gave him life. The Dark Side provided a soothing balm to his flesh, transcending the pain and focusing his mind. He knew that the suit was inevitable. In a way, he appreciated that thought even as it repulsed him. The suit was as much of Darth Vader as he was. It was his identity. He would be lost without the prison that had forged him into the monster he'd become.

Vader lost sense of time. All that mattered was the faint signature of Padmé growing increasingly distant. If he did not know exactly what to look for, Vader would have lost her presence in the greater flow of the Force entirely. Even then, it was difficult to remain focused on her while the brighter signatures continued to explode throughout the galaxy. When Sidious arrived hours—days? He truly didn't know how long he'd endured the fiery torment. —later Vader's corpse was hardly recognizable. Yet, he was alive; he would survive.

The journey to Sidious's medical facility passed before him unseen. By the time Sidious had come to collect him, he'd already immersed himself in a shroud of darkness, and fell into a near meditative state. Whether Sidious realized that or, more likely, thought him too beaten to respond to his surroundings, the outcome remained the same. His smoldering carcass was ferried to the nearest operating table and laid out for extensive surgery.

Unlike the first time, however, Vader never lost consciousness. He remained fixed on the single most important light in the galaxy as it flickered in the growing darkness. Anakin Skywalker had died on Mustafar. Darth Vader would not die. Padmé could not die.


Beta'd by Malicean