Chapter 18: Ambush
It was early evening when Vader finally came to visit her.
Padmé had taken particular care with her coif and wardrobe, hoping to put him in a relaxed mood, and then hone in for her attack. Now was time to get this all out in the open.
Time was running out.
She had dressed in the deep red velvet gown that she knew he especially liked. It had a low, scooped neckline, a full skirt, and tight sleeves that ended in a flared bell shape below her elbow. Tiny rubies and seed pearls were embroidered onto the bodice, the hem, and the edge of the sleeves. A simple, though costly design of creamy baroque pearl earrings hung from her ears.
The last time she had worn this sumptuous evening dress, she could feel his quiet admiration like a gentle caress. She had pinned her silver-dusted mahogany hair into an elaborate, but tasteful bejeweled style and left some curls to hang artlessly down her back. The scars on her neck had seemed to fade completely, so she left her neck bare instead of wearing the matching heavy pearl choker.
With a pang of sadness, she desperately wished that she still had the Japor snippet pendant that a very young Anakin had carved for her those many years ago. He'd carved it for her so that she'd have something to remember him by, as if she could have ever forgotten him. She smiled a secret smile that Vader had not missed; indeed, he wondered what caused the smile.
She had always worn the ivory pendant, kept it close to her, and it had been nowhere to be found when she woke in the hospital. Padmé had grieved bitterly over it once she realized it was not in her personal effects in the medical center's vault, since it had been her last tangible memory of her beloved Anakin. Somehow, it must have gotten lost. He had told her it was a good luck amulet; she could use that luck now.
Vader stood quietly in front of the large port window, seemingly looking out at the stars.
In reality, he was watching her reflection closely. Her hips swaying gently, she was gracefully pacing the room. He was waiting for Padmé to make the first move in this game. Or, rather, the second move. Her first move, a choice one, he might add, was to look absolutely delectable in that gown. It was quite distracting. He noticed the subtle swell of her breasts above the neckline. It had almost made him forget that determined look in her eye.
Almost.
She sighed. It was time.
"And what of Luke?"
I had expected nothing less than a direct assault, he mused.
It was time to cut to the chase.
"The Emperor wants him dead, Padmé. Luke is a threat to the Empire." He spoke to her reflection in the glass.
"That threat is also your son. Or have you forgotten that?" She flushed red with anger.
"No, I have not." Vader had turned around to face her across the room. His retort was cold and unsympathetic, made even harsher by his voice projector. How long would it take for her to see reason?
"I did what I could. I suggested to my Master that Luke could be persuaded to turn to the Dark Side of the Force and serve the Emperor, too."
He seemed proud of his proclamation, and more than just a little defensive, but inside he was apprehensive of her reaction. He didn't think she would warm to the idea.
Padmé's mouth dropped open in abject horror. Never a violent person, at that precise moment, if she could have, she would have wrapped her hands around Anakin's neck and squeezed until his head fell off.
She suddenly felt lightheaded and faint.
"It was the only way to save Luke, Padmé. It was the only thing I could do," he quickly explained as he had begun to pace the length of the room, gesturing gracefully with his right hand. That gloved hand curled into a fist as he turned abruptly back to her, triumphant, ebullient.
"We will rule the galaxy as father and son."
He paused holding his hand out to her, "No. As a family."
Padmé was disgusted and recoiled from him.
"I don't want to rule the galaxy, Anakin. I never did. You know that." Once again, she had rejected his offer. "It goes against all my principles and beliefs!"
Sorely frustrated, Vader was outraged that Padmé had not finally come around to his point of view. The passing years had not made her any more amenable. Why could she not see reason? The anger radiated off of him; she could feel it. But she was not in the least cowed and approached him.
"What will you do if Luke does not want to rule? If he doesn't turn to the Dark Side? Will you kill him, then?"
Vader, at first, gave no answer. He was weighing his reply. He then turned from her because her dark eyes bored twin holes into him. After a meaningful pause, he spoke.
"You do not understand, Padmé. There is no choice."
"No, Anakin, you do not understand," she quickly retorted. "There is always a choice."
"I did what I could Padmé."
"You cut off his arm!" She snapped back. She would never forget Luke's feverish and agonized expression. "Luke could very well have died then and there!"
"It was…necessary." The words sounded so...final.
He took a breath, and then continued his explanation.
"I did not ever intend to kill him, Padmé. It is the only way to disarm a Jedi. They are relentless. If I had not done so, Luke might have killed me."
Vader looked at her pointedly. "Would you rather have had Luke kill me?"
Anxiety washed over her and her stomach lurched, but Padmé remained silent under his perusal. The sound of his breathing apparatus provided the only sound in the room. It echoed in her ears and frayed her already raw nerves.
In truth, she was deeply mortified because she was torn; she could not come up with a definitive answer either way. Her face flooded red with shame as she stood there, trembling under his cold regard.
Vader watched her intently.
To him, the silence spoke louder than any words ever could. The sinking feeling in his gut confirmed her silent reply. He turned and furiously exited her chamber, stalking down the corridor of the Death Star. He was now in a most foul mood and woe to anyone who crossed his path. Anyone who dared to even slightly displease him would die today.
At his departure, Padmé collapsed onto the closest chair available with a groan.
It's getting worse, she thought, dejectedly. She really did not know how much longer she could keep up this charade. She could feel that she didn't have much time left.
TeeSee-Fourteen and the Two-OneBee medical droid came almost immediately into her chamber to tend to her, having sensed Vader's departure. She had given them orders to approach her about her condition only when their master was absent. They administered the precise dosage to reduce her pain, but keep her as lucid as possible. She could not let Anakin know that she was now taking the heavy painkillers each day. That would be difficult to explain away.
Should I tell him?
Padmé struggled with that dilemma every day. She was deathly afraid of his reaction to the news.
Years ago, Anakin's dreams of her death in childbirth had brought about the birth of Darth Vader, the end of the Republic, and the destruction of the Jedi Order. She could not risk telling him now. But as he had no idea she was now actually dying, she would do her best to make sure he did not find out until the bitter end. She needed to convince him to let Luke go…and turn away from the Dark Side…but it was so difficult to talk to him!
I need more time with him.
The fact that Anakin had absolutely no idea of her present condition solidified the belief in her mind that Palpatine had completely used the fear of her dying to manipulate him into turning to the Dark Side. She had agonized over this during the many long hours she was alone. She was now certain of it.
With a current of apprehension running through her, Padmé wondered if Anakin would ever sense her illness or if he could find it out by reading her thoughts. She vowed to block her thoughts on the subject whenever he was near. Perhaps his own trauma years ago had dulled some of his preternatural senses?
The medication flowing through her veins relaxed her and she focused on Anakin's injuries, instead of her own mortality. She really wondered what he looked like under that mask and suit. The images he had inserted into her mind of his suffering at the hand of Obi-Wan had given her some idea. She knew all his limbs were now artificial because Obi-Wan had sliced them off Anakin's body. She cringed at the memory of his agony.
How Anakin had tried, with his sole remaining limb, an artificial limb, to pull himself up the steep, rocky uneven bank and keep himself out of the flowing lava. But it was to no avail; gravity had won out because he slid into the molten river and the flames consumed him. She would never forget the sound of his screams. Did he live with that memory daily? Did it fill his dreams when he slept?
She wiped away a stray tear.
It was a wonder that he was still alive. Anyone else would have surely died. She could not imagine the rehabilitation and treatment of such grave wounds. Even with advanced medical technology, infection and shock often killed patients.
And what did he look like? He had made no attempt to let her see his true face, instead hiding behind that mask. She knew that he could remove the mask and helmet; she had walked in on him once when the droid was sealing his head back into the two hard black cranial pieces. She had seen a glimpse of a pale, scarred head before her view was blocked. Neither Anakin nor the droid had noticed her, and she had backed out of his chamber silently and not approached the door again. It was obvious he was not yet comfortable with her.
Would he ever be?
There were some things she did know. All his limbs were now artificial. She knew that he was completely bald, and that there was a deep, improperly healed scar on his head, but that was the extent of what she knew. Was his face scarred into a permanent grimace? Or had the lava burned his face smooth and devoid of any features? She didn't care what he looked like. Why did he hide from her? Did he think she would hate him because of how he looked?
That would be absurd, because I really have many other better reasons to hate him.
Her thoughts swung back to her own condition. She was feeling just a bit groggy, but it would pass shortly.
Padmé admitted to herself that she did not fully trust him, either.
She could never reveal her condition to him; if he did what he had done because of a damned nightmare, what would happen if he knew she was really dying? And especially now-now that he knew of Luke's existence. Would he try to convince Luke to join him to save her life? She shuddered in repulsion. She would not have her children used as pawns by the Empire.
She had to do something- anything- to save her children before she died.
And to save Anakin, too.