Thank you to all my reviewers! Sorry for taking so long to post this, I've been very busy lately.
eridani I didn't really like the final 2 lines of chapter 2- you've fallen back on an old cliche. Oh, and it seems that you've forgotten to delete a comment from your Beta, about half way through chapter 2.
Thanks for the heads-up- I fixed the comments. I ended up posting the wrong edition- but fixed that soon after I read your review. And I do believe I have already sent you the higher-rated chapter. As for the ending, I understand what you mean. I have to admit, that probably wasn't the best chapter ending of my life and I thank you for your honesty in regards towards it.
Kristiana This is SO WONDERFUL! I do have one sma--actually large request(feel free to ignore it;your story)...please don't make Anakin/Vader be in that horrid suit! I realize Obi-Wan said Vader was killed in a burst of flames...but you could tweak the story couldn't you? Again, do what you want.
Well, wait and see. Actually, this chapter should answer your request/question of Anakin's condition… with a bit more explained in the next chapter.
websurfer: hey, this is pretty good but you left what I assume are you're beta's comments in so you might want to go back and fix that.I
Thanks for pointing that out- I've fixed it. It was quite an embarrassing mistake to make, posting the wrong version of the chapter.
Fantaszm-Fairy: I dont care if vader is in the suit. as long as hes still pretty underneath.
Thank you very much. And heh, you will see in this chapter…
Crystal Cat-chan: The idiots should just bring Leia to see her mother, as confused as that might make her, Padme needs her daughter.
Oh, you shall see. Just wait for a few chapters…
I'd like to thank all the rest of my reviewers and I hope you join me for this chapter, as well as the next ones, because this fic is long from being done! And now, I present to you:
Chapter 2: Broken Family
With a crash, a glass hits the wall, splintering into tiny crystal shards. The liquid in the glass slowly runs down the wall, leaving a dark red trail- the same color as blood. He feels a certain satisfaction as the Commander cringes away from him, his eyes wide.
Fear…
He lives on fear, drinking it like water, the one substance that keeps him nourished. And the fear of this commander will feed him for days… It rolls off of him in a palatable cloud, seeking the void in the room, the void he himself is. He draws the fear to him, tasting it, letting it wrap itself around him, covering his every inch. Perhaps because the commander has fed him so well, he will let him live. It is not so often that he receives such a strong dose of what he needs to survive, to keep his systems in working order, to give him the will to live…
Though he doubts he truly does live. To live is to be full of life, a wish to continue on this plane of existence, a desire to make the most of what is sent your way. And he has none of these desires. Instead he is the void, the absence of everything, the presence of nothingness. His eyes, considered by many to be the window to the soul, are lifeless, dead. They fix on objects without really seeing, without really knowing. His eyes are dead- and so is his soul.
He is the very darkness that he wraps around himself, the very fear that radiates off of him. He reigns in his darkness, calling the invisible vapors of fear in the air towards him as he turns to face the commander- the weak, pitiful commander, who trembles at the sight of him. With a smirk, he decides the fate of the commander, as he reaches with one hand towards his hood he always wears, keeping his features hidden to the world.
The Wraith, the Shadow, the Darkness, the Evil, the Betrayer… He is the Dark Lord and few alive have seen his true features. An imposing figure in black, he always wears an over-robe with the hood drawn low, keeping his face in the shadows. Those who are lucky- or unlucky enough to see some of his features tell tales of bloodless yellow eyes, a slight curl of darkened hair and a scar over his right eye.
And those who see more live no longer.
The Dark Lord only reveals his true face to those who are to imminently meet Death. He gives them the honor of finally knowing their murderer, one last favor to them before they become one with the Force. Not one being in the galaxy can say that the Dark Lord is not honorable. He does not kill anonymously, but with calculated pleasure as he draws back his hood and sneers, reaching out a hand, fingers splayed.
And then he listens to the sound of the dying's screams. It is music to his ears, as the victim spasms on the floor, blue Force lightning wreaking havoc on his systems. The screams heighten as the Dark Lord intensifies the strength of the lightning and then taper off as the last particle of life leaves the shell of what once was a commander of the Imperial Navy.
He lowers his outstretched hand and steps over the body, drawing up his hood once more. He ignores the shards of glass on the floor as well, the wine that still drips, pooling in the middle of the splinters. With an annoyed wave of his hand, the door to the chamber opens and he steps out, motioning to two troopers to remove the body and clean up the wine.
He stalks down the corridor, his footfalls echoing as he moves towards the bridge. For one, someone will have to be promoted into the dead commander's position. And, what he dreads, he must tell the Admiral as well. They are to set course towards the Imperial Center immediately.
His 'Master' is calling him.
Calling him like a nerf on a leash. His fists clench with the thought. He is no toy or idle slave to be ordered around. He is the Dark Lord, the Wraith, the Shadow, the Emperor's right hand. And yet he is still ordered to drop everything and hurry as fast as he can to his master's feet.
It is probably just some visiting dignitary, a weak and utter fool of a politician, holding a ball in the Emperor's honor to gain prestige. A ridiculous and useless affair where other politicians, dignitaries and high-up government officials all flock to, to promote themselves and to better their own positions. And yet the Emperor enjoys such nonsensical events and forces him to attend as well.
But then it does not surprise him. Palpatine is a politician, as well as being a Sith Master. And politicians enjoy, no, crave such retched, pointless displays. Palpatine attends the parties and balls with much fervor, playing his intricate little games. He will praise one Senator one day only to have them arrested for treason the next.
It curdles his blood.
It is not the imprisonment that bothers him. If he had things his way, he would throw all politicians into detention centers. The galaxy would be much better off without the lot of them. No, it is the fact that his master expects him to join in as well. Like a parent and a small child, Sidious calls and expects him to come running, expecting him to attend the complete wastes of time his master, for some unknown reason, considers amusing.
It is times like this when he contemplates taking over the Empire himself. He has no more need for his master. The secrets that his master once promised him are useless to him now. The glory he had once craved, the recognition, the power- he holds them all in his mechanical fist. Palpatine, Sidious, the Emperor- the being under the names has no purpose anymore in his plans.
Not that he wasn't from the very beginning planning, scheming, watching to make his move and take over. Yet something once held him back. Something once allowed him to make no move against his Master, his Emperor, his friend, his enemy. Something soft…sweet…full of life.
Something that was now gone from his life, never to return.
He doesn't need her anymore.
He refuses to let his thoughts stray.
There is no reason to even think of her anymore. She is dead, by his own hand. His lips curl into a snarl. The traitor deserved what she got.
He will not think of it anymore.
He will not.
So why do his thoughts continue to stray?
Why can he not shove her into the locked chamber of his mind that holds the memories of his past?
He is the Darkness. He is Power at its source. The galaxy cowers when they hear his name or see his approaching shadow. He is Death, Eternity, the Void.
And yet such a pitiful little toy of a woman can bring him to his knees.
Or could. She is dead, after all. Yet still, the very memory of her taunts him, taking over his thoughts, torturing his very essence, his soul.
What a wonderful way to learn that he has a soul- to learn of it as she rips it to pieces along with his heart.
"NO!" he roars, letting the power flow through him, sending off shockwaves that make the ship tremble and throw the crew to their knees. He will control himself. He will not let her take a hold of him, toying with his mind. He is Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith and nothing will stop him.
Nothing.
"I have sensed a disturbance in the Force, my young apprentice."
He keeps his mind blank, pulling up his normal shadows to hide his true thoughts. Revealing them to his master would not be wise. Palpatine was not forgiving of traitors and he would not act any differently towards his own, traitorous apprentice, if he knew the thoughts he entertained.
If he knew.
Which he does not. Lord Vader has had years to practice. The shadows that surround his body also surround his mind. Should his master probe his mind, he will only receive echoes of darkness. And Palpatine does this, quite frequently- another occurrence that causes him to allow those thoughts of treason to play through his mind. There is no trust between a Sith Master and a Sith Apprentice and he expects none. He is well aware of the age-old paradigm of the Sith. Yet it incites him that Sidious think so little of him. No one holds as much power as he does. Conceived by the Force itself, he is a fountain of power. And Sidious dare to force his way into his mind?
He controls his thoughts as he kneels before the holo of his master. "The disturbance was me, my master. A commander…disappointed me."
"Ah…" Sidious's eyes light up. "Very well, my friend. Your anger is powerful."
"Yes, my master." He keeps his head low, his tone even and respectful, yet on the inside he is screaming.
"I have a mission for you, once you reach Coruscant." Sidious continues, but instantly shifts into Palpatine as a Royal Guard appears next to him. There is no visual difference between Palpatine and Sidious, but a difference in power. Emperor Palpatine was betrayed by the Jedi and therefore has outlawed the use of the fabled mystical power called the Force. Emperor Palpatine barely tolerates his right-hand's usage of the ancient ways, scoffing about them in front of whoever is listening.
Sidious is the Master of the Darkside, the Sith Master, who wraps the Force around him, reveling in its darkness. Sidious keeps his identity hidden, revealing himself only in the presence of his apprentice.
The guard leaves shortly after handing something to his master and Palpatine continues. "Lord Vader, return to Coruscant immediately and we will discuss your new mission."
"Very well, my Master." And with a bow of his head, he switches off the holo, watching the image dissipate into nothing. He rises in a fluid movement, his eyes still trained on the console where his master had stood.
A figure approaches and he senses the presence of Admiral Reichen, a competent and ambitious admiral, who strives to run the Executor with precision and grandeur. As Lord Vader's personal flagship, she is in pristine condition, with a crew hand-picked by Lord Vader himself and carefully manned by him as well. Reichen could also be trusted, a trait Lord Vader prizes him for. One of the few officials who has seen his true face, Reichen is also one of the even fewer who knows Vader's former identity, having served with and under him in the Clone Wars. And although the identity of the Dark Lord is sought-out knowledge by all the holo-news reporters, he knows that Reichen would never betray him.
Reichen values his own life.
"Admiral," he speaks, his back still turned to the admiral, who stands at attention behind him.
"Yes, my Lord?" Inwardly, he smirks. Reichen really is a competent admiral, his voice unwavering as he addresses the same Sith Lord who had only moments earlier almost destroyed an entire corridor with a simple scream. Not many men can do that.
Turning to face the admiral, he meets his eyes. Still, Reichen restrains from flinching under his cold, dead gaze. "Set course for the Imperial Capital. The Emperor wishes us to return."
With a salute, his eyes still focused on Lord Vader's, Reichen acknowledges the request. "Straight away, my Lord." He means to turn away, but is stopped.
"I'm not finished, Admiral." His voice cuts through the air and immediately halts the admiral's movement. He smirks on the inside, refusing to allow his slight amusement show on his cold features. Trusted or not, he does not allow anyone to see any form of emotions in his features, unless you count the coldness of his eyes and his perpetual frown. It is good to see that Reichen has been shaken by his interruption.
"I am retiring to my quarters and do not wish to be disturbed until we arrive."
Reichen salutes again, nodding. "Is that all, my Lord?"
"Yes." He watches as Reichen about-faces and does not stop the man from leaving this time, watching the admiral walk in a steady, yet quick pace, off to tell his men to prepare for their journey.
He waits until the admiral is gone before pulling up his hood and leaving the office, punching in the lock codes for the door. As the Commander-In-Chief of the Imperial Navy, he has special offices in each Star Destroyer of the entire fleet, as well as personal chambers on the Executor, also equipped with an office. This office is close to the bridge, where he meets with the various officers. No one ever enters his personal office in his chambers.
He stalks down the corridor, his mind turned to the conversation he had had with the Emperor. Dignitary Rimbanu of the Cullensi System has journeyed to Coruscant to negotiate terms for his system's entrance into the Empire. And this of course means that Lord Vader's presence will be required at the mindless festivities.
He'd rather fall into a river of lava.
Politicians. He glares as he tramps down the corridor, two technicians seeing his approach and quickly springing out of his way. One of the few reasons he had not yet bothered to over-throw Palpatine. As Emperor of the galaxy, he would be faced daily with the sniveling races, forced to listen to their mindless blabber, attending their meaningless functions, and in general wasting his time.
He is a warrior, a master strategist in battle, the best pilot in the galaxy. He goes to foreign worlds and conquers them, fights in battles, hunts Jedi and the Rebellion. His place is not in a Throne Room. His place is out, amidst the stars. Once, he had entertained the idea of ruling the galaxy. Once, he had thought to let Palpatine build his hated Empire and then throw him down. Once he had thought many things, but they didn't matter now.
His dreams were dead.
He is dead.
For even stars die.
Just as his own had.
By his own hand.
He doesn't even take notice of the crew members, who pass him as he walks by, nor does he acknowledge the sniveling commander he choked on instinct, not even thinking of it as he attempted to speak to him. He just continues moving, lost in his thoughts.
Padmé…
He had done it all for her. He had opened his heart and soul to her, offering her everything she could ever want- and she betrayed him.
Betrayed him with his Master.
She had taken everything from him and then left him laying lifeless before her feet. She had died- damn it to the nine hells, leaving him. She had promised that she would never leave him and she had, curse her memory. She deserted him when he needed her the most.
It was all her fault.
Everything was her fault.
Flames flicker in his eyes as he clenches his metal fist, tightening it around a phantom throat.
Her phantom throat.
She had caused him to wrap the Force around her windpipe, crushing it with all the dark power he possessed. She had caused it all- had ruined it all. She had forced him to kill her, her final act of betrayal.
His Queen…
From the moment he had bowed down before his Master, accepting his new identity and destroying the 'good and caring' man who was Anakin Skywalker for eternity, he had made his plans. He would learn the secrets of life and death from Sidious. He would destroy the Jedi, be the ever-minding apprentice and watch as Palpatine destroyed the very Empire he had created, as he became the most-hated man in the galaxy. Politicians- most of them, at least- were fickle. They would cry for an Empire one moment and then curse it the next. He would not have to wait long for the galaxy to decide the Palpatine was a corrupt tyrant.
Palpatine would become the most hated man in the galaxy.
And then he would step in.
He and his wife, a politician in her own right, but someone who actually cared for the state of things, would appear as saviors. Padmé would make a wonderful Queen of the galaxy and with him by her side; they would make sure that there was peace and order in the galaxy. They would rule together and their child would be their heir, trained in the ways of the Force by its father and trained in the ways of the people by its mother.
The same child that died with its mother.
Also by his own hand.
The child they had created, his seed, her womb, half of each of them. The child they had conceived through their love, so pure and innocent.
The same love that had become corrupted and tainted.
The same love that had allowed her to betray him.
He has reached his chambers now and, with a glare, he opens them through the Force. His mind is still on his former love, the woman he had given up everything for, the woman he had done everything for.
He had offered her an Empire and she had spit in his face.
Traitorous Hutt spawned wench.
It was all her fault. Hers and that fool Kenobi's. That fool had played with his wife. And she had let him. She had brought Kenobi to him. She had betrayed him with her last breath. She had returned to him and he had held her in his arms and everything was going as planned and soon there would be no more worries. Soon they would have everything that they deserved.
And then she had ripped out his heart from his chest and had thrown it into the rivers of lava of Mustafar.
Had she had other motivations, bringing Kenobi to him as a gift, a way to apologize for doubting him, he would have accepted it with pleasure, allowing her to ascend the godly pillar she belonged on in his heart.
Yet instead her gift was full of betrayal and deceit.
So he had killed her.
He stalks over to the bedroom, throwing off his robe. He has no plans for sleep- he rarely sleeps as it is. He'll meditate, calling waves of darkness to him, or he'll simply pace, wearing away his thoughts with each step. He'll stare unmoving at the stars for hours. But he will never willingly sleep.
He is not in control when he sleeps.
Memories assault him when he sleeps, twisting through the shields in his mind, bringing images into play he wishes never to think of again. Even things he should revel in, like the memory of his first use of the Darkside, he pushes away, not daring to allow them to take him over. Even the darkest of his memories are linked to her.
And she is a weakness he will not accept.
His chambers are elegant, yet simple. A large bed covered in black silk stands in the center of the room, with a nightstand on one side. A door opens to a refresher. Another door opens to something akin to a closet, where he stores his meager possessions. He does not have many material objects, although he has more than enough money to pay for them. He wears the simple set of tunics, surcoat, military issue trousers and utility belt he has always worn, the dark color mirroring the space outside. He has no trinkets or any other frivolities in his bed chamber. The walls are a dull sheen of the metal they are made of, efficient but plain.
Efficient but plain. The mantra of his entire chambers fits this. There are no comforts in his chambers- he needs none. He keeps his chamber sparsely furnished and decorated. No artwork graces the walls, no reminders of his extending wealth. He had no need for material possessions. There is not even a mirror in his refresher.
It is too painful for him to look into a mirror.
Some might call him handsome. His features have altered only little in the time since he has begun hiding his face from the public. He still has the high cheek bones, the regal looking nose, curt mouth. His curly dark hair, bleached from radiation to gold, unruly strands lightly touching the back of his tunic has only changed in the fact that he cuts it occasionally. He still bears the scar, as testimony of his duel with Assaj Ventress, cutting over his right eye. He has added another scar to the left side of his face, a scrape that never healed correctly, as testimony of his duel with Kenobi. Truly, the only thing that has changed is his eyes, from their previous deep cobalt blue to the dead yellow they now display.
And it is none of these factors that cause him to shun away from his appearance.
It is his own mind.
His features are the ever-lasting memory of who he once was, and what he had lost. For all intent and purposes, Anakin Skywalker was dead, long dead. And yet his reflection greeted him every time he looked and saw himself. Even when he looked into a mirror, he no longer saw the yellow eyes of the Sith, changed by his anger and despair and welcoming of the Darkside, but the same blue orbs his wife had always said matched the lake on Naboo on a beautiful summer's day.
He could not bear to look upon the man who had been weak, chained to a woman who crushed his heart with a simple thought. And so he refused to have a mirror in any of his quarters or apartments scattered through out the galaxy, refusing to acknowledge the man he had been once.
Anakin Skywalker was dead. There was to be no more thinking of those long dead and gone.
Kenobi had made sure of that.
He lowers himself onto the bed, sitting on the side, his eyes unseeing.
Kenobi…
His former Master, his former friend- back when he cared for such things.
A traitor, just like his wife.
He had offered him a chance to flee. But no, Kenobi had to go and be noble and betray him. He remembers that night in great detail. He remembers the smell of sulfur in the air and the way the flames licked at their boots as they dueled. He remembers the way they each pushed themselves to the limit of their abilities. He had always been stronger. But Kenobi had experience and therefore they were equally matched.
Until he had made a mistake.
A fatal mistake.
Even now, two years later, he still hates Kenobi, hates himself for that encounter.
It does not matter who began the duel, or how it progressed. It only matters how it ended.
Kenobi has tricked him, that fool. Kenobi has left him floating on that damnable droid in the river of molten lava, having sprung to safety himself. And then Kenobi has the gall to lecture him. Him! Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith, and Kenobi tries to lecture him and demand his surrender?
Has Kenobi gone mad?
With a snarl, he leaps off of the droid, using the Force to propel him through the air. And fate almost stops as Kenobi's lightsaber comes very close to slicing through his legs. But he has seen through the trick, parrying the saber with his own and as he lands on the cliff, he makes a swipe of his own- at Kenobi's head.
And the duel continues. Kenobi blocks the swing, striking out at his torso. He parries and blocks and they move towards higher ground, as the planet begins to tremble. Perhaps it is the energies of the Force that causes the planet to quake, causing the cliffs to tremble, fire to rain down upon their heads. Neither of them takes the time to contemplate it- it does not matter. All that matters is them, their duel.
Light against Dark, Master against Apprentice, Father against Son. The outcome of this duel will dictate the future. There will only be one victor, as former friends who have become bitter enemies battle it out to the very end- death. It is clear to both of them that only one must walk away from this duel and both of them are giving their best to insure that they will not fall, but triumph- whether it be Good over Evil or Evil over Good.
The planet begins to shake even more now, but neither of them thinks of that. They are concentrated only on parrying each other's blows, struggling back and forth on the uneven cliffs as it rains ashes on them and the planet shakes.
He swings out with his fist, Kenobi blocking it and swinging his lightsaber at his own torso. He leans back and flips, coming at Kenobi with a two-handed hold, chopping down and Kenobi ducks, pivoting on his foot and striking out at him once again.
Surely Kenobi realizes that he will not win. With the Darkside at his command, how could Kenobi even dream to conquer him? He is the Hero With No Fear. He has saved worlds single-handedly. He is the Chosen One, bringing Balance to the Force by destroying the treason-filled Jedi Order, with their outdated principles and back-stabbing ways.
With a roar, he charges at Kenobi again. He will finish this duel and come out the victor. He feels nothing for Kenobi now. He gave Kenobi a chance to turn away and disappear and Kenobi refused.
So be it.
He will not hold back. And, as his blade crosses Kenobi's, he lets a sneer show on his face.
Kenobi will not come out of this alive.
Through the exchange, the two of them either do not realize that they have moved upwards to a high cliff or they simply do not acknowledge it. They both attack with intensity as the ground rumbles beneath them and rocks crumble, falling into the lava river the cliff overlooks. It is dangerous- very dangerous and only the best of fighters could manage to not only keep their balance, but also their rhythm.
They are two of the best.
The match of power versus experience draws on, becoming only more evident and as they continue their fight, neither receiving the upper-hand. At the moment, if it continues as it has, the duel will stay a stalemate, neither participant winning or losing, unless some outside factor enters in.
Like an earthquake.
The planet has been shaking for awhile now and the two warriors have easily ignored it. Such little tremors were not worthy enough of the attention of two men locked in a battle of life and death.
But now it is time to take those factors into consideration. It is only when he feels the ground underneath his feet crumble that he realizes not only is the planet convulsing, but also that the very ground they stand on is giving away.
He will not let it distract him.
With a shove of the Force, he sends Kenobi back. Kenobi counters the shove with his own, and, high above the lava, they continue to duel as he swipes at Kenobi's arm. Kenobi raises his arm out of the way and kicks out at his head. He leans backwards, to miss the blow-
And that is his fatal mistake.
He is already leaning backwards to avoid Kenobi's kick, but he does not expect Kenobi to lash out at him with his lightsaber at the same time. If it were normal conditions, he would have fallen on his back and perhaps he could have still managed to keep duelling. But these are not normal conditions. The very ground he stands on chooses that particular moment to tremble and quake and crumble from beneath his feet.
He falls.
It is only through the Force he has gripped in panic that he manages to grab part of the cliff, saving him from tumbling down into a molten river. His legs and left arm scramble for a hold, for he can feel his mechanical grip crushing the rock that keeps him from falling. He claws at the cliff, attempting to gain another hold. He barely recognizes Kenobi reaching down to pick up his saber, twirling the handle in his hand, comparing it with his own.
In a moment of complete and utter weakness, he does the only thing left for him to do.
He calls for his Master.
"Obi-Wan…?" The fumes are beginning to choke him as he dangles high above the lava. He can feel the earth giving away underneath his powerful grip. He knows that he is about to fall and as he casts his mind and will out for the Force, for once it does not answer his call.
Obi-Wan is his last hope. But as Obi-Wan looks up from the two sabres he holds in his hand, down upon him, his former apprentice- he can already read it in his eyes. There will be no help from Obi-Wan.
"You were the Chosen One! It was said you would destroy the Sith, not join them." Obi-Wan continues in his angry tirade, but he cannot hear it. His mind is still on Obi-Wan's first words.
You were the Chosen One.
You were the Chosen One.
And the ground finally gives way under his grasp, sending him plunging down along with the boulders and rocks the quakes have set free from their places, sending them all down into a river of death.
"I hate you," he screams, as he falls.
Falling.
Falling.
Falling.
You were the Chosen One.
Darkness.
"My lord? My lord? We have reached Imperial Center. My lord?"
He reaches out and closes his fist, effectively choking the officer without thinking. It has become such an automated response, almost second-nature.
His lifeless eyes come to rest on the commander who claws at his throat futile, for it is the Force that chokes him. The Commander coughs, trying to gain even a breath of air as his throat constricts.
"You- You-You were dreaming-my-" And he is dead before he can finish with Lord. With contempt, Lord Vader glares at the body on the floor of his bed chamber, before rising to leave.
"Sith Lords do not dream."
You were the Chosen One.
He had to lean back against the wall of a building before he could go on, holding his head in his hands. What would possess him to remember that now? What would cause him to think of that fateful decision he had made?
Reassuring the two Alderaanian women who had stopped to inquire about his health, after he almost collapsed against the building, he stood and sent them on their way. He did not need another distraction at the moment.
It had been surprising enough when Bail Organa had contacted him over their special com units, specially programmed to each others. And the news Organa had brought was even more surprising.
Padmé was awake.
Although he did not wish to see the young woman, the wife of his former apprentice, die, he was torn at what her actually living meant. Stuck in a deep slumber, where there was little hope that she would ever awaken, she had been safe from her husband. There had also been little worry of how she would take the news of her husband's turning or his subsequent hand in her 'death'. She would also be safe from the Emperor and free of the Empire- women in comas rarely had to worry about politics and the state of the galaxy at large.
But now she was awake and this definitely brought another perspective into the picture.
What in the galaxy where they going to do with her?
He finally reached the Palace Gates and fumbled with the access codes and card that Organa had given him the last time they had seen each other in person- which happened to be right after the entire mess had started.
He just hoped that the codes were still valid.
Apparently they were, for the secret door Bail had alerted him to, hidden behind several bushes opened silently as he keyed in the codes. It opened to a dark corridor lit with small lamps that gave off only the dullest light and were covered with spidren webbing. Obi-Wan didn't want to contemplate where the spidrens were, as he stepped in the passage way and shut the door behind him.
He had always hated spidrens.
Luckily it wasn't too long before he came to a staircase that opened at the top to Organa's study. He typed in the remaining code and was pleased to find the door opening into Organa's well-lit study.
Organa was sitting there, his back to him as he reviewed what Obi-Wan took as reports of some kind. Quietly, Obi-Wan coughed, causing the Senator to jump up from his chair, spilling the data pads in the area.
"What- by the Force, Obi-Wan!" He turned and strode over to the Jedi. "So good to see you again. How have you been, on Tatooine? And how is Luke?" Obi-Wan sensed that Organa was stalling for some reason or another, but he decided to play along.
"I'm doing well, Senator," he said with a slight bow. "Tatooine may not be the most interesting planet, but it does serve my purposes well. The Empire's presence is limited only to a few garrisons of Storm Troopers, scattered throughout the planet and one main Imperial Office in Mos Eisley."
Organa motioned for him to sit and so he sat, adjusting his robes. "As for Luke, he is doing well. His aunt and uncle are taking good care of him and he is quite the sweet little boy."
Organa stared at him for a minute before sitting himself. "Do you see Luke often? And he is happy there?"
Obi-Wan sensed that Organa wanted to know more than what he was asking, and he decided to comply. "I see him occasionally. Owen Lars, his uncle, has decided that it would be best if 'crazy old Ben' stays away from him, so that Luke won't learn of any of this 'Force-nonsense'. But Beru is kind and Owen does love Luke. He is in capable and loving hands and, most importantly, is far out of the Emperor's eye."
"I see…" Organa trailed off, rubbing his forehead. "Well, I'm glad to hear that, I must say. Occasionally I find it hard to look at Leia and realize that while I am sure that the Larses are good people, Luke simply won't have as many privileges as his sister will. But it is good to hear that he is happy there."
"I know it is hard, Viceroy." Obi-Wan spoke quietly, looking into the other man's eyes. "But it is for the best. It would never work to have Leia and Luke together, especially under the public eye. It is already risky enough, allowing Leia to be raised here. We can only hope that the Emperor and Vader will never realize what is under their very noses."
"Yes, yes, of course." Organa rose from his seat, walking towards his desk. "I believe it is time we discuss the reason for your journey here- Padmé." With a press of a button, a console rose from the desktop. Organa keyed in another sequence before a woman appeared as a holo, curtsying.
"My Lord," she said.
"Sairía, how is La Dormiena?" Obi-Wan frowned over the use of the term, until he realized what it means. Growing up in the Temple, the young children were exposed to folklore of planets from across the Republic. And Obi-Wan remembered a friend of his who loved the particular tale of the Alderaanian La Dormiena- a beautiful princess who was cast into a deep sleep by an evil sorcerer or something (he wasn't exactly sure) and awoken by her loving Knight (he thought). Or maybe she never awoke. In any case, it was a tale of a beautiful Princess who was kept hidden as she slept for many years- a description that fit Padmé.
The image flickers a bit. "She is awake, my Lord, although I am not quite sure how you would define her present condition."
"Good…I believe I will be by to see her in a bit. I have a visitor who is interested in seeing her."
"The doctor you promised?" Obi-Wan almost had to smile at the commanding tone the maid took with the Viceroy.
"Well, not a doctor exactly…but it is the visitor I mentioned who could help her."
"Very well, then, my Lord. I am on my way."
Organa shut off the console and watched it disappear into his desk, before turning to Obi-Wan again. "That was Sairía, the head maid and wife of the steward. She is also primarily responsible for Padmé."
"You call her La Dormiena?" Obi-Wan asked, leaning back in his chair, crossing his legs.
Organa looked at him for a moment, before nodding. "Yes…actually, it was Sairía who came up with the name. But it does fit. And no one would ever connect Padmé and the fairy tale together, if, for some reason, something happened and someone else learned of her presence."
"No, I also agree that it fits. I was just curious…" Obi-Wan leaned forward, placing his chin in his hand. "I am just worried. I receive a call in the middle of the night from you with only the words 'Padmé has woken' and that I should come immediately. And here I am and I'm not quite sure what to expect."
With a sigh, Organa sat down again. "Neither am I- and I see her daily. She awoke a week ago- I'm sure you know that." At Obi-Wan's nod, he continued. "When she awoke, she was in horrible condition. She could not speak, see was practically blind and she was so weak she could not move a finger on her own. Yet, although she had gone through so much and was so confused, she had only one thing on her mind- Anakin."
"Anakin." Obi-Wan sighed, shaking his head. "Has she asked about him again?"
"Constantly." The Senator cleared his throat. "From the reports I have from Sairía, as well as what I have witnessed myself, Padmé spends most of her time asleep- but in a normal sleep, not the coma she was in before. She dreams often, the machines reading her brainwaves tell us that, and often she will begin to mumble 'Anakin' over and over again. When she is awake, she is helped into a sitting position and will stare at the walls for hours, also mumbling 'Anakin' for most of the time. When someone is there with her, the first thing she asks for is Anakin.
"She is aware of her name, my name and that she has been asleep for a very long time and that something is wrong. And no," Organa added when he saw Obi-Wan's look, "She does not know of the Empire. She only remembers that something bad had happened and that she needs Anakin."
"This is not a good development." Obi-Wan uncrossed his legs and looked down at the floor, before looking back up at Organa. "Is it possible that I see her? And how much does she remember?"
Bail grabbed a data pad from his desk. "It says here that her condition is strengthening, but she is still very weak. She will be confined to bed for another two weeks at least and then she will spend an indeterminable amount of time in a hover-chair. Indeterminable, because it largely relies on her as well- if she has the desire and ambition to walk again, she will much sooner than if she has no caring for the matter.
"It also says that her brainwaves are settling down and entering a normal range. Her memory is slowly returning and with each new stimulus, she remembers more. There is no way to tell if she will ever receive all her memories back, but she is improving. She will, however, be closely watched. Even if she regains her memory, her mind is still weak. She should be kept from all stimuli that could cause her to have a strong burst of emotion."
"Like learning the state of the galaxy," Obi-Wan cut in dryly. "So in other words, she's an emotional wreck who can barely sit up by herself and is set on finding out about the one thing that could cause her to have a relapse- Anakin." He sighed, shaking his head before rising. "Anakin has a lot to answer for."
Organa looked uncomfortable with his statement. "I am sorry, Senator, if-"
"It is nothing." Organa cut in, pursing his lips. "And please call me Bail. No, it is more that I worry for her. Padmé was a good friend- is a good friend, and I hate to see her in such a condition."
"I understand," Obi-Wan said, meeting the Senator's eyes. "I dislike it myself. It really is tragic, to think what happened between her and Anakin…and to think that it all could have been prevented somehow." With a slight shake of his head, he cleared his mind. "And now, if possible, could we see her?"
Obi-Wan looked around the corridor Sen- no, Bail, had led him to, and to the door that was perfectly concealed behind not only a tapestry, but a mural on the wall as well. He watched as Bail opened it and was beckoned in by a woman Bail took to be Sairía, going by how she looked in the holo.
"She's awake," Sairía whispered, "And we've been talking. I believe she's doing a bit better today."
"Thank the Force," was Bail's solemn reply as he turned to Obi-Wan and nodded, entering the room. Obi-Wan followed.
The room was painted pale lavender, with white trim and designs on the walls. Machines covered one side of the room, creating a quiet hum as then ran. A few droids were lined up on another wall and in the far corner of the room was a bed.
Almost in reverence, Obi-Wan stepped towards the bed. Padmé was still beautiful, with her dark long curls and pale complexion- only that now she was almost too pale. She was facing away from him and he wanted to say something to her. Part of him still felt responsible for her condition. Although it had been Anakin who had done the choking, tossing her away like nothing afterwards, it was he who had incited Anakin's anger towards her. She hadn't known that he had stolen away on her ship and it was that very knowledge that cost her everything.
However, before he could move any closer, a thin pale hand stopped him. "Don't go to her yet, sir." He looked into Sairía's dark eyes. "Let me tell her first. She may be doing a bit better today, but she still is weak and easily excitable."
He nodded, stepping back as Sairía made her way over to the bed. He could sense Bail Organa standing by the door, uncertain of what he should do, but he ignored him. At the moment, Padmé was all that mattered.
"My Lady," Sairía began, reaching out to slowly touch Padmé's shoulder. "You have visitors." He watched as Padmé slowly turned her head to Sairía and nodded, before turning her head to him.
And his heart went out to her. Her eyes, which had always shone in a certain light, were dull, without their inner fire. This woman was, in effect, Padmé- yet in many ways she was not- or at least, was not anymore. This Padmé had a broken spirit, hopefully a spirit that could be repaired with time, encouragement and nourishment. But at the moment…
And then she spoke and his heart wanted to shatter again, if for an entirely different reason.
"Obi-Wan," she said, her eyes showing recognition, "Where is Anakin?"
"Where is my husband?"