Doma Lowsyk, the eighth heir of her family, was considered lacking intellectually. In other's eyes she rectified the issue through her enticing looks; blonde hair, grey-blue eyes, and fair skin. Easily, she would one day find someone who loved and appreciated her.
Her hopes were that that man would be the eldest Palpatine heir, a young man who refused his given name, commanding his nomenclature simply to become his surname.
Palpatine, whom she had been visiting periodically for months, was truly the man of her desires. Powerful, with brightly-colored hair, an undeniable strength of will and spirit. Their meetings were a business venture, of sorts; a symbiotic association of secrecy and sensuality.
Sometimes, however, she felt as though it could become more, as they laid on the grass, the three moons shining bright, bioluminescent flitterbugs illuminating the Great Lake.
And due to the news she brought, more they must become, lest the Palpatine name be soiled, her future careers and dreams and hopes dependent upon one man's decision. A man who was so kind and supportive, shockingly empathetic, if not a bit- quite a bit- distant.
Scanning the horizon of the lake they had shared sight of so many times, she saw aiwhas, mothers and calves breaching and flying and diving, gracefully gallivanting throughout the evening, no cares in the world.
She inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, practicing the breathing techniques which always soothed her nerves and loosened her muscles.
There would be no more hesitation. It was time.
Three knocks reverberated throughout Palpatine's abode, interrupting his musings. He stood, his deep-blue tunic and trousers loose upon his body, the splashes of vermillion almost glowing in the dim lighting of his entry-room.
Traversing the red carpet, the hues of reds and blues so dark they were easily interpreted as black, he considered his current livelihood, and his past. He was an ambassador, an apprentice, an up and coming political powerhouse. He had been a student, breaking stringent rules, sneaking past guards, blowing away "competition" in any aspect; manipulating his peers as he now manipulated his opponents and "allies."
He opened the wroshyr-wood door, and frowned. "Doma, I wasn't expecting a visitor. Are you alright?"
"I need to speak to you," she uttered, her voice shaky.
"Of course, my dear," he moved to the side, gesturing to the comfortable chairs arranged in the room. "Please, sit."
He offered her a drink, which she declined, substituting with water. They sat in companionable silence for minutes, interrupted suddenly by a sharp intake of breath.
"Palpatine, I'm pregnant," Doma intoned.
He smiled, eyes widening. Not something he particularly reached for, in his machinations for the 's thoughts raced to conclusions and rearranged plans. A youngling? An heir? Would they have the power he wielded? His intelligence? His potential?
"That's great!" He smiled and stood, gliding over the carpet. Hands grabbing her shoulders, he leant down and laid a chaste kiss to her lips.
Doma Lowsyk pulled back, sinking into the chair, his hands soon barely grazing her cloak. She looked through Palpatine, "I don't know what to do," she whispered.
She doesn't have a choice. Do not let her leave your grasp.
"Dear, I will take care of you," he lightly gripped her chin, willing her blue-grey eyes into his own line of sight. "I will support you both."
"I- Palpatine, I don't know what I want to do.."
"Meaning our relationship?"
"No, I don't know if I want to keep it." That was not allowed.
"Sweetie," It's time for a test, Palpatine. "How long have you known?" Express devastation, depression, turmoil.
"Weeks."
"You have known for weeks?" Shock, horror, betrayal "Did the thought not cross your mind to tell me?" Now you pull away, show her what she could lose
The grey-blue eyes began to glisten, the blonde brow began to furrow, her arms almost reaching out to him, only to close around her chest. "Yes, I thought you may be angry, or," she sniffled. "That you may leave me, us, considering our lack of… formality."
"If my departure frightens you, all in relation to the youngling, then you dare to birth it, do you not?"
"Well…"
Now, boy. "Your fear shows that you love the youngling," Winning smile. "I love them, too."
"I-"
"I don't think you are truly considering that," he huffed. "Option. Your fear not only beguiles you into doubting those who will support you," Palpatine put a hand to his heart. "It demonstrates your innate hope and fondness for our future, us, the trio. Two parents, the youngling…"
She was silent, her eyes flickering everywhere but at him.
"Perhaps in Lake Country, where they'll have plenty of estate to play on. Imagination, running wild."
"So, you would take care of them?"
"Of course! Yes! The both of you! What we lacked in formality, we made up for in romance." Desperation smells and sounds horrible. Never shall he act that way again.
As she mulled over his confessions, the eldest Palpatine heir considered her.
Absent of potential. Absent of confidence. Lacking intelligence, truly idiotic. Only admirable for her physical traits and her instinct to take advantage of opportunities.
In short, she cannot be present in the youngling's life. Palpatine would solve a singular problem at a time, and always, always, would emerge victorious. The first task: Alert Plagueis, as he would figure out any secrets of his at that time. The second task: Her inherent, unchangeable future as a lost woman, an absent mother, a cause of trauma.
"You are always there for me, Palpatine." They joined together, slow and languid; a predator stalking its prey.
—
Palpatine considered himself extremely adaptable. Not in the spirit of conformity nor acquiescence, but that he always, always had a plan, and no matter the issue, it would be predicted and taken care of with his multitude of contingency plans. Rarely was there a development which shocked him.
Doma Lowsyk, a fellow Nabooian, was never considered to come with surprises. The blonde was scrutinized and deemed incontestably useless except for temporarily abiding his boredom and satisfying his impulses. Perhaps, she was sneakier than he considered, or it may have been his own instincts which clouded his prioritization. Whatever the reasoning or cause, that was to be figured at a later date. He had successfully taken her away, isolated her and showered her in gratuitous affections, all for a singular end;
Now, he had an heir to consider. A tiny, desperate, and emotional being certainly, but it undeniably smoldered with potential. Its little face scrunched up at him, grey-blue eyes searching and studying Palpatine's features, analyzing every fine movement.
He reached out with the Force, poking and prodding at the seemingly insignificant thing. Subconsciously the youngling relaxed and let out a garble of unintelligible noises. So young, so sensitive to the Force, just waiting to be molded into the perfect weapon. Simply imagining the boy's future, his potential unleashed, unyielding, destroying all who stood in Palpatine's way… It caused him to shiver in glee.
Palpatine only had two obstacles in his little one's way; Doma and Plagueis.
He needed Plagueis, for quite a while longer. The Sith needed to divulge his secrets, his power and techniques, and would not do so until Palpatine proved a trustworthy and useful apprentice. Plagueis ensured his winning elections (or losing of them, when need be). He ensured financial stability, political connections, and strength.
Plagueis had ensured his ascendance to ambassador of Naboo. A position which encouraged Palpatine to travel, his feet rarely meeting Theed's soil. His constant movement to-and-fro the galaxy allowed for training and investigations, the sowing of alliances and encouraged an expanding repertoire of cultural knowledge.
And Doma, the mother, the annoying, manipulatable wretch; she could be utilized and, when the timing was right, disposed of. Even the slightest mention of Force sensitives caused her to shudder, her feeble mind incapable of understanding her true place. She utterly feared the power imbalance, despised it, when she should fear and respect it. Doma, if she had half a brain, would worship the ground they walked on, or at least would clean it.
But, her fear would prove useful. When the boy began to show his prowess, as he most definitely would, oh, how she would go ballistic. The boy would learn of betrayal before he learned of the planets, of the city he lived in, before he understood fact versus fiction.
And then, as Plagueis ordered, seeing how he deemed the boy indispensable, his heir would be given to the Jedi. A silly idea in Sidious' mind, when he heard it. But truly brilliant, if all went to plan, as it always had.
The boy would learn their weaknesses, their strengths, their techniques, their secrets. He would know their perspective and the harm it wrought, he would learn of their thought processes and how to exploit them. Their misplaced arrogance and trust will become an itch, a scratch, a cut, building to a lightsaber through the heart. He would become their messiah, only to turn into the Sith's ultimate weapon.
But first, the boy would learn abandonment. The utter helplessness, the blazing hope slowly snuffing out, leaving behind a repeatedly reopening stitch, blood pouring upon all those around him. The push-pull of fear of being left alone yet desiring love and attachment.
The future would be glorious.
Palpatine smirked, reaching into the crib, hoisting the auburn haired youngling into his robed arms. Cradling his heir in the crook of his arm, his other hand, finger outstretched, maneuvered towards the little one's cheek. Quickly, a tiny hand firmly grasped his finger. Palpatine hummed, and the toothless babe smiled at him.
"My little targon, you will be great," he whispered. "My little Obi-Wan."