Thanks for all the reviews - and your patience, haha. :)

"Achoo!"

Al nearly fell from his perch as his sneeze shook his entire body. Blast it he hated this cold so much… almost as much as he hated trying to repair his ship in this weather.

The Invariant Beauty was a bit of a mess after the battle that had taken place a couple of days ago, but at least her engine was running at nearly full capacity. The Rebel mechanics had been kind enough to lend a hand when they could, but Al was currently on his own since the mechanics were rushing around trying to repair some broken heating units. He'd been spending most of his free time on his ship, and when he wasn't doing that he was stressing over getting supplies for the base. He'd used every contact he knew, and even then it still didn't seem to be enough; Al had been trying to space out shipments and make them as sparse and nondescript as possible so as to avoid Imperial attention because heaven knew Intelligence would be adamantly tearing the galaxy to pieces to find them after what had happened. On top of all that, the Alliance's funding was running a little thin since Mothma and Iblis were both gone and Organa had been cut off from his official accounts due to his arrest (not to mention the man was also worrying about his homeworld which was currently under occupation by Death Squadron). Salkende was smuggling supplies over but they weren't providing much monetary help, and Al was having a hard time scrounging up enough credits to maintain his own flow of aid.

And then of course there was the fact that they had the emperor in a cell.

The smuggler shook his head, pondering their new prisoner. He still couldn't believe what Obi-Wan had said; how could a man murder the woman he loved? It just didn't make sense; there was brainwashing and then there was hopelessly lost cause, and Al clearly could tell which category defined Vader. He worried whether Obi-Wan would be all right dealing with the Sith – it had been two days since the kid's capture—kid. Vader was a kid.

Well, sort of a kid. He certainly fit the bill in terms of age, but in terms of experience and ability… nineteen years old didn't quite make sense. Al had seen plenty of street urchin and criminals who were all sorts of ages – he'd even met a gang of younglings all under the age of ten who robbed local stores to get food… but most of these cases were due to survival, due to necessity.

Al sighed. He really shouldn't be surprised; he doubted Palpatine gave Vader many options. But when the blazes did he first get the guy? If Vader was nineteen now, and Al had been hearing horror stories about him for almost a decade, then Palpatine must have had the kid since he was at least nine, and that didn't include any amount of time required for training him. Maybe Vader came from some secret Sith organization that trained kids to be killers and Palpatine just took him? Was he the best of the batch, the most ruthless and sadistic?

Al imagined a dark training room filled with younglings clawing each other to death with the Force and he shuddered. He really hoped this particular crazy theory of his wasn't true.

Nevertheless, his biggest concern wasn't Vader so much as what the man would do to Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon and the Grand Master of the Order had sent Obi-Wan to talk to Vader because the Sith seemed… neutral to him, which was probably the best way to put it, but Vader had hit him when they'd spoken. Al hadn't had a chance to check in on the Naberrie couple (or Kenobi couple… whatever they were being called nowadays) all of yesterday because he'd been handling matters with some dealers on Nar Shaddaa, but he hadn't heard any bad news around the base, so he supposed that was something.

Sneezing again, Al groaned and tossed his wrench into the toolbox. "Kark it."

Giving up for the day, the Zabrak climbed down to the ground and wiped his hands on his trousers. He glanced at the damaged engine and then sighed, heading elsewhere. On top of his five thousand other concerns, he also had to ensure his only spy was still alright; he hadn't heard from Odeki Rubar since before the battle, and he wasn't sure if that was because the guy was trying to keep a low profile or if the Empire had found him. Al prayed it wasn't the latter.

Wandering into the only lab in the entire base, Al caught sight of Aya Rubar, his spy's pregnant wife and the only reason the Intelligence mechanic had agreed to help. The Human female stood at about average height with smooth brown skin, impossibly dark eyes, and thick black hair that was always half pulled up and out of her face. Her gaze was analytical, her demeanor quiet, and something about her always made Al's skin crawl. When he'd had to first smuggle her, she'd watched him the entire trip, her eyes piercing into him like knives. She obviously was the emotional stability for both herself and her husband considering how much she'd had to reassure the man before she'd boarded Al's ship, but despite her small smiles and consoling words to Odeki, Aya had been acting as if she were expecting the Rebels to try and kill her at any moment.

Maybe she should have been the one working at Intelligence.

At the moment Aya didn't seem aware of Al's presence, and the smuggler was grateful for that. He actually caught a rare glimpse of her possibly acting normal – she was alone in the lab at the moment, and so she had some song playing, softly singing the lyrics as she blotted something with a pipette. She'd initially been wandering the residential part of the base her first day on Hoth, but had quickly put herself to work when she saw the lab. Since then she'd been attempting to synthesize Kelathik serum for other women who faced a similar plight to her. Al would praise her for her charity and try to get compounds for her if he wasn't so nervous around her.

"Tell me your secrets, and ask me your questions, oh let's go back to the start…"

Al squirmed, feeling like he was intruding, but he had to interrupt. He cleared his throat, and Aya paused in the midst of her work bent over the lab bench. Stiffening, she slowly straightened and glanced at him, the pipette held in her hand like a knife.

"Do you need something?" she asked in a quiet tone.

"I…" Al took a small step towards her. "I wanted to know if your husband was okay. I hadn't heard from him… he gave us some pretty big info a couple of days ago, and I wanted to make sure Intelligence hadn't… well, you know…"

Blast it he was terrible at this.

"He's fine." She answered curtly, perhaps not quite angry, but certainly not very welcoming. "You'll probably get his next report tonight or tomorrow. He's trying to maintain a low profile considering what he gave you."

"Right." Al nodded awkwardly. Then he sighed, taking another step towards her. "I'm not… look, I'm not trying to be a jerk and just use your husband, okay? I… we all have our own worries, our own problems, and I figure we can lighten the load for each other."

Aya watched him silently, her eyes searching for something. Al had dealt with enough criminals over the years to recognize mistrust when he saw it. She undoubtedly didn't trust anyone at the base, but Al supposed she'd already calculated that the Empire was the greater threat between the two factions.

"Do you need anything else?" she eventually asked.

Al watched her helplessly. "You do know that we're not going to kill you or your husband or anything like that, right? I mean… we brought you here to help you."

"I am helping," she replied, her voice still quiet but firm. She'd barely moved throughout the conversation while Al was swaying on his heels and constantly stepping towards and away from her. "I'm making Kelathik. Do you need anything else?"

Al sighed heavily, giving up on the endeavor. "Nah, that's… that's all."

Turning, Al walked out of the lab, confused and slightly dejected. He supposed he should be relieved that Odeki was still alive, but his inability to reach Aya was frustrating. Maybe that's how Obi-Wan felt about Vader… except at least Al didn't have to worry about Aya killing him with her mind.

"Al!"

Jumping, Al turned and saw Siri rushing towards him. His heart immediately filled with dread – had something happened to Obi-Wan? Siri didn't look terrified, but she did seem stunned or frantic somehow.

"Al, come here! You won't believe what's going on in Imperial Center!" she waved frantically for him to follow her.

Confused, Al ran after his friend, and he heard shuffling in the lab as Aya heard Siri as well. He glanced behind him and saw her trying to be as inconspicuous as possible while following them, worry flitting across her face.

Siri led them into a small lounge where several Rebels were staring at the HoloNet receiver, including Obi-Wan. Al looked at the couple, bemused, before turning his attention to what they were watching.

Almusian recognized the Chagrian in the hologram, but he wasn't sure who the guy was, only that he was someone of importance in the senate; he'd been there ever since the days of the old Republic. As Al finally listened in, he heard the man speaking about Palpatine's death. He glanced at Siri confusedly. What was the big shocker? It wasn't like they weren't aware of Palpatine's death… they'd caused it.

"As emperor regent, Wilhuff Tarkin will ensure the safety and security of our empire until Lord Vader is able."

Al felt the mouth go slack. They'd already gotten a replacement? That had been way too kriffing fast… Al had expected some infighting before they turned their claws on the Alliance again. He felt like his job had just gotten a million times harder within the span it took the Chagrian to speak.

"So we've got a new face to our enemy," one of the soldiers muttered.

"That was awfully quick," Siri remarked, looking at Al and Obi-Wan worriedly.

Obi-Wan, however, was contemplating something, his brow furrowed. Before either Al or Siri could prompt him, he stepped away from the receiver slowly, his eyes clouded, and he exited the room, leaving them behind. He didn't even notice Siri's questioning remark, didn't sense her confusion and concern, hadn't even realized Al was standing behind him.

Tarkin had become the new leader. The man was some sort of close colleague to Vader, or some sort of superior, so how would the Sith Lord react to this? Was this part of the plan, or was Tarkin making a power play? It was likely the latter – Obi-Wan doubted there was anyone in the highest ranks of the Empire with a shred of decency in them.

He wasn't even sure why this information seemed so important to his own mission. The Force swirled around him, whispering Tarkin's name repeatedly in his mind, tantalizing him with some sort of fact that he didn't know. The instant they had announced Vader to be emperor, Obi-Wan had wondered how they would explain his capture, whether they would even let the public know that much; instead the Empire had simply said he was 'indisposed.' It wasn't surprising that they'd keep it a secret; it would be bad for morale to admit that their leader was a hostage. But Obi-Wan and the rest of the Alliance had expected some sort of power vacuum to consume the Empire, distracting them and giving the Alliance time to recover – it wasn't as if their victory hadn't come at a considerable cost, after all. The fact that Tarkin had taken over wasn't promising. And it just nagged him – the first thing he'd thought to do was to go to Vader.

Approaching the cell, Obi-Wan tried to rationalize why he was doing this. It was a courtesy, he supposed, to tell Vader what was happening in the Empire—at least what HoloNet would tell the public. But hadn't they established yesterday that a friendly rapport wasn't possible between them? They'd been playing a game of wits. Perhaps this could be ammunition in his favor, then? Obi-Wan wasn't sure. He just knew that the Force was guiding his steps here, and somehow he would learn from this encounter. He had to trust his instincts.

The smell at least wasn't any worse than yesterday, and honestly it was the last thing on Obi-Wan's mind as he entered the cell. Vader was pacing, somehow more energized than before, but he paused in his movement when Obi-Wan arrived. The Sith Lord still looked as pale as the snowy walls around him, but his eyes, though bloodshot, were sharp. He wore Obi-Wan's coat properly now rather than having it lazily draped over his shoulders as he'd had it yesterday. He looked more alert, more prepared for an interrogation, more prepared for anything.

"I see the food from yesterday did you some good," Obi-Wan remarked, though he wasn't entirely certain that was Vader's reason for being so active. It probably had to do with their little interrogation from before; perhaps Vader was prepared to turn the tables on Obi-Wan. The Jedi remembered the man's blunt shameless questioning at that family dinner an eternity ago.

Vader made no remark, remaining still and watching Obi-Wan carefully. The Jedi was quickly realizing that there was no such thing as speaking pleasantries, though honestly that shouldn't surprise him considering his interactions with the man. It wasn't as if Vader had ever shown any interest in small talk.

"Have you eaten today?" he asked, forcing the Sith to respond.

Vader shook his head.

Obi-Wan sighed. "I'll get something for you. But first, I figured you should know something. I just watched a HoloNet report from Imperial Center. They announced Palpatine's death to the senate."

Vader swallowed, his eyes wandering to the wall. His breathing remained regular, but his body grew slightly stiffer. Obi-Wan watched him carefully, ensuring he didn't set the man off considering the delicate subject. He continued, "They also said you are now officially emperor."

Vader didn't react at all to this, seemingly too caught up in the previous statement. Obi-Wan wondered if being emperor really meant anything at all to the Sith. It was a confusing prospect to say the least; Vader really didn't seem to care about anything except Palpatine and Padmé. How was he even a Sith, honestly? He was brutal, yes, and a murderer, but… a Sith was motivated by selfishness. It was basically established fact that Vader was only motivated by adamant, relentless training. He didn't seem to have any desire for anything, which was probably one of his biggest problems now – if Padmé and Palpatine had been his driving forces, then he had nothing now, which would certainly explain his empty demeanor from earlier… but why was he motivated now? Because Obi-Wan had challenged him with training, with interrogation?

"I wondered if they would announce your capture, but they simply said you were indisposed," Obi-Wan went on, gauging the Sith's reaction. Vader again didn't seem to care about this remark. The Force remained motionless like an undisturbed lake, but Obi-Wan was steadily learning to peer into its depths. The undercurrent denoted pain buried under layers of… something. Training? Brainwashing? "In your stead, Grand Moff Tarkin will rule as emperor regent."

Any subtlety in the Force vanished. A red hot knife stabbed into Obi-Wan's chest and mind, and he flinched. Vader's eyes locked with his, wide and surprised. The Force bled from him, though Obi-Wan couldn't decipher in what manner, but the man's expression was enough to show that he was shocked. However, it wasn't the sort of surprise that the Rebels had – Vader wasn't unnerved at how quickly the Empire had come up with a solution to its power vacuum, he wasn't concerned with someone ruthless like Tarkin hunting them down… in fact, his eyes seemed to show something far deeper than that. As the seconds ticked by, the surprise melted away, and the ice in his soul grew jagged, cutting against Obi-Wan's mind. The Force felt like it was imploding, moving inward towards Vader and then pulsating out. Obi-Wan got a slight headache, and Vader slowly slid to his knees, staring at the ground. Some overwhelming realization was hitting him, strangling him, and Obi-Wan was blind to it.

"Vader?" he asked softly, pushing past the strange sensations in the Force.

Vader lowered himself further, breathing slightly raggedly and placing his palms on the cold floor.

"Vader, what's wrong?" Obi-Wan questioned, kneeling in front of the young man.

The Sith Lord continued to stare at his hands, torn apart by whatever conclusion he'd come to. Obi-Wan probed the Force, trying to find an answer, trying to figure out what had happened in his mind to make him act this way. The Force dripped with confusion, with utter pain and loss, with desperation.

Obviously Vader's connection to Tarkin was far more than just professional. Was the grand moff part of Vader's small circle of people he actually cared for? If he was, why would this news upset him so much?

"Vader, answer me," Obi-Wan said, hardening his tone. Perhaps an order would snap the boy out of his stupor.

He still wasn't getting a response. Concern started to bubble inside of Obi-Wan, surprising the Jedi, and he slowly, hesitantly, reached a hand towards the Sith's shoulder. He expected some sort of retaliation when his fingers brushed against the jacket he wore, just as the Sith had recoiled the first time the two had interacted with each other. However, instead of any sort of violent reaction, Vader retreated from him, collapsing completely into himself. The Force trembled, and Vader shook his head.

"Stop."

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow leaning in at the soft, muffled plea—and it most certainly had been a plea – it wasn't spoken with anger so much as exhausted desperation.

Obi-Wan bit back a sigh of frustration. He felt like he'd backtracked, like they were suddenly back to day one when Vader was in some sort of mixture of shock and utter despair, except now Obi-Wan had no explanation as to why. Why would Tarkin's ascension to power upset him if he had no interest to the throne and cared for the man?

"Are you worried he'll get hurt?" Obi-Wan asked.

Vader exhaled heavily, slowly raising his torso so he sat on his knees. He looked at Obi-Wan, suddenly exhausted. The Force hollowed, leaving Obi-Wan with barely any air to breathe.

After staring at each other for what felt like an eternity, Obi-Wan concluded that the Sith wouldn't speak. Growing exasperated, he said, "I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

"Why?"

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought we'd gone over this."

"I won't talk." Vader suddenly said, his brow furrowing with what little energy he seemed to have left. "Pump any drug you want into my system. Beat me into the dirt. Make me relive Padmé's murder over and over. But I won't talk. I won't tell you anything about the Empire. I won't. I'm no use to you. None."

Obi-Wan watched him confusedly. "I wasn't talking about interrogating you. I said I wanted to help."

"Stop talking like her. You're not her." Vader's voice grew slightly sharper.

Obi-Wan didn't have to ask what he meant. "I know I'm not her. I never said I wanted to be, I'm not trying to be. That doesn't mean I don't want to help."

"No one helps without a motive."

"There is such a thing called charity, you know," Obi-Wan remarked a little sarcastically. "Perhaps you've heard of it."

"That's not a reason. Charity is an excuse."

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. "An excuse? How is it an excuse?"

"People are charitable to make others like them, or to grant them favors. Charity isn't a reason."

"It can be abused, but then it isn't charity at all," Obi-Wan explained, somehow not surprised that Darth Vader didn't seem to understand that, though it was a little sad… and telling. "Charity is love; it's doing something for the sake of others, not oneself."

"Love—is—a—weakness." Vader ground out, growing angry. "Why does no one understand that?"

"The only one who doesn't understand what love is, is you," Obi-Wan countered, maintaining his calm despite the escalating situation. "And I'm very sorry that's the case."

"Pathetic," Vader spat, jumping to his feet and pacing the room. "All of you."

"Why?" Obi-Wan questioned, also rising. He was beginning to see why Padmé had been so adamant in helping him; he was such a lost soul. But he could also see how this would lead to nowhere, how Vader would simply rebuff any attempt to help him… how he already had done so.

"I already said why."

"You said love is a weakness. You never explained why."

The Sith paused, and he looked away.

"If you cannot give me a reasonable explanation, then I'll have to believe your idea on the subject is false," Obi-Wan reasoned, breathing slowly in relief that he'd gotten the high ground once more. He was grateful he'd been improving his ability to remain calm in insane situations such as this. Besides, despite his mood swings, it seemed that Vader lived solely on logic like a programmed droid, (and considering his upbringing, it somehow made a depressingly large amount of sense) so only reason would get through to him.

Eventually, Vader sighed heavily, sitting on the ground once more and facing away from Obi-Wan. His shoulders slumped, and the Force cried in pain again.

Obi-Wan watched him, unsure what to do. At this point Vader himself had said he wouldn't give him any valuable information, and anything else rolled off him like water over stone. He had nothing else he could say, nothing else he could do. Vader was upset and wouldn't say why.

Well… he supposed he could try to reassure him.

Obi-Wan immediately grew uncomfortable. It was bad enough trying to console people he knew and understood, people he liked… how the blazes could he console Darth Vader? Yesterday he'd distracted the Sith, but that wasn't the same thing.

How could he reassure him if he didn't even know what was wrong with him?

Why would he even attempt to do so?

Padmé would.

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose again, getting a sudden headache. Blast it, Padmé… fine. He would try to help. But he still didn't know how.

Typically he'd resort to giving some sort of advice that seemed reasonable but never seemed to take the edge off of someone's fear or sadness or whatever was bothering them. Typically words never seemed to work; they seemed too formal, and Force knew he couldn't really speak on an extremely emotional level. Obi-Wan just wasn't the type to gush and say how much he loved someone or how amazing they were or anything of the sort… he never had been.

Not that he would ever say anything like that to Vader anyway.

Sighing, Obi-Wan walked over to Vader and sat in front of him, leaning against the back wall. He struggled to find the right words, but he still made an attempt. "I… don't know why you have such a belief about love or help or any sort of positive attribute. I presume it has to do with your training, your upbringing; being a Sith doesn't exactly coincide with being charitable or being exposed to it. Padmé said your upbringing was… unpleasant. But… that doesn't mean that anything you haven't experienced—anything you don't understand—is wrong. Love isn't a weakness; it's the greatest strength in the galaxy. Love, hope, trust… they're what create family, society as a whole. The galaxy wouldn't be around if it weren't for that. Hatred destroys galaxies, Vader; love builds them."

That hadn't been a reassurance so much as a lecture… oh well.

"Jedi deny their emotions," Vader remarked softly, still staring at the ground.

Obi-Wan smiled gently. "Jedi learn how and when to acknowledge them. Nothing more."

The two sat in silence for a time, and then Vader shook his head. "I won't tell you anything. I won't tell you anything."

Obi-Wan watched the Sith Lord carefully, his mind strangely quiet. The Force entwined around them, constricting and releasing between the stormy Sith and the calm Jedi. Vader was admitting defeat, but somehow it held more finality to it than simply acknowledging the end of an argument.

Reaching out, Obi-Wan placed his fingers under Vader's chin and raised it, making the boy look him in the eye. "You don't have to tell me anything. It's okay."

With that, Obi-Wan stood and left, and Vader trembled at the Jedi's words.

Eriadu was a strange dichotomy of bleakness and power. The planet was colonized many centuries ago and had never been known for much initially, but as time had progressed its inhabitants had wanted more recognition, more status. Eriadu's cities grew, its infrastructure increasing at rapid rates so it would one day be a city-world like Coruscant. While it never reached that point, it did manage to pollute a good amount of the atmosphere, leaving the planet with a grayish color except in a few rare areas.

Despite its best efforts, Eriadu never really amounted to much until the Tarkin family came into prominence. Now the planet was a powerhouse for the Empire, and anyone bearing the name Tarkin held impressive power. The family name resonated across the galaxy, particularly after Wilhuff Tarkin had served the Republic's military during the Clone Wars.

The new emperor regent gazed out into the forest surrounding his home estate. The leaves were long gone, the bitter cold of the mountainous winter evident by the stillness. The shuttle landed, and Tarkin rose, placing his hands behind his back. He hadn't been home in almost six years, having been constantly busy either with Vader or his own affairs over the years. Still, he felt no nostalgia or sentiment for the place except to remember that he had risen so far above it ever since he'd enlisted in the Republic's navy.

Walking down the exit ramp, Tarkin caught sight of his wife. She was almost twenty years his minor, having married him at an extremely young age for political reasons. She was a relatively stout woman with thick black hair always intricately styled into some bun or another. Her steely blue eyes watched her husband with some excitement.

"Wilhuff," she acknowledged in a sophisticated Eriaduan accent, so similar to Coruscant's. Despite having not seen each other in two years since their last transmission and not having physically been together in six years, neither spouse was eager to really approach the other. "Emperor Palpatine…?"

Tarkin saw the gleam in her eye. She was asking if he'd been the one to kill the man. He shook his head lightly. "I'm afraid his death was entirely unexpected; the Rebels ambushed us."

"And Lord Vader?" There was greed in her gaze now. With Palpatine gone, they both knew there was only one obstacle left. Although Tarkin had never spoken of his aspirations to his wife, her own hunger for power was nearly more ravenous than his. She had agreed to marry the most powerful man on Eriadu at the age of twenty in order to climb the ladder while he had agreed to the match due to her family's wealth. It had been mutually beneficial and nothing more. They both knew that. But for some irritating reason the woman seemed to fawn over Tarkin at some points, clinging to him whenever he visited his estate.

Something about her remark, about the hidden question beneath it, irked Tarkin. "He's in a precarious situation. That's part of the reason why I'm here."

"Amedda had said he was 'indisposed,'" his wife prodded, taking a small step towards him. "You wouldn't believe the HoloNet gossip about what that might mean."

"I've no concern for their idle chatter," Tarkin waved a dismissive hand, finally approaching her. "I've heard you've been managing things well."

A smile steadily grew across his wife's face, her cheeks flushing, but her expression morphed into concern and confusion. "Yes, I have, but why is she here? What's really going on, Wilhuff?"

Tarkin sighed, glancing around. His estate was always secure, but he still felt exposed discussing it outside. Motioning with his head, he walked off the outdoor landing pad, his wife trailing a step behind him. When the two entered their large home, he faced her.

"The Rebels who ambushed us took Lord Vader prisoner," he explained.

His wife's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "How will that affect your plans? Do we even need her anymore?"

"That's why I'm here," he sighed, resuming his walk. "I'll let you know when I'm finished. Where is she?"

"Guest quarters."

Tarkin nodded. Leaving his wife behind, he made his way through the mansion and arrived at the proper destination. Pausing, he organized his thoughts. How would he go about doing this? His entire reason for arranging things in this way was now… well, not quite obsolete, but… it was certainly more complicated than it had been.

Tarkin placed his thumb over a thumbprint scanner and the door beeped in approval, sliding open. The room smelled like saline and disinfectant, and Tarkin curled his upper lip slightly, reminded strikingly of the medical bay in the palace. Entering, he saw her standing, leaning slightly against the bed and gazing at the door in confusion and apprehension, unsure of what she would face.

"Senator Amidala," Tarkin acknowledged with a tip of his head.

Padmé Amidala's eyes widened in realization. "You saved me?"

Tarkin smiled, taking a few steps towards her. "Of course I did, my dear. You're far more useful alive. Palpatine made a foolish mistake in ordering your murder."

Shock turned to dread and defiance. "What do you want?"

Well he'd come to his dilemma now. He'd initially wanted her to help him turn Vader against Palpatine; he would have brought the boy to Eriadu and let them reunite, let Vader have time to readjust and realize that Tarkin was the better choice for loyalty. Tarkin would have ensured Amidala cooperated, and they would have eliminated the emperor. But now Palpatine was dead, and Vader was imprisoned. Everything was different now.

Tarkin was still debating whether he needed Amidala anymore.

"I want an audition," Tarkin said, his smile widening. He crossed his arms, observing her. "Times changed rather quickly, milady. Are you of any use to me?"

"You saved me," Amidala countered. "You tell me."

"Well I saved you because I thought you would be helpful," Tarkin rebutted carefully. "Prove it. What can you offer me?"

Amidala shifted slightly, uneasy. Her brow furrowed, her mind working to come up with a solution. Tarkin watched her with interest and mild amusement; she had managed to toy with Vader's emotions, had managed to manipulate him into falling in love with her. Tarkin wondered if she could use her wit to get herself out of this situation too. He didn't entirely dislike her – she'd certainly been a nuisance, but now he really had no quarrel with her. She could even help Vader… but Tarkin would only allow that if he was in control of the situation. He would not let her ruin anything.

Padmé, on the other hand, had quite a few concerns in her mind. What was Tarkin playing at? Why would he save her and then tell her to prove her worth? How had he known she was going to die? Had Vader spoken to him? The two were close, she remembered that; Tarkin had practically raised him.

Vader. This had to do with Vader.

"What happened to him?" she asked, her voice a little shaky. "Where's Vader?"

Tarkin's smile faltered a little, but he schooled his expression so he looked calm and in control once more. "Senator, the only thing you need to know about Vader is what you already know: how to manipulate him."

Padmé bristled. "I didn't manipulate him!"

"You planted foreign ideas in his mind, made yourself approachable, lovable," Tarkin remarked shrewdly. "I've no doubt you tried to push your Rebel agenda upon him as well. And then, after all that, you entered an engagement with the Salkenden warlord's son. Don't be hypocritical, milady."

Padmé opened her mouth to retort but fell short. She… she hadn't manipulated Vader! It was never her intent to hurt him; she hadn't proposed to Éothen to spite anyone, she'd done it for the Alliance!

The biggest burning thought in her mind, however, was, "Does Vader know I'm here?"

Tarkin sighed, stepping away from her. "I believe I am the one asking questions, senator, and you still have not answered mine."

Frustration filled her, but she bit her lip. What was Tarkin looking for? What could she say that would save her? How could she find out what in the blazes was going on while doing so?

"What do you want me to offer?" Padmé asked hesitantly. "You want me to act as a double agent?"

Tarkin barked out a laugh. "The moment I let you return to your precious Alliance I'll never see you again. I'm not a fool, milady."

Padmé felt dread fill her, and her heart dropped into her stomach as the realization settled in. "You want me to manipulate Vader for you."

"Smart woman," the grand moff nodded.

Padmé grew disgusted. "You raised him, and you want me to use him?"

"Lord Vader was created to be used," Tarkin replied curtly, stiffening. "Do not be an idealistic little girl making assumptions, senator – you know nothing about the man."

"I know enough," Padmé snapped, storming over to the grand moff. "I know what he thinks of himself, how he views you and the emperor—you people destroyed him. You've got some nerve thinking that I am the one trying to tear him apart when you've already done a pretty good job of that yourself."

The grand moff's eyes narrowed slightly, and his voice grew quiet. "Then by all means, senator, piece him back together… but only as I see fit."

Padmé glared at him, unable to articulate how much she hated him in that moment.

Tarkin cleared his throat and backed away, speaking matter-of-factly. "You will remain here under the guise of a servant. You will obey my wife, and you will not cause trouble. Imperial Intelligence is monitoring your family, and if my wife reports any misbehavior on your part, I will personally show you the footage of their execution.

"I will, after a certain amount of time, bring Lord Vader here. You will take care of him, give him what he needs, but most importantly, you will convince him that he is to take orders solely from me. It shouldn't be too difficult – perhaps the most difficult task for you will simply be to know when to keep your mouth shut on the matter. If I smell a hint of treachery from you, if you hurt Lord Vader in any way, I will kill your niece first."

Padmé felt her mouth go slack. "You're a monster."

Tarkin simply smiled. "Call me whatever you like, senator; it will not change your family's fate if you fail me."

With that, the grand moff left the room. Padmé stood still for a few seconds, trembling with rage and worry. As the seconds ticked by and she steadily calmed herself, she started to mull over the conversation. She'd obtained a decent amount of information from that: the identity of her rescuer, the danger presented to her family... how was it possible that she was putting them at risk even after her supposed death?

She couldn't even imagine what her family was going through, thinking that she'd died. It hurt so much just to think about it. She didn't know if Obi-Wan and Siri were home on Naboo or with the Alliance. Was the Alliance still around? Well, it had to be; Tarkin had admitted as much when he'd said he wouldn't let her return to them. That was at least something. But where was Vader now? Was Tarkin taking his time to test her, or because he was trying to keep all of this a secret from Palpatine? The latter was likely; if Palpatine was the one who had ordered her execution, he was obviously the last person who needed to know she was still alive. But how the blazes was she going to get out of here? She couldn't just sit and wait, and honestly, after having been shot by Vader she wasn't sure she could really convince him of much of anything, either. She still wasn't sure if he was in on this secret, but considering how upset he'd seemed, she doubted it… unless he'd only been upset because he was disobeying Palpatine. But no… that couldn't be the case; Tarkin would have no reason for her to convince Vader to listen to him if he already was in on the plot.

Sithspit, there was still so much missing information in all this craziness.

She couldn't stay here. That much she knew. Padmé had to find a way out, had to warn her family, had to return to the Alliance. There was no way she could wait for Vader, not here, not in Tarkin's domain. But how could she speak to the Sith Lord otherwise? Well… if he thought she was dead, then she could always find him on her own terms, find him and tell him about how Tarkin wanted to use her to get to him. At the moment, though, her main priority needed to be escaping.

Blast it, her head was spinning.

Groaning, Padmé sat on her bed once more. She was starting to get enough strength to walk around freely, and if she was going to be disguised as a servant, then that meant she could wander the compound relatively unhindered. She knew the place would be heavily guarded, and she probably had some sort of monitor on her at all times, so it wouldn't be easy, but she had to find a way out.

She would get out of here. She would return to her family.

She would make this right.

Some musical fun facts: the song Aya was listening to is "The Scientist" by Coldplay. Also, the opera that Padmé and Éothen had gone to see back in chapter 28 was called "Cemran," which is simply an anagram for Bizet's "Carmen." Anyone who knows the plot of that opera will recognize the irony, lol.

So, who understands Vader's sad mind enough to know what he was thinking in this chapter? ;)