Merry Christmas! :D
"Master, the starboard engines are down!"
"I'm aware of that, Padawan!"
"Is that another alarm?!"
"Life support's gone. Blast it!"
"What are we going to do?"
Pause. Breath.
"We stay and fight. We die as Jedi should. We take them with us."
"W-what? We can't stay—we—Master, I—there has to be another way!"
"There is no other way, Padawan. Be at peace. We'll be one with the Force soon… but we won't go down without a fight. Send an order to the rest of the marines, tell them to retreat; we'll hold them off here."
"Master…"
"Do as I say, Padawan."
Crescendo. Heartbeat. Silence.
"Yes, Master."
Dramatic string music.
Wait, what?
Tarkin opened his eyes blearily. He was warm and comfortable in bed, but somehow, despite all odds, that infernal HoloNet show had followed him. Twisting in bed, he glanced at his wife, who was leaning against the pillows clutching a data pad like her life depended on it. Her eyes were wide, her mouth gaping open with shock.
"Master, there's something you should know before… before it's over." A feminine voice said, that oh-so-familiar voice of that blasted brat who was supposed to be a Jedi Padawan.
Tarkin felt his skin crawl in annoyance. No. He would not have that here in his blasted bedroom. "Tell me that isn't that show about the Clone War."
His wife jumped, startled, and paused the video. She blushed slightly and then seemed to misinterpret his words, growing excited. "You watch it too?"
"No." Tarkin practically hissed.
His wife huffed, shuffling out of bed. Tarkin sighed heavily, glancing at his chronometer. His alarm would have gone off in a few minutes, anyway. Climbing out of bed, he dressed for the day and decided to have breakfast on the go; he had to tour the oversector and then return to Imperial Center. His wife was dragging her feet, trying desperately to finish the episode she was watching. Growing steadily more irritated, the emperor regent stood in the doorway to one of the estate's many sitting rooms. Honestly he would just flee the vicinity if it weren't for the simple fact that he had a point to emphasize.
Currently his wife was curled on a couch, bundled in a heavy blanket. Her face glowed as the data pad continued to play the episode centimeters from her. The sound of blaster fire emitted from the contraption alongside lightsaber movement. The noise made Tarkin's skin crawl, and an overwhelming sense of emptiness filled him for a second. He shook his head, firmly not thinking about a young Sith apprentice rotting away half insane in a Rebel cell.
"It's going to be okay, Padawan. It… it'll be over soon."
"I'm not afraid. Not when I'm with you. I… Master, I…"
Tarkin was not going to listen to this nonsense. He cleared his throat loudly.
His wife paused the episode and, after noting his attire, stood quickly. "You're leaving already?"
"I told you last night."
"I didn't expect you to leave first thing in the morning," she remarked, her face guarded but her tone slightly revealing.
Tarkin sighed, not giving her any leeway. "I have an empire to run."
That familiar greed glittered in her eyes. "We do, yes."
He was slightly amused, but also annoyed. "Not if you don't keep her in line."
"We discussed this last night," she waved a dismissive hand. "I'll take care of her."
"Be sure you do."
He didn't give his wife time to respond. Instead, he turned and headed towards the courtyard where a shuttle awaited him, already prepped for flight. Just as his feet touched the ramp, however, he heard his wife call out to him. He turned and noted she had thrown a robe on to look more presentable. She rushed towards him and then paused a few steps away, and they both stared at each other. She watched him with some concern, with some sort of emotion Tarkin couldn't read. Growing slightly impatient, he asked, "What is it?"
His wife swallowed and then tipped her head gracefully. "Be well."
That was it? Sighing, he said, "Be alert."
With that final warning, he boarded the ship and grabbed his comlink. The engines roared to life and Tarkin didn't bother to look out the window as his estate grew steadily smaller. Impatient for a report on affairs in the galaxy, he called his spy.
When she answered, she immediately said, "How's it going, cousin?"
Tarkin blinked. What? A millisecond later, it clicked; the line wasn't secure. His skin crawled a little; why wasn't it secure? "Fairly well. I was about to ask you the same thing."
"Well, from what I heard, things in the south aren't as bad as they were a day ago."
Grand Adm. Konstantine had been defeated, then. Good. Tarkin smiled. One fool out of the way. All that remained was Grand Moff Rhaegon. "Well, that's a relief; we wouldn't want too many headaches."
"No kidding, though your latest loud mouthed acquaintance is still yelling at the top of his lungs. You know, he caught so much attention that I heard he's heading your way."
His way? Grand Moff Rhaegon was heading towards Eriadu? "I don't recall inviting him over."
"He invited himself. He's not quite there; some friends tried to help you out. But part of the way is blocked now."
Part of the way…?
The Hydian Way. It was a major trade route, and Eriadu was right on it. Rhaegon had taken part of the Hydian Way.
Terrific.
"I'll cut my tour short, then." He quipped somewhat irritably. This day wasn't starting out all that well.
"Suit yourself. By the way, there's this great ballet playing at our favorite spot, so you'd better be there tonight."
Tarkin furrowed his brow, trying to translate his spy's words. Was she implying that she needed to see him when he arrived? Pulling out a data pad, he looked up the Galaxies Opera House and found the ballet to which was referring. Underneath the description of the ballet was a series of numbers that looked strangely out of place. Tarkin squinted at it, and he abruptly remembered that it was part of a code used back in the Clone War. Racking his brain for what each number signified, he eventually translated it.
Your pilot knows a safe path. I'll brief you fully upon your return.
He wasn't surprised that his spy had known he was leaving today, but it still left him slightly unnerved how well she kept track of his movements, how well Intelligence kept track of his movements. He had to ensure Intelligence didn't learn of his maneuver, after all – only his spy knew the truth. And speaking of that… "Ah, I see. Will your husband be there too?"
"No, he's still indisposed, but he'll get better very soon."
Good. That was promising. "Very well. I'll see you at the ballet."
"Goodbye, cousin."
Sighing, Tarkin cut the connection and closed his eyes as his shuttle entered hyperspace. He'd planned on glossing over his entire oversector one last time to maintain appearances; if he'd simply gone to Eriadu it might look suspicious, as if he were up to something there. It would have been tedious and time consuming, but he would have been forced to do it. Rhaegon's possession of the Hydian Way was somewhat of a blessing since it relieved him of that tiresome duty, but it still left him nervous. The last thing he needed was for that man to discover Amidala in his estate. He had to ensure Seswenna was firmly under his control, both to keep Amidala's presence a secret and to show his strength – it would be fairly pathetic indeed to lose his own home to the man, after all. He would organize the efforts when he returned to Imperial Center – there were too many unknown factors right now, and he would not give orders of an assault against Rhaegon via transmission – the man was no doubt listening in to everything, anyway.
The air was still. The soft hum of the heaters rattled her mind. Sitting up, Siri sighed and tried to meditate to help herself get to sleep. She tried to clear her mind, she felt out into the Force. It seemed peaceful, which could only be a good thing, she supposed. She wasn't that great at determining emotions or movements or whatever other Jedi called them. Qui-Gon would call them whispers from the Force, nudges and indications that something was occurring, but another Master she'd spoken to had called them ripples, reactions to something happening elsewhere. In either case, it did her little good since she could never seem to trace those ripples to their source, and she never really could interpret them, either. Right now, though, all she wanted was to sleep, but she couldn't.
Siri squeezed her eyes shut more tightly, giving up on relaxing. Instead, she tried to actively search the Force for any danger. Again, it felt peaceful, but somehow that didn't make her feel any better. Darth Vader was out of his cell, and that left her entirely too uncomfortable.
A soft snore startled her out of her musings, and she looked at Obi-Wan. He was facing away from her, tightly wrapped in the blanket and oblivious to her plight.
Why had he taken Vader to the med bay? Why hadn't he brought a doctor to Vader instead? Had he actually made progress with the Sith? Siri shook her head, glancing elsewhere. She was having a hard enough time reconciling the fact that Darth Vader was more of a shell of a man rather than a monster, but to add to it she also had to struggle with the fact that he'd killed Padmé.
He'd killed Padmé. She hated feeling stuck only thinking about that kriffing Sith Lord, but it was no longer her own grief or shock that bothered her. She'd started to move on from Padmé's death ever since Ilum, and though the discovery that Vader was her murderer had rattled Siri badly and dragged back all her negative feelings about the murder, she was trying to move on from that… but she couldn't get past the realization that her husband had to interact with his sister's murderer on a daily basis due to Qui-Gon's obsession and the Alliance's desperation. Did no one think about how this was affecting Obi-Wan? He seemed to be taking it pretty well on the surface, but that didn't necessarily mean it wasn't bothering him. He'd been good at hiding his emotions before the Jedi ever came along, and he was only getting better at it now.
She sighed heavily. You're supposed to let it go. Well she was trying to, blast it. She wasn't perfect, she couldn't just immediately get over that. She knew holding on to the shock and rage would do her no good, she knew that. Meditation had helped somewhat, had forced her to face her issues with the Sith Lord, but her concerns had shifted from he killed Padmé, she deserves justice to Obi-Wan has to talk to the man who tore his sister from him and most recently, to the most dangerous man in the Empire is emotionally unstable and talking to my husband alone with barely any protection.
Siri pinched the bridge of her nose, her brow furrowing. Padmé was no longer the main concern, but Obi-Wan was – despite all of this, though, Obi-Wan had managed to create this massive emotional distance between himself and the issue at hand, between himself and Siri, and she just couldn't keep up with it. When they trained together it was like being with him before the war had drained them, but whenever Obi-Wan's assignment came up… Siri didn't know. She would grow worried and angry all at once thinking about it, and Obi-Wan would just be… neutral. She didn't care if he noticed her own concern, but she did care about how he felt on the matter. She'd been trying to meditate about it, to figure out a way to help herself calm down, but just thinking about it didn't solve the problem; even if she resolved to not be upset, she would get riled up every time Obi-Wan had to go talk to the guy. She was starting to wonder if anything would work.
Siri returned her attention to Obi-Wan. She'd already ranted to him a few days ago about her issues with Vader concerning Padmé, and she'd been pretty open about how she felt, but he'd been entirely closed. He'd told her they didn't have a choice, that Qui-Gon might be on to something, but even if he wasn't, it was pointless to not try. But none of those things said how he felt about it. Siri knew Jedi weren't supposed to give in to their emotions, but that didn't mean they weren't supposed to acknowledge them – that's what the entire difference between the new and old Jedi Codes was about. So why wouldn't Obi-Wan just open up to her like he used to? In the past if they were in bad situations he often tried to be silent and stoic, but it never really held up against Siri's questioning, and he'd always felt comfortable enough to at least talk to her about things. Now he was an island, slowly forming into that picturesque Jedi that everyone imagined a Jedi should be. Was he really doing it right and Siri just didn't understand what it meant to be a Jedi, as he'd implied a few days ago? Or was he taking this to an unhealthy extreme that even the Jedi understood to be wrong? The Jedi were raised in a certain manner; there was no possible way Obi-Wan and Siri could go about training just like someone who grew up with the Order.
Being a Jedi wasn't a job, it was a vocation, a lifestyle. She understood that now. But one didn't have to get into the lifestyle in the same way… why couldn't Obi-Wan realize that? He didn't have to just immediately shut off his emotions. That's what Siri had been trying to tell him a few days ago.
Blast. Why were her thoughts all over the place? Focus!
Siri closed her eyes again. If she just kept meditating, if she just kept herself aware of what was happening in the base, then maybe she wouldn't be quite so anxious. She just didn't like the idea of the most powerful man in the Empire resting in the med bay. He was cuffed to the bed, and there was practically a battalion of soldiers and Jedi guarding the area, but it didn't feel as secure as having him in a sealed cell with ray shields and durasteel doors.
As Siri focused once more, she tried to push her fear away. It would do her no good; she knew that before she ever received Jedi training, but now that she had to use the Force it was all the more apparent. Fear clouded her mind, it made sensing anything nearly impossible if it became too overwhelming. She had to calm down.
Breathing deeply, Siri looked specifically for the small life presence inside of her. She'd recently come to realize that sensing out her child's signature in the Force was one of the most calming things she could do. She smiled a little and felt the tension ease out of her muscles. Despite the aches that had started to plague her body, and even despite the nausea that occasionally came, she was happier than ever about the pregnancy. On Imperial Center she'd been constantly stressed and worried for the youngling, but here…
Well, here the child had been safe. Now with Vader out…
Siri groaned softly, exasperated with herself and the situation. She felt like she was going in circles. She needed to calm down and stay calm despite the situation, but she knew that wasn't going to happen, not in here. If she just had something to do apart from training and sitting around waiting for the Empire to find them or waiting for Vader to finally go off the deep end, maybe it wouldn't be so stressful. After all, hadn't their reason for going to Hoth been to finally start getting involved again? Sure, Siri and Obi-Wan weren't ready to face Palpatine and Vader (so why the blazes was Qui-Gon sending Obi-Wan alone to handle Vader on a daily basis?), but by this point the Alliance had to be doing something; Tarkin was an enormous threat, and he was rallying the Empire once more.
"Siri?"
Startled, Siri jumped and looked at her husband. Obi-Wan was watching her with half open eyes, concern evident on his face.
She shouldn't be worrying him; Force knew he had enough to worry about. Smiling gently, she said, "Go back to sleep, Obi."
Exasperation filled her as his eyes opened fully. She should've known better than trying to stop him. "What's wrong?"
She was tempted for a second to close him off as he had seemingly done to her, but that was petty and she knew it. Sighing, she looked away. "I find it a little hard to sleep when Darth Vader's chilling a few hallways away from us."
Obi-Wan sat up more fully, and Siri could practically see the mild amusement and concern color his expression.
"The doctor sedated him," he said reassuringly.
"I know," Siri replied. "It's irrational to be worried about it, but here I am, worrying."
Obi-Wan was silent for a moment, and then he offered, "We can join the guards."
"We?" Siri repeated, looking at him once more. He watched her carefully, his eyes bright, his brow heavy. He was tired, and the last thing he needed was to get near Vader. "I can join the guards for a while, but you need to sleep."
"I'm not growing a person inside me. You need the sleep." He rebutted mildly, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows.
Siri sighed for the millionth time that night, her anxiety turning to annoyance. "Fine, we'll both go."
She didn't have to see a smile on his face to know he was pleased to win the little spat. Siri mirrored his earlier expression. "I thought Jedi don't gloat, Obi-Wan."
"I'm not gloating," he replied, slightly ruffled. Siri smirked. Rolling his eyes, he climbed out of bed. "Come on."
Throwing on some boots, warmer trousers, and a coat, Siri followed her husband out of their small quarters. They were in the Jedi barracks area, so their room was adjacent to many others filled with fellow Padawans and Knights. The two walked silently for a short while before Siri finally figured she could try to pull some genuine answers out of Obi-Wan since it was just the two of them with nothing in particular to do.
"Why did you take him to the med bay?"
Obi-Wan slowed his pace briefly, glancing at her. He seemed to mull over the matter before answering. "He was sick."
Siri looked at him exasperatedly. "No kidding. I wouldn't imagine taking somebody to the med bay for any other reason. I meant why didn't you just get a medical droid, or have a doctor go to the cell?"
Obi-Wan sighed. "I… did what I thought was necessary. Besides, he was a mess; they could at least clean him up in the med bay."
Well, that made some sense, at least, though Siri didn't really see how Vader deserved such treatment. Most of her pity (what little she'd had in the first place… it was actually more like not hating him rather than feeling anything for him) for the man had drained out of her when she'd learned what he'd done to Padmé.
And speaking of which… "Obi… are you okay?"
Obi-Wan stopped entirely now, looking at her in confusion.
"Look, the other day, I… I lost my temper a little bit, and it worried you," Siri explained, facing him fully. "But I was just trying to sort through how I felt about things. What I'm asking is have you sorted through how you feel? Have you even considered how you feel? It just seems like you're treating this like any other stressful assignment we've had; you're just ignoring the emotions until the situation's over… but this is a long game, Obi, and this isn't just another stressful assignment. So… are you okay?"
Obi-Wan swallowed and took a deep breath. He was trying to gather his thoughts, get a hold of himself. "I'm… getting there."
It was the most sincere answer she'd gotten out of him in what felt like an eternity, and she was relieved to hear it. Smiling, she put a hand on his shoulder. "If you ever need to talk about it, I'm here for you. Or, more likely, if you start imploding and I notice, I'm dragging it out of you."
Obi-Wan barked out a laugh. "I don't believe I'll be imploding any time soon."
"I know how you are," she remarked, resuming their walk. "You pretend everything's fine."
"I don't pretend everything's fine. I just resolve things in my own time."
"Yeah, on your own. That's okay most of the time, but not here."
"Siri…"
"Don't." she interrupted him somewhat sharply. "Just admit it, Obi-Wan: every time you really needed to rant about something or just discuss it, you would stay quiet and I would have to interrogate you."
Obi-Wan paused, an idea dawning on him. "Yes… you're right. You're very good at that."
Siri didn't like where this was going. "What are you thinking…?"
Her husband smiled. "Oh, nothing. Come on."
Siri walked alongside him, eying him warily. She really had a bad feeling about this.
Eventually the couple arrived at the med bay. About fifteen guards and five Jedi were roaming the hall, some talking, others leaning against the walls. Obi-Wan glanced at Siri questioningly, wondering if she wanted to stay here.
Honestly, she really did want to stay out in the hall, but a part of her pushed for her to go inside, to look at that man with all her knowledge about him. A part of her figured it would help somehow, it would force her to confront everything she'd been feeling about him. As Obi-Wan had said, he'd been sedated, so she wouldn't have to interact with Vader, just see him.
Taking the lead, Siri walked to the entrance. The guards stiffened, but then they recognized her and Obi-Wan and let them pass. The door hissed open, and Siri entered.
The last time she'd been with Darth Vader, she'd… been a little less than calm. The Force had been stormy, Siri had been a mess… it generally had not been a great experience. Now she listened carefully to the Force, not knowing how to discern what she felt but knowing whether it was a threat or not. Vader was sleeping quietly, his arms right by the rails of the bed since his wrists were cuffed to them. He looked a little pale, but his coloring was still infinitely better than the last time she'd seen him. The wounds he'd had were less noticeable now, though some looked like they'd yet to heal. His face was placid, his muscles slack from slumber.
Siri felt her chest clench looking at him, but she refused to gaze elsewhere. Taking a deep breath, she ran through her mind all the deeds he'd done, all the things she knew about him, in some sort of attempt to reconcile herself with this situation. As a Jedi she knew she had to be as neutral a party as possible without being gullible or foolish. Finding that balance was difficult.
Glancing at Obi-Wan, Siri was surprised to see that he was watching the Sith Lord calmly. He no longer looked exhausted, upset, worried, or confused about the matter. He didn't really look resigned, either, just… at peace.
"How do you do that?" she asked softly.
Obi-Wan looked at her confusedly.
"How can you be so calm around him?" she clarified. "After everything he's done…"
"I thought you were working on your emotions concerning him." He reminded her.
"I am," she emphasized. "That's why I'm asking."
Obi-Wan sighed and looked back at Vader. "I… I'm starting to see him differently. Not quite like Qui-Gon, but not quite like I used to."
"What do you mean?"
Obi-Wan struggled to find the right words. "We only knew him as a butcher who showed no remorse. We now realize that he was brainwashed to be that way, that he's known little else. What he's done is… is horrendous. There's no denying it. Qui-Gon wishes to absolve him of it. I do not. I just… realize that it's not what we thought. He's not what we thought."
"Then what is he?"
"Lost." Obi-Wan immediately answered.
"And empty?" Siri surmised, recalling how he'd looked the last time she'd seen him.
Her husband shook his head. "I... don't think so. If he's not, he's close… dangerously close, and it isn't our job to push him over the edge. That would only make us as bad as he is."
"So how is your view any different from Qui-Gon's, then?" Siri asked, somewhat suspicious.
"As I said, Qui-Gon wishes to absolve him of everything and say none of it was his fault. He wants to make him a Jedi." Obi-Wan crossed his arms, suddenly looking tired. "I don't see that happening, nor am I sure he really deserves such treatment. But I do realize that he isn't a heartless monster. He's… naïve."
"Naïve?" Siri repeated, surprised and baffled by the description.
"He asked me what hatred did to people, if one could hate without being irrational," Obi-Wan said with almost sad amusement. "He didn't know. He didn't understand it. Siri, I… I don't think he knows anything about emotions, about being a sentient being. He's… lost."
Siri stared at him, surprised, mulling over what he said. They'd all assumed Vader was remorseless, not emotionless… or, more accurately, if he was emotionless it was because he was heartless, not clueless. Could he just be playing Obi-Wan? Somehow she doubted it; she could see Padmé getting caught up in saving someone, but Obi-Wan was far more hesitant on such matters, and he came into this situation fully aware of what kind of person Vader was.
Or at least so they thought.
"I'm not sure there's much left to save," Obi-Wan remarked, breaking the silence. "But I won't be the one to tell him there's no hope. I'll let him decide that for himself."
In his years of war, Éothen had experienced many surprises. Hell, even hearing about Padmé's death had been a surprise. But this?
Padmé was alive? What the hell?!
Éothen was beginning to debate whether his head would ever stop spinning – things had been confusing and crazy enough when he'd gotten engaged, then his fiancée had been murdered, and now she was alive again. Or, more accurately, she'd never died in the first place.
Mother above. This was beyond insane. What the hell had Erwyna been up to?!
"Sir?"
Éothen jumped and looked at his subordinates. As Erwyna had suggested, he'd gathered his squad together and told them they were going to Imperial Center, though he hadn't explained why simply because he barely had an explanation to give. All he'd said was Erwyna needed their help.
Sighing, Éothen motioned towards the shuttle waiting for them at the landing pad. "Let's go."
The squad boarded silently, some members exchanging confused looks. Éothen didn't blame them; the war was over on Salkende, so they no doubt were clueless as to why they were needed, particularly on a place like Imperial Center. Honestly, he wasn't even sure if any of them had ever been there.
To add to it, the Rebels were practically hounding his mother about reinforcements ever since the news of Emperor Regent Tarkin's installment had hit HoloNet. Éothen figured he and his squad would be sent to Hoth soon. It was a good thing – he'd been desperate to enter the fray after the Empire had interfered with Salkenden affairs. But right now… right now he was too disoriented to even know what to do.
Once they boarded everyone sat and fiddled with their equipment uneasily. Some started to convince themselves this was just another wartime assignment, and Éothen saw the mask of a calm, determined soldier slip over their faces. He sighed heavily and looked out the window as the shuttle's engines roared to life. He hoped Erwyna wasn't in any kind of trouble, but he knew she could take care of herself even if she was, at least until they could get there.
Padmé was alive. She was alive?!
Éothen shook his head. Who else knew about this? Was this a Rebel ploy all along? Had they tricked Salkende? Why would they do that? It didn't seem likely; there was no motive, the Rebels needed them. So was it an Imperial plot? Or had Padmé managed to save herself and was in hiding? If it was the Imperials, why would they go through that entire drama if they weren't going to kill her? If it was Padmé herself, why hadn't she contacted someone, like her brother, or even maybe Éothen himself?
Had she contacted her brother and he hadn't told anyone? The Rebels were getting Salkenden aid now, after all, at least in terms of supplies. Maybe he figured he wouldn't have to hand his sister over to Éothen.
The man scoffed. As if the entire engagement were his idea in the first place, as if he'd been running the show. Padmé had not been some helpless damsel caught in bad circumstances; she had taken control of her situation. It was one of the reasons Éothen had actually grown to admire her. He didn't know what was going on, but he sure as hell was going to find out.
Wait. Had she actually tried to contact Éothen? Had that been the meaning of her gift? Erwyna had specifically mentioned it in her transmission. Éothen felt his gut clench with uncertainty and guilt. He certainly hoped it hadn't been a message, because if it had, he'd completely missed it.
It was such a strange feeling. He'd been starting to adjust to the idea of Padmé's death. He'd practically moved on by this point. Sure, the Empire's maneuver still pissed him off, and he felt immensely terrible for Padmé and her family, but what had happened had happened. He'd been chomping at the bit to get back at the Empire, but he hadn't been bemoaning the death of his fiancée. He'd seen enough people he cared about die to do such a thing, and even he'd admit he wasn't particularly emotionally attached to her – they hadn't exactly had much time for that.
But he'd never had someone who'd died come back. How was he supposed to feel about this? Relieved? All he felt was confused beyond belief. He was filled with so much energy, with an insatiable desire to learn what had happened now and fix it now and find Padmé now.
It was seventeen hours to Imperial Center. It was time to get some answers.
Padmé awoke with a jolt as she felt something touch her neck. She jerked away from the sensation and felt something dangling there. Her vision sharpened as her mind finally registered what was happening. She was still in the room on the makeshift hospital bed, and the medical droid was right beside her, having placed something around her neck. Reaching, she felt a thin, rigid piece of metal. She would have assumed it was a necklace, but it felt more like a collar, and considering her new predicament…
Sighing, she glared at the droid. "What is it?"
"I was instructed to place a shock collar on you. You are now healthy and to be discharged."
Padmé refrained from grabbing helplessly at the collar once more. She should've known this would happen. It made things more complicated, but not impossible; the plans she'd been making mostly consisted of just gathering as much information about galactic affairs as possible before deciding what the best course of action would be.
Standing, she decided to take advantage of the situation. "I'll head out, then."
She walked purposefully towards the door. If she could wander the compound a little bit, pretend to get lost, she could gather some information from the start. She had no such luck, however; the door was still locked.
"Someone will be along to retrieve you," the Emdee droid explained.
Padmé bit her lower lip. This was getting steadily more frustrating. She had to calm down and be patient; she wasn't getting out of here immediately.
Gods, she hoped everyone was alright.
The door hissed open, startling Padmé, and she took a hasty step back. In the entranceway was Lady Tarkin herself with a muscular Human male standing off to the side. Judging by his subservient posture and the similar looking collar around his pale neck, he was no doubt a slave as well.
"I see the droid prepared you. Good." Lady Tarkin said curtly with a smug smile.
Padmé sighed but said nothing, waiting to see what would happen next.
Motioning to the man, she said, "This will be your mate. I'll be in need of more slaves in the future. One has to plan ahead."
Padmé's mouth fell slack, stunned. "What?!"
"Watch your tongue," Lady Tarkin warned, pointing at her threateningly. "Remember your family's lives are at stake." Looking at the man, she ordered, "Take her. But not here – she's sullied this room long enough. Go to the slave quarters."
The man hesitated for a second, his amber eyes dancing between Padmé and his mistress, and then he nodded obediently, hunching over even more. Padmé took a step away from both of them, horrified. She couldn't even fathom this – this scenario had not been what she'd planned for, what she'd even thought to plan for.
"I—" she tried to protest, shaking her head.
"One more word out of you and I start ordering for their heads," Lady Tarkin snapped. "You should be grateful; at least in this manner you'll be serving some sort of useful purpose."
The man slowly wrapped his hand around Padmé's arm, gently pulling her out of the room. Padmé didn't dare speak, but she still dug her heels into the ground. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening. How could she get out of this without getting her family killed?! She couldn't… she wouldn't have to submit, would she?
No. No! She wasn't going to let this happen! Think, blast it!
Despite her efforts, the other slave had managed to pull her down the hall, though they hadn't left Lady Tarkin's line of sight yet. The man whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. But… we'll die if we don't. And… and your family too, I guess? I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
Padmé felt her breath get knocked out of her. This was sick. This was beyond sick.
And then the idea hit her.
Pulling harshly against the man, Padmé whirled around to face the hateful woman. "You're making a mistake."
Lady Tarkin pulled out a small device and pressed a button. Fire shot through Padmé, making her muscles convulse. Her throat tightened, preventing her from even screaming. She collapsed to the ground and the pain immediately vanished. Based on the heavy breathing beside her, her companion had been electrocuted as well.
"I suppose I'll have to call the people monitoring your family, then," she remarked stiffly, though she made no move to do so.
"Just… listen to me…" Padmé gasped. "For your own sake."
This seemed to catch the woman's attention, but it only angered her. She shocked Padmé and the slave again. "You have nothing of use to say to me! Your purpose is to remain silent and do as I ordered!"
"Vader will kill you," Padmé spat with as much vehemence as her exhausted body could manage.
Lady Tarkin scoffed, "Lord Vader doesn't care for your troubles."
"Your husband promised me to him," Padmé said, pushing herself off the ground and standing defiantly. It was the one argument she had, and she was going to use it to her advantage. She prayed it wouldn't backfire on anyone. "Lord Vader won't want a sullied slave."
A bit of her shuddered at the phrasing, but she hid it (or made it look like it was just the aftereffect of being shocked). She knew the only way Lady Tarkin would listen was if she used the same terms the woman did, but it wasn't pleasant addressing herself in that manner.
For a brief moment there was silence as the Imperial glared at Padmé suspiciously. Then she remarked with a snort, "Lord Vader has little care for that. I'm sure you aren't the first woman he's dominated."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Padmé actually barked out a laugh at the incredible ignorance of that statement. "You've never met Darth Vader, have you?"
"That's enough!" Lady Tarkin snapped, pressing the button once more.
Padmé gasped and fell to the ground again, and her head started to pound. After the torture stopped she remained on the floor, twitching and exhausted. Tears streamed from her eyes, and she heard the man beg for his mistress to stop.
"I take back what I said," Lady Tarkin snarled. "He will not be your mate. I'll have all the men of this household have their time with you for your insolence."
"Do you… really want to… risk it?" Padmé tried to keep the strength in her tone, but she was nearly pleading now. "How will… this fare for you if… Vader doesn't like what you did?"
Lady Tarkin stiffened. Padmé tried to seize the opportunity as best she could. "I… will willingly be your slave… no arguments… so long as you just make me a housemaid. Just… make me a housemaid."
"You think I'll take demands from you?!" the woman yelled, her thumb primed over the shock button.
"I'm not demanding!" Padmé snapped before catching herself. She heaved herself onto all fours and then nearly lowered her face to the ground. "I… I'm pleading. I'm begging."
There was silence for a long time. Padmé heard Lady Tarkin exhaled and then chuckle deeply. "Tell me what you are."
Padmé was confused for a second before she knew what the witch wanted. She bit her tongue, closed her eyes, and then just said it. "I'm your slave."
"Tell me what happens if you disobey me."
Breathe, just breathe… "You kill my family."
"I'm still in need of a breeder. How will you solve the problem?"
Padmé felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She grasped at anything and everything, unsure what to say.
"If it is not to be you, you will choose one for me."
Padmé's stomach churned.
"So what will you do to solve the problem, slave?"
"I…" Padmé swallowed bile. Her entire body trembled from far more than the torture. "I…"
Just say it. You won't mean it. This isn't the first bad situation you've been in.
"I'll choose one for you."
"Good girl. Now get up."
Slowly, Padmé rose to her feet. She saw the other slave still cringing on the ground, looking miserable. She felt her heart grow heavy, and she closed her eyes for a second to compose herself. She had to take advantage of this. She had to take control of the situation; she'd gotten herself out of the worst of it, at least.
"I… I will do my best to choose a good slave," she said, keeping her voice steady. She was sure to keep her eyes downcast to maintain the façade of being demure and obedient. "When will I leave for the market?"
"You think you can leave this compound?" Lady Tarkin scoffed.
Padmé clenched her jaw. She had to sell this. Her only hope was to get out of here, to physically leave this place and get her bearings. She had to sell this. She used all her stress and terrible situations as of late to bring tears to her eyes, and she generated mock sobs and fell to her hands and knees. "P-please, I—I don't want to g-get in trouble—I'll do as you say, please, just let me do as you say, I won't be bad, I promise I won't!"
"Be silent, slave!" Lady Tarkin snapped. Padmé immediately cupped her hand over her mouth and lowered herself further, waiting to see what would happen next. She held her breath, desperately hoping some good would come out of this disaster, hoping her earlier remark would pay off. The noblewoman took a slow, deep breath. "There is no slave market in town at this moment. You will choose from the slaves I already have."
Padmé let out a deep breath. To Lady Tarkin it was a sob, but in reality it was just a sigh of frustration. She needed to get out of this compound, she needed to figure out what was going on. She shook her head subtly. She would find a way. Lady Tarkin was arrogant; if Padmé played this just right, she would survive this hell, albeit with some singed pride and skin. Ignoring the headache that still was pounding from all the electrical shocks, she shakily nodded. "I'll do as you wish, Mistress. I'm ever grateful to you, Mistress. I won't disobey you."
Lady Tarkin walked away. Padmé sank to the ground, taking deep breaths to calm down. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain shooting through her body. That had been too close. That had been entirely too close. She felt violated just thinking about it. Shuddering, she curled in on herself and then started to reassemble her thoughts.
"Why did you do that?"
Startled, Padmé gasped and twisted around to look at the slave. She'd almost forgotten he was there. "I… I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to get hurt."
"You'll get yourself killed if you try that again," he remarked, cringing as he pulled himself to a standing position.
"Maybe so," Padmé admitted as she stood as well. "But there are worse fates. What's your name?"
"Crix," he said softly. "I'm sorry."
Padmé felt terrible for the man, but at the same time he had been willing to go through with it, even though she hadn't. She knew why, but… sighing, Padmé placed her hand on his shoulder, shaking her head. "It's… I know you were just scared. But… you can't let go of your dignity like that. None of us can. None of us should give up hope."
Crix chortled mirthlessly. "You're still new. Give it a few years. You'll learn." Then he frowned. "Are you really promised to Darth Vader? I… I wouldn't wish that on anyone."
Padmé tasted bitterness in her mouth, and her chest clenched. "I know. Let's… let's just go. I need to talk to the other slaves."
As Crix guided her towards the slave quarters, Padmé hugged herself and shook off the tremors that continued to wrack her body. Lady Tarkin was a selfish and hateful woman, but she was also easily fooled if Padmé used the right words and acted the right way. She just had to ensure she didn't enrage the woman, she had to play the part of loyal slave to a point. If she managed to get the slaves on her side, they would outnumber their precious mistress. Padmé wasn't expecting to wage war against the noblewoman and her guards, but with the slaves as her allies, she could at least have a spy network. Then she could plan her escape, she could plan all of their escape. She wouldn't leave these people in that wench's clutches.
There was still hope. There was always hope. There had to be hope. Her family needed her.
Crix led Padmé to a large library that was open to the estate's grounds. Padmé hesitated, staring outside at the bleak winter day. She saw large expanses of gardens and a tree line stretching into the distance. It was likely they weren't very close to civilization; no doubt half the forest surrounding the estate was owned by the Tarkin family. She glanced around the cold, lonely library, gazing at mixes of ancient books and data storage centers. Crix eventually wandered towards one of the shelves in the corner, reaching his hand through the shelf, making it glitch strangely for a second before Padmé realized it was a hologram. Crix deactivated the image, and a door appeared on the wall, which he opened. A dimly lit stairway was behind it, and Padmé blew out a breath as she followed Crix down the spiral staircase.
Eventually they ended up in a frigid basement. The walls and ceiling were made of stone, and the floor no doubt was as well, but it was hidden under brownish carpet that at some point had probably been white.
"How long have you been here?" Padmé asked, partly to quiet her thoughts and partly out of curiosity.
"The Tarkins have owned me for about fifteen years now. I was a gift from an officer."
Padmé shook off the revulsion that overcame her. "I'm sorry."
Crix paused long enough to give her a sad, tired smile. "Doesn't matter. I'm used to it. You will be too eventually."
"I... don't think so," Padmé replied carefully.
Crix guided her through a large kitchen, which was filled with two droids and five slaves. Beyond the kitchen was another hall that led to the slave quarters, which was a small, cramped room stuffed with ten bunk beds and barely lit by a light on the far end of the room.
"Lady Tarkin owns twenty slaves, not including you," Crix explained, standing in the center of the small room. "I'll get the women."
Padmé watched him walk by her. She was tempted to intervene, tempted to tell him to stop altogether. Or perhaps he could grab everyone; the sooner she got to know the other slaves, the better. Still, she had to be careful, and she was far more likely to make allies with the slaves in the worst situation and the most desperate to escape it. If she could establish connections she could find her way out of here.
She shuddered. How the blazes was she going to protect them from Lady Tarkin's orders? How could she choose a slave and not choose one at the same time?
Padmé sat on one of the creaky beds and buried her face in her hands. Barely five minutes later she heard people shuffling in and saw eight nervous looking women standing in the entrance with Crix behind them.
"Thanks, Crix," Padmé sighed, standing, wanting him to leave and not hover over the poor women. "I can take it from here."
He nodded and left.
Padmé looked over the women. There were four Twi'leks, one Human, one Zabrak, and two Togruta. They were all fairly young, though careworn. Two of them looked like they were teenagers.
Padmé took a deep breath. She wasn't sure how to do this, whether to throw caution to the winds with the confidence that they would help her, or lie to them and thereby make it even more difficult to gain their trust. Given their expressions, she decided for the former. "My name is Padmé Amidala. I'm a member of the Rebel Alliance. I'm being held prisoner here by the Tarkins."
She then paused, figuring out where she should go from there. Before she could say anything, one of the slaves stepped forward. "Amidala? As in Senator Amidala? I thought you were killed!"
Padmé eyed the woman, an aqua skinned Twi'lek. She wasn't sure the slaves would really be up to speed on current galactic affairs, so she was surprised. "No, it was just a means to get me here. Who are you?"
"Numa," the Twi'lek answered strongly. "I was a sympathizer to the Rebel cause before I was imprisoned and sold into slavery as punishment."
Padmé felt her hopes rise. She truly did have allies here. "Anyone else in a similar situation?"
The others shook their heads, though one of the teenagers crossed her arms and looked away. Padmé noted it but didn't press the matter at the moment. She decided it was time to finally get to the point.
"I'm not planning on staying here," she said. "And with your help, we can all leave. We just have to play it carefully. Lady Tarkin wants me to choose one of you to help her get more slaves, but I won't do it. I won't do that to any of you. I'll cover for you, make it seem like I've chosen someone to satisfy her. But I need your help if we're going to get out of here."
Numa sighed, leaning against the wall. "Figured she'd do that someday. I can't leave the estate, though. None of us can. Only Crix, and I doubt you'll convince him to our side. He's been here too long, too beaten down and scared to fight back."
"Are we sure this is a good idea?" another slave asked nervously. "We could be killed!"
"I'd rather die than be somebody's mate," one of the teenagers snapped, and then she focused her blue gaze on Padmé. "I'll help you. We all will. I've been looking for an opportunity to get out of this place. I've got better things to do with my life."
Padmé smiled at the girl's enthusiasm, a little surprised she was so receptive. The other slaves still seemed hesitant, but if they were guided and shown they would be protected, they would be fine.
"How are you going to stop the mistress from finding out?" one woman asked.
"I doubt she's going to watch," Numa crossed her arms, looking disgusted. "All she needs is somebody's word. Most likely Crix's."
"But Crix would never lie for us!"
Padmé paused, considering the matter. She could try to convince him, but based on what everyone had been saying so far, it didn't seem likely.
"Lady Tarkin's going to be too busy to worry about that," another woman commented.
Padmé eyed her curiously. "What do you mean?"
The defiant teenager gasped in realization. "That's right! She has dignitaries coming over - she's throwing a party for... the emperor's death, I guess? Not very patriotic."
Numa snickered. "It's a get together to celebrate the emperor's life, but basically it's just to celebrate her husband's rise in power."
Padmé felt her heartrate rise. She couldn't believe her luck. "Who's coming?"
"No clue; we just know they're important people."
Padmé choked back a laugh of relief, her head spinning from the multiple ups and downs she'd had in the course of a half hour. "Then we might be out of here sooner than I thought."
"What do you mean?"
"My imprisonment is against Imperial law," Padmé explained without getting into the details too much - it wasn't like she wanted to think about the scenario she'd found herself in. "The Tarkins acted of their own accord. If these dignitaries catch a glimpse of me, they'll know who I am; rumors will spread, and Intelligence will catch wind of it. Both Tarkins will be arrested."
"I'm liking the sound of that," the Togruta teenager remarked, crossing her arms. "Guess we'd better get ready for that party, then."
"Yes," Padmé nodded, mirroring the girl's smile. "We should."
"Lift the pot."
Obi-Wan fixed his gaze on the small metal pot sitting innocently on the cold floor. Stretching out his hand, he imagined the pot floating into the air. The item shuddered a little, but it resisted him. Obi-Wan furrowed his brow, concentrating harder, forcing himself to only focus on that one task, somewhat surprised it was taking this much effort when he'd made similar objects float on Ghanu'jivo. Eventually the little pot trembled and started to hover just above the ground, and as Obi-Wan willed it to go higher, it eventually bobbed its way up to eye level.
Qui-Gon smiled. "Very good. Let it go."
Obi-Wan lowered the object until it slapped onto the ground a little harshly. At Qui-Gon's beckoning, he approached the item and leaned over to pick it up. When he grabbed the handles and gave a gentle tug, however, he nearly pulled his back at the exertion; the pot wouldn't budge.
"It weighs 50kg," Qui-Gon told him. Obi-Wan blanched, looking at his teacher in surprise. "The Force is a powerful ally, Padawan. Your abilities can be confined by your imagination. If you think the pot is too heavy to lift, it will not move. If I had told you the pot's mass before you attempted to carry it, you would have likely failed. Mental blocks are powerful inhibitors."
"What's the most you can lift?" Siri asked from where she was standing, deflecting training bolts with her lightsaber.
"Well, it depends. Your power in the Force is partly dependent on your own mental energy. It can be quite tiring, and if you've already been engaged in combat it makes it more difficult." Qui-Gon replied. "I don't believe I've kept track of the heaviest object I've lifted by myself, but it has been more massive than this pot. You two will be able to manipulate larger and more massive items as well in time."
Obi-Wan sighed as he watched Siri train. She looked a little tired after their nearly sleepless night guarding the base, but she didn't look as worried as last night, so he supposed it was a victory. They'd both gotten up relatively early to do some extra training and meditation; the situation with Tarkin and the Alliance was putting everyone on edge, and they both felt they needed to be as ready as possible.
Then again, Obi-Wan knew his main means of preparation, at least by the Alliance's standards, was snoozing in the medical bay. At least he would be until about half an hour from now; that was supposedly when the doctor would discharge him and he would be taken back to his cell.
Siri blew out a breath and wiped the sweat from her brow, deactivating her blade. She smiled at Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving."
Obi-Wan saw the twinkle in her eye, the way she looked at him specifically. Come on, let's have some time alone and take a break.
"I think I'll join you," he remarked with a soft smile. He had plans for Siri, anyway, assuming she wouldn't kill him for the suggestion.
Qui-Gon seemed to detect the undercurrent of the conversation and tipped his head. "Go ahead; I'll follow later."
Obi-Wan followed his wife out of the training hangar and into the hallway. "I'm hoping you actually do want to eat."
Siri laughed. "Don't think that way, Obi, I am genuinely hungry."
"Perfect. Get some food for me while you're at the mess, will you?"
Siri gave him a confused look. "Where are you going?"
"I'll be in the medical bay," Obi-Wan replied before adding, "In fact, get some food for Vader, too."
Siri stiffened. "Excuse me?"
"They'll probably have taken the IV out by now; he might be hungry," Obi-Wan reasoned carefully, watching his wife's reaction. He knew this was risky, but he also recalled her words from last night – Siri was amazing at pulling information out of people. He didn't necessarily want to use her to interrogate Vader so much as encourage the Sith Lord to finally open up about anything. Besides, Siri herself needed to start getting past her emotional issues with the Imperial, and the best way to do that would be to let her see what Obi-Wan had been talking about last night; it was his own reason for moving on, after all.
Siri stared at Obi-Wan disbelievingly, but before he could argue his point, she shook her head, blowing out an irritated sigh. "Fine, I'll meet you in the med bay. If he so much as twitches in my direction I'm digging my saber into his shoulder, got it?"
"I'll be sure to advise him against twitching."
"You do that."
After watching Siri disappear around the corner, Obi-Wan made his way to the medical bay. He wasn't sure what he'd talk about today, only that he knew he should probably stop by, at least for when Vader would get escorted back to his cell.
When he arrived at the medical bay there were twice as many guards as there had been last night, but he didn't sense a commotion, so apparently it was just a precautionary measure. Entering, Obi-Wan saw that Darth Vader was awake, lying motionless on the bed. At least he looked emotionless initially, upon closer inspection he saw the man's wrists twisting in their cuffs, causing his skin to break. Blood stained the sheets underneath him.
Obi-Wan sighed exasperatedly. "Is there any particular reason you're making this worse for yourself?"
Vader's eyes darted over to Obi-Wan, his brow lifting slightly in surprise; he hadn't sensed him. Obi-Wan supposed that meant the sedative was still working its way through his system. His gaze stayed on Obi-Wan for a while before sweeping around the room at the multiple Jedi and soldiers surrounding him. Then he stared at the ceiling once more.
Obi-Wan approached the bed. "Stop moving your wrists around; you're hurting yourself."
Vader stopped moving entirely, and his gaze settled on Obi-Wan once more. He still said nothing, but he didn't look distressed or depressed in any way. Just… neutral. As usual. Obi-Wan wasn't sure he wanted that, he wasn't sure he wanted the Imperial to revert to the way he'd been on Naboo and Imperial Center. At least when he'd been unstable Obi-Wan had had some leverage over him, he could get some sort of reaction out of him. Maybe he was just reading too much into it; Vader had spoken fairly openly with him yesterday, after all.
The Force rippled, and Vader abruptly squeezed his eyes shut before calming. Ice clung to the air, making Obi-Wan shiver. The Sith Lord's face grew stony once more.
"Are you hungry?" Obi-Wan asked, trying to figure out what was going on this time. Every encounter with Vader seemed to be a puzzle, one in which that the Sith Lord gave very few hints.
"I don't require anything." The Sith Lord stated calmly.
Obi-Wan gazed at the monitor that showed Vader's vitals. They were steady. He seemed fine, but it didn't feel fine. Over the past week Obi-Wan had been trying to figure out what sensation in the Force indicated what in relation to the Sith Lord, and currently all he was sensing was thick ice, indicative of Vader raising his shields and blocking everything out. At least that's what it appeared to be.
He'd been cautious yesterday, but not quite to this degree. Was it just because he was healthy again? Or…
Turning his attention to the guards, Obi-Wan smiled. "You can wait outside. I'm fine."
The soldiers and Jedi exchanged glances, hesitating. Obi-Wan assured them, "Everything is under control. I'll call you if I need you."
Though they seemed reluctant to leave, they eventually did so after a Jedi Knight exited first, knowing Obi-Wan was there under orders from the Grand Master. When the room was finally empty, he returned his gaze to Vader. As he did so, the Force thawed by a hair, and the Sith watched him expectantly.
"I'm not here to interrogate you if that's what you're wondering." Obi-Wan immediately said.
"I came to that conclusion. You've proven too useless for that."
Slightly irked, Obi-Wan asked, "Do you always define things and people in terms of their usefulness?"
"Yes."
Hardly surprising. "So you've spent your entire life only concerning yourself with practicality."
"Yes."
Obi-Wan sighed. "Then perhaps you'd like to hear about my training today."
"I neither like nor dislike anything."
"Of course."
Vader blinked, not quite catching the sarcasm.
"Well, what do you want to talk about?"
"I don't want anything."
"Vader, surely there's something you do in your free time," Obi-Wan nearly pleaded. He didn't have to guide this conversation all the time, did he? Should he even bother trying to talk to the Sith before everyone locked him back up? Would Siri be able to get anything out of him?
"Training."
"What else?"
Vader blinked. "More training."
Obi-Wan sighed heavily. This Sith was impossible sometimes. "You've spent your entire life training? You've done nothing else?"
"I go on missions."
"Apart from that," Obi-Wan said in exasperation.
Vader stared at him.
He really shouldn't be surprised by this, but it was truly driving the point home that Vader didn't know a single blasted thing about being a normal person. This was starting to reach beyond brainwashing, to indicate something worse than just obedience to a fault and poor judgment. Obi-Wan was half tempted to request the Alliance provide a psychiatrist for the Sith Lord, but he knew that would do no good whatsoever since Vader would be as obstinate as possible.
The door hissed open and Siri entered, bringing some relief to Obi-Wan; he had to admit a small, selfish part of him had invited her to join them so he could have some (relative) sanity in the room.
"Brought lunch," she remarked quietly, her eyes glued to the bedridden Sith Lord.
The Force immediately froze once more. Obi-Wan glanced at Vader, whose gaze glossed over his wife, slowing at some points. "Relax. She's not here to cause you trouble."
Then Obi-Wan belatedly remembered Vader and Siri's last encounter when they were both awake. He felt his heart pump a little faster; perhaps this wasn't the best idea.
Siri approached and gave Obi-Wan a plateful of food. Then she glanced at Vader. "I guess you can slurp your food, but I sure as hell am not spoon feeding you."
"I don't require assistance." He said, his expression unreadable.
"Good." Siri quipped, pulling up a chair and facing Obi-Wan, ignoring the Sith entirely. "Eat up while it's still hot, you know how quickly it cools in this place."
Obi-Wan nodded and ate silently. Siri's eyes eventually wandered to the Sith once more, and they settled on the bedsheet just below his wrists. Obi-Wan felt her irritation as her brow furrowed and she stood once more. "What's up with the blood? You're not staying in this med bay any longer than you have to – no amount of wrist cutting will stop that."
Obi-Wan touched Siri's forearm in an attempt to calm her, which thankfully worked. She sighed and sat. "Sorry."
For the first time since Obi-Wan's arrival, Vader's icy contribution to the Force nearly cracked.
"What?" the Sith Lord asked, staring at Siri confusedly.
Obi-Wan's wife glared at him. "I said sorry. Are you hard of hearing?"
Darth Vader's face almost glowed with relief. Then his brow furrowed. "Why are you apologizing?"
"I don't know; the more you ask the more I regret it," was Siri's snarky reply.
"Play nice, both of you," Obi-Wan intoned dully. His remark caught Siri's attention, and she immediately backed down, not wanting to upset him.
Everyone was silent for about a minute before Siri shifted uneasily. "How much longer before he's transferred back to his cell?"
Obi-Wan looked at his chronometer and hesitated; he knew Vader wasn't aware of when he'd be transferred for security reasons. He wondered if he should telepathically tell Siri, but he knew he hadn't mastered that skill yet – the spouses shared stray thoughts and sentiments, but they couldn't yet actively communicate through the Force.
He felt odd for a second, and then Vader answered Siri. "Fifteen minutes."
Obi-Wan felt his gut twist into a knot. "I told you to not read my mind."
Siri stiffened, her hand slowly sliding towards her lightsaber, but Obi-Wan shook his head.
"Just that one instance," Vader remarked.
Obi-Wan gave him an exasperated look. Blasted cheeky Imperial.
"So," Siri said, her hand releasing her lightsaber and instead playing with her utensil as she tried to stay calm. "Any ideas on passing the time?"
Obi-Wan glanced at Vader questioningly. The Sith Lord stared blankly back.
"We could play a word game," Siri suggested.
Vader furrowed his brow. "What is it with you people and games?"
Obi-Wan and Siri looked at him with bemusement. He didn't seem to take the hint from their confused expressions. Or he chose to ignore them.
"What do you mean?" Obi-Wan eventually asked.
The Force froze over once more.
"Vader," Obi-Wan said in a somewhat chastising tone, completely unaware of the stunned expression Siri threw him in response.
The Sith Lord blinked at him.
"Answer the question," Obi-Wan ground out somewhat irritably.
"You said you weren't interrogating me."
"You really consider it an interrogation when he's just telling you to elaborate on something you already said?" Siri scoffed, and Obi-Wan felt a little grateful that his wife was there to back him up.
Vader glanced at her and then looked back at Obi-Wan. His expression seemed to change subtly, but Obi-Wan couldn't pinpoint how, though he hazarded a guess. "Vader, she's my wife; you can trust her as much as you trust me."
"I don't trust you."
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "Then you can not mistrust her as much as you don't mistrust me."
Vader blinked, unpacking the strange sentence. Then he shifted uncomfortably. "Padmé had a propensity to play games at Varykino."
Obi-Wan blanched and Siri stiffened. "She played games with you?"
Vader nodded.
"What games?"
"Hide and seek. And truth or dare."
Despite his usual emotional calm, Obi-Wan nearly burst out laughing at the thought of Darth Vader playing hide and seek with anyone, let alone with his sister, but then it left him with a bit of a heartache. To think Padmé had gone through all that effort to… wait, that seemed like an extremely odd thing for her to do with anyone apart from family (or, in the case of hide and seek, anyone at all - how many years had it been since they'd played such silly games?), let alone with Darth Vader.
"Why?" he asked.
Vader shook his head, looking like he could suddenly empathize with Obi-Wan. "I don't know."
"Well we're definitely not playing hide and seek," Siri noted dryly, though amusement was evident in her expression. "Truth or dare, it is."
"This doesn't make any sense." Vader said.
"It's called passing the time," Siri waved a dismissive hand. "Unless you have a great topic for conversation?"
Vader looked glum. "Truth or dare."
"Which one of us?"
Vader eyed Siri, who crossed her arms somewhat irritably. "Fine, dare."
Vader stared at her silently for almost a solid minute.
"You have to have a dare ready when you ask," Siri rolled her eyes.
Obi-Wan smiled softly, mentally noting that the real reason for the Sith's hesitancy was simply because he'd wanted her to say truth.
"Can a dare be anything?"
Both Jedi hesitated. Maybe this wasn't the best idea.
"Within reason," Obi-Wan answered slowly.
Vader still said nothing.
"What's your dare?" Siri pressed impatiently.
"I don't have one."
"What do you want me to do?"
"I don't want anything."
Obi-Wan sighed heavily.
Siri threw her hands up in the air. "Fine, we're skipping your turn."
Grabbing a code cylinder, she placed it on the bedside table and spun it. The cylinder eventually slowed and pointed to Obi-Wan, who immediately turned his attention to Vader. "Truth or dare?"
"Dare."
Siri rolled her eyes again. "Coward."
"I dare you to say truth next time," Obi-Wan said.
Vader stared at him, and the Force pulsated painfully for a moment before he bit his lip and calmed. Both Jedi exchanged subtle, confused glances before Siri spun the cylinder without comment. Something felt strange for an instant, and the code cylinder slowed and pointed to Vader, who looked at Siri once more. "Truth or dare."
"Dare."
"Say truth next time."
"Blast it, why did I even suggest this?" Siri grumbled. "We might as well call it truth or be told to tell the truth."
"In his defense, there aren't exactly many dares he could do," Obi-Wan quipped.
"I can think of plenty."
"Just spin the cylinder, Siri."
Sighing, she did as told, and the Force nudged Obi-Wan once more as the cylinder landed on Vader again.
"Truth or dare." He stated rather than questioned, his eyes locked with Siri's.
"Fine, truth," she acquiesced reluctantly, leaning away from the Sith and crossing her arms.
"Why did you apologize?"
"Are you still stuck on that?" Siri asked, annoyed. "I apologized for being temperamental."
"But why would you apologize about that?"
Siri nearly gawked at Obi-Wan. You weren't kidding about naïve.
Obi-Wan smirked back.
"Because I shouldn't have gotten angry." She finally answered.
Vader didn't look very pleased with the answer, and he looked at his hands uncertainly before shrugging and leaning his head against the pillow. Siri and Obi-Wan both took that as an acknowledgment that his turn was over and she spun the cylinder again. Vader's eyes watched the object and it slowed and settled on him for a third time.
Obi-Wan finally caught what that nudge in the Force was. "Using the Force to manipulate the code cylinder is cheating, Vader."
When the Sith Lord said nothing in reply, Obi-Wan said, "You forfeit your turn. Truth or dare?"
The Sith's mouth twitched. "Truth."
"Why were you hurting your wrists?"
"Games are a waste of time," Vader immediately said.
Siri snorted. "Only because you're a sore loser. Answer the question."
The Sith Lord stared obstinately at the ceiling for almost a minute before he finally conceded. "I was finding weak spots in the binding."
Obi-Wan felt his adrenaline immediately start to surge, and Siri's hand slipped to her lightsaber hilt, though she didn't unclip it from her belt. "You were trying to find a way to break out of them?"
"How many rounds are in this game?"
"Answer the question!" Siri demanded, shooting to her feet.
Vader remained silent.
"I ought to cut your hands off," Siri snapped, unclipping her lightsaber hilt.
Obi-Wan rose quickly and put his hand on her arm. "Siri, no."
"It would get the cuffs off," Vader remarked simply. Both Jedi stared at him, and he seemed to take this as confusion about his statement. "If you cut them off the cuffs will slip off, assuming you didn't slice above the binding."
"We know that," both Jedi said.
The Sith Lord looked both confused and annoyed and blew out a sigh, staring at the ceiling once more. Siri slowly clipped her hilt once more, completely baffled.
"Did you find the weak spots?" Obi-Wan eventually asked, wondering what kind of answer he'd get.
Vader hesitated. Then he nodded.
Obi-Wan felt his heart rise into his throat. Vader was fully capable of breaking out of here. So why hadn't he? Was it because he figured he wouldn't get very far without a lightsaber? He'd had two to choose from between Obi-Wan and Siri.
The Force grew still and cold in an instant as Vader closed his eyes, and immediately after, guards and Jedi entered the medical bay. "It's time."
Obi-Wan and Siri mutely stepped out of the way as the Jedi approached, but then Obi-Wan decided to take action. "I'll do it."
Everyone glanced at him, and he offered a reassuring smile. "I brought him here. I can take him back."
"He was sick; you could take him alone last time. Now he gets an escort."
"No," Obi-Wan shook his head, slightly bemused at his own refusal. He decided it was probably the Force prodding him, but now everyone was looking at him wondering if he'd lost his mind. Perhaps he had. But… if Vader had the means of escaping and hadn't taken the multitude of opportunities given to him, it had to be for a reason, and Obi-Wan wanted to find out. "I'll walk with him. Alone."
"Commander, with all due respect," one soldier said a little tersely. "This man is a serious threat; it would be foolish to do what you're suggesting."
"I'm aware of the risks," Obi-Wan explained, still finding it odd to be addressed in that manner.
"I outrank you, Padawan," a Jedi Knight interrupted him. "We're taking him to his cell."
Siri watched the exchange silently and then looked at Obi-Wan questioningly, as baffled by his insistence as everyone else.
"I really don't want nor need to get into an argument right now," Obi-Wan sighed. "But if I must remind you, Master Ti said no one is to interact with Darth Vader except for myself, Siri, or Master Jinn."
"If you're so concerned about it, I can call Master Ti," the Knight said firmly.
"Please do," Obi-Wan nodded. "Outside, preferably. He's harmless in here."
The Jedi gazed at him a little irritably, but then he seemed to think Obi-Wan was trying to subtly tell him to leave so he could finish his interrogation. Well, he was… partly correct. The Jedi motioned for everyone to leave, and as soon as the door closed, Obi-Wan walked over to Siri, who had been standing close to the other side of the bed. "Keep them distracted for a while."
Siri furrowed her brow. Are you out of your mind?
"Please," he whispered.
"He's dangerous!" she hissed.
"I know." he assured her. "This isn't the first time I've dealt with him, you know."
"But his handcuffs-"
"I know, Siri." Just go. I'll be fine.
Sighing heavily, his wife left the room. Obi-Wan turned to the bed and saw Vader watching him curiously, his eyes soft, his brow a little raised, and his lips parted ever so slightly, though it was difficult to see in the stubble that had grown in the week he'd been imprisoned.
"What's keeping you here?" Obi-Wan immediately asked.
Vader stared at him, his mouth closing.
"Where are your loyalties?" Obi-Wan tried. "I'm loyal to my family and to the Jedi and Alliance. What are you loyal to? The Empire?"
It seemed a strange question to ask, but honestly the more Obi-Wan interacted with Vader the more likely it seemed the Sith Lord had little care for things most people would assume he was unquestionably loyal to. Obviously Vader had been Palpatine's lap dog, but beyond that Obi-Wan wasn't sure the Sith cared about anything, including the Empire. With Palpatine gone, Vader had obviously lost his center, but it seemed like he'd completely lost his motivation as well. It was the only logical conclusion Obi-Wan could think of, particularly when he thought about the Sith's lack of concern for his own throne (unless his reaction over Tarkin's ascension had to do with that… Obi-Wan still wasn't sure what that had been all about).
Vader's gaze grew sad and contemplative, and the Force started to hollow out like they were in the vacuum of space. He looked at his hands bleakly.
Obi-Wan sighed. His assumption was apparently correct. "You have nothing."
Vader locked eyes with him.
"That's it, isn't it?" Obi-Wan surmised. "So why is Tarkin's regency bothering you?"
The handcuffs unlocked in a heartbeat. Obi-Wan jumped, startled, and Vader pulled the railing down on the side, standing and towering over the Jedi Padawan, who helplessly reached for his lightsaber.
The two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Every muscle in Obi-Wan's body was tense with apprehension, and his heartrate was through the roof. Vader was tense as well, but he didn't move. Neither one of them moved, even though Obi-Wan's ungloved fingers were touching the freezing metal of his hilt.
Eventually enough time passed by that Obi-Wan started to get his wits about him and calm himself as best as he could. He was hesitant to break the staring contest between them, but eventually his gaze faltered and he looked at the Sith's wrists instead. Blood caked them, and he could see some relatively deep lacerations, as well as some bruising.
Swallowing, he looked into the Sith's eyes once more and said, "Let me treat your wrists. They could get infected."
Vader exhaled slowly over a long period of time, as if he were giving up any resistance, and he sat on the bed once more.
Taking a steadying breath, Obi-Wan walked over to a cabinet and pulled out some bacta and alcohol towelettes. He took his time walking back to Vader so he could steady his heartrate and grasp the Force quite firmly in case the Sith tried anything, but at this point he was starting to doubt the boy would do anything. Before he could reach the bed, the Force warned him of something and he reached for his lightsaber, but instead of Vader being the problem, the door to the medical bay opened.
A millisecond later there was nearly chaos. Ten lightsabers activated and blasters were pulled out, ready to fire. Time slowed, and Obi-Wan looked from Vader to the oncoming Jedi and Rebels. The Sith Lord was still sitting on the bed, motionless.
Obi-Wan held his hands out to the others. "Stop! He's not causing any trouble."
"How'd he get out of his restraints?" one of them asked.
"I… I took them off." Obi-Wan lied, knowing this would come back to bite him. Still, if he said Vader let himself out, they'd shoot him immediately. "I wanted to look at his wrists."
Motioning to the bloodied and battered skin to emphasize his point, Obi-Wan waited for their response. The leading Jedi Knight clenched his jaw. "You should know better than that, Padawan. Put the binders back on."
"I will," Obi-Wan said in an appeasing manner. "After I clean his wrists."
"We're not putting our weapons away until you do."
"Very well," he acknowledged, not entirely surprised by their uneasiness. He quickly scraped the towelettes over the wounds, and Vader barely flinched. Then he found the original three-hand binders he'd used yesterday and put them on Vader's wrists and one of his own before looking at the Jedi Knight. "What did Master Ti say?"
The Jedi deactivated his blade reluctantly. "She said it was up to Master Jinn, who in turn said the decision was yours. But I still strongly disagree with your course of action."
"I understand," Obi-Wan tipped his head gracefully. "But my decision still stands."
The Jedi took a calming breath and bowed. "Very well."
Leading the others out, Obi-Wan blew out a sigh of relief as Siri approached him.
"You're insane," she shook her head. "Why'd you lie to them?"
Obi-Wan smiled. Of course she'd know he hadn't taken the binders off. "There was little point in letting them kill him."
"If you say so," Siri said uncertainly. "Want me to walk with you?"
Obi-Wan shook his head. "Clear a path for me, will you?"
Siri's gaze grew slightly concerned, but at Obi-Wan's reassuring smile, she hesitantly nodded and left.
"You're worse than Padmé," Vader finally muttered.
"How so?" Obi-Wan asked, facing him.
"She wasn't as illogical as you."
"I beg to differ," Obi-Wan argued sadly. "Things might have been different if she were more like me."
Vader watched him, contemplating something, but he never voiced his thoughts. However, with the topic of Padmé having been brought up, Obi-Wan finally voiced a question that had been bothering him for many days.
"If you could go back, would you still make the same decision?"
He didn't have to explain what he meant. Darth Vader knew what he was asking. The Sith immediately looked at the ground. The Force rippled, pushing and pulling Obi-Wan in a thousand different directions. Obi-Wan waited patiently, his chest tight. If Vader had truly loved Padmé, he would voice his regret. He had to at this point. He owed it to Obi-Wan. But did his loyalty to Palpatine win out?
The Sith Lord shifted and still said nothing. Obi-Wan refused to change the subject. The past week had taught him many things, but if there was truly any hope left for Darth Vader, then this question had to be answered. There was no way the Sith Lord had anything salvageable left in him if he still chose a dead emperor over someone who had obviously affected him so deeply, who had loved him so deeply, whom he had loved in return. Vader had to realize that what he had done was wrong.
Obi-Wan's compassion could only extend so far, after all.
The Sith Lord took a deep breath. "I don't know."
Obi-Wan let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, looking away. He immediately shut down any emotion that might surface from the Imperial's response. "Come on. We need to get you back to your cell."
Vader rose with him and the two made their way out of the medical bay in silence. Their entire walk was spent without a single word exchanged. Obi-Wan wasn't sure whether to feel depressed or unsurprised. It wasn't as if he were expecting a great response from Vader. Honestly he should probably take Vader's uncertainty as a good sign, but it still didn't do much to improve his mood. The Sith Lord probably would have chosen to kill Padmé again. Perhaps that would have angered Obi-Wan in the past, but now it just left him empty. Darth Vader really was too far gone. Despite Obi-Wan's earlier sentiment, Siri had been right – there was nothing left in him.
When they reached his cell, Obi-Wan took the binders off their wrists and headed for the exit.
"Hey."
Obi-Wan turned around, eying him curiously.
"I..." Vader shifted, obviously uncomfortable. "I'm sorry."
Obi-Wan faced him fully, stunned beyond words. Still, the Sith said nothing more, eventually sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall, lost in his own thoughts. Obi-Wan left the room, unable to really fully comprehend what had just happened quite yet.