A/N: Interlude. This chap. is more of an explanation/background-setter for the "extras".
19 years later.
Emperor Vader ruled the galaxy with rigidness, but that lack of elasticity was justified by his unbiased and long-lasting peace. There was no rebellion; there was no need to rebel. Xenophobia were non-existent, Vader was nowhere a tyrant, slavery had been abolished with strict laws and the successful, if not brutal, eradication of slavers. In his reign, a large majority of the countless crime syndicates scattered throughout the galaxy were cracked down, the Senate was reformed to ensure actual usefulness and productivity, poverty and spice addict rates plummeted to a new low, and corruption was eliminated to a minimum. Citizens across a myriad of prospering star systems led untroubled, joyful lives, satisfied with the new government, despite it being an empire.
Even those unfortunately discarded on the lowest levels of Coruscant found their lives to be a little bit better than when they were under the rule of the Republic. With orders of reconstruction given directly by the Emperor, as well as numerous hospitals and other public facilities stationed to treat the diseased and feed the malnourished, the Underlevels were beginning to look a slight bit more livable.
Most clone troopers of Darth Sidious had undergone surgery to remove the controller chips from their skull, and through rigorous rehabilitation sessions, the soldiers had entered society as common citizens. Despite the outstanding results, some clones' chips had malfunctioned and resulted in tragedy, while a few others had, in their frenzy, escaped captivity. The fugitives were now being hunted down across the galaxy by willing volunteers, to capture and remove their chips so they could live a normal life, and not cause panic amongst regular citizens.
A new order of Force-users was founded and overseen by the Emperor and his first (and most experienced) batch of trainees. The younglings, with the consent of their guardians and the promise of safety, train on Odessen, a nexus of the balanced Force. The lush forest and ocean planet was located in Wild Space, where seclusion from the galaxy granted peaceful tutelage; Force-sensitive Jedi who had escaped the Purge also came trickling in and were welcomed, granting them a haven from any defunct clone troopers that may still roam the galaxy. (Though, of course, the Jedi's dogmatic teachings were banned to be taught.)
And above all, Tatooine was liberated. He'd led the campaign himself, wrung Jabba the Hutt's disgustingly plump neck with his bare hands, opened the slave pens one by one. Emaciated children who had been tortured all too much had knelt in front of him, tears of gratitude cascading down their filthy faces as they wailed his new title with vigor: "Hero of Tatooine! Hero of Tatooine!"
Of course, almost all his accomplishments would not have been possible without a council of dedicated, close advisers consisting of brilliant leaders such as Senator Mothma of Chandrilla and Senator Organa of Alderaan, as Vader had never been one to dabble into the complexities of governing and politics, much less the leadership of an entire galaxy.
For reasons unknown to the Emperor, Organa had been distrustful at first, and though he was more of a warrior than cunning politician, Vader was not a fool to think Organa fully trusted him even now. Neither acknowledged their feelings, however, for the better of others.
Though still donning a mask to hide his appalling appearance, Emperor Vader had modified his life-support suit to minimize the discomfort and intimidation- after all, he wished not to be feared by the galaxy, and the loss of his family was painful enough.
He still grieved over them. His angel, her beautiful smile and chestnut-brown hair and daring, brilliant personality; his child, who would never breathe, never feel the sun touch his soft, young skin. Though his reign was just, Vader was lost without his guiding light. The only reason he kept going was so he could reorganize the galaxy, change it into what he believed, or hoped, Padme would have wanted.
The Dark Side was renounced, though the Light was still abandoned; he had come to realize that all the Dark could provide was eternal suffering and treachery but could not bring himself to follow the Light yet again. There were... seeds of oily darkness, planted inside him that he could not remove, only control to the best of his ability. Seeds of loss, of agony, of a forlorn, lamenting, dying man, rotting on the inside.
He did not dare call himself Anakin Skywalker anymore- the name brought too many torturous memories, of her soft lips kissing his now-ravaged cheeks, of little Ahsoka from the days of the Clone Wars, of his enslaved mother rumpling his hair and assuring him everything will be alright, of Obi-Wan's amusing negotiations and sarcastic remarks, of family and friends and brothers who he had betrayed-
Vader led an aloof and austere lifestyle in his spartan castle on Coruscant, cast in depression with his loneliness, remorse and grief. No one ever visited for informal chats, no celebrations were hosted on holidays, and certainly no other sentient resided in the looming place, for all that accompanied the former Jedi were droids.
One of his top agents had tracked down Ahsoka, but he dared not approach her, in fear of her fury, of her knowing that he had callously murdered innocents that night...
He could not face her. The guilt was too much.
And if he ever saw Obi-Wan again, he would do the exact same.
Or, no- go down on his knees, and confess and apologize for every horrible thing he had ever done, and plead, plead with all his pathetic might, for forgiveness.
Forgiveness that he did not deserve- but forgiveness he oh-so-terribly yearned for.
He'd tried to kill himself, once, out of tremendous guilt. There had been a parade on Coruscant, in front of the senate building; Vader had chosen not to attend, instead watching the live holocam feed in his castle. When a cam zoomed in on the civilians and he heard the cry of an infant, the memories of his rampage in the Jedi Temple came flooding back… His lightsaber cutting into innocent younglings, all of whom had regarded him as a hero, a savior of the Republic, yet he had mercilessly slaughtered them all, even the ones who were scampering away in absolute fear, without missing a single beat. Their wailing echoed in his mind, alongside the cries of his fellow Jedi as they were cut down or blasted to death by the 501st. The temple had burned, the great pillars toppling over and crushing the Light-sided underneath...
Darth Vader had been ruthless, knowing this was the only way to save his beloved wife; the Jedi, still believing the cherished Chosen One as their champion, their ultimate knight, had been defenseless. They'd been condemned the moment the Sith and his troops marched into the holy Temple.
That night, after a gruesome supper that he barely choked down, Vader let go. He'd impaled himself once the droids had scurried away to complete their duties; however, to his misfortune, the ever-diligent Admiral Piett had found his way to the Emperor's castle to report on a successful abortion of the Pyke Syndicate's spice trade, and with seeing his good Emperor dying on the floor, had placed Vader in emergency care.
Under Piett's watchful eye, Vader had recuperated. Though keeping their relationship to no more than that of work, the Admiral reminded, courteous as ever, that his Emperor was much needed in the galaxy.
Though by now he himself could care less about the well-being of the galaxy, Vader heeded to the Admiral's words.
Padme. It was for Padme. Everything he'd done after his ascension to the throne, all for his wife.
He figured it was the only way to repay her.
On some days, when he could manage to sleep, he would dream. Some dreams were, in truth, nightmares; those dreams plagued him, as he relived those terrible scenes in his head, of his limbs being chopped off his body, of the blood-red fires of a hellish Mustafar feasting on his flesh, of his wife crying and begging for him to come back, come back-
Of her choking and dying, of Sidious' cackling, of him cursing at himself to stop, to let her go-
Let her go, you kriffing idiot! STOP! STOP THIS, YOU PROMISED TO NEVER HURT HER-
He would awaken from those nightmares bawling, wheezing for copious amounts of air that his nighttime ventilator had difficulty supplying, drenched in sweat from when his stumps and torso churned back and forth. He hated-no, abhorred-no, absolutely dreaded these nightmares, these memories. All they reminded him of was his failed role as a dutiful husband, an adequate, loving parent to his unborn-never-to-be-born--child.
Some nights, he did not dare sleep at all.
But sporadically, the Force would grant him mercy from his suffering, and he would have a good dream. A good dream, really- his child, alive and gleeful in his arms, bright blue eyes gazing with wonder and affection, his head snuggled warmly against Ana- no, Vader's chest as his father's healed- healed!- lips kiss the mop of soft blonde hair. Padme laughing in the background, her arms wrapped around his torso, as his organic hands then move to gently trace their child's precious cheeks...
And for a few hours, he'd be happy again. Whole and blissful, as if none of the transgressions were ever committed, as if Palpatine had never existed.
Nonetheless, they were only dreams—bittersweet dreams. Once he wakes, still expecting his beautiful child cradled in his arms but finding his stumps to hold nothing but emptiness under a thick blanket, he would shiver, he would tremble and cough in the coldness, and then those tears would trickle down his face once more.
Then, struggle to rise from his bed, weakly rasping for his droids to come and help him into his hoverchair. One of the droids would remind him of his necessities, they'd all gather to tube-feed and bathe him and reassemble his mechanical limbs, until the pitiful torso-of-a-man was fully in his life-support suit.
Once all that was completed, he'd exit the castle, trying not to look at the unoccupied room that he'd personally decorated for the never-born fetus.
At the top level of the Senate tower, the cyborg would seat himself on the Throne once more as the artificial sunlight of dawn shines over Coruscant, to start a new, bright, yet miserable day.
Those innocent blue eyes haunted his mind.
I never intended to harm you, dear child.
