"I want this terrible conflict to end," the Chancellor intones, "just as much as you do, my lady." He is smiling the blithe smile of someone who knows they needn't concede anything. "And when it does, I promise an immediate return to democracy." His desk is well-placed, before a massive picture window. The buttery light of late afternoon on Coruscant fills the vaulting sky behind him, a glowing nimbus framing his ancient head.
Padmé is perfectly stone-faced, but she can't keep a slight note of sarcasm out of her voice. "You are pursuing a diplomatic solution to the war, then?" She can't afford to seem desperate or bitter because, the Stars know, if they are bargaining for the Constitution, then they've already lost. She wishes Bail could have been here, to give the Chancellor that ironical one-eyebrow look, if only to dispel some of the tension she is feeling. She hates this, this vulgar political game. She is too young, she thinks, to be this worlds-weary.
"You must trust me to do the right things, Senator," he says cooly. And then, with a sudden harshness: "That is why I am here." He reveals a bit too much of his teeth as he says this, and his eyes widen fractionally, as if he has unnerved even himself.
She rises from her chair, grandly. This is a particular skill of hers, making mundane gestures look grand. She is regally dressed in a dark, brocade gown which is doing a valiant job of hiding her pregnancy. In a voice of durasteel, she begins:
"On behalf of the Delegation of Two Thousand-"
But she never gets to deliver her well-crafted little speech, because a crazed-looking Anakin Skywalker has just erupted into the Chancellor's office.
"Everyone out!" He addresses the group of senators like an impatient schoolmaster addressing a group of rowdy children. "Please, for your own safety!"
Padmé turns to her colleagues with a look that says I'll handle this nonsense, and then to Anakin, with a look that says You are about to be handled. "Jedi Skywalker, whatever is the matter?" she says evenly, donning the mask of aloofness from him which she must always wear in public. But this time, he's not playing along.
"Oh, Padmé!" he cries, grasping her by the shoulders. "Listen, everything is going to be alright! I've figured it all out!" And then he is pulling her against him and hungrily kissing her face. "It- it's horrible, what's happened-! What's been done to us-! But we can still fix it!"
"What are you- talking about?!" she sputters, looking frantically around for her fellow senators, because they really shouldn't be seeing this, and what is she going to tell them-? But they are nowhere to be found. Whether frightened or simply mortified by the famous Jedi's bizarre entrance, all four of her esteemed colleagues have already quietly let themselves out of the room.
The Chancellor, for his part, remains seated. "Young Anakin, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"
"You!" Anakin seethes, stepping away from his very confused wife, and towards the object of his ire. "You stay away from her!"
The old man simply raises his eyebrows, bemused. "Is something... troubling you, my dear friend?" he smiles.
"Don't try to play games with me! I know what you are!"
"What I am?" he mocks. "What a curious notion."
Anakin shifts his weight from one foot to the other, shielding Padmé's body with his own. "You must go, my love. Get somewhere safe. I will deal with him."
She crosses her arms, frowning incredulously. "With who? The Chancellor?"
"Yes," he says, dangerously. And the very next instant, he has drawn his lightsaber.
Padmé recoils from her husband in horror. He is sweating, trembling with fury, ready to strike- ready to kill. This is like a nightmare! It can't be real. She withdraws a hand she doesn't remember covering her mouth with. Anakin! she wants to cry, This is not how we deal with people we disagree with! But instead:"Anakin, what are you doing?"
"Fulfilling my destiny," he says. And saying it makes it real.
"Stop this!" She moves to stand between him and the Chancellor. "Before someone gets hurt!"
"Padmé," he whispers. Her name is a plea. "You don't understand." His eyes are butane-blue, and shining with hot, chromium tears. "He is the one-! He is... the Dark Lord of the Sith."
"What?" It's so absurd, she almost feels like laughing. Palpatine? The Sith Lord? It couldn't be. In fact, it almost seems... too simple, too obvious... It's like some sort of bad espionage holo-drama.
"Wherever did you get such an outlandish idea?" The alleged Sith Lord shakes his head good-naturedly, his watery eyes crinkling at the corners.
"You more or less told me so yourself!"
"I am certain I said no such thing, my boy."
"Don't give me that Hutt-spit!" Anakin gestures emphatically with his saber. "That horrible... fairytale you told me was practically a confession."
"Ah, yes. Perhaps you refer to The Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise." He smiles, somewhat condescendingly. "You are very perceptive, Anakin."
Padmé looks frantically between the two men. "I don't believe this!" She turns on the Chancellor accusingly, her voice shaking. "You know what he's talking about? You actually-?"
"Indeed, Senator," he chuckles to himself, as unflappable as ever. "It is true that I am proficient in the... arcane arts." He looks up at Anakin, affectionately. "I have wanted for some time to offer you assistance, my boy, of a kind you will never receive from the Jedi. I hope you can appreciate why it was necessary for me to observe such discretion."
"I don't care what you're offering! There is only one thing I want from you, you monster!" He his struggling to hold his fighting stance. He seems inclined to pace about, but there isn't much room between the desk and Padmé. "I want you to get up and face me! I want to kill you while you're on your feet!" He is screaming now, huge, boiling tears pouring down his reddening face.
At this, Palpatine doesn't even flinch. Instead, he closes his eyes in rapture. "Yes..." he whispers. "I can feel your anger. It makes you powerful- Gives you focus." Slowly, dreamily, placing both hands on his desk, he rises. "Only through the ways of the Sith can you harness these emotions, and use them to reach your full potential." His gaze comes to rest dolefully on Padmé. "And only by accessing your full powers can you save your beloved wife... from certain death."
It's a great little speech, and expertly delivered. Too bad Anakin is shouting over him, barely listening. "You told me the Council was just using me for my powers... But you're just like them; trying to use me! You never had any intention of saving Padmé! I thought you were my friend! I trusted you! And now, you're trying to offer me-!" he shudders. "I'll never forgive myself! I can't believe I actually considered-!" His sobs are choking him. Unable to finish his sentence, he opts to lash out with his saber instead.
But Palpatine is ready for him, pulling his own red saber seemingly out of thin air, and blocking the boy's every blow with ease. Padmé screams, ducking away from the furiously swinging blades. The Chancellor, a man she has known for most of her life, is rendered unrecognizable as he throws his head back, cackling madly.
After an initial volley of rapid strikes, the two combatants pull away, circling each other, blades aloft.
"You have already touched the Darkness. It is only a matter of time before you realize how much you long to know it's secrets. Secrets only I can teach you. Soon, Anakin Skywalker, you will call me Master. I have foreseen it."
"Never!" Anakin roars. "Obi Wan is the only one I will ever call Master!"
"Kenobi?" Palpatine practically guffaws. "What can that fool possibly teach you? He doesn't get out of bed in the morning without the express permission of the Jedi Council. He will betray you the moment your interests conflict with those of his little cult."
"That's not true! You were wrong about him; Obi Wan is not like the other Jedi. He has never tried to use me- He has only ever tried to help me. I am proud to call him my master!"
"Oh my friend, how young you are" Palpatine shakes his head in mock-pity. "How changeable you are. Only days ago you were uncertain of Kenobi's loyalty to you. Today you proclaim him your ally. But tomorrow, who knows? What can he offer you, ultimately? Can he save your wife? Can he show you the true nature of the Force?"
"Obi Wan loves me!" Anakin yells. And all at once he is driving the Chancellor back, punctuating each rapid, brutal swing of his saber with another furious cry. It is true what the Dark Lord says; Anakin's anger does make him more powerful. Spotting an opening in the swift play of blades, he lunges forward with vicious grace, knocking the old man off his feet, and the red saber out his hand and clean across the room. He is panting from exertion as he bares down on his opponent, the tip of his azure blade inches from the monster's withered throat.
"Obi Wan loves me," he repeats, this time in a reverent whisper. "I know it for certain now. I have felt it. We love each other. Something a Force-forsaken creature like you could never hope to understand!"
The Chancellor, being what he is, has a few more tricks up his sleeve. Laughing maniacally, he unleashes a wave of lightening, which Anakin ably deflects with his blade. Padmé fancies she's handled everything up to this point rather well, but when the Chancellor's face appears to melt like wax into a horrible cackling death-mask, she is forced to find the wall behind her to maintain her balance.
Anakin might have succeeded in keeping the lightening at bay too, if a certain Obi Wan Kenobi hadn't chosen this exact moment to burst into the room, as if the mere verbal invocation of his love were enough to summon the Jedi master. As it is, the momentary distraction costs Anakin his edge, and he is brought down by the crackling bolts of energy.
"Anakin, what in the galaxy do you think you are-?" Obi Wan stops in the middle of the polished floor, taking in the scene before him. "Anakin!" he cries. The golden link between them burns, flashing across the Force in all its strange power.
As he looks back and forth between the younger Jedi and his master, the Chancellor's grotesque yellow eyes widen in what appears to be genuine fear and disgust. "Incredible!" he cries. "Truly the hypocrisy of the Jedi knows no bounds! You speak of the 'Will of the Force,' of what is balanced and natural- Yet, in your quest to gain enough power to defeat me, you have willingly mutilated your own souls!"
Ignoring this, Obi Wan draws his lightsaber and moves to help his former-padawan. But before he can get very far at all, Palpatine calls his own saber from across the room. The red blade travels by a somewhat circuitous route, which is to say it is pulled point-first, into Obi Wan's back, and then all the way through his body, before coming to rest, its hilt covered with gore, in its owner's wrinkled hand. Obi Wan pitches forward limply onto the slippery marble floor, his mouth quickly filling with blood.
With a dry sob of horror, Padmé falls to her knees beside him. In a moment, she is joined by Anakin, still trembling from the effects of the lightening, all color drained from his face. When she looks up a second later, the Chancellor has disappeared, and even that doesn't matter, because Obi Wan has been pierced all way the through, the great aperture in this belly endlessly issuing blood, and now this really is like a nightmare-
"No no nononono..." Anakin is muttering wretchedly. "M-master, no. No. No, this can't- No. Master, please-"
Padmé swallows her fear. It's time to take charge. "Anakin," she says, seizing him by the shoulders. "Anakin, he's still breathing!"
"No please no nonono-!"
"You need to give me your comlink! We need to call an emergency channel!"
The hot, syrupy blood is everywhere, and then it is all over Anakin's hands as he is laying them on his master's dying body, and then it is all over his face- His master's flesh calls out to his own flesh. They are one. The moment they touch, the tiny golden threads throughout their bodies seem to sing; They are instantly filling each other with warmth and light. "No, Padmé," he says, with a sudden, eerie calm. "They can't save him."
"But we have to try-!"
"Don't worry. We don't need them to."
"Anakin!" she screams, shaking him. "What are you talking about?!"
He smiles, as though in some sort of trance. "I can save him."