Author's Note: Okay, another chapter. This one's formatting might be a little confusing. Um . . . the italics denote a POV other than Obi's, so normal text is speaking through the Force. I hope that makes sense.

To Storyteller Person: Glad you liked it. Yes, slowly but surely, our Ani is returning.

To Night of the Land: Wow, what a compliment! I'm so happy you like it so much!

To Fragile Dreams: . . . I don't know what to say. I'm so . . . thrilled that you enjoy my writing so much. I'm flattered, and so much more than that. To be called a true author is the highest compliment I've ever been paid, I think, and I'm so glad you enjoy my writing this much. I love Star Wars, and I have for so long, that the writing just seems to flow out of me--in Star Wars especially I feel connected to the characters. Other fanfic is more of a challenge, but it is Star Wars that is my favorite, always and forever. I've been a fan for so long (since before I can remember, no joke), and though I often drift away, I always come back.

To MissNaye: Of course, I can't reassure you as to Padme's fate, as that would damage the dramatic tension. But surely you don't believe I'd be that cruel?

To Queengoddess: I definitely know what you mean about the reading of a good fic, and I'm so glad my fic could give those feelings to you. I wish RotS had ended this way, too--but then we wouldn't have the Original Trilogy, would we? I'm glad you see a dichotomy between pain and hope in my story, because that is what I wanted. And of course I can't answer that question, but you know, I love Anakin too much to . . . well, let's just say I'm a sucker for happy endings ;). And I don't like Onasi too much, either, and I created him!

To Quill of Molliemon: Hey, if Onasi were real you'd have to stand in line! Yes, improvement's on its way between Ani and Obi, if only slowly

To IntelEwok: He so should have, but on one hand I can see why he didn't--Lucas, I hate you for making me love these characters so. I'm glad you found my story, too!

To SomeoneElsesDream: Wow . . . the best compliment an author has is to have stimulated someone's tear ducts, you know. I'm so pleased you think I'm in tune with the originals! I do my best to sing on key, after all.

To Hieiko: I probably shouldn't feel this good about making someone else cry, but thanks so much:)

To KTfanfic: Awesome. And hey, you're not the only one. (Just kidding--I do know where it's going, I do! Don't hurt me!)

To Anakin's Girl 4eva: Doing my best to take care of Anakin, but the poor boy won't cooperate. Anakin and Obi-Wan have their ups and downs, but things are looking more hopeful between them these days, eh? I hope Sidious will never recover from your verbal assault. And Anakin will tell Obi-Wan about Onasi sometime soon.

To Jumpforjoy: That's what I feel like doing with all these reviews! Cool screenname! And I'm glad you think my story is turning out well.

Disclaimer: All belongs to the Flanneled One and Lucasfilm except Shian Risto and Aerdin Onasi, and they might as well.Don't sue me, I'm a starving college student so you won't get much anyway and unnecessary suits are a thing of the Dark Side--don't give in!

Nine

Far across the galaxy, Darth Sidious felt a tremor in the Force. He sat up straight, immediately throwing himself into the black power that surrounded him, and found the familiar thrum of power that was his new apprentice, his presence diffuse and scattered now, vacillating confusedly between shadows and light and buried beneath layers of haze and blur, but distinctive all the same.

Darth Sidious smiled.

He'd lost track of Vader's presence after Kenobi had thrown his own Force-sense in front of the boy as a sort of shield and Vader was inexplicably distanced from him, shielded by a strangely familiar presence Sidious hadn't felt since . . . well, there was no point reflecting on that, it was foolishness. And then there had been so much uncertainty, so much blur, around the boy's sense that there hadn't been any point in trying to locate him.

But this—this could be useful. This was progress. Vader was in a state of soul-deep emotional turmoil, broadcasting his confusion and pain through the Force. Even through the fuzzy miasma surrounding his presence his emotions were as clear as a Tatooine morning. Sidious tapped into the bond every master and apprentice shared, even those of the Sith, and sent questing tendrils of darkness out to curl around Vader's mind.

The boy's whole sense flinched. Get-get away from me, came the frightened, instinctual response. Stay out of my head! Anger there, and fear, and the beginnings of guilt.

He was trying to pull away, Sidious realized, and his mouth curled downward in a frown of displeasure. Surely Kenobi could not have reached Skywalker so quickly. The idea was ludicrous. Something else must have happened . . . something that had shaken the boy's faith in the Dark Side. But Skywalker would find it wasn't so easy to walk away from the teachings of the Sith. From Sidious himself. Once the darkness was tasted, to drink deep of it was a temptation few could withstand, and Skywalker had fallen easily . . . so easily, his passionate emotions and volatile nature making him easy prey for a Sith Lord who prided himself on being a master manipulator.

Sidious allowed himself a dark smile. The boy hadn't even had a chance. Sidious had had the dark threads of his influence woven deep into Anakin's mind before the young Jedi had even realized they were there.

Turning your back on me, my young apprentice? Sidious taunted. So easy, isn't it? Easy to turn your back, easy to turn on the Jedi, to ignore the screams of the children as you slaughter them one by one—easy to turn on Kenobi, easy to choke the breath out of the woman you "can't live without" as soon as she betrays you. Is there anything you won't abandon?

Anakin's presence convulsed with waves of guilt. I—I—I didn't mean—

But you did, Lord Vader. You meant it all, and reveled in the power it gave you. And this is but a taste of the Dark Side! Imagine what you will be able to accomplish when you have tapped into it fully, when there is unlimited power at your fingertips and the galaxy lies at your feet. Our feet.

Winces of uncertainty. I—but I hurt her, and I didn't mean to—never meant to—and with that came twisted waves of emotion; pure, aching love mixed up with pain and guilt and anger and betrayal—images of Padmé in Anakin's arms, his face pressed to her hair, the picture of Anakin with his hand resting on her rounded stomach and pride and love on his face, boundless joy in hers, a picture of her in a white lace dress not even wincing as she took the cold, metallic fingers of his mechanical hand in hers and reached up to kiss him—but together with those were flashes of Obi-Wan standing on the ramp of a starship, Padmé's voice—"I don't know you anymore!"—confused pictures of Obi-Wan bending over Padmé as she sobbed in pain and saying softly, encouragingly, "Don't give up, Padmé," and the fear, the ever-encompassing fear that it was his Master she loved, that Obi-Wan had taken her from him, warped, distorted pictures, not quite memory, in which she rested in Obi-Wan's arms instead of Anakin's, and it was his lips she kissed, his children she bore—

What good is power when all it does is hurt? Anakin's sense moaned, and it was full of agony, raw and bleeding with the pain of it.

She deserved it, Sidious hissed. She betrayed you, she chose him over you, Obi-Wan, your master—doesn't that hurt?—she never really loved you, did she? Not really. She abandoned you as soon as you began to realize your full potential!

I don't want to realize my full potential if she's not there with me! Anakin wailed hopelessly, his sense flailing and lost in the whirlwind of pain. Why? All I wanted was to fix things, to make things right, to have the power to—

And what thanks did you get for that? She's not worthy of you if she cannot see how powerful you have become, what you have to offer her.

But Anakin's mind screamed in denial at that. She's all I ever wanted!

All? Sidious questioned. All, my young apprentice? And he sent him images, feelings plucked from Anakin's own mind, of Anakin glorying in the slaughter of the Sand People as their deaths assuaged the pain inside, of laughing as he dodged Separatist ships, the adrenaline rush of a Podrace, the pure joy of a perfect lightsaber drill, the contentment of Obi-Wan's companionship on a mission, the ecstatic thrill of a simple "Well done," from his master, the darker, hypnotic enticement as he stepped closer and closer to darkness, the fulfillment of severing Nute Gunray's head from his shoulders, dark jubilation at the defeat of enemies, taunting laughter. Shadowy fantasies of returning to Tatooine and plucking Watto's wings from his back with the Force and laughing as the Toydarian fell and burst on the rocks like a ripe fruit, of severing Gardulla's thick head from her sluglike body, of laughing in triumph as he freed the slaves, of choking out Sebulba's life with a single hand clenched into a fist. Dreams of freedom and power and adoration and love.

And Anakin floundered in the morass of his own emotions, in the backlash of the thoughts and memories Sidious had ripped from his own heart and thrown at him, drowning in the darkness, confused and broken and bleeding inside, and Sidious felt it and laughed. Vader was his. He could fight, but he could never truly be free. Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny, he taunted in a parody of the words Yoda had used so often to warn away from the darkness.

But somewhere Skywalker found the strength to pull himself out of the shadows and confusion. I-it's never too late, his mental voice whispered uncertainly. N-not for me, not for anyone.

Sidious sneered at that. Sweet, but useless, my young apprentice. He brutally shoved more images at Anakin, of the children he'd slaughtered, Jedi lying dead and broken amid the wreckage of a thousand war-torn worlds, the Separatist leaders ripped apart by his lightsaber blade, his mother, dying in his arms, Qui-Gon Jinn's body consumed by flames. It will be too late for Padmé, too, he added, twisting the lightsaber after driving it in, unless you use the power of the Dark Side to save her.

But I didn't save her! Anakin moaned. I—I hurt her . . . .

And whose fault is that? Sidious asked slyly. Master Kenobi's, perhaps? He tugged at the image of Obi-Wan standing atop a ship's ramp to the forefront of his apprentice's mind, forcing Anakin to feel the agony of betrayal, loss, the anger that it shifted into along with the pain, all over again.

Anakin shied away from the image, focusing instead on fragmented memories of a brother flying at his wing, comforting him after the loss of an arm, words, "I am very proud of you . . . You are a far greater Jedi than I could ever hope to be," a gentle, callused hand at his neck, strong, steadying arms lifting him, cradling him, warm and safe because this was Obi-Wan, this was brother and father and teacher and best friend all in one.

Sidious twisted those into the clash of lightsaber against lightsaber and no mercy from the man Anakin had once called brother, scathing denouncements—"Your anger and your lust for power—you have done that yourself—then you are lost!"—Obi-Wan looking down at him from above him, reminding him that he had the high ground, the searing pain as his leg was severed and he fell—and earlier memories, of times when Anakin was never good enough and could never do anything right, when all Obi-Wan ever did was find fault and put him down and criticize—

He could feel it as Anakin crumpled and waves of loss and agony coalesced into dark anger, emotional collapse morphed into helpless acquiescence. He hurt me, his mental voice mumbled. I—I don't know—

Bright light broke over them, pulling Anakin away, cradling him in acceptance and gentleness, and Sidious shied away, the uncertain contact shattering into a thousand pieces. He threw out a probe again, searching for Anakin's presence, but he was met by fierce resistance, protective light. Leave the boy alone, came the voice of Qui-Gon Jinn. Stay in the shadows where you belong, Sith! He is not your plaything, for youto twist his mind as you will.

It was impossible, but Sidious could no longer reach his apprentice through the Force.