"On the Millennium Falcon: Day 5 (part two) + 12 hours later, in Anakin's prison cell"
ON THE MILLENNIUM FALCON: DAY 5 (Part Two)
With tremendous grief, Han has agreed with the Alliance High Council to have Luke and Leia buried with honors for their importance in, and deeds for, the faction. His partner Chewbacca supports Han's decision; however, his other companion on the Falcon does not.
Mothma stood in front of him, her stature perfectly straight from years of profession as a Senator and leader. If one were to look down, they would see the hunched, withered form of the disgraced former Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker. The man was kneeling on the floor, weeping and begging for the Alliance to not take his children away while he wrapped his frail, thin body around his son like a cocoon.
"Please calm down, Lord Vader. Be assured that your offspring will be buried with full honors."
Anakin frantically shook his head, his unfocused eyes filled with despair. "No... I beg... you..." His ghostly voice quivered, his shriveled eyelids failing to catch the tears that slipped down.
Mothma sighed, trying to ignore the impatience that was ticking inside. "Lord Vader, it is time that Commander Skywalker and General Organa rest." She raised a hand to motion a few soldiers to drag the Skywalker twins away; in a few moments, the soldiers had grabbed the corpses' feet, earning a weak yet spiteful screech.
"You will n-not touch my children!" Anakin snarled as he tightened the grip he had on his son and pulled Leia into the embrace. They, those Rebels, they're going to hurt his precious little ones, they're going to hurt them they're going to hurt them they're going to hurt them-
His breaths were quivering and hiccupping, his eyes glaring in loath and paranoia. His heaving chest perched over his children's sleeping forms; his heart, which beat with agitation, rested above the dead ones of his two perished angels.
Solo, that Force-damned, traitorous Solo! How dare that scoundrel subject my beloved children to these people, these monstrosities? No one should, with ill intentions, dare lay a finger on my children; no one should dare snap the littlest hair and live! I shall- I shall condemn him to the Corellian Hells, I shall-
The soldiers tried again, this time with a harder pull. Anakin screeched and fought their grasps to the best he could, hugging his children tight, not letting those mindless demons get to his pure, innocent offspring. They will not take my children they will not take my children they will not take my children-
He will not be a spineless fool! He will not be a coward!
"No!" Anakin snapped at the guards, his body shaking with trepidation for the curled forms in his cocoon. "If you are to h-hurt my darlings, you all shall f-first step over m-my dead body!"
The air buzzed, his ears rang, his vision blurred, and he felt his children slipping from him-
He pulled tighter, wrapping himself around Luke and Leia's limp torsos, feverishly repeating that he will sacrifice his life for their safety, murmuring into their deaf ears, uselessly comforting them. He downright refused to hand his darlings to the Alliance. His body was no more of importance; all he had to do was keep them safe, he did not care if he is to die under the hands of his former greatest enemy. His children were all that mattered.
Despite his efforts, days of starvation and an already worn body rebelled against his endeavor. Anakin collapsed to the ground in absolute despair as he helplessly watched his children being dragged away from him; his precious, irreplaceable children, the only reasons he still cared to live. His chest, his heart, it all hollowed out, left in a consuming void that ate his soul up in the blackest fires of grief and pain.
The broken man erupted into a hysterical crying; Mothma helplessly watched the tears trickle down and seep into the cracks and crevices on Vader's ruined skin, onto his mangled chin, then drip onto the floor. Anakin lashed out in a howl of heartbreak, begging for his children to come back, vowing with a broken, choked voice that he would protect them, that, with disjointed words, he would try to be a better, a worthy, father. The body trembled, almost as if the very air around him stung his flesh, and his metal limbs clanked on the ground, the joints on his remaining mechanical hand twitching and turning as the hand shook. The watery eyes were shadowed with utter fear and distress, his scars stretched into a face of hopelessness as his devastated lips quaked. Emotions rippled out from the man like a tidal wave. The man fell forwards, curled up into a ball that quite resembled a fetal position, then those limbs stretched out as he writhed in his internal agony.
Mothma could not help but feel a pang of sorrow for the former Sith, who was splayed on the ground, the bare life in his eyes seeping away as his chest wracked against the cold floor, his shrunken, caving torso pressed against the ground. His fingers clattered against the tiles, his breaths catching and his oxygen pump on the verge of overworking, tears running over the tracks of ones that came before. Knowing his children had long gone, Anakin tried to muffle his cries into his arm stump, but he held no prevail.
Mon Mothma pitied the man in shambles; after all, as impossible as it may seem, Vader was a human. She had known, before the Purge, the great Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker. Kneeling, she gently peeled him from the floor and helped him sit up. The man let out a moan and gasped for air, but the waterworks would not stop.
Despite the senator's good intentions, Anakin jerked away as soon as Mothma attempted to place a hand on his shoulders. "Go- go away! Don-don't t-touch me, you cru- cruel, vile creature!"
Hysterical crying morphed into frenzied laughter as Anakin mustered all the strength left in his wrecked body and shoved Mothma away, into one of the seats on the Falcon. Bitterness and anguish resonated in the Force.
Mothma groaned from the impact, though she retained her composure. She nodded up at one of the medics who had tagged along. The young woman dug in her medkit, and soon drew out a needle. Slowly, the needle approached the squirming form on the ground.
Again, Anakin had collapsed, unable to hold himself upright anymore. He had nothing left, no strength, no joy; his body was just a broken shell, holding his useless, worthless organs and his perpetually miserable brain. He wished so hard that he could just be numb, that he could escape this torture. He wished he could just... wish away this loneliness, this heartache...
It hurt, it hurt so much, he could feel the air inside his lungs being sucked out into a vacuum, he could feel himself hyperventilating and panting for just the smallest amount of oxygen, yet he was unsuccessful at bring air in, and then he was suffocating and-
He wished he could just wish away those memories of his dear wife, of his beautiful children, his past life, his younger years, those happier times. He so gravely wished that he could return to those days before the Clone Wars broke out, or even when his son would come visit him in his prison cell. He would give anything for the brutality of his destiny to vanish, just like he would give anything to see his family safe.
But it was impossible, those memories would come and haunt him, he would see their ghosts in the wall, he would hear their angelic voices, he would constantly feel their warmth and their embraces, wrapping around his body and soul, making his heart and nose tingle...
Reaching down, he curled once more into that fetal position, and pulled his legs into his chest. His emaciated body shook violently, the tears forming a small puddle around his face.
Would the Rebellion give him mercy by ending his life? Would they relieve him of this pain? Or did he hold too much military importance?
He would never know; the needle had punctured his abnormally fragile skin, and soon Anakin was pulled into a dark, quiet, sedated sleep.
"Ya... ya can't just lock 'em back into that cell," Han argued, Chewie moaning behind him, motioning second.
Mothma bowed her head respectfully, "Though I am aware that Lord Vader is no longer hostile, other members of the High Council do not agree. I am obliged to follow the opinion of the majority, even if my stance is of opposition. Also, we must not forget that Lord Vader's sanity is wavering. I must put the safety of the Alliance first."
Han frowned and clenched his fist but did not object as the soldiers escorted unconscious his father-in-law, who was lying on a gurney, away.
12 Hours Later, in Anakin's Prison Cell
Anakin Skywalker has been returned to his cell. Guards remain on watch for any signs of aggression. Anakin, consumed by grief, constantly shifts between reality and imagination.
Anakin's impaired eyes slowly regained their remaining focus. His head whirled at first, but the rotations soon ceased. His surroundings were familiar, though with his groggy mind, he could identify his location. The man turned his head to find a young, blonde man perched on the sole chair in the room. With effort, the aging Skywalker sat up, squinting his eyes at the man.
Luke? Is that you? My wonderful boy? Luke...?
No...
Anakin tried his best to hide his disappointment. With a slurred voice, he croaked, "Sergeant Sal?"
Oh, he was back in his prison cell. Just like every day- the same refresher, the same bland walls, his cot, the hard floor, the lone chair. At least the lights weren't piercing into his eyes.
Sgt. Sal sprang up and dashed to Anakin's side. Before the young man could even open his mouth, however, Anakin had already asked, "when will Luke return from his mission?"
He hadn't seen his son in quite a long time, and for some reason, he could not remember where his son was headed to for his latest expedition. Anakin grumbled a curse to himself. He should have remembered! But again, he was getting old. Surely Luke would understand that his father's memory was fading. After all, at least for humans, turning senile was a natural thing.
Sgt. Sal remained silent for a little while, pretending he was thinking, then muttered quietly with his eyes cast to the floor, "if all goes well, he'll come back within the next few days."
Anakin, whose mind was still groggy, believed Sal's poorly executed lie. A smile appeared on the wrinkled face, and his eyes were glittered with joy and anticipation.
"Mothma is visiting soon," Sgt. Sal informed Anakin in a comforting voice. Anakin nodded, then tiredly slumped back into his cot, waiting for the Rebel leader's arrival.
It did not take long for Mothma's presence to be found inside Anakin's cell. Sgt. Sal had stepped outside and shut the entrance, to give the two some privacy. Mothma mechanically took a seat onto the chair; Anakin's bleary eyes struggled to focus on the woman. However, there was excitement to be seen in the prisoner's eyes, which caused the senator quite some confusion.
"How are you doing, Lord Vader?" She inquired, her voice calm and flat. Caution was also practiced, as her back still ached from their previous encounter.
For reasons unknown, she was met with silence. Anakin stared at the wall, his face falling, the joy suddenly disappearing from his eyes.
Luke is gone. He's not coming back. Luke is gone. Luke is gone. Luke is gone Luke is gone Luke is gone-
When Anakin's head was turned back to Mothma, all she could see in those eyes and that facade was misery. Oh no.
But this time, Anakin was controlled. There was no lashing out, there were no howls of agony, only five choked, sorrow-filled words:
"May I attend their funeral?"
There was a sigh from Mothma; from her reaction, Anakin's face fell even harder, and tears began to bubble at the brim of his eyelids. Mothma took a careful inhale, then stiffly apologized,
"Lord Vader, there is no permission for you to leave your cell."
At first the words could not escape his tongue, and even when his vocal chords finally became functional, his desperate attempt only came out as disjointed stutters.
"C- can't... I g-go? Plea- please? They're my chil- children..." He gulped, closing his eyes, trying to shield them from the suddenly blinding lights of the lowly lit cell. "l love th-them..." Tears welled up more and more, his voice dangerously weak and raspy from starvation. A cough penetrated his body, sending his breaths unsteady and shallow.
"I am afraid not, Lord Vader. I apologize."
Anakin gathered all the strength he had left, and after a shaky inhale, he forced the words out with extreme effort, "I... I... love... Luke... I... Love... Leia... please..."
The man's head slumped onto the cot in a rather disgraceful motion. His chest heaved, his eyelids drooped down, and his mind threatened to shut him back into his slumber.
Mothma sighed, "I will make sure the funeral is recorded and that you will be given a copy of the result." With that, she, just as mechanical as when she had sat, stood up, and walked out of the cell.
Anakin buried his face into his remaining hand, and once he was alone in the cell, the tears ran free.
