This chapter, I am pretty much only going to focus on Anakin. Also, he really isn't the most canny bulb in the box…
Anakin senses the Emperor's presence enthroned in the heart of the Imperial Citadel. Leia's alive. He is sure of it. But in what condition…
He cannot bring himself to finish the thought.
He had thought himself clever. Thought his little scheme might go undetected. And yet…as usual…Darth Sidious has outwitted him. Suddenly, the detonator in his breast feels more like a miscalculation than a last resort. He will now be hobbled. Forced to avoid the Sith's lightning at all costs, lest he accidentally kill his daughter, or succeed only in killing himself, leaving her to Palpatine's perverted mercies.
Obi-Wan had been right. He was a fool! The fool who'd damned them all. In that moment of anguish, he'd screamed out to his Master. Like a child crying for their mother. But just as soon as he'd done it, he'd regretted it and locked away his anguish, letting go of their connection even as he felt Obi-Wan's terror flutter in response.
No. Luke needs Obi-Wan. Not him. Better the two of them survive than to lose them all.
Leia is too young to replace him. But even so, Sidious could easily cull her for his army of Inquisitors. Twisting and dementing her as they had the children of the Jedi temple. The thought makes him almost dizzy with fear.
I am so sorry, Padmé…our little girl…oh, my love…I am so sorry…!
He knows the horrors wrought in the making of the Inquisitorious better than anyone. After all, he had been the one to invent them…Electrocution. Drowning. Cutting off limbs. Burning alive. Unimaginative but all too effective.
He can not—he will not—allow such a fate to befall her.
Anakin's vision fills with fire and ash, glowing red with the heat of his fury as he storms the gates of that twisted stronghold.
The Light and Dark whirl around him by turns as he butchers a garrison stationed to defend the towering edifice. He marches through them like a field of wheat, threshing them with his lightsaber, barely giving them a second thought as they bleed and die around him. They are not meant for him. Merely deterrence for the Rebellion, easily replaced, and disposable in the Emperor's eyes.
They are not his enemy. Merely obstacles to the true prize. This has been easy. Too easy. Sidious has planned something. But what—
His thoughts shatter at the sound of a child's screaming.
"Let go of me! Let go of me! I won't go in there, I won—" The rest of the sound is cut off into muffled screams.
In a burst of fury, he charges toward the heinous noise, finding the source of it centered in the Emperor's throne room.
The ceilings are vaulted. Carved black in a gothic style of obsidian that glows eerily in the planet's blue-green light. The walls are stone and lined with bas reliefs, depicting contorted figures in all shapes of suffering. It gives the space the look of the underworld, casting ghoulish lines on its central, seated occupant, a man whose face looks even less human than his own. A demon, melted in his own fire.
The rancid man smiles as Vader enters, saber drawn. On reflex the Red Guards surrounding the throne lean forward, electric staffs raised defensively, but the Emperor only raises a hand to still them.
"Easy, my friends. That is not a proper welcome."
The guards stand down. Even still, they lean defensively around the Emperor's throne, ready to attack at any moment. There are six of them. Hardly a challenge to Vader himself. But with his daughter as a human shield….
The odds are not in his favor.
"Lord Vader, so good of you to join us." The Emperor purrs. "I had thought my hopes too good to be true..," he gestures to the child bound at his feet, her voice muffled by a gag.
"But when I felt a disturbance within the Force, one that felt all too much like a certain young Jedi from long ago, I looked more closely at our friends from Alderaan…"
Vader swallows, barely hearing the words, his eyes locking with those of his daughter, staring up at him, desperate, pleading, innocent, ignorant, unaware of the role she plays in this grand drama.
He wants to tear the devil's head from his neck. But that will not do. Not now. He must keep his own head before he goes indulging in thoughts of how to relieve Palpatine of his.
"…and what do I find, Lord Vader, but that their adopted daughter's plasma just so happens to be a donor source for you…and, upon further investigation, a genetic match for a dead Jedi named 'Skywalker.'"
Vader listens carefully. Assessing. Analyzing. Biding his time as best as he is able.
"By now, you must have guessed that after your little incursion, I generously offered my protection to the Alderaanian Royal Family…and they have been enjoying my hospitality ever since."
The Emperor laughs, sweeping a withered hand toward the walls of the room.
It is only then that Anakin recognizes the contorted faces of Bail and Breha Organa among the carbonite plates lining the walls flanking the Emperor's throne. His heart twinges. Mostly for Leia's sake. It is a gruesome sight for a child, and, from what he has heard, a truly torturous experience to endure.
"It's a pity I couldn't extend the same generosity to General Kenobi. I do notice his conspicuous absence. Tell me, Lord Vader, how did it feel to watch him succumb to his wounds? Did he beg you to kill him? Drowning in his own blood? Oh, that would have been a sight!"
The Sith pauses and chuckles, a gleeful smile on his face, as Anakin presses his eyes shut against the memory. It seems the Inquisitors had reported back more information than he'd initially thought. Sidious is goading him now. Taunting him. Attempting to wound him as only Sidious knows how. The Dark Lord's side of their diminished connection is ringing with blood lust, aching and throbbing with demented hunger.
Even so, Vader remains quiet, both in thought and speech. Mute and silent as he listens to Palpatine's choice of words.
Is it possible…? Can it be the Sith somehow does not know of Tattooine, of Obi-Wan's survival, of Luke…?
It is the first time since Vader can remember that he has witnessed the Emperor make such a grave error, displaying ignorance of a matter of such great importance. He makes a note to avoid otherwise educating him.
Even as his teeth clench in fury, Vader disengages his saber, and forces himself to kneel.
"Kenobi died as all Jedi do, Master. Weak and pathetic. It made the honor of your tutelage all the more clear to me."
As he speaks those words, he sees Leia's face screw up in horror and betrayal. It reminds him so much of Padmé's face, the way she looked in the moment he'd wrapped the Darkness around her throat and—
The Emperor rises to his feet and Anakin's eyes shift to the Sith's fingertips, watching for even the smallest movement to suggest the elder Sith's intentions.
"Did you think, Lord Vader…" Sidious drawls, "…that all this would be forgiven so easily?"
"No, my Master. I have disobeyed you. And I am prepared to accept my punishment."
Sidious looks down on him, a triumphant smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.
"Did you think it would be so simple, my Apprentice?"
Sidious takes a step down the stairs, his gaze sweeping to the small shape huddled helplessly on the floor.
"Kill the girl."
Anakin freezes and goes silent under the Emperor's searching gaze; even so, his eyes lock on Leia's, round with horror.
"She has great potential, but her mind is too stubborn to be of any use to me. Kill her and resume your place at my side."
He remains where he is, stubborn and silent.
The Emperor's face is shifting now. Hardening into that of an impatient gargoyle as Vader's answer becomes clear.
"Very well, then. We will do this the unpleasant way. Count yourself lucky, Lord Vader, that I might still have some use for you…I might not have been so patient with your predecessor."
"Guards…" the Emperor snarls, "…take Lord Vader to the interrogation chamber. Once you are finished with him, return him to the girl's cell."
As if on cue, two of the Red Guards step forward to seize him. "Oh, and do not trouble yourself with gentleness, my friends." The Emperor adds. "It may take a little time…but I have resurrected one Apprentice. I can resurrect another."
Despite the swirl of rage building inside of him, he allows them to lead him away without protest, even as he watches out of the corner of his eye as Leia is dragged down the opposite end of the hall.
Anakin…Answer me…please…
A sigh.
That had come dangerously close to begging.
Obi-Wan scrubs a hand over his beard, burying his face in his hands as his only answer is the silence of a void. His chest aches as he hunches into himself, making his body as inconspicuous as possible as he crouches low in the worn seat. His wounds have closed to thick knots of scars. He is much stronger but not fully well. He does not have time to worry about that at the moment.
As the Jedi raises his head, his eyes dart around him, searching the crowd of faces on the transport ship. To his relief, no one is paying any mind to the anguish betrayed in his stiffened posture. Security has been heightened, the Stormtroopers clearly uneasy, their fingers inching over the blaster triggers, searching each and every passenger prior to the transport's departure from Tatooine.
It seems the whole galaxy is holding its breath, wondering what might come of the manhunt for Vader, fearful of the turmoil should the Emperor be overthrown.
Somehow, none of it matters to Obi-Wan. He has seen one regime fall. What is it to witness another?
Instead, his mind billows with memories. Images, smells, places, and sounds that he wishes he could forget.
Red-rimmed eyes. Yellow eyes. A face drenched in soot and sweat, contorted in agony. Groans turning into screams. Anakin, set aflame— It was his fault. His fault for not seeing how Sidious was grooming him. His fault for letting the Chancellor twist Anakin. Leaving him all those years, chained and tortured like a dog inside that wretched machine.
He had turned away. Walked away. For ten years, he had walked away. Left Anakin to believe himself foresaken in a nightmare that wouldn't end. But no. Not this time. No. Not this time.
Anakin, talk to me, he tries again. I know where you are. I'm coming. Hold on. I'm coming.
Still nothing.
Then, another voice intrudes upon his reverie, the croaking intonations of Master Yoda.
On Vader do your thoughts dwell. Forget your duty, do you?
Obi-Wan bows his head silently, swallowing hard as he prepares to make reply. Even so, he does not receive such an opportunity.
Stop Skywalker we must, but left the boy you have, Obi-Wan. Without you, defenseless, he is. Consider this wise, do you?
He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to ignore the pangs of guilt over his charge; he knows in the painful beat of his heart that, as he hurtles through space aboard the transport, Luke weeps into the strings of his aunt's apron. He consoles himself that, at least this time, the child was allowed to say goodbye, allowed to see him go, and not subject to shock or surprise.
Still. The poor boy will suffer for years from these few weeks of tumult. To have his father return half-mangled from beyond the grave, only to leave, return, and abandon him…It is surely all too much for an innocent child. Obi-Wan knows it. He hates it. But now that he knows where they are, he cannot simply let the boy's father and sister die.
Anakin and Leia are likewise my concern, Yoda. As much as it pains me, for now, their needs—both of their needs—outweigh Luke's. I'll not leave them to the Emperor's mercies.
A breath passes, then two.
Deceive yourself not, Obi-Wan. Partiality, this is. Rendezvous with you, I shall. But made the boy vulnerable to the Darkness, you have. On this, you must trust me.
Somehow, Obi-Wan finds that he no longer cares for such portents and predictions, something petulant welling up inside him.
I trust only in the Force.
He says nothing more.
Anakin floats in and out of consciousness as he is dragged unceremoniously down to the holding cells of the citadel, the heavy weight of his cybernetics scraping garishly along the marble hallways. It is Palpatine's stronghold for torturing political prisoners and has been perfectly designed to achieve its purpose. He notes grimly that, once again, they have replaced the full company of his armor.
Sith-spawn bastards.
It is intended to solidify his absolute advantage over the child's small frame. As if he didn't already have advantage enough against the helpless girl…
This is the second time now that he has been taken and returned to the citadel's cellblock.
There is blood dribbling from his mouth, its iron taste intermingling with bitter bile. He has vomited twice and bitten through his tongue as a result of Sidious's convulsant cocktail. Mindful of the electro-static bomb within his chest, he is only too grateful the Emperor has chosen poison instead of electrodes as his means of torment.
At some point, he is thrown with a heavy thud onto the floor of the child's prison. Time elapses. He cannot be sure how much. He simply rests on the cool floor, riding out the aftermath of the Emperor's poison.
When Anakin comes fully to himself, the first thing he sees is Leia's small shape, curled up in the furthest corner of the room. She has not moved from the cell's corner since the last time he was seized, tortured, and returned.
"Leia…" He tries to speak softly, but the vocoder booms inside the small cell. He struggles trying to sit up.
"Don't come near me." She says brokenly, her knees pulled up to her chest, her face buried behind crossed arms. It is not a demand. A threat. Or even a request. It is simply a wish, expressed sincerely but without hope of being honored.
"They say you're going to kill me," she continues with a slight sniffle. From the looks of it, she's used up her tears already.
"No, Leia," he assures, heartsick and nauseous, even as he once again tries—and fails—to rise, "I am not going to kill you."
The floor echoes with a dull thud as his heavy frame drops back to the earth.
"They're going to keep hurting you until you do."
She's right. It's the unspoken rule of the Emperor's game. But he's not playing by the Emperor's rules anymore.
"Then they will have to wait for a very long time." He rasps.
With a groan, he gives up on his attempts to move and lays back, stretching out his tortured ligaments, letting the unfeeling metal support the bulk of his cybernetic body.
"Is Ben really dead…?"
"His wounds were very grave." He says carefully. Her eyes stay dry and stony, staring into her knees with a resigned and distant look.
Such a strong little creature…so much like her mother…
"…it's my fault." She mumbles. "It's all my fault. If I hadn't turned off the alarm…"
"It is not your fault." He interrupts harshly, driven by fierce impulse.
She flinches and then falls silent.
He fears for a moment that he might've frightened her too much. But then he sees her eyes peer up at him as she peeks above her knees.
Leia studies him for several minutes through her lashes, her eyes slowly filling with hesitant concern as if she has only just truly noticed him.
"Did they hurt you badly?" She asks shyly after some time, at last raising her head to look at him.
"No."
She says nothing in response. He has told her the truth. But soon enough, it will be a lie. The torture will escalate until he breaks, however long that might take. The question is whether he can get her out of here while his sanity remains intact.
He can feel her sweeping over him with a Force presence so light and delicate, it is almost like the brush of a feather.
As he fades in and out of awareness, he tries to focus on her small shape in an attempt to bring himself back to reality. It is only after staring at her for a moment that he realizes the slight trembling of her limbs is no illusion. Leia is shivering. Some part of him, a part long forgotten, whispers that he should do something, but before he can latch onto the thought, reality slips away to unconsciousness yet, again.
Sometime later, when he comes to his senses with a vague knowledge of Leia's proximity, he discovers her pressed tightly against his side.
A lump swells in his throat that has nothing to do with Sidious' poison as he stares at the soft brown tresses. He sees her only through the red lenses of the imprisoning helm to which they have restored him, but, even so, he imagines the color of her hair, the chestnut tendrils that are only a shade lighter than the curls he had once wound around his fingers. Back when he still had fingers…
He stares at her for what seems like an eternity, relishing her fragile trust. He knows this will only embolden Sidious, further convincing him of the need to murder Anakin Skywalker's weaknesses….but, even so, he cannot bring himself to care.
" 'm sorry…was cold…" Leia murmurs eventually, looking at him through the lenses as she lifts her head.
Oh. Of course.
She has not come to him for comfort. The life support system merely generates heat.
Much to his relief, when he does not respond, she takes that as permission to press closer, laying her head, quite unwittingly, over the beating of his aching heart.
"Are you related to my father?" A small, tired, voice mumbles into his chest. "Was he your brother, or something? Are you my uncle?"
For a moment, he freezes, confused and surprised. Does she not know? It is only then that he realizes that the Emperor had not explicitly made reference to Anakin Skywalker, the first-name being the only one by which she might have made the connection. After all, as the Emperor had said in the throne room, Skywalker was a "dead Jedi." It was not as if the child would understand the nuances of Sith philosophy and its quest to purge the weakness of an old identity.
Leia had put the pieces together; she just hadn't put them together correctly.
"No," he says carefully, lowly. He does not want to be overheard and have Sidious learn of the girl's ignorance, even as he himself seeks to maintain it. Now is not the time for her to go developing attachments. (In a different life, a part of him would have scoffed at the thought)
"But I cared about him…too much, perhaps." It is certainly true, from a certain point of view. He had cared about himself too much, been too selfish, too blinded by his own pride, his arrogance—
"What was he like…? Ben said I reminded him of my dad…" Leia interrupts his spiraling thoughts, her question trailing off with a yawn. Relaxed by the warmth of his mechanical body, he can see her muscles beginning to wilt, drooping into him heavily as she slowly succumbs to exhaustion.
"Enough questions for now, little one. Rest."
"…please keep talking to me…'s too quiet," she mumbles.
It's true. The prison cells are meant to dampen sound entering from outside the cell, further isolating the prisoners within, torturing them with oppressive loneliness.
And so, he reaches deep inside himself, for memory or instinct, whatever he can find that is left to comfort a hurting child. And then, he lights upon an idea…
He cannot sing. It would be absurd to try. Instead, he talks her to sleep, slowly and lowly enunciating the syllables of an all-too-familiar aurebesh lullaby.
Obi-Wan… he thinks distantly…Obi-Wan, I need you.
'b-Wan…—eed you…
The Force echoes and Obi-Wan wakes with a jolt to words ringing just beyond his hearing, earning a look from where Yoda sits propped awkwardly at the controls of his apparently purloined vessel.
Obi-Wan has made it to the ship commandeered by the older Jedi master. Obi-Wan had been so tired. Half-healed and heartsore, he had practically collapsed the moment he'd made it to the jump-seat of Yoda's vessel.
He finds the little green Jedi's facility in procuring the craft to be a mild miracle. He had thought Yoda stranded on Dagobah, but only now does he understand: he was not stranded, he was exiled. He had exiled himself.
Obi-Wan almost envies him.
He wishes mightily he could have done the same. Not that he hadn't done something of it on Tattooine. Even so, there, he had been in possession of purpose, duty even, to the young Luke Skywalker.
Even if now a stab of guilt assaults him at the thought of the boy who has surely gone to pieces in his absence.
He had not had a choice. But still, this will surely be one of the worst memories of the child's life. Abandoned three times in as many weeks…. Obi-Wan could hardly bear to leave him.
His musings are interrupted as Yoda's wrinkled ears tilt, inclining his direction as they often would when the green Jedi was concerned or intrigued.
"Speaking to you, he is, hmm?"
For a moment he wonders...but even if it had truly been Anakin, it must have been nothing more than a lapsing moment of weakness; their connection remains hollow with stoic silence.
He shakes his head in answer to the Master's question.
The ears twitch once more.
"In pain, is he still?"
Sidious had begun torturing his Padawan. Even as he is now, mechanized, half-alive, Anakin is stubborn and strong. But even he had not been able to conceal the anguish that had vibrated in telltale quakes along their connection.
"Mercifully, not at the moment."
Somehow, their bond repaired on Alderaan is stronger now than it was during the Clone Wars. Just as in the months that had passed after Mapuzo, when he was tormented by the pain bleeding into their connection, now he feels as Anakin's mind strains under the weight of whatever horror Sidious has decided to inflict, fighting to protect such pain from spilling over to Obi-Wan.
It is a noble and heartbreaking gesture, that inflicts a suffering all its own on the Jedi. He comforts himself that, at least, for now, it seems there has been a reprieve. Leia is still alive, but beyond that, he cannot say and tries desperately not to imagine. She is alive. And while there is life, there is hope.
Such fears notwithstanding, he and Yoda do not speak. There are no words left to say between them. It seems to be Obi-Wan's fate to live in silence. Silence from Anakin. Silence from Luke. Silence from the Lars.
Hours pass in that cursed silence.
Unsurprisingly, after some time, without warning, Obi-Wan's chest seizes as if crushed inside a vice, a gasp of air escaping from his throat. Anakin is squeezing off their connection, which can only mean one thing: He is yet again in pain.
Obi-Wan's stomach clenches under the strain rippling through the Force, enduring the knowledge of Anakin's suffering in soft hisses that shudder through his teeth.
Yoda eyes Obi-Wan at the appearance of these traitorous signs of distress. Unspoken judgment being passed with half-hearted resignation. But still. The last Grand Master of the Jedi Order is not without compassion; his brown eyes softening in wizened sympathy.
Even so, Obi-Wan is surprised when Yoda's croaking voice breaks the silence.
"In pain you are, Obi-Wan. And myself, for that I blame."
They both know he is not speaking of torture.
"Wrong I was about young Skywalker. Failed you both, I did. Fail you, again, I will not."
His tone is faraway, as if he speaks to himself more than to his grand-Padawan. There is humility there. And a promise. A promise Obi-Wan can hardly trust. But if any being in all the galaxy might be able to keep so fantastic of a promise, it is Master Yoda.
He can only hope they do not arrive too late.
I hope it was worth the wait. Let me know what you want to see next. I am thinking maybe one or two more chapters.