Sorry, it took me some time to update. Do you want to see a direct confrontation with the Emperor in the next chapter? Should Leia have stowed away? Does Anakin survive?
Much to Vader's relief, Organa hands Leia off to one of her minder droids before the substance of their conversation continues. Certain unpleasant and sensitive details are best kept from her young and impulsive mind. Not to mention certain facts and circumstances of which it is best she remain unaware.
"We must move with all haste. Before announcing my attempted coup, I require two things. The first being your fastest ship." At the aristocrat's confused expression, he provides further explanation.
"Obi-Wan cannot stay here, Organa. Surely you understand that. Your house would be as much at risk for having harbored a Jedi as you would for harboring me."
The aristocrat's face remains dubious, but even so, he is at least listening.
"And what is your second demand?"
"A surgical droid."
"A what…?" Organa repeated, startled.
"A surgical droid, Viceroy. To make an incision and put an explosive charge in here…" He taps his chest adjacent to the control panel.
"This is absurd! If killing the Emperor were as simple as committing suicide, he would have been dead a hundred times over. Do you know how many good men and women I've lost on failed suicide missions?!"
Vader merely waits as the heat of Organa's emotions flashes and then cools.
"If you do not remember, I thwarted quite a few of them myself, Organa. I am keenly aware. However, your men and women are not me. Self-immolation is not contemplated by the Sith. It will be...unexpected."
Indignation peers from the aristocrat's eyes, but he holds his tongue as if lost in thought.
"If I am to acquiesce to these demands, then I am going with you." Organa declares, at last, his eyes flashing with challenge.
"No." Vader snaps before taking a moment to calm himself. It will not do for him to drive off his only remaining ally. "Now that we have agreed to proceed, Viceroy, it is high time we spoke plainly with each other."
The other man lifts a dark eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look as he leans back in his chair. His arms crossed over his chest as he listens to the Sith Lord.
"Then, please, 'speak plainly.'"
"I will not see my daughter orphaned a second time." He emphasizes the possessive word, darkly amused as he sees the Viceroy's face harden. "And, as much as I am loathe to admit it, you are the only father she has ever known. I am expendable. You are not."
The man regards him for some time but says nothing until, at last, he sighs and leans forward, his arms uncrossing as he studies the man before him.
"What type of explosive charge?"
Obi-Wan awakens to cool, sterile air flowing over his face. The telltale scent of recycled oxygen. A mask pressed tightly around his nose and mouth.
He is lying flat but feels something being strapped around his chest, cinched tightly against his aching body. An attempt to speak sends fire burning under his ribs. It is as though he has inhaled needles. An involuntary groan comes from deep within his throat, followed by a soft whimper at the ache of air flowing through his trachea.
There is a shushing noise, but it echoes unnaturally as if coming from a machine.
He cracks open his eyes, but quickly shuts them against the telltale fluorescence of a ship's interior lighting.
"Can you hear me, Obi-Wan?" A mechanized voice whispers in his ear. But he does not have the wherewithal to question it.
He manages to tilt his chin up and down slowly, agonizingly.
"Do you remember what happened?"
He draws a blank and then slowly turns his head from side to side apologetically. He is so tired. Everything feels fuzzy and muddled, inebriated, and exhausted all at once.
There is a pause, and he feels as though he senses disappointment. But even so, it is only for the briefest of moments.
"That is alright…It is not important right now. Are you in pain?"
Yes. Yes. Everything.
And then there is a presence inside of his thoughts. It is a warm glow. At once like the comforting light of low-burning kindling and yet also like the coals of hellfire. It caresses him gently, brushing delicately on his thoughts as if afraid to break him.
I am giving you something for the pain and for the fever. Go back to sleep, Master.
He knows no more.
The knot of new tissue in his abdomen flares with phantom pain as Anakin crawls up from the shallow ship's hold and into the cramped cockpit, its throbbing complimented by the aching of the fresh scar upon his breast.
Even so, these pains are secondary to the ache that fills his heart.
As he guides Organa's fighter among the silent stars, for just a moment, Anakin can almost forget the pain and fear. But, before long, the silence fractures as Obi-Wan groans in his delirium.
The cries echo mournfully in the hull, clawing at his mind like a cantor, calling for his repentance, accusing and convicting him all at the same time.
He shivers.
It is cold in space. Cold and black. Full of nameless terrors and wonders. Much like Darth Sidious.
Sidious. Palpatine. Emperor. Senator. Monster. Master. No. No longer his Master. Never his master. Never. Never a true master…
The tendril inside his mind is nothing more than an icy nettle now. Its prickly edges send shivers down his spine. But even in its diminished state, small flashes of predatory glee arc along the twisted bond, frightening him in their clarity.
Sidious is hunting him. Like a monster in the dark, rabid to inflict unnamed and unholy terrors. The Sith is a demon. A demon who had resurrected a dead Sith, who had defied the Force and nature itself to make himself a demi-god.
In an act of childish need, Anakin reaches for the flicker of Obi-Wan's soul, like a candle in the darkness…The darkness he created. Shamelessly, he cups himself around the small flame, silently begging its warmth to ease the cold that wracks him so.
Anakin Skywalker never liked being alone in the dark. Somehow, neither does Darth Vader.
In a valiant effort, he ignores the bloodlust dripping from the Sith's bond and tries to turn his mind to other matters.
By now, Organa will have made his announcement. It will have diverted Sidious's attention from Alderaan, but now, the galaxy will be in an uproar. There will be Imperial Agents searching for him in every sector.
Soon enough, Anakin will greet them gladly and face his fate with dignity, but, for now, his children's future depends on getting the Jedi to safety. Without Anakin, Luke and Leia will have no one but Obi-Wan left to protect them from Sidious and his Inquisitors.
And, one way or another, if there is one thing he knows with certainty, it is that, at long last, he is going into the arms of oblivion. Now, at least, should he return like the unfortunate Zabrak as Sidious's undead puppet, perhaps Obi-Wan will be there to grant mercy to his desecrated corpse.
The Jedi moans again, as if objecting to his morbid thoughts.
And all Anakin can do is turn his eyes to the stars, and trust in the Force.
The Light never used to be this quiet. This empty. This lonely. He feels…almost nothing. And that itself is its own kind of pain. Nothing makes sense but almost-nothing...that is even worse. He feels one—no—two other beings…but one is no more than a shadow, ephemeral and thin, but the other being…the other being inside the Light is distant and muted. As if too timid to approach. And old. So very old.
A name floats across his mindscape.
Anakin Skywalker.
Who is Anakin Skywalker?
Then another name.
Darth Vader…Two halves of one whole, are they. Felt them I have. Churning and shifting. Merging into one.
Obi-Wan is confused. It is as if he hears another's internal monologue.
Who are you? He asks the voice.
Know me not, do you, old friend? The voice asks with surprise and concern.
The speaker is so very familiar. And the authority in those words! The weight of wisdom they convey! It is as if they were there when time itself began. It is so heavy and full of depth. Like a neutron star expanding in density right before collapsing into itself. He senses the speaker drawing near, reaching out as if to touch him.
Ah, I see, injured you are, my grand-Padawan...hm...this is most distressing. But, take heart, in good hands you are! Trouble you further, I shall not.
And then the voice falls silent.
It is nighttime when he touches down on Tattooine. Dark shadows are long from the dunes rising up against the moonlight. He lands as close to the Lars homestead as he dares and wastes no time in disembarking. He will need to do this quickly or risk losing everything on which he has gambled over the previous fortnight.
Luke needs a protector. And, in the absence of his father, Obi-Wan will have to do.
When Anakin ventures forth from the cockpit, he does not expect to be met by the sight of a small, achingly familiar shape sprinting toward him from across the cold nocturnal sands. Unbeknownst to the Sith, the boy has felt the reverberations of his father's proximity, like a ripple in the Living Force, and has ventured forth from his Aunt and Uncle's home, his soul drawn by the fragile, thin string binding him to his father.
"You came back!" The boy shrieks as Anakin staggers in shock, his eyes drinking in the sight of the child's face, wet with tears as he tackles Anakin with the full force of his young strength. "I knew you would! I just knew it!"
His heart tightens and throbs and twists with joy and grief. The boy has come to him, run to him, greeting his bloodstained hands with a heart full of innocent love.
"Luke...my Luke...my son..." his arms encircle the boy, drawing him closer to the natural flesh of his chest to where he can feel the contour of the boy's warmth through his armor. Words fail as he cards a gloved metal hand through the soft hair on the child's head.
Luke is sobbing, his hands fisting around the hard metal edges of the chest plate. "Hush, Luke...I am here...I am here..." It is a false promise, but the words flow so naturally he cannot help himself as he drops into the dust, kneeling and holding him close. The air around them stills, and the Force seems almost to croon a lullaby, as the child clings to him like some fading apparition.
He cannot stay here for long, but, oh, how he wishes he had an eternity—!
His thoughts are interrupted as Luke draws away and looks up at his towering frame.
"Are you better, Dad? You don't look sick anymore..."
"I am better." He chokes. The boy cannot see that he weeps behind what remains of the black helm. He had come so very close to never having this moment. And now…well, at least he might get to say goodbye properly this time.
After a moment, Luke suddenly draws back, his eyes roaming the dunes as if looking for something.
"Where's Ben? Did you stop the bad men?"
"I—" he chokes. He's one of those 'bad men.' Has always been. But he won't tell Luke that. If all goes according to plan, that will be a story that Obi-Wan will have to tell Luke long after Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader are nothing but dust and ashes.
"I...we are trying...Obi-Wan—Ben—is on the ship. He got hurt, and he needs help getting better, but he doesn't have anyone else. There is something I have to go do, so he is going to stay with you for a while."
Now, more than ever, Luke will expect him to come back. He knows it, and it breaks his heart. Before…before there had been a drop of hope left in him, that, somehow, against all rules of Force and Man, he would escape the Emperor.
But now…
His musings are interrupted as Luke's face screws up, suddenly serious.
"But Uncle Owen hates Ben. He says Ben is like the Sandpeople. That he took you away and hurt you. I don't really believe him, Ben's always been nice, but I don't think he'd like to see him again."
Anakin huffs at the irony of Owen's interpretation.
"While he and I have not always been on the best of terms…"
That was putting it mildly.
"…Obi-Wan raised me. He is family. And we never turn our back on family, do we?"
"No, never!"
"Alright, then you tell your Uncle Owen that, and I think he will understand."
A dutiful nod is his only response.
Having won Luke's approval, Anakin returns to the ship and retrieves Obi-Wan's hover-pallet from the hold with all the reverence of a pallbearer. As the pallet glides silently past the wide-eyed child, he is ever mindful as Luke's eyes rest on the Jedi's bandaged frame, his face twisting up with shock at the state of the old hermit.
"Is he gonna die?" Luke asks.
"He better not." Anakin growls out of mercurial habit.
For his part, Anakin finds his gaze resting on the aged pale face, even as Vader's cybernetics curl into fists at his side. He had thought that he hated this man…And now…and now he cannot bear to leave him.
"Dad…?" Luke asks, his tongue rolling the unfamiliar word with uncertainty. "…what's wrong?"
Vader swallows, composing himself. He has wasted enough time.
"I need you to take Obi—Ben—inside." He tells him, handing the pallet's remote to the child. "But do not wake your Aunt and Uncle. He will be fine until tomorrow. Everything he'll need is on the pallet already. In the morning, you tell them what I said. 'Ben is family,' do you understand? Can you do this for me, Luke?"
The boy nods vigorously. Suddenly solemn under the weight of responsibility.
"But you're coming back, right?"
Anakin hesitates as he ascends the ladder into the cockpit.
"…right?"
A cycle of the respirator.
"It is too late for me, my son."
The cockpit closes. The boy screams. And Darth Vader sobs unheard as the ship ascends.
Again, apologies for the delay. Thanks to my loyal subscribers: AditiTC; CWBasset; Colineambre; Ergrien; HeavaneZ; Imaginary Raine; Jcjonesacp; LordAries34; LordHerod; Mina Soliman; Ryuki555; Sky Daybreak; Spectacular Webhead 11; Sturmundsterne; Vlad the Impala; lwestin; qazkara; tamarayann97; ultragreenyellow56. You're the reason I keep writing. Please review.