He shook his head slowly, chastising himself when Master Yoda was no longer around to do it for him. Chiding himself again at his negative frame of mind.
So when the door began its cycle to the sound of multiple bolts releasing in sequence, he'd been thankful for the interruption. The tight-lipped redhead had walked into the room on the balls of her feet, turning to him before the door was fully open.
Too soon; she knew where I was already. They have surveillance in here.
Cold green eyes fixed on him as she said simply, "The Emperor commands your presence."
He remained sitting in the chair for long seconds, wondering what she'd do if he said no... Wondering why he was even thinking that; he already had one pointless little battle going on right now, the last thing he needed was another.
He was learning--but to whose benefit, he wondered.
Aware that his gaze was still on her, the woman's intense green eyes turned momentarily wary. Luke watched her for several more seconds, taking in the cool, reserved look in his jailor's expression, wondering whether it was defensive reflex or real emotion.
Which left the burning question, what was really going on behind that glacial stare. "What was your name?"
She looked away, didn't reply. Luke dropped his head back down, massaging at his temples again. "Nice name. A little short." She'd relax eventually, relent a little. Push too hard and she'd only back off further.
Besides, he had a feeling he'd have the time to invest--and for some reason, he felt it should be in her. She was, after all, quite clearly responsible for security; for keeping him here. If nothing else, it would give him something other than the Emperor's meticulous little manipulations to think about...and that was a good thing.
He rose and walked loosely forward. The redhead stepped back warily so she remained outside his reach.
"Jumpy little thing, aren't you?" he murmured lightly.
She set her head to one side, those cold eyes remaining pointedly unamused as he passed by.
He walked again beneath the stretching, arched ceiling of the lounge, his two guards falling into pace behind him as he passed huge, heavy furniture to equal the scale of the room. Six Royal Guard remained at the door he had passed through, six more at the door he walked toward. Into the huge hall, exactly as before, dim shadows lit by scarlet flames, the long table set and laden with food.
And the Emperor, hooded yellow eyes burning into him, cold amusement written clear on his face.
Luke felt his hackles rise; forced himself calm again by strength of will. Still, he couldn't stop his jaw clenching and his eyes narrowing, which only brought a wide smile to the old man's thin, bloodless lips.
.
.
Palpatine smiled at the boy's instant reaction as he entered the room; how he advertised every emotion on his face, how he blared it out through the Force.
Did he not realize?
How refreshingly naïve he was, how wonderfully unaffected and artless. It was a pity that this would be lost--sacrificed to Darkness. But how useful it was here and now, all that passion and zeal. How easy it was to twist and use...once one had a strategy.
Because any intense emotion was a weakness, especially when it came to the boy's father. He had sensed it in their first meeting last night, all that anger, that confusion, that wonderfully impassioned denial--not necessarily to believe; he knew it was true--but certainly to accept. That was what drove him now. Loyalty too, of course; to his friends and his cause, but that was of no use to Palpatine. It could be made to serve his ends, but only in the most limited sense. He had needed something greater, something deeper. Loyalty was a strength--he had needed a flaw. And now he had found one, so considerately provided by Kenobi.
Because the boy was afraid. Not of Palpatine, although he should be. But that lesson could and would be taught, in a manner which he would never forget.
No, this fear was very different...and wonderfully destructive.
This was fear that his father's fate was his own, because the same weakness ran in his veins. That had glared out in their short discussion last night; fear that his fall, like his father's, was inevitable. All twisted through with resentment, with true, bitter hatred of Vader because of it. And betrayal. By Kenobi, to have lied so easily, by the father he never knew he had; found and lost in a single beat of a bruised heart.
Wonderful, primal emotions. Powerful and undeniable.
Given time of course, the boy would have come to terms with his heritage; time and distance always afforded perspective. But Palpatine had no intention of granting either. He had gained Skywalker at just the right moment--and he fully intended to exploit it. He would push forward whilst the boy was still reeling, underline that connection, that perceived weakness. Convince him of its reality, the inevitability of his fate, the weakness in his blood. Keep them close, father and son; keep them in opposition. Always pushing, always goading, never the time to come to terms, to deal with this vulnerability. Stir up all the crippling fears and doubts which fed that resentment and then release the boy on his father.
Yes, a wonderful, gaping weakness.
There were others, of course, and he would use them all, but nothing like this. This had already delivered his new Jedi to him. With careful manipulation, it would give him his Sith.
That thought brought a smile to his face, which unsettled his Jedi even further. Palpatine turned to hide his amusement, walking slowly to his own chair and sitting before finally looking up to his Jedi indulgently. "Sit."
.
.
Even at this, so simple an invitation handed out with such subtle, hidden agenda, Luke felt his momentary stubbornness kick in. But he walked to the chair and he sat; he too had an agenda tonight.
The Emperor nodded to the laden table. "Eat."
The worst thing was Luke knew Palpatine was right; he should eat. Every soldier knew that. You eat when you can, you sleep when you can, because you never know when either will be taken away. Two days without food and already frail from his injuries, he could feel himself weakening physically if not mentally. He should eat. If the opportunity came to make an escape, he would be too weak to take it in another day. He should eat.
Don't be stubborn. Eat.
"No." He wilted at his own obstinate will.
.
.
Palpatine merely glanced to the servers, who stepped forward to fill the smoky glass goblets with dark, ruby wine. He watched his Jedi glance momentarily at the food on the table then look resolutely away toward the fire in the hearth. He must be hungry by now, Palpatine knew. Vader had been instructed to feed him little, and the boy had not eaten at all since he arrived here. Nor would he; he wanted his Jedi to be left hungry, save at this table. Wanted this wild thing to learn to eat from its new Master's hand.
The boy had picked the wrong thing to fight over and he knew it, Palpatine could sense that much, but still he fought--couldn't help but do so. Strong-willed, like his father; stubborn. The strength which could be a weakness, with a little careful direction. The weakness which could be a strength, if he didn't hold it in check. Still, if all went to plan, this particular battle would be concluded tonight...or at least rendered worthless.
He nodded, and the servers and Luke's shadow-guards bowed and walked in silence from the room.
.
.
Luke caught again the tantalizing glimpse of freedom from the bright corridor beyond, where guards stood against the far wall, weapons drawn. Far wall; very far. Was it a corridor or another room?