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Luke stood unmoving, back tense, shoulders taut, watching his father's reflection in the plexiglass of the window; watching him stare in silence for long, drawn moments before finally turning away.
His stance relaxed only as Vader left, his shoulders slumping, though he didn't turn, knowing from long experience where the surveillance lenses were hidden in this room, and unwilling to share this intensely private moment.
He stood like this a long time, gazing out into darkness.
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Vader strode away, a turmoil of suppressed emotions, fired by the numb declaration of irreconcilable beliefs in his son's voice.
Even knowing the boy as little as he did, he was finally realizing how much Luke must have cherished the memory he held of his perceived father, the virtuous Jedi who fought for the same justice and freedoms that Luke now held so dear. How he must have admired him, respected him, loved him.
How he must now hate him. Loathe him, despise him.
Only now could Vader comprehend how much the words he had spoken on CloudCity must have devastated his son. That he had obliterated every conviction, every belief in that single moment; had ripped his son's foundations away and left an open, bleeding wound that could never heal.
How had he assumed that he could now counter that merciless, damning, life-destroying act with simple words? That he could win back the son whose soul he had shattered, whose hope he had so completely crushed.
But he would not take this blame alone; Obi-Wan had caused this. It was not enough that he had deceived and mislead his wife, hypnotized and beguiled her, stolen her from him with his unrealistic ideals and his pious, self-righteous accusations. Not enough that he had brought her to Mustafar to underline Anakin's loss--that he had then turned on Anakin himself, to destroy him. Had left him to burn in the fires of their broken comradeship. No, he had also exacted one final, merciless revenge...he had stolen Anakin's son, not just physically but mentally. Had hidden him away and filled his head with lies, just as he had Padmé's. Had deliberately made it impossible for Vader to reach him, even now.
His final, vindictive retribution on Anakin for defying the Jedi.
It had been a long time coming, but how he must have savored the wait, knowing that it would burn through Vader with all the caustic fury of the flames on Mustafar. That it would continue to smolder every time he saw his son, because there was nothing he could do to change it.
The fury blistered through Vader now, searing away any guilt or remorse, any acceptance of his own part in this. It was Obi-Wan; all Obi-Wan. He had never forgiven Anakin for coming between himself and Qui-Gon. Had never accepted that Anakin was more powerful than he. Had always held him back, constrained him, sought control, just as Palpatine had said. And when Anakin had broken free, he had taken from him everything of meaning in his life.
And now this, his ultimate reprisal. His last, vindictive stab straight at Vader's heart. One final, ruthless blow landed with cold, cruel precision.
How desperately he hated him in that moment...
Vader paused, his raven cloak whipping in a flurry about him as he froze stock-still in the richly opulent hallway, a dark figure shrouded in shadows...
In that moment...how he hated himself.
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To be continued...
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Chapter 11
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CHAPTER ELEVEN
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Another day, stretching into stillness as Luke stood in the long, shadowed dining hall with nothing to do but brood over Palpatine's carefully planted seeds of doubt. Was that his intent--was that why Luke was left alone for long, dreary hours? After three years of ceaseless adrenaline-fed front-line action, always battling a greater foe, every inch of ingenuity and ability, mental and physical, committed to the struggle, just to surviving day to day; hour to hour sometimes, this enforced, inexorable quietude was a listless, numbing torment.
Ignoring the guard's eyes on him, Luke gazed blankly at the brooding bulk of the main Palace beyond the windows, remembering seeing the ceremony which had marked its official completion in a holo-image as a young child. Remembering thinking it so distant as to be unreal, like some created image in a holo-flick.
By the time he was sixteen, he had been so determined to see those spires for himself one day. To reach Coruscant, the capital of the Empire, and stand in front of the Imperial Palace--to see those Towers for real.
Not much more than a year later he'd met Ben Kenobi.
Ben, who had lied to him so easily. Looked him in the eye and lied without a trace of conscience. Of all people, why did he lie? He could have told the truth; trusted Luke to have made the right decision anyway... did he think so little of the youth he was prepared to use, that he felt Luke incapable of that? Undeserving of it?
I trusted you...I would have died to serve your cause, and all you did was lie and use. You didn't care...nobody does... They all just use.
He blinked slowly, staring blankly out until the sky darkened to a blind spot in his vision. Or had Ben lied at all? Surely it was Vader and Palpatine who lied.
Why did he even think that? He knew the truth; Palpatine twisted it for his own ends, but it was still the truth--he just didn't want to believe it.
Because if he did...
That meant the same weakness which had dragged Vader down was coursing through his veins. Inexorable, inevitable failure. The slow, inescapable fall to Darkness...no matter what he did.
Running from it changed nothing; denial wasn't a defense, he just seemed to run in smaller and smaller circles...until there was nowhere left to run at all. And still that reality waited in the shadows--in his shadow.
Here, so close to Darkness, it howled like a wolf in the night, and he heard its call--felt it.
He remembered childhood dreams; a nightmare, always the same, of standing in the pitch black of the desert at night, in the dip of a canyon. Of hearing the scrape of loose shale as it scattered down the incline behind him. Of turning, heart in his mouth, terrified...and seeing the barest outline as it slipped from sight, black against black.
A wolf in the shadows, hunting him... He remembered turning to run, hearing it on the ridge behind him, claws to stone, closing, always closing, its panting breath harsh and rasping, its snarl as it neared, so close that it ran in his shadow...
He blinked away the memory, still vivid enough to tighten his chest.
Was Palpatine right--did Darkness recognize its own?
Too much; too much to assimilate all at once. Too much to find a path through, alone. He could feel it grinding him down every day now, feel his resolve faltering, his denials weakening. What was the point in arguing? Who listened? Not even himself, any more.
He glanced down, mind swimming in frustration, the afterimage of the window dancing in his vision.
The window.
Palpatine's words echoed through his mind: "A prison made to hold a Jedi"
He glanced back to the window, struggling to blink away his blindness as he stared at the transparisteel, seeing the monofilaments which were embedded within the thick pane, rendering it unshatterable. He'd been struggling for weeks to get past the one single, biggest obstacle in his plan: to get out of these rooms. He looked again at the thick, heavy, unbreakable pane.
Still, why was he taking the Emperor's word for that? Why was he taking the Emperor's word for anything?