Again the boy's gaze came to his, but again he wouldn't ask. "I will not turn."
Palpatine noted that willful, contrary mental stance which his Jedi had so adamantly wrapped about himself since he had been trapped here, despite all of Palpatine's reasonable, refined cajoling and sharp, harsh derision.
Every session together the same, and he relished them every one, the opportunity to gradually enforce his doctrine, to throw focused intent against inflexible principles, prying every frailty open, knowing that he was slowly, irredeemably eroding the foundation beneath, poisoning the boy's hope, withering his conviction until all that was left was that obstinate will, guarding nothing, searching for a purpose, waiting to be directed as he saw fit.
The Sith loosed a feral smile. "Then this is your life now. These rooms, our talks."
He watched the boy blanch at that, despairing, but... "I will not turn."
"You are in a prison within a prison within a prison. These rooms are a keep designed to hold a Jedi. The Tower beyond consists of only my most loyal guards and staff. The Palace is a fortress which has never been breached. No one on this planet will help you--everyone here is allowed by my sanction. Everything here--everything--is under my explicit control. You will never again see another living being. Only you and I, only these rooms."
"Why? Why not just kill me?" It was almost a plea.
"I have no need to, and it would be a waste."
"I'll kill you, given the chance." The fact that he was sitting in a weary huddle did nothing to diminish the hostile intent in those words.
Yes, there was something of his father about the boy...a little more each day. The change was wonderfully, inexorable subtle, day on day, week on week. Palpatine smiled inwardly, aware that his Jedi was being ground down; that the boy knew it too despite his show of resolve. His willingness to sacrifice himself or force Palpatine to do the same only underlined his desperation.
"You will feel differently, eventually," he assured, confident.
"No."
"How stubborn you are, my friend; how single-minded. How useful a trait it will be when you serve me."
"You said you didn't need me." His Jedi didn't look up, but the challenge was evident in his voice nonetheless.
"I don't need, I want. There is a difference. I need Vader to keep my Empire subjugated, but he lacks the vision and subtlety to be of any further use to me. He is..." Palpatine paused, ochre eyes rolling in wry consideration, "as I said once before...akin to using a blunt instrument."
.
.
.
Luke raised his chin, offended by the words and the tone and the very presence of the man before him. "I thought you favored that approach. The Death Star was hardly subtle."
He had the satisfaction of seeing a brief shadow pass over the Emperor's face at his mention of this expensive failure, but it was only momentary.
"Like Lord Vader, it was an instrument of its time." The Sith smiled. "And it achieved something far more valuable in its destruction than it ever could have in continued service."
Luke held his eye...
"It flushed you out of hiding." The Emperor leaned forward, as if to impart a secret. "I would have traded half my fleet for that."
"You should have told me." Luke's tone was dry.
"You should have realized," Palpatine countered.
Luke only turned away.
"But now the time for such broad sweeps is over. I have my Empire..."
"Not nearly as completely as you believe."
"On the contrary," the Sith assured. "The pockets of resistance are becoming smaller and smaller. The nature of my Empire is changing. I no longer need a blunt instrument; I want something with more precision. Something capable of carrying my Empire forward--my creation, my genesis... my vision. You are a unique Jedi from an unprecedented line--the final generation of such. Greater power balanced with greater perception--a finer weapon. I find this combination...intriguing."
It was this discomforting mix of praise and de-humanization which Palpatine often practiced now, knowing how uneasy it made Luke--that he had no answer to it, no idea of how to respond.
"I will not turn." Luke was aware that he fell back on these words often now, when maintaining a dialogue became too tiring, or when he simply wanted to provoke.
"I think you will; I've watched you for a long time, my friend, and I know you well. I know how your mind works. I know what drives you and what holds you back, I know what moves and disturbs you. I know your boundaries and the limits you have yet to reach. Now, here, I see your defenses crumbling... You will be a great asset, when I command your obedience."
"I will not..."
"As you have said."
.
.
.
Palpatine felt his annoyance beginning to grate at the boy's intractable stubbornness, well aware of what he was doing and was unwilling to give him control of the conversation so easily. "I want your power and your servitude. But I do not need it. I can wait as long as it takes. I enjoy our little discussions."
His Jedi's expression remained mild, his eyes elsewhere, not rising to the bait. "I will not turn."
Now the Emperor felt his anger begin to heat at the boy's obstinacy. "Of course you will," he spat out. "You know yourself the words are a lie. Repeating them will not make them true or build a defense against me."
.
.
Palpatine's contention burned through Luke's stubborn, weary denials. Was it the truth?
Luke knew that his reserves were crumbling, that he had been eating into them, physically and mentally, since Bespin.
He could sense Palpatine's sureness, his confidence... was it the truth?
He didn't know anymore. He was tired and confused and frustrated, struggling just to stay awake. Tired of fighting when nobody gave a damn. Nobody cared anymore.
Was it the truth?
Was he handing Palpatine control by holding to futile ethics? Could he only fight fire with fire?
Was that the truth?
He had expected a quick end; to say no and be killed. Not this--isolated and disarmed by his own decision. Obligation tying his hands, holding him here far more surely than these walls ever could.
And Palpatine, always preaching, always provoking. Sewing little seeds of doubt and watching them germinate despite Luke's best efforts to ignore and refute.
Always so reasonable, so logical. So ruthless. Death of a thousand cuts.
He could free his own hands, stop this at any time and he knew it... but the price would be Han's life...
.
.
Palpatine smiled, watching closely, delighting in seeing his Jedi's resolve slip ever further, in knowing that his Jedi saw it too.
It had been a long, hard task to prize him from his allies, who had fallen over themselves in their haste to desert him when his precious little Princess had begun to whisper his lineage to others.
A hard task to crumble his blind belief in his teachers, who had shown him only one path, fearful that to show him more would have tempted and tainted him, and in doing so hobbled the only thing which could have saved them, limiting this potentially powerful Jedi so completely and leaving him ripe for the taking because of their own intolerant, paranoid misgivings.
He would show them all the incredible power which they had unknowingly held. Power which could have brought an Empire down, if only they'd had the presence of mind to use it.
And his Jedi--how foolish he must feel now to have trusted them; how betrayed.
All he had left now was himself--his faith in his own ability to know right from wrong, in his own self-control--and even that was crumbling here, in this carefully managed environment.
Now was the time to begin testing this last support. To see if his Jedi could be provoked into a reaction. This was Palpatine's final challenge. He had already seen what the boy was capable of--now he needed to know what had spurred it.