The boy shook his head slowly but didn't look up. He was so close now, so close to surrender. Palpatine could feel his despair, his desolation, his desperation. It drew him in, intoxicating, like a drug. "Why is this so hard? It's nothing; only you and I are here. Whether you sit or kneel, there is no difference, the only difference is in your mind."
.
.
"No! No different! Only different in your mind." The voice of his old Master saying those same words with such scorn floated into Luke's head. Had they really been spoken to him? It seemed so long ago...another lifetime. He struggled to remember his old Master's name...but it was gone, lost to him now.
As if reading his thoughts, Palpatine pushed on, his voice so benevolent. "The reluctance you feel is the relic from an old life...a life which is irrevocably gone now, and you know it. Are you sure it was ever your own, or were you fighting someone else's battle? Fighting their battles, when they have abandoned you to fight yours, alone."
A breath escaped him, more than a sigh but less than a moan, and Palpatine leaned forward, enraptured, grinning in anticipation as Luke wavered at the very brink.
Was it so terrible to kneel?
Yes.
Oh but he wanted the water. He needed the water. Palpatine was right, nobody cared. Why was he fighting when nobody cared? It was such a small thing, to kneel. It was nothing, not anymore. He was nothing, so how could it matter? Just kneel and take the water--what does it matter?
Because if you do this now, you hand control of your life over to him. Forever. If he knows he can beat you once, he'll do it again and again and again. You know that.
He licked dry lips with dry tongue.
But he needed the water. The room was spinning now and he knew it wasn't just the drugs. He'd grown up in the desert; he knew what systematic dehydration was. He needed the water.
And it was right there...right there!
If you do this, you've given him control. No matter what happens, no matter where you go, you will never truly leave this cell.
You will never leave this cell.
Luke was vaguely aware that he was rocking slightly, so torn by conflicting emotions was he, so desperate to act, to make a choice.
Choose!
Take the water. It's right there. Right there!
Kneel and drink the water... what does it matter? You'll kneel eventually--you know that now--you know it's the truth.
Kneel, and you'll walk out of this cell tonight.
He glanced up at the Emperor and saw...
Saw the cold black soul behind those cruel yellow eyes. Saw his gratification, his rapture at Luke's struggle, his anticipation of dominion.
Outrage and resentment and frustration crystallized into cold fury. With a suddenness that was startling, Luke reached out through the Force and launched the glass with fierce violence against the wall, shattering it to tiny shards which exploded back in an outburst of water and sharp crystal shards.
The Emperor half-rose, the blind fury of denial in his eyes and Luke was, for once, almost on his feet, incensed, as the lightning shocked toward him.
For the first time, he absorbed the blast: channeled it and pushed it back so that it crackled towards the Emperor, grounding on the lightning still being thrown towards him, tendrils sparking, spears burning back through Palpatine's defenses to sear cloth and skin as both men were pushed apart by the fury of opposing forces, feet sliding over smooth ground.
But his shock at doing this broke Luke's focus, so that when Palpatine drew more power to himself and threw it forward again it hit with brutal intensity, lancing Luke backwards, searing away any thought of resistance.
He was unconscious before he hit the ground, which did nothing to stay Palpatine's wrath.
.
When his Red Guards finally opened the door, the Emperor was still fuming. He turned to the nearest, cold fury in his eyes. "My Jedi wants water. Douse him in it, then drug him."
.
.
.
Luke was shocked back to consciousness by freezing water hitting his face and body with a physical force like a blow, in sufficient quantity to push him backwards. He pulled a stunned breath in, too shocked to even cry out. Someone grabbed his arm from behind and a sharp pain pierced the muscle, making him jerk away, curling up in anticipation of another beating.
But as suddenly as it had begun, the assault ended and the guards were gone, the door locking behind them with its familiar double-thud and hermetic hiss.
For several seconds Luke could only breathe, the intensity of the ice-cold water in the frigid cell freezing his mind...but slowly the throbbing pain in his arm began to take precedence and he brought his hand up to his shoulder. With a deep sting that made him jump, he touched metal, and gingerly teased out the needle which had broken in his arm, dropping the tip into the water which pooled about him on the floor, his hand trembling with shock and cold.
Doused head to toe with freezing water, his body temperature dropping rapidly, he was already beginning to shiver uncontrollably. He crawled from the pooled water to the corner of the cell, arms about himself. It was only when he noticed the shards of glass that his numb mind realized Palpatine's sick irony...
He had wanted water.
It occurred to him in that bleak moment to wonder if there was a piece of glass large enough to inflict damage, but the knowledge that Palpatine would not allow his Jedi a self- inflicted escape turned his head away; he would only pay for the defiance.
Another shiver wracked his body and he huddled tighter, the grey mist of the drugs darkening his vision as they began to drag him down. He knew he was too cold, knew that he shouldn't sleep--to do so now, like this, would sap what few resources his body had left. But the darkness closed in, and he was too drained to fight.
The cool white of the cell--walls, floor and ceiling--dragged his drugged mind back to memories of Hoth, of the snow falling in blinding flurries, making his vision darken against it. His breath was beginning to mist in front of him as he shivered.
Don't sleep.
His mind began to drift, remembering Hoth, remembering Han giving him Corellian brandy to ward off the cold. He realized his eyes were closed and snapped them open.
Don't sleep.
He remembered Han saying that to him when he'd found Luke in the snow: 'Don't sleep, Luke. Fight it.'
His teeth were chattering...they were actually chattering! He laughed out loud, the noise turning to vapor as it left his mouth.
Time slowed...his head lolled forward, trembling muscles dropping loose, limbs too heavy to support now. Two perfect circles of scarlet dropped to the floor before him as blood dripped from his face, seeming to appear from nowhere in his fading vision. He gazed, transfixed.
Another shiver wracked through him.
Don't sleep...
Don't...
An image unfurled, intensity pushing back at the dim fog of the drugs as it blossomed outwards in absolute silence like a flower opening, smooth and gracefuclass="underline"
.
.
.
...
... ... ... ... ... ... ...
Two marks, perfect circles of deep scarlet...
Blood on snow. His blood--long ago... Wounds freezing long before they scabbed...
Frigid white changing to warm red, staining the crisp clean drifts.