Palace Livery was rich, phthalo blue for the Guard, scarlet for the Royal Guard. Members of the Emperor's personal entourage--and only they--were allowed to wear dark vermillion red, black as Mara often wore, or darkest cobalt blue...and it was this which Skywalker wore now, the relentless block of midnight blue broken only by the narrowest of white lines at his high, straight collar, even his hands covered with fine leather gloves.
He watched her for several seconds longer as she recovered her pace and continued forward, then his pale blue eyes flicked away to stare blankly into the assembled crowd.
When she reached the dais Mara dipped gracefully down onto one knee on the pale cream semi-circle before her master, taking long seconds as she stared down at the ivory marble to regain her composure before looking up, well aware of how amused he was at her uneasy confusion.
She acknowledged that her mission had been a success--all that she knew her master would want aired in public--and took her place, standing to one side of the hall, close to and facing the dais. No one sat in Court save the Emperor. No one approached the dais except by personal invitation and no one ever stood upon it or behind the Emperor save Lord Vader, a few favored, hand-picked guards...and now Skywalker, apparently.
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She stood for the next two hours staring at Skywalker and wondering...what? Everything, she supposed. Why was he here, what had her master told those around him? How long had he been free from the Detention Center? His scars were faded now, but still easily visible--to her at least.
Did this mean Palpatine had broken his Jedi at last? Of course it must; he would never be allowed in Court otherwise. How much was lost, Mara wondered. For her master to trust him so close... How much of Luke Skywalker actually remained?
An image rushed to her mind of the last time she saw him, months ago, hunched against broken bones, blood dried onto bruised skin... She remembered his battered face as he'd turned to her, lost and alone, already having endured so much and so very aware of what was to come, sky blue eyes so expressive, so completely open, even then...
Tonight he never once acknowledged her fascinated stare, though he must have been aware of it.
Or maybe it was lost in the crowd--Skywalker would have appeared in Court from nowhere, instantly in a position of obvious power and favor, clearly placed on show by the Emperor for all to see. Everyone must be whispering, desperate to know who this new stranger was, what he was, why he was here. Everything--every single aspect of his arrival--would have been closely controlled by her master, she knew. From the choice of day and the Courtiers in attendance to his clothes, his comportment, his position on the dais.
There must have been a feeding frenzy of gossip and guesses traveling through the Palace--nobody appeared from nowhere to gain this kind of instant prominence and favor. She regretted now walking so quickly through the Attendant's Hall; many a tale was whispered there, more often than not instigated by the Emperor, wishing to reinvent the truth to better serve his purpose.
all she could do now was watch and listen as the night wore on, Skywalker stood to straight attention, though he looked gaunt and tired. This close, she could see the fading sutures and scars, so others surely must. What reason had her master given for them, if any? Sometimes ten whispered theories were far more powerful than one lie--or one truth.
Court rolled on; petitions for aid, for relief from exorbitant taxes, for right of proxy over neighboring planets, empty or inhabited, for military contracts, for commercial restrictions lifted or levied, all carefully logged for consideration, permissions and warrants handed out only if the incentives were sufficient and it ultimately served Palpatine's interests.
Skywalker remained statue-still, eyes on the middle-distance, face impassive. If he had the slightest interest in what was happening then he hid it very well. But then he'd always done that, she reflected, and it never once meant anything--that she was learning.
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Eventually Court retired, the Emperor rising to walk with insincere graciousness through the bowing Courtiers, pausing once to acknowledge someone specific, as he often did.
Skywalker walked closely behind him, hands to his back, eyes straight ahead. As was her right, Mara fell in with the entourage behind Cordo, the Emperor's Majordomo, and Amedda, his Chancellor. The assembly passed through the high doors opening onto the vast Attendant's Hall, its numbers bowing low in hushed reverence as the regal procession passed, Royal Guards falling in behind.
Finally free and in the wide, grand corridor beyond, Mara hoped to catch Skywalker's eye, but the Emperor turned to her immediately as she set forward.
"You've done well, Mara. Go to my offices with Cordo and make out a full report. I will read it tonight."
And that was it. She'd been none-too-subtly dismissed, Palpatine turning away to continue down the corridor to the long staircase which led to the restricted habitation levels, Skywalker not once looking back.
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It was well after midnight when she made her way as casually as possible through the privileged habitation levels of the South Tower and to the sprawling Perlemian Apartments which were once Skywalker's prison, now listed as his official quarters.
When she reached them there were four Red Guard--the Emperor's personal regiment--at the main doors. All senior apartments were guarded of course--for the occupants' safety, it was assured, though why exactly it was necessary in the elite enclave of a fortified Palace, no one chose to ask. And if, in keeping others out, the guards also incidentally kept the apartments' inhabitants in, well then that was pure coincidence.
The Red Guard were conspicuous in their presence rather than the more familiar blue-liveried Palace Guards leaving Mara to wonder, as she suspected everyone else did, whether it was a compliment or a containment that kept the Emperor's own regiment at Skywalker's door. The tall double doors themselves were open though, as was customary here, low light pooling in the wide main corridor beyond.
Taking the completely irrelevant card copy of her report from her pocket and tapping her nails across it whilst trying to look officious and annoyed, Mara walked directly up to the door, nodding at the guards there and relying on her position and her familiarity to them, to get her through unchallenged.
No one stopped her as she moved quickly into the entrance hall, hesitating as a regular Palace servant walked casually from a door at the far end of the corridor.
A voice from the staff offices to her immediate left just inside the entrance turned her head.
"May I help you, Commander?" It was a tall, wide-set and dark-haired senior aide Mara recognized as Wez Reece.
Glancing towards him she saw a second aide she didn't know leaning back in his chair to peer out at her. To the far end of the corridor the servant peered back from his walk between rooms, squinting curiously.
Everything seemed oddly settled, as if creating the pretence that it had been in existence here for a long time, though there was a fragility to it, a nervousness.
There were no lights in any of the rooms off the main corridor, but she knew he was in here somewhere; that he was still awake, brooding...
Reece had managed to insert himself between Mara and the apartment beyond by this time, his arm politely out to guide her to the waiting room opposite without ever being so impolitic as to touch her. Senior as he was, he had nowhere near her status within the Emperor's retinue.
"No," Mara replied simply as she took a step to the side, feeling no necessity to explain herself further considering their difference in rank.
Still, it was interesting that he was here at all. He was, she knew, ex-military; Special Ops-turned-bodyguard-turned-Aide, his senior rank in the Emperor's household reflecting his unique mix of skills. And now he was here, clearly assigned to Skywalker. Not your average Personal Aide for not your average Personal Aide position, Mara reflected wryly. She thought momentarily of Mauwel, Lord Vader's Majordomo and also an ex-military man. But the difference was that Mauwel's loyalties lay strictly with Vader, who had found and recruited him, just as Reece's loyalties lay very much with the man who had recruited him--and that wasn't Skywalker.