Now... all that Vader knew for sure was that he could have killed the boy on Bespin and freed himself of a complication. And Luke--Luke could have pulled the trigger and killed his father when Vader had given him the chance onboard the Millennium Falcon. Should have done so, knowing the alternative, knowing that Vader could control him.
But neither had the stomach for it.
No matter what else happened, that would remain; Vader believed it absolutely. Because he knew what he felt. Let Palpatine do his worst; let him try any treachery to turn the boy against him or himself against the boy. Vader had the greater hold; a deeper resonance.
It was the most natural, ingrained compulsion in the galaxy, beyond all conscious choice or manipulations. It was involuntary and instinctive, and no matter what he planned and how far he ran it always kept pace, because it was within him; it ran with the blood through his veins. This was his son...
And that he could not deny.
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To be continued...
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Chapter 23
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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
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The massed ranks of stormtroopers gathered in parade-straight lines on the vast main landing platform of the Imperial Palace, assembled to mark the return of Lord Vader from his extended mission to the Rim Worlds.
Palpatine stood in one of the private halls far above in the South Tower, removed from the ceremony he had ordered, his attention split between that and the near-soundless footsteps which approached now, aware of the tightly twisted ball of Force-presence that accompanied them.
His acolyte walked the length of the long hall in silence, the complex mindset which shaped and drove him an endless fascination to Palpatine--such as he allowed visible, at least: his awareness that the sharp, streaming sunlight was absorbed and dissipated by his relentlessly dark clothes, leaving him feeling little more than a shadow in the light of day. His wary disquiet at being summoned; guarded realization tinged with anticipation which caused him to briefly allow his hand to brush against the lightsaber at his hip, its weight reassuring. Reaching his Master, he dropped easily and lightly onto one knee, back straight.
Palpatine didn't bother to turn, a subtle indication of his awareness, though he gestured with his hand as he spoke. "Rise, my friend."
Luke Skywalker rose and stepped forward beside his Master to watch the preparations below.
"Your father will land within the hour. I have commanded his presence in my Private Audience Chamber. You will also attend."
The boy didn't take his eyes from the preparations below, his voice distant and dispassionate. "Why?"
"Because I order it," Palpatine bit out, gravelly voice clipped in familiar frustration--though he too did not take his eyes from the landing platform.
They remained silent for a time, the boy knowing that Palpatine had more to say and willing to wait until he voiced it...an admirable trait.
Palpatine turned just slightly, his words tight with anticipation. "Will you fight him?"
"Do you wish me to?" Skywalker said instantly.
There was neither fear nor desire in his request, though Palpatine knew what was in his heart.
"You may do as you wish." Palpatine let his permission hang in the air for a long time, though his fallen Jedi did not stir. "But you may not kill him."
This brought the boy's eyes to him, though his face and voice remained guarded and neutral as he spoke, not quite deferential but no longer openly defiant. "You continually accuse me of being less than a Sith, yet when I choose to bite, you muzzle me."
Palpatine finally turned. "You will do as I command."
His feral Jedi remained still, visibly unmoved. Four long months since he had first been freed from the cell, his scars--some faded with the passage of months, others so fresh as to still be darkened by bruises--were a testament to this ongoing battle.
But the war was long since won, Palpatine knew. This was simply a re-drawing of the lines, a testing of limits and boundaries. And in truth he enjoyed it; the game was not over, it had merely moved to a more subtle arena.
He held his Jedi's gaze for long seconds, subduing him by force of will before Skywalker turned away without comment, jaw clenched against the words he so clearly wished to speak.
"Do you understand?" Palpatine pushed.
"Yes, Master," he finally conceded without looking back, voice tightly bound. "Though I don't understand why."
Palpatine smiled at the smoldering frustration evident in those words. But he didn't relent. "Because I need him."
"To do what?" the boy challenged, an edge to his voice again.
"The one thing that you seem incapable of," Palpatine accused, eyes hard; "Obey my commands without question."
Those wonderful ice-blue eyes seethed with repressed resentment at the provocation, but his Jedi said nothing.
Palpatine lifted his eyebrows. "When you can do that, you may take his head."
Skywalker finally turned away, chagrined. Trying to obey, Palpatine knew, but unable to in spite of himself--which was one of the reasons Palpatine valued him, enjoyed his company. The wolf who ate from his Master's hand, walking to heel now--almost.
Occasionally he still sought to run, metaphorically if not physically--and Palpatine still yanked at the chains which held him. But it didn't stop him trying when the mood was on him.
And it did not stay Palpatine's hand when he did.
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Vader walked the long corridor of his Master's private residence in the East Tower without pause, knowing the Palace from long experience, though these were not rooms his Master generally summoned him to. That alone was warning enough, but far more so was the absence of guards outside the Hall which led to the Private Audience Chamber known as the Vermilion Hall.
He narrowed his eyes but walked through the tall carved doors into the oppressive deep scarlet of the extensive unlit hall beyond. The evening's final rays of sun caught the ornate gilding of the carved walls within, long slits of light from the tall windows making the red veining in the black marble floors sparkle. Dozens of perfectly spaced high-backed chairs in dark, ruby hide lined the two long walls, reflected in the polished marble, their regimented lines interrupted by the deep steps which separated the hall into three distinct levels, so that one climbed ever higher to reach the presence of the Emperor.
Always manipulations, subtle or transparent, as Palpatine saw fit. Vader had already braced mentally, wondering how his Master would try to play this, open to all possibilities.
But nothing could prepare him for what lay beyond those doors.
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Standing to one side of the huge, chair-lined hall was a lone figure.
Dressed in midnight blue, he was almost lost in the shadows, his back to the room as he stared out at the distant city beyond, whose dusk sky burned from fiery red to inky black, its fading glow the only light in the darkening gloom. The figure didn't turn when Vader entered, remaining still even when he heard the Dark Lord's heavy footfall falter against the polished marble.
For long seconds, Vader did not recognize his son, did not sense his connection to the Force, so many and so impenetrable were the shields about the boy's mind.
And now--now that he did--it stopped him dead.
The still silence hung heavy in the half-light, expectant... His son turned... and all of Vader's hopes, all his aspirations, all his intentions were lost, shattered like glass against stone by the biting truth which confronted him now.
His son--the idealistic, unwavering, reckless young man who had fought with such passion and resolve above Bespin--his son was gone, ripped away, burned and buried beneath the shadowed tatters of the man who watched him with such cold animosity now, gaunt face marked by multiple barely healed scars.