- Into the Storm..........Part 5

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Exhausted beyond all conscious denial or acceptance, Luke slipped willingly down into a state of merciful unconsciousness which freed him from cold, harsh reality, and so was unaware as others whispered into the room, hushed footsteps dragging scarlet smears across the blood-spattered floors.

In the still silence they gathered about him and with infinite care lifted his inert form to carry him in quiet reverence from the carnage.

Palpatine paused alone a moment longer, loathed to relinquish the rapture of the moment.

The boy's father had killed many times with the Force, as he had himself, but this had been different. He had forgotten how inspiring it could be.

First blood was always an enthralling, enrapturing moment; total surrender of rational reason to raw emotion, powerful, empowering.
But this, the culmination of so long and desperate a struggle, the fracture point, the pivotal moment when all previous beliefs and convictions fell away, this had been… like art created- sublime.

Worth every second of denied fulfilment.

The boy was the realisation of everything that his father should have been - raw potential ascended. Without compromise this time.

It was at once terrifying and exhilarating to bend such power to one's will. To control it and not have it control you - destroy you. Like taming a tornado; elemental, empowering.
Only now was he grounding after the high of his feral Jedi's spectacular fall from grace.

Finally he could move forward and train the boy in the ways of the Sith, make him everything his father should have been- would have been, had Kenobi not cut him down.

His father…

Palpatine sighed wistfully as he finally walked from the cell, the silent little entourage gone now. He walked slowly to the waiting turbolift, lost in considerations.

It would be interesting to try to keep them both, father and son. To hold them both and play them against each other until one of them finally snapped.

But Skywalker's power was too great, eclipsing all other considerations. It would require his full attention to control his Dark Jedi for some time yet, to ensure that he was brought fully to heel. Now was a dangerous time; Skywalker was more than a Jedi, but not yet a Sith, not yet deferring completely to his new Master's will.

It would, he knew, be better that he break this final link; not risk emotional complications with one for whom this had always been a flaw.

And yet… It appealed to his twisted sense of possession…

The rule had been laid centuries past that there would be only two Sith - Master and apprentice. But Palpatine knew himself beyond such limiting restrictions. They were made to guide those less capable than he. He could achieve more…
Had achieved so much already. And now there were no restrictions to hamper him, no Jedi to obstruct his plans. No 'Son of Suns' to hinder him, all prophetic predictions laid to rest by his own hand.

Palpatine entered his Jedi's apartments, cold from their long empty spell as he had shaped his Jedi into his Sith. He smiled at that- not quite Sith yet - but no longer Jedi; not for some time. Though he liked the designation- ironic now. His final revenge on those who had thought to contain him.
He must, after all, call his new apprentice something, and why not this; his feral Jedi, tamed now. Bound and brought to heel

He entered the dark room where his Jedi lay now in the huge, high bed, the reflected flickering of the firelight casting writhing shadows over his still form. Pale, bloody, bruised skin against perfect white.

So still did he lay that the white linen seemed draped about him like a shroud, the opulent surroundings of carved wood and rich, dark, heavy fabrics not quite able to displace the disquieting atmosphere, as cold and silent and still as the tomb.

The Emperor's thin lips pulled back from yellowed teeth. Yes, Lord Vader could be ordered to return soon- he had a very important task to provide for his Master, one only he could fulfil. He would enable Palpatine's new Jedi to cut this final tie himself, a conclusive test of his absolute loyalty, of Palpatine's unconditional control, of his Jedi's mastery over its greatest weakness.
A trial as their kind had always tested themselves- their abilities, their allegiance, their convictions.

A duel. To the death? Perhaps. If only in intent…

He so wanted to loose this wild thing, this wolf. Wanted to see if he had tamed it enough that it would come to heel when he called.

Wanted to unleash it just to see it fight.

He would need to begin training the boy in the ways of the Sith immediately; equip him with the skills to match his power. Power alone was not enough; that was Vader's way, to push through with incredible brute strength, to get the job done effectively, but with neither finesse nor élan. The blunt instrument.

Incredibly powerful and infinitely more experienced than his son. A deadly combination, proving effective time and again.

Skywalker would need a great deal to counter it. But Palpatine had studied him from afar, as soon as he had learned the name of the pilot who had destroyed his Death Star with a single, impossible shot. Studied him without giving the name over to his father - first as a new enemy, then more recently, long before Vader had tried to hide his own gaping weaknesses and subtle treacheries behind his suggestion to turn the child, as a possible apprentice.

Watched Skywalker's progress through the ranks of the Rebellion long before he noted the boy's latent Force talents emerging; noted his fast mind, steady under fire, his focus, always keeping his eye on the end goal.

Attributes which could easily be applied to the art of the duel.

A great duellist fought like a chess master, always keeping his eye on the larger picture, on the move ten steps ahead from where he was now, driving his opponent from check to check, maintaining the impetus, always pro-active, compelling his opponent to be re-active, forcing a mistake. Speed in mind and body, refinement of technique. The fine blade.

Vader had commented that their duel on Bespin had revealed the boy to be far more experienced and capable than he had expected. Knowing now that Yoda had trained him, Palpatine could well understand why; the wily old Jedi Master had always excelled at training Padawan in lightsaber technique.

But some things could not be taught. The boy must have some innate skills in order to have faced down and out-manoeuvred a trained Jedi-turned-Sith of Vader's ability, turning what should have been a very short and decisive victory into a near-fiasco. Probably the same focus and composure, the same mental speed and agility which made him an exemplary fighter-pilot.

Since the boy obviously had natural ability and Master Yoda had already unwittingly aided the Emperor immensely in completing his basic training, it was left to Palpatine only to hone that skill, to teach him to find his strengths and utilise them, to read another's weaknesses and exploit them.

Lord Vader had few and he disguised them well, but the Emperor was quietly confident. He did not wish to lose Vader- the idea of owning both Vader and Skywalker still held appeal. But if he must sacrifice one to control the other, then it was Vader he would surrender. His new Empire could be built with Skywalker in a way it never could with Vader. He would be harder to control than his father, but the gains would outweighed the risks.

And in the chess game of absolute dominion, one should willingly surrender even major pieces in pursuit of one's final goal.

He had time enough to prepare the boy, to lay in place the skills necessary to counter Vader. After that, well then the boy was on his own.

Yes; speed and technique against brute force and experience.

His two highest-value pieces - would he be forced to relinquish one in order to possess the other? Already he smiled in anticipation-

If he was to sacrifice Lord Vader to secure his son's loyalty, then he should at least be entertained by the spectacle. If Skywalker couldn't defeat Vader, Palpatine had lost nothing; he still had Lord Vader…and this moment. This realization of unrivalled dominion, the memory of his Jedi's magnificent, explosive, incomparable fall still fresh enough to instigate a burning burst of energized adrenaline.

And even in death, Skywalker could still serve a purpose...

As he had done when his Jedi had first arrived here, Palpatine reached out to rest his hand on its forehead, to feel again that locus of power, intoxicating, potent, addictive.

But there was something else there now, disconnected and distinct, like oil on water.

Darkness imbued his Jedi's contact with the Force. A razor-sharp focus, intensity magnified and expanded by it, bringing a gratified smile to Palpatine's thin lips, which vanished abruptly as another thought occurred, compulsive and compelling.

He should kill him; kill him now while he slept.

He was too powerful, too great-a risk. He remembered again Skywalker's biting accusations in the cell- that it was he who prowled through Palpatine's darkest nightmare visions, he who had been the threat hanging over the Sith's head for so long. He who was Palpatine's demon in the darkness, the wolf who hunted in the shadows... and he knew it.

He should kill him. Destroy that nightmare vision once and for all.

His thoughts turned momentarily back to his own Master, killed in his sleep by an apprentice too powerful to contain. Palpatine rubbed a sharp nail over his thin lips as the memory turned into a cruel smile.

But his Master had been careless, to trust his apprentice so readily, to allow him so much free will. Overconfidence had made him blind to the possibility of betrayal. Palpatine would never make that mistake. His Jedi would be closely watched, tightly controlled, any defiance ruthlessly dealt with.

Yes, he would keep the boy, let him live. The past months had been exhilarating, invigorating. His raw power, his wilful, obstinate refusal to obey would always make him difficult to control - but the thrill of an apprentice who had the potential to turn on him in a way that Vader never had was in itself stimulating.

He had owned a trained attack dog for too long, Palpatine realised - it was powerful and it was pitiless, but it always came to heel.

Now he had a wolf - unbroken and unpredictable and craving to run.

Would it ever walk to heel as its father had?

Vader simply didn't have the will to challenge his Master directly; he never had. Palpatine's hold over him, instilled in childhood, had always been too great. He may covet total power, crave it, make subtle, veiled moves against his Master in pursuit of it, but his desire and his audacity were worlds apart. He had never challenged the Emperor directly, had never faced him down, had never drawn blood as his son had, both literal and figurative.

Again Palpatine wavered, indecisive in the face of this genuine threat…but how could one destroy such compelling power, fascinating in its wilful defiance.

Wildly volatile though…difficult to contain under pressure. And still in ascendancy, only just finding its way, the path being carefully meted out by Palpatine. Was he teaching his executioner, as Darth Plagueis had?
Would he always be able to curb and restrain it?

But it was so incredibly alive; provocative, mesmerizing.

Greater risk for greater gain.

And such gains; he had sensed that earlier, as his Jedi had called the stormy Darkness to him, had first truly used it and not allowed it to use him.

The air itself had crackled with power, raw and raging. A new current in the Darkness, feral and unrestrained, opening a new portal. Power had come rushing through and Palpatine had bathed in its reflected glory, had felt himself renewed and invigorated by the vital inrush, felt his own barren soul nourished and gratified by this intense, distinct new consciousness in the Darkness, his own lust for power momentarily satiated by proximity to this focused, dynamic influx.

Power which would soon be equal to his own, backed by that driving, singular will.

Power which was a real threat.

Again Palpatine hesitated, indecisive…

But he did not want to destroy that which he had invested so much in creating. He was well aware that his desire to possess may be influencing his decision, but he was prepared to kill him if he had to. The boy was simply too powerful to risk any insubordination.

Palpatine had learned from his own Master's very costly mistake. It had, after all, been Palpatine who had taken a steel assassin's blade to the throat of Darth Plagueis.
Silent steel rather than a lightsaber, whose distinctive sound would have given its victim a moment's warning. He had identified the most suitable tool for the job, unbound by the ingrained tradition of a lifelong formal education in the Force.

The fact that Skywalker too had been trained only in adulthood rather than from birth had given him a similarly unexpected advantage, in that he did not rely too completely on the Force, preferring to take a more balanced approach, applying that quick, adaptive mind to think his way around a situation rather than fall immediately back on Force.

Yes, Skywalker too would use stealth rather than brute force, would use every weapon at his disposal, which gave him an unpredictable edge in any conflict.
The Emperor smiled, almost affectionate; in this they were very much alike.

He stared down at the boy, who lay absolutely still mind and body, lost in the void between unconsciousness and exhaustion.

"Rest, Dark Jedi. Tomorrow is the start of a new life." Using the Force, he pushed the boy into deep sleep.

And this time, his Jedi did not fight back.

Taking his hand away only reluctantly, Palpatine's eye was drawn to two dark droplets of blood by the boy's head, perfect circles of scarlet against the snow white linen, drawing him in, hypnotic…

The vision took him, unfurling like a silent explosion, ripping reality aside-

… … …
… … … … … … …

He saw the wolf in the night, the feral creature which had haunted his visions for two long decades, whispering through the darkness, wild and capricious. In a flurry of shadows it was gone, as it always was, and he stared at the empty stillness…

He turned, uncertain, the silence profound.
Knelt beside him in mute stillness was his fallen Jedi, eyes turned down in submissive defeat, a dark, heavy cloak of dense black fur draped about him, absorbing all light.

The wolf in the night…pull the leash too tight and he will bite.

The Jedi stood, the confining sable cloak he wore slipping from his shoulders to reveal scarlet slices slashed deep into his arm, dripping dark drops from his fingers as he wordlessly held out his hand.
Palpatine's eyes were drawn inexorably down to the lightsaber in his Jedi's hand, smeared blood red, the colour of anger and passion and betrayal…
Vader's saber- would the boy ultimately turn on his father?
Why did he give the saber to Palpatine?

Take it.
His feral Jedi said, though his lips did not move.

Palpatine looked again to the lightsaber, perfect scarlet droplets seeping over the inactive hilt, pooling on the floor at Palpatine's feet, soaking a stain into the trailing hem of his cloak...

Liquid life, rich and viscous.
Liquid death, weeping ruby tears.

Death…

… … … … … … …
… … …

The vision collapsed into itself, dragging the air from Palpatine's lungs, and he was stood again in the still silence of the shadowed room, staring at the twin droplets of blood.

He remained motionless for some time, contemplating the vision.

Would the boy kill his father then? Was that an unalterable, immutable event?

Why would he hand over Vader's saber? Had Palpatine asked him to do this - was it proof that he had complied?

What had he seen- a possible future or a warning knell?

Either way, it was no vast surprise- the price of great power was greater risk, a greater effort to control it, greater vigilance. He was comfortable with this; he even looked forward to it. A game of high stakes; the only game worthy of his attention.

If it was a warning, it would become clear in time. Forewarned was forearmed, and gifted with the enlightenment of this vision, he now had the knowledge to shape its reality.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Luke dragged himself back from the void slowly, knowing absolutely that everything had changed. Not just himself; everything. Nothing could be the same ever again.

Reality seeped in, demanding attention, but he left it be and lay deathly still, eyes shut, muddy brown light filtering through closed lids.

All around him Darkness swirled, every surface composed of it, every object imbued with it. But this was no longer the wolf howling in the pitch of night - instead it cowered and whimpered, awaiting command.
He knew the power it wielded though, the power it had so readily relinquished. Knew what it was capable of… what he was capable of.

Was it this realisation which had tilted everything?

No - something else brooded; something preordained pushed inexorably onward like the cogs of a lock falling into place.
He listened within, attuned every fibre of his being to this deep stillness… He could sense it, ancient and primal, like the galaxy breathing - like life itself.

All things changed, evolved - this was the nature of life. To be alive was to be in a state of transformation. Mutation. This driving power dragged ever onward and he was powerless against its mass, inertia created at the dawn of time, like trying to stop the galaxy revolving.
Everything was changing. Nothing could escape. Nothing remained untouched. Not even the Force, neither Light nor Darkness.

The Darkness imbued him now. It was a part of him. He was part of it, attuned.

It buzzed in the air, like atoms colliding, potent, persuasive. Incredible, unlimited power searching to ground, desiring to be used, offering without judgement, without device.

It waited, expectant.

He neither summoned nor rejected it, but listened instead to the sound of his own breathing, light and shallow. To the wind which gusted a gale outside, hurling sheets of hail against the thick panes in the windows. Above that, he could hear a fire crackling in the hearth and above that, murmured whispers close by, perhaps in the room, perhaps not.

He remained absolutely still in body and soul, strangely detached in the face of his own downfall, all emotions gone. As if he had suffered so much torment for so long that there was simply nothing left to give - no regret, no shame, neither disappointment nor contrition.

Yes, he had turned on them, but… what had they expected? He couldn't say that they didn't deserve their fate. He'd hated them- hated his own weakness, conscience binding his hands when he knew he could have stopped them at any time.
Palpatine had been right- it had been in his blood for so long, held in check. It was inevitable that he would have lashed out eventually; it was just a matter of when- and how.

He couldn't even feel guilty, his actions so far beyond such finite, limited emotions that they simply defied reaction - there was nothing of equal significance that he could possibly feel… so he felt nothing at all.

He recognised distantly that some vital part of himself had shut down, unable to deal with the enormity of his actions. Fallen silent leaving only a glacial emptiness in its place, possessed of a stillness like the pitch of night, the loss too deep to even begin to contemplate.
But even this knowledge did not concern him, viewed as it was from a detached perspective, as if he were stood outside of himself watching some surreal dream unfold, untouched by its events, wrapped about by an empty, resigned acceptance, distant and disconnected.

Should he feel bitter? Angry that all this had been taken, dissected with faultless surgical precision, slice by painful slice, flawless in its execution? It had been ruthless and pitiless, every rip and tear slashing deeper, mutilating, bleeding him dry until all that was left was the empty shell of a distant memory, dry as the desert dust.

Nothing was left. Nothing at all - he couldn't even bring himself to try to remember what he'd lost; to say - to even think - his own name, he realised.

He was at once appallingly empty and absolutely calm.

And in some strange way relieved; it was over now. It was finally over. The fact that he was still alive was… unexpected - unwanted. But it was over - he recognised that.

Was this acceptance - surrender? He had thought it would be bitter and grinding, barbed and biting, his soul ripped from his body.

But in truth, he felt nothing at all. Absolutely nothing.

Only tiredness - a profound, bone-deep exhaustion from the bottom of his soul. The dull, cramping ache of a beaten body at the very edge of its endurance - and that strangely welcome now, his only constant, his only way to be sure that he was still alive at all.

The still air was warm against his skin, the surface he lay on soft and yielding. It was so long since he had lay on anything but the cold, hard floor that this felt unnatural and uncomfortable. He knew the thought should fill him with outrage, but it didn't. It was just a fact, insignificant in the greater scheme of things.

The warmth lulled him so that he wanted nothing more than to follow it's lure into the empty comfort of sleep, but Darkness swirled like the sky before a storm, particles charging, a susurration of energy searching to ground and he knew what this was, though he had never sensed it as such before.

The whisper of heavy cloth on the hard floor still had the power to send a pang of trepidation through his body, jaw tightening, heart drumming against dark memories.
Light footsteps became silent over deep rugs as they drew nearer and he knew that he was being watched now, though he felt no particular need to open his eyes. He had all the information he needed without resorting to such crude senses.

So he remained as he was, allowing the Force to act about him, receiving the information passively without acting upon it or enhancing it further. For a long time, the figure remained beside him as he lay still, aware that it was studying him, that it knew he was awake.
Eventually, reluctantly obeying the knowledge that it was expected of him, he opened his eyes, dry and gritty, so that he had to blink several times against fatigue.

"Dress him." Palpatine's gravelly voice was harsh and hard, cold as the grave - exactly as he remembered.

The Emperor turned and walked from the room, his cloak dragging over heavy rugs which padded cold marble.

He lay for several seconds longer, still desperate to sleep; for the vacant void which numbed both mind and body. But it would only delay the inevitable, and bitter experience had taught him how pointless that was, so he rolled painfully onto his side and sat upright on the edge of the high bed, aching muscles mewling their objection as he glanced about the room for the first time, recognising it now.

His bedroom. In his quarters, in the Imperial Palace. His own personal gulag.

At least before, his prison had been the size of this cavernous room. Now it wrapped itself tightly about his mind, stifling his thoughts, space for neither absolution nor hope here- but then he deserved no better.

It had been richly refurnished with the same sullen, dark fabrics and heavy, ornate furniture as before, huge paintings on the walls, the colours darkest grays and royal blues. Even this subdued pallet seemed incredibly intense after so long in that blank white cell, colour the ultimate luxury.

A huge fire was set in the grate for the first time that he could remember, blacking the stone behind, blasting out heat against his bare skin, baking the air dry and lifeless.

He took all this in through distant, listless eyes- it was unimportant.

Three dark-robed acolytes had remained in the room, looking expectantly at him.

"Leave." He ordered simply, his voice low and broken, his throat too long without water.
They bowed and backed up several steps before turning away, pausing to bow again deferentially before closing the doors silently behind them, despite the Emperor's order.

He had expected no less, having seen their thoughts so easily; they feared that which they could not comprehend, seeking to appease and curry favour, serving darkness in any form, be it intimidation or oppression, power or persecution. Let the Emperor rail against them - they were of little consequence, below his consideration.

He rose to stand upright, the world swimming momentarily before he clutched at the Darkness to steady himself. It answered immediately, an inrush of strength to failing muscles, containing their knife-sharp spasms. The pain did not leave him, but it no longer mattered.

He limped awkwardly down the ornate mosaic corridor to the dark marble 'fresher and washed, fingers catching over raised scars, noting that his wounds had been sutured, broken bones knitted. Even this did not touch him, offering neither relief nor reassurance; they could be broken again.

He knew that from experience too.

The clothes in his dressing room were rich and heavy, opulent yet refined, midnight blue and raven black. By the time he had dressed, he had forgotten what they looked like.

There was no mirror here - but then he did not care to see his own reflection anymore; was uncertain that he would even recognise it.

He walked to the tall carved double-doors at the far side of the bedroom, which swung open without visible aid as he neared them. Through the cavernous withdrawing room without a single glance; through the echoing emptiness of the dark hall beyond, whose tall doors were open to him for the first time now, and out into the main corridor which he had only once before seen.

Without looking about him, he walked its length to a receiving room close to the entrance, tall carved doors open in anticipation. Glancing briefly to the main entrance and the Palace beyond, he turned away and entered the room whose high, vaulted ceilings flickered as shadows danced in the fluid firelight.

The Emperor stood before a bank of tall, narrow windows, his back to the room, staring out into the implacable fury of the night storm beyond. He stirred, turned just slightly, expectant.

Walking the length of the long hall toward the Emperor, Luke Skywalker stepped down onto one knee before his Master, head bent, eyes to the floor.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Mara Jade returned late into the night, landing on the polished black platform on the expansive Palace roof, close to the South Tower. It immediately reminded her of him - of the night he'd broken out. A small smile touched her lips at the memory of how easily he'd run riot through all the carefully-laid Palace defences.

Her smile disappeared immediately at the memory of what it had cost him. How she had simply walked away- don't think about that.

Don't think… but that was all she seemed to be doing recently - thinking about him. It had been easy to dismiss though, her just-completed mission having been so intrinsically linked to Skywalker, the second time she had performed the same exercise this year. Which was of course why she was thinking of him now - that and no other reason.

Filling her mind with a hundred pointless thoughts rather than acknowledge the single one that was in her mind, Mara entered the Tower, still buzzing with life even at this hour. The Imperial Palace never slept - like the Empire, it existed around the clock, a strange, heightened reality completely isolated from the true reality which existed outside of these impregnable walls. One could live one's whole life here, never once venturing beyond the sprawling, monolithic bulk of the Main Palace if one so desired. Many lesser civil servants and Palace staff did just that, required by mandate to remain within the Palace grounds as long as they served the Emperor, whole communities and infrastructures building up, level on level, within the Main Palace below.

The Towers were strictly for the elite of the Emperor's staff, providing select accommodation for the privileged few as well as workspace, ceremonial and assembly chambers, both official and informal, for military and planetary leaders, diplomats, system representatives and of course, the Royal Houses. Every level of bureaucracy and authority was catered for here; nothing escaped the Emperor's scrutiny.

Despite the late hour, Mara knew absolutely that Court would still be in session, and that her master would expect her immediate attendance.

She made her way smoothly through the Tower, pausing at all the usual checkpoints, caught unawares by a few new ones. But then she'd been away nearly four months - almost as long as Lord Vader - so it was no real surprise that security changes were in effect as her master was never less than vigilant in such things.

But their type was of interest; not the usual, obvious places - entrances and purpose-built guardrooms - but natural bottlenecks and blind curves, easily defendable points. And plain-clothes guards - Mara's trained eye could spot them easily, milling about with Palace staff, watching rather than checking ID's, and always a second bottleneck around the next corner after a checkpoint, a crossfire between which one would be caught with no cover and fired on without danger to either checkpoint, she realised. Less military-training and more like guerrilla warfare, Mara reflected.

Definitely a new security officer in the Palace. She narrowed her eyes at that, mentally running through her most recent recollection of the Imperial Officers clambering for promotion. She could name at least a dozen off-pat, though none who would create this kind of security profile.

Lost in thought, considering who her new rival would be - her master always liked to keep his high-ranking staff in opposition one way or another - she continued up to the tenth level, where Court would be in effect.

She passed through three new security stops before entering the Attendant's Hall, full of noise and colour, her own plain black one-piece drab by comparison. But not without a reference as to her own standing, which ensured her a few curious glances as she made her way through the gathered throngs.

People spent years of their lives whispering promises and secrets in this Hall, making pacts and alliances, without once gaining entry to the coveted Throne Room beyond. Mara too had spent years of her life in countless disguises wandering this room, listening for her master. Automated personal jamming and counter-jamming devices were rife in this hall of whispers, so that the only reliable way to actually gain information was to walk among those who were all too eager to barter it for the slightest chance of recognition in Court.

She walked quickly through them now, recognising many, recognised by only a few, and they too shrewd to pass such information on.

At the tall double doors which hung floor to ceiling, she paused, nodding at the Royal Guards who kept a constant vigil here, whether the Emperor was 'En Court' or not. She didn't bother to do anything more; her presence would have been noted as she came down the high-security corridors, permission sought as she entered the Attendant's Hall. If her master required her, she would be admitted. If not, then she would wait.

The tall doors swung open, many heads turning back to view the new entry to Court, squinting at the light which streamed into the oppressive, darkened room, the rich gold walls glowing, incandescent before this burst of light.

At the head of the room was a raised dais which no-one was allowed to step onto without express permission, was a half-circle of pale terassotti marble, it's other half, set into the floor before the dais, together forming a complete circle like a pale moon. It was there her master sat whilst holding Court, from his precious Sunburst Throne, a centuries-old artifact appropriated from the decimated Jedi Temple.

Forming the back of the throne from the ground to well above Palpatine's head was a massive beaten gold sun whose edges flared out in faceted sunbursts, the rich opulence of the precious metal catching the faintest light to glow richly, rendered in sublime, exquisite detail at the Emperor's back.

Beneath his feet was the heavy iconic footrest he always used here; his feet never touched the floor but rested instead on a substantial form carved with a complex representation of the galaxy he ruled, the inference hardly subtle.

Mara walked forwards without a sideways glance, her eyes and her attention only for her master.

She was five steps fro the dais when her stride faltered…

Stood tall and straight just behind and to the side of the throne, expression passive, hooded eyes intent on her, was Skywalker.

He wore a dark, plain suit fastened to the side in military style with neither rank nor insignia, the fabric and cut flawless, perfectly fitted, lending an air of indifferent affluence, of casual, confident association.
Palace Livery was rich, pthalo 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 behind the Emperor - save herself, Lord Vader, a few favoured, hand-picked guards... and now Skywalker, apparently.

She stood for the next two hours staring at Skywalker, 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 Centre? His scars were faded now, but still very 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, she 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 over 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, eyes so expressive - so completely open, even then…

Tonight he never once looked to her, never 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 no-where, instantly in a position of obvious power and favour, 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 be a feeding frenzy of gossip and guesses travelling through the Palace. Nobody appeared from nowhere to gain this kind of instant prominence and favour. She regretted now walking so quickly through the Attendant's Hall. Many's a tale was whispered there, more often than not instigated by the Emperor, wishing to reinvent the truth to better serve his purpose.

She watched and listened 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. 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 permission to mine or to till. For right of proxy over neighbouring 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.

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 with Cordo, the Emperor's Majordomo, and Amedda, his Chancellor, as 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.

It was well after midnight when she made her way as casually as possible through the privileged habitation levels 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- on 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 one thing that stood out here was that it was the Red Guard and not blue-liveried Palace Guards who stood to watchful attention. The tall double-door themselves were open, 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, trying to look officious and annoyed, she walked directly up to the door, nodding at the guards there, relying on her position and her familiarity to the guards to get her through unchallenged.

No-one stopped her, and 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 to her immediate left turned her head.

"May I help you, Commander?" It was a tall, wide, dark-haired senior aide Mara recognised as Wez Reece.

Glancing to the staff offices just inside the entrance, Mara 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 glanced back from his walk between rooms, squinting curiously - everything seemed oddly settled, as if creating the pretence that it had been in existence here 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 where he was; that he was still awake, brooding…

Reece had managed to insert himself between Mara and the apartment beyond by this time, 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 said simply, taking 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 - he was, she knew, ex-military. Special Services-turned-bodyguard-turned-Aide, his senior rank in the Emperor's household reflecting this. And now he was here, clearly assigned to Skywalker.
Not your average Personal Aide for not your average Personal Aide position. She thought momentarily of Mauwel, Lord Vader's Majordomo, 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.

"Are you here on official business? I have no appointment logged." He said doggedly, subtly matching her sideways move to remain between Mara and the apartment's main corridor.

Mara frowned, her annoyance beginning to sound in her voice. "No."

She took another step forward and to the side, Reece again matching her, their dance having slowly proceeded into the apartment's wide corridor.

"My apologies, Commander Jade, but the Commander is receiving no informal visitors at this time. I shall, of course, inform him that you…"

This time, Mara simply walked into him, and to give him his due, Reece still held firm, undaunted. But Mara had subtly tangled her foot between his ankles, so that her forward pressure sent him stumbling backwards as she feigned a stagger, reaching out for him as if to steady herself and overbalancing him in the process. He made a credible grab at her arm, intending to take her with him, but this was no longer his full-time profession and Mara had been intensively trained and in active service all her adult life.

It was a subtle ballet of hidden combat, and good as he was, Mara was past him in seconds, her ingenuous apology quickly muttered as she walked backward down the main corridor and deeper into the apartment, Reece shouting out to her, the second aide setting belatedly forward.

Mara was already halfway down the hallway, intending to turn into the private dining room, when something made her turn to her left to the slightly-open study door, the room beyond dark, though she knew Skywalker was in there. She paused, suddenly uncertain - should she knock? He surely knew she was outside, even without the commotion…

Finally, seeing Reece gathering himself to his feet, she stepped into the dark room, whispering his name,

"Skywalker? Luke?"

Strangely, considering the disturbance, he stood with his back to the door gazing out onto the distant lights of the endless city, not moving as she took another hesitant step forward into the gloom. The dark, fitted jacket was gone, his spotless, high-collared white shirt seeming to glow in the low light.

He half-turned, a slight metallic glint at his hip catching Mara's eye. She glanced down, the thought occurring and being almost instantly dismissed, but no; at his hip… was a lightsaber!

It was dark and matt - brushed perennium, she guessed from the gunmetal colour - its smooth, etched surface inset with polished, finely-inlaid white and yellow gold banding, the finish already marked from use, though Mara was sure that it would have been new when given him. Like everything else Palpatine gifted his Jedi, there were subtle messages even here; a new beginning, a new life.
She wondered how much was lost for her master to trust him with such a weapon…

And finally, realisation slammed into her - of what he was, that he had it. Because there could only be one justification.

Her eyes were still fixed on it when Skywalker finally spoke.

"Yes?" His tone was even, his shadowed expression betraying neither pleasure nor annoyance at her intrusion.

Mara glanced up, suddenly having no idea, none whatsoever, what to say. She wasn't even sure why she was here - only that she had to come.

She took another halting step forward, looking for some kind of recognition, some acknowledgement. In all the time she had known him, he had always made it easy for her, always open, always amicable, even under the harshest conditions. Now she looked for something - anything - which was still recognisably him… but he gave nothing away.

She searched his eyes, uncertain. "I…wanted to…make sure you were okay."
He knew the truth…he must.

He remained still and withdrawn, his face completely without emotion, blue eyes dark in the low light, voice detached and even, "I'm fine thank-you, Commander Jade."

Commander Jade. Only once, in the entire time that she had known him, in all of the long hours and slow days they had spent in enforced company, in all the terrible, relentless trials she had watched him endure when he had been dragged to that cell, had he ever called her by title.
Now he stared, simply stared at Mara, making no other move, not even bothering to turn fully round.

When she didn't move, remaining rooted to the spot, searching for some way forward, some way in, he turned away, eyes flicking to the distant city once more, and Mara was left staring at his back, completely lost. "You…seem…"

He didn't turn, didn't acknowledge her stilted words. She wanted him to shout, to accuse - even that would be better than this, devoid of involvement, of any interest at all in her unexpected arrival. If he would denounce her then she could at least defend, explain, hold out some hope of forgiveness- of acceptance. She reached out mentally across the silent void, searching for that undeniable, intuitive link. For something - some hidden shadow, some hint of emotion, of empathy - something recognisably Luke.

Impenetrable shields barred her way, wrapped tightly about him like armour.

"I'm fine, thank-you." He reiterated evenly without turning, voice and sense blunt with tempered restraint.

"..I…thought…" What? Realistically- what?

Now, here, stood before him, aware of what he had become, what he was capable of…she was reduced to stammering numbly as every deliberation melted into indecision, no idea anymore of what she hoped or felt or intended.

Before she could even begin to pull any kind of coherent sentence together Reece practically burst into the room, two guards behind him.

"Sir..." he said, breathless.

"Ah, Reece." Skywalker said evenly without turning, as if this were the normal way to enter a room, "Commander Jade was just leaving. Perhaps you could manage to show her out?"

Bewildered, Mara turned back to Luke, opened her mouth to speak-

"Good night, Commander Jade." He said with impeccable timing, still staring out into the darkness, the finality of his words stinging.

Frustrated and unsettled, Mara turned to leave, any opportunity to speak further effectively removed by Reece's presence, wondering whether the Aide would dutifully report to the Emperor even this small indiscretion.

Wondering if this conversation defined the extent of her relationship with Skywalker now.

He was, as it turned out, a very difficult man to see - impossible to see alone, Palpatine guarding his new prodigy with jealous attention, making sure no-one spoke to him and he spoke to no-one.

She saw him occasionally in the Emperor's private apartments when they were both summoned there, or in Court of course, when he entered with the Emperor's entourage, looking neither left nor right, walking behind his Master to the dais, waiting at it's base to be invited to stand beside the throne, as he always was.
Never wearing his lightsaber there, she'd noticed - though she often saw him wearing it in the Emperor's presence in more private circumstances, and knew that Palpatine visited him daily whilst he was training with it in the cavernous Practice Hall, so it wasn't from lack of trust. It was, very clearly, a conscious decision on the part of the Emperor, for which she was sure he'd have his reasons, even if she couldn't fathom them.

Certainly everyone in Court was whispering, everyone trying to place him. Nobody did of course - Palpatine had seen to that. No-one even had a name.
Nor would they - Mara herself had been given the task of removing every reference to him from every census; had spent the last few months touring outlying regions and dustball planets ensuring that every record, no matter how small or how fragmented, had been destroyed beyond repair, pixel or physical. Finally she'd joined the several already-activated team to infiltrate Bothawui's closely-guarded private Intel system, the only reliable source of genuinely independent information in the Empire, checking that the details fed to them by Black Sun months earlier were in place and that any remaining independent intelligence, aside from a few non-matching references to the name Luke Skywalker, were gone.

There should have been none anyway - she'd been tasked with slicing into or travelling to every independent information source months earlier, long before she'd ever met him, before his arrival at the Palace. Most information regarding his identity had been removed then, leaving only small threads which never quite added up if traced back.

Now it was all hearsay. And gossip was so easy to spread, when whispered into the right ears; so easy to turn into paranoia.

Only the fanatically loyal Royal Guard who had secured him in the cell beneath the Palace and a few high-ranking individuals knew he truth - and her master would have been very careful to underline his desire for silence, of that she was sure.

He had become a cipher, an enigma - a shadow.

Just like her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

It was mid-morning, grey winter light streaming in through the tall panes of the Practice Hall, a vast, wooden-floored space which Mara herself had used for lightsaber drills in the past. It was of course, permanently off-limits now; had been so for almost four months Mara had heard whispered, Skywalker occupying it every day from dawn to dusk, alone unless Palpatine was there. Practicing - always practicing.

Hour after hour, day after day, week after week. Dedication bordering on obsession.

Mara walked past the six Red Guard who stood to attention outside, not sure if they were there to keep Skywalker in or keep others out. Probably the latter, she decided - there wasn't much that even six Red Guard could do to stop an armed Sith if he decided to leave.

Sith - despite what the Emperor called him in public. But even this fact was becoming familiar now so that, much as she was aware that there was something different about the now-insular Skywalker, something in his mercurial manner and bearing which hinted at a volatile, explosive edge, she'd come to terms with his new status and standpoint - maybe even found it intriguing - in a strictly professional, uninvolved way of course.

She found herself fascinated to see what he would do next, waiting to see when that quicksilver temperament would erupt. But in the two weeks she'd been back, despite his apparent knife-edge disposition, he'd remained coolly detached from everything around him, herself included, so that she had no better idea of him now than the moment she'd been ushered from his quarters that first night.

And she really wanted to know.

So today was a welcome opportunity; Palpatine had ordered her to deliver a message. Yes, she could have done it by com to his apartments or his Aides, but she now had official justification to speak to Skywalker - and she wasn't going to waste it.

With no idea what to expect she entered the hall, eyes drawn to the far side of the massive hangar-sized room.

There, surrounded by six specialist duelling 'droids, was Skywalker, dressed in fitted pants and a tank vest, both immaculate white.

"Stop program." He said quietly, deactivating his lightsaber, all the 'droids freezing in place at the order.

Mara stepped forward, not surprised at the 'droids - they were generally banned in the Palace Towers, but no human could offer fast enough reflexes to challenge a Force-adept, so her master kept these here for his own use. Mara too utilised them from time to time - one at a time though, their reaction times slowed to that of a normal human. Lord Vader used them at their maximum capacity, fighting several at once. She'd seen her master do the same, but…

She frowned uneasily, burning with curiosity, frustrated that he had instantly stopped as she entered the room.

He turned... Now, at this distance, breathing heavily, his growing hair in disarray, he looked very much like the man who had first arrived here long months ago, and without even realising it, Mara smiled easily at him-

He only frowned slightly in reply, clearly wary of her unexpected presence. Her smile fell away, but the tingle in her ribcage was not so easily removed.

"The Emperor commands your presence in the State Room at five." She said simply, still walking forward, her voice echoing in the cavernous hall.

"Fine." He replied tersely, already turning away, back to the stationary 'droids.

Mara kept walking forward though, only stopping when she was within a few feet of him.

He didn't turn back and she didn't leave, the status quo remaining for long moments, in which Mara noted the deep, heavy scars on his arms and back, still new enough to show angry red.

Just as she was about to speak he turned, cutting her off, "Was there something else?"

She bit down on the desire to challenge him at that, knowing that was what he wanted - that the curt interruption was intended to push her away - and instead took a less obvious route. "Are they any good?"

He frowned again, pulling the fine scars on his face, only visible as she neared him. "What?"

"The droids - are they any good?"

He took a breath in, as if counting to ten, then offered in a level, restrained voice, "They suffice."

"Only six?"

He glanced back, annoyed, his expression quite unassuming and very Luke, "That's all there are at the moment."

Mara smiled, realising that he hadn't recognised her sarcasm.

"How about a human opponent?" she unfastened her short fitted jacket, shrugging it off without waiting for an answer.

He looked at her for long seconds, and again she had the distinct feeling that he was counting to ten before speaking.

"I'd say no, but clearly that's not an option." He said dryly as she turned and walked to the armaments store at the side wall. She didn't miss his fast glance up to the lofty ceiling though - to the exact spot where the surveillance lens was hidden.

"Do you know how to use a lightsaber?" he asked, neither interested nor indifferent.

"I know a lot of things." Mara said without looking back.
Reaching the store, she noticed that all six practice sabers were still there, glancing back to look at the saber in Skywalker's hand; it was his own, a live blade.

She took two practice sabers, capable of delivering a fair jolt but nothing more, solid when impacting against another blade, but passing through any other object.

"But I don't play games with live blades." She said, walking back towards him.

"I don't play games." he replied simply, though his tone was not threatening.

She reached him, the plain practice hilt held out in silence.

"I won't hit you." he assured.

"You might change your mind when I get a few good blows in." Mara teased easily, growing more comfortable in his presence again.

He raised an eyebrow to indicate just how unlikely he thought that was, and Mara allowed herself a subtle smile; he was in for a surprise. She was privately confident, having trained with her master since her early teens, intensively enough to hold her own against a Jedi - he had made sure of that.

Finally, reluctant and clearly operating against his better judgement but too curious to turn away, Skywalker threw the dark, matt hilt of his own saber to the side. It didn't arc, but launched smoothly away towards the wall, eventually coming to a gentle, controlled rest on the floor near the corner.

He took the practice hilt, following her to the centre of the room, where she turned about to face him, lifting her hilt up to ready position and igniting the pure white blade.

He did the same, his manner very relaxed and casual.

Mara raised an eyebrow, "And no Force stuff - that includes flips, jumps, accelerated speed, enhancing reflexes and messing with my perceptions."

"Is there anything I can do?" he said politely.

"You tell me." Mara countered. "On one?"

"You need a countdown?"

Mara narrowed her eyes; oh, she was going to enjoy the look in his eye when she landed a blow. "Three, two, o…"

That was as far as she got. He twisted her blade up in his own, powering it to one side and making a half-lunge forward which ended with the tip of his saber an inch from her throat, her own blade batted uselessly away to one side.

"You could have let me say 'one'." She said, mildly embarrassed but determined not to show it.

"You said 'on one'- not after it." He countered evenly, stepping back to ready position, "Again?"

Grinding her jaw, she gathered her concentration up and set her stance ready.

"Do you want to count down?" he invited dryly.

"Are you gonna do that move again?"

"No- I'll do something else this time."

"Fine." She said tartly, "Three, two o…"

She had a slightly tighter hold on her saber to stop him twisting it away this time, pressing her blade to his as the countdown started. None of which helped her as he dropped the tip of his blade, using her increased pressure to allow it to slide partway down hers, pulling it free and up in a horizontal line with his shoulders as he stepped in. The end result was Mara staring at his lightsaber sideways on, an inch off her chest.
Instead of submitting when she knew he could have easily pushed it home, she back-pedalled wildly, knocking his blade aside.

He was fast - he let her knock his blade back, looped it in a wide arc to gain some power and took three short, rapid steps forward, swinging in high from the same side she'd just struck, knowing that all of Mara's force to that side was already spent. The massive blow simply ploughed through her defences, taking her own blade with it, so that although he stopped before he landed the blow to her side, her own saber caught her leg, giving her a jolt.

"Son of a…" She walked in a quick circle on the spot, shaking her trembling leg, much to Skywalker's amusement though he didn't let it show on his face.

Mara narrowed her eyes as she came back round to face him, "You know, the idea of saber practice is to actually practice- as in more than just one blow."

"The idea of lightsaber practice is to learn the most efficient way to duel. The point of a duel is to remove your opponent as quickly as possible, before they remove you." There was a touch of humour in his voice though he was trying hard to repress it.

"Fine." Mara growled through pursed lips, "This time…"

"Maybe you should try without counting."

"Maybe I should."

"Just a suggestion."

"I don't need your suggestions."

"Then you should stop talking and start fighting."

"Maybe you should…" She back-pedalled as he came forward in a burst of speed, five quick blows, nothing too taxing she noticed; easing her in this time, giving her a chance. Which was actually worse than simply being beaten.

Finally seeing her first opportunity, she swung her blade in a high vertical arc to intercept with his chin-

He jerked easily back and to the side, surprising her by grabbing for her wrist and yanking it down as he pulled her towards him, her saber pushed low and to the side by the action. She collided with his shoulder, her body stopped dead by his mass-

"Don't take obvious opportunities," He whispered, holding her to him. "They're probably feints."

With an indignant yell she wrenched free and brought her saber round in a wide sweep which forced Skywalker to jump back in order to bring his blade round fast enough to counter.
The thrill of having swung a blow swift enough to make him think brought a grin to her face as Mara stepped back, moving slowly around him.

"You're half a step too close." He said, grinning now, completely caught up in the game.

"Not for m-"

He launched forward, saber held high, dropping in a heavy blow, but when Mara moved to counter he changed the angle of the swing to bring it in almost horizontally at neck height. It took every bit of Mara's skill to move fast enough to counter - and even as she did so, she saw her error.
Unable to do otherwise, she caught his blade at the base of her own, pushing out and down.

Skywalker nimbly stepped back, his weight on the same foot as he twisted three-sixty and roundhoused his own blade down to her ankles, the blow given momentum by Mara's own defence.

She made a jump back but wasn't nearly fast enough to counter, all her weight too firmly planted against his first attack.

He stopped an inch before her ankle, the blade tip-down, hilt-up. She glanced up as he tilted his head in a 'told you so' gesture, rare laugh-lines forming at the corners of his eyes.

Letting out another infuriated yell she drove forward, landing several fast, light blows, sidestepping to gain the advantage, Skywalker matching her move for move.

Finally he twisted swiftly to the side of a heavy downward blow, stepping in towards her rather than away, grabbing at the top of her arm to haul her bodily to him again.

"And don't be goaded into letting your emotions rule your actions." He whispered lightly, close enough that his breath rustled her russet hair. "Don't lash out blindly just because you're angry."

"You're Sith - isn't that what you do?!" she said - and instantly regretted it.

His face changed immediately, all humour gone, replaced by that distant calm. The withdrawn, emotionless shield that she saw whenever Palpatine was near.

Releasing her, he stepped back and deactivated the saber.

"Skywalker…" she began-

"Congratulations Mara - you landed a blow." He turned and walked away without looking back.

Luke stood in the still silence of the empty Throne Room, the cavernous space devoid of its usual chaotic throngs, the hour too early for Court to commence. What had drawn him here he couldn't say, only that it had been just that - a draw; a whisper at the edges of his thoughts that had built steadily in the months since his release from the cell, scratching at the back of his mind with ever-growing need.

He'd crossed the assembly halls of outer Court without a sideways glance, the crowds subtly parting before him, whispers and curiosity from questing beings with envious minds. He didn't slow, didn't look - they merged to a dirty stain in his awareness, not worth the effort of unravelling.

The crimson-clad guards who barred the way to all simply stepped aside as he neared the lofty double-doors, pikes pulled upright as they stood to straight attention. He walked through unchallenged - not that they could have stopped him anyway. But the fight would have been satisfying; a burst of energy after too long in the stagnant torpor of this cloying place. Like a crypt to house those whose morals were dead; a monument to self-serving greed.
The doors closed with hushed whispers behind him, the bustle of the power-hungry and the deceitful and the scheming reduced again to a background murmur which fed the shadows and the darkness.

And then there was this; this single tone, this faded whisper. His eyes traced the yawning space, ashen lines of reedy light tracing out from high, thin slits set into the far wall, barely reaching past the end of the dais.

He walked the length of the vast hall without a sound, immersed in the silence which infused and enthralled, willing to be led, searching for the source of that singular pitch-
and stopped as his feet touched the outer ring of the stone half-circle set into the floor before the dais.

He'd never sensed it before - but then the room had never been empty before, his senses attuned. The stone was old, a complete circle whose one half lay embedded into the throne room floor and other half was embedded into the raised dais, the Emperor's throne resting upon it. Pale buff cream with russet scrolled inlays, it was set apart from the rest of the opulent chamber by its quiet grace, clearly older, reclaimed from a hidden past and rebuilt here, presumable at his Master's command. He stared, transfixed, turning to the Force for guidance…
A flash-image, inverted and insubstantial, of a circular room with lofty views across a Coruscant cityscape; of a ring of chairs, equally spaced, all facing inwards. The stone was a complete circle here, not split and divided, light infusing the room, reflected back off the pale marble...

The same pale marble… Luke frowned, searching to re-induce the image, but it was gone - and still that tone at the edge of his thoughts, in some way linked to but separate from the inlaid floor.

His eyes were drawn to the faceted magnificence of the Sunburst Throne on the dais before him, reminded in some distant way of Tatooine's twin suns. It had always been connected to Palpatine; had always been the seat from which he had ruled. Luke had seen holo's of it in school as a boy; vaguely remembered that it was a priceless artefact, ancient and sacrosanct.

The throne was massive, a single piece of beaten metal of incredible workmanship. A huge circular sun formed the backrest surrounded by flares and sunbursts, the surfaces of which were heavily beaten and etched to reflect even the dull shadows of dying daylight about it in a complex array of tiny refractions across floors and walls. Before it stood a low footstool, intricately worked from a similar rose-gold precious metal, a deeply-engraved representation of the galaxy rendered in midnight blue enamel and set with precious stones, the inference hardly subtle; the galaxy beneath Palpatine's feet whenever he sat on the throne.

Despite its obvious value, it held Luke's attention for only the moment it took to realise that it was not original to the throne; it was an inanimate object, instantly dismissed. The throne… in the heavy, stagnant stillness, the throne resonated a silent tone which echoed all the way down to his soul.

Drawn forward, Luke slowly walked the steps of the dais and around the throne - at a distance; he felt no desire to go any closer - and saw that the massive sun to the front was mirrored in a seperate beaten panel to the rear, the lowest sunbursts resting on the pale marble floor as feet, the two connected back to back, a perfect match. He'd never once looked at it before; never cared, Palpatine's unyielding aura overwhelming its subtle ghostly presence within the Force.

Slowing, he retreated to the shadows behind the massive throne, standing in rapt fascination, noticing the subtle inscriptions carved in fine, broken letters of some archaic language he didn't recognise about the edges of the sun before it spread into irregular twists of individual flares.

As he stared mesmerised, he fell to an almost trance-like state, the last slim rays of shuttered sunlight catching across the carved words, the only sound in the profoundly still silence that of his own heartbeat, loud in his ears...

The voice from the shadows made him jump, twisting him about, every muscle tensing as his hand fell automatically to the lightsaber at his belt.

"Planning… or simply coveting?" Palpatine stepped forward from the inky shadows, yellow eyes shining - and Luke realised the room was dark; that somehow, it had fallen to night as he'd stood transfixed.

He forced himself calm; sketched a shallow bow. "Neither Master. Just studying a piece of history."

The Emperor stepped forward, his heavy black gown absorbing the wan light as if the shadows came with him. One pallid hand reached out to trail possessively across the edge of the throne, broken fingernails scratching audibly in the still silence.

"Studying what, exactly?"

Luke hesitated, glancing back to the carved script, "Reading the inscriptions."

Palpatine frowned, eyes tracing the point at which Luke's attention had been held.
It had originally been dubbed the Seat of Prophesy by the Jedi, a hallowed artifact long held by them and coveted by the Sith, but when Palpatine had claimed it, among other things, from its centuries old resting place in the destroyed Jedi Temple on Coruscant, he had renamed it the Sunburst Throne. The hidden scripture's words were a jealously guarded secret in a language so old that it was the last surviving example, Jedi scholars devoting years towards its translation, many variations and permutations documented and carefully considered.

"A prophesy." Palpatine said enigmatically, watching the boy closely.
It was said that in the prophesy carved into the massive sunburst was the key to a power capable of changing the course of the galaxy, the means to channel the Force without limits.

Luke turned, eyes tracking right to left as he read the words in the arch of the beaten sun; "Son of Suns."

The Emperor's chin lifted a fraction, eyes narrowing as his fingers tightened possessively onto his throne. A cryptic message in an ancient, enigmatic language; there was no way the boy could know...

And yet- "Read it aloud."

Frowning, Luke turned back to the throne, "Which one?"

Palpatine's lips twitched a smile; "How many do you see?"

Luke's eyes stayed on the throne, scanning its surface, "Several - or just one. Different pieces of the same puzzle."

"Read it aloud." Palpatine repeated, voice tighter now.

Luke glanced up, but only for a second, his gaze turning back to the etched hierogyphs. For a second they seemed alien again; unreadable - but just as it had done earlier, as he stared at the faceted rose-gold carvings an insular acuity came over him, resonating through the Force - and words swam effortlessly up into his consciousness, stanza appearing unbidden; forming complete. His eyes traced the curve of the scribings as he translated without effort, words transmuted with a clarity and a significance which called to him-

"This is the way of things, the will of the Force;
Everything crumbles;
Intentions and empires, Councils and kinships.
Aspiration to ambition to atrophy.
Desire to domination to dust.
Only the will of the Force remains.
Beginnings are bought at the cost of an end,
New hope given life when all else is lost.
From darkness comes light; from destruction salvation;
Son of suns, the Force given form.
That which is fallen will rise to dominion,
That which is riven will heal the rift.
That which is tainted transcends every limit
The one who will falter will balance the way..."

Luke paused, insular and pensive as he read the last,
"For it's shadows whose edge define the light
At the brink of the dawn and the darkness."

At the brink… Palpatine tipped his head, ochre eyes sharp and shrewd. "And where do you stand, my wolf?"

Luke turned to his Master, but he was far too familiar with Palpatine's word games now to give ground. The smallest of smiles touched the corners of his lips as he offered both abstract and literal answer, looking down to his black-booted feet. "I stand right here, Master - behind the throne."

"Lord Vader, we've received a communiqué from the Palace - the Emperor commands that you attend a private audience with him following your arrival ceremony tomorrow."

It was Admiral Piett, one of the few Officers which Vader trusted - so far.
It was a constant, subtle battle between himself and his Master, as Palpatine carefully placed spies in the senior staff of his Star Destroyer and Vader constantly found reasons to rid himself of them- permanently.

"Thank-you, Admiral." Vader boomed, his annoyance sounding out loud and clear.
Piett bowed carefully and made a hasty retreat, leaving Vader to gaze out of the wide viewport of the Executor's Bridge, considering his options.

If he was being allowed to return to Imperial Centre, then it was because his son was subdued to some extent. But Vader knew that anyway - Palpatine wasn't the only one with a network of spies. There was, Vader knew, a new presence in Court, always close to the Emperor, always silent, always reclusive.
Only Palpatine spoke to him, possessive and watchful, anyone who attempted to approach him pointedly discouraged. And the boy spoke to no-one, detached and distant. He never came from his apartments unless it was to answer the Emperor's command, being seen only in the Throne Room or on his way to the Practice Halls, where he went daily, accompanied to and from both places by four Red Guard, though they were more to discourage interested parties than to control the enigmatic stranger, his sources guessed - though there was an edge to him, Vader's spies reported; a hint of something unstable beneath that insular disposition.

Interestingly, his spies had no name; no idea who the stranger was, extensive as their contacts were.
Vader hadn't bothered to tell them that he knew; better to see what they were fed by the Palace rumour-mill. But he knew the truth - and he thought he knew why the Emperor wanted him back

His new Sith needed a test - as Palpatine had once tested Anakin. Turned him on Count Dooku, his previous ally, to rid himself of the complications inherent in having two acolytes serving the same Master.

He remembered with faultless, morbid clarity, holding the sabers crossed at Dooku's throat.
Remembered Palpatine's hissing goad to kill him.

Remembered the bewildered betrayal on Dooku's face.

Vader had always believed absolutely that when he died it would be for his own reasons, not to serve his Master's cold ambitions. Had always sworn he would never give Palpatine the luxury of such an easy escape. That if his Master wanted to rid himself of Vader, then he would have to face him personally.

Yet he was still returning like a trained dog to his Master's side.

Not because he wanted to face Palpatine… but because he had to see his son again. No matter what, he had to see him.

For what, he didn't know - or rather, he chose not to examine too closely.

He had no idea how much Palpatine had twisted the boy's mind, but he knew that at any point in their stormy association, had Vader put a lightsaber into his son's hand, Luke would surely have struck out against him. It would be no stretch at all for Palpatine to push that emotion into action.

In more lucid moments Vader knew that Palpatine would not simply exchange his life for a new Sith - or rather, he believed such - but he knew his Master well; knew his confidence and his convictions, knew that he would believe himself beyond the restrictions placed on the Sith in centuries past; that there could be only two Sith - Master and apprentice.

Which was why he had risked taking the boy to Palpatine in the first place.
He didn't like having been forced to gamble on such, but Luke's stubborn refusal of an alliance in Cloud City had forced his hand. And after two decades of servitude, he knew the Emperor well enough to be willing to take this chance; that Palpatine too would be tempted by the boy's potential. That he'd seek to control him, tempted by the lure of raw power far more than he was shackled by ancient rules and archaic warnings.
If Vader could have turned his son alone then he would have done so, but such was not his forte. It required the kind of subtle contrivances and scheming manipulations which Vader prided himself on not possessing - and which the Emperor possessed in abundance.

He'd known of course that Palpatine would attempt to prise the boy away from him - had expected no less from the wily old man - but he also knew there was a resonance between himself and his son. And Luke surely felt it too, no matter what he said out loud.

That Palpatine had sent Vader away had been unexpected. He had relied on being there throughout his son's conversion in order to maintain that connection, that obligation, but even if his Master did think to force a fight, then Vader was confident of his own abilities. He had beaten the boy once - he would have no qualms about bringing the same force to bear again.

Though perhaps not quite as vehemently. He had not intended to allow the duel at Bespin to degenerate to that degree; had not intended to lose control so completely. Nor had he intended to injure the boy again when he was recaptured aboard the smuggler's ship. But then self-restraint and Darkness were hardly synonymous, and the boy seemed to have some innate ability to get under Vader's skin so completely that all intentions were lost beneath a swell of frustrated enmity.
How he did so with such unerring ease was a mystery - perhaps because they were so similar or, more disturbingly, perhaps because for the first time in memory, Vader actually gave a damn about what someone thought…

That consideration stayed with him for long seconds, in which he resolutely ignored it, dismissing it as irrelevant.

As far as Vader was concerned, the answer to his inability to maintain any self-control in the presence of his son was obvious - Luke should stop antagonising him. The boy needed discipline. The notion of Vader himself exercising anything more than the most crucial self-restraint in these confrontations was plainly ludicrous - especially now.
Because he knew Luke's potential; that much was crystal clear.

He knew what the boy was capable of - given a little careful direction. And Vader would make it his mission to ensure that when it came down to a choice, Luke's loyalties would reside with his father.
To do that he needed free access to his son, and at present that was only on Palpatine's terms. But that was enough for now. Enough to shepherd the boy, to subtly direct and guide him. Ostensibly to his Master's requirements - privately to his own.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, some small atom of doubt wormed its way through Vader's thoughts - at how ironic it would be if the boy should now turn on him. If the weapon he had sought to use against his Master was the weapon that his Master used to destroy him.
That he would be extinguished by that to which he had given life.
That he should still crave forgiveness from the boy who wished to kill him.

But such fleeting qualms were easily ignored in the face of greater motives. Something called louder now, with a voice all its own, and it was reducing all of Vader's carefully-laid plans to insignificance. Something within him…

Because this was his son. His son. His flesh and blood. Instinctive connections, no matter how hard they had both tried to deny them. No matter how the Emperor tried to rip and sever them, no matter what he had whispered and twisted.
All of Vader's previous intentions were falling away before this simple fact and everything - everything - was re-focusing about it. Confusing and frustrating and unwelcome as this was.
Everything was changing; every foundation, every belief, every conviction being tested by his son's very existence.

He'd wanted to convert the boy for the power he embodied, for the opportunity he represented. Before he had seen his son there had been no question, no shadow of doubt as to his role in Vader's greater plan; either he served Vader's purpose or he was removed.

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 gave him the chance onboard the Millenium 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 him 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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