Liz (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
padme_kenobi) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
padmeonpaper2009-05-06 04:07 pm
padme_kenobi) wrote in padmeonpaper2009-05-06 04:07 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: "To Ignite the Stars" (Star Wars, Obi-Wan/Padmé, 41/?)
Title: Warnings
Author:padme_kenobi
Previous Chapters: Can be read here.
Characters/Pairings: Obi-Wan/Padmé, Vader, Palpatine, Luke
Word Count: 5,064
Rating: NC-17 - married people doing married things, bucketloads of angst, mature themes
Summary: There was important work to be done, and Vader needed to begin without delay.
Author's Notes: I didn't expect to have this one ready so soon, but I got some good work on it done tonight and hey presto! All of a sudden it was set to be posted. I think you'll see why I didn't include this one with the batch of chapters I put up last week, though, because it's set quite apart from them by several different factors. First of course is the renewed focus on Vader. My emphasis on the physical and emotional details may bore and/or put off some readers, but I assure you there's a point to it - besides me just being insanely interested in the guy, heh. The plot is definitely beginning to move forward, although some of that won't be immediately evident from this particular chapter. Just keep in mind ... every action has a consequence. ;)
Three years.
He had been this way for three years.
Three years of suffering, three years of imprisonment, three years of pain, three years of enslavement. If he could have better analyzed himself and his situation, if he could look at it objectively, he might have known it as such, but he was most often so steeped in anger that he did not bother.
Anger became a Sith Lord so very well, after all.
And there was so much to be angry about. His physical imperfections, for a start. The black suit and helmet could not be removed except inside a specially-outfitted and equipped hyperbaric chamber. All day and all night his own breath hissed in his ear, constant, never ceasing, unrelenting. He could not stop it or even quiet it or slow its rhythm. He could no longer eat and he rarely slept a full night anymore. But perhaps worst of all, the Force, that comforting and familiar energy field which a part of him could never truly leave, was now largely inaccessible. Of course, this was an exaggeration; he could still reach it if he concentrated and in his weaker moments, he actually used it to get around. But he was unused to needing to concentrate, unused to working to establish the connection, and the inability only served to fuel his anger.
Anger at the Jedi. Anger at Padmé for her betrayal, and for dying. But most of all, anger at Kenobi.
Vader seldom allowed himself to think of Anakin Skywalker. That was the name of his former self, the being who had been both stronger and weaker. Stronger by virtue of physicality, but greatly weakened by his refusal to tap the great well of power that was the Dark Side of the Force. Anakin had been naïve too, naïve and innocent and far too trusting. In short, Anakin was everything Vader had sworn to himself he would no longer be. And letting go of that former life meant banishing all aspects of it, which included all the people with whom Anakin had once associated.
So when Vader contemplated his onetime Master, it was with an attitude of hatred, of revenge. Sometimes revenge against Kenobi was all he could think about. It obsessed him. He knew Kenobi was not dead, for he would have been informed of this were it true. He had ordered all the Imperial officers under his control that if they were to find Kenobi, they must not harm him. That was to be left to Vader, and only to Vader, on pain of death.
In the meantime, he hoped Kenobi was suffering. Oh, how he hoped Kenobi was suffering.
Not physically, of course. Vader had no reason to suspect that Kenobi had been in any way injured at Mustafar. No, he hoped the source of Kenobi’s anguish was mental, and he hoped that it was horrible. That it never let up. That it was as severe as his own physical pain, if not worse.
Kenobi had many things over which to feel anguish, after all. First and foremost was Padmé’s death. Vader very nearly smiled when he thought of what Kenobi must be going through. The loss of his best friend, his life partner, the mother of his children. Never again would Kenobi touch her, kiss her, see her smile or hear her voice. Never would they raise the babies together as Vader knew they both had dreamed — for he understood that Padmé’s unborn children had died with her. That gave him no small amount of satisfaction, knowing he had wiped out the Kenobi line at a single stroke.
Then there was the “death” of Anakin, which would surely be hitting Kenobi hard as well. Vader didn’t like to consider this, mainly because it brought up unpleasant memories for him too, but he knew that when Anakin had still existed, Kenobi had thought of him as a brother. Anakin believed the same. Through all the service, missions and calamities they had endured together, the two had become extremely close, and they trusted one another implicitly. This was why, hopefully, Vader’s betrayal would have stung all the more, not to mention the sorts of actions Kenobi had eventually taken to defeat Vader on Mustafar.
And, just to add another wrinkle of interest, there were those bizarre depressions into which Kenobi seemed to sink whenever he was faced with loss of any kind. He had been the consummate Jedi in all matters but one: the ability to release attachment. Oh, Kenobi could talk like he was able, but when it came down to doing it, something prevented him from following through. Vader had no idea what this might be; he knew only that it was very real and ever-present. And it hadn’t originated with Padmé’s first rejection — no, this had begun earlier, with the death of Kenobi’s Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, and perhaps even before that for all he knew. Whatever this intangible might be, Vader hoped it was making Kenobi suffer.
But now, with the three-year anniversary of Empire Day approaching, Vader unfortunately had little time to think on old grudges. Palpatine had taken great pleasure in telling him that he must journey to Naboo on a diplomatic mission, which would serve the dual purpose of quelling several small pockets of resistance that had sprung up on the planet. Vader was not looking forward to reacquainting himself with a place that held so many memories, but bitter experience had taught him that he must not protest. The Emperor’s punishments were severe.
Punishments or not, though, Vader had assigned himself another mission while on Naboo, a mission his Master was to know nothing about. Palpatine had prevented him from attending Padmé’s funeral, citing the growing list of tasks needing to be completed in order to serve the new Empire, but Vader knew the Emperor was much more concerned about his servant reconnecting with an aspect of his former life than he was with any bureaucratic procedures.
However, Palpatine couldn’t watch him all the time.
The funeral was long since over, of course, but the crypt where Padmé’s body lay was open to the general public so that they could come and pay quiet respects to their heroine whenever they wished. Vader planned to visit that crypt. He had no idea why precisely he was so fixated on doing so. Partially it was to gloat, to revel in all he had taken away from Kenobi. But he also believed that the Force was leading him there, for some reason known only to the mystical energy field. He would be foolish to deny its call.
And so he participated in Palpatine’s silly rituals, in the great deal of planning that seemed to go into diplomatic visits. Vader did not dare lose his patience, however, for he knew the wrath he would face if he allowed that to happen.
The visit was set for Empire Day. Everything was being prepared. Everything would be perfect.
And he would finally have some answers.
Someone was shaking her shoulder, violently, firmly. She rolled over, trying to evade the touch, but it merely continued, and now she could hear a voice whispering as well, frantically whispering her name.
“Mmm?” Padmé mumbled. “I’m sleeping …”
“Padmé!” It was almost a yell now.
She jerked awake. “Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, what is it? What’s wrong?”
He was white-faced, sweating, shaky. “He — he — it’s him —”
“Who?” Padmé turned and brushed the hair back from his face, caressing his cheek, trying to calm him. “Darling, it’s all right. You’ve had a bad dream, it wasn’t real.”
Obi-Wan grabbed her wrist with surprising strength. “Not a dream. Not a dream, a warning.”
She felt as though a bucket of ice had cascaded into her stomach. “A warning?”
“He’s coming. Here.”
“Vader?”
Obi-Wan nodded fervently.
“But you’ve been getting warnings about a possible visit ever since we came to Varykino,” Padmé pointed out reasonably. “There was just never a specific date. So why start worrying now?”
“Because now we do have a date.”
She froze. “Really?”
“Yes.” He had started to shake in earnest now. “This Empire Day. He’s making a diplomatic visit here and he wants to take out a small resistance in the capital. And — and —”
Instinctively Padmé pulled him into a tight embrace. “What?”
The response was a whisper against her shoulder. “He’s going to visit the crypt. Your crypt.”
“Okay. Okay.” She massaged soothing circles against his back. “Is he going to come all the way to the Lake Country?”
“I don’t know.” The trembling hadn’t ceased.
“All right. Shhh, just relax.” Padmé pressed a kiss to his neck.
“Relax?” Obi-Wan let out a hysterical laugh.
“Darling, there’s nothing we can do about it tonight. Empire Day is still three months away. That’s more than enough time to make a plan and then leave. Your bond is warning us and we’re going to heed that warning. But we can’t be afraid. I know this is frightening, but we’re going to get through it. It’s going to be okay.”
He was still breathing heavily, but gradually her words and her touch began to calm him. He leaned into her, controlling himself, releasing the panic he felt into the Force.
“Sorry,” Obi-Wan whispered at length. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me, I shouldn’t even have woken you up …”
“Don’t apologize.” She pulled back a little to look at him. “It must have been very frightening.”
“I just don’t want anything to happen to us,” he explained. “The last three years have been some of the happiest of my life. If the Force wills that I let it go, that’s one thing, but this …”
“This is Vader’s doing,” Padmé completed.
He looked away. “Yes, exactly.”
She was about to say more, but suddenly a small voice echoed down the hallway. “Mommy?”
“Luke,” Padmé smiled.
“It’s my fault.” Obi-Wan shook his head. “I probably woke him up. Accursed bond.”
“Well, it’s warning us that Vader will be coming here, so it can’t be all bad.” Padmé rose from the bed and pulled on a light robe. “I’ll be right back.”
She hurried from the room to the nursery. Luke was sitting up in bed, tears lightly streaking his cheeks. He sniffled as his mother pulled him into a comforting embrace.
“What is it, sweetheart?” she asked gently.
“Daddy okay?” asked the toddler, drawing a chubby hand across his eyes.
Again Padmé marveled at the strength of the bond and Luke’s ability to feel it, young as he was. “Yes, Daddy’s fine,” she replied. “He just had a bad dream, that’s all.”
“Is he scared?”
She pressed a kiss to the top of her son’s head. “He was a little scared. But everyone gets scared by bad dreams sometimes. Even daddies.”
Luke shivered, and Padmé bit her lip, afraid she might have frightened him even more. She was never sure how much he knew or was able to feel because of the bond, which made it difficult to know how much to comfort him. It was easier for Obi-Wan than for her, because he could sense their son’s emotions and shared a deeper connection with him via the bond. But this time Luke had asked specifically for her, so she didn’t feel it would be right to call her husband in to help. He was wrestling with his own demons, after all.
“It was the bad man,” Luke said suddenly. Almost … knowledgeably.
“What do you mean, sweetheart?” Padmé had to work hard to control her own spike of fear.
“Is he coming here?” The boy tilted his head to look up at her.
“Who is the bad man?” Padmé persisted. “Did you dream about him?”
Luke furrowed his brow in apparent concentration. “No. Daddy did.”
She swallowed. Could her son mean Vader? How much had he seen? How much did he know, or understand? How much should she tell him? And, through all of that, she could barely believe she was sitting in her children’s bedroom about to discuss the Dark Side with a three-year-old. For goddesses’ sake, what was the galaxy coming to?
“Luke, I don’t want you to worry about that, okay?” She cuddled him closer and he snuggled into her body. “That’s something for grown-ups to think about. Your dad and I will always protect you and your sister. The bad man isn’t going to hurt you. We’ll make sure of that.”
Luke nodded, though he still looked slightly perturbed, and after a few more hugs and cuddles he lay back down. Padmé checked quickly on Leia, who was still sleeping peacefully, and then turned to go.
“Mommy?”
She paused. “What is it, Luke?”
“The bad man scares Daddy,” the boy said with quiet certainty.
She knew she couldn’t deny this, couldn’t lie to him. “Yes. Sometimes he does.”
***
Obi-Wan was sitting up when she returned, his eyes shut and his breathing soft in what she was sure must be a meditative pose. She slipped into bed beside him and carefully pulled the covers over herself, not wanting to disturb him.
But he opened his eyes anyway. “How’s Luke?”
Padmé bit her lip. “He’s fine. He knew you’d had a nightmare, though.”
Obi-Wan massaged his temples tiredly. “I wish he didn’t have to deal with that. With any of it.”
“So do I,” she replied carefully. “But it doesn’t seem to bother him. He asks questions and we answer them. It’s something more for him to be naturally curious about.”
“He’s a little boy!” Obi-Wan burst out. “He shouldn’t have to think about the things he thinks about. He shouldn’t feel it whenever his father has a nightmare. His future shouldn’t be tainted by a destiny.”
She winced, remembering her own similar line of thought earlier. “I know what you mean, darling. I wish that wasn’t our reality.”
“Who decided Force bonds should be hereditary anyway?” he grumbled. “What a terrible idea. Not only bearing that burden yourself but knowing you’ve passed it on, that your child will go through the same things you did. Possibly worse things.”
“Well, there must be some reason for it,” Padmé said equitably. “Historically speaking, every step along the ladder of evolution has served some purpose, even if it’s not one we can immediately identify. I would imagine Force bonds are similar.”
Obi-Wan snorted indelicately. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see it. Not for a Jedi, in any case. Not when non-attachment is one of the foundations on which we are based. Not when emotional connections can be so easily manipulated by our opponents. And bonds are … well, they are far more than emotional connections. They’re far deeper. No one’s even tested how deep they run or what their limits might be because the Order was always afraid of their effects. And rightfully so, in my opinion.”
“Maybe they were wrong,” she ventured. “And maybe they had begun to recognize that. They allowed our relationship, after all. And Master Yoda specifically wanted us to live together and raise the twins.”
“Not at first. I had to argue for it, remember? And even now I’m half-convinced that the only reason he allowed it was because he understood how difficult the period after Mustafar would be for me. He must have been petrified that I’d allow my emotions to override rational thought, that I’d do something crazy and foolish. I might have, if it hadn’t been for you.” He softened slightly.
“Then it could be argued that the answer lies in the question,” Padmé pointed out. “He let me stay with you because he’d seen the calming effect I have on you before. But I think there’s some other purpose at work here, something involving Luke. There’s a reason for everything, even if that reason isn’t immediately evident. Luke’s inheriting the bond must serve something. Perhaps it has to do with what he’ll accomplish in the future.”
“And perhaps the Force is simply trying to level the playing field,” Obi-Wan said bitterly. “The existence of that bond will make it far easier for Palpatine to manipulate him, to play on his emotions. To use his family connections against him.”
“The bad man,” Padmé murmured, thinking.
He turned to look at her. “What?”
“Oh, just something Luke said when I was in there with him,” she replied. “He understood what you were dreaming about, or parts of it, at least. It’s hard to tell. He knew there was a bad man in your dream, and that man was hurting you somehow.”
“Vader,” Obi-Wan muttered, his head dropping into his hands. “A boy. A little, three-year-old —” He inhaled suddenly, shakily, and she moved quickly to wrap him in an embrace.
“We have to believe,” Padmé whispered. “We just have to believe there’s some other reason for it. That’s all.”
She could feel him trembling against her. “My son, Padmé,” he murmured brokenly, displaying a level of emotion to which she had not borne witness for nearly four years. “My son. He’s so young, he’s supposed to be innocent … I’m supposed to protect him.”
“I know. And you are protecting Luke,” she assured him.
“I’m not. I can’t.”
Padmé kissed the top of his head, unsure what more she could say, knowing once again that additional ruminations about the bond’s purpose would do no good now. He needed comfort, just as he had needed it directly after Anakin’s death. Some scars would grow lighter, but never fade.
He jerked slightly, as though a small current had gone through him. And then, almost before she knew it, he was on his knees, facing her, leaning over her, his lips pressed to hers in a passionate kiss. She barely had time to grab his shoulders and prevent him from toppling.
“Obi-Wan —”
“No.” From this proximity she could taste the salt from the tears on his cheeks. “Please, darling. Please.”
Padmé knew what he meant — don’t ask questions, don’t push me anymore, just go with this. She sighed and returned the kiss, stroking between his shoulder blades.
“I need this,” he whispered desperately. “Please, please —” He was on top of her now, his legs straddling hers, holding her in a firm embrace as he continued to kiss her almost fiercely. “Please — make me forget —”
Padmé pulled him closer, nuzzling him a little, a small smile on her face. “I know, darling. I know. It’s all right.”
“I can’t — I’m sorry —” Obi-Wan slid the straps of her nightdress off her shoulders, kissing down her collarbone, nuzzling the space between her breasts. He was hard as durasteel against her legs, and she edged his sleep pants down, freeing his length.
“It’s okay,” she reassured him. “Just go ahead. Go ahead. Take me.”
It was messy, fumbling, fast, confused, not at all like their usual couplings, but she knew he spoke the truth when he said he needed it. Sometimes only one form of distraction would work. And she didn’t mind occasionally being that distraction.
Obi-Wan rutted frantically against her, his eyes wild with arousal, and for a moment she thought he might arrive right there, so warm was his flesh and ragged his breathing. But at the last moment he seemed to recover a modicum of control, and his touch became the gentle caress she was more used to. He fingered her until she was wet and ready for him, gasping and fisting the blankets in her fingers.
He fumbled to push his sleep pants further down his thighs and then grasped his erect flesh in one hand, eyes sliding closed as he stroked himself for a moment, lost in sensation. But Padmé could wait no longer now that he had worked her into a frenzy.
“Darling, please …” she whispered.
His blue eyes blazed again and he took a deep, steadying breath, once again crawling over her. Inch by inch he pushed inside, making them both gasp. Padmé arched against him, drawing him deeper, desperate for the pleasure to reach its zenith. And abruptly he began to move, accelerating his pace immediately to match the bucking of her hips. Their lovemaking was rapid and rough and hurried, and both were thoroughly enjoying it.
Padmé crashed into her climax first, digging her nails into his shoulders and kissing him furiously as the heat spread through her, as she cried out his name. His beard on her face served only to heighten her pleasure.
Something like relief rippled through his eyes as he saw her arrive, and he clutched her to him as he began to plunge out and back in again. Their skin was slick with sweat and it sounded wet as they slapped against each other. She could feel his sac sliding against her with each thrust, and a soft sigh slipped from her lips as a second orgasm shattered her, mixed with awe at her own stamina.
But Obi-Wan could wait no longer and with a groan he finally let go, pillowing his head against her chest as he shot warmth inside her. She stroked his hair as both panted, trying to get their breath and their senses back. He finished presently, relaxing against her, all the tension abruptly leaving him.
“Is that better?” she asked after awhile.
Obi-Wan raised a shaking hand, brushing her cheek with his fingers. “I — I’m sorry, I — I don’t know why I acted like that …”
“Darling, it’s okay.” Padmé grasped his hand and kissed each finger, sucking it lightly before releasing it. “I understand. I do.”
“After three years I should be able to keep control of myself,” he muttered. “And I’ve lived with this bond for much longer. I don’t know why I can’t cope all of a sudden.”
“It’s an ongoing process,” she reminded him. “And it’s never easy to think that your child may suffer, especially if it’s due to something you’ve given them. But it’s not your fault, Obi-Wan. There was no way you could have known that if you had children, they might have the bond too.”
“But I should have known,” he said bitterly. “How else would bonds have been passed through generations? Why would Jedi keep turning up at the Temple with that ability? Rarely, yes, but still. I should have realized it was a possibility, and I should have told you.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered to me,” Padmé said. “I know you probably think I’m lying, but I’m not. I still believe the bond must serve some sort of purpose. Otherwise, why would it exist?”
“I can’t,” Obi-Wan mumbled. “I can’t see it. I just … can’t.” He shuddered.
“All right.” She knew not to push him at the moment, so she simply stroked his hair, brushing it out of his eyes and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it right now.”
“Thank you.” He rolled over onto his side and pulled her close against him, embracing her from behind. She traced up and down his arm and down each finger, softly, sweetly, slowly. She could hear his breath becoming slow and regular as he slipped into sleep.
And, as she had so often done in the past three years, Padmé Amidala Kenobi prayed to her goddesses that they could somehow, in some way, grant her husband peace.
***
“My Lord?”
The officer’s voice was reedy, unsure, questioning. Vader could feel the fear rolling off the man in waves, fear that the Sith Lord could gladly feed on. Feed on and become stronger for it. Really, it was pathetic that these weak-minded individuals did not realize they were playing right into his hand.
“Yes, Captain Ozzel?” he rumbled.
“There is — there is a communication for you, my Lord,” the captain replied, practically trembling. “High-priority, from Imperial Center.”
Imperial Center. That could only mean Palpatine. It seemed that the Emperor had been keeping increasingly close tabs on his apprentice over the last two months, ever since they had begun planning the trip to Naboo. With the fourth Empire Day just a month away, it was possible Sidious simply wanted to check on some aspect of the planning process, but Vader doubted it.
Nevertheless, it wouldn’t do to keep his Master waiting. He nodded at Ozzel. “Send it through to my personal comlink.”
“Right away, my Lord.”
Vader didn’t bother staying around to catch the rest of the official’s sniveling. He simply turned on his heel and strode off the bridge of the Star Destroyer, spoiling the effect slightly by stumbling over one of his boots. He cursed himself. How was it that after nearly four years, he still couldn’t completely control this wretched body without the aid of the Force? The black suit that kept him alive seemed to be exceedingly poorly designed, with many areas that chafed and rubbed at his already tender skin and inefficient connections between his artificial limbs and what remained of his biological self. Every step he took caused him pain, as the sharp edges of the limbs ground into the stumps of his arms and legs. He could barely even lift a foot anyway due to the weight of his boots and the slipping of the prosthetics as pressure was removed from them. And this didn’t begin to take into account the fact that he could no longer properly hear, drink, see, breathe, use a refresher, lift his arms. Every day, a team of medical droids came to bathe him and remove the scar tissue and dead skin that continually sloughed off from the burns. His blood was checked for infections and the suit itself was cleaned at the same time. No drugs for pain relief were ever provided to him during these treatments, or at any other time.
If Vader had been able to step outside himself and see his situation from another perspective, he might have concluded that the suit and the treatments and his limitations were actually the perfect means to continue to keep him enslaved to Sidious’ bidding. Both fear and pain fed the Dark Side of the Force, and since Vader had lost over half of his Force potential to the fires of Mustafar, he needed an alternate means of connecting to the energy field. Forged in pain at the Emperor Palpatine Surgical Reconstruction Center, Vader was deathly afraid of going through the daily treatments and even of moment-to-moment ambulation by virtue of the fact that both of these caused him intense discomfort. The pain inevitably happened, creating more fear, and he became correspondingly stronger through his use of these emotions.
He shook himself, trying to clear the unpleasant thoughts, and went down uncomfortably on one knee to await his Master’s message. Sidious flickered into being, his eyes fixed speculatively on his apprentice.
“Lord Vader. How are the preparations proceeding?”
“As planned, my Master,” Vader answered. “We have received approval from the palace to conduct a tour of Theed and to complete several … intelligence operations.” He did not add that Queen Apailana had also acquiesced to his request to visit Padmé’s crypt. Palpatine did not need to know this.
“Excellent,” said Sidious. “Be mindful, my young apprentice. The Force is changed, uncertain, unstable. Surely you must have felt it these past months.”
“I have, Master.”
“Proceed with the plan only as I have outlined it to you, do you understand? There must be no deviations,” Sidious warned. “You are heading into a volatile situation. Do not make matters worse for yourself with disobedience. Is that quite clear?”
“It is, my Lord.” Vader hoped his mental shields were holding.
“Good.” A satisfied smile curled Palpatine’s lips.
“Master, if — if I were to come into some intelligence, important intelligence regarding the location of rebel Jedi, would this not be worth deviating from our original plan?” Vader asked cautiously. Better to plant the seeds now, in case he should need a justification later.
“Oh?” Palpatine arched an eyebrow. “And have you such intelligence, Lord Vader? You see, it would only be worth investigating if the Jedi happened to be extremely important and high-ranking. Someone like … Master Kenobi, perhaps.”
Vader decided to take the risk; he was in deeply enough as it was. “I am currently following a lead relating directly to his whereabouts, my Master. I have reason to believe he is in hiding on Naboo.”
“The precise location, do you have it?”
“No, my operatives are still conducting their investigation. But they believe that an important place to start may be the burial crypt. They have discovered certain … irregularities.”
“Such as?” Palpatine’s lip curled slightly.
Vader was glad his face was hidden behind a mask, as he wasn’t sure he would have been able to conceal his emotions. “The necklace that was buried with Senator Amidala has been discovered to be a very elaborate forgery,” he explained. “The carvings on the pendant do not match its … original design. Therefore suspicions have been raised about whether the body in the crypt actually matches that of the deceased Senator. We will soon discover the truth of all this.”
“So, in short you are saying that you think Senator Amidala lives?” Palpatine’s face showed clear disbelief.
“I am saying that there is evidence to indicate a deception may have taken place,” Vader replied. “Therefore, with your permission I would like to conduct a thorough search of the crypt, and perhaps of other locations with pertinent records. I have no doubt that if this is in fact true, Amidala may hold our best chance of finding Kenobi.”
“Indeed. Continue with your investigation, but be mindful. Take no additional action without first consulting myself. Is that quite clear?”
Vader bristled but could otherwise do nothing, handcuffed as he was by Sidious’ orders. “Yes, my Master. As you wish.”
Shortly thereafter he flicked off the comlink, annoyance swelling within him. How dare Sidious treat him like a petulant child, incapable of making important decisions without the consent of a superior? Like he was some insolent Padawan? After he had just thrown off the yoke of the Jedi Council, had he simply traded one form of dictatorial supervision for another?
It certainly seemed this way.
However, he had little time to dwell on his relationship with Sidious. There was important work to be done, and Vader needed to begin without delay.
Revenge must be enacted.
Author:
padme_kenobiPrevious Chapters: Can be read here.
Characters/Pairings: Obi-Wan/Padmé, Vader, Palpatine, Luke
Word Count: 5,064
Rating: NC-17 - married people doing married things, bucketloads of angst, mature themes
Summary: There was important work to be done, and Vader needed to begin without delay.
Author's Notes: I didn't expect to have this one ready so soon, but I got some good work on it done tonight and hey presto! All of a sudden it was set to be posted. I think you'll see why I didn't include this one with the batch of chapters I put up last week, though, because it's set quite apart from them by several different factors. First of course is the renewed focus on Vader. My emphasis on the physical and emotional details may bore and/or put off some readers, but I assure you there's a point to it - besides me just being insanely interested in the guy, heh. The plot is definitely beginning to move forward, although some of that won't be immediately evident from this particular chapter. Just keep in mind ... every action has a consequence. ;)
Three years.
He had been this way for three years.
Three years of suffering, three years of imprisonment, three years of pain, three years of enslavement. If he could have better analyzed himself and his situation, if he could look at it objectively, he might have known it as such, but he was most often so steeped in anger that he did not bother.
Anger became a Sith Lord so very well, after all.
And there was so much to be angry about. His physical imperfections, for a start. The black suit and helmet could not be removed except inside a specially-outfitted and equipped hyperbaric chamber. All day and all night his own breath hissed in his ear, constant, never ceasing, unrelenting. He could not stop it or even quiet it or slow its rhythm. He could no longer eat and he rarely slept a full night anymore. But perhaps worst of all, the Force, that comforting and familiar energy field which a part of him could never truly leave, was now largely inaccessible. Of course, this was an exaggeration; he could still reach it if he concentrated and in his weaker moments, he actually used it to get around. But he was unused to needing to concentrate, unused to working to establish the connection, and the inability only served to fuel his anger.
Anger at the Jedi. Anger at Padmé for her betrayal, and for dying. But most of all, anger at Kenobi.
Vader seldom allowed himself to think of Anakin Skywalker. That was the name of his former self, the being who had been both stronger and weaker. Stronger by virtue of physicality, but greatly weakened by his refusal to tap the great well of power that was the Dark Side of the Force. Anakin had been naïve too, naïve and innocent and far too trusting. In short, Anakin was everything Vader had sworn to himself he would no longer be. And letting go of that former life meant banishing all aspects of it, which included all the people with whom Anakin had once associated.
So when Vader contemplated his onetime Master, it was with an attitude of hatred, of revenge. Sometimes revenge against Kenobi was all he could think about. It obsessed him. He knew Kenobi was not dead, for he would have been informed of this were it true. He had ordered all the Imperial officers under his control that if they were to find Kenobi, they must not harm him. That was to be left to Vader, and only to Vader, on pain of death.
In the meantime, he hoped Kenobi was suffering. Oh, how he hoped Kenobi was suffering.
Not physically, of course. Vader had no reason to suspect that Kenobi had been in any way injured at Mustafar. No, he hoped the source of Kenobi’s anguish was mental, and he hoped that it was horrible. That it never let up. That it was as severe as his own physical pain, if not worse.
Kenobi had many things over which to feel anguish, after all. First and foremost was Padmé’s death. Vader very nearly smiled when he thought of what Kenobi must be going through. The loss of his best friend, his life partner, the mother of his children. Never again would Kenobi touch her, kiss her, see her smile or hear her voice. Never would they raise the babies together as Vader knew they both had dreamed — for he understood that Padmé’s unborn children had died with her. That gave him no small amount of satisfaction, knowing he had wiped out the Kenobi line at a single stroke.
Then there was the “death” of Anakin, which would surely be hitting Kenobi hard as well. Vader didn’t like to consider this, mainly because it brought up unpleasant memories for him too, but he knew that when Anakin had still existed, Kenobi had thought of him as a brother. Anakin believed the same. Through all the service, missions and calamities they had endured together, the two had become extremely close, and they trusted one another implicitly. This was why, hopefully, Vader’s betrayal would have stung all the more, not to mention the sorts of actions Kenobi had eventually taken to defeat Vader on Mustafar.
And, just to add another wrinkle of interest, there were those bizarre depressions into which Kenobi seemed to sink whenever he was faced with loss of any kind. He had been the consummate Jedi in all matters but one: the ability to release attachment. Oh, Kenobi could talk like he was able, but when it came down to doing it, something prevented him from following through. Vader had no idea what this might be; he knew only that it was very real and ever-present. And it hadn’t originated with Padmé’s first rejection — no, this had begun earlier, with the death of Kenobi’s Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, and perhaps even before that for all he knew. Whatever this intangible might be, Vader hoped it was making Kenobi suffer.
But now, with the three-year anniversary of Empire Day approaching, Vader unfortunately had little time to think on old grudges. Palpatine had taken great pleasure in telling him that he must journey to Naboo on a diplomatic mission, which would serve the dual purpose of quelling several small pockets of resistance that had sprung up on the planet. Vader was not looking forward to reacquainting himself with a place that held so many memories, but bitter experience had taught him that he must not protest. The Emperor’s punishments were severe.
Punishments or not, though, Vader had assigned himself another mission while on Naboo, a mission his Master was to know nothing about. Palpatine had prevented him from attending Padmé’s funeral, citing the growing list of tasks needing to be completed in order to serve the new Empire, but Vader knew the Emperor was much more concerned about his servant reconnecting with an aspect of his former life than he was with any bureaucratic procedures.
However, Palpatine couldn’t watch him all the time.
The funeral was long since over, of course, but the crypt where Padmé’s body lay was open to the general public so that they could come and pay quiet respects to their heroine whenever they wished. Vader planned to visit that crypt. He had no idea why precisely he was so fixated on doing so. Partially it was to gloat, to revel in all he had taken away from Kenobi. But he also believed that the Force was leading him there, for some reason known only to the mystical energy field. He would be foolish to deny its call.
And so he participated in Palpatine’s silly rituals, in the great deal of planning that seemed to go into diplomatic visits. Vader did not dare lose his patience, however, for he knew the wrath he would face if he allowed that to happen.
The visit was set for Empire Day. Everything was being prepared. Everything would be perfect.
And he would finally have some answers.
Someone was shaking her shoulder, violently, firmly. She rolled over, trying to evade the touch, but it merely continued, and now she could hear a voice whispering as well, frantically whispering her name.
“Mmm?” Padmé mumbled. “I’m sleeping …”
“Padmé!” It was almost a yell now.
She jerked awake. “Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, what is it? What’s wrong?”
He was white-faced, sweating, shaky. “He — he — it’s him —”
“Who?” Padmé turned and brushed the hair back from his face, caressing his cheek, trying to calm him. “Darling, it’s all right. You’ve had a bad dream, it wasn’t real.”
Obi-Wan grabbed her wrist with surprising strength. “Not a dream. Not a dream, a warning.”
She felt as though a bucket of ice had cascaded into her stomach. “A warning?”
“He’s coming. Here.”
“Vader?”
Obi-Wan nodded fervently.
“But you’ve been getting warnings about a possible visit ever since we came to Varykino,” Padmé pointed out reasonably. “There was just never a specific date. So why start worrying now?”
“Because now we do have a date.”
She froze. “Really?”
“Yes.” He had started to shake in earnest now. “This Empire Day. He’s making a diplomatic visit here and he wants to take out a small resistance in the capital. And — and —”
Instinctively Padmé pulled him into a tight embrace. “What?”
The response was a whisper against her shoulder. “He’s going to visit the crypt. Your crypt.”
“Okay. Okay.” She massaged soothing circles against his back. “Is he going to come all the way to the Lake Country?”
“I don’t know.” The trembling hadn’t ceased.
“All right. Shhh, just relax.” Padmé pressed a kiss to his neck.
“Relax?” Obi-Wan let out a hysterical laugh.
“Darling, there’s nothing we can do about it tonight. Empire Day is still three months away. That’s more than enough time to make a plan and then leave. Your bond is warning us and we’re going to heed that warning. But we can’t be afraid. I know this is frightening, but we’re going to get through it. It’s going to be okay.”
He was still breathing heavily, but gradually her words and her touch began to calm him. He leaned into her, controlling himself, releasing the panic he felt into the Force.
“Sorry,” Obi-Wan whispered at length. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me, I shouldn’t even have woken you up …”
“Don’t apologize.” She pulled back a little to look at him. “It must have been very frightening.”
“I just don’t want anything to happen to us,” he explained. “The last three years have been some of the happiest of my life. If the Force wills that I let it go, that’s one thing, but this …”
“This is Vader’s doing,” Padmé completed.
He looked away. “Yes, exactly.”
She was about to say more, but suddenly a small voice echoed down the hallway. “Mommy?”
“Luke,” Padmé smiled.
“It’s my fault.” Obi-Wan shook his head. “I probably woke him up. Accursed bond.”
“Well, it’s warning us that Vader will be coming here, so it can’t be all bad.” Padmé rose from the bed and pulled on a light robe. “I’ll be right back.”
She hurried from the room to the nursery. Luke was sitting up in bed, tears lightly streaking his cheeks. He sniffled as his mother pulled him into a comforting embrace.
“What is it, sweetheart?” she asked gently.
“Daddy okay?” asked the toddler, drawing a chubby hand across his eyes.
Again Padmé marveled at the strength of the bond and Luke’s ability to feel it, young as he was. “Yes, Daddy’s fine,” she replied. “He just had a bad dream, that’s all.”
“Is he scared?”
She pressed a kiss to the top of her son’s head. “He was a little scared. But everyone gets scared by bad dreams sometimes. Even daddies.”
Luke shivered, and Padmé bit her lip, afraid she might have frightened him even more. She was never sure how much he knew or was able to feel because of the bond, which made it difficult to know how much to comfort him. It was easier for Obi-Wan than for her, because he could sense their son’s emotions and shared a deeper connection with him via the bond. But this time Luke had asked specifically for her, so she didn’t feel it would be right to call her husband in to help. He was wrestling with his own demons, after all.
“It was the bad man,” Luke said suddenly. Almost … knowledgeably.
“What do you mean, sweetheart?” Padmé had to work hard to control her own spike of fear.
“Is he coming here?” The boy tilted his head to look up at her.
“Who is the bad man?” Padmé persisted. “Did you dream about him?”
Luke furrowed his brow in apparent concentration. “No. Daddy did.”
She swallowed. Could her son mean Vader? How much had he seen? How much did he know, or understand? How much should she tell him? And, through all of that, she could barely believe she was sitting in her children’s bedroom about to discuss the Dark Side with a three-year-old. For goddesses’ sake, what was the galaxy coming to?
“Luke, I don’t want you to worry about that, okay?” She cuddled him closer and he snuggled into her body. “That’s something for grown-ups to think about. Your dad and I will always protect you and your sister. The bad man isn’t going to hurt you. We’ll make sure of that.”
Luke nodded, though he still looked slightly perturbed, and after a few more hugs and cuddles he lay back down. Padmé checked quickly on Leia, who was still sleeping peacefully, and then turned to go.
“Mommy?”
She paused. “What is it, Luke?”
“The bad man scares Daddy,” the boy said with quiet certainty.
She knew she couldn’t deny this, couldn’t lie to him. “Yes. Sometimes he does.”
***
Obi-Wan was sitting up when she returned, his eyes shut and his breathing soft in what she was sure must be a meditative pose. She slipped into bed beside him and carefully pulled the covers over herself, not wanting to disturb him.
But he opened his eyes anyway. “How’s Luke?”
Padmé bit her lip. “He’s fine. He knew you’d had a nightmare, though.”
Obi-Wan massaged his temples tiredly. “I wish he didn’t have to deal with that. With any of it.”
“So do I,” she replied carefully. “But it doesn’t seem to bother him. He asks questions and we answer them. It’s something more for him to be naturally curious about.”
“He’s a little boy!” Obi-Wan burst out. “He shouldn’t have to think about the things he thinks about. He shouldn’t feel it whenever his father has a nightmare. His future shouldn’t be tainted by a destiny.”
She winced, remembering her own similar line of thought earlier. “I know what you mean, darling. I wish that wasn’t our reality.”
“Who decided Force bonds should be hereditary anyway?” he grumbled. “What a terrible idea. Not only bearing that burden yourself but knowing you’ve passed it on, that your child will go through the same things you did. Possibly worse things.”
“Well, there must be some reason for it,” Padmé said equitably. “Historically speaking, every step along the ladder of evolution has served some purpose, even if it’s not one we can immediately identify. I would imagine Force bonds are similar.”
Obi-Wan snorted indelicately. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see it. Not for a Jedi, in any case. Not when non-attachment is one of the foundations on which we are based. Not when emotional connections can be so easily manipulated by our opponents. And bonds are … well, they are far more than emotional connections. They’re far deeper. No one’s even tested how deep they run or what their limits might be because the Order was always afraid of their effects. And rightfully so, in my opinion.”
“Maybe they were wrong,” she ventured. “And maybe they had begun to recognize that. They allowed our relationship, after all. And Master Yoda specifically wanted us to live together and raise the twins.”
“Not at first. I had to argue for it, remember? And even now I’m half-convinced that the only reason he allowed it was because he understood how difficult the period after Mustafar would be for me. He must have been petrified that I’d allow my emotions to override rational thought, that I’d do something crazy and foolish. I might have, if it hadn’t been for you.” He softened slightly.
“Then it could be argued that the answer lies in the question,” Padmé pointed out. “He let me stay with you because he’d seen the calming effect I have on you before. But I think there’s some other purpose at work here, something involving Luke. There’s a reason for everything, even if that reason isn’t immediately evident. Luke’s inheriting the bond must serve something. Perhaps it has to do with what he’ll accomplish in the future.”
“And perhaps the Force is simply trying to level the playing field,” Obi-Wan said bitterly. “The existence of that bond will make it far easier for Palpatine to manipulate him, to play on his emotions. To use his family connections against him.”
“The bad man,” Padmé murmured, thinking.
He turned to look at her. “What?”
“Oh, just something Luke said when I was in there with him,” she replied. “He understood what you were dreaming about, or parts of it, at least. It’s hard to tell. He knew there was a bad man in your dream, and that man was hurting you somehow.”
“Vader,” Obi-Wan muttered, his head dropping into his hands. “A boy. A little, three-year-old —” He inhaled suddenly, shakily, and she moved quickly to wrap him in an embrace.
“We have to believe,” Padmé whispered. “We just have to believe there’s some other reason for it. That’s all.”
She could feel him trembling against her. “My son, Padmé,” he murmured brokenly, displaying a level of emotion to which she had not borne witness for nearly four years. “My son. He’s so young, he’s supposed to be innocent … I’m supposed to protect him.”
“I know. And you are protecting Luke,” she assured him.
“I’m not. I can’t.”
Padmé kissed the top of his head, unsure what more she could say, knowing once again that additional ruminations about the bond’s purpose would do no good now. He needed comfort, just as he had needed it directly after Anakin’s death. Some scars would grow lighter, but never fade.
He jerked slightly, as though a small current had gone through him. And then, almost before she knew it, he was on his knees, facing her, leaning over her, his lips pressed to hers in a passionate kiss. She barely had time to grab his shoulders and prevent him from toppling.
“Obi-Wan —”
“No.” From this proximity she could taste the salt from the tears on his cheeks. “Please, darling. Please.”
Padmé knew what he meant — don’t ask questions, don’t push me anymore, just go with this. She sighed and returned the kiss, stroking between his shoulder blades.
“I need this,” he whispered desperately. “Please, please —” He was on top of her now, his legs straddling hers, holding her in a firm embrace as he continued to kiss her almost fiercely. “Please — make me forget —”
Padmé pulled him closer, nuzzling him a little, a small smile on her face. “I know, darling. I know. It’s all right.”
“I can’t — I’m sorry —” Obi-Wan slid the straps of her nightdress off her shoulders, kissing down her collarbone, nuzzling the space between her breasts. He was hard as durasteel against her legs, and she edged his sleep pants down, freeing his length.
“It’s okay,” she reassured him. “Just go ahead. Go ahead. Take me.”
It was messy, fumbling, fast, confused, not at all like their usual couplings, but she knew he spoke the truth when he said he needed it. Sometimes only one form of distraction would work. And she didn’t mind occasionally being that distraction.
Obi-Wan rutted frantically against her, his eyes wild with arousal, and for a moment she thought he might arrive right there, so warm was his flesh and ragged his breathing. But at the last moment he seemed to recover a modicum of control, and his touch became the gentle caress she was more used to. He fingered her until she was wet and ready for him, gasping and fisting the blankets in her fingers.
He fumbled to push his sleep pants further down his thighs and then grasped his erect flesh in one hand, eyes sliding closed as he stroked himself for a moment, lost in sensation. But Padmé could wait no longer now that he had worked her into a frenzy.
“Darling, please …” she whispered.
His blue eyes blazed again and he took a deep, steadying breath, once again crawling over her. Inch by inch he pushed inside, making them both gasp. Padmé arched against him, drawing him deeper, desperate for the pleasure to reach its zenith. And abruptly he began to move, accelerating his pace immediately to match the bucking of her hips. Their lovemaking was rapid and rough and hurried, and both were thoroughly enjoying it.
Padmé crashed into her climax first, digging her nails into his shoulders and kissing him furiously as the heat spread through her, as she cried out his name. His beard on her face served only to heighten her pleasure.
Something like relief rippled through his eyes as he saw her arrive, and he clutched her to him as he began to plunge out and back in again. Their skin was slick with sweat and it sounded wet as they slapped against each other. She could feel his sac sliding against her with each thrust, and a soft sigh slipped from her lips as a second orgasm shattered her, mixed with awe at her own stamina.
But Obi-Wan could wait no longer and with a groan he finally let go, pillowing his head against her chest as he shot warmth inside her. She stroked his hair as both panted, trying to get their breath and their senses back. He finished presently, relaxing against her, all the tension abruptly leaving him.
“Is that better?” she asked after awhile.
Obi-Wan raised a shaking hand, brushing her cheek with his fingers. “I — I’m sorry, I — I don’t know why I acted like that …”
“Darling, it’s okay.” Padmé grasped his hand and kissed each finger, sucking it lightly before releasing it. “I understand. I do.”
“After three years I should be able to keep control of myself,” he muttered. “And I’ve lived with this bond for much longer. I don’t know why I can’t cope all of a sudden.”
“It’s an ongoing process,” she reminded him. “And it’s never easy to think that your child may suffer, especially if it’s due to something you’ve given them. But it’s not your fault, Obi-Wan. There was no way you could have known that if you had children, they might have the bond too.”
“But I should have known,” he said bitterly. “How else would bonds have been passed through generations? Why would Jedi keep turning up at the Temple with that ability? Rarely, yes, but still. I should have realized it was a possibility, and I should have told you.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered to me,” Padmé said. “I know you probably think I’m lying, but I’m not. I still believe the bond must serve some sort of purpose. Otherwise, why would it exist?”
“I can’t,” Obi-Wan mumbled. “I can’t see it. I just … can’t.” He shuddered.
“All right.” She knew not to push him at the moment, so she simply stroked his hair, brushing it out of his eyes and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it right now.”
“Thank you.” He rolled over onto his side and pulled her close against him, embracing her from behind. She traced up and down his arm and down each finger, softly, sweetly, slowly. She could hear his breath becoming slow and regular as he slipped into sleep.
And, as she had so often done in the past three years, Padmé Amidala Kenobi prayed to her goddesses that they could somehow, in some way, grant her husband peace.
***
“My Lord?”
The officer’s voice was reedy, unsure, questioning. Vader could feel the fear rolling off the man in waves, fear that the Sith Lord could gladly feed on. Feed on and become stronger for it. Really, it was pathetic that these weak-minded individuals did not realize they were playing right into his hand.
“Yes, Captain Ozzel?” he rumbled.
“There is — there is a communication for you, my Lord,” the captain replied, practically trembling. “High-priority, from Imperial Center.”
Imperial Center. That could only mean Palpatine. It seemed that the Emperor had been keeping increasingly close tabs on his apprentice over the last two months, ever since they had begun planning the trip to Naboo. With the fourth Empire Day just a month away, it was possible Sidious simply wanted to check on some aspect of the planning process, but Vader doubted it.
Nevertheless, it wouldn’t do to keep his Master waiting. He nodded at Ozzel. “Send it through to my personal comlink.”
“Right away, my Lord.”
Vader didn’t bother staying around to catch the rest of the official’s sniveling. He simply turned on his heel and strode off the bridge of the Star Destroyer, spoiling the effect slightly by stumbling over one of his boots. He cursed himself. How was it that after nearly four years, he still couldn’t completely control this wretched body without the aid of the Force? The black suit that kept him alive seemed to be exceedingly poorly designed, with many areas that chafed and rubbed at his already tender skin and inefficient connections between his artificial limbs and what remained of his biological self. Every step he took caused him pain, as the sharp edges of the limbs ground into the stumps of his arms and legs. He could barely even lift a foot anyway due to the weight of his boots and the slipping of the prosthetics as pressure was removed from them. And this didn’t begin to take into account the fact that he could no longer properly hear, drink, see, breathe, use a refresher, lift his arms. Every day, a team of medical droids came to bathe him and remove the scar tissue and dead skin that continually sloughed off from the burns. His blood was checked for infections and the suit itself was cleaned at the same time. No drugs for pain relief were ever provided to him during these treatments, or at any other time.
If Vader had been able to step outside himself and see his situation from another perspective, he might have concluded that the suit and the treatments and his limitations were actually the perfect means to continue to keep him enslaved to Sidious’ bidding. Both fear and pain fed the Dark Side of the Force, and since Vader had lost over half of his Force potential to the fires of Mustafar, he needed an alternate means of connecting to the energy field. Forged in pain at the Emperor Palpatine Surgical Reconstruction Center, Vader was deathly afraid of going through the daily treatments and even of moment-to-moment ambulation by virtue of the fact that both of these caused him intense discomfort. The pain inevitably happened, creating more fear, and he became correspondingly stronger through his use of these emotions.
He shook himself, trying to clear the unpleasant thoughts, and went down uncomfortably on one knee to await his Master’s message. Sidious flickered into being, his eyes fixed speculatively on his apprentice.
“Lord Vader. How are the preparations proceeding?”
“As planned, my Master,” Vader answered. “We have received approval from the palace to conduct a tour of Theed and to complete several … intelligence operations.” He did not add that Queen Apailana had also acquiesced to his request to visit Padmé’s crypt. Palpatine did not need to know this.
“Excellent,” said Sidious. “Be mindful, my young apprentice. The Force is changed, uncertain, unstable. Surely you must have felt it these past months.”
“I have, Master.”
“Proceed with the plan only as I have outlined it to you, do you understand? There must be no deviations,” Sidious warned. “You are heading into a volatile situation. Do not make matters worse for yourself with disobedience. Is that quite clear?”
“It is, my Lord.” Vader hoped his mental shields were holding.
“Good.” A satisfied smile curled Palpatine’s lips.
“Master, if — if I were to come into some intelligence, important intelligence regarding the location of rebel Jedi, would this not be worth deviating from our original plan?” Vader asked cautiously. Better to plant the seeds now, in case he should need a justification later.
“Oh?” Palpatine arched an eyebrow. “And have you such intelligence, Lord Vader? You see, it would only be worth investigating if the Jedi happened to be extremely important and high-ranking. Someone like … Master Kenobi, perhaps.”
Vader decided to take the risk; he was in deeply enough as it was. “I am currently following a lead relating directly to his whereabouts, my Master. I have reason to believe he is in hiding on Naboo.”
“The precise location, do you have it?”
“No, my operatives are still conducting their investigation. But they believe that an important place to start may be the burial crypt. They have discovered certain … irregularities.”
“Such as?” Palpatine’s lip curled slightly.
Vader was glad his face was hidden behind a mask, as he wasn’t sure he would have been able to conceal his emotions. “The necklace that was buried with Senator Amidala has been discovered to be a very elaborate forgery,” he explained. “The carvings on the pendant do not match its … original design. Therefore suspicions have been raised about whether the body in the crypt actually matches that of the deceased Senator. We will soon discover the truth of all this.”
“So, in short you are saying that you think Senator Amidala lives?” Palpatine’s face showed clear disbelief.
“I am saying that there is evidence to indicate a deception may have taken place,” Vader replied. “Therefore, with your permission I would like to conduct a thorough search of the crypt, and perhaps of other locations with pertinent records. I have no doubt that if this is in fact true, Amidala may hold our best chance of finding Kenobi.”
“Indeed. Continue with your investigation, but be mindful. Take no additional action without first consulting myself. Is that quite clear?”
Vader bristled but could otherwise do nothing, handcuffed as he was by Sidious’ orders. “Yes, my Master. As you wish.”
Shortly thereafter he flicked off the comlink, annoyance swelling within him. How dare Sidious treat him like a petulant child, incapable of making important decisions without the consent of a superior? Like he was some insolent Padawan? After he had just thrown off the yoke of the Jedi Council, had he simply traded one form of dictatorial supervision for another?
It certainly seemed this way.
However, he had little time to dwell on his relationship with Sidious. There was important work to be done, and Vader needed to begin without delay.
Revenge must be enacted.