In Shadows and Darkness

Chapter 18

Mara woke suddenly, aware of being watched, and glanced about the darkened room, momentarily thrown by her sleepy state as to where she was. Lit by the cold light of distant stars reaching in through the viewport, Luke was sat on a chair to the far side of the room, a long linen dressing gown wrapped loosely about him, unfastened. He stared at her without blinking for long moments, making her uneasy before those piercing mismatched eyes.

"You need to learn to hide your thoughts." He said at last, "And you need to learn to do it tonight. Tomorrow we'll be at Coruscant."

She sat up, holding the sheet about her, pushing her long red hair back from her face to cascade down her bare back, intense red against pale skin. "I already know how to shield."

"From Palpatine." he corrected, making her glance down uneasily.

"It's a little too late for second thoughts." He said, cooly, but without judgement.

Luke had spent the last hour sat in the chair watching her sleep, giving their... situation serious consideration. If he did this, if he taught her how to hide specific thoughts from Palpatine as he could - and how to hide the fact that she was hiding anything - then he was also teaching her to do the same from himself. A serious consideration when in truth he trusted her so little.

He'd also considered the implications of teaching her a technique which she could very easily take back to Palpatine, providing him with a breakdown of the methods Luke employed and a willing accomplice on whom his Master could practice breaking those same shields which Luke applied, presently with such success.

But he'd also considered that, like him, she had simply made a foolish, impetuous mistake last night, which in the cold, mercilessly logical light of day, she was already beginning to regret.

One which she was determined never to repeat- just as he was. The costs were just too high.

Either way, he couldn't in all good conscience send her back to Palpatine unprotected. Not when he knew, as they both did, how outraged their master would be at this... incident. He frowned; good conscience. An interesting choice of words for a Sith, he reflected.

Or was it that at all? Wasn't the truth far more damning-

He had wanted something to control her, something to test her loyalties and pry her away from Palpatine. She would never admit this tryst to the Emperor, Luke knew that; had tested that theory repeatedly in the last few months - if on a much smaller scale. Which meant that in order to maintain this secret, she would now have to lie to Palpatine. And she would have to rely on Luke to do the same. She would have to trust him. Which limited how much she could inform on him; it was difficult to betray someone who had equally damning information on you.

A reasonable, logical course of action to control a spy he couldn't remove... or was this simply a rationaization to cover a moment of weakness? Why did it feel like he had gone too far and it had all become very, very complicated?

Because there was of course, one problem with letting someone past one's shields; they were within striking distance. And now, suddenly, that made him very uncomfortable. He'd sworn he'd never be vulnerable again - he'd paid the price too often, and he wouldn't give Palpatine another weakness to control him with.

He had to push her back; for her own safety as much as his own sanity, he couldn't afford this weakness. He had to stop this now. He'd let her closer only to control her, nothing more. Nothing more. The fault was his not hers; he'd thought he could ignore her feelings, remain removed from them, use them to control her, at least partially. And it had worked... at least partially. But to control her, he'd had to let her close...

He sat back, running his fingers through long, tangled hair, pointedly not following that thought any further.

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Mara watched him fall back against the chair, running his fingers through his wild hair, which fell smoothly back about his face and halfway to his shoulders, its loose curl twisting into disarray, dark tone reflecting the starlight. The memory of running her fingers through it, soft as silk, lit a twist of heat in her stomach and curled the edges of her lips up in appreciation.

And still he just sat, looking at her.

"You think we made a mistake." she said at last.

"Don't you?" he countered, no answer at all. He always did that, when he wished to avoid; answered a question with a question.

"I asked first."

"It's not a competition."

"Ohhh..." She grinned, tilting her head to the side, amused. "You're never gonna answer that are you?"

"Are you?" he asked quietly.

"When you do."

He rose, not bothering to close his gown as he walked past her into the fresher. "Ah - then apparently it is a competition."

The door slid closed behind him, leaving her completely in the dark.

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Luke walked across the long, wide expanse of the Attendants Hall, the antechamber to the main Throne Room where the Emperor held Court nightly. He looked neither left nor right in the always-crowded space, meeting no-one's eye though that would have been difficult anyway; with his entrance, the Hall had stilled to silence, everyone now bowing in a wave of polite deference as he walked on.

Much as he disliked it, he was a familiar figure here, generally ordered to attend Court with his Master whenever he was in residence at the Palace, often summoned on the night of his return as he had been tonight, without even the opportunity to return to his apartments first.

He'd always hated the Throne Rooms; despised the petty machinations of greedy men willing to sell their own soul or their brother's head for even the opportunity to further their personal goals. But slowly, over time, forced again and again to attend and to deal with petty bureaucrats and power-hungry Royals, he had learned the conventions of Court- the rules and regulations, the customs and traditions.

'Knowing the Court' was crucial for day-to-day dealings within the Palace, and Luke came to realise the value of watching and listening, employing his own recruits to remain always informed. Networks and alliances, both obvious and subtle, constantly shifted here, their influence rippling out beyond it like stones in a pond. In an environment where nothing was obtained without pulling strings, such information was vital both to aid intentions and offset losses.

And even this was a game within a game; kept close to the Emperor whenever he was at the Palace, Luke soon came to realise that Palpatine not only encouraged these trysts but often instigated them, showing favour to those who played the games by the rules, distinguishing Courtiers who did so with acknowledgements and permissions to pass from the Attendant's Hall into the Throne Room,

Strict rules and ceremony covered everything, decreeing anything from who had access to the Emperor, to the titles employed in Court, to the right to sit in an armchair, a highback chair, a stool, or whether one could sit at all whilst 'En Court'.

In the Emperor's presence of course, no-one sat.

The endless rules had seemed petty, pointless and elitist when Luke had first arrived, but forced to accompany the Emperor through countless days, he'd slowly come to recognise that they had been put in place as much for the Emperor's benefit as any insular discrimination; Courtiers arguing amongst themselves and bickering about who had and had not adhered to the insignificant trivia of countless Court customs had neither the time to mount any real organised opposition, nor access to enough of the other Royal Houses to form a solid front without infighting breaking out or being subtly instigated by Palpatine. Those few who did rise above it often found themselves the object of attacks by other Houses based on the slightest of asides from the Emperor, always eager to incite and encourage infighting. The pack mentality was paramount here - anyone who showed any weakness was singled out, the pack attacking at the first smell of blood. Divide and conquer.

His father had no time for any of it, Luke knew, but for himself, he'd learned that it had its place. No matter how under duress, he was at the Palace far more than is father; ignoring it was not an option, since as Heir he had found himself more and more caught up in its influence, and hard experience had taught him that he would be a fool to dismiss something without understanding the dangers it represented. If he chose not to do something - not to adhere to rules or expectations - he should know what the repercussions would be, and for those times when he chose to play the game, he needed to know all the rules - if only to bend and break them. He'd long since learned to run with the pack.

The tall double-doors glided open as he approached, the four Royal Guard who stood to constant attention there whether Court was in session or not stepping smartly to the side.

Luke walked on without hesitation, keeping his eyes forward as he strode into the thick gloom of the massive, imposing expanse of the Throne Room, the myriad of cut rock-crystal lights which hung from the lofty vaulted and reeded ceilings making the gilded walls glow with diffuse shards of soft, reflected light. He walked forward to the rustle of heavy cloth as the multitude of Courtiers within bowed in a rolling wave at his passing, their faces lost in the shadows, Luke's complete attention on his Master - and the shields necessary to protect his own thoughts against him.

"My Jedi returns!" Palpatine stated, tone dryly amused as Luke walked the long aisle to the Dais.

He set his head on one side as Luke reached the pale inset semi-circle of stone on the floor before the Sunburst Throne and stepped smoothly into a kneeling bow before his Master with a minimal dip of his head, one knee to the floor.

"You seem to be missing something, my friend..." Palpatine continued, pausing theatrically, "Ah! A Star Destroyer!"

Though it was routine in the vast Rim Regions where the Rebellion was more entrenched, this was the first time that Luke had ever lost a Destroyer in battle, so he'd expected his Master to take this opportunity to crow. He rose, unperturbed, noting that Palpatine had neglected to mention the 'loss' of General Veers. "I think it bought you something far more valuable, Excellency." he said levelly.

Palpatine leered, indulgent, "Indeed? And what did the Fury buy me?"

"One ship for two heads, Master."

"Two?"

"I understand the Executor visited Degobah recently."

The Emperor's expression changed not a whit at his Jedi's unexpected knowledge of the Executors' mission, but his sense cooled several degrees. "Indeed. It found very little, however."

Luke forced himself not to blink before that searching gaze, "Perhaps Lord Vader searches in the wrong place?"

"He searched where you advised, Jedi."

He loved doing this, Luke knew; holding a private conversation in open Court which only the people involved would understand. Knowledge was power, and his Master treasured any opportunity to illustrate this.

"If you command, I'll return to Degobah and aid in the search. I very much doubt that his quarry has left."

Perhaps he shouldn't have said that; it hinted too closely that he knew the truth. Palpatine watched his Jedi in silence for long seconds, yellow-flecked eyes narrowed in consideration, but Luke had long since learned not only to mask his thoughts, but to conceal the fact that they were being hidden, so he had only to brazen this out - though beneath his Masters razor-sharp scrutiny, that was no small thing. He had been caught before by the smallest of slips and any hesitation was as good as an admission of guilt.

The Emperor remained silent and Luke arranged the slightest shade of confusion on his face; nothing too indignant or offended, just simple lack of perception as to his Master's suspicion.

"No." the Emperor said at last, "Lord Vader found nothing because there was nothing left to find. Only lifeless ruins."

"Lifeless?" Luke feigned realisation.

"It seems my enemies will resort to any means to escape my wrath." The Emperor said, loud enough for all to hear, his mood lightening again.

Luke knew better than to allow this matter to drop too quickly though; it would be out of character, "He's sure? How long?"

"Long enough," Palpatine said, and Luke knew that his Master didn't know; was made certain of the fact by Palpatine's moving on of the conversation, though not too obviously. "And what else did you bring me in exchange for the Fury?"

Luke looked to his Master, not missing the cue. He had of course informed Palpatine of the missions' success before entering hyperspace for the journey back - knew that Mara would have done so even before that, passing on a full breakdown of the events and his own actions... those she knew of - but this was clearly to be the official announcement of Mothma's capture.

"I bring the leader of the Rebellion against you, Master." He announced loudly enough for his voice to carry, "Mon Mothma is in your possession now- the fate of any who challenge the Empire."

It was a subtle distinction - Luke's defence of the Empire rather than the Emperor - but it was meant only for the ears of the few, its relevance lost beneath the greater revelation for the majority.

The susurration travelled through the crowd in a wave of astonishment, igniting a burst of emotion in the Force strong enough to make Luke flinch slightly, his head jerking back, though he never took his eyes from the Emperor.

Palpatine smiled, settling back, "You have done well, my friend. Very well." He feigned careful consideration, making Luke narrow his eyes in cautious suspicion. "Two of my greatest enemies, delivered at my feet. Yes - the cost was small indeed."

The Emperor leaned forward, tone indulgent, "And what would my Wolf like as his reward?"

Luke bowed his head, dipping his shoulders, deeply wary. "To continue to serve, Master- nothing more is necessary."

"You are too modest, my friend. Such an act deserves reward..." the Emperor paused theatrically, considering, and Luke kept his gaze down to hide his unease; What's he up to?

"My new Super Star Destroyer is to be delivered here within months- it's yours, my friend. Your new flagship."

Luke didn't look up, aware that he had been cornered - to refuse before Court would be an intolerable breach in etiquette, but the new Destroyer would be bristling with covert surveillance and concealed stealth equipment of new design, much of which would have been developed in direct response to Luke's ability to detect and disable existing equipment, all of which would have to be dealt with and cleared from sensitive areas before Luke could resume his own operations.

The Peerless had been his safe haven and Palpatine knew it.

"An unwarranted reward, Excellency." Luke said, raising knowing eyes to his Master's taunting grin. In truth, he'd expected some reprisal when his Master found out that Master Yoda was already dead, whether Palpatine believed Luke knew or not; it was in his Master's nature. But that didn't mean that Luke shouldn't maintain some sense of tactfully injured pride before the Emperor- any less would seem fraudulent.

He'd become accustomed to these games within games, either before an attentive audience or in his Master's private Council Chambers. The public presentation of Emperor and Heir - no visible discord and therefore no opportunity for those in Court to try to play one against the other - hid the more fractious game played between a conceited, distrustful Master and a reluctant, wilful advocate; the veiled battle of wills which that always entailed. And beneath this was another layer of powerplays, that of manipulations and evasions, absolute authority maintaining precedence over stealthy insurrection.

It was second nature to Luke now, this life, these games; allies were unreliable unless one had the means to guarantee their loyalty and adversaries were little more than opportunities to be used and discarded. The only way to avoid the same was to stay beyond reach.

Power gained position and position gained power, as his Master was so fond of reciting. There was no room for weakness here, where integrity and morality were crippling flaws- he'd learned that lesson too. The only way to remain beyond reach was to lead the pack, credibly and decisively; the moment one showed the slightest hesitation the mob would turn - and Luke had no intention of falling to this pack of cold-blooded self-serving scavengers.

It had become is driving mantra- to outlast them all, if only out of sheer wilful obstinacy. Every time he came back, every time he walked among the scavengers and the manipulators and the opportunists, he felt his own determination fire. That he wouldn't crumble for Palpatine's amusement, that he wouldn't be dragged down by the pack. Every time he stood among them he felt the same resentment, the same revulsion, firing that same refusal to succumb; to lay down and die for someone else's gain. The determination to prevail, to become invulnerable; untouchable... whatever the cost.

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CHAPTER NINETEEN

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The trial was held in the massive State Room on the lower levels of the South Tower, an exercise in Imperial pomp and propaganda, a host of high-ranking officials and Royal Houses 'invited' to attend.

It seemed to Luke to be little more than a poorly disguised indulgence of the Emperor's ego- but then he had expected no less.

It had been made clear that he was expected to spend a spell on Coruscant, so he'd hardly been surprised when he had returned to his apartments to be presented with a formal invitation to attend the final verdict. The representatives had waited- to deliver the message by hand rather than for a reply; any 'invitation' on the Emperor's behalf was to be viewed as a direct command and never refused.

In a typical display of overindulgence, it had been delivered on a gold platter by two messengers accompanied by four Royal Guards. Luke had taken the vellum card, glanced at its content then turned away, dropping it on the table nearby without comment. The act would, he was sure, have been studiously reported to Palpatine before the night was out.

The verdict, when it was finally delivered, was hardly unanticipated...

The morning of the execution was bright and still, and Luke had briefly stayed huddled beneath his sheets, turning breakfast away before rising and chiding himself for his own irresolute morals. He'd made his decisions; he should at least have the integrity to stand by them now.

Despite his quiet protestations and subtle avoidances, his Master had made it very clear that Luke would attend Mothma's execution just after midday, Chancellor Amedda contacting Luke's Aides to announce that the Emperor had ordered an 'Honor Compliment' of twelve Red Guards to be sent to his quarters at the relevant time to accompany him to the event- just to clarify the situation.

Still, when Luke had ordered Darrick to bring a pale jacket and white shirt, his dresser had raised his eyebrows in politic silence, though the old man knew better than to say anything out loud. The Emperor always had members of his entourage dress in what were termed 'Court Livery'; scarlet, midnight blue or, for those in his closest entourage, black. Though he was entitled, Luke seldom wore black- but to wear pale tones today would be a glaring statement of dissent.

Aware of his silent disapproval as the old man studiously brushed at imaginary specks on the pale, impeccably-fitted jacket, Luke had turned on his Dresser, issuing a sharp rebuke and dismissal which caused the old man to shrink back, head low, leaving Luke with yet another reason to feel guilty. After long minutes of consideration, he'd called Darrick back in and asked him to bring something more suitable and the old man had nodded diplomatically, nothing more needing to be said.

But it meant that when Mara had arrived, Luke was still in his dressing room, so she knocked quietly and leaned in through the door in an unprecedented display of familiarity as Darrick bowed and left with his customary silent discretion.

She didn't speak as he tied the fasteners of his high-collared jacket; didn't rush him. Maybe she too had sensed the atmosphere in his apartments, everyone tip-toeing around him with wary caution - with good reason, considering his mood for the last few days Or maybe it was another softening of the battle-lines long-since drawn between them, but even she had enough tact to be moderate today.

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Mara watched Luke smooth non-existent creases in his dark jacket, eyes down, jaw locked, clearly agitated, as he had been every day since his return to Coruscant, walking a knife-edge of guilt, but for a very different reason to her own, she suspected.

When they'd reached Coruscant the reality of their transgression had hit Mara with devastating force, guilt seeping into her at what she needed to do when they returned to the Palace - who she had to lie to - the realisation washing a wave of anxious agitation over her. "What will we do?" she 'd whispered.

"You'll do as I taught you." He'd said calmly, gazing silently out into the massed lights of the glowing planet, "He has no way to know unless you tell him."

She held still, eyes on his back, so eventually he spoke out again, lowering his head to rub at his eyelids, as he often did when he was tired or tense. "He's not all-powerful and he's not infallible. He won't know if you do as I taught you, and what he doesn't know he can't take from you and he can't make you tell him."

She remained silent and he'd finally turned to look at her, "He only knows what you tell him, Mara. Whatever he learns it's from you."

She glanced away again, apprehensive, aware from his clipped tone that he was the same despite his veneer of calm, though she didn't know whether it was because he was about to lie to the Emperor or because he was relying on her to do the same.

"We can't... meet in the Palace." He'd said at last, bringing her eyes back to him.

"You have rooms without surveillance. In your..."

"It's too risky." He shook his head decisively, "There are too many eyes and too many systems- you know that."

She glanced down, biting at her lip and he'd sighed, stepping forward to lift her chin, "You can do this, Red." He assured, mismatched eyes almost smiling, providing her the reason and the conviction to try.

She reached up to take his face in her hands and draw him down into a heartfelt kiss and when he finally stepped back she sighed and moved with him, head to his chest.

"It'll be a week, two at the most." He assured, though they both knew the lie.

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In the event, when they returned she'd found it all too easy to stay away for the first few nights, guilt still gnawing at her, but with each day that passed it was becoming a little harder.

Several times now she'd tried to broach the subject with Luke, setting out to embrace him when she knew they were alone in an unobserved room, but always he'd found some way to avoid or prevent her, gently but firmly, in command of his emotions in a way that she no longer was- no longer wished to be, around him.

Still, as she'd returned to her quarters the previous night, Luke having spent most of the afternoon and evening in his office taking a series of appointments to attend to military management and affairs of state which kept himself and Reece working well into the night - thus enabling him to avoid the complications inherent in being alone with her - Mara had left, wondering whether her words, spoken on that night, had been closer to the truth than she'd realized; "You think we made a mistake."

Or perhaps he was simply distracted; this could hardly be easy for him; bringing Mon Mothma here. He had known Mothma- had served as her bodyguard occasionally in years past, Mara knew. To bring the Rebel leader to justice now, however right he must believe it to be, clearly carried with it certain misgivings, even Mara could see that. Because when he turned to her now, she glimpsed something she so seldom saw in his eyes these days, something he had learned to bury so effectively beneath that reserved veneer of detached indifference at the cost of a volatile, quicksilver temperament;

Emotion- real, genuine, heartfelt emotion, a bewildered, conflicting mix of guilt and regret, so rare on his face anymore, leaving him pensive and preoccupied. A glimpse of Luke Skywalker beneath the Emperor's prized Jedi.

So she didn't hurry him this morning, aware that he too must know the time, conscious of his brittle, vulnerable air, protective of him in a way she never had been before.

When he could find no further reasons to procrastinate he took a deep, unsteady breath and set toward her. She flashed a short, encouraging smile at him, nodding once before she turned to walk from the room. When his footsteps failed she paused, realising that he was no longer behind her, stepping back into the muted, austere dressing room.

He stood immobile before the mirror, having caught a glimpse of himself as he made to leave.

"Luke?" When he didn't reply, didn't acknowledge her at all, she walked slowly toward him. He remained still, studying his reflection in the mirror, head to one side, expression an odd mix of detached curiosity and morbid fascination.

"Who is that?" he murmured at last, all attention on the reflection.

Mara glanced to the mirror, uncertain what to say, uneasy at his distant tone of voice and his precariously impassive air.

After a long time, he answered himself, eyes narrowing, "It's the Emperor's Jedi, isn't it?"

Luke studied the man in the mirror - really looked for the first time in a long time - he never looked at his reflection anymore. He checked that his clothes were straight, that he looked presentable... though he never met those unfamiliar, mismatched eyes - didn't care to see.

But today he'd glanced up and they'd locked onto his and now he stood rooted to the spot, fascinated by the reflection of a stranger who stared back at him with such an obviously brittle veneer of outer calm masking... what?

He still looked a little like Luke Skywalker- same height, same lean, rangy build, wide at the shoulders, slim at the hip... but there the resemblance ended. His skin was pale, his features unnoticed beneath the shockingly deep, heavy scar which ran from his forehead down over his cheek, almost disappearing at the hollow there to re-emerge above is lips, cutting a deep slash through them both before trailing to nothing, a second scar just visible at his collar. Deep-rimmed hollows shadowed his eyes, making them seem shockingly blue, the right iris shot through close to the scar by a wide twist of darkest brown, almost black against pale blue. His hair fell before his eyes in places, unchecked, long enough to curl into disarray below his chinline, dark brown - hadn't Luke Skywalker's been lighter? Or was it just that Tatooine's intense sunlight had bleached it, and the pale man in the mirror seldom walked in the light of day anymore.

Luke frowned and the stranger before him did the same, stepping closer as Luke did, gaze turning to his clothes. Bespoke tailored and hand-stitched, restrained and refined, midnight blue. Black, handmade boots; impeccably-fitted trousers and jacket, a sliver of white where the starched stand collar hid a severe, dark red scar to the side of his neck.

They probably cost more than Luke Skywalker had expected to earn in a year. The man in the mirror didn't even know; didn't care. They simply arrived and he wore them until he bored of them and expressed a need for more, which arrived in due course; from where he had no idea. He didn't need currency, his face was enough- whatever he wanted was instantly made available without question.

But he wanted nothing at all - and the one thing he needed no amount of currency could buy.

He stepped forward again, fascinated, close enough now to reach out to the shadow-man in the mirror, fingertips touching; dark clothes, dark hair, dark sense hanging like a cloak about him. Dark motives and intent.

"The Emperor's Wolf- isn't that what they call him?" he murmured at last.

Where was Luke Skywalker? Long gone, he knew that - swallowed up by the shadows and the Darkness. Luke Skywalker would never have allowed what the man in the mirror was intending - would have been appalled... or did the ends justify the means?

The man in the mirror believed so- because no matter what else he felt, he was clearly going to go through with this, Luke could see it in his eyes... but then, the man in the mirror was a stranger too, no more real to Luke than the nightmares which clawed through his dreams and just as easy to disregard.

Which left him... where?

He stared mutely as memories came to mind- of the cell beneath the Palace where this dark-dressed man had come into being, the only protection left against relentless pain and provocation, every reserve torn down, every option burned away. Remembered his Master's biting, goading words... "What do you see in the darkness, when your demons come?"

What did he see? Palpatine thought that it was he who invaded and inspired Luke's visions and nightmares alike.

But Palpatine wasn't Luke's demon... he only created it.

Mara's reflection reached tentatively out in the mirror, hand to his shoulder, "Luke?"

Who was she speaking to? Didn't she realise?

He glanced to her, suddenly intensely curious, "What do you see?"

She frowned at his reflection, squeezing his arm in reassurance, "I see you."

He turned away again, back to the shadow in the mirror.

"What do you see?" she whispered at last, and he could hear her uncertainty, sense her unease.

He faltered, lost within the shadows and the Darkness, reaching out, turning to the woman who now held him anchored, though he knew the fundamental danger inherent in this weakness, knew he could not trust her...

Knew that somehow, some day, even she would betray him. As everyone he had ever trusted had.

And he wondered what the shadow-man in the mirror would do when she did...

"What do you see in the darkness when your demons come?" Palpatine's words whispered again.

Luke looked again to the man in the mirror, dressed in darkness... "I see you." he murmured quietly, knowing it absolutely.

Aware of her gaze on him, of her curiosity and her concern, he brought his eyes to her, "I see you." he said again out loud, arranging an empty smile about his features which pulled at deep scars.

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That evening Luke stood quiet and brooding at the back of the huge, sumptuous State Ballroom, isolated and apart from the revelry around him, every iota of body-language demonstrating his terse, volatile temper, no-one daring to come near.

Palpatine sat on the dais at the head of the cavernous, grotesquely opulent hall, a rare 'public' appearance among the Royal Houses and diplomatic and planetary representatives who had attended the day's event, illustrating just how pleased he was with his accomplishments.

The gathering this evening was little more than a thinly-disguised celebration as far as Luke was concerned, and he had no stomach for it.

His 'Honour Compliment' of twelve Royal Guard had arrived at midday to accompany him to the wide private terrace where the act would take place, representatives from all the major Royal Houses, planetary systems and Trade Guilds in attendance, a wild mix of contradictory emotions whipped up into an unblockable frenzy by the anticipation, making him flinch at the intensity within the Force as he stepped out onto to terrace, security off the scale, conspicuously visible everywhere.

And then he was applauded. Applauded, the shouts and cheers from the gathered crowd making his stomach turn in disgust.

Even Palpatine stood, grinning provocatively, hands coming slowly together to maintain the applause as Luke walked deliberately forward, ignoring the assemblage, jaw clenched, eyes locked on his Master's. He reached the dais and stepped down onto one knee, Palpatine lifting his open hands, keeping the applause thundering about Luke for an eternity as he was forced to remain kneeling, the Emperor making a great act of being unable to order him to rise for the noise.

And so he'd closed his thoughts and his awareness; had shut off, as he'd learned to do here, face neutral, eyes glazed. Had let it all take place around him, somehow dismissed from it, as if viewing it through a pane of glass, in the same way that he viewed all life outside the Palace now; a distant haze of an old dream too far away to touch him anymore... She was dressed in gray when they brought her out, and he looked to the ground, jaw tightening. on the pale terrazzo of the wide terrace, he saw a scarlet drop appear to the side of his boot... then another. Realizing, he looked down to the clenched fist of left hand opening his fingers with difficulty, so tightly had they been clasped; he'd cut four perfect slices into the palm of his hand with his nails.

He was still staring at his hand when the shots cracked through the air, making him jerk just slightly. He didn't look. He owed her that much.

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For Palpatine, watching his feral Jedi as he brooded in the farthest corner of the massive Ballroom with no attempt to even try to cover his disgust, the day had gone from strength to strength. Now he watched his Jedi with self-congratulating amusement, as the boy created a small island for himself in the crowds, everyone subconsciously diverting around him like a shoal of fish about a shark, no-one getting too close. Occasionally the odd Moff would consider approaching to curry favour, but at the last minute would kose his nerve and veer awkwardly away, followed every step of his retreat by those wonderful ice-blue eyes

It had been, from beginning to end, a wonderful day. Mothma's demise had finally put to rest two decades of irritation. Her precious Rebellion had never been a real threat fo course; without a Jedi to withstand the Sith they challenged, the Rebellion could never be any more than a minor nuisance, an inconvenience which, between brief bouts of anarchy, Palpatine manipulated to his own ends - except briefly. For a short time, they had held among them someone who had been capable of turning them into a real threat. Briefly, when his first Death Star had been destroyed, he had heard them roar. Then in their blind, reckless stupidity they had rejected that which could make them a power to be reckoned with - delivered him into the open arms of their enemy, no less.

They still had a Force-sensititve, Palpatine knew, and he would have to deal with her sooner or later. But she was untrained and of no immediate threat. Better to focus his efforts on that which he had alrealdy invested so much in creating. That which he derived so much pleasure from persuading and provoking.

Today had been the cruellest taunt Palpatine had engineered in a long time and he'd revelled in it, in the biting discomfort that his Jedi felt before it, the boy's determination not to allow his disquiet to show before his Master conflicting with his obvious burning desire to turn and simply walk away from this painstakingly-arranged circus.

It was, Palpatine reflected, the most wonderful irony- that the boy had argued for this, had demanded that he be given the satisfaction of hunting Mothma down for her attack on him but now, having to face the result of his accomplishments, was so profoundly, intensely uncomfortable. It provided the crowning glory to a perfect day. A flawless plan from beginning to end, the results surpassing his wildest expectations. From the day he had acknowledged Skywalker as Heir Apparent events had unfolded with unerring aim, requiring only the smallest nudges to guide them, channelling the boy closer and closer to this point of no return.

Skywalker had cut his last ties to the Rebellion- willingly; decisively, with full awareness of what he was doing. And he'd accepted his role here, by Palpatine's side. That was obvious in many subtle ways, but Mara had confirmed it with her own considered opinion of his actions over the last month, on her arrival at Palpatine's private quarters to deliver her report the evening that the Peerless had made orbit.

Though her opinion, if not her loyalty, would soon cease to be quite so reliable. Objectivity required impartiality, and he had long sensed her detachment wavering. Nothing specific, but then that in itself was relevant - when last she'd been here, the focus of her fascination had been quite clear; now those feelings seemed muted, completely buried. He didn't doubt her loyalty; he'd held her long enough to ensure that, and he had no desire to question too closely her sudden change- it was after all what he had always intended; for her to become close.

Close enough to hold Skywalker here.

Because Mara would never leave, her allegiance guaranteed, which meant that if she could hold him, neither would Skywalker. And even if she couldn't, she could still be used as leverage.

Hadn't he warned the boy often enough; if you have a weakness, others will use it against you.

His Jedi had not so much removed his major weakness, formerly the Rebellion, as simply exchanged it for another. Which was just as well, since despite his outward confidence, Palpatine knew that if he didn't have these levers, he would find the boy far more difficult to control.

He had already dealt with his connection to his father; broken it beyond repair. There was no association allowed between his two Sith; that would be intolerable- and far, far too dangerous. Divide and conquer - Vader had the ambition and his son the power. Of the two, Palpatine knew that Skywalker was the most threat; Vader had been in his service for many years and despite his ambitions, he knew that he hadn't the power to stand against Palpatine alone and survive. It had long since been taken from him.

His son, on the other hand, had the power to be a real threat, though he had chosen not to utilise it; he had no desire to rule an Empire which on some level he still despised, and as long as he held that view, he remained controllable. Palpatine had no doubt that this would change in the future, but as long as he could read the boy accurately and therefore head off any insurrection, then he still remained by far the most appealing of the two - in every way.

He tolerated a great deal from Skywalker though he was never quite sure why. It had become a fascination bordering on obsession, his need to control the boy. That first burst of accomplishment when he had broken him, had taught him the futility of resistance and finally pulled that latent power to the fore in a burst of aggrieved fury, had been... Palpatine sighed now at the memory; it still had the power to move him, distant as it was.

But such raw expression had given way now to a far subtler game achieved in near-imperceptible increments, each meaningless when viewed in isolation but slowly, over time, accruing and taking their toll - though he doubted the boy saw it as such.

His action and inaction today was proof of that, as was his willingness to use Jade, though Palpatine still had faith in her ability to creep under Skywalker's defences. He'd taken care to surround the boy with those whom he thought might appeal; attachments were such wonderfully invisible constraints- they required so little pressure to exploit. And he'd yet to fully cure his fallen Jedi of his other weakness; the obstinate, wilful tendency to fight every dispute, even to the extent of fighting on behalf of others- exactly as he had once done with his precious Rebellion.

One should choose one's battles with care - how many times had he told the boy that? Step back and examine the greater picture, ask oneself if this fight is really so important to one's own goals and not simply a challenge on principle. There were times when the ability to step back, to control one's emotions, was the very key to success even for a Sith. How could one dominate one's opponents if one was not in control of oneself?

What was so wonderful was the fact that Palpatine had told the boy all of this--to master these weaknesses and to choose what was important, because only then would he fight with his whole heart and soul. Yet still he fought- even when he knew he had no hope of winning.

That was why he foundered; that was why Palpatine could make him stumble again and again.

He considered all of this now as he watched is Jedi where he had retreated to the far end of the cavernous, opulent room, as far from his Master as he could be without actually leaving. But he was hardly difficult to locate, despite his distance; his presence sung out through the Force, as powerful as ever. Muted though... by choice; Palpatine narrowed ochre-yellow eyes as he watched his Jedi, considering... yes, muted. Very little emotion ever leaked through those carefully-constructed shields anymore. One was left to wonder what else was cloaked...

The boy turned and Palpatine knew he was looking to his Master, aware of being under scrutiny, meeting Palpatine's gaze with equal intensity, nothing lost despite the distance and the crowds between them.

Palpatine leaned back, settling on his throne, arranging a smug, self-satisfied expression about his face, bloodless lips curling in the slightest of smiles, inviting the boy forward. He remained still for long seconds, clearly considering then, to Palpatine's surprise, set forward, the crowds instinctively parting as he strode through them.

Would he force an argument here, now? Surely he knew Palpatine couldn't allow that. After such a public display of accord between the two over the last several months, enough to assure even the most doubtful that there was no discord between them, a heated dispute now was unthinkable. It would negate all of that carefully-constructed unity, especially before this wide-ranging, unselect audience.

The boy knew all of this - he knew it - knew that a scene now would command the harshest punishment. Not here, but later, when there were no eyes to see. But knowing that, did he now think he would have nothing to lose, no reason to hold back-

He was halfway across the hall now, eyes dark and stormy, jaw locked, muscles taught as he stalked meaningfully forward, wrist brushing subtly against the lightsaber at his hip. Palpatine felt his own heartbeat begin to rise, body tightening as he sat straighter in the throne in preparation for the confrontation, aware that he must disperse it as quickly and quietly and decisively as possible-

Three Moffs crossed before his Jedi, momentarily obscuring him-

And when they had moved, he was gone.

As quickly as that.

Palpatine glanced about the room, still aware of the boy's presence in the Force but unable to pin him down, his sense veiled and diffuse. Frowning, he drew further on the Force, glancing about the massive hall, awash with colour and movement...

There!

The tall double doors were open, the Red Guards at the top of the short, wide stairwell coming to smart attention as he passed through, and Palpatine briefly caught fragmented images of his fallen Jedi's dark form as he set down the long, winding, mirrored gallery which led from the State Ballroom, pacing from the light and the noise back into the dim shadows, like the wolf he had become.

The Sith Master smiled, relief relaxing him back into his seat, amused that at the last, his wolf had made his presence felt- and that without actually doing anything. Yes, he had learned his craft; a conflict was fought as much in the head as with the hand- lightsaber skills were not the only thing he had learned to master whilst confined within the walls of the Palace.

He glanced about the hall again, reaching into the Force to summon Mara to the Dais.

She approached with her usual feline elegance, hips swaying gracefully in the svelte, fitted black vinesilk dress she wore, fiery auburn hair aglow in the low light. She'd always known how to dress provocatively; had used it to good effect many times on various targets, but she had no such assignment tonight, leaving him to ponder momentarily why she had dressed this way; it certainly wasn't for him.

She bowed respectfully, loose hair falling about her bare shoulders, "Master?"

She had, Palpatine realised, already been halfway to the doors when he had recalled her. "Go after him." he ordered simply, feeling no need to elaborate further, "I want to know what he does- stay close to him tonight."

Mara felt a pang of adrenaline-laced guilt at his words, but quashed it quickly, turning obediently to leave the Ballroom before he could question her further, pausing in the long, curving gallery set with a seemingly endless run of hand-cast mirrors, each two storeys tall, their size and handmade nature causing slight distortions, unique to each one, endlessly refracting the same disjointed images back and forth across the walls of the long gallery.

She stood expectantly before one, ignoring the twisted, grotesque image it represented, and it opened with the slightest 'click' onto a small guard room-come watching post. Stepping in as the mirror-door closed behind her, she contacted Security, waiting for them to track down Skywalker's location, which seemed to take an excessive amount of time given the level of security here tonight. She'd eventually ordered surveillance to check security images rather than try to locate him by the guard's recognition, knowing that if he didn't want to be seen then he simply wouldn't be, and had set his recognition code into the ID Tracer in the small room when his location came up.

It was, surprisingly, in his apartments, Reece having logged his arrival there only moments ago.

Mara set off walking from the South to the West Tower, taking her time, giving Skywalker breathing space; time to cool down. She'd watched, breathless, the little game of nerves he'd played out against his Master, setting Mara's heart in her throat at the certain belief that he was about to make a challenge, knowing that Palpatine couldn't allow it, seeing her master actually tense in uncertainty as Luke approached, Mara setting forward too, hoping to dispel it before it erupted. Then he'd vanished, disappearing into the crowd like a cipher even though she was watching him, and Mara knew that had been his intent all along; simply to unnerve - a pointless risk for no other reason than his own short temper.

In view of this she didn't particularly want to have to follow him tonight; his mood had been foul all day and that final game of brinksmanship with Palpatine would hardly have dispelled it- and he would know that it would be their master who had sent her.

She reached his apartments to find the lights of the wide, galleried main hallway turned down, indicating that the household had retired for the night. Stepping past the ever-present guards at the door, she leaned into the small office just inside the hallway, Reece glancing up to her.

"I'd leave him alone tonight if I were you." He advised, expression serious.

"Palpatine sent me." She said simply, explanation enough for anything.

Reece nodded, glancing down the hallway. "Rather you than me, Commander." He said, "Don't bait him... and sit close to the door."

"Thanks." Mara muttered dryly, setting off down the wide, dark hallway and across the elaborate, glass-roofed central cupola to the private rooms he always retreated to when he wished to be left alone.

Surprisingly they were dark and empty, her light footfalls echoing beneath lofty, ornate ceilings. Backing out, she walked a slow circle through his private office and down the curving halls about the central rooms, then back into the terrazzo-tiled grandeur of the central cupola, aware that all she could do was start a slow sweep of the thirty or so imposing, sombre, seldom-used rooms in his extensive apartments.

She finally tracked him down in the grand, sweeping curve of the manila, silk-walled library, sat in the dark, his back to the door.

"Skywalker?" Mara whispered into the darkness, instantly reminded of her first visit here when Palpatine had converted him, of her shock at the changes his conversion and maltreatment had induced.

He didn't reply, but she catwalked forward around the curve of the echoing, coffered-ceiling room to see him slumped in a chair, a bottle of spirit on the table beside him, looking tired to his bones, eyes fixed unseeing on the vague, indistinct glow at the edges of the many data chips which lined the retrieval system on the far wall.

"You okay?" Considering his state, it was a fairly stupid question, so she wasn't surprised when he didn't bother to answer. Instead he reached out and poured a lethal measure of the spirit into his glass. White camphor; she could smell it as it hit the air, the glass stopper abandoned nearby.

He looked at the clear liquid for several seconds, the heavy glass tilted dangerously in his hand, then-

"Here's to late nights in Mos Espa." He stated obscurely, taking a swig from the glass.

Mara remained still, unsure what to do - she had never seen him drink before, ever. The fact that the bottle was already one third down when they were generally left untouched didn't bode well. Eventually she glanced around the dim room and went to get another glass, returning to pour herself a drink in silence. If she couldn't stop him, then she could at least limit the amount he could drink.

Taking her tumbler, she walked over to another chair before the tall bevelled-glass bookcases which held old-fashioned paper-page books and settled down, the cool, clinging folds of the smooth black silk settling about her.

He didn't turn to her but instead lifted his glass again, "Here's to Fixer... and Camie, and Deak and Windy. And Biggs Darklighter."

He paused expectantly, eyes hidden by the shadows of his unruly hair and Mara lifted her own glass in uneasy salute, having no idea what he was talking about. Then he drained his glass and set it down again, reaching out for the bottle. Mara took a sip of the neat spirit and it burned a path down her throat, sharp and bitter.

"We used to go out when the week was done and hit the races in Mos Espa or Mos Cata." Skywalker said absently, eyes fixed again on the far distance. "Swoop racing. Forty credits entry fee and if you got lucky, you'd make it to the finals and win two hundred. That was it. I saw guys break bones and lose limbs for two hundred credits. Saw a few scraped off the walls. That's all people came for- to watch the carnage. If I won, I'd split it with Fixer, who kept the swoops, and we'd all go into Mos Eisley and blow it. Drink ourselves stupid so that for just a few hours we'd forget the scuzzy, dead-end dirtball of a planet we were stuck on... I watched it bleed Uncle Owen dry a day at a time, trying to scratch a living from sand and dust. Watched it wear him down and make him old before his time and I swore it wouldn't do the same to me."

He paused, lost in silent thought, before finally lifting his glass again, "Here's to Tatooine. I'd give everything I ever was to be standing there again."

He waited until Mara lifted her own glass to her lips, then drained his glass, slamming it back down on the table to refill it. "Here's to... those stupid, battered, dilapidated vaporators that never worked. Here's to Sandpeople- may they die in the desert. And to Jawa's and their wrecked, worn-out, second-rate 'droids..."

He paused at this, considering a long time before taking another gulp of the liquor. "And here's to crazy old men. And naïve kids stupid enough to listen to them. May they both disappear without a trace."

He turned to Mara as she took a sip of the neat spirit, her nose wrinkling at its raw potency.

"Here's to ends that justify their means." He toasted cryptically, and they both took another drink, Luke pausing to refill his tumbler again, Mara realising that he was going to drink himself unconscious, struggling to find something to say which would stop him; wondering if it would be better to just let him get on with it...

He turned to her, lifting his glass high-

"And here's to Palpatine. May the black-hearted Sith-Spawn die a hard death."

Mara jolted at the venom in his words. Though she knew that he had no great attachment to the Emperor, in the last year he'd remained by and large obedient and trustworthy, isolated insubordinations becoming fewer and father between, so that she'd genuinely thought he was settling, finding a place for himself here in Palpatine's exclusive and jealously envied entourage. But to say this, here - and with such fierce conviction - was tantamount to treason and it shook her to the core.

She was aware that his eyes were still on her, his glass held up expectantly... Finally, she blinked and lifted the glass to her mouth, touching the burning liquor to her closed lips.

"You didn't drink." He said coolly, his own glass still held high.

Mara almost- almost drank from the glass, but her own stubborn streak cut in, "You know I can't drink to that."

"But you were prepared to fake it. To me." His sharp eyes burned into her now; he seemed to have gone from half-cut to chillingly lucid in the blink of an eye, and she found she had no answer to the searching words.

When she didn't reply he rose, draining his glass and abandoning it on the table to take the bottle instead, turning to walk from the room.

"You should be careful Mara; it's a hard thing to keep a foot in two camps. Take it from me, it's an impossible balancing act - all you can do is fall."