Into the Storm

Chapter 23

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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

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The massed ranks of stormtroopers gathered in parade-straight lines on the vast main landing platform of the Imperial Palace, assembled to mark the return of Lord Vader from his extended mission to the Rim Worlds.

Palpatine stood in one of the private halls far above in the South Tower, removed from the ceremony he had ordered, his attention split between that and the near-soundless footsteps which approached now, aware of the tightly twisted ball of Force-presence that accompanied them.

His acolyte walked the length of the long hall in silence, the complex mindset which shaped and drove him an endless fascination to Palpatine--such as he allowed visible, at least: his awareness that the sharp, streaming sunlight was absorbed and dissipated by his relentlessly dark clothes, leaving him feeling little more than a shadow in the light of day. His wary disquiet at being summoned; guarded realization tinged with anticipation which caused him to briefly allow his hand to brush against the lightsaber at his hip, its weight reassuring. Reaching his Master, he dropped easily and lightly onto one knee, back straight.

Palpatine didn't bother to turn, a subtle indication of his awareness, though he gestured with his hand as he spoke. "Rise, my friend."

Luke Skywalker rose and stepped forward beside his Master to watch the preparations below.

"Your father will land within the hour. I have commanded his presence in my Private Audience Chamber. You will also attend."

The boy didn't take his eyes from the preparations below, his voice distant and dispassionate. "Why?"

"Because I order it," Palpatine bit out, gravelly voice clipped in familiar frustration--though he too did not take his eyes from the landing platform.

They remained silent for a time, the boy knowing that Palpatine had more to say and willing to wait until he voiced it...an admirable trait.

Palpatine turned just slightly, his words tight with anticipation. "Will you fight him?"

"Do you wish me to?" Skywalker said instantly.

There was neither fear nor desire in his request, though Palpatine knew what was in his heart.

"You may do as you wish." Palpatine let his permission hang in the air for a long time, though his fallen Jedi did not stir. "But you may not kill him."

This brought the boy's eyes to him, though his face and voice remained guarded and neutral as he spoke, not quite deferential but no longer openly defiant. "You continually accuse me of being less than a Sith, yet when I choose to bite, you muzzle me."

Palpatine finally turned. "You will do as I command."

His feral Jedi remained still, visibly unmoved. Four long months since he had first been freed from the cell, his scars--some faded with the passage of months, others so fresh as to still be darkened by bruises--were a testament to this ongoing battle.

But the war was long since won, Palpatine knew. This was simply a re-drawing of the lines, a testing of limits and boundaries. And in truth he enjoyed it; the game was not over, it had merely moved to a more subtle arena.

He held his Jedi's gaze for long seconds, subduing him by force of will before Skywalker turned away without comment, jaw clenched against the words he so clearly wished to speak.

"Do you understand?" Palpatine pushed.

"Yes, Master," he finally conceded without looking back, voice tightly bound. "Though I don't understand why."

Palpatine smiled at the smoldering frustration evident in those words. But he didn't relent. "Because I need him."

"To do what?" the boy challenged, an edge to his voice again.

"The one thing that you seem incapable of," Palpatine accused, eyes hard; "Obey my commands without question."

Those wonderful ice-blue eyes seethed with repressed resentment at the provocation, but his Jedi said nothing.

Palpatine lifted his eyebrows. "When you can do that, you may take his head."

Skywalker finally turned away, chagrined. Trying to obey, Palpatine knew, but unable to in spite of himself--which was one of the reasons Palpatine valued him, enjoyed his company. The wolf who ate from his Master's hand, walking to heel now--almost.

Occasionally he still sought to run, metaphorically if not physically--and Palpatine still yanked at the chains which held him. But it didn't stop him trying when the mood was on him.

And it did not stay Palpatine's hand when he did.

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Vader walked the long corridor of his Master's private residence in the East Tower without pause, knowing the Palace from long experience, though these were not rooms his Master generally summoned him to. That alone was warning enough, but far more so was the absence of guards outside the Hall which led to the Private Audience Chamber known as the Vermilion Hall.

He narrowed his eyes but walked through the tall carved doors into the oppressive deep scarlet of the extensive unlit hall beyond. The evening's final rays of sun caught the ornate gilding of the carved walls within, long slits of light from the tall windows making the red veining in the black marble floors sparkle. Dozens of perfectly spaced high-backed chairs in dark, ruby hide lined the two long walls, reflected in the polished marble, their regimented lines interrupted by the deep steps which separated the hall into three distinct levels, so that one climbed ever higher to reach the presence of the Emperor.

Always manipulations, subtle or transparent, as Palpatine saw fit. Vader had already braced mentally, wondering how his Master would try to play this, open to all possibilities.

But nothing could prepare him for what lay beyond those doors.

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Standing to one side of the huge, chair-lined hall was a lone figure.

Dressed in midnight blue, he was almost lost in the shadows, his back to the room as he stared out at the distant city beyond, whose dusk sky burned from fiery red to inky black, its fading glow the only light in the darkening gloom. The figure didn't turn when Vader entered, remaining still even when he heard the Dark Lord's heavy footfall falter against the polished marble.

For long seconds, Vader did not recognize his son, did not sense his connection to the Force, so many and so impenetrable were the shields about the boy's mind.

And now--now that he did--it stopped him dead.

The still silence hung heavy in the half-light, expectant... His son turned... and all of Vader's hopes, all his aspirations, all his intentions were lost, shattered like glass against stone by the biting truth which confronted him now.

His son--the idealistic, unwavering, reckless young man who had fought with such passion and resolve above Bespin--his son was gone, ripped away, burned and buried beneath the shadowed tatters of the man who watched him with such cold animosity now, gaunt face marked by multiple barely healed scars.

Exhaustion, physical and mental, rimmed hooded eyes with dark shadows, hinting at fragile weakness despite the fact that he stood tall and straight. Those ever-expressive blue eyes were guarded now, hard and blank, giving nothing away, neither hope nor hate.

But as he turned, as their eyes met, for just a second those shields faltered, and Vader saw what lay beneath. His heart skipped a beat, perfectly regulated breathing breaking pace momentarily in empathy, every instinctive need of a father to protect his son coming unexpectedly to the fore.

Recognizing this, Luke turned abruptly away in unresponsive rejection. All that he wished to convey had been communicated in that broken moment; he neither desired nor needed his father's concern, far too late to be of any aid, if it ever could have been. As far as the boy was concerned, Vader had made his loyalties clear at Bespin--for him to claim any disquiet now was hypocrisy bordering on insult.

Vader remained frozen, wildly conflicting emotions raging at the sight of his son. At his sense in the Force, isolated and withdrawn, raw with desolation, body and soul both bruised and battered, doused in Darkness. Scars that would never heal but keep on cutting ever deeper, tearing into any last vestige of hope.

And Palpatine's hand clear in it all. He knew that; recognized those feelings from his own scorched soul.

But he'd never thought to see it in his son--not like this.

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Then the moment was broken as the man before him turning away, stepping from the twilight shadows though he remained shrouded in Darkness to Vader's mind. Walking toward the lofty double doors of the Audience Chamber as they opened in silent invitation.

Vader started mechanically forward, climbing the steps so that they reached the doors together, wringing his mind for something--anything--to say. Some motive, some defense, some justification of higher goals.

"Don't. Don't even try," Luke murmured simply, eyes straight ahead, sense brittle with barely controlled animosity.

This was his son, his son who spoke those words with such cool hostility, leaving Vader cold. All that he had returned for was gone...because there was no empathy here, the newly gained perspective his father had forced upon him affording neither the acknowledgment nor tolerance Vader had anticipated.

In that moment, he wondered how he could ever have believed it would. Such things were earned, not enforced.

After years in a solitary, empty void, Vader had discovered a connection; true affinity, a chance to regain so much that had been lost...of himself and of Padmé. He had been given a gift beyond price...and he had driven it away, he realized. Destroyed it, as he had destroyed everything of meaning in his life. He had lost the son he'd sought to gain, by his own hand--by the Emperor's hand, with his willing collaboration. Knowledge of this twisted his stomach, churned his thoughts, lit some distant fuse as he walked automatically forward.

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Then he was in the Audience Chamber, the room as dark as his Master's soul, as dark as the realization of the sum of his own bleak loss in that moment. His son walked at his side...but had never been further from his reach.

The Emperor sat tensely upright in the heavy, ornate chair placed on a low dais at the far end of the cavernous room, this the only furnishing, making the opulent gilded embellishments to the crimson, relief-carved walls seem gaudy and gauche, out of place. His taut stance was the only indicator which revealed Palpatine's emotions, though it could be either nervousness or excitement.

Vader walked evenly forward, trying to recall a single moment when he had seen even a trace of nerves in the wily old man.

He was infinitely wary of the immense power contained within his Master, especially here, completely enveloped in the Emperor's dark, overbearing presence.

They reached the throne together, father and son, the thrill of fervent anticipation painting the Emperor's pallid features. Vader took a step forward to drop on one knee before his Master as he had a thousand times before--it meant nothing now, an unthinking gesture of reassurance for his paranoid Master.

His shock when he knelt in genuflection, resting his elbow to his knee, face to the ground, was that his son did the same--though he kept his back straight, hand to his knee, only his head dipped.

His son knelt.Vader's mind was numb, stunned to dazed distraction by this simple action, seen a thousand times before as a matter of Court etiquette. But this was different. This was his son.

And Palpatine had control of him.

He had known that this would be the case, but to see it, to have it played out before him, was deeply unsettling in ways he couldn't yet begin to recognize or resolve.

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The Emperor sighed, a deep sense of contentment passing through him, widening his thin, pale lips into a satisfied grin as he relished the moment he had conspired to create since he'd learned of the boy's existence.

Who would have thought that Vader's child had survived? That Vader himself would be so foolish as to give his own son over to Palpatine. That the boy would embody all the power his father had held and lost. A whole galaxy of possibilities knelt at Palpatine's feet now, plans long since crushed unconditionally within reach once more.

He leaned back, taking another deep breath, glorying in the moment; savoring it. Total dominion with no restraints, no threat left which could genuinely check or hinder his goals. It had been a long time coming, thwarted at every turn by the sanctimonious, self-serving Jedi who sought to bring him down by their actions and their ominous prophesies. And now he had destroyed them; more than that--he owned them. Commanded them.

And he had Vader to thank for that. Vader had provided the lure and the key to unlocking his son. For that alone, he should grant his old advocate life...for now.

But survival came at a price; there could be no connection between father and son if he were to keep them both. That link must be irrevocably broken.

There were so many reasons why this fight was destined to take place, that much Palpatine had foreseen. And they would all be twisted to serve his ends tonight, as would Lord Vader. He had always served the Emperor admirably, just as he would now. Whether he wished it or not.

Because it was Vader whom Palpatine needed to goad into this fight, he knew--not his son. His son had wanted this for so long, this test of strength now that they stood as equals. The opportunity to overturn his previous failure at Bespin. His final revenge on the man he held responsible for so much loss and pain. The Jedi would have held him back in this--wanted him to fight, but for their own pious reasons, not his. Clipped that driving desire which gave him strength. But Palpatine had revived and restored it, fed and nurtured it, reinforced and intensified it. It had served the Sith Master so well... But he no longer needed it to control Skywalker. Now was the time to lay it to rest, to give his Jedi what he desired. Reward for his loyalty, confirmation of his abilities--and most importantly, a test of Palpatine's control.

But to do this, he needed Vader to fight, and to do so to the best of his capability. Any less would not push Skywalker to that edge, would not be a true test. He was confident though, that if he could incite that first blow, then Vader's innate temperament would take over, and the boy would naturally respond. He was, after all, his father's son.

And it shot this first meeting of equals through with a dangerous, uncertain edge--the excitement, the unpredictability of setting Skywalker loose against his father, not sure whether his feral Jedi could be brought to heel in the fury of the moment. The exhilaration of loosing the wolf without yet truly controlling it, not knowing if it would obey its Master's command to leave Vader alive.

The prospect made Palpatine's heart beat faster, anticipation lacing his blood with adrenaline and making his hands tremble. He cackled in appreciation, turning his attention to the boy as he gestured slightly with one tremulous hand to the side of the throne.

"Here," he said simply, and Skywalker dutifully answered his Master's casually confident gesture, in standing and stepping forward onto the dais to take his place beside the Emperor, expression impassive as ever, eyes as wonderfully cold.

Palpatine smiled as he turned back to Vader, aware of his disquiet and pleased with the way these first moments had proceeded.

"I wanted you present on this auspicious day, Lord Vader. You should be proud of your achievements--today marks the ascension of a new power in the galaxy. A new Sith."

Palpatine rose, turning his back to Vader to step slowly towards his son, aware of Vader's sense boiling. Delicately, he lifted a trembling hand to the boy's face, almost but not quite touching it as he traced its curve, claw-like nail catching just once against his jaw line, pulling Luke's gaze from his father to his Emperor, the boy's eyes narrowing just slightly.

Palpatine set his head to one side, transfixed by those icy blue eyes. "Though he has no name as yet, my feral Jedi. Perhaps for now that is best... It serves my purpose, as does he."

His back to Vader, Palpatine smiled at his old apprentice's thoughts... So easy to read; Vader had always been so easy to read--and to manipulate. His son was a constant battle, fascinating in his contradictions, that unpredictable, wild edge just waiting to flare...

"Will you fight?" he asked of his Jedi, voice a tremulous whisper.

"Do you wish it?" Even now, the boy wouldn't be led so easily, wouldn't be used as his father always had. Palpatine smiled his amused appreciation. "Will you fight?" he repeated...and the boy turned his eyes slowly to his father.

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As the Emperor stood and stepped close to his son, Vader's eyes had stayed on the boy, so he perceived the shadowed instant of concealed distaste when the Emperor had reached out to touch the boy face, and with it the fact that perhaps he was not yet beyond Vader's reach...then Palpatine had whispered his question with near-euphoric zeal--and Vader's gaze had turned down...

He wore a lightsaber--his son wore a lightsaber in the Emperor's presence.

Luke had stood side on to him in the darkened Hall and as he walked to the Audience Chamber, so he couldn't have noticed it, but still Vader chided his own lack of focus in allowing his shock at the changes in his son to limit his awareness of the situation.

The Emperor sensed his chagrin, his dawning realization, and smiled at it, though he didn't turn to face his old acolyte. "I fear you allowed your wishes to cloud your perceptions, Lord Vader--always a weakness with you." The old man was ever quick to judge, to reinforce any perceived weakness in those around him, and thus his own superiority. He kept his eyes on Skywalker as he spoke, knowing that his close presence to the boy was unsettling for Vader. "Your son has no such flaw, though he's willfully obstinate, so very tenacious. He fought so very hard for so long. It took so much to break him."

Vader held his silence, willing away the burning burst of self-reproach which pressed down on him at the sight of his son's tightening jaw, the momentary flicker of emotion tamped down behind icy eyes as Palpatine continued, enraptured.

"Didn't you sense it, Lord Vader? The moment when your son fell from grace? It was..." the Sith considered, lost in reliving the moment, "...sublime. First blood is always so inspiring, my friend. Don't you remember?"

He remembered; remembered tears of guilt and denial scalding trails down his face in the desolate, broken stillness of the Jedi Temple, not a single soul left alive within, not a single thought to break the stifling silence, to still the scream within. Remembered the horror of realization driving him to his knees. The comprehension of irrevocable failure which had ebbed to a numb acceptance of the fate which he had locked himself into. He saw his son's muscles tighten just slightly and felt a fresh pang of disquiet as he recognized those same emotional scars, fresh and raw, still searing through his soul.

Vader knew that feeling so well. Desperate scars too deep to comprehend, which could be suppressed only by stripping thought from conscience, guilt from judgment, action from consequence... The Darkness freed one of all painful emotions which would constrain or hinder, but in return it stole everything--every comfort and serenity, every conviction and compassion was surrendered in search of solace, leaving one insulated and isolated, always alone in the empty Darkness.

All of this, his every reluctant step along that path, he could now see reflected in his son's eyes, at once wild with accusation and yet devoid of true emotion, tightly bound by the fear of feeling anything any more, for fear that one single crack in that dark armor could tear this fragile peace apart.

Vader's eyes were drawn back to his Master's, pale against sallow skin, sharp, expectant, watching him, waiting...

Pushing for some reaction...and he realized--remembered what it was. Why he was here. What Palpatine truly wanted of him.

"We will not fight for your amusement," Vader ground out, very sure.

"Mine? You misunderstand, Lord Vader. I am here merely as an observer. The choice to fight is not mine, my friend." The Emperor turned meaningfully back to the boy, knowing that Vader would do the same.

Skywalker didn't move, didn't react at all under his father's gaze, no trace of guilt in those hooded eyes...

Realization was like a physical blow to Vader, driving any last shard of hope from his soul as he stared into those blue eyes so very much like his own... He blanched, and knew the Emperor had sensed it.

Palpatine continued, eyes on Luke now, fully appreciative. "It is time for my fallen Jedi to move forward. To cut the final ties to his old life and carve a place for himself within my Empire. Where he belongs."

Vader kept his eyes on Luke, knowing the Emperor was speaking as much to him as for him. Though his expression remained hard and stormy, without any trace of fear, the boy had yet to engage in any way in what was happening. He remained silent, stance wary, combat-ready, shoulders loose.

But he didn't move forward...

"This is what you want, not him," Vader accused Palpatine, unable to stop his gloved hand shifting slightly to the saber at his hip in response to the boy's body-language.

His son saw it; adjusted his own stance accordingly. The moment escalated, Vader feeling his own carriage tighten, much as he sought to diffuse this.

"We will not fight." He put as much power into those words as possible, willing them to be real, seeking control. But the intent bounced off those mental shields, his son unmoved.

Would he fight?

The boy knew Vader's strength and skill--knew what he would face. Surely he realized this was a fight he couldn't win? Surely he realized that? Palpatine had effectively driven a wedge between his son and himself and this would be the breaking point--if he allowed it to escalate. But he had no intention of fighting. There was nothing his Master could do which could compel him to do so. Nothing.

But the look in his son's eyes...

Thoughts whirled as Vader sought to comprehend a barred mind, doubt and confusion stealing away logic to give darker emotions free rein.

Would he fight?

Vader's hand edged back infinitesimally towards his saber...and the boy did the same, head tilting to one side in warning, a knowing smile twisting his lips.

"Why did you come here today, Lord Vader," Palpatine asked, twisting the facts to serve his requirements, "if not to fight?"

Vader's eyes and attention remained on his son. His fight was here, he knew, not with the Emperor, much as he sought to distract Vader's attention.

Would he fight?

"Don't," he growled at the boy, free hand lifting before him in warning. "I will not hold back as I did on Bespin."

"You held back?" the boy asked dryly.

"I did not kill you."

His son smiled--actually smiled at that, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You should have. It was the only chance you were ever going to get."

Threat and counter-threat; the boy wouldn't be intimidated, he should have known that. He was too much like his father. More so now than ever.

Luke took his saber from his belt in a smooth motion, turning side-on to Vader. "Or didn't you realize...that you couldn't simply walk away. You'd have to finish what you started."

The boy edged forward, unlit saber low behind him, pushing for a response.

He will fight.

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Realization hammered into Vader--how much his son wanted this. That the boy would push until he achieved it. That he would take no less. That he was far, far beyond Vader's reach. Beyond his control.

That this was a genuine threat.

Because this was not the same boy he had faced on Bespin. Palpatine had invested long months destroying and reshaping as only he could, using every weapon in his arsenal, every duress, physical and mental, every betrayal without conscience or remorse...creating a Sith.

In his son's eyes Vader saw so much of himself, a shattered mirror of his own lost ideals, memories burning with fresh fire; the spiraling realization of failure, the loathing of one's own actions, the slow erosion of perspective and principles, confidence and composure crumbling. The realization of all this, every step led and fed by Palpatine, as only a Sith Master could.

This was someone possessed by Darkness. Tortured and twisted and honed in the heat of the flame, like a fine blade. Absolute power; no restraints.

For a second, the outrage at recognition of everything which Palpatine would have done to achieve this transformation burned through Vader, boiling his blood in a flare of protective fury to provoke alien emotions long-since buried. But it was tempered by something else. Something smothered this convoluted burst of paternal compassion almost as quickly as it had surfaced, the humanity of which was deeply unsettling. Something which he hadn't felt in a long time.

Fear.

Real fear, as Luke fingered the saber to a better grip, head tilted down though his eyes never left his father, blade-sharp focus summoned about glacial calm. It was a long time since Vader had faced a Jedi in his prime--longer still since he had dueled a Sith.

Palpatine chuckled, aware of the play of Vader's emotions. "You hesitate, my friend. Perhaps the prospect of a fair fight is a little daunting?"

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Vader said to his son. "I will not hold back."

He was aware that the Emperor was backing up slightly, stepping clear of the field of combat.

"Neither will I," his son promised coolly, almost close enough to strike now.

The moment hung, tense anticipation stretching out to infinity...

"FIGHT!" Skywalker yelled, lunging forward in the same instant. Within a single step he'd brought his front foot down heavily to halt the feint--

But Vader had already reacted.

Driven to the edge of tense anticipation he called his lightsaber from his belt on instinct, activating it as he brought it about in a wide slash which would have cut his opponent open from stomach to spine had he come forward.

Remaining just beyond range Luke grinned, head tilting. "There is the father I know."

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To be continued...

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