Into the Storm

Chapter 12

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CHAPTER TWELVE

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"The Emperor commands your presence." Mara spoke without emotion, without even bothering to look.

It was nine days since he'd shattered the window--he thought.

For over a week the drug had kept Luke hazy and still--not quite unconscious but not quite able to gather his wits enough to stand or walk or even truly react to anything about him.

Whatever the drug was, Luke hadn't been able to counter it with the Force, leading him to wonder in retrospect whether it was self-replicating; anything else he would have been able to clear from his system. This must have been custom-developed to duplicate at a faster rate than he could remove it, leaving him to sit in vague awareness as time buzzed by in long blank waves the memory of which left him from moment to moment, interspersed by fractions of jumbled images removed from time or circumstance.

He had distant, distorted memories of people coming and going, of Mara ever-present, watching him as he watched her, blinking slowly, unable to do more than simply sit in the chair by the window, books remaining unread, the sabacc cards on the table untouched, stillness stretching in aching silence. Of raised voices and sharp words when Vader drifted through his line of sight.

Of Palpatine sitting in the huge, heavy chair opposite him, always talking, reproaches and rebukes too fast to follow.

Of watching his reedy, pallid lips moving against spoiled teeth with no idea--none at all--of what he had said. Just staring at him in dull, listless silence and watching...

When he had finally summoned every iota of will and concentration to murmur, "..stop.." --just that--the rancorous old man had paused mid-diatribe, cold amusement in his eyes.

"Stop what, Jedi?"

"...this.." he'd uttered, aware that when he blinked it took long seconds to drag his eyes open again.

"Have you learned this lesson?" the Sith had asked with taunting indifference.

It had taken a long time for Luke to answer. A long time simply to process the question and longer still to realize that he had no choice in this; either he conceded or he remained in this state. He was aware of time passing, of how long it took him to gather the focus to reply. Acutely aware of Palpatine's mocking, expectant stare.

It had probably been quite literally minutes before he finally managed, "...Yes..."

Mara had been summoned back into the room to administer an antidote which she did without once looking at him, despite the fact that he had watched her constantly from cloudy, drug-dulled eyes.

And then he had slept--for how long he had no idea.

But when he'd woken it was late evening and he was in the high, wide bed, the sheets perfectly straight, as if he hadn't once moved since being placed there.

Very much aware that he had been given a crystal clear warning--that they had the drug in reserve; that they could control him--stop him dead if they wanted to.

But he now knew that Mara and some of the guards routinely carried it, and he knew they could fire it in a dart, though it couldn't be made airborne--if it could, they would surely have used it.

And he knew Mara had access to the antidote.

She kept a wary, deliberate distance from him now, spurning any attempt at communication, her sense in the Force cold and hard and closed in a way that it had never been before.

He remembered...through the fog of the drugs she had first injected into him when the guards had rushed into the room in gratifying numbers...remembered her speaking to him, turning his face toward her as she spoke, but her words were lost to the numbing haze and if he'd had enough awareness to answer, then he'd had too little to remember.

He knew he'd disturbed her somehow; angered her--scared her perhaps. Alienated her probably...which was never his intention

Of everyone here, Mara was the one person whom he thought he might somehow reach out to. The one person with whom he wanted to try such. Something about her presence had...resonated.

But now she never met his eyes. Nobody here did. No one except Palpatine.

He'd rolled to his side and waited for the room to stop spinning. Eventually he pushed upright on the edge of the bed, holding still as reality did one slow, deliberate, nauseating loop about him.

"How long have I been out?" he finally asked, hoping to draw her out.

His dry throat made his voice rough and ragged and he shivered physically, though he didn't know whether that was the nip of the cool air on his skin--he wore only drawstring sleep trousers--or withdrawal from the drugs.

She didn't answer, didn't look.

His throat and mouth were parched. The thought of standing seemed insurmountable in that moment.

"Not talking, huh?" he murmured, rubbing at gritty eyes. Keep trying. "C'mon, it's not like you liked that table."

Still she wouldn't turn. He dragged a trembling hand through his hair, very much aware of how fragile he felt. "Are you allowed to give me water?"

No reply.

"Then I guess something to eat's out of the question?"

He tilted his head, trying to catch her eye. "C'mon, Red. You're the only one around here worth talking to."

He sensed some deeper discomfort at this, some uneasy confusion, and wondered at it.

Her head turned a fraction, pale green eyes narrowing at him, and he managed a tired, lopsided grin, which only seemed to make her scowl all the more.

"C'mon--one word? Would it make you feel any better if I told you that right now I feel pretty much like that table looked?"

"No." She glared, voice sharp and accusing, though it lacked her usual bite.

But she had spoken.

"See, you're such a pushover--you just can't resist putting me down." He smiled as he spoke, his voice teasing, eyes already half-closed again.

Those jade green eyes softened just slightly as they met his and she shook her head, the barest touch of a smile lifting the corners of her lips.

"Mara!"

The wave of Dark energy rolled into the room like a pressure change, enveloping them both, breaking the moment. His voice was hard and sharp, brimming with annoyance, and his eyes never left Luke as he entered, a flurry of raven robes against the red skies of dusk outside.

Jade bowed low, her sense abruptly penitent.

Luke remained sitting where he was, too weak yet to stand. But his eyes burned at Palpatine and his mental barriers, such as they were now, came up.

The Emperor stared at him for long seconds, that same sense of infringed ownership burning in his thoughts that Luke had felt before, though when exactly escaped his still-slow mind.

"Come," Palpatine ordered curtly, turning and walking from the room.

Luke sat for long seconds, still shivering, wondering what the Sith would do if he simply remained where he was; considering the implications. But he was already in a foul mood and Luke was too tired and too drawn to wish to push it further tonight.

Tonight he just wanted this over.

He shrugged on the dark, fine linen dressing-gown and trailed towards the drawing room without bothering to tie it, moving slowly, hand against the walls for support, pausing at the doorway to gather his strength to walk in a straight line to the chair, determined not to show his weakness before the Sith, though he probably knew it anyway.

Palpatine settled without comment into a chair beneath the tall windows in the Drawing Room, a second chair placed opposite him, Jade walking to stand to attention by the locked door to the Dining Room beyond.

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"You are dismissed, Mara," Palpatine charged without looking round. Aware of his own simmering anger now, he kept his sulphurous eyes on his Jedi as he paused in the doorway from the bedroom, knowing how indignant the boy would be after his maltreatment; that he would try to hold out as long as possible before being pulled into conversation.

"Sit," he said curtly, indicating the chair opposite him with a nod of his head.

Weak as he was, the boy didn't even bother considering refusal. He half-walked, half-stumbled forward, reaching out for the chair to steady himself, breathing heavily. Finally he sat, resentful eyes focused on nothing, lips firmly shut.

But he sat.

Palpatine watched him, angry himself, though for a very different reason. "Did you talk, Jedi? Did you hope to find a kindred spirit? An ally even?"

The boy didn't reply, didn't even look up.

"I would look elsewhere, Jedi; she has no compassion. She has no weakness." The insult was implied, but still the boy held his silence as Jade left obediently, the heavy door locking home behind her.

The hush hung uneasily in the huge, shadowed room before Palpatine settled again, eyes narrowing.

"How quiet you are today. Does one single word from another being give you such resolve? Perhaps I should bring her back and rip her to pieces, to clarify that if I intend you to be alone here, then you shall be. Should I do that, Jedi?"

Palpatine waited, still fuming; it took several seconds for the fragile, half-awake creature before him to realize that the threat was serious, several more for him to grasp that he would have to speak out to save his jailor, the person so diligently responsible for keeping him within the Emperor's reach.

He said nothing.

Perhaps he was learning--that compassion would always be his weakness, and Palpatine would always use it against him.

Unless he curtailed it himself; chose not to be used.

Had he come far enough to quell that defect?

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For Luke, the realization had just hit his sluggish mind with absolute clarity; that Mara wasn't being chastised because she had spoken to someone. It wasn't the Emperor's ownership of Mara that was being threatened. The reproach was because she was speaking to Luke.

It was the Sith's ownership of Luke which was being infringed--not Mara.

The distasteful comprehension had paralyzed him for long seconds before a tendril of Dark power had knifed through uneasy thoughts.

He sensed Palpatine call her through the Force, dull surprise registering at this though he'd known that she was in some way Force-sensitive.

They stared at each other for long moments, Luke's gaze emotionless, Palpatine's expectant, edged with excitement now. Neither spoke, the only sound that of the locks cycling open on the door, reverberating in the still silence.

The doors ground open and she walked in without hesitation, bowed expectantly. Palpatine didn't acknowledge her, his eyes still on Skywalker.

His face expressionless, Luke broke the gaze, looked away to the blood-red sunset.

Distantly, he began to sense the static build of Dark power around him, the drag like steel against steel, the transcendental inrush of energy as Palpatine called the Force to him, setting Luke's nerves on edge...

Saw his hands begin to lift...

"No." His voice was quiet and low, but he knew the Emperor had heard it.

For a moment, he thought that Palpatine would do it anyway; that he had committed himself to the act and now did not wish to deny it.

Then the Sith relaxed just slightly, the energy dissipating in a haze of sharp mental static, and he smiled easily at the woman, showing ruined teeth. "Thank you, Mara. You may leave."

She frowned, obviously aware that something of import had just happened to which she was not privy. But she was well-trained; she didn't speak, only bowed low, backstepped and left, the door grinding closed behind her.

"It would have been a pity to lose her; she is a very good assassin. I trained her from childhood."

Luke blinked slowly, knowing absolutely that he would have killed her; murdered in cold blood the woman whom he had raised from a child.

How could he possibly combat this being who held life so lightly? What could hold against this? The Sith knew exactly how to manipulate him.

Was he right; was compassion a weakness?

Palpatine resettled into the chair beneath the windows, the scarlet sunset bathing his pallid skin in a blood-red wash. "What are you thinking, Jedi?"

"Don't you know?" Luke heard the bitterness in his own voice.

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Palpatine held his Jedi's gaze, unfazed, enjoying the discourse. "Compassion is your greatest weakness, as I have just illustrated to you. In your position, I would have let her die rather than ask a boon of my adversary."

Did he not understand what a vulnerability he held? Yes--yet still he cradled it to him, knowing that Palpatine would use it against him.

This was Palpatine's forte, and he delighted in it; to see the weakness in every soul. Even the slightest crack could be prized open and exploited. Compassion could so easily be turned to paralyzing impotence.

He would cure his Jedi of this most human failing--it was not for their kind.

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Luke bristled at the Emperor's casual invasion of his thoughts, but not as much as previously. It no longer outraged him; he'd anticipated it, even expected it. His thoughts were no longer his own, the effort of shielding them too great to maintain now.

Only the precious few remained safely hidden.

"It cost me nothing," he said at last.

"Yet."

Luke shrugged his acceptance of this. "If you think me so weak then why am I here?"

"It amuses me. And I see raw potential."

"I will not turn." Luke's tone was absolute though it lacked bite, made slight and frail by drugs and tiredness.

"I did not ask you to."

"Liar." Palpatine paused, and for a moment Luke tensed, expecting a violent reaction. To him, this was the worst insult he could throw at the Emperor, yet Palpatine seemed not at all offended.

"No. I do not need you to turn--it is sufficient that you are here. With me."

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Palpatine smiled at the frown which crossed the boy's face; at the fact that he almost asked the question, then caught himself and look away. Still he answered the unspoken query; it was important that the boy knew.

"Because you are mine. You always were, no matter where they hid you or what treason and lies they filled your head with. I am reclaiming that which belongs to me by rights."

Again the boy's gaze came to his, but again he wouldn't ask. "I will not turn."

Palpatine noted that willful, contrary mental stance which his Jedi had so adamantly wrapped about himself since he had been trapped here, despite all of Palpatine's reasonable, refined cajoling and sharp, harsh derision.

Every session together the same, and he relished them every one, the opportunity to gradually enforce his doctrine, to throw focused intent against inflexible principles, prying every frailty open, knowing that he was slowly, irredeemably eroding the foundation beneath, poisoning the boy's hope, withering his conviction until all that was left was that obstinate will, guarding nothing, searching for a purpose, waiting to be directed as he saw fit.

The Sith loosed a feral smile. "Then this is your life now. These rooms, our talks."

He watched the boy blanch at that, despairing, but... "I will not turn."

"You are in a prison within a prison within a prison. These rooms are a keep designed to hold a Jedi. The Tower beyond consists of only my most loyal guards and staff. The Palace is a fortress which has never been breached. No one on this planet will help you--everyone here is allowed by my sanction. Everything here--everything--is under my explicit control. You will never again see another living being. Only you and I, only these rooms."

"Why? Why not just kill me?" It was almost a plea.

"I have no need to, and it would be a waste."

"I'll kill you, given the chance." The fact that he was sitting in a weary huddle did nothing to diminish the hostile intent in those words.

Yes, there was something of his father about the boy...a little more each day. The change was wonderfully, inexorable subtle, day on day, week on week. Palpatine smiled inwardly, aware that his Jedi was being ground down; that the boy knew it too despite his show of resolve. His willingness to sacrifice himself or force Palpatine to do the same only underlined his desperation.

"You will feel differently, eventually," he assured, confident.

"No."

"How stubborn you are, my friend; how single-minded. How useful a trait it will be when you serve me."

"You said you didn't need me." His Jedi didn't look up, but the challenge was evident in his voice nonetheless.

"I don't need, I want. There is a difference. I need Vader to keep my Empire subjugated, but he lacks the vision and subtlety to be of any further use to me. He is..." Palpatine paused, ochre eyes rolling in wry consideration, "as I said once before...akin to using a blunt instrument."

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Luke raised his chin, offended by the words and the tone and the very presence of the man before him. "I thought you favored that approach. The Death Star was hardly subtle."

He had the satisfaction of seeing a brief shadow pass over the Emperor's face at his mention of this expensive failure, but it was only momentary.

"Like Lord Vader, it was an instrument of its time." The Sith smiled. "And it achieved something far more valuable in its destruction than it ever could have in continued service."

Luke held his eye...

"It flushed you out of hiding." The Emperor leaned forward, as if to impart a secret. "I would have traded half my fleet for that."

"You should have told me." Luke's tone was dry.

"You should have realized," Palpatine countered.

Luke only turned away.

"But now the time for such broad sweeps is over. I have my Empire..."

"Not nearly as completely as you believe."

"On the contrary," the Sith assured. "The pockets of resistance are becoming smaller and smaller. The nature of my Empire is changing. I no longer need a blunt instrument; I want something with more precision. Something capable of carrying my Empire forward--my creation, my genesis... my vision. You are a unique Jedi from an unprecedented line--the final generation of such. Greater power balanced with greater perception--a finer weapon. I find this combination...intriguing."

It was this discomforting mix of praise and de-humanization which Palpatine often practiced now, knowing how uneasy it made Luke--that he had no answer to it, no idea of how to respond.

"I will not turn." Luke was aware that he fell back on these words often now, when maintaining a dialogue became too tiring, or when he simply wanted to provoke.

"I think you will; I've watched you for a long time, my friend, and I know you well. I know how your mind works. I know what drives you and what holds you back, I know what moves and disturbs you. I know your boundaries and the limits you have yet to reach. Now, here, I see your defenses crumbling... You will be a great asset, when I command your obedience."

"I will not..."

"As you have said."

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Palpatine felt his annoyance beginning to grate at the boy's intractable stubbornness, well aware of what he was doing and was unwilling to give him control of the conversation so easily. "I want your power and your servitude. But I do not need it. I can wait as long as it takes. I enjoy our little discussions."

His Jedi's expression remained mild, his eyes elsewhere, not rising to the bait. "I will not turn."

Now the Emperor felt his anger begin to heat at the boy's obstinacy. "Of course you will," he spat out. "You know yourself the words are a lie. Repeating them will not make them true or build a defense against me."

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Palpatine's contention burned through Luke's stubborn, weary denials. Was it the truth?

Luke knew that his reserves were crumbling, that he had been eating into them, physically and mentally, since Bespin.

He could sense Palpatine's sureness, his confidence... was it the truth?

He didn't know anymore. He was tired and confused and frustrated, struggling just to stay awake. Tired of fighting when nobody gave a damn. Nobody cared anymore.

Was it the truth?

Was he handing Palpatine control by holding to futile ethics? Could he only fight fire with fire?

Was that the truth?

He had expected a quick end; to say no and be killed. Not this--isolated and disarmed by his own decision. Obligation tying his hands, holding him here far more surely than these walls ever could.

And Palpatine, always preaching, always provoking. Sewing little seeds of doubt and watching them germinate despite Luke's best efforts to ignore and refute.

Always so reasonable, so logical. So ruthless. Death of a thousand cuts.

He could free his own hands, stop this at any time and he knew it... but the price would be Han's life...

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Palpatine smiled, watching closely, delighting in seeing his Jedi's resolve slip ever further, in knowing that his Jedi saw it too.

It had been a long, hard task to prize him from his allies, who had fallen over themselves in their haste to desert him when his precious little Princess had begun to whisper his lineage to others.

A hard task to crumble his blind belief in his teachers, who had shown him only one path, fearful that to show him more would have tempted and tainted him, and in doing so hobbled the only thing which could have saved them, limiting this potentially powerful Jedi so completely and leaving him ripe for the taking because of their own intolerant, paranoid misgivings.

He would show them all the incredible power which they had unknowingly held. Power which could have brought an Empire down, if only they'd had the presence of mind to use it.

And his Jedi--how foolish he must feel now to have trusted them; how betrayed.

All he had left now was himself--his faith in his own ability to know right from wrong, in his own self-control--and even that was crumbling here, in this carefully managed environment.

Now was the time to begin testing this last support. To see if his Jedi could be provoked into a reaction. This was Palpatine's final challenge. He had already seen what the boy was capable of--now he needed to know what had spurred it.

"Why did you destroy the window?" he said, openly curious.

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Luke slumped in the chair, hand supporting his head as he rubbed at his temples, tired beyond reason. "Did it inconvenience you?" he asked caustically.

"It did not inconvenience me in the slightest, Jedi," Palpatine said, amused. "It did, however, clarify the extent of your abilities. I had been unsure until then. Now I know what you are capable of--and what not."

Luke remained silent for long seconds, forcing himself awake now, all of his awareness committed to subtly barring access to his thoughts. He needed to get off this topic, afraid that in his present state he would unwittingly give something away.

"I would say the same of you--your medics have been very busy. Where did they get a sample of my blood? They must have had it for a while to synthesize that kind of drug. I assume it's tailor-made?"

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Leaning back, Palpatine settled into the carved chair, taking his time to reply, supremely confident, aware of how much that grated on the boy's taut nerves.

"Yes. It's gratifying to see how well it worked in its latest derivation... probably less so for you, I imagine." The drug would have been a surprise, Palpatine knew. The boy would have taken a knock to his confidence to realize just how easily Palpatine could control him if he wished, wary of having it used against him again.

And he was wonderfully resentful now--at having been controlled so easily, at having had to back down so completely.

"The sample?" his Jedi prompted, not allowing himself to be pulled in.

Palpatine noted the change in purpose--that this was active participation; the boy was no longer avoiding, he was consciously choosing to direct the conversation. Why?

"You would be surprised where I have spies and agents placed. And where I don't..." He shrugged dismissively. "Well then, there is always sentient nature; greed oils many cogs."

"Not in the Alliance," his Jedi maintained, completely sure, finger tapping against the chair arm in consideration, his other hand still against his chin, supporting his lolling head.

"Indeed? Then I must have an agent there." Would he realize the extent of the game? Not in this state... Still, Palpatine waited, curious as to what he would untangle.

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Spurred by Palpatine's sanctimonious gaze, Luke considered long moments. "No one I know."

"Of course not."

"Not a medic. The Alliance use droids, and you wouldn't trust a construct--plus any alteration to its program would be too easy to detect." He considered... tired as he was, his mind raced as it always did to connect the pieces, remembering the undiscovered mole in his Alliance Cell. "Command staff have access, but..." Luke dismissed it as unthinkable even as he said it, looking for other means. "A tech maybe; someone who has access to the complete data store. They could pull medical information files and they'd have access to decrypt codes. Data Support maybe--or place them in Comms... A slicer could get data out with reasonable success, hidden in existing transmissions."

"Well done, Jedi," Palpatine congratulated, a note of appreciative finality in his voice.

Luke watched the old man for long moments... because he knew him now. For all that Palpatine claimed knowledge of Luke, it had come at a cost; Luke knew him too. Could sense his sudden wish to curtail this game, much as he tried to hide it...

There was something more... something he didn't wish to share...

"If it was someone in Data, they would have full access to existing stores." Luke's eyes narrowed at the realization. "Which means they could change past entries seamlessly."

Palpatine's eyes narrowed, clearly believing that Luke was realizing entirely too much now, piecing together more than anticipated--an obviously unwelcome development. "Your Princess still betrayed you."

And finally, it all fit, inexplicable fragments falling into perfect place for Luke. He knew the obvious, but knowing Palpatine as he did now, it hadn't been enough. There had to be more--it all had to interconnect somehow. It wasn't sufficient to achieve what was needed, the Sith had to twist it somewhere for his own amusement...and to have Luke bargain for the release of Leia--to have him surrender his own freedom in exchange for the woman who carried the information which would condemn him--finally tied everything together.

"That's why you wanted to free her." It was neither question nor accusation, just a statement of fact. "You linked me to the spy, didn't you? You'd already placed something in existing data stores, but you knew it wouldn't be enough. You needed someone they'd trust, someone beyond reproach to carry back more information--enough to tie all your carefully placed lies together, mixed in with that one truth, to make it seem beyond question. That's why you were willing to let the others go too--to release just her would have been too suspicious. But you made me fight for it, didn't you? This was all part of your little scheme."

He was wide awake now, hearing the accusation in his own voice, the bitterness. Hollow though, strangely empty. As if he were going through the motions with little true feeling.

"None of which changes the fact that she betrayed you. I gave her the information but she had a choice, Jedi. She could have remained silent."

Luke rubbed his hand over gritty eyes, surprised by how little anger he felt--only frustrated resignation. "You did this to trap me here--to break me away from the Alliance."

"To clarify the true extent of their loyalty."

"And where is yours?" Luke accused.

"I do not give loyalty, Jedi. I demand it."

Luke shook his head. "I am not my father."

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The grin which came to Palpatine's lips was instantly quashed, but the victory remained; because it was the first time the boy had referred to Vader as such, the first time he had admitted any connection with his father. Had he even realised, in the heat of the moment? Palpatine pressed the advantage, giving him no time to think.

"Of course you are. More than you could possibly know. You have his willful stubbornness, his determination, his single-mindedness... You even look like him. You walk the path he chose..."

"I am not Sith!" his Jedi shouted, half-rising in fierce denial.

Palpatine stared for long moments into that stormy expression, genuinely captivated... When he finally spoke, it was quite calmly, as if the boy had not reacted at all.

"You have his eyes...as angry and as hard and as cold. That wonderful, biting blue- like ice in darkness."

The boy blinked in bewilderment, completely distracted by the unexpected observation.

"Did Kenobi not tell you that?" Palpatine continued, his tone more fascinated than denouncing. "I am surprised. Obi-Wan and your father...they were like brothers, they truly were. Yet when your father defied Kenobi he tracked him down with no--"

"I don't want to hear your lies," his Jedi cut in, and Palpatine smiled at the venom in his voice.

"The truth is a difficult thing to--"

"Your versionof the truth."

"The truth."

The boy only shook his head. "I don't believe a word you say."

"When have I ever lied to you, Jedi?"

"You lied about Leia,"

"I told the truth."

"I realized the truth. You told me only what you needed to manipulate me."

"I made the truth clear--the real truth..." Palpatine paused, realizing that the boy was leading him off-subject again. He was becoming better at this kind of avoidance, the distractions more subtle now, requiring Palpatine to respond or cede the argument. He paused, searching to pull the boy back to his own agenda.

"How can the truth be a manipulation? You are free to come to your own conclusions."

"I'll never be free here," the boy dismissed, making Palpatine smile at his comprehension of that fact.

"You would never have been free with Kenobi," he said easily, very sure. "He simply cloaked his manipulations differently. It is the lot of all in your bloodline. Power demands a price--as it did with your father."

Palpatine glanced away, as if remembering now, his voice benign and enticing, drawing Luke in. "Obi-Wan was your father's teacher and his friend--his mentor. Your father trusted him as completely as you do now. And yet the scars your father carries...Obi-Wan cut him--quite literally--to pieces. Then he stood by and he watched your father burn, injured and helpless. Did he not tell you that, your venerable Jedi Knight?"

The boy remained silent, collapsing back down in reluctant fascination, unable to turn away.

"Isaved your father's life. Obi-Wan left him to a slow, agonizing death on Mustafar. Left him to go searching for you--for your mother."

He turned back to the boy now, whose eyes were locked to his own, skepticism and suspicion giving way to more basic emotions--those of a child whose mother was lost.

That most primal, elemental fear.

Yellow eyes held ice-blue captive in a way they never had before--because this was deeper than any doctrine, deeper than any conscious acceptance or refusal. This was the moment--this was the moment to push. To break those brittle barriers--to crumble them whilst he faltered, every shield, every defense powerless against this most devastating of weapons--the truth...

Now...he would listen...

"They buried her... just days later. You were never mentioned--nor was the cause of her death." Palpatine left this implication hanging for the boy to consider...

The mass of conflicting feelings summed up in those blue eyes was gratifying beyond words. Palpatine carefully kept his own expression neutral, giving nothing for the boy to feed off, nothing to react against. This must be his response, his feelings...

"I don't believe you," he whispered at last, desolate.

"Every word is the truth."

The boy stared, simply stared at Palpatine, a chaos of emotions grappling for release behind still eyes, muscles tight, body tense.

All that feeling, all those wildly conflicting emotions held so tightly in check by one already so fragile, so volatile. It was intoxicating to the Sith; captivating.

How close he skirted to the edge of losing control now, how compelling those emotions, driving him to the brink of coherence, testing every restraint. Palpatine could only watch in fascinated silence, enraptured. Sure that Skywalker would give them free reign at any moment...

The boy remained motionless for a long time; the intense, portentous stillness with a kinetic energy all its own, like the stillness of the calm before the storm. Palpatine watched in rapt anticipation, hands closing to fists, nails scraping fine grooves into the polished arm of the chair, waiting...

Very slowly and deliberately, the action costing him every ounce of willpower and restraint, Skywalker rose and walked in silence from the room, the Force swinging the heavy doors silently closed behind him.

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Palpatine waited in the mute silence for long minutes, his breathing shallow, gazing unfocused at the spot where his Jedi had been, listening to his own heart strong against his ribs, the brittle stillness heady with profound expectation.

It was a long time before he felt the need to stand, reluctant to abandon the intensity of the moment, knowing it was not yet diffused.

Eventually he rose and left without looking back.

He had almost reached his own apartments before he sensed the moment, like a silent scream, like a storm released into the darkness. An expansion of the Force, profound and unchecked, lasting no more than seconds but wild and feral and desperately lost.

His expectant grin turned to a depraved, delighted laugh as he walked, Mara flinching in that same instant against the unbridled power of the act.

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When Mara Jade returned with the first light of dawn the following morning, it was with a certain trepidation. That she had sensed the release of the Force last night was rare in the extreme, which meant it must have been a momentous act, either in deed or in emotion, leaving her to wonder what destruction Skywalker had wrought in that instant--what physical evidence would remain of the shattered composure he had loosed in the night.

She walked in uneasy silence through the long, still shadows of the hall, wishing that she'd had the presence of mind to vary her routine and stop off at Ops before coming here today to view the security footage of the previous night. Wondering why she had felt the urge to rush here first.

The solid, hefty doors locked closed behind her as she made her way through the brooding gloom of the cavernous dining room, the massive doors of the empty drawing room swinging shut behind her as she kept walking closer, the Red Guard releasing the lock cycle as she approached his room, the hulking doors swinging ponderously open...

Onto a scene of total destruction.

Mara stepped haltingly forward into the room, unrecognizable in its devastation.

Everything--every single item--had been reduced to wrecked fragments. They littered the chamber in a mass of scattered, shattered debris, no single piece larger than splintered kindling, nothing recognizable. Chairs, tables, bed, consoles...the blankets, the drapes--everything was destroyed, plaster gouged from the walls, fractured fragments embedded into them, the room reduced to little more than a wrecked shell.

And in the center of it all, sitting quietly in cross-legged meditation, still wearing the long, dark dressing gown and sleep-trousers he'd woken in yesterday, was Skywalker.

He turned, mild and unruffled, as if nothing at all had changed.

"Hey, Red."

And there--there was the change. In his clipped voice, in the intensity of his eyes, in his whole studiously calm demeanor.

She froze, the hairs rising on the back of her neck as he stood and walked easily toward her, his unfastened gown dragging behind him, its hem ripped and tattered. The debris before him scattered to clear a path, though he neither looked nor gestured at it.

"I'll need to see Solo today. Arrange it. And I need a haircut."

He had the distant unruffled composure of a soldier after battle, struggling to come back from the edge. Several fine cuts had sliced into the skin on his face and neck and bled dry, unnoticed.

He paused as he drew level with her, tilting his head down so that his eyes met hers. In that moment they were incredibly blue, at once desperate and powerful and recklessly mercurial, leaving Mara unsure as to what he would do next, how he would react.

He leaned in, his close presence overbearing, and it took Mara every inch of resolve to resist the urge to back step, unsure of how to handle him in this state.

"You might need to clear up in there," he whispered conspiratorially, as if sharing some private joke.

Then he walked past her to the tall windows of the drawing room to stand with his back to her, staring out at the dawn.

"Looks like rain," he observed casually to no one in particular.

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To be continued...

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