Into the Storm

Chapter 5

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CHAPTER FIVE

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Palpatine walked purposefully down the wide, high corridors in the palatial West Tower to Skywalker's quarters. Guards became more and more in evidence as he grew closer, and his pulse quickened, senses heightening in anticipation of the task ahead.

Today more than ever he bristled with dark intent. Today he faced his Jedi. Today the battle lines would be drawn. Subtly though; he knew the boy from long study. Always from afar; information from agents and spies and second-hand accounts, but he had a good sense of how this battle would need to be fought. Nothing too overt--the boy would bridle at that--this would be a subtler game, a slow subversion. Death of a thousand cuts, plans hidden within plans; some distant, some immediate.

Some underway already...if his acerbic little Princess would be so good as to carry the information Palpatine had provided her with back to her Rebellion. He had carefully scattered clues and traces to be found by them, both within their precious little Rebellion and further afield, when they eventually began to look. No matter what, there would be no going back for his new Jedi. He would make sure of that.

His thoughts went momentarily back to the Princess; to her vague attenuation within the Force, very much like Mara, his wonderful, pitiless assassin. His 'Hand' when she fulfilled his orders far from the Core Systems, in delicate situations which required a certain...distance.

He had trained many 'Hands' over the years; people of exceptional ability with an affinity in the Force, agents who travelled the Empire carrying out his will, hearing his voice and replying in kind. Though he took care only to give enough knowledge to serve, never sufficient to represent even a passing complication.

Leia Organa could be taught, if he had the inclination. Not too much; just enough to be useful.

But not now--now, she would fulfill his plans far better by running back to her Rebellion and spreading suspicions. She was high enough in the hierarchy there to be trusted, even over their precious hero, their vaunted 'Destroyer of the Death Star.' It would necessitate someone of her status to override their reluctance; someone who actually knew him and who clearly had their own doubts, even as they betrayed him.

Yes; one must be prepared to surrender a few pawns in the greater game, and Palpatine was certainly willing to give up the opportunity to train another Hand, in return for cutting his Jedi's connections with the Rebellion. He had Mara, and that was enough for now. She too had a specific role in his future plans, which was why he needed her here, with his Jedi. She would doubtless object privately, but she would never voice her frustrations.

Meanwhile, Palpatine could concentrate on Skywalker. On the subtle war of words and wills which would begin today. On the web he would weave about the boy, pulling him in ever further with contradictions and insinuations...though in this instance they were hardly needed. Skywalker's own twisted, shattered life was desolate enough; realization of his coldly calculating betrayal by the Jedi he had so willingly trusted would surely be feeling like a knife in his heart right now.

Because that was the truth, the actual, wonderful, glorious, ironic truth. Palpatine had been given this Jedi. He had been handed it on a plate, with the key to opening the path down into its own dark shadows so considerately provided by Kenobi. Because Kenobi had lied to it; had committed the greatest sin possible in knowingly depriving a stolen child of its father, and then compounded that sin by lying not only about the boy's lineage, but just as importantly about his own involvement, in his efforts to control the boy.

Did he really believe he could keep a truth like that hidden?

Oh, the boy would still resist; he would still fight, Palpatine knew. But it would be a reflex action, the final fragments of a shattered life. A pale shadow of the unassailable conviction which would have built his resistance had he not sustained this gaping wound of Kenobi's making. Now, when they finally faced each other, his Jedi would carry within him a terrible, destructive flaw, too great to even begin to process yet--and Palpatine would give him no time to do so, no moment's grace to come to terms with the chaos of confusion. Right now he would be desperately lost. Loss of faith in those he trusted, loss of identity in the face of cold reality, loss of certitude, questioning his belief in his own ability to withstand the Darkness.

So this was Palpatine's task when they finally faced; to use what Kenobi had so considerately provided. To search out more weakness, any flaw which could be exploited. To gently, infinitesimally, begin to nudge his Jedi's perspective away from where it stood now, towards Darkness. To steal those final fragments of hope now, whilst the boy was still willing to listen, then to rip away by any means his last vestiges of control and see what the boy would do; whether he truly had his father's blood in his veins.

And that was the gamble; to push too hard too soon would only alienate when Palpatine needed to maintain an open dialogue between them; establish a precedent that would remain, no matter what.

But he also had to fix the rules of their future relationship from the outset; that he was the Master, invincible and unassailable. That any divergence from Palpatine's rules, no matter how small, would be swiftly and violently curtailed.

No warnings, no degrees of response.

He was the Master and his word was absolute.

Such complex contradictions to weave into these first meetings of minds, a careful line to be tread. But this had always been Palpatine's forte, to subjugate and dominate, to manipulate to his advantage and break those around him to his will, instinctively knowing what would be required to dissect the mind within.

Breaking a mind was easy of course, and so amusing, to push another to the brink again and again, physically and mentally. To see just how many times one could do that before the mind within snapped. The challenge now, however, was to do so in such a way that it could be rebuilt. Reshaped to Palpatine's purpose. He had never had the opportunity to do this with its father--not like this, all plays out in the open, intent and counter, consequences clear, nothing hidden.

This was the art of the game. And this he would enjoy.

He entered its quarters, heavily-guarded again now, aware of its presence just two locked rooms away, knowing in that same instant that it was aware of his. It was slow though; still recovering from surgery and drugs, woken only a short time earlier and not yet having been allowed to leave that single room. But it hadn't reacted at this restriction--hadn't struggled or objected--perhaps because it knew it wasn't capable yet. Maybe it realized that Palpatine was near...or was this in recognition of its surroundings, which were hardly contentious?

Perhaps it simply acknowledged the inevitable.

His awareness of it dimmed as it raised mental barriers in defense, and he smiled, amused; as if they would make a difference. But let it feel safe...for now.

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Sitting quietly in a chair by the inches-thick window, dressed in the only clothes they had left for him, Luke gazed out watching the evening light wane into the night, lost in thought, his left hand rubbing absently at his forehead to ease the pressure there.

He was dressed in black, a color he seldom wore. A fitted, stand-collared shirt of smooth, refined cortal linen whose buttons were formed from tiny, hand-woven vinesilk knots, the braided loops which fastened them made of the same decorative cord which looped in finely-stitched, intricate patterns about the front of the shirt. He'd left several open, hot and claustrophobic despite the grand proportions of the room, so that the intricately topstitched high collar hung loose, the fine fabric cool against his skin. The trousers too were black, flawlessly tailored, their fabric heavier and closely woven. Even the boots, of a soft supple hide he didn't recognize, were perfectly fitted, handmade to the highest quality and subtly stitched, black-on-black.

He felt deeply, uncomfortably out of place in them. Awkward and self-conscious, aware that the shirt alone probably cost more than Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen had earned in a year on Tatooine. Lost in their darkness, a pale shadow smothered and swallowed up by their casual opulence. Was this too mind games, as the room doubtless was? Designed to set him ill-at-ease, make him feel out of his depth. Or was it all simply to illustrate what was on offer.

What would the Sith do when Luke refused, he wondered.

He knew Palpatine was Sith--knew it without doubt, now. It had always been whispered within Intelligence circles; had been an open secret for years. And now, here, aware in a way he had never been before...he knew.

Something...resided here. It brooded in the dead of night and the bright light of day, its intensity overriding all else. Not like Vader; that was a massive locus in the Force, a hulking knot of Dark intent too great to ignore. This shadow writhed and twisted, defying quantification, at once massive and intangible and infinitely dangerous. It enclosed and enveloped, like a pressure change, like the still before the storm.

What should he do? What could he do?

He had no idea...absolutely no idea.

--Ben...--

Luke reached out with his senses, but only Darkness answered, smug and self-satisfied, completely confident. Completely alien. He had no experience of this, no idea how to combat it. And it was everywhere here, blanketing everything in that dense, impenetrable fog, isolating and limiting and subtly hindering. To withstand it--just that, just to hold it at bay--took every ounce of applied concentration. His abilities seemed strangely muted here, contact with the Force hard to maintain as it swirled away from him, lost in a vast sea of Darkness which pushed ever inwards, a perpetual pressure looking for any weakness, any ingress.

Consideration of this constant, grinding weight made him rub at his temples again, though it did nothing to ease the pressure, his focus pulled taut as he strained to hold against it. And still the storm grew nearer...

--What do I do? --

Luke pulled his hand away, still trembling with weakness. What should I do?

More than anything else, his thoughts were with his friends now. Realization of Vader's words--that they were a weakness--hammered home. His heart burned in his chest at that fear. Fear that the Emperor would use them...fear that it would work.

How could it not?

The sound of the heavy double-doors releasing dragged him from his reverie and he turned to see the red-haired woman enter, hard eyes glaring at him.

"The Emperor commands your presence." She lifted an arm, indicating the door.

Swallowing once against his dry throat and gathering what weary wits he had about him, Luke rose and walked forward between the towering, silent Royal Guards who fell in to flank him one step back as he crossed the threshold.

He walked into a second cavernous room, cold and unwelcoming despite lavish furnishings, and a second set of tall doors grated open to its far side, too heavy to be the carved wooden panels they appeared. Into a third room with his silent, imposing escort to his sides. This one was very much inhabited, its occupant blaring out through the Force, a locus of power so great that Luke flinched involuntarily.

Darkness, thick and roiling, almost a physical thing this close to its wielder, obscuring everything. The expansive room in no way diminished the Sith's crooked frame as he stood close to the huge fireplace, at ease in the shadows; kindred spirits.

A fire was lit in the hearth; bone-white wood which cracked and popped, made brittle by the flame. Heat roared as it buffeted and baked the air in the grand hearth, easily high enough that Luke could have stepped beneath the lintel without bending, its amber flicker overriding the low lights of the huge room to make the shadows dance in darkness.

Strangely, the long table to the centre of the chamber was set for dinner, two chairs placed at opposite ends, footmen waiting nervously.

The Emperor--the Sith--turned as Luke entered...to smile benignly, though the shadows of the fire played cruel tricks on his ravaged features, giving the expression a dangerous edge. Still, he bowed his head just slightly...and Luke, at a complete loss for words and uncertain what else to do, did the same.

"Jedi," the Sith acknowledged, his voice thin and reedy; rasping.

He wore long, richly decorated robes in darkest crewel-worked ruby, and a heavy mantle of raven black. A high collar pushed at the pale, waxen flesh of his neck and his bone-white hand gripped a polished, twisted cane which clicked on the stone floor as he used it for support...though like Master Yoda, Luke suspected it was more for effect than necessity.

A flurry of heavy cloth whispering against the polished marble floor as the Sith took a halting step forward then paused, staring intently at his captive.

Ashen and frail, aware that the exertion of the short walk had reduced him to trembling uncontrollably, heart pounding so loud he could hear it catch in his breaths, Luke wondered at the insignificant image he projected.

"You should sit," the Emperor said obligingly, bringing Luke's gaze up in surprise.

Palpatine walked to settle into the far chair, nodding at the red haired woman who bowed and left, affording Luke a brief glimpse of the brightly-lit corridor beyond, his mind sharpening a little, dragging itself awake at the opportunity. Six. Six guards against the far wall of the corridor, weapons held ready at the open door...but he was sure he sensed far more than that. They must be on either side of the door as well.

"Did you hear me?" It was not quite a challenge, but it brought Luke's eyes back to the Emperor.

"I heard you."

Had he said that, so casually? His first words, given boldness by the fact that his mind was elsewhere. Still he didn't move.

Palpatine tilted his head, unimpressed; amused even. "Then stand. We'll see which one of us falls first."

Luke remained still for several seconds, his head swimming. How had he managed to get into a war of wills already? Don't do it; don't get into a fight you can't win over nothing.

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Palpatine noted how the boy tried to disguise the extent of his own fragility as he walked shakily to the chair, left hand extended to steady himself before he reached it. His Jedi sat, collapsing back in exhaustion to look out from heavily-hooded eyes, dwarfed by the towering guards who stepped to either side.

The Emperor smiled, content. "There are twelve."

At the momentary frown which brushed the boy's wary features, he clarified. "Twelve guards; a full complement. There is also a garrison in the room at the end of the hallway; a further twenty-four guards. They hold to nine-hour shifts in the corridors outside. They know what you are and what you're capable of. None will hesitate."

He continued, quite happy to volunteer this information as reward in acknowledgment of the fact that the boy had done as he'd been commanded. It was of little use other than to spell out how unlikely his escape was and anyway, the contest was between himself and his Jedi; lesser beings were of little importance. They served only to clarify Palpatine's resolve. "There are a further eighteen battalions assigned to this HabitationTower, the same to each of the others. These rooms have been designed specifically for you--a prison to hold a Jedi. My Jedi. Specifically where I want him."

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Ignoring the obvious taunt, Luke leaned back, resting his aching right hand on the carved arm of the chair and feeling deathly tired. For long seconds neither spoke, Palpatine simply watching him. The still silence stretched and Luke blinked slowly, feeling no need to break it.

Time trickled in silent anticipation...

He lifted a heavy, trembling right hand to his temple, to...

A shock of pain ran the length of his arm and lit fireworks in his mind, the memory pulling his eyes to his hand.

He'd woken to the shooting pain of fresh surgery, a clinical white dressing about his forearm, the same slight, olive-skinned medic from the Star Destroyer telling him to take care as he'd struggled to hold it out before him, clumsy and trembling, turning his arm about to study the perfect replica. In seconds, he'd had to drop the arm, cradling it in his left hand against the incredible dull heaviness. It had felt warm in his real hand, though he had no sensation from it beside needle-fine stabs of pain where he touched it.

He tried again now to move his fingers; they tingled like pins and needles, every nerve white hot yet strangely numb, as if he were wearing a thick, heavy glove which dulled senses and restricted movement. Awkward, jerky movement flexed the fingers which were completely familiar yet disturbingly alien.

Palpatine's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Feeling will return over the next few weeks, as nerves heal and your mind learns how to control it. I'm sure you're a quick study." There was the amusement of double meaning in his voice at this last comment.

Luke glanced up, unsure how to react.

Palpatine smiled benignly. "Lord Vader is...effective, but hardly subtle. Akin to using a blunt instrument. I gave him only the command to bring you here."

Did he expect gratitude? Luke bristled at this, the scowl pulling fine lines about his eyes.

His mind was clearing now, that first rush of blind panic subsiding, drowned by his anger at Palpatine's remark, his own stubborn refusal to be intimidated affording him a burst of adrenaline. Still, a little of Yoda's teaching had rubbed off; where previously Luke would have immediately gone on the offensive, now, he had the good grace to find his center, relax tense muscles and wait this out.

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Palpatine noted the boy's momentary reaction, quickly quashed; more than he would have expected. More so because of...what? He narrowed his eyes in contemplation and the boy did likewise, aware that he was being studied. Watching him, Palpatine sensed that stubborn will coming into play, like his father.

"Eat," Palpatine prompted at last, one hand casually extended, palm up.

"I'm not hungry," the boy said simply, without even looking to the table.

Which amused Palpatine immensely; he grinned with undisguised amusement as the game began. "Of course you are. I thought you served as a soldier in your petty little Rebellion. Did they teach you nothing? A soldier always eats whenever he's given the opportunity; he never knows when the next meal will come."

The boy only blinked without moving, refusing to be drawn.

"Very well, the choice is yours," Palpatine turned to nod at the servant, who stepped forward to fill the goblet before him with wine, his counterpart doing the same beside Luke.

When they had stepped back, Palpatine glanced at them and the Red Guards who had remained behind his Jedi. "Leave," he commanded simply, turning his eyes on the boy as the guards walked from the room, followed by the bowing servers.

The moment hung for a long time, expectant...

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It had, of course, occurred to Luke that there were now no guards to stop him either turning and making an escape attempt or launching himself across the table at his captor. Preferably both.

But the fact that Palpatine had allowed this meant that he had also planned for it. One didn't rise to rule an Empire by failing to consider consequences, and whatever else he thought the Emperor, Luke didn't for a moment think him stupid. And the truth was that at the moment he doubted very much whether he could reach the door at the far side of the cavernous room, even without intervention.

So he remained still.

Finally, when the Emperor had seen that Luke had worked this moment through, he settled back, content. "Apparently you have learned something."

Luke remained impassive, allowing the conversation to be led. Palpatine had presumably brought him here to say something, and he believed he knew what. Still, the silence hung heavy for a long time, until finally Luke felt himself pressured to speak.

As was his nature, he came straight to the point. "What do you want?"

Palpatine smiled pointedly. "Want? I already have everything that I want."

Luke recoiled slightly at the inference, but held his peace, surprising himself at his calm. "Then I presume there's something you have to say to me?" He wanted this over--wanted Palpatine to ask the question so that he could refuse. No delaying of the inevitable. He would rather deal with the reality of his situation than play these mocking games.

"No," the Emperor said simply without further elaboration, leaving Luke to frown, uncertain now.

"Then why am I here?" he asked across the divide.

"I simply wished to meet Lord Vader's son."

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Palpatine watched closely this time, noting the subtle changes in the boy's stance as he tensed at the designation, his hackles rising automatically. Sensed the more obvious play of emotions through the Force. There--there it is!

"I understand that you were unaware of your lineage?" he pushed, searching for further confirmation. Aside from tightening his jaw, the boy offered none visibly this time, though his sense in the Force boiled. "It would seem a rather...glaring omission on the part of your previous Master, Kenobi. You did know he was also your father's former Master."

The boy didn't react, but then it had been a statement rather than a question.

Palpatine smiled, making no attempt to hide the mocking derision in his voice. "One must begin to wonder whether he had ever intended to tell you your pedigree. Perhaps...perhaps after you had unwittingly committed patricide for him."

The boy's eyes hooded, voice tightening. "You know nothing about it. They wouldn't--"

"He used you," Palpatine dismissed, cutting him off. "Don't be naïve. It's unfitting to your station."

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Luke had stopped dead, but not for the reason Palpatine presumed. He had made an error, and now was terrified that the Sith would spot it, chiding his own impulsive outburst. He forced his mind to work, to cover the mistake and reinforce Palpatine's assumption. "I'm not naïve. I understand what he did--and why he did it."

"Then since you defend him, one must assume you think him right?" The Emperor pushed, apparently searching to clarify whether Luke's anger was disillusionment at Ben's pretence, or resentment of Vader's harsh truth.

And for the first time, Luke smiled too, in realization. Subtly, and it was gone in an instant. But the awareness that Palpatine wasn't infallible--that he wasn't all-knowing or all-seeing--gave Luke some flicker of confidence, even here. He leaned back just slightly, relaxed almost imperceptibly.

"You may assume what you wish."

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Palpatine remained still, noting the change in the boy, aware that something, some perception, had subtly shifted. That his Jedi had reassessed. He stared in silence for a long time as the fire crackled in the grate, releasing a high-pitched hiss as moisture burned from the logs. The boy didn't speak further this time; felt no need to fill the silence or substantiate his vague words.

Chose not to speak further.

He paused, mentally reassessing his own strategies accordingly. "And failing any information to the contrary, I shall, Jedi."

"You're mistaken--I'm not a Jedi."

Palpatine raised his eyebrows, setting his head to one side. "Did he teach you nothing at all, your pitiful Master? You are a Jedi when you are acknowledged as such by your peers." He paused, a thin smile splitting his lips. "Though it is amusing...that your cognizance should be acknowledged by a Sith. Fitting, I think."

"You'll forgive me, but I don't consider your opinion particularly relevant in this." The boy's confident voice belied his patent uncertainty as to whether Palpatine lied, but he seemed resolved of this fact, either way.

"Then whose blessing do you seek, Jedi?" Palpatine asked, grinning knowingly into the boy's silence. "Kenobi's? Because I can promise you that you are already more powerful than he ever was."

"Power isn't everything."

"No?" Palpatine said. "It keeps you here."

"I haven't tried to leave yet."

Palpatine laughed out loud, appreciating the boy's spirit despite the gravity of his situation; perhaps he was more like his father than he realized.

"What am I to do with you, my friend?" he finally asked into the boy's wary countenance, his voice amicable, as if indulging an old acquaintance who had committed some minor misdemeanor. "What should I do with a known insurrectionist who makes open war against me, challenges my rule and destroys my armies?"

"I believe the penalty for sedition is death."

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Luke was surprised by how little emotion sounded in his steady voice. The Emperor leaned back, amused, almost laughing.

"Yes...but what a waste!" Luke held silent, so Palpatine leaned forward, still grinning. "What a waste on both our parts."

"That would depend on what you have to lose."

"And what you have to gain."

Luke leaned back, arms resting on the huge carved chair, eyes tightening. "What are you offering?"

The Emperor almost, almost spoke out...then paused, ocher eyes narrowing dangerously, the change mercurial. "Don't ever think to lie to me."

The threat in his words was chilling despite the heat of the fire. Still, Luke would not blink. "I thought that was the nature of the game."

"You should not be so eager to play games when your life hangs in the balance, my friend."

"I'm not your friend."

Palpatine stared for several seconds then sighed, the slightest of smiles tugging bloodless lips from darkened teeth, but never reaching his eyes. "You do make it so very difficult for yourself, child."

"To do what?"

"I am offering you everything. Everything you've ever desired. Things you do not even realize you want yet."

"You have nothing I want," Luke said simply, very sure.

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Palpatine shook his head slowly, taking again the opportunity to slowly pull his Jedi into discussion and call into question those he trusted. Nothing too contentious at first; he didn't wish to push him away but to lure him in further. Enough to entangle, though--to make him consider, make him question. This would be a slow attrition, a thousand carefully placed allusions and insinuations about his unknown past, leaving the boy always waiting for and wanting more.

"I have the truth of who you really are. It was not I who lied or betrayed. Believe me, it is as much Kenobi's fault that you are here now as your father's...and there are deeper reasons, greater truths." Palpatine leaned back, tone self-righteous but indulgent. "Ask any question and I will answer honestly."

Seconds passed, in which neither broke the gaze of the other, eye to eye, reading intent... Finally the boy half-smiled, warily shaking his head.

"I don't believe you," he held, refusing to be drawn in.

"Why would I need to lie? I assure you, the truth is far more damning than any pretence I could conjure. The past whispers of the future. Your destiny runs with the blood in your veins."

"I don't believe you," the youth repeated, his tone so clipped, so sure.

But only in voice; in intent rather than belief, Palpatine recognized. Though he hid it well, that had cut deep. He filed it away with other flaws, to be exploited at leisure.

"You are unwise. Unwise to question my word, and more so to try to bait me. Do you know what I am capable of?"

"I believe you capable of anything in pursuit of your goals," the boy said, clearly using his belief to validate his mistrust.

"Yes...I am." Palpatine let the threat hang for long seconds. "But I will never lie to you." He said it firmly, underlining this enticement before taking the conversation back to what had so clearly disturbed the boy moments before; the inference of preordained destiny; that his father's fate would be his own. "As I do not lie now, when I say that there can be only one outcome to this."

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Luke felt the pressure of Palpatine's words, spoken with such knowing certainty. So much so that it took him several seconds to gather his wits around the mass of rising insecurities which froze all thought. This was his weakness, and he knew it; the knowledge Vader had forced upon him had left him paralyzed with doubts. He pushed himself past them, an exercise in discipline. Master Yoda would have been proud of him. "Really? Because I see three."

The Emperor smiled, shaking his head indulgently like a teacher explaining the way of the universe to a confused child. "You will kneel before me."

"Or I will not yield, and you'll kill me." Luke raised his eyebrows slightly, offering his third alternative. "Or you'll drop your guard, and I'll kill you."

Palpatine laughed out loud at this, genuinely amused. "I think not."

"And that's why I shall."

"No, my friend. I am a hard man to kill."

Luke nodded somberly. "I'll remember that."

"I hope you have a very long memory."

"For that, I do."

The Emperor grinned, amused; the smile of a bantha cautioned by a flea. "Hardly fitting words for a typical Jedi Knight. But then you are hardly typical...did Kenobi tell you what, as well as who you really are, Jedi? Or did he omit that information, too?"

Luke paused, freshly confused. Struggling to ignore pressing fatigue, he willed himself to concentrate though his body was slumping now, his head beginning to drop in exhaustion from even this short exertion, intense as it was. He remembered Vader's words to him onboard the Star Destroyer...of his heritage, his bloodline.

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Palpatine watched as the barest frown lined the boy's features for an instant before that neutral mask fell again. But his curiosity was evident in the Force, a morbid fascination, both desiring to know and reluctant to hear.

A perfect beginning.

"But you are tired, my friend. You should rest. We will speak again tomorrow." Palpatine smiled indulgently, knowing what it would mean to the boy to leave this conversation here, how it would eat into his thoughts. For himself, Palpatine already had all that he required out of this meeting; to leave it here could only be to his advantage.

Knowledge was power, and power always held a price. If his Jedi wanted more information, then he would have to sit at this table again. And he would come back--willingly. Only Palpatine and Vader held the truth, and judging from the boy's reactions tonight, Palpatine knew now that he would never go to Vader. In fact, he was counting on it.

Here, at his table, was his only possibility of ever laying to rest a hidden, haunted past.

How could he not take it?

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To be continued...

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