The Honour and the Glory
By The Secret History (Ziggy Sternenstaub)
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
-T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
With Obi-Wan gone to meet with the council, the bland chamber Anakin shared with his master seemed infinitely blander, infinitely more boring. There wasn't so much as a single scrap of extraneous machinery to play with, or a half-way interesting holo to watch. Obi-Wan had taken out "The Etiquette of Wookiee Culture" from the library last week, and while it had been interesting enough attempting to decipher why one roar meant "May your cubs find success and tasty meals for all the years of their lives" and another one meant "I want to rip your arms off but will refrain until we are in a less formal setting," such pleasures had their limits.
Anakin kicked at the leg of his small desk for five minutes before boredom became an almost palpable force; he felt that he must disobey Obi-Wan's order to remain in their domicile or simply explode from lack of entertainment (he knew a kid that had happened to once). Still the boy hesitated, years of obedience for fear of gruesome punishments (see above) having not yet been subsumed by six months of milder living. In the Jedi Temple, punishment meant several hours of meditation and a temporary ban on his favourite foods. Granted, that was bad enough, but nothing compared to the beatings that Watto had given him from time to time, apparently acting under some unbearable provocation from Anakin, though Anakin himself was hard pressed to remember what that might have been. He accredited it to the myriad absurdities of adults and thought no more of it.
Ten minutes more passed sitting at his little desk and kicking the wooden leg slowly but inevitably lost its charm. Anakin sighed and groaned and longed for a window. After the first five months of watching the endless lights and zooming speeders that made up Coruscant's city-scape, Obi-Wan had claimed that the novelty of this new planet should have passed. The sights were apparently distracting Anakin from his studies. The dull and crusty (in Anakin's opinion) young Knight had requested a room change from the Council. Their new room was larger than their old one, but Anakin missed his window. Coruscant was unlike anything he had ever imagined or even dreamed of, and there were very few opportunities to go outside. Obi-Wan had told him that they would venture into the city once Anakin had a basic grasp on the Force and enough physical training to protect himself from roving death-stick dealers and insurance salesbeings.
The Padawan tapped idly at the holonet centre. He was hoping to watch something that wasn't a library tape, but a request for Obi-Wan's password immediately sounded in the empty room. Anakin groaned and stood up. Surely just a little walk outside of their room wouldn't hurt anyone. Just a little step outside? Obi-Wan hadn't even left him with anything to study (except for the Wookiees, but they didn't count) and he'd be back inside before his master’s stupid meeting was over. Kenobi'd never even know about it.
Pangs of conscience clamoured for Anakin’s attention, but he dismissed them easily. It was just a walk. The door opened and Anakin breathed in the sweet smell of freedom. There was not a single being in the long corridor. He grinned with delight; this could be fun. Speed picked up under Anakin’s feet, and soon he was running on the smooth surface, dipping down to turn somersaults, and then jumping back up again. Stealth was forgotten, and the corridor echoed with his joy, until he threw himself back down to the ground in a double somersault and hit resistance.
"Oh!" Anakin rubbed his head. That wall hadn't been anywhere close to him. So what was…
His gaze traveled up a pair of stately robes, green embroidered with silver runes. Definitely not Jedi. A face finally appeared, framed in greyish-red hair and smiling down at him with a twinkle in his blue eyes.
"Why, hello there, young Skywalker.”
"Hi, sir," Anakin clambered to his feet and blushed at his faux pas. "I was just—"
"You were just having fun, as any young boy should. You have nothing to apologize for," Chancellor Palpatine insisted. "Though I am surprised to see you without your teacher. Where is young Master Kenobi?"
"He's at a meeting…Um, you won't tell him I was outside, will you? I wasn't exactly supposed to, and, um…"
Anakin trailed off. Back on Tatooine, he would have offered a witness to a misdemeanor some candy or small toy to keep his mouth shut, but he had a feeling that this wasn't really proper procedure with the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic.
"You have nothing to fear from me," the middle-aged man promised. The glint of amusement in his eyes brightened, inviting conspiracy. "In fact, I was just on my way to speak with the Council, so I had better be off. However…I wanted to ask you, Anakin, if you would like to visit me some time? I am extremely grateful for the help you afforded my planet and my people, and I am determined to reward you for your deeds. Perhaps an occasional afternoon outside of the temple in the company of an old man isn't much, but if you're ever feeling restless here, you are certainly welcome to call on me for a reprieve."
"Really?" Anakin gaped. "You want me to spend time with you?"
Perhaps it would not have occurred to a boy raised in better circumstances what a privilege the politician's offer was but, to Anakin, the advantage in the Chancellor's attentions was clear. A slave knew power, had an extra sense that avoided it or sought it out depending upon his needs, and this man had power, embodied it. Keeping his attention would have enormous benefits.
"I would like very much to spend time with you, my boy," the politician promised. The teasing smile fell from his face; he set a hand on the boy's shoulder and lightly squeezed, as if a touch could carry the solemnity of his promise.
"Sure! Can you talk to Obi-Wan about it, though? Because any time I try to ask him for anything that isn't a lesson on history or etiquette or something he always tells me I need to develop more patience and sends me to meditate."
Because he was, in essence, asking to circumvent the work to get straight to the reward, Anakin made sure to dial up the cuteness. He made his voice extra-chirpy and his eyes wide and bright, peeling a few years off his already-young age. A slave kids’ trick that usually came in handy with adults.
"Patience is certainly a virtue worth having, but I will ask him. In fact, I will ask him now, if you don't mind, seeing as I'm headed that way."
"Sure, I don't mind," Anakin allowed magnanimously.
The little smile on the edge of Palpatine's lips returned and his hand dropped away from Anakin.
"Until next time, Anakin Skywalker."
"Bye!" Anakin hollered down the corridor.
He waited until the Chancellor vanished into a lift before running back to the chamber he shared with his master. It was not until he was inside that he wondered just why the Chancellor had been in his obscure hallway to begin with. The Council Chambers—and the entrance to the Temple-- were on the other side of the building entirely.
Two months passed with nary a mention from Obi-Wan of the Chancellor's request. Anakin was starting to wonder if the politician had asked, until one dull afternoon, very similar to the one that had prompted the fateful meeting. Anakin was glued to the holoscreen, studying the migration patterns of nerf on Alderaan, stifling yawns. Obi-Wan was sitting at his own desk, reading a file and making notes, when his com-link buzzed. Anakin sneaked a peak at his teacher, saw him look at the commlink; watched his eyebrows raise with some private shock.
"I'm just going into the bedroom a moment, Anakin. Keep studying."
"Sure," Anakin chirped. He considered eavesdropping, but decided against it. Obi-Wan would know.
Five minutes later, Obi-Wan emerged looking distracted and troubled.
"Anakin, I need to make a visit this afternoon, and I've decided—"
"Came I come with you?" Anakin interrupted breathlessly.
"No, you can't, but—"
"But, Obi-Wan, I never get to go anywhere. I'm dying in here!"
"As I was about to say," he sounded firm and a bit testy, "I have decided to bring you to the Chancellor's office. He mentioned some time ago that he was interested in meeting you and would be pleased if I were to bring you to him, so he'll have his chance now."
"Oh, okay," Anakin said. "That sounds good, too."
Obi-Wan did not question his apprentice' sudden compliance; as usual he didn’t seem much interested in what his charge was thinking. They were soon approaching the monolithic doors to the temple. Fresh air wafted in, and Anakin breathed deeply, pleased even with the smog and exhaust fumes. The sky outside was bright and almost shimmered with the reflective heat of the orbital mirrors responsible for Coruscant's artificial summer.
Anakin craned his neck to see all the speeders passing by. He imagined himself in all the really fast ones; considered how he might tinker with their engines, make them go even faster. Then he'd paint them bright red, or draw all kinds of pictures on them, runes from the Tuskan raiders or the old Hutt stories full of bloody family feuds and undercover hitmen! He'd write his name all over the best speeder in Huttese and out-race every last sleemo on Coruscant!
"Anakin," Obi-Wan chided. His eyebrows drew down, and the incipient groove between them grew deeper.
"Keep your mind on the present and your eyes in front of you. We have a transport waiting for us."
"Yes, Master."
The ride to the Senate was very short, and Anakin didn't have a great deal of time to question the pilot, but the man still breathed a sigh of relief when the Padawan left the transport.
The Senate was a whirlwind of sentient beings, all of whom seemed to talk and shout and and move and feel all the time, and Anakin was overwhelmed by how different it was to the silent, solemn halls of the Temple. Sometimes the quiet bored him, but he was surprised by how much he had already adapted to the clean, untroubled environment. His newly sharpened Force perceptions were assaulted by the hostility of the Senate, the conflicting emotional demands of the public servants and their allies.
"Do not concentrate too heavily on the feelings of politicians, Anakin," Obi-Wan whispered to him, barely glancing down. "They are contradictory and deceptive: not to be trusted."
Security was everywhere, but the soldiers allowed the Jedi to pass without hindrance. It was only at the entrance to the Supreme Chancellor's office that the straight-backed men in solemn blue uniforms demanded identification.
Anakin stood up on his toes and tried to catch a glimpse of his own I.D., which he remembered posing for several days after Obi-Wan had taken him as his Padawan learner.
"All right, you're clear," said the guard on the left. He looked stern and inscrutable, but his Force imprint projected boredom."The Chancellor is expecting you."
The grand, wooden doors eased open. Anakin hurried in before his master, eager to see what such an important place looked like. The ceilings were close, and the walls adorned with deep burgundy paint. Strange works of art covered the sideboards, yet Anakin was immediately struck by a sense of comfort and odd familiarity. He felt like he knew this place, the sense of it, if not the room itself. The man rising from his desk at the far end of the room added to this impression with his warm, welcoming smile.
"Ah, Anakin! There you are, my boy," he said, as though they'd parted only moments before. "And young Master Kenobi. How happy I am that you took me up on my offer to entertain our young friend."
When Obi-Wan bowed it was perfunctory, his mind already on his other task. "You may not be so pleased after this afternoon. Anakin can be a handful."
Anakin stiffened at this insult to his character, though he could not help admitting to himself that it was true. Still, to say that to the Chancellor! Anakin didn't want the man to change his mind.
"Oh, I'm quite confident that we will get on well.”
"I'll be back later on in the evening, Anakin," the Jedi said. "Be ready at 20:00."
"Yes, Master."
Obi-Wan paid a few brief respects to the Office of the Chancellery and swiftly bowed his way back out. Anakin was surprised when the leader of the Republic failed to remark on the Jedi’s visible disinterest.
"So, we meet again, young Skywalker." Palpatine seemed to come to life only once the doors had closed. "Why don't you take a seat? I have some things I would like to show you."
Anakin jumped up on the chair that Palpatine indicated in front of his desk and leaned eagerly over the large, dark surface. Palpatine activated a screen and began showing the boy the speed-lanes on Coruscant, the ships that were in orbit around the planet, and the lifts that went down to the bowels of the planet. He pointed out the different speed-limits and the classes of vehicles that were allowed in certain areas. Anakin asked dozens of questions to which Palpatine provided prompt answers. When the subject was exhausted, Anakin jumped out of his seat and circled the room to ask questions about the art against the walls.
"My collection," the Chancellor confirmed; he smiled with visible satisfaction. "Only the finest pieces from all over the galaxy. I have others, but these are those works that truly captured my attention. I wouldn't do without them near me."
"What's this one?" Anakin asked. He pointed to a golden spiral that turned in on itself and caught the light with the starry gems on the inner helix.
"An early Mon Calamari concept of the universe. They believed it to be an endless tunnel which moved in only one direction. A very linear view, but one which allows for more freedom and evolutionary possibility than many others. It eliminates,” he clarified, “the possibility of history repeating itself.”
Anakin glanced between the art and the Chancellor and was struck by the fact that the man was speaking to him in a way that respected his intelligence. He wasn't using little words just because Anakin was a kid.
"And this one?" He pointed to a simple silver circlet with a green gem embedded in it.
"The crown of an ancient Prince of the Outer Rim Territories. He is said to have been the first being in the galaxy to unite several systems into an Empire."
"Wow." Anakin looked at the circlet with new respect.
"And what about…this one?"
It was a black sword, fully forged metal. It looked nothing like a lightsabre, had such visible weight and heft that Anakin felt he already had a memory of it in his hand. Even without touching it, Anakin knew that he would have trouble lifting it by the hilt, which was carved with strange symbols in a language he did not know.
"Ah…now that, my young friend, is something very special. I grew up with stories about those swords, and the men that wielded them. They are ancient legends of the Nubian system."
A child of Tatooine in life if not in blood, Anakin's imagination had been nurtured by strange old crones dried out in the heat of the desert, their wrinkles filled with sand while their croaking voices spat out stories of magic and mystery under the cold desert stars. It was for this reason that Anakin immediately recognized storytime.
"Tell me about them, sir!"
As if donning a shadowy cloak, Palpatine took on a solemn and mysterious air. He, too, knew the rituals of storytelling. He offered Anakin a cup of spiced, steaming nerf milk to drink and lead him into an adjoining sitting room. The Padawan curled up on the red sofa, leaning into the cushions. Palpatine sat in the chair across from him, solemnly laying the black sword across his thighs. The sparse lines in the Chancellor's face deepened. The man took a sip from his own cup of spicy tisane and began to tell the tale.
"Many thousands of years ago, the provinces of Naboo were a series of fiefdoms ruled by warring lords who battled one another for resources, land, and subjects. Violence and unrest were everywhere, and no one was truly safe. One summer, the lord of the province Yveet invaded the province Hujee. Hujee had many flocks of lifestock, and Yveet was in the midst of a famine. The Yveeti soldiers were wild in their hunger. They slaughtered the Hujeeans mercilessly to take their animals. One such massacre destroyed an entire extended family of farmers, and the Yveeti feasted that night on their flocks, dancing on the bodies of their victims, mad with victory. What they did not know was that a small girl had survived, hidden in the forest. She witnessed the slaughter and, weeping bitterly for her family, swore vengeance."
Anakin held his breath, his drink forgotten in his hands. Vivid images of battle and loss filled his head.
"Did she get her revenge, sir?" he asked.
Anakin understood revenge. He'd seen it enacted many times on petty criminals who refused to pay their gambling debts. Their bodies were mutilated and hung out to dry in the desert. Usually, the vicious sandstorms and animal scavengers of Tatooine stripped the flesh from their bones within days.
"She did indeed, Anakin, but it was many, many years before it happened. Hujee recovered from the attacks but remained a poor province of the Yveeti. The girl, whose name was Gloriee, was a homeless orphan who wandered the forests and valleys searching for her next meal—at times in vain. Eventually, she was taken in by a band of desperate thieves, all of whom had known tragedies very similar to Gloriee's own. The difference was that they lacked ambition, the drive to change their destines. That Gloriee had, and in time she rose to become the leader of that band. Under her ruthless and brilliant direction, the thieves never missed another meal, and their wealth began to grow. Gloriee's thieves soon annexed other such bands, and the girl's followers grew to the size of a small army. It was not long before she realized her own power. She wondered then why she should roam from town to town with a price on her head when she could drive out the Yveeti transgressors who had killed her family and at last bring peace to her violated land."
Palpatine paused for an almost painfully long time, allowing Anakin to contemplate this question. The boy took the opportunity to sip at his drink and think. The little girl's idea—although he supposed she hadn't been a little girl anymore—was a sound one. If someone had come into his home and killed his family, he would have attacked them too. He doubted he would have had the patience to wait so many years, as Gloriee had, but then girls were different like that.
"Her followers were easily convinced in the face of their own overwhelming numbers, and Gloriee devised such skillful strategies that they defeated the Yveeti within mere weeks. Together they drove out the men who had grown fat and complacent during easy years spent feasting on another people's wealth. Sadly, Gloriee did not find the men who had killed her family, and indeed would not see them for many years after, but her triumphs did not stop at banishing the Yveeti from her own province. She conquered the enemy lands and installed her own soldiers in their towns that they might never again harm another innocent family. She freed the neighbouring province of Aert as well and set her soldiers to guard it against future invasions. Her name became famous, praised by those she had aided and feared by her enemies. The soldiers of her army were loyal to her unto death, and while many others joined their ranks in time, the men of that original band that had taken her in when she was but a small girl laid aside their thieving ways at last and swore oaths of devotion to her, to guard and serve her, to obey her every command and uphold her honour in all things. She accepted this oath with great joy and promised her own devotion to them in turn: to preserve her honour that theirs would never be tarnished. As gifts to them for their loyalty, she gave every last man a suit of shining black armour and a magnificent sword with the oath they had mutually sworn—they to her, and she to them-- engraved on the hilts."
"What did it say?" Anakin breathed.
Palpatine picked up the sword and let the lamplight catch the ancient, archaic runes in the hilt. "For your honour we seek glory; in glory you uphold our honour. For the honour and the glory."
"Wizard.”
Anakin was captivated by the fairy-tale images that blossomed in his imagination, by the swiftly moving warriors who defended something so marvellous that it was almost beyond his child's comprehension. He only knew that he loved how those words made him feel, how they made him long to fight for those grand ideas, so different from anything he'd known. Even the Jedi knew nothing of the passion implied in those grand phrases, and Anakin instinctively sensed that would have eschewed the enchantment that had so quickly overtaken their newest Padawan learner.
Palpatine offered a slow gesture with one hand—come hither—and invited his young companion to take a closer look at the sword. This Anakin did with a caution bordering on reverence.
"Why were the swords and armour black, though, Chancellor, sir? It seems like a funny colour."
"Why is that, Anakin?"
Anakin shrugged. "In most of the stories, only evil people wear black." It was really dumb to wear black in the desert too, but since Naboo had lots of water, that probably wasn’t part of the story.
"You will quickly discover, Anakin, that very few things in real life are quite like they are in the stories."
Anakin was not entirely satisfied with this answer. Of course, he knew that things were different in real life, but it still struck him as odd that the knights hadn't chosen another colour for themselves, instead of one that people would associate with evil stories. He told the Chancellor this.
"Perhaps that is precisely why Gloriee chose that colour for her warriors to wear, that they might challenge the people into thinking in different ways about what good and evil really meant. After all, those same warriors were once thieves, and yet in time they freed millions from tyranny."
Palpatine offered Anakin a snack, allowing the boy time to absorb this idea. It was then that the Chancellor's comm-station beeped, calling the politician off to talk to one of the many beings who had been demanding his attention since he had been appointed to the Chancellorship. He had instructed his secretary to divert his calls for the first twenty minutes, but that was indeed all the time he could spare before letting certain individuals back through his net of soft security. As busy as a Senate appointment had been, it was a leisurely holiday compared to the business of running the galaxy. Being Emperor was certain to be an even more demanding job but, Palpatine expected, one considerably less dependent on tact and diplomacy.
As he talked, he watched the boy devouring a juyucka as though he hadn't eaten for weeks. The Jedi wouldn't neglect a child's nutritional needs, but Palpatine expected that the boy was rarely given anything that any self-respecting nine-year-old human wanted to eat.
His call finished, Palpatine joined the boy again.
"You seem to be enjoying that, Anakin. Was there anything else you wanted?"
Anakin hesitated, but not for long. A slave got nothing that he didn’t fight for, Palpatine knew.
"Um…a ruby bliel?"
"I'm afraid I don't recognize that. Perhaps it has another name here."
"Oh, it's easy to make. I could show you if you have some ingredients and stuff around."
Deciding to be indulgent with the boy's whim, Palpatine summoned his protocol droid into the room.
"Tell FG-I4 what you need, and she will bring it."
"I am at your service, Padawan Skywalker." A warm contralto emerged from the droid's motionless mouthpiece.
Anakin grinned and began to reel off a dizzying list of ingredients, certainly more than could possibly go into one simple drink. Palpatine quietly allowed the indiscretion. He was entirely amused with the boy's audacity; this child was no Jedi.
At 20:00, true to his word, Obi-Wan Kenobi returned, only to find both Chancellor and Padawan covered with red dyes and bright orange juices. Anakin had a rim of scarlet stickiness around his little mouth, and even Palpatine had a suspicious hint of a bliel-mustache on his upper lip. The Jedi Knight bowed respectfully, but could not quite conceal his vexation, which he knew showed in the tightened corners of his eyes. Palpatine seemed not to notice. He smiled at the Jedi, displaying just the right amount of kindliness and authority.
"Ah, Master Kenobi! You came just in time to try young master Anakin's newest invention: the purple bliel."
Indeed, Anakin grinned ecstatically at Obi-Wan before dumping half a cup of blue juice into the ruby drink in front of him. It turned the entire concoction a rather violent shade of purple.
"Wow!" Anakin picked up the drink and gulped it down.
"It's tastes great, too. Want some, Chancellor?" He held the large glass up at Palpatine.
"If I may." The politician accepted with practiced grace. He sipped at the drink, his eyebrows going up in apparent surprise. “Excellent, Anakin. I think you've discovered my new favourite beverage."
"Really?! I can make more of them, you know. Every time I come and visit you, I can make you one!"
Palpatine shot a twinkling glance at Obi-Wan, apparently inviting him to share amusement in Anakin's immediate assumption of a next time. Obi-Wan maintained his sabaacface and failed to respond.
“Master Kenobi, would you care to taste?' Palpatine held out the drink to the Jedi, who could not conceal a grimace.
"No, thank you. I'm not quite as brave as you are, Chancellor. Anakin, go and get cleaned up. We must return to the Temple now."
"Aww, not already, Obi-Wan.” An unpleasant whine crept into the boy’s voice.
"Yes, already. And that's Master Obi-Wan to you."
Anakin rolled his eyes but ran off to wash his hands.
"I hope he didn't give you any trouble, sir.”
Despite his impatience, the Jedi marvelled that he already missed Anakin in those few seconds, had in truth missed the boy all afternoon. The kid could be overwhelming and tiring, but there was something engaging about him that captivated people all too easily.
"None at all, Jedi Kenobi. I passed a most enjoyable afternoon, a welcome recess from my duties. Feel free to bring Anakin to me again. I ask only that you alert me several days in advance. Putting off my appointments this afternoon was exceedingly difficult on such short notice." A chiding note was concealed in Palpatine's words, like a knife in the proverbial velvet glove.
"Of course, sir."
Anakin returned scrubbed and bouncing from the sweets drinks he had spent the afternoon making and consuming. Obi-Wan despaired of enforcing Anakin's bedtime.
"'Bye, Chancellor, sir. You can have the rest of the drinks. And thanks for telling me that story!" The boy turned his head to bellow over his shoulder on the way out.
"Until next time, young Skywalker.” Palpatine folded his hands benevolently into his sleeves, watching them go.
Just as the doors were sliding shut, Anakin began talking to Obi-Wan.
"The Chancellor told me a story today. It was so wizard…"
That was not the first time that Obi-Wan was to hear the story of the young Nubian girl who had lead an army against the invaders of her province. The tale was repeated and its protagonist often conflated with Queen Amidala. Two months passed before Obi-Wan was permitted to go a day without hearing the story of “The Bandit Princess Padme and her Brave Black Knights”. This Anakin said with such a broad grin that Obi-Wan felt he was being made the object of a joke. He tried not to take it personally, but felt out of his depth and poorly matched with his student, whose experiences as a child had been so different from his own.
Despite the gap of understanding between them, Anakin's training was progressing at an amazing rate. His natural aptitude with the Force was like nothing that the newly knighted Kenobi had witnessed. In time, Qui-Gon's assertion that Anakin was the Chosen One of prophesy began to make sense. Obi-Wan's respect for his master increased, and he was troubled that he had doubted his mentor. Death had not completely erased his reservations with Qui-Gon's "Living Force," his mystic methods, but Obi-Wan was willing to be more open-minded. He was certain his master would have been proud of him, as well as of the young boy Qui-Gon had invested so much in.
Like all children, Anakin was fascinated with the lightsabre. He often pestered Obi-Wan about it, asking when he would be able to build his own weapon. When he was told that it would probably be two years before he had the fine motor control to handle a real lightsabre without damaging himself and his allies, Anakin's face fell. Worried that the fantastically talented boy would attempt to build a lightsabre on his own, Obi-Wan moved up his schedule to give Anakin a low-powered yellow training lightsabre and began to teach him simple moves.
"Master, do the lightsabre colours mean anything?" Anakin asked one day while they recovered from a particularly intense session.
"Colour is for the most part a matter of person preference, Anakin. Most knights use the more common blue and green crystals, but on occasion a Padawan will find other hues in the crystal caves. It's usually a matter of chance. Master Windu is the only living knight I can think of who has a truly unusual lightsabre."
"What colour is his?" Anakin responded to his master dutifully, but Obi-Wan did not miss his resentment of the stern Councillor.
"Mind your feelings, Anakin," Obi-Wan cautioned. Only when the boy had nodded and cleared his mind using the proper techniques, did the young knight continued. "Master Windu's lightsabre is purple."
"Really?" Anakin giggled.
"Care to share the cause of your humour with the rest of us?" Obi-Wan swept his right arm through the grand expanse of the otherwise empty training gym.
"Nothing. I just can't picture Master Windu and purple. It seems too fun for him. He's always so serious."
"He is a man with many responsibilities," Obi-Wan lectured, although he privately agreed that the master’s choice was incongruous.
"What about the training sabres, Master? They're all yellow."
"They're made from damaged, colourless fragments from the caves that don't focus the necessary energies as well as the whole, coloured crystals."
Anakin nodded thoughtfully. "What about the red ones?"
Obi-Wan frowned down at his apprentice. "What about the red ones?"
"That guy that fought Master Qui-Gon had a red one."
"Red is the colour of the Sith," Obi-Wan said, more sharply than he'd intended. "No Jedi would ever carry a red lightsabre."
"Aren't we allowed?"
Anakin asked with the shameless guile of a child, and Obi-Wan took a moment to clear his own mind of his frustration and annoyance
"It is not forbidden; it is simply assumed that no Jedi would ever wish to. Red is the colour of anger, passion, of murder and lust, of everything that a Jedi eschews. I hope," he added sternly, "that you weren't considering building a red lightsabre."
"Of course not, Master," Anakin parroted back at him, his blue eyes wide. "Just one more question?"
"Just one more," Obi-Wan sighed.
"Can we make black lightsabres?"
"No, we can't," Obi-Wan said curtly.
"But—"
"No more questions for today, Anakin."
The training continued. It was not three months later that Obi-Wan again had business where the presence of a child would not be appropriate. Dropping Anakin at the creche with the younglings was certainly one option, but the last time he had done that, he had returned to a very irritable Master Yoda, who had lectured him on the dangerous fluctuations in his Padawan’s emotional control. Seeking to avoid a repeat of the incident, Obi-Wan remembered the Chancellor's offer and, having been alerted sometime in advance, made contact with the Chancellery office. Friends in high places could only help a boy in Anakin's tenuous position. Obi-Wan was a practical enough man to acknowledge these truths, even if he didn't like them.
The Chancellor received the boy with a joy typical of childless bachelors who, having had too little time for children of their own, still maintained illusions that their presence was somehow uplifting. Obi-Wan was amused by his own cynical analysis but considered that if the man had enough honest naiveté to retain even one idealistic illusion, then perhaps the galaxy was indeed in good hands.
Anakin bounced into Palpatine's office with a disproportionate amount of happiness for a nine-year-old boy visiting a fifty-two-year-old politician. It was odd, but Obi-Wan did not question his own good fortune and left them to whatever mess and stories the afternoon would spawn.
"Can you tell me more about the warriors on Naboo, sir?" Anakin asked almost as soon as the doors closed behind his master.
"You still remember that, my boy?"
"Sure! I asked Obi-Wan if he knew any more of the story, but he said he grew up on Coruscant and that his ancestors were from Chandrilla, so he knew some legends from there because he'd looked them up, but nothing about the Naboo. I asked if I could contact Padme—Queen Amidala, I mean—but he said I wasn't allowed to."
Palpatine nodded slowly. "Yes. The Jedi discourage outside contact."
Anakin appeared despondent, his round face falling and his blue eyes losing their excited light. "I know. They won't let me call my mom. I didn't know that I wasn't allowed to. I don't know if I would have come here if I knew that before. I think I wouldn't have."
"That is why they did not tell you,” the Chancellor murmured.
Anakin shrugged; his conflict was clear in his body language as well as in the Force.
"Sit down, my boy. I will tell you more of the story if that is what you wish to hear."
"Yes, sir.”
Anakin was distant, likely thinking of his mother, and Palpatine determined to draw him back into the world of the past. Once more, he pressed something hot and sweet to drink in Anakin's little hands, and the Chancellor leaned back in his office chair, contemplating worlds gone by.
"Gloriee was the ruler of the provinces for Yveet, Hujee, and Aert for five years. During that time, she was content with her lot as a great and fair ruler of the people. She had many devoted followers and was served by magnificent warriors, before her station in life again changed. Seeing that the provinces under her dominion were fruitful far beyond those lands that she did not rule, she decided to rectify that discrepancy. Mobilizing her warriors, she swept without warning into the capitals of every province of Naboo's four continents. She was determined to overcome the petty dictators and weak, corrupt elected officials who stood between Naboo and greatness.
Technology was then far simpler than it now is, and the wars lasted many years, fought on many fronts, but in the end she triumphed. Her black-clad knights were her greatest aid in those campaigns, leading the armies and personally destroying the Gloriee's numerous enemies. What is now the capital city of Naboo was then a filthy backwater village whose name has been lost to us. It was located on Maane, the last capital to fall to Gloriee's mighty sword. What is now Theed was the first place Gloriee rested the day on the war ended, and she declared that the place that had given her rest would now forever be the place she remained. The bank of the mighty waters of the river Solleu was the perfect location to build a defensible capital city, and over the following decades the gorgeous structures of Theed rose into view. But it was in a muddy, burned-out husk of a hut that Gloriee was proclaimed the first Queen of United Naboo, and her crown was not of precious metals and shining jewels, but the red blood of her enemies that dried and caked in her pale brown hair."
Anakin was unexpectedly solemn, and his eyes were not wide with the delight of small boys hearing gruesome but exciting tales. "A lot of people must have died in those wars."
"They always do," the Chancellor said. "To be a leader is a great and terrible responsibility, and no more so than in times of war."
Anakin did not know what to think of this. He knew what it was like to be insignificant, an expendable beetle under the heels of the great and powerful. He wondered what had happened to the people that had lived in that village before it was Theed. Had anyone survived the battle? His eyes were drawn to the black sword lying on its display and he thought of those knights who had sworn their loyalties to the Queen, who had promised only to be faithful to her for as long as she was a good leader, fair and honourable. They had fought for her in the war, like Qui-Gon had fought for Padme during the Trade Federation invasions. Surely, they wouldn't have done it if that wasn't a war worth fighting?
He saw his mother's eyes in front of him, sad and weary and loving and meaning nothing to the powerful but, oh, they had meant everything to him, been everything to him—his entire world! He squeezed his eyes shut, blinking back the tears that fought to break free.
"Anakin."
He looked up and saw pale blue eyes in front of him, looking out from a knowing face. That face was weathered in ways very different to his mother's, but just as wise.
"You do not have to hide here. I will not chastise you for anything you feel."
There was a warm hand on his shoulder, offering comfort and asking nothing in return, and Anakin resisted only one moment before letting the tears free at last, sobbing and choking until his throat ached with all of the buried pain of his nine-year-old heart. He felt soft velvet envelope him tightly, and aged skin comforting him in ways that Obi-Wan could never understand. When the tears finally stopped, the boy remained were he was, because it was wonderful and perfect and absolutely right.
After that, Anakin came to visit the Chancellor many times. Equipped with a private comm code, he was able to contact the Chancellor any time he needed to talk or get away from the stifling pressure in the Temple. At the same time, he began to grow closer to Obi-Wan, who was slowly breaking free from the shell of awkwardness and grief that had bound him. Obi-Wan was young and could be fun when he forgot to act twice his actual age, but it was with the Chancellor that Anakin felt free to be himself.
Just as Palpatine had promised, he was allowed to express his longings and frustrations without fear of castigation. At times, Anakin feared that Obi-Wan might suspect how deep his regard for the Chancellor went. If his teacher forbade him to go to his powerful friend, Anakin did not know what he would do. But it never happened; having a place to drop off his Padawan was far too convenient for Obi-Wan, despite his dislike of politicians and any doubts that he might harbour about Anakin's attachment to the Republic's leader. Most importantly, unlike Shmi Skywalker, who had always been helpless in the jaws of political and financial monsters far beyond her understanding, Palpatine knew how to make things happen for himself, and it was clear that he wanted Anakin to keep coming.
The Chancellor remained fond of storytelling, and his well-trained, powerful speaking voice was excellent in conveying the emotional nuances of the legends and histories he told. Anakin loved to sit with him and simply listen, to allow that trusted voice to sweep him away into different times and places where his own cares and troubles could not follow him. The stories were all very different, and in time Anakin all but forgot those tales of the first Queen of Naboo and her faithful warriors, save for an inexplicable--to Obi-Wan, at least—fascination with the colour black.
When Anakin was fourteen, he killed a man for the first time. He knew that there had been living beings in the space station that he had destroyed as a child over Naboo, but having never seen them, they had never been real to him. The man was real.
Anakin had been going on full missions with Obi-Wan for two years by that point, working with a real lightsabre, but had never had to use outside of intimidation. That changed on Kessel. Obi-Wan and Anakin had invaded a tight-knit smuggling ring which had been usurping Republic supply lines. They had been ordered to arrest the offenders and ensure the discontinuation of the operation, but the smugglers had other ideas. Before Anakin had quite known what was happening, he was caught in a pitched battle.
As he'd been trained, he fought defensively, sending blaster bolts back to the weapons that had fired them, melting the offending blasters. The tactic worked marvelously, until one man broke through his defences, rushing at the Padawan with murderous intent. The man's face was inflamed with all the forbidden anger and hate and greed and fear that Anakin was not permitted to contemplate, much less feel—but did. He felt it then, an outraged terror that moved his arms into action before he consciously knew it. First, he sliced away the vibroblade that threatened him and then, in one vicious backstroke, he decapitated his opponent.
The fury left him instantly, and he stood in shock over the two segments of the body. The head's eyes were wide and stunned. The Padawan felt nausea sweep over him, and when the dead man's eyelids gave a blink, possessed by some last, treacherous, nervous twitch, Anakin vomited.
Obi-Wan sent him calming vibrations through the Force and defended them both for as long it took Anakin to regain some of his composure. Twenty seconds after his victim had fallen to the dusty warehouse floor, Anakin was back in the fray, his lightsabre moving mechanically. No one else died that day, and the smugglers were arrested by the local government after the Jedi had done all the work.
Anakin was listless and cool during the trip home. Obi-Wan insisted that his apprentice release his emotions into the Force through meditation. Anakin obeyed his teacher's command, but the hollow emptiness refused to be released. It ached inside of his chest. He tried to tell himself that he'd seen plenty of dead people before, but the ache only grew. Obi-Wan tried to talk to him about what had happened, but Anakin couldn't bring himself to speak. He felt Obi-Wan tentatively squeeze his shoulder, and forced himself to swallow over the aching lump in his throat.
The day they landed on Coruscant, there was a transport from the Chancellor waiting for him.
"I think you should speak with Master Yoda before you go gallivanting off anywhere, Anakin.”
"I don't want to speak with Master Yoda," Anakin said stiffly. "I really doubt he remembers two thousand years ago when he had to do that for the first time. He was probably already a walking Jedi Code then too, anyway. He'd tell me that I should feel the same way about killing that guy that I do about eating my breakfast."
The now-permanent line in Obi-Wan's forehead deepened. "Have respect, Anakin. I doubt very much that Master Yoda would tell you any of those things, and furthermore he is not two thousand years old. He's an experienced teacher who has always given me excellent advice when I needed it—particularly during the past few years of your training."
"Yeah, he was probably the one that told you I need to meditate ten hours a day," Anakin muttered.
"You're being unreasonable and deliberately irrational, Padawan."
"So? Do I have to be reasonable all the time? What if I'm not feeling very reasonably right now?" the boy challenged his teacher.
"It is your duty to be reasonable," Obi-Wan responded placidly. He almost regretted it when he saw the rage and sorrow flare again in his Padawan’s eyes.
"Can I just go? Look, if you let me go see the Chancellor, I promise I'll go see Master Yoda later."
Obi-Wan considered for a moment. In his present state, Anakin was only likely to agitate Yoda, which would prompt a lecture and in turn more resentment and anger on Anakin's part. It would help no one. Obi-Wan frowned at his apprentice thoughtfully. He wished he could have done more for the boy on the journey back to Coruscant. He wondered what Qui-Gon would have done with the volatile teenager. The first time Obi-Wan had been faced with a death on his own hands, he had taken it with a calm that Anakin appeared incapable of. Mediation and a talk with his master had been all he had needed to know that he had had no choice.
"Very well, Anakin, you may go. As long as you report in full to Master Yoda the moment you return to the Temple."
The ride to the Senate flashed by in a blur of lights and colours and strange smells swept on the wind, and Palpatine was waiting for him at his private docking bay. Anakin didn't wonder how Palpatine had known that he needed to talk. The Chancellor had always seemed strangely attuned to Anakin's emotions, to needs that he could hardly stand to admit to himself, and he greeted his younger friend with a look of deepest understanding. Anakin swallowed over some emotion that was neither grief nor anger nor sadness, but something more terrible and unknowable. A voice from the abyss.
"It is not for the man that you killed that you grieve, Anakin."
The Chancellor only spoke once they were ensconced in the comforting closeness of Palpatine's monochromatic sitting room.
"He fully deserved the death you gave him. It is for yourself that you grieve—for what you lost when you took his life. Innocence can never be reclaimed—and the soul recognizes the loss even when the mind refuses to acknowledge it."
"With respect, Chancellor, I don't remember ever having been innocent. You can't grow up a slave in Mos Espa and be innocent."
The Chancellor smiled, a small and wistful twitch of the muscles. "There are degrees of innocence, my young friend, and to kill a man means to lose the better part of it. It is inevitable. The truth is that you did not know what you had to lose until it was gone. Such is often the way."
"I don't care. I don't care about innocence or killing or that guy or—or anything! I just want it to go away!"
Anakin leaped from his seat and took to pacing, his dark cloak sweeping behind him, caught in the motions of his violent confusion.
"Do not fear your emotions, my child," Palpatine soothed. "Embrace them.”
"I can't," Anakin groaned. Shadows fell around his face, his chin tipped downwards.
"You can. It is only by embracing your pain and making it a part of yourself that you will rule it."
"Obi-Wan would tell me just the opposite. He says I have to let everything go."
"Certainly, you must let it go. But first you must know it, understand it, conquer it , or it will rule you. Feel..." Palpatine whispered.
Anakin threw his head back and let the Chancellor speak. He no longer heard the words that emerged from the man's mouth but felt instead the substance of his tone wash over him. A great weariness settled on Anakin. The pull of his soul swept him in two different directions, and he was no longer at all certain to whom he should listen. Obi-Wan's rules competed with Palpatine's comforts. These two men were the two separate halves of the father that Anakin had never had; two halves who were as different as two men could be.
These days, whenever Palpatine and Obi-Wan met, a mutual disagreement seemed to hang between them. Obi-Wan increasingly disapproved of Anakin's attachment to the politician and regretted that he had been the one to allow the tie to form between them, while the Chancellor openly disagreed with many of the Jedi philosophies. Anakin wanted to please both men but in doing so knew he could never fully please either.
"Sir, do you have any children?"
Surprise, almost suspicion, flickered across the politician's face before it was locked back into mildness. "No, I do not."
"Did you ever want any?"
"I never had time for children of my own, Anakin. Like many Nubians, my political schooling began quite early. As a teenager, I was an intern for three years in Theed Palace, before I departed for the University of Corusca. I was engaged in my studies for almost a decade, and when I obtained my last degree, I entered full-time government service. Any children I may have had would been sorely neglected."
"But did you ever want any?"
When Palpatine finally answered, the words came quite slowly, reluctantly. "When I was younger, I knew a boy. He was not mine, but an orphan to whom I gave advice, and with whom I shared many of the things I knew. I grew quite close with him. We understood each other."
Anakin tensed. He felt foolish and resentful upon hearing the answer he had so recklessly demanded.
"What happened to him?" he asked, for the past tense had not escaped him.
"He died.” Palpatine’s voice was clipped.
"Oh."
Anakin did not fully succeed in imbuing the flat syllable with real sympathy. What the chancellor had told him sounded terribly close to the understanding they shared, and Anakin hated to think of Palpatine mentoring any other boy that way.
It seemed there was nothing left in his life that was solely his own. He didn't mind that he had a special, prophesied destiny, because he had always somehow known that he was different from other people, but he wished that the Temple wasn't full of judging eyes that excluded him from what passed for normal life there, yet still demanded that he forge some obscure, mystic Balance that none of them was capable of achieving. It had taken a long time before he had resigned himself to not having any real friends among the other Padawans. After Qui-Gon, Palpatine was the first one who had taken an interest in Anakin without first judging or disliking him.
Palpatine sighed, as if he knew exactly what Anakin was thinking. "Perhaps I shall tell you a story of duty, and what it means to do things that bring us pain simply because they must be done."
Anakin shrugged. He didn't want to hear anything about duty right now, thanks just the same. He got enough of that from Obi-Wan.
If Palpatine saw his reluctance, he ignored it. "Do you recall the history of Gloriee, the first Queen of Naboo?"
"Sure." Anakin folded his arms and looked away.
"Good. She ruled for five years over the united continents before selecting a husband from among her knights. This knight was the strongest, fiercest, and most intelligent of her followers-- a great general in her armies. It came as no surprise when they wed. Festivals were held, and celebration reigned for fifty days before and after their joining. The Queen and her Lord toured the provinces again, visiting the small villages and common peoples and giving great gifts to them all. In one such village, the Queen gave a rope of blue jewels to an old soothsayer woman who was strongly gifted in the Force. In return, the old woman laid her hands on the Queen's belly and proclaimed that her first child would be strong beyond all other mortals, a gifted and powerful heir to the throne.
The Queen was overjoyed, it soon became apparent that Gloriee was with child. With the birth of the Queen's son, Naboo celebrated more mightily than ever before, from the richest noble to the poorest peasant. The Queen and her Lord Husband, however, did not."
"Why not?" Anakin asked. Despite his disgruntlement, he has been drawn in by the Chancellor’s oratory.
"The Queen was a brown haired, green-eyed woman, and her lord blond and brown eyed. When the child emerged from the womb, it resembled neither of them. With hair as black as night and eyes as blue as the evening skies, it seemed a changeling child. Extraordinarily gifted with the Force, the boy was said to have levitated above his mother's body after the labour. The parents were disturbed and had the boy tested by their scientists. Those tests revealed something so strange and powerful that it shocked the scientists. The child appeared to be composed of midichlorians, and thus born of the Force itself."
Anakin narrowed his eyes and wondered if this story was real, or if the Chancellor was just making it up. It hit a little too close to home. Again, he felt the uncomfortable, heated sensation of envy at the thought of not being as unique as he should be. If the story were true.
"Remembering the old woman who had prophesied a strong heir, the royal pair returned to that village and demanded to know the truth of the child's birth. The old woman laughed and proclaimed that she had given them the greatest possible gift—a child born of the Force, a child created from the very ether when she had lain her hands on the Queen's belly.
The sorceress held out her hand to the Queen once more, asking if she wished for a second child. The ruler back away and cursed the old woman for her interference, threatening to turn her over to the Jedi, who disliked any use of the Force that was not their own. The old woman told them that the child would be the Queen's greatest servant, and the greatest servant of the people. Then she vanished in a veil of light and shadow. Despite searching all the lands, they never saw her again."
"She probably used a mind trick on them," Anakin suggested.
"Possibly, but the Queen and her Lord were not weak-minded. Perhaps it is an ancient technique she used, now since lost and unknown. Whatever the case, they returned to Theed with the decision to raise the changeling child as their own son. They called him Yurlando, meaning "stranger," and the boy grew up tall, strong, beautiful and clever. Even as a small child, he advised his mother in affairs of state and his father in matters of war and peacekeeping, but instead of loving him for it, they resented and feared him.
The Queen viewed her own child as an enemy in her home and kept him to close to her side that he might never have the opportunity to act against her. When Yurlando was of age, and well trained, she demanded that he join the ranks of her knights and swear an oath of binding fealty to her. Despite the suspicion that hung on him day and night, the boy still loved his mother, and obeyed her order with joy. The day that he first donned the gleaming dark armour of her champions was the happiest of his life.
Yet the Queen could not accept the sincerity of his service, was not content to treat her son as any other knight. She sent him on the filthiest missions, the most underhanded of tasks. Assassination and intimidation became his specialty, and with each mission his heart blackened further with despair and twisted with bitterness. Still, he continued, for his oath was binding, and it was an an honour to serve his queen."
Palpatine paused and appeared to observe Anakin closely.
"In time, the Queen attempted to conceive other children, without success. Testing revealed her to be barren. Her medics told her that conceiving her first child should have been impossible. She cursed them as fools and attempted again to get with child, without success. In her rage, she sent her only son on missions designed to break him. They did not, and each time Yurlando returned stronger for the resolve that carried him through the filth of the underworld. He appeared kingly and majestic, while his once-great mother shriveled with bitterness.
In her desperation to break him, Gloriee ordered that he find the men who had slaughtered her family all those many years ago, certain that it was a hopeless mission that he would never return from. He departed with resolve, disappearing over the capital's horizon and indeed vanishing from the Queen's life. Years passed by, and in time the Queen was convinced that he had been killed."
"He wasn't, though," Anakin said knowingly.
Palpatine offered the smallest of grins, sharing the conspiracy. "Five years after his departure, a man entered the palace in rags, a cloak covering his head and a stringy beard growing from under it. He indicated that he had tribute for the Queen. Expecting the fruits of the man's trade or harvest, she was shocked when he presented her with six bandits clasped in binders. Their faces were much changed, but one glimpse of them returned the Gloriee to her childhood. The man in the cloak cast off his disguise and revealed himself to be Yurlando.
"I have fulfilled your order, Mother! The men you sought stand here before you."
The Queen quickly overcame her amazement, ordering the men to be imprisoned, and devised another task for the son she could not bear to look upon. She ordered him to discover if the bandits had families of their own, and to bring those families to Theed. The prince again departed, returning in two months with the wives, sons, daughters, mothers and fathers of the condemned men. These the Queen accepted as tribute before brining out their husband and fathers, the men who had killed her family. Then, before the prisoners, she ordered her son to kill their wives and children."
Anakin gasped. "Did he do it?”
"Of course he did, young Skywalker. It was his duty. With the black blade of his sword, he took the lives of every last woman and child there, leaving only the bandits alive. When the foul deed was done, the Queen proclaimed justice to be served, and ordered the prisoners to live long, long lives with the pain of their loss—as she had.
So you see, Anakin, our duty often conflicts with our desires, as it did for the Prince. His satisfaction came from the knowledge that he always obeyed his ruler, never lost the honour of his word."
"The Queen didn't deserve him," Anakin spat.
"Often, the ones we serve do not deserve us. That is the reality. The other reality is that heroes who live long lives often become villains, as did Naboo’s first queen.:
"Then why should we do our duty?" The boy's voice was hot with a fury that was too personal for a simple story.
Palpatine regarded him intently. "Perhaps we should not."
"But you just said—"
"For the greater good of the people, the prince performed services that no one else was willing to. It is not always the glorious deeds that bring us victory."
"I guess."
The Chancellor patted Anakin on the shoulder. "Let's go make ourselves a couple of purple bliels, shall we?"
In time, the words of Palpatine's story faded, but the heart of it would not release him. When Anakin's blade took another life and then another, when the missions with Obi-Wan became more demanding, and the praise for his bravery and determination never came, that was when the tale of the prince's futile obedience returned to him. Every time that he committed another filthy deed for the Republic and the Jedi Council that so recklessly used him, every time he coldly interrogated another prisoner for the greater good--in short, every time he killed another part of his own soul--the story returned to haunt him. Was it enough to do his duty when he felt that it might kill him to slay another living being? Or was it the day that he stood over the body of his victim and felt no pain that he should fear?
The years passed, and he married another glorious Queen of Naboo, the woman he had longed for since boyhood. Only in Padme's brown eyes could he forgot the agony of seeing his mother's brown eyes slide shut for the last time. Yet the Clone Wars separated him from Padme, swept him away to fields of destruction where the only dead were their own loyal citizens, slain by soulless droids from whose destruction Anakin derived no satisfaction. Blaster fire and deadly ships replaced the sounds of laughter on those fields, and life withered before his eyes. He felt three times his age, and for a time forgot how to smile. It was only the day that he reconciled himself to the difference between Obi-Wan and Palpatine, the two fathers he had never had, that he remembered how.
As Anakin had grown, Obi-Wan had changed and grown with him, while it seemed that Palpatine's distant, but constant presence remained just as it had always been. The smile on his former master's face was that of an equal, and the first time that Obi-Wan called him "brother," Anakin knew it was right, while the touch of Palpatine's hand on his shoulder carried all the weight of the only man to whom he could bare his soul. That Palpatine lead the Republic gave Anakin reason enough to defend an institution he did not truly believe in. It was for that reason alone that, against all conscience, he obeyed the order to remove Count Dooku's head.
The deed brought him glory in the eyes of the people, but no honour. He no longer knew what principles were, only that he was losing his grasp on them a little bit more with every passing day. When Palpatine at last revealed himself to be the Dark Lord, Anakin felt his heart break and his trust shatter. The oath to the Sith he swore on his knees he already resolved to break, to take for himself the power that Palpatine had acquired. He rationalise to himself that doing so would protect his wife and child, that it would free the people from the leader who had betrayed them, but the truth was that he would do it for himself.
Damn honour and oaths. What were they but excuses, childish ideas that kept hapless servants in check? If breaking his oaths to the Jedi had been so easily done, then breaking his oaths to the Sith would be doubly simple. He would be bound no more, but take instead everything he desired, even if it meant destroying everyone he had loved. He could look into Obi-Wan's eyes, see the agony in them, and not care. He could behold Palpatine's deformed features and already picture them slack and rotting, or masterfully observe Padme's shock while she gasped for the air that he refused to allow her.
He could betray them all at will and not care, for they had betrayed him first. A fire burned within Anakin, scorching away the fairy-tale ideals of his childhood, leaving behind a pure flame of such greed and selfishness that it rivaled the wild lava rivers of Mustafar itself. Anakin's eyes stole the golden reflections of those rivers, and even when he lay burning on their shores it was not bravery or conscience that kept him alive, but the refusal to die and give Obi-Wan the satisfaction.
From this moment onwards, Anakin Skywalker lived and died only for himself.
Bent over Darth Vader's unconscious, newly armoured form in the darkness of the medical lab, the freshly-crowned Emperor Palpatine reflected on the part of the story he had never revealed to Anakin.
He told it simply, assured that his new apprentice could heard nothing, and would never know the truth.
"The first Queen of Naboo was no kindly and charitable soul as Amidala was, Lord Vader. Her rule became cruel and degenerate, corrupted by the pains of her childhood. She had never known true happiness, you see, and therefore could not create it. Her son was not blind to her evils, and when he confronted her on the throneroom floor she demanded that her loyal knights arrest her son. They refused to, instead standing with the rebellious prince. In her shock, the Queen was an easy target, and the prince attacked. He did not kill her as she expected, but symbolically sliced open his mother's lips, proclaiming that he must destroy the mouth from which, like demons, only lies emerged. The skin of her lips healed badly, leaving an ugly scar, and her own knights arrested Gloriee and put her in the cell she had intended for her son. Her Lord Husband was the last one to leave the dungeon. He caught her gaze, and when he was certain of her attention, drew his black blade, the blade on which he had sworn his love and loyalty, and broke it over his knee.
"I owe you nothing,' he said. 'You are no longer my wife, no longer my queen.'
Before he left, he threw the pieces into Gloriee's cell. It was a temptation to suicide, but she refused, certain that she would escape and reclaim her throne. She never did, and after many years, she died there. Her son took the throne, confident that he would make a better leader. If this were a true fairy tale, he would indeed have been just and fair to all, but history is so much crueler than fairy tales, do you not agree, my apprentice?
That neglected prince had never known happiness either, you see, and did not understand how to bring it to his subjects. The cruel tasks he had performed for his mother had hardened his soul, and he became a ruthless, demanding king. Eventually a young, idealistic girl who had never known true hardship usurped the king. The girl, whose name was Jupee, threw Yurlando into the same cell that his mother had died in, and the fickle people rejoiced once more.
Jupee was the first Queen of Naboo to paint the Scar of Remembrance on her lips. That symbol is painted in memory of the Queen Gloriee's magnificent scar, the sign of her lies and corruption, and the corruption of her son, that the young queen might every day glimpse in the mirror their cost.
You may wonder, my apprentice, why this story is so clear in my memory? It was clear in the memory of my master as well. Darth Plagueis recognised a kindred spirit in the mischief of the old woman who gave the Queen her unwanted gift. He experimented for many years with creating life through the means of the Force. His first successes were pitiful, screaming, tormented creatures with no true form. They begged with their unformed thoughts for death, but he did not grant it to them, proud as he was of even that incomplete taste of godhood. In time, his powers grew, and he was able to save others from death, as I told you.
That was no lie, but the destinies of the saved were forever after tainted with the Dark Side, plagued by pain and cruel fortunes. If asked, they would tell you that they would rather have died. Many eventually took their own lives before, at last, filled with the fruitful powers of such inflicted agonies, my master discovered the key to the old woman's secret, the creation of supernatural life in the living body of a woman. He taught me the secret, but never created such a child himself, because I killed him first.
I waited for many years before I tried it, until the Force indicated the time was right. It brought me to a pitiful world in the Outer Rim and a brown-eyed slave woman whose memory I erased after igniting the power of the Force inside of her body. I…had intended to take her with me, but my intuition warned me that leaving her would better serve my ambitions. With some reservations, I abandoned her, and her child, to fate.
Almost ten years later, my faith in the Force was validated when I saw you. I had an apprentice already, but you were the catalyst, the one to serve my ambitions and goals, precisely as that first child of the Force did for his queen thousands of years ago. What if you should one day displace me, as that prince did his queen, you ask? Oh, Lord Vader, that is the Sith Way. I am not only expecting you to do so, I am depending on it. But it will not for honour, which neither of us has. In the end, the Dark always triumphs."
The rhythmic sound of Vader's breathing filled the room. Soon, the newest Sith Lord would awaken. Palpatine gazed at the dark armoured form: the very image of those ancient knights of Naboo. He thought of how this boy would serve him, and how he already had.
The Emperor's hand rose and softly touched the monstrous face of what he had created, while the memory of the bright-eyed, sun-haired child he had first seen thirteen years past rose up before him.
He wondered that his heart presumed to ache.
If he is not a loyal son, he is at least a useful one…
"Lord Vader, can you hear me?"
THE END.