Home Fiction Adult Fiction Art Mail List Staff Links

Title: Fumbling Towards Eden
Author: Prophecy Girl (prophgirl@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Darth Vader, Original Female
Category: Seduction, Angst, Romance

Disclaimer: All characters and settings within the Star Wars Universe are the sole property and possession of George Lucas. Ownership of said characters herewith is neither stated nor implied by author. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: A stubborn, fiesty bounty hunter finds herself at the mercy of the Sith Lord. Sequel to Slouching Towards Ecstasy.

Warning: some graphic violence.



Alaria shuffled restlessly in the chair. Her hands drifted to the small bulge of her belly and covered it protectively, as if to hide the fragile life within. She enjoyed the feel of her expanding stomach through the soft silk of her garments, far richer and more elaborate than anything she had worn in her "old life".

Lord Vader had provided her with a variety of loose fitting robes and pantsuits when her beloved bodysuits had stopped fitting properly. She had refused his suggestion of dresses, had threatened her protocol droid with Vader's lightsaber when it had encouraged her to try them on.

The Sith Lord had entered the room and found a pregnant Alaria brandishing his personal weapon recklessly while the droid cowered in the corner.

He had not been pleased.

She was well into her fourth month of pregnancy and was, quite simply, bored to tears. The morning sickness still appeared every few days, but had lessened enough to allow her to become frustrated with her lack of freedom. Between Lord Vader and the medical droid assigned specifically to her care, she'd been unable to do anything fun.

"No training," he'd told her firmly. "Meditation only."

His compromise in destroying the concubine contract had been an unexplainable act of concession, one that had not been repeated. Vader afforded her small liberties and brought her occasional gifts, but he was as domineering and controlling as ever.

They were at an impasse. He would not harm her, and she knew this. In turn, she would not leave, and he knew that as well.

Alaria could be useful, when it suited her. Her skills as a bounty hunter resulted in a unique knowledge of sentient behavior and as such, she had an interesting perspective into the movement of rebel insurgents. She knew where to go to hide, how to get lost in a crowd, and how to sneak around undetected. Vader took advantage of her insight.

The Dark Lord himself was forced to dedicate his attentions to a wide variety of tasks at the Emperor's behest, and was simply unable to spend the time required to track small bands of independently moving rebels. Individual tracking missions were assigned to Imperial officers under his command, but all too often they failed at their task; promotions within the Empire were both swift, and short-lived.

Vader would not go so far as to place her in charge of any operation, but he allowed her to "consult the men", as he put it, and offer advice. At times, he would do just about anything to shut her up.

She sat in his study now, half-heartedly listening to the admiral's report on rebel activities in the Outer Rim, grateful for the involvement it allowed her, but desperately missing the thrill of her own hunt.

"...appear to have more organization than the typical cell, my Lord," the Admiral was saying. "It is possible they have ties to other rebel forces, are perhaps attempting to unify."

"Then I suggest you deal with the situation accordingly, Admiral," Vader responded.

"Y-yes, my Lord," the man stuttered, no doubt all to aware of the consequences of failure.

The comlink blinked off and the meeting ended. Vader called up a galaxy map on the holo display and zoomed in on the Outer Rim planets, studying them thoughtfully.

"The rebels seem to think they are safe on these outlying planets," he mused.

Alaria stood and walked to his side. "It would make sense for them to gather here," she offered, pointing to Ord Mantell. "Easy to get lost, safer than Nar Shadaa... A skilled bounty hunter could not only track them, but determine their intentions."

He nodded. Now she would tell him she was best for the job, ask to go herself. If nothing else, she was impossibly persistent, his precious one.

"Of course I am. There is no other way to act around you, my Lord," she said, not looking away from the holomap.

"You are what?" he asked.

"Impossibly persistent," she answered simply.

Vader's head snapped up and he looked at her startled. "Why do you say that?"

"I didn't, you did... my Lord? What is it?”

She couldn't see his expression beneath his mask, but she knew he was disturbed, and angry.

"I said no such thing, Alaria," his tone was filled with warning.

"You did, my Lord. I heard you," she insisted.

There was a pause. He took hold of her arm at the elbow and pulled her towards the door.

"Where?" she asked, bewildered.

He was prone to sudden mood swings, but this was odd behavior, even for him.

"Medical."

"I feel fine," she protested.

"I'm sure you do," he answered coldly.

"Then why? The droid examined me this morning, everything is fine."

"I do not know how you have managed to connect with the Force without my knowledge, but I intend to find out." His voice was now icily hostile.

"What?" she asked, running to keep up with his swift pace. "I'm as Force-sensitive as a mynock, you know that! My Lord!"

"We shall see."

Alaria detested the medlab; the cold sterility, the prodding, the testing... For the most part, Vader allowed her to avoid it, bringing the medical droid to his quarters for her routine examinations.

"Well?" Lord Vader asked impatiently.

"One moment..." the droid intoned in its' flat, mechanical voice. "Her midiclorian count is unchanged."

"Impossible. Run the test again."

"Her composition has not changed," it insisted. "Would you like me to test the child?"

"What?" Alaria jumped from the examination table, hands going to her belly protectively. "What's wrong with my child?"

"Nothing," the droid stated. "But the child's-"

"That won't be necessary," Vader interrupted.

Taking hold of Alaria once more, he led her back to his quarters.

"Of course!" he mused when they were again in his private rooms. "My child seems to have inherited my Force capabilities..."

"That makes sense," she said. "You told me that Force abilities come from those... those..."

"Midiclorians."

"Whatever. They're genetic, aren't they? Still, it doesn't explain why I can sense the Force now."

An imperceptible shrug. "You have no doubt formed a bond with my child."

His child. Never her child, or their child. His.

"Your daughter," she corrected.

"What?" There was surprise in his voice.

"Daughter," she repeated. "Can't you feel it? It's a girl."

He couldn't. He had followed the development of his child carefully, with reserved reverence even, but its sex had been hidden from him, and still was. It was as if the Force had formed a barrier between the child and him. It had even become difficult to read Alaria's thoughts, as if the child was protecting both itself, and its mother.

"Fine, my daughter," he said, clearly annunciating each syllable with undiluted sarcasm.

"Will you sit with me, My Lord?" she asked as she walked to the bed and sat, lips curving into a coy, seductive smile.

"I have matters to attend to," he answered curtly. "Stay here, I will return later."

Then he was gone.

***

She flopped back against the bed and sighed with frustration. Vader had not touched her since learning of the baby, something Alaria found ironic considering her originally intended purpose. Things were uncomfortable between them – they were too similar. She held no illusions of love between them. They were united by circumstance, and nothing more.

She found herself wishing that their circumstance involved a bit more fucking. At first, she had been plagued with constant morning sickness and was too ill for any sexual activity. But her bouts of nausea has subsided and her sex drive was increasing steadily. Hormones, the medical droid had told her, in its analytical, unfeeling tone.

Perhaps she should have signed the contract, after all.

Alaria was already nestled into bed when he finally returned. She was curled into a tight ball on her side, but was awake and alert. Vader's steps were heavy, his breathing measured as he entered the room. She felt the subtle environmental changes as he adjusted the atmosphere to protect his fragile body. She heard him moving about in the darkness, stripping off his armor and robes.

When he joined her in bed, he did not touch her, but laid on his side, back towards her. Alaria rolled over to gaze at the pale curve of his muscular form, faintly visible in the blackness.

"A credit for your thoughts, my Lord," she murmured huskily, reaching out to trace the ridges of his spine with one finger.

He stiffened but said nothing.

She sighed. Then she closed her eyes, trying to concentrate as he had taught her to do when she meditated. If he wouldn't tell her what he was thinking...

He spun around and grabbed her wrist. Again she was amazed at how fluid and graceful he was when he moved.

"Don't," he growled.

"He speaks!" she exclaimed in mock surprise.

"What is it that you want, Alaria?" his tone was impersonal, warning.

"Why did you ask me to stay with you?"

"You're mine."

The proverbial answer. How she had grown to hate those two words.

"And yet you ignore me every chance you get!" she exclaimed.

Vader rolled on top of her, resting his weight against her thighs to avoid her belly. He reached down to tear open her robed, pushing her legs open and pressing himself against her sex. He covered her breasts with his palms and squeezed. She placed her hands over his and pressed down.

"Is this what you want, my little whore?" he asked.

She rotated her hips against him in response.

Just as suddenly, he was gone. He snatched his hands away and climbed out of bed. She heard him walk to the door of his training room and step through. Several moments later he entered his meditation chamber; he would not be back tonight.

Alaria lay motionless for some time against the sheets, trying to calm herself, but she found that the more she tried, the angrier she became. Vader had enraged her to the point of lunacy.

Standing, she searched the room frantically in the dark. He had been careless tonight, had not bothered to put away his armor or clothing. Lifting his cape from a chair, she found what she was looking for.

Approaching the Dark Lord undetected was not an easy feat. Skilled though she was at stealth, the bounty hunter had never successfully snuck up on him.

Alaria closed her eyes and tried to concentrate, attempting to tap into her newfound connection to the Force. Because she was completely untrained, she had no idea if she would be successful.

Moving silently and effortlessly through the training room, she focused all of her thoughts on becoming invisible. She pictured herself as empty space while she stepped through the door to the meditation chamber.

Vader was kneeling in the center of the chamber, arms unmoving against his thighs, head bowed.

When Alaria had closed half the distance between them, she engaged his lightsaber. His head snapped up and he spun around.

"You little bitch, how dare you!" he swore, eyeing her cautiously, attempting to decide how to disarm her without causing injury.

"How dare you!" she spat back. "You lure me here! You ask me to stay! And then you throw me away!" She held the lightsaber in front of her with both hands.

"What is it that you want, Alaria?" he asked, and she heard the weariness creeping into his voice.

"I want to understand!" she screamed, her words reverberating off the walls of the chamber.

"Do you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

He took a step towards her, then another.

"Yes!" she breathed, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

She felt his presence in her mind as he took hold, drawing her back into his own. There was a flood of sensation – anger, hate, desire. Then there were images before her. *A young woman, eerily beautiful with long brown hair and soft, gentle eyes; her figure is full and round in the late stages of pregnancy. She opens her mouth to speak and Alaria can hear her words, desperate, tortured.

"I don't know you anymore. Anakin, you're breaking my heart. I'll never stop loving you..."

The voice of a young man answers her. His words are angry, accusing.

"You've betrayed me! You've brought him here to kill me!" he yells, then he is reaching out with his hand, choking her. When he releases her, she crumples to the ground, unmoving.*

Alaria gasped, and felt her legs give out beneath her. Vader caught her before she hit the floor, supporting her weight easily.

"Have you seen enough?" he asked coldly.

She nodded through her tears, letting herself go limp in his arms. He picked her up and carried her back to the bedroom, laying her on the bed carefully. He started to walk away, but she caught his hand.

"Please stay..." she whispered.

He complied, settling himself down next to her, immediately she brought her hand up to lay against his chest and nestled her head on his shoulder. After a moment he encircled her with his arms protectively.

"Who was she?" Alaria asked.

Vader sighed and tightened his embrace.

"My wife," he replied quietly.

Alaria closed her eyes and slept.

***

Did you come to me
or did I lure you here?
I fear to want to know.
Before I get lost again
I'll cling to your warmth, let desire grow.
Tear me up,
Tease me purple, while we hide.
I'll bite my tongue
and with crimsoned lips
paint you red inside.
I'll spread you atop me
Onyx across Porcelain
We'll crash together `till we become marble,
and when it's over? We're left Alone
Again.

***

When Alaria awoke, she was still in his arms. For the first time in months he was not already gone. He felt her stir and reached up to lightly touch her cheek.

"You are well this morning?" he asked, sounding slightly guilty.

"Yes," she said, tilting her face to look at him. "And you, my Lord?"

"I'm fine."

He was watching her, waiting for the inevitable questions about the memory he had shared with her.

They didn't come.

Perhaps she was as eager to forget as he was.

Vader didn't understand why he had confided in her. He could have avoided her questions just as easily as he had answered them, despite her incorrigible persistence. But part of him felt that if she was to bear his child, she deserved to know how he had killed his last one.

Perhaps he had sought to test her. And perhaps she was not so much like Padme after all.

She was headstrong, defiant, determined – all things he had seen and loved in Padme... but she accepted him for who and what he was. Something that Padme had refused to do. Alaria had seen the darkest part of him and had taken his hand, had asked him to stay with her. She knew quite well what he was capable of, the things he'd done, and still she looked him in the eye. She still wanted him. Padme had turned her back on him, had betrayed him in the arms of his best friend.

No, Alaria and Padme were not so similar.

The Emperor was not pleased with the pregnancy. He had been the one who insisted Vader establish a harem, but apparently, he had not fully considered the consequences. He warned his apprentice that Alaria could not be trusted, that she was unworthy of a place by his side. A great Sith Lord and a bounty hunting whore? Women were tricky and unpredictable. A woman who was also a killer was even worse. Above all else, the Emperor demanded Vader not allow Alaria to become too comfortable with him. Vader was not to bed her anymore, lest he lose his control on her.

Lord Vader hid his feelings from Alaria accordingly. But the truth was that each time he looked at her, radiant with the life inside her womb, he felt his heart stir. She was becoming the one thing that he desired most in all the Empire, the one thing he could not have.

But damn it if she wasn't the most infuriating creature he'd ever met!

"Do you have much to do today, my Lord?" she asked. Her fingers were tracing lazy patterns across his chest.

"No," he replied. "Not today."

A few status meetings with his military leaders that he would conduct from his chambers. Unless the Emperor summoned him, he planned to spend the day with her.

She smiled at him. "Thank you."

He blinked. "For what, precious one?"

"Shhh, if you ask you'll ruin the moment."

"Are we having a moment, then?"

Another smile. "We seem to be, my Lord."

He chuckled. "I suppose any time when you are not trying to kill me with my own weapon is a good moment."

She laughed heartily, burying her face into his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" she asked when she raised her head to find him peering at her intently.

"Nothing," he answered. "It pleases me to hear you laugh."

Alaria held his gaze a moment longer, then reached up and impulsively pressed her lips against his. The kiss was chaste, almost innocent, and just as quickly as it had begun, she ended it. She rolled onto her back and moved to sit up, but he stopped her, placing a hand on her belly, covering the tiny swell that was his daughter.

"She is going to be strong," he stated with approval.

"Like her father," Alaria replied, placing her hand lightly over his.

"Like her mother," Vader said. Then he covered her mouth with his.

The kiss was hungry, needy, desperate. He plunged his tongue into her mouth and she sucked on it greedily, his hand reached upwards to cup her breast. She was his, and he wanted her. She wore the same robe from the night before and the torn fabric parting easily for him. He broke their kiss to lower his head to her breasts, taking one tiny nipple between his teeth, teasing it with his tongue. She moaned and pushed his hand down between her legs, she was already moist. His fingers teased open her folds and he slipped inside her gently, reaching up with his thumb to rub her clit in slow circles.

Alaria's moans intensified and she pushed her hips against him. Reaching down, she took hold of his cock and squeezed it through the cloth of his slacks, causing him to moan in turn. She brought her other arm behind his back and tried to pull him in towards her.

"No, precious one," he whispered. "Not yet."

He slowed the pace of his fingers, drawing her away from orgasm. She pulled his slacks down enough to slip her hand inside and stroked him frantically, desperate in her lust.

"Please..." she moaned.

Vader withdrew his hand from her sex and placed it over her lips. She licked his fingers sensuously, tasting herself, and shuddered. He slide himself down the bed and hooked her legs over his shoulders.

Alaria cried out when his tongue touched her, delicately, reverently. She took his hands from her thighs and held them tightly, grinding her hips against his face. When his lips locked onto her clit she screamed with abandon. Encouraged, he sucked harder, pulling the flesh into his mouth commandingly. It took only seconds for her to climax, her body shaking uncontrollably.

He pulled himself up her body and kissed her, drawing the length of his prick against her. He entered her slowly, cautiously, felt her body expand to draw him in.

"Anakin..." she moaned loudly.

He froze.

He was about to reprimand her, warn her never to call him that again, but her eyes were closed, lips parted. She didn't even realize what she had said. He felt her tighten around him and was swept away once more by the delicious sensations of their lovemaking.

Vader began to push deeper into her, establishing a strong, steady rhythm. Alaria's moans increased as she approached orgasm for a second time. When she felt his release the pulses triggered her own climax. Vader continued to move within her, drawing out the waves of pleasure. Finally though, the spasms subsided, and he reluctantly withdrew.

He pulled her to his chest and held her tightly. She relaxed against him, satisfied.

"My Lord," she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"I'm afraid."

"Why?" he asked against her hair.

"Because," she answered cryptically, before drifting once more into sleep .

***

Alaria's existence was ruled by extremes. Kill or be killed. Ally or enemy. Everything or nothing. She viewed the galaxy in sharp contrasts of black and white. For her there was no middle ground. Shades of gray were illusions for weaklings and fools... or so she had believed until she came face to face with Lord Vader.

Vader challenged everything she knew. He was as kind as he was cruel. As giving as he was greedy. He was gentle one moment, rough the next; and Alaria was slowly realizing that she needed him. Needed him far more than he needed her. With each passing day, she found herself missing the galaxy outside the walls of his chambers less and less. She had never before relied on anyone in her life.

Now, she couldn't imagine her life without him, and she didn't even know who he was.

She had planned on spending the day searching the holonet for information on anyone named "Anakin", but until an hour ago he had not left her side. Then the Emperor had summoned him and he had left immediately, without even a word of parting. She had no idea when he might return, and wasn't about to risk his anger if she was discovered. He clearly wanted to forget that he had shared any of his past with her, and she knew from experience that the quickest path to answers was not always a straight line. With Vader this was especially true. If she were to question him, she risked losing what little progress they had made in the last 24 hours.

After their lovemaking, they'd bathed together, and then she had let him dress her in a dark green satin gown. The stupid thing was already annoying her to no end, but she had wanted to please him. That frightened her. Alaria had never given a damn about anyone but herself before. Loathe as she was to admit it, the clichés about motherhood seemed to be true. She found that she cared deeply for the wellbeing of her daughter.

She glanced up as Vader re-entered the room, and she could tell from his demeanor that he was not pleased. He immediately began pacing with swift, lengthy strides. Typically, he reserved this form of controlled anger for her antics, she thought with jealousy.

"Something wrong, my Lord?" she asked, arching her eyebrows in amusement.

"There is new information about rebel forces on the Outer Rim," he stated.

Not surprising. "Imperial ships were dispatched last week to deal with them, were they not?"

"Of course. But the Emperor wishes me to personally oversee their capture and interrogation."

"Why?" she asked, bewildered.

"That is unclear at this time," Vader fumed.

It didn't seem likely that these rebels were more important than any they'd caught before. He suspected that the Emperor simply wanted to separate his apprentice from Alaria. The subject had not been mentioned in the conference, but Vader knew that this assignment was punishment for disobeying his Master's instructions.

She saw his anger boiling just below the surface of his controlled facade, and found that it stirred her arousal. She walked to him boldly and placed a hand on his arm. Almost immediately, he reached behind her and cupped her bottom with one gloved hand.

Grasping his free hand, she began to pull him to the bed. He paused and nodded towards the wall console.

"No," she said, looking at him with a lascivious grin, "leave it on."

Alaria couldn't see his expression, but she was quite certain that he smiled.

He draped her across the bed and pushed her dress above her waist, raising her legs into the air as he snapped open his pants with a sharp jerk. Vader remained standing, towering over her; his power was palpable, real. She allowed him to position her, manipulate her as he pleased. She wanted him to dominate her.

He took her hard and fast, moving within her as powerfully as was safe for the child. Towering over her, he was the very image of command and control. Release came all too quickly for both of them, and though he lingered inside her, the sensations did not last.

She again had the distinct impression that he was smiling beneath his mask.

"Consider it a...going away present, my Lord," she told him slyly.

He laughed. "Didn't I mention precious one? You're coming with me."

The Emperor hadn't actually said she was to remain behind. He knew was playing a dangerous game, but he had no intention of folding.

Alaria couldn't hide her surprise. He had never taken her anywhere before. She had not left the walls of the Imperial Center in nearly five months.

"Is it safe? For the child?"

He nodded. "My personal physician will accompany us, and he has assured me that you will be quite safe."

Vader smoothed her dress back into place and offered his hand to her. She took it and stood, regarding her dishevelled appearance with a smile.

"Perhaps my hatred of dresses has been misplaced," she commented and laughed.

He chuckled. "I will summon your protocol droid to pack your things. We leave just after nightfall."

Alaria felt at home in space. She enjoyed the cold, impersonal expanse of stars, the anonymity of the enveloping blackness.

New intelligence was being reported even as the Imperial Shuttle drew close to Ord Mantlel. Guards, stationed on the surface, had heard whispers among the people of a Jedi hidden somewhere on the planet. He was aiding the Rebels in forming a cohesive attack strategy. The Imperial soldiers were not trained to deal with Jedi, and Vader had spent much of the voyage barking orders in caustic, frustrated tones. Alaria was sitting in the main compartment of the ship with her head between her knees, fighting the waves of nausea that were assaulting her with renewed vigor.

"It is not that difficult, Captain, to capture one measly Jedi," Vader growled. "I expect you to have the Rebels in custody when I arrive."

He glanced in Alaria's direction to find her watching him. One sparkling eye peered out from beneath the veil of black hair covering her face. She remained doubled over with her head laying sideways against her knees.

"You find this funny?" he asked.

"I do, my Lord. Your men are – "

"Incompetent!" he fumed.

"The Empire should really invest in the employment of bounty hunters for missions such as these."

"Bounty hunters have no sense of order," he stated. This conversation had become an almost daily ritual between them. "No loyalties."

"Nonsense," she countered. "We simply choose our loyalties more carefully than average sentients."

"Five months ago you told me that you cared for nothing and no one."

She shrugged. "Things change."

He regarded her smugly. "Indeed they do."

A burst of static erupted from the comlink to end their exchange. Vader returned once more to his pacing and instructing. Once the shuttle had docked inside the hangar of the Star Destroyer, he took Alaria's arm and helped her to her feet.

"We exit together," he instructed. "Walk beside me; do not step in front of me or ahead of me. Do not speak. Keep your figure hidden beneath your cloak."

She nodded. This was Vader's arena, not hers, and she would defer to his judgment. No doubt he was attempting to minimize the number of questions her presence would raise.

The pair stepped out of the shuttle together and into the open expanse of the hangar bay. Rows of storm troopers stood in precise lines, flanking a clear path to the bay doors leading into the belly of the vessel. The ship's commander stood rigidly before them, snapping into a salute as they approached.

"It is a pleasure to have you aboard Lord Vader," the man stated. His tone was calm and smooth, but Alaria sensed something else below the surface – fear. They had not captured the Jedi, she realized.

"What is the status of your mission, Commander?" Vader asked, not pausing to greet the man but continuing towards the exit.

The Commander scrambled to fall into step beside them, if he was curious about Alaria, he wisely refrained from asking.

"We have captured 27 Rebels so far my Lord. They were assembled in an abandoned house in the refugee sector. Those that escaped seem to be operating separately. They are panicked. We will track them down with little trouble."

"And the Jedi?"

The Commander cringed. "We have not captured any Jedi, my Lord, nor have we been able to confirm the rumors that one is here. It is possible that they are simply rumors."

"And what have the captives said about these rumors?"

"Nothing yet, Lord Vader. I thought you would prefer to interrogate them personally."

They had left the hangar and were travelling down a wide hallway.

"Very good Commander. Send more troops to the surface to collect the remaining rebels. Make it clear that any civilian with a mind to aid the traitors will be regarded as enemies of the Empire and dealt with accordingly. I will see to the captives."

"Shall I accompany your companion to your quarters my Lord?"

"No," Vader answered. "The lady will aid in my interrogations."

Alaria had been looking straight ahead as they walked, but now her head snapped around to stare at him.

*Unless you prefer to retire to my quarters*, he commented teasingly in her mind.

*Idle hands...* she sent back, and a slight jerk of his shoulders confirmed that he had gotten the message. She just might get used to this new Force-sensitivity after all.

The interrogation room was a medium-sized chamber with stark, barren walls. Metal rings were bolted to these wall, and a threatening black chair sat in the middle of the space. The commander led Alaria and Vader into the room then engaged his comlink to order the first prisoner brought in.

The man was unconscious, but otherwise unharmed, Alaria noted as the guards dragged him in and deposited him unceremoniously on the floor.

"Leave us," Vader commanded. The man scurried from the room and shut the door.

"Any rules I should know about?" Alaria asked when they were at last alone.

"Nothing that will risk the child," he said. "Nothing that will kill him... at least, nothing that will kill him swiftly."

She began to circle the prisoner slowly. She approached him and kicked him hard in the stomach. The man grunted and stirred.

She grinned. This was going to be fun.

Vader watched her with interest. He could sense her reaching out, tapping into the Force to touch the man's mind. Impressive, for one with no training; one who, until four months ago, could not feel the Force at all. She reached down and grabbed the man's hair, lifting his face up to meet hers. His eyes were confused and he was afraid.

"Hello... Skyan," she purred.

The Rebel jerked. "How do you know my name?"

"I know a lot of things..." she said. "And the rest, you're going to tell me."

Skyan glanced around, absorbing his surroundings. His eyes settled onto Lord Vader and narrowed.

"Sith," he spat. "I'll tell you nothing."

Alaria grinned. "Oh, I think you will."

She spent four hours torturing Skyan. In the end, he had outlined the Rebels' plans to infiltrate the Imperial power structure and had revealed the location of all Rebel hideouts on Ord Mantell; but if there was a Jedi on the planet, he was as in the dark as the Empire. He knew nothing beyond rumors.

For Vader, cruelty and violence were necessities required by his position as Sith Lord. For Alaria, they were an art. Her skin was glowing radiantly, her face flushed with an emotion akin to sexual gratification.

He forced her to watch him interrogate the next prisoner, afraid that too much would exhaust her and hurt the child. His style was decidedly less... involved than hers. They took turns questioning the captives, and continued their work long into the night.

After the broken, lifeless body of the fifth prisoner had been removed, Alaria realized that she was beyond exhausted. Vader led her through the ship's maze of pathways to the quarters reserved for his exclusive use. She stepped into the refresher and gasped at her reflection.

Her face was splattered with blood in wide, sweeping patterns. Her dress was ruined, splashed with gore. When the Twi'lek prisoner, Zakcl'bec, has refused to answer her questions, she'd cut off his tentacles, and he'd vomited all over her feet. For that she'd torn out his tongue.

There was something different in her eyes, as well. They blazed with a fiery delight – she could see traces of red and orange in the black irises. She had caused pain tonight, and she had enjoyed it.

She ran herself a bath and stepped into the steaming tub gingerly, watching the color of the water transform from clear to a pale crimson tint.

A gloved hand came to rest on her shoulder.

"You've worn yourself out precious one. Come to bed."

She washed herself and changed into a clean robe, then padded softly to the bed. Climbing in, she looked to Vader, who sat in a wide chair before the desk against the wall.

"Will you join me?" she asked.

"In a moment," he answered. "I must review these reports first."

Alaria settled into the sheets with a sigh. Her muscles were unwinding slowly as sleep began to take over.

"My Lord?" she asked.

"Yes."

"There's no Jedi here," she stated.

"Perhaps not, but just because the first five Rebels knew nothing, does not mean the others are equally ignorant."

"There is no Jedi on this planet," she repeated.

"And how do you know this?"

"I'm not sure," she answered honestly. "I just do."

******

Vader sensed no disturbance in the Force on Ord Mantell. It was possible that this mysterious Jedi was well-versed in shielding his presence from other Force users, but Vader doubted it. The Jedi Order had been all but exterminated; those few that had survived Order 66 were not likely to make themselves targets by aiding the Rebellion so overtly. Beyond that, the facts regarding this Jedi were not adding up, and he suspected that the rebels had spread these rumors to bolster support amongst the locals. It was a clever ruse, but not clever enough to fool a Sith Lord.

Or his consort, apparently.

Alaria was exhausted. Vader did not require much sleep – neither his conscience nor his duties permitted more than a few hours each night. He woke early and dressed silently, leaving her to sleep while he went to consult the ship commander about the progress of tracking down the remaining rebels. He should not have permitted her to drain herself so thoroughly in the interrogation room, not in her current condition, but he had been fascinated.

Several hours later he returned to check on her and found her awake and dressed, waiting for him with quiet anger.

"You left me? You locked me in here and left me!" she exclaimed.

"I did not wish to wake you. You required the rest and I had to meet with the Commander and be updated on his progress," he told her calmly. "If your concern is that you've missed any fun, it is misplaced. I have not questioned any more of the rebels."

She could not hide her smile. "So I get to help you again today?"

"Yes, but there will be more rules this time."

She pouted. "Fine, what are they?"

"You are not to wear yourself out like you did last night. It isn't healthy for my daughter."

"Fair enough," she conceded.

"Until I am able to properly teach you more about how to use the Force, you are not to do so."

At this she jumped to her feet, preparing to argue. He raised a hand to silence her.

"These are not your abilities, Alaria. They are my daughter's. I will not have you do anything that may harm her. Be thankful that I am willing to train you at all."

It was a waste of time to train her, really, since it was likely that any Force sensitivity she had gained would dissipate once she gave birth, but he would humor her with this.

"Alright," she sighed. "Anything else?"

"That is all for now. I find it unfortunate that you destroyed such a lovely dress last night, but pants would reveal your figure, and I do not think that would be wise at this time. Shall we?"

He extended his hand and she placed her own into it, he then settled it into the crook of his arm and led her to the door. This surprised her. She hadn't expected him to promote any physical contact in front of the men. Beyond that, she wasn't too keen on being paraded around as his trophy.

Wisely, she kept her mouth shut. If she balked at his generosity it might make him angry, and though he could not physically harm her while she was pregnant, he could punish her in other ways, like disallowing her participation in the interrogation room.

Commander Oayen met them in the hallway outside of their quarters, and, if he was startled by the familiarity between Vader and Alaria, he again wisely remained silent.

The first prisoner they were to question was a human female, and the reported leader of the Rebel band. Alaria held a vague respect for the woman's leadership, which only served to heighten her viciousness.

The woman, Landoia Nayles, was conscious when the storm troopers brought her into the interrogation chamber. She was oddly calm.

"Is it what you expected?" Alaria asked.

"You think this is the first Star Destroyer I've seen? You Empire lackeys are stupider than I thought," Landoia responded, chin jutting out in sharp defiance.

"Not the ship. Your Rebellion. Your pointless battle in the name of all things inconsequential and fleeting. Is it all you hoped for?" she asked flatly.

"I fight for things you will never understand!"

"Mmhm," Alaria answered, watching her prey with steely eyes.

"You are a disgrace to the galaxy! You fallen Jedi, who think you can just-"

Alaria's laughter cut her off. "Jedi? I'm no Jedi, Landoia. I'm just a bitch with some free time."

She walked towards Landoia swiftly, and grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. Immediately, the woman hands flew to her throat and she began gagging. Her eyes remained angry and unyielding. She would die before she told them anything.

"Alaria," Vader's voice interrupted the exchange. "Stop."

Alaria released her grip on the prisoner and took a step backwards. Landoia did not fall to the floor, nor did she gasp for air. She continued to choke slowly and steadily.

"Alaria!" Vader exclaimed.

"I'm not!" she answered, throwing a furtive glance over her shoulder in his direction. "I'm not doing that!"

But she was.

Alaria had been Force-blind the whole of her 22 years. Now, connecting to the Force through her unborn child, the flood gates opened, and she was being swept away in the current of the Dark Side. Part of this was Vader's influence, the rest was her own predisposed aversion to virtue. The deeper she fell into that chasm of darkness, the deeper Vader fell with her.

The Emperor had foreseen this. His young apprentice was defiant and headstrong. The more he prohibited Vader from being with Alaria, the more Vader would desire her. She could take him further down the path of the Dark Side than the Emperor himself could.

Lord Vader's weakness always had been the fairer sex.

***

Alaria opened her eyes and glanced around. She was groggy and remembered nothing beyond grabbing Landoia in the interrogation room. She was now in Vader's private quarters aboard the Star Destroyer, and he was sitting at the desk with his fists clenched tightly at his sides. This ship was not equipped to protect him from his injuries and so he was unable to remove his suit or helmet. The sound of his even, mechanical breathing was soothing.

"My Lord..." she said cautiously.

He turned his head slowly to look at her. She sensed that he was troubled.

"What is happening to me?" she asked him.

He sighed. "Your connection to the Force is growing stronger."

"I noticed," she answered wryly.

"You haven't had any training," he muttered. "It makes no sense."

"That doesn't seem to matter."

"It should," he told her. "I have the highest documented midichlorian count in the galaxy and I required training to use my abilities."

"Perhaps you only thought you did," she shrugged.

He was silent for a moment as he considered this. The Jedi had been wrong in many of their philosophies. It was possible that the concept of training younglings was just another method of blinding Force sensitives. Another way of keeping their true potential hidden from them to gain their subservience. But the Sith also required training. His Master had taught him to hone his skills, to embrace the Dark Side.

"No," he decided aloud. "I would have been better at pod racing if that were true."

She blinked. "Pardon?"

He shook his head. "Force sensitives need training to become Adepts."

"But what if a `Force sensitive' has a connection to a trained `Adept'?"

"You speak of Force bonds. They are rare, but powerful."

"And between a parent and child? Do they develop then?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "Intimacy is forbidden to Jedi – physically or emotionally. Force bonds develop in a number of ways."

She asked her next question gingerly. "Was she Force sensitive? Your wife?"

"No. If she was, she never told me, and I never sensed a change in her when..."

It was Alaria's turn to fall silent. "Then why me?" she asked eventually.

"I don't know," Vader said again.

"What should I do?"

"I don't know."

"I can't control it," she said quietly. "It frightens me."

"But you enjoy it," Vader's lips curled into a snarl beneath his mask. "The pain you cause, you don't try to stop it."

"Why would I?" she asked simply. "I've never been what you would call kind, my Lord. I killed a man for the first time when I was ten."

"Then why are you frightened?"

"Because it's changing me! I look different," she gestured towards her eyes; they had not lost the reddish tint she had first noticed two days before. "I feel different. If I wish someone harm, it happens, I don't have to lift a finger. But when I want it to stop, it doesn't stop!"

Vader let out another sigh. He was realizing that allowing her to help with the interrogations had not been wise. Alaria had no training, no understanding of the Force, and her abilities were manifesting themselves at an exponential rate. She was right, she couldn't control it, and that was partially his own fault. Now he would have to teach her, he'd left himself no other choice.

"I have to complete the interrogations, and I will do so alone. You will stay here and rest. When I return, we will begin your training." Vader rose and walked to the door.

For once, she didn't argue.

***

The Rebels on Ord Mantell had been quashed quickly and thoroughly. There had not been a Jedi among them. After the insurgents were disposed of Vader ordered that a strong Imperial presence be established on the planet. The purpose was not one of prevention but of deterrence. Inaction was no longer acceptable for citizens of the Outer Rim worlds. The Empire's method of domination was simple fear.

Vader spent one week on Ord Mantell, and he kept Alaria close by his side. One Rebel prisoner was released alive long enough to share his experience with a handful of settlers. Rumors of a vicious woman travelling with Vader spread quickly around the planet, and then began to seep to other worlds on the Outer Rim.

He began training her immediately, as promised, but both of them were easily frustrated. The Sith Lord was an impatient teacher, and the bounty hunter was an impatient learner.

After leaving Ord Mantell, they made several stops on other Outer Rim worlds to establish a presence before returning to Coruscant. Each day, Alaria would sit with Vader on the floor of his training room, meditating for hours. He insisted upon it.

She was in her sixth month of pregnancy, and her figure was now impossible to hide; her breasts were full and swollen over her expanding belly. Her hair was pulled back tightly into a bun at nape of her neck, giving her a stern, sterile appearance from the shoulders up. From the neck down her body was soft and supple, showing a gentleness that did not match her personality. Mood swings were frequent and drastic. The child had begun to move inside her womb and Alaria found that this annoyed her endlessly.

"This is futile!" she fumed on the fourth day of training. "What good does it do for me to sit here and think about using the Force all day, every day?"

Vader sat facing her a short distance away. He looked almost comical, legs crossed indian-style, watching her carefully. Distaste rolled off of her in waves, but she was still eerily beautiful within her changing form.

"You cannot master what you do not understand," he told her patiently.

She let out an audible sigh and let her eyes drift closed once more.

"Clear your mind."

She snorted. "Easier said than done."

"Then pick one thought and focus on it," he said. "Let the others go."

Keeping her eyes closed she called forth an image of her homeworld. She had not seen the tiny arid planet for nearly fifteen years, but she was able to picture the vast farms that spanned its' surface, the tiny settlements... At that moment, there was a sharp flutter within her abdomen. She waited for it to subside, then began to concentrate again. Her breathing slowed and became regular as she relaxed, and Vader watched her with interest; truly, he had not expected her to succeed.

*Good,* he whispered in her mind. *Now, open up your senses, let your surroundings in and tell me what you feel.*

Alaria's eyes flew open, the reddish tint within them darkened and spread, a testament to her anger. The child had begun to move once more and her concentration was broken.

"Be quiet!" she roared.

Immediately the child ceased her movements, but the moment was lost. She pushed herself to her feet, a task that was becoming progressively more difficult as she grew in size, and began to pace the room.

"Alaria," Vader said, standing and approaching her slowly. "Calm down."

"You tell me to calm down!" she yelled. "You don't have this fucking thing crawling inside of you!"

There was another flutter of movement from her womb.

"I will call the physician if you do not calm down," he warned. His tone was soft, but firm.

She froze and turned to look at him. An errant strand of hair had come free and fallen across her face. She pushed it back behind her ear impatiently and gave him her best murderous glare.

"Good. When he arrives, tell him to get this thing out of me. Now."

She jerked her chin upwards in defiance. Lord Vader would not get his way so easily this time.

The Sith Lord took a step towards her cautiously. Lord Vader did not often use caution in his movements, but Alaria was unpredictable and volatile – and in an exceedingly bad mood.

"Back off," she snarled. More hair had come loose from her bun and she her appearance was akin to that of a feral animal who had been cornered in an unfamiliar place.

He held his hands out at his sides, palms facing her, but the act of surrender and placation did not have the desired effect. Its significance was lost on her.

"Alaria," he pleaded and stepped forward again. His voice remained the same deep baritone and he silently cursed the stoic mechanical restrictions of his mask.

"I said BACK OFF!" she screamed, lashing out with her hands as if to push him backwards. He was beyond her reach and she encountered only open space.

Vader went sprawling, knocked backwards by a blast of Force energy so powerful that he slid into the wall with a sharp thud. He groaned, not from pain, but from surprise.

Alaria's hands flew to her mouth; she dropped to her knees and began to cry, great wracking sobs that shook her entire body.

Vader pulled himself to his feet slowly. He said nothing, merely stood watching her. He had dropped his defences earlier, hoping that she would sense he meant her no harm. He replaced them now.

"Anakin," she sobbed. "Help me."

He sighed and, after a pause, walked to her, pulling her first to her feet and then lifting her into his arms. She went limp against him, crying quietly. She was undone – exhausted and terrified once more.

Vader carried her into the bedroom and set her onto the bed, smoothing her forehead with a gloved hand. She rolled onto her side and pressed her tear-stained face against the pillow.

He stood watching her for several moments before touching his fingertips to her temple lightly; he waited for her eyes to flutter closed before retreating to his study. The Sith Lord was dreading what needed to be done, but things had spiralled beyond his control.

First he would comm for the physician and instruct him to come by later that night to examine Alaria.

Next he would contact his master.

"Lieutenant Tarkhek," Vader intoned into the comlink.

"Yes, my Lord?" The Lieutenant was a small-framed, soft-spoken man in his late thirties with facial features that rather resembled a gizka. He would never survive even the tamest of combat situations, but he was the best physician in the Empire, and had cared for Vader personally since the incident on Mustafar.

"Report to my chambers this evening. Bring anything you require to conduct a thorough examination of my companion."

"Yes, my Lord."

Vader then adjusted the frequency of his comlink to the private channel he shared with the Emperor. He took a deep breath. This was going to be unpleasant, at the very least. He did not enjoy interrupting his Master, and rarely contacted him of his own accord.

"Lord Vader," the Emperor's grainy, guttural voice interrupted his ruminations.

"My master," Vader bowed.

"Do you have any news of the Rebels?" The Emperor asked. He knew precisely why his apprentice was seeking audience with him of course, but he enjoyed Vader's discomfort and humility.

"No, my master. I require advice on a more... personal matter."

"Things have gotten out of hand with your pet bounty hunter." There was amusement in his voice.

"She feels the Force but cannot control it."

"And now you cannot control her."

"No," Vader admitted.

"She has grown powerful, my young apprentice. Both she and your child will be formidable allies of the Empire once they have fully converted to the Dark Side."

"But I fear she will destroy the child."

"It is a concern, Lord Vader," a hint of a smile in Palpatine's voice now.

"What would you have me do, my Master?"

"To control her, you must allow her to believe she is in control," the Emperor paused. "Give her what she wants and she will give you what you want."

"It will be done, my master." He switched the comlink off and sighed again.

The Emperor's advice had not been as helpful as he'd hoped. He returned to the bedroom. Alaria was asleep in the bed, tears drying on her face in a wet mess. He retrieved a cloth from the refresher and wiped her face gently. She stirred and woke at the sensation.

"I'm sorry," she whispered; her voice was hoarse and cracked from her earlier outburst.

"Shh," he placed a gloved finger to her lips.

"Did I hurt her?" she asked, and tears again slid down her cheeks.

Vader brushed them away.

"Lieutenant Tarkhek will be here shortly to examine you. For now…rest."

She sniffed twice. "Are you very cross with me?" Her eyes were wide and her lower lip trembled. She looked like a child who was about to be scolded by an angry parent.

"For threatening to kill my child or for pushing me across the room?" he asked.

"For calling you `Anakin'," she said quietly.

Had his breathing not been mechanically regulated, it would have ceased for several moments.

"I... have not been called that for a long time..." he said slowly. "It invokes memories I would prefer to forget."

"I'm sorry," she said again.

There was a brisk knock at the door and both of them breathed inaudible sighs of relief. Tarkhek was right on time, as always. Vader hastened to admit him.

"My Lord Vader," the Lieutenant said with a bow in Vader's direction. Without invitation or permission he walked swiftly to the bed. "My Lady Alaria," he greeted her familiarly. He was, in fact, one of very few people who knew her name.

"Hello Doctor," Alaria said smiling meekly at him.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her gently, as he began his examination.

"Like I've been on an all-night juma binge," she admitted.

"Well let's see what the little one is up to, shall we?"

When he had finished, Tarkhek looked at Lord Vader nervously. Vader nodded and led the man into his study, shutting the door so that they could speak in private.

"My Lord, the baby is healthy so far as I can see, but..." the doctor trailed off.

"But what, Lieutenant? What is it?" Vader asked hurriedly.

"There has been no development." He ran a hand across his face swiftly, rubbing his eyes. "She is now in her twenty-sixth week. The baby's eyes should be open, hands and feet should be fully-formed... but the baby appears to be in the same state of development as she was in week twenty-three."

"What does that mean?"

Tarkhek shook his head slowly. "I'm not sure, my Lord. I've not seen anything like this, nor have I heard of similar cases."

"Prognosis?"

"I... again, my Lord, I cannot say for certain. The baby appears to be healthy. I see no signs of trauma, no indications of disease... it's as if time has simply stopped inside the Lady's womb."

From anyone else such an answer would have been unacceptable, but Vader knew that Tarkhek spoke honestly and frankly. If this man was not familiar with any other cases like Alaria's, it was likely there were none.

"Can you suggest a treatment, Lieutenant?"

"I would like to monitor her very carefully and see if anything changes. I will also search for any information I can find on her condition."

"I shall see to it that you have anything you require to complete your research, Lieutenant. I am to be advised of any findings immediately."

"Of course, my Lord," Tarkhek gave a slight bow and left quickly, with only a short nod to Alaria.

When Vader re-entered the bedroom she was sitting upright and looking at him intently.

"What is it?" she asked. "Tell me! What's wrong with our baby?"

He walked to the wall and engaged the chemical field, then removed his armor slowly. When he was finished, he sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand.

"The baby is healthy, precious one," he told her as his eyes searched her face intently. All traces of red had vanished from her irises and they were once again a dark, rich brown.

"Then why did Tarkhek look at me as if I were carrying a bantha cub with two heads?"

"She's a bit small for her `age' is all," he said evasively. "Are you hungry? Shall I have something brought in for you?"

"A bit small?" she asked, not giving in to his attempt at changing the subject. "A few weeks ago she was fine?"

"Yes, but now she's a bit small. She'll be fine. Now, you must be hungry."

"I can work the autochef just fine. Unless Tarkhek has me on bed rest." She smirked at him, "or perhaps you'd like to cook for me?"

He gave her hand a reproving squeeze. "I can't even identify the things you crave of late; I doubt I could cook them."

She laughed throatily. "I'm not sure what I'm eating half the time anymore, I just tell the droid what flavors I'm in the mood for and it does the rest. Truthfully, I'm not sure I want to know."

He chuckled. "That makes two of us."

She smiled weakly at him, suddenly serious. "Why haven't you sent me away?"

He blinked and shook his head. "What?"

"I've caused you problems," she said, her smile fading. "The Emperor has been angry with you. You've defied his orders, there are rumors amongst the soldiers... not to mention my pushing you clear across the room and into a wall. Why haven't you sent me away?"

There was a pause. "I asked you to stay with me, didn't I?"

"Yes," she answered slowly. "But I would not fault you for sending me away now." She looked at him earnestly.

"Alaria, as infuriating as you are, it pleases me to have you by my side. I would not change that. And I would not change you." He drew her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles lightly. "There is no such thing as chance. You came to me six months ago because you belong with me."

"Perhaps *you* belong with *me*," she teased.

He smiled. "Perhaps." His thumb was tracing light circles across her palm, a gesture he knew she loved. "We need to control your temper, Alaria."

She nodded, again playing the role of the reticent child. She dropped her gaze to the bedspread and said nothing. At times such as these – times when she was calm – she saw the reason in his instruction; knew that he was right. But when she wasn't calm, everything changed.

The fact that she was able to coexist with anyone at all was testament to a great deal of change on her part. The fact that she was able to coexist with Lord Vader was testament to his.

"What do you propose?" he asked.

She looked up, startled. "Me?"

"Well, it is *your* temper."

Her eyes returned to carefully examine the threads of the bedding. "Perhaps you should send me away."

"No," he stated firmly.

"It might be easier," she prodded.

"Undoubtedly," he said, and gave her hand a squeeze. "But we are in this together. I won't lose you, and I will not send you away. You have my word."

Alaria took a deep breath. She was testing him, pushing him. This was, she had discovered, the best way to get frank honest answers from him.

And he knew exactly what she was up to.

His hand released hers and began to caress her thigh lightly, but insistently. She closed her eyes and dropped her head back, legs spreading instinctively. Her figure was too cumbersome to push her hips up off the bed, but she tried. Accepting her encouragement he slid his hand higher.

When his fingertips brushed against the thin fabric covering her sex, she gasped.

"We can't..." she whispered breathily.

"Cannot, and should not, are two different things," he replied simply, touching her again.

He pulled her undergarment to the side and slowly slipped a cold metallic finger inside her. She moaned loudly, sliding her entire body down the bed and pushing him further into her depths.

"No, we..." she trailed off as she felt a second finger enter her.

Alaria's arms were extended from her sides as she lay prostrate on the bed. Legs splayed, swollen belly rising upwards; she was clenching the fabric of the bedspread in her fists, breathing heavily.

A third finger slid into her and he stroked, firm and steady. His movements within her intensified. He rotated his wrist to rest his thumb against her clit.

"Take me," she moaned.

"But we can't," he answered with a wicked grin.

"Please..."

His grin widened. Vader removed his pants in a swift, fluid gesture and moved his body between her legs. He sat back on his heels and grasped her hips, pulling her body forward and up to meet him. The head of his cock pressed against her folds and then slowly eased inside of her. Alaria's muscles tensed at the sensation, and she moaned again.

Their position, and her size, did not allow him a great freedom of movement. He pushed into her carefully while pulling her gently towards him as he established a slow, steady rhythm within her.

She concentrated on controlling the muscles of her sex, fluttering and squeezing them in time with his movements. A sharp groan from Vader's lips was enough to encourage her to continue.

His thumb returned to her clit and began to move in small circles. Her world exploded as she climaxed. He rode the waves with her.

"I love you," she gasped as her senses returned.

Vader smiled – a gradual, genuine gesture. He withdrew and leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on her belly.

"You know nothing of my past, precious one," he said.

"And you know nothing of mine," she replied. "I thought that was the point, my Lord."

***

"His head had been filled with the smoke from his smothered heart for far too long; it has been the thunder that darkens his mind." - Matthew Stover

***

He stretched out beside her on his side, propping his head up to look at her with one cybernetic arm. His blue eyes sparkled as he brought his other hand up to rest protectively on her belly. He looked entirely unlike a Sith Lord.

Alaria tugged the stack of pillows into place behind her back, propping herself against them. Her hair was now a disheveled mess of jet black tresses that softened her angular face and curled past her shoulder to pool around her waist. She'd wanted to cut it, but Vader would not allow it. He liked the feel of it when it brushed his chest, liked to thread his fingers through it at night as he slept.

"I would prefer to forget my past," she stated, and placed her hand lightly over his. The baby stirred slightly. "Can you feel it?" she asked, gesturing to his artificial limb.

"Not in the sense that you can," he told her. "But I feel it, yes."

"With the Force?"

He nodded. The technology was available – pain sensors and the like – but he had refused their installation. Such additions would only serve as reminders that his limbs were not his own. They would only remind him of all he'd lost.

"I don't want to know," she told him gently.

"Know?"

"About your past," she said.

Alaria could have discovered who Vader had been. She'd found numerous opportunities to search the holonet for information about the Sith Lord, using the small shard of memory he had shared. She could have quite easily found the stories of Anakin Skywalker. Could have, perhaps, remembered a time when she had known the name during the Clone Wars; could have realized why the name seemed familiar to her even now. She had decided it wasn't her place to know.

If Vader and Alaria were fated to be together, as he claimed, then there was no need.

It didn't matter.

"It doesn't matter," she said aloud, yawning in spite of herself.

"Tired?" he asked.

She nodded and yawned again. It had been an exhausting day.

"Get some rest," Vader said, dimming the lights with a touch of the Force.

"Where will you be?" she asked sleepily.

"Here," he replied. "With you."

Satisfied, she slept.

******

The following morning, the Emperor summoned Vader to his palace and dropped the bombshell.

"You will marry her, Lord Vader."

"My Master, she does not wish it," he replied with disbelief.h

"*I* wish it!" Sidious had responded.

"She will never agree to it."

"You will make her agree to it my young apprentice. The Empire would benefit from the fear she inspires, and your child will be a powerful ally. The woman requires recognition, and the child requires legitimization."

"She will not agree," Vader repeated.

Sidious hit a button on the console of his chair and spoke clearly. "Go to Lord Vader's chambers and retrieve his companion. Bring her to me at once." He clicked off the comlink and spoke once more to his apprentice. "I will tell her, then."

Vader blanched behind his mask. He remained on his knees and said nothing as they waited for Alaria to arrive, silently hoping that she would have the good sense to restrain her attitude before the Emperor.

******

Alaria stepped through the wide doors of the Emperor's audience chamber and paused. She had hastily dressed herself in a gown of crimson silk, one that Vader had ordered for her from the skilled Quarren seamstresses of Mon Calamari. Her hair was left unpinned and free flowing down her back. She had no idea what was considered proper for an assembly with the Emperor.

As she walked further into the chamber, she saw Vader, down on one knee, head bowed. Then Alaria saw the Emperor himself – shrunken, disfigured, and exuding power in waves as he sat in a large oval chair at the far end of the room.

*Kneel beside me*, Vader spoke in her mind.

*Hmmph*, she sent back. *You try kneeling at six and a half months pregnant.*

"So," the Emperor spoke, rising from his chair and walking slowly towards Alaria. "You are the one."

"You'll forgive me, my Lord, if I do not kneel," Alaria spoke graciously with a slight bow of her head. "I fear it would be rather impossible for me to get up again if I did."

Sidious snarled and waved one wrinkled hand dismissively. "Not the stereotypical beauty, is she, Lord Vader?"

Alaria squared her jaw and prepared to speak.

*Don't,* Vader warned.

She didn't.

"My dear," the Emperor spoke again. "You and my young apprentice will marry."

"The hell we will!" she exclaimed, glaring at him defiantly.

Sidious hid a smile; the reddish tint of anger was creeping into her eyes again, exactly as he'd planned.

"You will," he responded smoothly. "Lord Vader anticipated that you would not take kindly to this arrangement, but I assured him that you were wise enough to consider what is best for your daughter. And not what is best for you."

She raised an eyebrow inquiringly, not trusting herself to speak.

"If your child is not a legitimate descendant of Lord Vader she can never be provided with the protection of the Empire, my dear... nor can you. She would be an ideal target for Rebel insurgents."

"More so if she is known to be Lord Vader's child," Alaria agreed.

"But if she is acknowledged, she will have the full support and protection of the Empire," the Emperor explained, he held up his hand firmly. "It is decided. You will be wed."

"It will be done, my Master," Vader interrupted before Alaria could protest again. He knew from the Emperor's body language that he had tired of explaining himself.

"Good. Now leave me. You have much to prepare."

With a nod Vader stood and, taking hold of Alaria's arm, he led her towards the exit, back to the airspeeder that would return them to Imperial Center.

"That old fucker is up to something," she fumed once they were back in his chambers.

"Alaria!" Vader exclaimed.

"You disagree?"

"No," he admitted reluctantly. "But I must obey my Master, and so must you."

She scowled. "Two months ago he didn't want you anywhere near me, now he wants us married? I will not be some Imperial trophy!"

"We do not have much choice in the matter, precious one."

"We'll see," she answered simply.

*****

The marriage ceremony itself was to be a private affair, attended only by the bride, groom, and the Emperor himself. Following the marriage, however, there was to be a gala celebration to introduce Vader's new bride to the Empire. Formal invitations had not yet been distributed, but rumors of the event were spreading steadily through Imperial Center. Citizens who were familiar with the stories drifting back to the core worlds from Ord Mantell wondered if it was the mystery woman who had slaughtered an entire band of rebels who was to be Vader's bride. Hushed voices in dim cantinas told and retold the tales excitedly.

The mood within the walls of Vader's residence was decidedly less anticipatory.

Alaria only enjoyed planning of any kind when the end result was murder, kidnapping, or violence. Her strict refusal to put any thought into the gala did not faze the Emperor. Nor did it discourage his plans. He simply sent for a gala planner.

Yimicia was an older zabrak woman with a stern countenance and a will of iron. She presented herself the morning after Sidious' announcement, and stated with finality that she would not be leaving until everything was decided.

Vader told his bride-to-be, in no uncertain terms, that she was not permitted to kill Yimicia. This prompted an impressive fit of temper accompanied by a flurry of profanity so creative that Lieutenant Tarkhek, who was conducting Alaria's morning examination at the time, turned a pasty shade of green and excused himself from the room.

Vader went to the hallway to check on the doctor; the man had been Vader's own physician since just after Mustafar, and was the closest thing the Sith Lord had to a friend. Tarkhek glanced up at his approach and looked at him with wide-eyed wonder.

"Forgive me, my Lord, but... good gods, she is..." he trailed off.

"Impossible," Vader confirmed with a nod.

"I've only heard that much profanity once before, and it was coming from a drunken Snivvian on Nar Shadaa."

Vader chuckled – it was as close to a laugh as he allowed himself in public. "She's just warming up, Lieutenant. Perhaps you would prefer to finish your examination later?"

If Tarkhek could have seen past Vader's mask, he would have found a look of intense amusement, one eyebrow arched gleefully.

"After you've calmed her, my Lord?"

This prompted another chuckle. "I doubt that's possible at this point, Lieutenant. She will eventually wear herself out."

The doctor nodded vigorously. "Very good, my Lord. I will wait for you to summon me."

Tarkhek walked as swiftly as he could without running. Vader observed his exit with a bemused expression before squaring his shoulder and re-entering the study.

Alaria and Yimicia were engaged in a battle of wits, and neither woman was budging. They stood facing each other, and Vader suspected they would have been nose to nose had Alaria's belly not prevented it.

"What color would you like the place settings?" Yimicia asked calmly.

"Go to hell," Alaria snarled.

"Red it is," the Zabrak replied and made a note on her datapad. "And the flowers?"

"Fuck. You."

"Aphrodisia blossoms from Ithor, then. Excellent choice."

Alaria waved two fingers in Yimicia's direction and the obsidian Sith sculpture sitting on the desk floated up and hurled itself towards the gala planner.

The older woman stepped neatly out of the statuette's path without looking up from the datapad.

"If you want to discuss decorations now, Madame, simply say so."

The bounty hunter let out an enraged howl. Vader glanced at the floor and saw that his statuette lay in pieces atop a pile of various shattered items which had previously been on his desk, the walls, and side table.

"Is there a problem here, Yimicia?" he asked simply.

"Not at all, my Lord," she replied cheerily. "We are making significant progress. Surely his Lordship does not wish to be bored with all the minute details of our planning. Madame Alaria and I shall remove ourselves to a less bothersome location."

"On the contrary, I find this planning... interesting," he said smoothly.

Alaria opened her mouth to comment, but her groom stopped her silently.

*Watch yourself,* he told her.

*Or what?* she challenged.

*Or my Master will get angry with you.*

*And?*

*And take his anger out on our child.*

She said nothing to that. Instead she stood quietly, chewing her lower lip pensively. She turned her head slightly in Vader's direction and nodded. She would back off, for her daughter's sake.

"So," Yimicia said finally, "have you given any thought to the music?"

*****

The Emperor of the Galactic Empire
And his Lordship, Darth Vader
Invite you to an Imperial Celebration
Hosted by Lord and Lady Vader

Invitations to the gala were sent out two days later. And within an hour of their distribution, counterfeit invites appeared for sale over the holonet.

The Emperor offered the use of his own palace for the affair, and as soon as the details were finalized, a small army's worth of slaves were set to work decorating, preparing, and organizing. Yimicia insisted upon overseeing the preparations personally, and sent her daughter to Ithor to retrieve the floral arrangements and ensure that they were delivered fresh the day of the gala.

The bride herself was blissfully uninvolved in the preparation. She spent the week and a half before the party brooding in Vader's residence with cold, quiet fury.

The Sith Lord himself had decidedly mixed feelings about the affair. That he was fond of Alaria was without question. That she was one of the greatest challenges he had ever faced was also clear. He'd asked her to stay with him, and he'd meant it. But marriage? He'd never been fond of taking orders, even from Palpatine, the man who had saved his life and given him almost all the power he could ever want. Almost.

But everything his master did was calculated, and always had been.

The night before the ceremony, Vader entered the bedroom to find Alaria settled in bed watching a holonet news program on her datapad with a scowl.

"What is it, precious one?" he asked calmly as he began stripping away his armor.

She snorted. "Do you have any idea what they're saying about me? About us?"

"Who?" There was a sharp hiss as the room pressurized.

"*Them*" she replied impatiently. "People."

"No, I don't know," a loud click and another hiss as he lifted off his helmet and mask. When he spoke again, it was in the rich basso of his natural voice. "And I have no interest in knowing."

"Typical," she spat.

He laughed. "Alaria, you have never been one to have any regard for another's opinion."

"I'm still not." Her eyes lit up suddenly. "May I kill the guests tomorrow?"

"No."

"Why the hell not?" she demanded, flinging her datapad to the floor.

"No violence," he stated firmly.

She sighed. "That Twi'lek woman on the holonews just said that I am a bantha trainer from Onderon. If I see her tomorrow, I will tear her lekku off."

Vader laughed again. "Deal. If Agsi'illi is there, I'll have her detained for you. But no violence in front of the other guests." He could hear his master's voice in his head, *Give her what she wants and she will give you what you want.*

"Deal," she repeated with a small, half-smile.

"Here," he said, walking to her side and handing her a flimsi that he'd removed from his cloak.

"What is this?" she asked studying it. There were a series of strange characters.

"It's the ritual of dedication for tomorrow. You will speak here," he pointed.

"And I will answer here."

"Oh sure," she rolled her eyes. "I've been fluent in Sith since childhood."

He glared at her reprovingly. "That's why I put the transliteration in Aurabesh at the bottom."

"And where is the translation?" she asked raising an eyebrow.

"For now, just memorize your part."

"Not until I know what I'm saying."

"You'll have to trust me," he answered sharply. He was becoming annoyed.

"And if I don't?"

"Then you don't." He turned his back to her and strode out of the room. Alaria listened as he entered his meditation chamber.

She flopped back against the pillows and sighed. She was uncomfortable; she could no longer sleep in any position other than flat on her back, and her skin itched.

A sharp kick to her belly interrupted her brooding.

"Oh hush," she said sternly. "It's not so great out here, either. We have to get some rest, tomorrow is the big day."

Another kick.

"No, I'm not happy about it either, but tell that to your father. He certainly isn't listening to me."

There hadn't been peace between the couple since their audience with the Emperor. Vader had gone back to spending each night in his meditation chamber as opposed to sleeping at Alaria's side.

"I don't understand why you're going along with this!" she'd shouted at him last week.

"I cannot disobey my Master," he'd told her calmly.

"Cannot?" she had challenged, "Or will not?"

He'd looked at her, shocked. "He is the Emperor, Alaria."

"He's a frail old man!"

"What is it you are trying to say?" he'd growled.

"That you are ten times as powerful as he. That you could destroy him if you wanted to and take control of the galaxy yourself. But you choose not to. You *choose* to be a slave."

His eyes had flashed orange with rage at that, and he'd withdrawn his lightsaber from his belt and thrown it across the room. "I am no slave."

"Then stop acting like one."

He'd raised his hand to slap her for that, but stopped himself. "I will not betray my master. He saved my life. When everyone I cared for turned their backs on me and left me for dead, he came for me. Besides, he is stronger than you realize. He controls the Force in a way that even I cannot."

She'd rolled her eyes. "That's bullshit, and you know it."

"Why do you think so? Because you've learned how to throw a statue across the room? You haven't, Alaria. The only thing that you have learned is how to tap into the Force abilities of my child as it grows within you, and to use her bond with me to draw from *my* knowledge of the Force."

"Maybe so," she had answered, "but it sounds like excuses to me."

She sighed at the memory and patted her belly again. One way or another, things would change tomorrow. One way or another, this debate would end.

***

The marriage ceremony was, in actuality, a Sith Ritual of Dedication. The ritual was most commonly used to channel the Force between master and apprentice, but it had also been used, on occasion, to join a male and a female together in power and passion. The ritual was brief, but intense.

The ritual text had been thought lost for millennia until Darth Revan retrieved the scrolls from the tomb of Naga Sadow on Korriban nearly 4000 standard years before the establishment of the Empire; in the time of the Old Republic. Five years after Revan's discovery the Jedi exile Preitha Skien retrieved an identical set of scrolls from the tomb of Freedon Nadd on Dxun, the jungle moon of Onderon. From that time forward the scrolls had been passed down from Sith Master to Sith Apprentice, closely guarded. Secret. Never used. The methods of the Sith had evolved over the centuries, and rituals were considered archaic and mundane.

Now, on opposite sides of the Emperor's palace on Imperial Center, the Sith Lord called Darth Vader, and the bounty hunter called Alaria, prepared to carry out this ritual for the first time in five thousand years.

Yimicia insisted upon helping Alaria's protocol droid prepare the bride for the ceremony. She was bursting with a mixture of nervous energy and excitement as she lifted layer after layer of garment over Alaria's head to drape it around her shoulders. She was chattering happily and distractedly.

First, an opaque undergarment with thin shoulder straps that covered her skin from just above the points of her nipples to the middle of her thighs.

Next, a loose-fitting gown of black silk with a high, embroidered waist that allowed the material to flow over the bulge of her belly and then pool at her feet. The neckline of this gown was slightly higher than that of the undergarment and covered the curve of her swollen breasts almost completely. The sleeves clung tightly to her arms and stopped just past her wrists to cover the backs of her hands in gentle "V's". The embroidery throughout was stitched in patterns forming the Sith symbols for passion, strength, and legacy.

The final layer was sleeveless and sheer, made of a bright crimson fabric. It settled atop the black silk snugly, shimmering in the soft light shed by the globed wall sconces. Threads of tiny, spun sandglass beads, also red, hung from the waist and chimed softly as she turned.

Her long black hair was left loose. The front locks were braided tightly away from her temples and framed her face. A small circlet of silver wrapped across her forehead and through her hair, engraved with the Sith symbol for infinity and set with four semi-precious gems of different colors, resembling the four levels of achievement within the Sith code: passion, strength, power, and victory. Her lips were painted the same bright red as they were on the first day she'd met Lord Vader.

"My Lady," the protocol droid intoned in its emotionless robotic voice, "you look quite stunning."

Vader had uploaded the droid with historical information regarding the symbolism of her outfit the night before, and as each piece was added to her ensemble, it had explained with cold reservation the significance of each symbol, gem, color, and fabric.

Alaria smiled. She felt beautiful. For the moment her anger and doubts were gone.

"Come, my Lady," Yimicia touched her elbow gently. "It's time."

The Zabrak woman escorted Alaria through the high, arched hallways of the palace to just outside the audience chamber. She left Alaria there in the company of two red guards, scurrying off to the ballroom to see that everything was in place for the gala.

Moments later, one of the guards extended a robed arm to push open the wide doors and motioned for Alaria to enter. She did so, and felt the air stir her gown as the doors closed behind her.

At the far end of the large chamber stood the Emperor. He was clad in his trademark black robes, shoulders hunched forward. Kneeling before him was Lord Vader, hands curled into fists on his thighs, his cape settled around his body comfortably. Alaria's breath caught in her throat and she hesitated.

The Emperor raised one shriveled hand and gestured for Alaria to approach. She did so cautiously. When she reached Lord Vader she stood silently at his side. He did not turn his head to look at her. He did not acknowledge her.

"Kneel," the Emperor commanded.

Alaria opened her mouth to protest. "I can't-"

"Kneel!" he said a second time.

She obeyed, awkwardly wobbling on her feet as she tried to drop to her knees. Vader's hand shot out reflexively to grip her arm, helping her down. He still did not look at her.

"Good," Palpatine said. "Begin."

Alaria blinked at him.

Vader reached out and took her hand, and she pivoted her body to face him. He did the same, and took her other hand into his, grasping it firmly. She felt him reach out for her through the Force, felt him through her child. Then she was aware of him opening the link back to himself. The current of energy flowed freely between them, into one, through the other, and back again. It was a channel of power, and for the first time he was giving to her freely what he had spent years amassing. Everything else dropped away. She forgot the Emperor standing above them, watching intently through sickly, pale yellow eyes, his thin lips twisted into his own perversion of a smile. She forgot the high, vaulted chamber in which they stood, the statues that flanked the walls, and the bas-reliefs carved into the stone behind them. There was a stirring in her abdomen as her daughter shifted slightly, as if she too was deeply interested in what was about to happen. Alaria took a deep breath, and began to recite the words she had memorized the night before, despite her stubborn protestations.

"Ya pryedpayaayoo myenya vam," she said softly. She watched Vader carefully for any indication that she had come at least remotely close to correct pronunciation.

"Ya preeneemayoo, i klyanus eashcheeshchat vas s moyey zheesnyoo," he answered smoothly. The words had a hypnotic, lilting quality, and he spoke them with strict cadence through his mechanically enhanced voice.

"Ya preenadpezhoo vam navegda. Ya boodoo sloozheet van vsegda." She spoke the words slowly and carefully. The Sith Lords waited patiently for her to finish.

"Ee takeem obrazoom k preesoedeenyayootsya veno." At that Vader squeezed her hand lightly. It was finished, and he was pleased with her performance.

"Rise," the Emperor said. His voice cut into the current that flowed between husband and wife, and the connection snapped neatly. Alaria's surroundings sprung back into focus.

She repressed the urge to snort at Sidious' command. Vader took her arm and pulled her upwards, using the Force to support her from behind. When she was steady on her feet, they turned to face the Emperor.

"Good," he said. "It is done."

"Thank you, my Master ," Vader said.

The Emperor turned to Alaria. "Henceforth you shall be Lady Vader," he told her. "The full support and protection of the Empire are yours."

She bowed her head slightly but said nothing. She didn't trust herself to say "thank you" and not "fuck you".

"Go." Sidious waved his hand in dismissal.

Lord Vader led his bride back through the chamber and out the double doors leading into the hallways of the palace. When they were safely out of earshot of the Imperial guards he gave her arm another squeeze.

"Well, wife," he said lightly, "ready for your big party?"

"Hmmph," she rolled her eyes. "Are you, husband?"

He chuckled softly, blue eyes sparkling behind his mask.

Alaria felt her daughter stir and slowed her pace. She took Vader's hand and placed it on her stomach.

"I believe our daughter is as disturbed by this party as I am."

He patted her belly lightly. "It's out of our hands, little one," he murmured. At that the child kick hard and Alaria winced at the sensation.

Vader chuckled again. "Just like her mother," he said, with an amused sigh.

*****

Guests began arriving for the gala before the dedication ceremony, and each guest was escorted directly to the ballroom by a trio of red guards. Guests were not permitted to drive directly to the palace – they were chauffeured in Imperial airspeeders from designated locations. Each being that arrived was carefully searched and holoprinted. Events at the Emperor's palace were rare, and security was extensive.

When the host and hostess arrived the gala was already underway.

"Fashionably late is the only way to enter, my Lady," Yimicia had told her earlier.

There was no formal announcement when the couple arrived, they simply appeared at the far end of the diamond-shaped room, Lord Vader's towering form flanked by Alaria's delicate one. She wore the same dress and robes as she had for the ritual, this time with a thick, heavy cape around her shoulders and, despite her request to the contrary, her face was uncovered.

The cacophony of conversation dimmed to a hushed whisper as the guests noticed Vader and Alaria. An older woman, dressed in the robes of the Imperial Senate, stared at the new Lady Vader with unhidden, unabashed curiosity.

*I do not like being gawked at, my Lord,* Alaria told him silently.

*Perhaps you should try smiling, wife,* he suggested with amusement.

Instead she scowled, narrowing her eyes at the gawking Senator. The woman blinked in surprise and looked away.

Gradually the guests returned to their conversations, once it became clear that neither Vader nor Alaria intended to speak. The music drifted through the hall soothingly – the bride had decided on the Corellian Symphony Orchestra, and musicians had been flown in for the occasion.

When several more moments had passed, the Sith Lord and his new wife began to stroll leisurely through the crowd. Vader's hands were clasped tightly behind his back, beneath his cape, and Alaria's were curled into loose fists at her sides. Outwardly they appeared silent and reserved.

*That is the Mon Calamari Senator,* Vader pointed out. *And that Rodian there appears to be on the payroll of the Hutts.*

*I thought everyone was screened at the entrance?* Alaria asked. She knew the Hutts; all bounty hunters did. And more importantly, they knew her.

*Everyone was. He has no traceable connections to the Hutts, and the Emperor's guards are not Force sensitive. They could not have known. It makes sense that the Hutts would be curious about you.*

*Do you remember when Tralpnar Jesru disappeared two years ago?*

*The Quarren Senator?* Vader mused.

*He had been taking bribes from the Hutts. When he reneged on his end of the bargain, they put a bounty on him,* she said calmly.

Vader's stride never faltered; he hid the jolt of understanding that passed through him. *You collected in person?*

*Always, my Lord.*

They had now circled the room completely and returned to their starting point. Vader turned to the guard posted by the door. He made a minute flick with his wrist, and the guard nodded. The Rodian would not be reporting back to the Hutts, or anyone else.

When the Sith Lord turned back to his bride he saw Admiral Oayen walking towards them.

"My Lord," he said, bowing deeply. "My Lady, a pleasure to see you again."

Oayen had been promoted shortly after the rebel interrogations on Ord Mantell. The soldier was all too aware of Alaria's role in the success of the operation, and was wise enough to be gracious in her presence, lest the advancement be even more short-lived than was typical.

"Admiral," Lord Vader acknowledged with a nod.

"Enjoying your new rank, Admiral?" Alaria smirked.

Behind his mask, Vader rolled his eyes. She really was incapable of civility.

Oayen blanched. "Of course, my Lady, of course."

"That surprises me," she replied smoothly, "since any failure on your part almost certainly will result in permanent… demotion." Her eyes sparkled delightedly.

Vader barely managed to suppress his laughter. The Admiral was now a pasty, sickly pallor.

"Perhaps my Lady would like to fetch herself a drink?" Vader said. "The Amiral and I must discuss the latest rebel sieges."

She smiled. "Perhaps, my Lord."

She began to make her way through the crowd towards the nearest serving droid. Halfway to her target, she saw a familiar face and began to grin uncontrollably. Changing course, she strode confidently towards the green-skinned Twi'lek woman chattering noisily at the far end of the room.

The woman looked up at Alaria's approach and immediately dropped into a curtsey. "My Lady Vader!" she gushed. "I'm–"

"Agsi'illi," Alaria finished. "I know."

"I take it you watch my show then, my Lady."

"On occasion," she answered lightly.

"Then you must know, my Lady, that the whole of the Empire is dying to find out about you," Agsi'illi glanced at her slyly.

"Indeed?" Alaria raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, absolutely, my Lady! Where you're from, who you were…"

"Is that so?" her lips curled into a half-smile.

"An exclusive interview," the Twi'lek continued excitedly. "It would be the biggest story in the galaxy."

The smile widened. "Would it, then?"

"Absolutely, my Lady. Name the time and the place, and I shall make all the arrangements."

"What better time than now?"

Agsi'illi's eyes widened. "Now?"

"Of course," Alaria felt the cool durasteel blade strapped snugly to her thigh and the smile became a toothy grin.

"The guards took my holorecorder," the reporter said.

Alaria raised her wrist to her lips. "Guards, take a holorecorder to the interview room - Immediately," she spoke into nothing more than the fabric of her sleeve. She was beginning to like this dress.

"You can do that?" the Twi'lek asked stupidly.

"Of course. I'm Lady Vader." Alaria began to lead the other woman to the door. Vader was deep in conversation with Admiral Oayen at the opposite end of the room, his back to them. Alaria nodded to the guard, who opened the doors for them to pass through.

The two women walked down the long, wide corridor of the palace. The hallway curved to the left to circle the interior perimeter of the structure. Alaria opened the first door they came to and was pleased to find a sparsely decorated study on the other side. This would do just fine.

"The interview room," she stated grandly, motioning for Agsi'illi to enter. She pointed to a high-backed chair. "Sit, please."

"I don't see a holorecorder," the Twi'lek commented, sitting down neatly.

"I'm sure it's on its way."

"My Lady, I can't thank you enough for this opportunity!" Agsi'illi was gushing again. She hadn't noticed that Alaria's eyes had become a fiery orange color, or that the human woman had draped her thick cape backwards around her neck, covering her dress.

Alaria walked slowly behind the woman. The fingers of her right hand trailed across the back of the chair idly while her left hand reached under the layers of her gown to retrieve the durasteel blade. She leaned forward and place her cheek against the other woman's lekku and whispered into her ear.

"No, you can't. But here's a start," she drew the blade across the lekku by her face, slicing into the soft tissue neatly. The flesh parted willingly and easily, the raw meat of the tentacle spreading into a grotesque, pink smile. The blood hesitated before it began to flow, rushing down to the floor in neat rivulets.

Agsi'illi screamed. Her hands flew up and tried to claw at Alaria's arm, draped casually over her shoulder. She attempted to push the chair backwards, into the bulge of Alaria's belly, hoping to knock her off balance enough to get away. The pregnant woman clamped her free hand down over the Twi'lek's mouth, muffling the sound.

"Bad form, Agsi'illi," Alaria hissed, reaching into Agsi'illi's mind crudely, using the Force to paralyze her prey. She brought the blade higher and created another gash just above the first one; the child within her kicked approvingly. "Bad form."

Agsi'illi was whimpering pathetically now, her eyes frantically searching the room for help, tears splashing down her cheeks to dilute the trails of blood that streaked her gown.

Alaria flipped the blade in her hand so that the blade was pointing downwards out of her fist. She raised her arm and jabbed the knife into the lekku. At first the emerald flesh only dimpled against the sharp point. Alaria increased the pressure and was rewarded with a soft pop as the skin broke and the blade slid in. The dimple filled with blood and disappeared from view. She watched with fascination as the exotically colored flesh ate the blade. A vein or vessel opened and the steady trickle of blood became a river, coating the Twi'lek's front.

"Why?" Agsi'illi moaned against Alaria's pale hand.

"Because," Lady Vader rocked the blade from side to side slowly, widening the wound, "You," she twisted her wrist sideways and heard a sharp tearing noise, following by a sucking slurp, "need," twist, slide, "better," slide, twist, "manners."

The knife fell to the floor and clanked against the blood-soaked stone. Alaria grasped the mutilated lekku, wrapping her slick hand around the tip and pulled. The flesh wrinkled and bunched, pulling away from the muscle beneath. Agsi'illi screamed again.

"Hmm, let's try that again, shall we?" Alaria chirped cordially.

She tightened her grip and tugged once more. This time the tentacle ripped free with a squelch. It spasmed reflexively, then fell still. Alaria whooped with triumph. She held her prize out before Agsi'illi's eyes, dangling it lazily.

"One down."

******

Lord Vader was only half-listening to Admiral Oayen rambling eagerly through his latest intelligence findings. It had been some time since Alaria had wandered away from him, and, looking around the room, he couldn't find her. He turned and searched the crowd more thoroughly. Still nothing.

Reaching out through the Force, he sifted through the room's occupants. She was gone.

"Admiral, you will excuse me," he said smoothly. He walked away brusquely, leaving the man in bewildered silence.

Vader walked to the guards posted at the far door. "Where has the Lady Vader gone?" he asked.

The guard nodded to the door. "That way, my Lord."

Shit.

Pushing the door open with one gloved hand, he strode swiftly down the corridor. He sensed a dark cloud of energy in the Force, growing closer as he rounded the corner of the hallway and approached a door.

He flung it open and drew in his breath sharply at the scene. The Twi'lek reporter sat slumped in a chair in the center of the room. Her eyes were rolled back into her head, which lolled grotesquely from side to side on her shoulders. The lekku to the left of her face had been cut – no, torn – off. The stump was gushing blood in a steady, spurting stream of crimson.

The other half of the lekku was in his wife's hand. She looked up at his entrance. Her eyes blazed with an internal fire and her mouth was twisted into a sadistic smile. Her tongue snaked out of her mouth to lick away the splatters of blood and gore that painted her face.

She dropped the lekku and her hands flew to her mouth in mock surprise. Her eyes widened innocently.

"Oops," she said.

Vader stepped further into the room, his footsteps calm and measured. He coolly surveyed the scene.

"Oops?" he asked evenly.

"I did warn you," Alaria answered. She shrugged her shoulders simply, raising her palms in a submissive gesture.

"And I told you to restrain yourself," he growled. "You call this," he gestured to Agsi'illi, "…restraint?"

"I call it justice," she responded. "She got what she deserved for wagging her lying tongue!" She kicked the severed pile of flesh at her feet, it slid along the blood-slick floor with a sickly plop. Her gaze followed the path of the lekku stump, then returned to her own body. She stuck one foot out before her and turned it from side to side, inspecting. The shoe, made of soft bantha leather, was covered in blood that had already begun to dry a dirty, rusty brown. "I think the shoes are a lost cause," she mused, "but I took care not to ruin the dress."

The Sith Lord was thoroughly tired of this game. Most of Alaria's antics he could tolerate, even find amusing. This time she had gone too far. If the only thing his wife understood was pain, then he'd gladly speak her language. He crossed the room in three long, decisive strides. Before she could react, he raised one gloved, metal hand and struck Alaria's cheek with a resounding crack. The impact spun her body sideways. She lost her balance and toppled backwards. Vader's hand again shot out – this time to catch her fall – but she mistook his intention and leaned away from him frantically, crashing against the solid desktop behind her.

"The baby!" she shrieked in desperation. One hand flew to her stomach, the other moved to her face where her pale skin was already blooming into a deep,raw pink.

"I couldn't possibly harm her any more than your recklessness already has!" he roared. "Have you any idea what you've done?"

Agsi'illi stirred, shaken back to consciousness by the commotion.

"Please…" the Twi'lek moaned.

Vader looked in her direction, startled. He let out an audible sigh that overrode his regulated breathing cycle. Extending an arm, he curled his fingers into a fist.

Realizing his intent, Alaria let out an enraged howl. "No!" she screamed, frantically trying to push herself back to her feet.

"I will end this now," Vader told her calmly, squeezing his fist tighter.

"Don't you dare!" Finally pulling herself to her feet, Alaria lunged at her husband, relying on sheer bulk of form to propel her forward and knock him off balance.

"It's time you learn your place, wife," he growled, reaching out through the Force to push her back into the desk again.

This time she stayed down, glaring at him with icy fury as Agsi'illi's head slumped forward with a final, strangled cry.

"You're an arrogant bastard!" she spat.

"And you are a sadistic bitch," Vader countered smoothly.

"I thought that was what you loved about me," she answered with a smile.

He laughed and took several steps forward, reaching down to pull her to her feet. "Perhaps you should refrain from thinking in the future. It's not your strong suit."

The smile dissolved. She said nothing.

"You seem to excel at acting like an untrained animal."

"And what is it that you excel at, Anakin?" she replied. "Besides killing your pregnant wives, of course."

Vader's hand snaked out and struck her again. Hard.

"The lady shouldn't speak of things she doesn't understand," he seethed.

"Is that what happened to your first wife? Did she…"

He hit her a second time. Then a third. Red oozed from Alaria's nose and mingled with the stains of Twi'lek blood. Soon after another trail appeared, this time made of tears.

"Oh, now you cry?" he mocked.

She glared at him. "Does that surprise you? Did you think me incapable?"

"You are incapable," he answered. "You act how it suits you, when it suits you. You are a changeling of the worst kind, precious one." He spoke the nickname with contempt, spitting out the words like rotten meat.

"You've no right to judge me," she said quietly. The right side of her face was now turning a dark purple. "You're just as hollow as I am."

"You think so?" He seemed amused by this. "I have no use for your opinions."

"Nor I for yours, and yet still you offer them."

His laughter grated against her ears. "I am your lord and husband by law. By right."

"So I should just follow you without question and do everything you ask?"

"Yes."

"I can't," she said simply.

"You will learn," he stated. "The hard way, if necessary." To strengthen his meaning he clenched his hands tightly and held up one fist before her.

He turned on his heels and strode to the door. He paused and spoke over his shoulder. "Dispose of this mess and return to your party. Now."

Then he was gone.

Alaria's method of disposal was to call for two Imperial `troopers and delegate the job to them. When they had dutifully completed the gruesome task she killed them, shoving the durasteel blade into their necks at the space where helmet met armor. She left their bodies propped grotesquely at the entrance to the study, as if awaiting further orders. She'd obeyed Vader's orders by cleaning up her first mess, but had left a second in its place. Alaria's cheek was radiating a dull, throbbing pain where he'd struck her.

She made her way back to the ballroom reluctantly – hair re-pinned, shoes replaced (Yimicia had insisted upon providing two sets of everything), make-up reapplied to cover the ugly purple bruise that had formed below her right eye. Vader was waiting for her just inside the double doors; when she stepped through his hand clamped onto her elbow firmly. He obviously had no intention of letting her leave his side for the remainder of the evening. Alaria felt a restrained fury sizzling just beneath his cool demeanor.

Despite her efforts, the bruises on her pale skin were clearly visible. When she caught one woman gawking at her she leaned close to the coifed curls of the lady's hair and whispered, "Imagine what he'd do to you," with a wicked smile.

The comment succeeded in making the woman avert her gaze, but it also earned her a sharp squeeze from Vader that made her wince.

*That hurt,* she sent angrily.

*I know,* he answered.

She stood with her husband, eyes cast downward and hands limp at her sides, while Vader engaged in small talk with a handful of Senators from the Core planets. His grip on her arm made it clear she was expected to remain silent and demure. Any discussion aimed at her was acknowledged with a simple nod and nothing more.

When the symphony concluded its' waltz and did not begin another, the crowd grew silent. It took Alaria a moment to realize what all the fuss was about.

Surrounded by flanks of red guards the Emperor's hunched form appeared as if from thin air. Decrepit and frail, his brittle figure glided with dignity across the floor. He stopped at one end of the long hall, his back to the door he'd entered from. After a pause, he raised his hands to the crowd in supplication, keeping his head lowered and his palms upward, as if he were preaching. This served as both an acknowledgement and a greeting – it was apparent he did not intend to speak.

The crowd was motionless for several long moments, unsure of protocol in such a situation, but a wave of the Emperor's hand prompted the orchestra to play once more, and the silence was again devoured by the chaos of the gathering.

A second gesture summoned his apprentice.

"My Master," Vader bowed, tugging Alaria down with him.

"I trust you are enjoying the party, Lady Vader?" the Emperor asked dubiously.

"Of course," she replied gracefully, lips curving into a coy smile. The grip on her arm tightened once more in warning.

"Good, and now, a gift for your new husband, my loyal apprentice," one shriveled hand disappeared beneath the folds of his robe and reemerged grasping a small holovid projector. A flick of his thumb called into view the image of a planet, one that Alaria could not immediately identify.

"Lord Vader, Vjun is now your domain," the Emperor told him with relish. "Complete control and reign over the planet are yours alone. I have already ordered construction of a retreat for you there. I imagine it will be a suitable place for your wife and daughter to reside."

Alaria raised one slim hand and feigned a sneeze to smother her scowl. So that was his game – deposit her on Vjun and keep her as isolated as possible. Privilege of the Empire her ass. She admitted to herself, though, that being separated from her new husband was not an entirely unwelcome thought. Things between the two had deteriorated considerably since they'd returned from Ord Mantell.

Vader was speaking now, expressing gratitude at the gift, but she only half-listened. This song and dance – the cadence of placations and platitudes that passed between master and apprentice did not interest her. She had accepted that she would never understand Vader's unfailing loyalty to Palpatine; it was, in fact, something she resented more than she cared to admit.

She heard her husband thank the Emperor once more, and then request leave to retire, being bored with the political showcase. Alaria bowed her head slightly as they retreated, carefully avoiding Palpatine's eyes, but seeing, rather clearly, the grotesque twisting of a smile amongst the mass of wrinkles that defined his face.

***

Once back in their apartments, Alaria expected Vader to retreat to his meditation chamber for the remainder of the night to brood, as he always did of late. Instead, he activated the hyperbaric field in the bedroom and began stripping off his armor in silence. When his vocoder was removed, and the mechanical regulation of his breathing ceased, the quiet hiss of the atmosphere controls were the only sound in the room. Alaria stood against the far wall, leaning against the curved arm of the velvet divan, and waited. She sensed that his mood had changed to one of muted contemplation, his fury dissolved by cold reason.

"My first wife," Vader said, removing his gauntlets and setting them on the durasteel table, "was a Republic Senator. She was respected, intelligent…" he paused, pulling off his heavy boots, "and a lying, cheating whore."

Alaria said nothing.

"I trust you will not make the mistake of mentioning her to me again. If you do, I will cut out your tongue."

There was still no comment from Alaria, who stood motionless, staring intently at the floor.

"Look at me," he said evenly.

She raised her gaze slowly to his.

His eyes were blue, and clear, and cold, as they regarded her.

"Now you are my wife, whether you like it or no. You also have an opportunity to become the most powerful woman in the Empire. I suggest you act more carefully in the future."

"I've never cared about power," she said.

"Haven't you?" He laughed. "You made murder your profession."

"Yes, and I kill for money."

"Money is power. Taking life is power. You may claim differently, but I can see your obsession, perhaps better than you."

Alaria's expression was one of boredom but her eyes betrayed her interest.

"True power is best gained through patience," Vader continued. "It provides opportunity."

"For what?" she asked.

He didn't answer right away, instead he picked up a stack of flimsies – intelligence reports from the Outer Rim – and sat down at his desk.

"Opportunity for what?" she prompted impatiently.

"For betrayal," he said calmly. His tone was congenial. He raised an eyebrow nonchalantly. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," she said slowly. "Yes, I think I do."

Vader spent the next several hours perusing the reports on the flimsies. Alaria dozed for a time, waking just before the arrival of Lieutenant Tarkhek for her examination, which was now a daily occurrence. The Sith Lord glanced up only long enough to see Tarkhek shake his head subtly, answering the unasked question.

The baby still wasn't growing.

Vader had instructed the doctor not to tell Alaria anything about her condition. Tarkhek disagreed with this, but knew well enough to keep such sentiments to himself. His most famous patient was not as unreasonable a man, as he was often portrayed, but he was entirely unmovable with regards to anything surrounding his wife. He was at times, in the opinion of Lieutenant Tarkhek, downright irrational.

Tarkhek had further concluded that Vader's insistence on withholding information from Alaria was not so much about protecting her, as it was about collecting ammunition to use against her.

Halfway through the fourth or fifth intelligence report Vader abruptly slammed a fist down on the desk, causing the doctor to start violently, and nearly knocking over his assistant droid.

"My Lord?" he asked timidly, a trace of annoyance creeping into his tone.

Vader didn't hear him. He was staring at the flimsy with narrowed eyes, reading and rereading the same two sentences.

"Lieutenant," he said distractedly, "contact Captain Zarsyn and have him ready my flagship. We depart in the morning."

"Will the lady be accompanying you, my Lord?"

"No," he said evenly. "The lady stays."

Statements such as these had, in the past, been met by sharp exclamations of dissent from Alaria. Lieutenant Tarkhek held his breath and waited for the outburst, prepared to dive out of harm's way should the verbal tirade be accompanied by hurtling objects.

She didn't speak. She didn't even move. She just sat in the bed, hands folded atop her belly, her eyes dull and expressionless. The Lieutenant feared Vader had finally broken her, after all.

"And myself, my Lord?" He had always been part of Vader's entourage, but now that he was in exclusive charge of Alaria's pregnancy, his place was uncertain.

"You stay. I expect this mission will be rather short," Vader smirked, "…and very rewarding."

Tarkhek nodded and disappeared into the hallway, retrieving his commlink to follow orders. Once he was out of earshot, Alaria spoke softly.

"Do you intend to miss the birth of your daughter?"

"Of course not," he snapped, standing up quickly.. "Get some rest, Alaria. I have things to prepare."

***

When she woke the following morning, Vader was already gone. He'd taken the flimsies with him, but had left his spare datapad in his desk. Alaria set to work slicing into it, trying to retrieve the information on his mission.

Imperial intelligence agents had located a Jedi named Gira; hiding on the outer rim, and training young Force-sensitives in an attempt to rekindle the Jedi Order. The intelligence was solid. This was not a wild bantha chase, as their trip to Ord Mantell had been. The Sith Lord had gone to confront him, and to kill him.

Vader knew well enough to realize that Alaria could – and would – invade his privacy in any manner available to her. He'd left the datapad within her reach deliberately. In spite of himself, unflinching notions of loyalty now bound him to his wife, just as they had once bound him to Padme and to Obi-Wan. And so, through hidden gestures, he did things for his wife to make her happy.

One such gesture had been the invitation of Agsi'illi, the Twi'lek reporter,to their wedding reception.

News correspondents were rarely permitted access to Imperial functions, and for a tabloid nuisance such as Agsi'illi, admittance was normally unthinkable. In fact, when she'd received a personal invitation, penned in the smooth script of Lord Vader himself, she'd dismissed it as a cruel prank and thrown it in the trash. Fortunately, Vader had also arranged for official transport to arrive at her door just prior to the start of the gala.

He'd seen, all too well, the look of satisfaction on his wife's face as she'd crossed the room, closing in on her prey. Agsi'illi had been his wedding gift to her. Alaria had surprised him though, by going for the kill immediately. He'd expected her to wait, as she'd been instructed, until after the party to exact her revenge. He'd promised it to her, hadn't he? Did she trust him so little?

When she'd dared to mention Padme, he'd thoroughly lost his temper. His guilt over that loss of control now manifested itself in the strategic placement of his spare datapad.

Alaria was somewhat appeased. She had no desire to be carted off to the Outer Rim while her husband sought to avenge old vendettas.

Her first order of business, after carefully replacing the datapad in Vader's desk, was to test the limits of her new status. She activated her commlink and summoned Lieutenant Tarkhek.

He arrived within moments – flushed and out of breath, his uniform only half-buttoned.

"Late night, Lieutenant?" Alaria asked, arching one sculpted eyebrow.

"Well, I was researching and…" he trailed off as he surveyed her. "My Lady, you're not in labor."

"Should I be?" This time a half-smile was added to the bemused expression she wore.

"Well, in point of fact, no. But you called for me and I'd simply assumed…" he paused again. "My Lady, why `did' you call for me?"

"I'm bored," she said, rolling her eyes with dramatic flair.

"And I'm confused," he replied, eyeing her warily.

"I'm going shopping, Lieutenant, and you," she pointed a slender finger at him with relish, "are coming with me."

"I… did Lord Vader approve this?"

"He didn't forbid it," she chirped, reaching into her wardrobe and retrieving her cloak. Hooking it around her shoulders, she smiled at him. "Shall we?"

"My Lady, this isn't a good idea."

"Of course it is. It's a fine idea. Let's go."

"We need to make certain preparations. Guards must be summoned-"

Alaria smirked. "Lieutenant, I can handle myself. I would, however, like some company. Since you're the only person I know on this gods-forsaken rock, you get the job." She laughed sharply, "you're my only friend. How sad is that?"

"It's… he only wishes to protect you, my Lady. The Empire is dangerous," Tarkhek stammered. His eyes darted from side to side, clearly uncomfortable with being put on the spot.

"Hmph," pulling on a pair of soft leather gloves she walked to the door. "Let's go, Lieutenant."

"No, not without guards," he said firmly. He wouldn't budge on this. Lord Vader would have his head.

"No guards."

"Just ten of them."

She snorted. "Two."

"Four."

She sighed. "Deal. Four guards. Now can we go?"

***

Imperial Center had changed very little since the downfall of the Republic. Most local vendors had been permitted to remain in business; only those unwise enough to voice any thoughts of a negative nature had been forcibly removed. Many non-human vendors left of their own accord, amidst growing rumors of an anti-alien stance being adopted by the Empire.

The merchant quarter hunkered in the shadow of the crumbling ziggurat of the Jedi Temple. The Temple stood silent sentinel, watching over a planet of infinite change and stagnation, existing as a contrast, a parallel, a warning. Alaria felt a strange comfort to again be in the streets of the massive city, overwhelmed to the point of nausea by the assaulting smells of urbanization; exhaust from the airspeeders and transports whizzing above their heads, sweat, spice from the herbalist on the corner, the unmistakable stench of life.

It was strange, being there again after so many months of isolation within the cold sterility of Vader's apartments. He was going to be furious with her when he returned, but it was worth it.

Her feet fell into a steady rhythm as she retraced her steps from two years before. Alaria listened to the slapping cadence of her leather boots against the permacrete causeway. The sound had an unsettling lack of familiarity after seven months spent in the shadow of Vader. When the clomp of boots behind her threatened to drown out the sound, she stopped and barked sharply at the trooper guards to make less noise. Tarkhek looked puzzled, but nodded at the guards to do as she'd asked.

The little shop was unchanged. It was a boutique frequented by high society Curoscanti women, carrying perfumes, bath oils, and couture gowns fit for any evening function. Each dress was handcrafted, and no two were alike. Alaria suspected that more than one of last night's gala guests had commissioned their gowns from this shop.

Two years ago, Alaria had been contracted to kidnap a wealthy Corellian tradesman who had insulted an equally wealthy rival. To successfully capture her target unharmed, she'd forged an invitation to the Midsummer Festival ball and for that, she'd needed a dress. What had made her visit to the boutique memorable hadn't been the dress, but the seamstress-shopkeeper, who'd claimed to know the future.

The woman was standing just inside the door, and she too was unchanged. Alaria recognized her instantly.

"Outside," she told Tarkhek impatiently. He nodded to the `troopers and stepped back out into the street. The men followed.

"My Lady," the shopkeeper addressed her with a curtsey. "Come to fill your wardrobe?"

"You know why I'm here." Alaria pulled off her gloves and set them perfunctorily on the table.

"This is a dress shop, and I am a dressmaker, so you must be here for a dress, my Lady."

"You're a Force-sensitive," Lady Vader responded smoothly.

The woman hissed, casting a glance at the door. "I'm nothing of the sort, and don't you dare say it."

Alaria smirked. "You think my husband doesn't know what you are?"

"You think I'd still be here if he did?"

"And why are you still here? It's only a matter of time until they find you, if they haven't already." It was a statement, not a threat.

The woman shrugged.

"You knew I'd come here."

"Yes." She tilted her head to one side inquisitively, and eyed Alaria's stomach. "You can feel it now," she remarked.

"Yes. And he hates me for it."

"Do you think he hates you?"

Alaria looked down, studying the way the gowns hung from their hangers, fabric ending just above the floor in even, measured perfection. "Of course."

"He doesn't hate you, my Lady. Far from it," her eyes gleamed like a child preparing to share a secret. "You are far more important to him than you realize."

Alaria settled one hand atop her belly. "Not me, our daughter."

"No, my Lady. You. It's you he has plans for. It's you," she pointed sharply, "that will bring him what he wants."

The old woman offered no further insight into her musings on Vader's wife, or the Sith Lord's designs for Alaria. Threats and intimidations were useless on the crone's battle-hardened attitude; she was, contrary to all appearances, a survivor. In the end Alaria had bought two gowns – one she'd had altered to fit her pregnant form, the other she'd requested in the size she hoped to return to in six months time.

When Admiral Oayen appeared at her door several days later, she was wearing her new gown. It was a soft translucent pink affair, that fell in pleated folds to her shins. When the door-chime sounded, she casually waved the lock free with the Force and bid her guest to enter, not bothering to turn around.

"You're early, Dustil," she muttered distractedly, peering at her datapad. "Have you seen the news broadcast? They're saying he's back."

"Who, my Lady?"

Alaria dropped the datapad and whirled on her heels with a start. "So it's true," she said smoothly, raising one eyebrow.

"Not exactly. Lord Vader remains on his flagship, just beyond orbit. He has requested that you join him."

"Has he?" she smirked, amused. She doubted very seriously that Vader had requested her presence, so much as ordered it.

"He has, my Lady. I'll have your droid pack your belongings and join us shortly. The shuttle is waiting."

She didn't move. "Have you sent for Lieutenant Tarkhek, my physician? I'm not going without him."

Oayen nodded curtly. "Lord Vader commanded it. He will meet you on board."

"Good." Pulling on her velvet cape, she motioned Oayen through the door. "Let's go, then."

***

Lord Vader was waiting in the hangar when the shuttle pulled into the belly of the massive flagship, setting down atop the closed durasteel doors with a metallic "clink". His pose was casual, with his thumbs hooked into his belt, and his cape flowing back over his broad shoulders.

"My Lady," he said in greeting, offering an arm to his wife as she descended the shuttle ramp. *New dress?* he asked silently with amusement.

She smiled demurely and let him lead her through the labyrinthine corridors of gray and white. Stormtroopers – Vader's personal guard – followed them several paces behind. Alaria vaguely remembered the layout of the ship from their time above Ord Mantell, and was surprised when the Sith Lord paused before a door several long paces ahead of where she knew his quarters to be. She cast him a sidelong glance through slanted eyes.

"Your quarters," Vader said, waiving the door open and gesturing for her to enter.

She stepped inside the suite and turned back to face him, just in time to watch the door shut inches from her face. With a burst of fury she jabbed one slender finger against the control panel. When the door didn't open she slapped it with her open palm, then pounded on it with the butt of her fist.

"Vader!" she screamed. He didn't answer. She continued to scream until her voice was hoarse and her throat raw.

The suite was sparsely furnished, though decorated with a feminine touch – a stark contrast to Vader's apartments on Imperial Center. The front room was a sitting chamber with a small desk, a holoprojector, and a cluster of plush, stuffed chairs, covered in fabrics of red and gold.

A narrow corridor led from the sitting room to the bedroom, with the refresher midway between the two. The bedroom was large, its only furnishing an expansive, spartan bed. One paneled wall slid back to reveal a closet which was, Alaria noted wryly, completely empty.

Lady Vader spent the next several hours cycling between pacing restlessly around her quarters and napping in one of the large sitting room chairs. Dinner came and went. In her pacing, she discovered another hidden panel in the wall. This one slid away to reveal a panoramic transparisteele window looking out over the expanse of stars and blackness beyond the ship's hull. They'd pulled away from Imperial Center, but she couldn't determine their location.

She was pacing the room in lengthy, deliberate strides when Vader returned. She glared at him with feral, red-tinged eyes.

"How are your quarters, wife?" he asked casually.

"You mean my prison?" she snarled.

"You are free to move about the ship wherever you like, Alaria, so long as I am with you," he told her.

"I have to be chaperoned?"

"There are 45,000 Imperial officers and solders aboard this vessel. 45,000 men, most of whom have not seen a woman in months; so yes, you have to be chaperoned." He sighed and held up his hands in surrender. "I did not summon you here to argue."

He was tired, she realized. She sensed an exhaustion in him she'd never seen before, and it sobered her.

"Was your mission successful, my Lord?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Not for Gira," he said wryly.

"Tell me," she encouraged gently, gesturing to the chair beside her own. "I should like to hear it."

He considered for a moment before crossing the short distance and settling himself unceremoniously into the offered chair. Alaria glanced around the room in an attempt to locate the controls for the hyperbaric field so that he could remove his armor.

"The ship is not as conveniently equipped as my apartments on Imperial Center," Vader told her. "I have a meditation pod in which I can remove my mask, but that's all."

"How do you sleep?"

"Uncomfortably, and very little," he admitted.

"This Gira… was he a friend?" she asked, watching carefully for his reaction.

"No. Not exactly. I suppose we have a common past."

"Did you kill him?"

He chuckled. "I didn't have to. He killed himself."

"Why?" Alaria couldn't recall another instance of Jedi suicide. The idea intrigued her.

"He thought he could hide from the Empire, stealing children and filling their heads with lies and half-truths, as the Jedi Order used to do. I… released the children from his lies."

"Released them?" She felt a growing horror at the meaning of his statement. She had never, despite her wickedness, harmed a child.

"I killed them. All of them," he barked, the synthesized rumble of his voice rising slightly.

"Was there no other way?" she asked desperately.

"I promised to spare them if he joined the Empire."

"And he refused? He let them die?" she pressed, startled.

"No. He agreed."

"Then why?"

"Betrayal," he told her calmly, "is the way of the Sith."

"But they were just children! You killed them!"

"I saved them!" he roared, slamming his fist down upon the arm of the chair with such force that Alaria heard it crack from within. "He stole them from their families, consoled their mothers with promises he could never keep and never intended to. He ruined any potential they may have had. I saved them," he repeated, quieter this time.

Alaria pushed herself out of the chair awkwardly. When she was standing, she turned to face Vader. "I certainly have no right to judge you or your actions given my own, but know this, my Lord," she told him icily, "if you ever harm our child, I'll kill you."

She turned and stalked to the bedroom. The door whooshed firmly closed behind her.

"I know, precious one," he spoke to the empty room. "It's why I chose you."

***

"Dustil, what's wrong?" Alaria asked quietly.

She'd taking to presenting the question daily, and Lieutenant Tarkhek found it increasingly difficult to lie to her.

"Nothing, my Lady," he muttered guiltily, avoiding her inquisitive gaze. He'd come to realize, only recently, how beautiful she was. After seven months at Lord Vader's side she'd become more commanding and aggressive than before, but her eyes… her eyes were softer, deeper, sadder. The Lieutenant felt a strange ache in his chest when he looked at her – it was becoming progressively more difficult to tell himself that all he felt was a physician's concern.

Medical Lieutenant Dustil Tarkhek had been a Corellian child prodigy who, at fourteen years of age, became the youngest applicant admitted to the Curoscanti Medical Academy. He had completed his studies in two years rather than the standard five. Upon receipt of his degree, he'd sought audience with the Jedi Council and had expressed an interest in serving the Order as part of their exclusive medical staff.

It was Master Yoda who voiced the loudest objection. "Great sadness I sense in you," he'd said, pointing with his gimmer stick. "Dark, your future is. Need your help the Jedi do not."

When Yoda spoke out with such vehemence the other Council members hastened to stand behind him. Tarkhek had been sent away.

He'd returned to his homeworld and worked as a physician there, building a reputable practice for himself until the Clone Wars had intensified. With reports of deaths in the thousands, Tarkhek had once again traveled to Curoscant, hoping the Republic army would accept his offer of service; hoping that perhaps the Jedi would reconsider their rejection in light of the grave tragedy they now faced. He'd requested audience with the Council half a dozen times. Each denial grew increasingly terse, until they stopped responding altogether.

Two months before the battle above Curoscant, Tarkhek was summoned by the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic for a personal audience.

"I've heard," Palpatine had commented loftily in greeting, "that you are the most talented physician to pass through our Academy."

"What good is skill if it's left unused?" the doctor had commented bitterly, oblivious to the affectionate sparkle in the older man's eyes at his resentful words.

"I'd say no good at all, son." The Chancellor had looked at him inquisitively. "Why haven't you offered your services to our army?"

"I have, sir!" Again, he could not keep the bitter edge from his tone. "The Jedi have declined my offer more times than I can count."

Palpatine had nodded knowingly. "It seems that the Jedi are, perhaps, intimidated by your potential. Fortunately for you, my young friend, I control the Republic Army now, and I am not willing to waste your talents as they are.

"But, Chancellor, the Jedi said-"

The older man held up his hand patiently. "The Jedi are guardians of peace. Sadly, our galaxy is not now at peace. We face a threat of the gravest nature, and war is necessary to protect everything the Republic stands for. I fear the Jedi do not understand what must be done." He had gestured for Tarkhek to approach him and had led him to the large, floor-length transparisteel windows, showing the vast urbanity of Curoscant in all its' modernization.

"I will pack for the Outer Rim at once, Chancellor."

Palpatine had placed a hand congenially on the doctor's shoulder. "You will be needed here very soon, son. Be patient."

It was only later that Tarkhek had realized this statement's foresight had come, not from intelligence, but from planning.

When the battle erupted, the young doctor had set to work immediately, relinquishing sleep and nourishment for days as he treated civilians and soldiers. He was part of the entourage that waited nervously for the Invisible Hand to skid haphazardly to a stop on the battered runway. He'd examined the Chancellor thoroughly before turning to a restless Anakin Skywalker.

"Are you injured, Master Jedi?" Tarkhek had asked gingerly.

"I'm fine," Anakin had barked, "and I'm not a Master."

"Patience, Anakin," Palpatine had murmured, leading the young Jedi away with a nod of thanks to the doctor. Their heads had been bent together familiarly in conversation.

The next time Tarkhek had encountered the Jedi he'd been near death, body smoldering pitifully upon a durasteel gurney inside the Emperor's shuttle above Mustafar. He'd been unrecognizable, unconscious, barely alive.

"Your Highness," Tarkhek had stuttered, stumbling over the formality of Palpatine's new title, "I don't know that I can save him."

"You can!" the Emperor had barked. "I brought you into my confidence for this purpose. He will live, or you both will die."

Tarkhek's fate had become intertwined with Vader's that day – intricately and indefinitely.

When Vader first learned of Padme's death, Tarkhek had been there, watching with mute fascination from the shadows. He'd shed the tears that Vader's broken body could not.

When the Emperor had ordered Vader to make a public appearance before the citizens of the newly named Imperial Center, and Vader had been still too weak to perform the task, Tarkhek had donned the black armor and appeared in his place.

And now Tarkhek did another thing it seemed Vader could not. He loved Alaria.

Lady Vader spent her first weeks aboard the Star Destroyer making her quarters habitable by improving their decor from that of a prison cell, to something more suitable for the wife of a Sith Lord. To his credit, Vader honored each request swiftly and without protest; grateful that she was momentarily distracted from both their estrangement, and her physical discomfort. The expansive, dursateel-framed bed was replaced by something slightly smaller. The new bed frame, carved by hand from Kashyyyk tree bark, boasted intricate designs that traced the contours of the headboard and the four high, solid posters.

The Force-sensitive seamstress from Imperial Center was contacted and set to work designing over a dozen gowns in various colors and fabrics, which would be delivered to the ship upon completion. Alaria instructed the woman not to spare any expense, and to ship each dress individually as they were finished. Already she had three outfits in her closet, and she was contemplating ordering still more.

She'd commissioned an artist to create scenes from her homeworld in the old-fashioned canvas style of the Old Republic. Once completed, they would hang above her desk in the sitting room. The desk itself had also been replaced. The new one was carved from Kashyyyk as well, and was paired with a comfortable chair, upholstered in sleek, black bantha leather.

Lord and Lady Vader saw very little of each other as Alaria settled into life aboard the vessel. He came to her dutifully each afternoon, inquiring as to her health and checking on the baby. He seldom spoke, instead listening to his wife chatter about this bed cover, or that figurine, with an odd enthusiasm that he found disturbing.

Alaria was unreadable to Vader these days. She had succeeded in grasping the ability to shield her thoughts from him. He sensed that despite her apparent revolt against his training, she'd paid close attention to his lessons about the Force. He did not know just how much she'd mastered, however, and this made her dangerous.

Lieutenant Tarkhek visited each morning and night with precise regularity. She still asked why her belly had stopped expanding the month before, still asked why the baby's movements had diminished rather than increased. But the question was now empty of expectations. Tarkhek was as loyal to Vader as Vader was to the Emperor.

"Dustil, what do you think of this color for the chaise?" Alaria asked, pointing to a dusty rose shade highlighted on her datapad. They were midway through the doctor's evening visit, which these days focused more on design input than on medical examination.

"It's... quite pink, my Lady," he responded unenthusiastically. They were seated side-by side on the recently delivered sofa; a cream-colored silk affair, with a high sloped back and wide arms.

"It's called 'Tatooine Dusk', and I like it," she said.

He smiled at her. "It's your chaise, my Lady. If you like it, then that's all that matters."

"For shit's sake, Dustil, stop with the 'my Lady'. I hate it when you call me that."

"And I hate it when you say 'shit', so I suppose we're even," he responded dryly.

"No, we're not even. I'm the boss," she teased.

"Yes, and it's impossible to take a foul-mouthed lady boss seriously," he countered.

Her laughter was boisterous and genuine. It drowned out the swoosh of the door as it opened, and the rasp of Vader's mechanical breathing.

"So it's been you, Lieutenant," Vader commented, "who has kept my wife in such high spirits of late." There was a trace of amusement in the rich baritone of his voice; the hint of a smile behind his mask.

Tarkhek bristled and stood, quickly snapping to attention, all too aware that his uniform jacket lay flung casually across the back of the desk chair, and that the top button of his shirt was undone.

Alaria's laughter ceased abruptly and a brief frown flashed across her features before she put on a warm smile and crossed the room to lay a slender hand on Vader's arm.

"Good evening, husband," she said smoothly. "I hope nothing unfortunate has prompted this unexpected visit?"

It was Vader's turn to frown. "I was not aware I required a reason to visit my own wife, Madame."

"Of course not, my Lord," she replied. Her face remained frozen in a smile, eyes wide and innocent. The last time he'd seen such an expression on her face she'd been holding half of a lekku in her bloody hands.

"I'll take my leave of you then," the Lieutenant interrupted, moving to retrieve his jacket. "My Lord, my Lady," he dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement and stepped through the open door, beating a hasty retreat down the hallway before either of them could stop him.

When the door panel clicked shut once more, Alaria dropped her hand and stepped to the transparisteel window, gazing out at the expanse of stars through narrowed eyes. The smile was gone.

"The Lieutenant visits you often these days," Vader said, breaking the silence.

"Yes," she replied. "More often than you, to be sure. He worries about me; his concern is for our child."

"Is it?"

"Are you jealous, Lord Vader?" she laughed sharply.

Vader walked to the window and laid a gloved hand on her shoulder, standing behind her possessively. "Should I be?" he asked softly.

Again she laughed.

"I won't have you forget your place, wife." His voice floated down to her. Any ship passing by would have seen a calm, congenial tableau of the royal couple. They would have been unaware, of course, of the tension that rippled between them with palpable intensity.

"Would you deny me my only human contact?"

Am I not human, Madame?"

"At times I wonder, husband," she answered honestly, thinking of Gira's padawan learners.

They fell silent again. Alaria was lost in thought and she didn't notice when Vader's hand withdrew from her shoulder, didn't notice when the mechanized rise and fall of his breathing ceased.

Look at me," he instructed. His voice was natural, unhindered.

Startled, she turned... and looked into the face of Anakin Skywalker. The mask and armor of Darth Vader were gone, replaced by the Force-driven chimera of the man he'd once been. She gasped and reached out a hand tentatively, running her fingers through the thick curls of his hair.

"How...?" she whispered.

He placed a gloved, metallic hand lightly on her wrist while bringing his other hand up to trace the contours of her cheek and the scar running across her right eye.

"Is this what you want? Someone human?" he murmured.

"This isn't who you are." She continued to stroke his hair as she studied his face with fascination. Were it not for the intense, unmistakable blue of his eyes, she would not have known him...

"It's who I was."

...but she did. She knew this face. Anyone with access to the holonet two years ago knew Anakin Skywalker; even a self-absorbed, money-hungry bounty hunter like Alaria. He had been the most famous Jedi of the Republic, supposedly killed in the Jedi Rebellion. He was -that- Anakin.

At last, Alaria understood.

Part of her mind urged her to turn away from him in revulsion. Part of her wanted to comfort him. She knew that the image before her was an illusion. Knew that if she concentrated she could shatter that illusion and it would be replaced by the black mask she knew so well, that surface that showed her nothing of the man within, only reflections of herself. Instead, she allowed herself to be lost in the artifice. Instead, she kissed him.

Vader took her face between his palms and returned the kiss, running his tongue lightly across her bottom lip before slipping inside her mouth gently. She sighed and grasped the back of his neck, desperate to prolong the moment.

This is where you belong, my pretty wife, he whispered in her mind as he kissed her.

Eventually, reluctantly, he pulled away to caress her face. "Come to me tonight," he murmured.

Wordless, she nodded her assent.

"Wear this," he said, producing a small package from beneath the folds of his robe. Again she nodded.

He turned away and his form morphed back into that of the powerful, armor-clad Sith Lord.

"Wear your hair down," he said over his shoulder once he reached the door. "I prefer it. I shall have your friend Tarkhek escort you to my quarters. He too, should learn his place."

"Don't cry. One day we'll be able to say ourselves. And what we say will be even lovlier than our tears. Wholly fluent." -Luce Irigaray

After he'd left her, Alaria let out a deep breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She examined the package in her hands with interest; it was wrapped in simple white muslin and tied with a strip of blue silk. She carried it to the sofa and sat down upon the corner. Allowing her eyes to drift closed she called up the image her husband had shown her, the face of Anakin Skywalker. She sighed, picturing his soft brown curls and his full lips, curved into a seductive half-smile.

*Come to me tonight,* he'd urged. She'd agreed without hesitation, captivated by the intensity of his kiss. The tension between them had not disappeared but, for a brief moment, things had felt as they'd had months ago, when Alaria and Vader had been new to each other, and they'd done their fighting and their fucking in equal measure.

She opened the package with hesitation, keeping her eyes closed until she felt the muslin wrapping fall away. It was an elegant negligee crafted from sheer fabric with thin straps designed to go over her shoulders. Nestled amongst the folds of the garment was a tiny, black box containing a necklace; a simple chain holding a teardrop pendant of multi-faceted black stone set in silver. She thought it was perfect.

Alaria spent the next few hours in nervous preparation, fussing over herself as a young girl might before her first date. She bathed in steaming water scented with rose oil, and washed her hair with an herbal shampoo Yimicia had given her as a wedding gift. After her bath she covered her skin in a shimmering, perfume-scented lotion and, using a brush made of coarse kath hound bristles, brushed her long black tresses until they flashed a glossy sheen.

The negligee was, Alaria discovered, a garment by only the loosest of definitions. The fabric covered her body from just below the pink peaks of her nipples, flowing to the floor to trail behind her like the train of a wedding gown. It was cut with a long slit in the front that began well above the soft black curls of her sex. Her pregnant belly was swollen and jutted out of the garment before the cloth dipped back in to obscure her still slender legs.

She left her hair wild and unkempt as Vader had instructed, and it framed her face beautifully, softening the sharp angles of her jawline. The pendant provided the perfect finishing touch, nestled between the swells of her full, rounded breasts. She surveyed her appearance in the full-length mirror of her closet with approval.

Shortly after she'd draped her favorite velvet cape around her shoulders and settled onto the sofa to wait, there was a rap at the door. It slid open to reveal Lieutenant Tarkhek. She stood and quickly pulled her cape closed to hide herself, suddenly self-conscious.

"Hi, Dustil," Alaria said in greeting.

He did not look at her, concentrating his gaze on the wall. His face wore a pained expression, and he appeared inordinately regretful. "My Lady. I'm to take you to his Lordship."

She nodded and stepped forward to the doorway, cloak held tight against her belly. The pair traveled the corridor in silence, passing only a single guard who acknowledged Alaria with a curt, impersonal nod.

When they reached Vader's quarters she paused and placed a tentative hand on Tarkhek's shoulder. "Dustil, I…" she began.

He flinched and drew back from her touch. "Don't, my Lady," he said. "Please. Don't."

The door slid open and the doctor escorted her in, taking her through the sitting room to the bedchamber. The walls were covered in black stone, its' surface covered with elaborate etchings of runic Sith symbols. When Alaria had last seen this room, three months ago, the walls had been bare white durasteel. She studied the changes with interest. The chamber was lit by half a dozen braziers, bathing the room in soft, flickering light.

Vader stood in the shadows by the bed, and again he appeared in the guise of his uninjured, former self.

"I'm pleased that you came, my Lady." His voice was silky smooth as he stepped forward to greet her. He unhooked her cloak, letting it drift to the floor and assessed her with smoldering, hungry eyes. "Very pleased."

Tarkhek felt a rush of anger at Vader's words and turned to leave. Invisible Force hands seized him roughly, pinning him to the wall in the shadows, out of sight.

No, doctor, Vader spoke silently in his mind, you stay. But quietly, if you please. My Lady will be quite cross with both of us if she learns that I let you watch.

"You are radiant, precious one," Vader murmured, leaning down to nuzzle Alaria's neck, trailing kisses across the curve of her shoulder. She let out a small sigh and allowed her head to fall back, threading her fingers through his curls. His hands busied themselves kneading the soft skin of her lower back.

His mouth moved up the taut, exposed tendon of her neck and he took her earlobe between his teeth, teasing the flesh with his tongue. One of his hands crept to her breasts and his fingers gently brushed across the peaks of her nipples, which hardened at his touch; the other drifted lower to cup her ass. He pinched each tiny nub in turn, and Alaria felt a rush of heat between her legs. She let out a low, soft moan. The evidence of Vader's desire was apparent; she could feel the bulge of his cock pressing against her belly.

"Do you want me, my Lady?" he whispered hotly in her ear.

"Yes," she answered, eyes fluttering closed.

"Say it!" he hissed, giving one nipple a savage twist.

"I want you," she said, reaching down to stroke him through his slacks. He grunted and pushed his hips forward to press his straining hard-on into her hand. It had been far too long. Vader released her earlobe and dipped his head to her left breast, taking the peak into his mouth and sucking hard. Alaria's knees went weak, trembling as she fought to remain upright. Her thighs were moist with the evidence of her own need.

In the shadows, Tarkhek fought his growing nausea as he watched the scene unfold.

"Do you love me, my Lady?" Vader breathed, raising his head to look at her. The hand that had been stroking her ass now slipped between her legs. A gloved finger slid into her, followed swiftly by a second.

"Yes," she moaned. "Yes."

"I know you do," he responded, capturing her lips with his as his eyes flashed orange. He pushed his tongue into her mouth and she sucked on it hard. In response, he wiggled his fingers from side to side within her. She gasped in pleasure.

He broke their kiss and withdrew his hand, looking at her through amber-tinged eyes.

"Do you want more?" he asked, bringing his fingers up to her lips. She nodded, licking her own juices from his hand obediently. He caressed her face and leaned in closer to her. "Then get on your knees."

The same hand that had, just moments ago, cupped her cheek now pushed her to the floor, bringing her eye-level with the bulge of his erection. Alaria reached forward and freed her lover's prick from his slacks, pushing them down to pool at his feet. Not waiting for her, Vader grasped the back of her head and pushed his hips forward, sliding the tip of his cock into her mouth. He groaned involuntarily at the sensation and paused, letting her run her tongue along the underside of him, laving the sensitive skin.

When he was satisfied with his control he pushed himself further into her mouth before withdrawing slightly, only to slide in deeper on the return. She placed one hand on his flat, chiseled stomach and reached down to cup his balls with the other, giving him a gentle squeeze.

"Harder," he hissed at her.

She complied and fisted her hand closed, increasing the pressure on his scrotum until she heard him inhale sharply. She repeated the gesture and, at the same time, began to hungrily suck his prick. He groaned again and rocked his hips, sliding fully in and out of her heat. His movements quickened, becoming more insistent as he neared orgasm.

When he came Vader's eyes locked onto those of his former friend, still immobile and helpless near the door. Tarkhek began to cry silently; and Vader smiled.

"Get on the bed," Vader told Alaria in a husky voice. He helped her to her feet by placing a strong hand firmly under her elbow, and led her to the mattress, pushing her forward onto her hands and knees before climbing in behind her.

He entered her swiftly, burying his cock deep within her core and froze, holding himself still as her muscles contracted around him. He relished the feeling of being inside her again after so long. Lieutenant Tarkhek witnessed a different scene. Vader withdrew the illusion of Anakin's form from Tarkhek's mind, allowing the doctor to see things as they really were. He saw the woman he loved on her hands and knees, being taken ruthlessly from behind by the Sith Lord. Vader was fully clothed save for his codpiece, and the mechanical rasp of his regulated breathing could clearly be heard.

Vader wound one hand through Alaria's long hair and jerked her head back with a savage tug, leaning forward to speak into her ear.

"Who are you?" he questioned. When she hesitated he pulled on her hair again, causing her to cry out.

"Lady Vader," she replied.

"Good. Who am I?" He punctuated each word with a sharp thrust of his hips.

"Lord Vader," she answered.

"Yes." His free hand snaked around her body to rub the sensitive bundle of nerves hidden between her thighs. "Now tell me again, who are you?"

"I'm Lady V-"

"No," he smacked her clit hard with his hand. "Who are you?"

"I'm yours," she moaned helplessly.

"Tell me again," he demanded, squeezing the firm nub of flesh.

"I'm yours!"

"AGAIN!" he roared.

"YOURS!" she screamed, fighting tears and panting for breath.

"Yes, precious," he smiled, casting a triumphant glance to the shadows by the door. "You `are' mine."

Satisfied with his triumph, Vader released the invisible restraints that had held Lieutenant Tarkhek immobile. He monitored the doctor's frantic retreat and couldn't hide a smirk when the other man fell to his knees and vomited in the corridor. Vader then turned his attention back to his wife, still prone and helpless at his mercy.

He let loose his grip on her hair and ran his palm across the smooth skin of her back. His other hand continued to tease her clit, rubbing the nub of flesh in swift circles while pumping his cock into her at a slow, steady pace.

Alaria was moaning continuously, grinding against Vader with wanton abandon. She was dimly aware of him speaking to her in the ancient language of the Sith. The guttural words were interspersed with low, thick groans.

"Alla shatteen ma be'esha. Simkath Alaria lamadh Sa'dhe," he growled, his voice growing steadily louder as they neared their mutual release.

"Anakin…" she moaned, reaching between her legs to cover his hand with hers and guide his ministrations. "Anakin… Anakin… ANAKIN!"

One deep, final thrust sent her over the edge. She screamed his name as she rode the waves of her orgasm, sobbing for breath.

"TAK ALA ANTHA'ANAI SAKRI'IT!" he bellowed, releasing the Force control he'd used to stave off his own orgasm. He gripped her hips as he came, hard enough to leave bruises on her pale skin.

Vader slid out of her, controlling her collapse down to the sheets, and then rotating her onto her back. He stroked the damp hair away from her face with affection.

"You're mine, precious. You belong to me," he kissed her forehead and laid a protective hand on her belly.

Alaria grasped his chin, digging her nails into his skin and pulled his face forward until it was inches from hers. Her eyes shone deep amber. "I want you again," she snarled. "Now."

He licked his lips and raised one eyebrow inquiringly. "Now?"

"Now," she purred. "Don't be shy, love."

Vader grinned. "As you wish, my Lady."

She kissed him gently before biting down hard on his lower lip, drawing blood. When he started to pull away she held him tighter and lapped at the blood with vicious delight.

He grinned again and ran his right hand down her body to cup her mons. Alaria instinctively spread her legs open, rotating her hips to push her sex against his palm.

"Touch me," she hissed, squeezing her right nipple; pulling at it until it became red and erect. Vader bent his head to capture the tiny peak with his teeth, biting down almost as hard as she had and then flicking his tongue over the abused skin. Alaria moaned.

"Yes…" she crooned. "Hurt me."

He raised his head to look at her; both of their eyes blazed the same lambent, orange.

"Do it!" she demanded, pushing his head back down to her breast. For the first time in days the baby in her womb stirred and kicked; she was also interested in this game.

Vader moved down her body with slow deliberation, licking and biting at her alabaster skin, leaving a trail of red welts in his wake. He paused at her belly, swirling his tongue in languorous circles around her navel. Alaria grasped his hair and forced his head lower.

She let out a satisfied sigh when she felt his hot breath stir the curls of her sex. He wasted no time, running his tongue up the length of her slit, coaxing the folds open to lick at her musky core. He plunged his tongue as deeply as he could inside her before moving up to concentrate on her clit. While he sucked on the firm, red bud Vader slipped two fingers into her and hooked them upwards to stroke her g-spot.

Alaria came almost instantly, writhing against his face and shrieking wordless, animalistic cries. At the height of her climax Vader withdrew his fingers and pushing his prick deep into her. He began to pump with blinding speed and another orgasm swiftly overtook her.

When he began to come the power of the Dark energy flowing between them erupted and became a palpable force within the room. The small fires burning in the braziers leapt and grew; the flames licked the black ceiling. The walls themselves swelled and cracked, long jagged tears breaking through the smooth surface. The pendant around Alaria's neck changed from jet onyx to a fiery, liquid red.

Electric-powered lights everywhere throughout the ship flickered and burst. Stormtroopers were knocked off of their feet and sent crashing into the durasteel walls with enough force to shatter their skulls within their white helmets.

In his palace quarters on Imperial Center, the Emperor looked up, startled, from the flimsies in his hand; and began to laugh.

It had begun.

Admiral Oayen was in a panic after the unexplained loss of power suffered by the massive flagship. He paged Vader on his commlink with frantic persistence for the better part of two hours before receiving an answer. Vader, nestled against Alaria in the destroyed grandeur of his quarters, listened to the Admiral's desperate pleas with increasing amusement.

"I suppose you should go do damage control before Oayen implodes," Alaria commented with a yawn.

Vader sighed. "Agreed. Would you like to stay here and rest? You're exhausted."

"If it's alright, I'd prefer to go with you," she fingered the pendant around her neck idly; it retained the bright red color it had assumed. "Watching the Admiral squirm is one of my favorite pastimes."

"That's true, precious; and I'm in the mood to give you anything you desire." He affectionately stroked her cheek.

"Oh really?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Within reason, wife," he rumbled. "But I must insist you change into something less… revealing if you plan to stroll around the bridge of my ship."

She giggled, looking down at her disheveled appearance. "I can live with that."

"We'll stop by your rooms on the way," he rose and, morphing back into his armored form, helped Alaria to her feet.

When the couple emerged from the darkness of Vader's quarters they found half a dozen bodies littering the corridor. Alaria bent to examine one dead `trooper, pulling off his helmet. A liquefied mess of brain matter and blood poured out, dropping to the floor with a sickening "plop".

"Interesting," she said, dropping the armor unceremoniously. "Did we do that?"

"It would appear so," Vader replied, surveying the mess on the floor.

She winked at him. "Oops?"

"Oops," he confirmed with a laugh. "Come, let's get you dressed."

Alaria chose a plain gown of red silk and quickly changed. She pulled her hair back and piled it atop her head, noticing in the mirror that her eyes had not returned to their normal, dark brown hue.

"Ready, my Lady?" Vader asked, offering her his arm as she emerged from the `fresher.

"Ready, my Lord," she answered.

He settled her hand into the crook of his elbow with a pat, and led her back to the corridor. Together they navigated the labyrinth of passageways leading to the bridge, passing more fallen stormtroopers along the way. Only those closest to Vader's quarters had been killed. Similar to the epicenter of a quake, the further away from his chambers the men were, the less severe their injuries appeared to be. Alaria paused occasionally to inspect the damage.

"Perhaps we should summon Tarkhek to tend to these soldiers," she commented distractedly. "He was not hurt, was he?"

"He's fine," Vader told her, reaching out through the Force to confirm his words. Tarkhek was an emotional wreck, but was physically unharmed, save for a massive headache. "It's not worth the effort to heal these clones; it is far simpler to replace them outright."

She shrugged. "I wonder what his brain looks like right now," she mused, using her foot to nudge one injured `trooper. Blood was oozing from his eyes, nose and ears, and he was moaning in high-pitched, desperate tones. "You have your `saber, we could – "

"Lord Vader?" Oayen's voice erupted from Vader's commlink. "Lord Vader??"

"Yes, Admiral?"

"I… are you coming to the bridge, my Lord?"

"I am on my way, Admiral," Vader responded with a weary sigh.

"Tell him to hold his breath until you arrive," Alaria whispered gleefully.

Wicked woman, he pathed to her with a laugh. "No dissection right now, precious. We have an Admiral to calm, remember?"

Admiral Oayen appeared closed to tears. He paced the length of the bridge, muttering incoherent phrases to himself. Alaria and Vader watched him from the doorway for several moments before relieving a measure of his anxiety.

"Admiral," Vader boomed, causing the tiny man to jump, "what is the status?"

"Lord Vader!" he bristled, attempting to hide his annoyance at the Sith Lord's leisurely response to the disaster. "Primary power has been restored. Maintenance reports no permanent damage."

"Then what's the problem, Admiral?" Alaria asked with a smirk.

"The `problem', my Lady, is that I have dead stormtroopers in my hallways and no obvious reason why!" he exclaimed, shooting her an icy glare.

"Admiral Oayen, I'd choose your words more carefully when speaking to my wife," Vader warned.

Oayen lowered his head to stare at the floor. "My apologies, Madame. I mean no disrespect, but… I simply cannot understand what has happened to cause this disaster. All available resources aboard the ship have been quite useless thus far. We are now undermanned and could be sitting ducks for another attack."

"Perhaps this… disaster, was nothing more than a fluke, Admiral," Vader suggested.

"An energy storm of some kind," Alaria agreed. She gave her husband's arm a subtle squeeze.

"An en…!" Oayen trailed off, stopping himself to prevent another reprimand. "I think the energy storm explanation highly unlikely, my Lady. Our sensors picked up no disturbances prior to the loss of power."

"Perhaps you did not recognize the signs," she mused. Her amber eyes sparkled with mischief and belied her concerned demeanor. Fortunately, Oayen was too absorbed to notice.

"Madame, with all due respect to your opinion, I have spent the last two years aboard this ship and never in that time have I encountered anything similar to what we've just experienced!"

"Well," she shrugged. "I suppose you can't call yourself terribly experienced then, can you?"

"My Lord Vader, I must protest this!"

"Protest what, Admiral?"

"Protest being berated by this harlot of a woman when she knows nothing at all!" Oayen grew pale and began to back away as soon as he'd finished speaking, knowing that he'd gone too far.

"Admiral Oayen, it is `I' who must now protest. Furthermore, I demand you apologize to the Lady for your insolence." Vader took a step forward and reached out one gloved hand. "My Lady, do tell me when you've forgiven him."

Oayen's hands flew to his throat and he sputtered, eyes bulging as he fought to pull air into his blocked lungs. Alaria watched calmly as his face darkened to deep purple. He dropped to his knees.

Only when the Admiral's body fell to the floor with a muted thud and went still did she speak.

"Forgiven."

The Sith Lord gave an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders before addressing the ship's second in command. "Admiral Sundaar, reroute the ship's course for Mon Calamari. We will stop there to pick up supplies. Contact the Imperial Command center there and have them ready three hundred replacement troops." He led Alaria back to the door. "It would also be wise to arrange for the disposal of the bodies in the hallways, Admiral, before they become… unpleasant."

Lady Vader was able to contain her laughter until the massive blast door slid shut behind them, sealing them off from the wide-eyed stares of the bridge's crewmembers. Once they were alone in the hallway,however, she began to giggle uncontrollably, leaning against her husband's broad shoulder for support.

"I never much liked the man," Vader mused.

"I never liked him at all," she said. "He took credit for the information `we' got from those rebels on Ord Mantell. He was too squeamish to even `watch' the interrogations. And then `he' gets promoted to Admiral for it?" She snorted. "What a stupid weasel."

"You got your way in the end, precious. He's no longer a concern."

" How true," she smiled, and stood on tiptoes to plant a kiss on the smooth black surface of his helmet. "Thank you."

He smiled behind the mask. "You're welcome."

Her smile widened. "Am I expected to repay you for this gift?"

He laughed heartily at the reference to his first gift to her, for which he'd received a sharp kick between his legs, and tousled her hair. "Do you wish to repay me?"

"I believe I do, my Lord."

"And not by kicking me in the groin this time, I hope?" he thought back to the last time the couple had exchanged the same words and winced.

"Nope, not this time," she paused, "unless you'd like me to?"

"I'll pass."

"Suit yourself… it could be fun," Alaria kidded, as she began to walk down the corridor.

" `Your concept of fun differs from mine, buddy'," he quoted.

"I don't believe it does," she replied cheerily. "Wanna find out?"

"I should very much like to find out, precious," Vader told her, running his hand across her cheek. "But first I have something to take care of."

"I'll come with you," she offered.

He shook his head. "Not this time. I'll meet you in my quarters in an hour."

"No," she grinned at him. "Meet me in the cellblocks."

"What? Why?" he questioned, surprised.

"You'll see," she replied cryptically, throwing a seductive smile over her shoulder as she walked away.

"Alaria," he moved to follow her, "you can't wander the ship alone, let me summon an escort for you."

She laughed and waved her hand dismissively. "My escorts are all dead or dying. Besides, I can handle myself."

"Yes," he smiled. "I suppose you can."

***

The "something" that required Vader's attention was a visit to Lieutenant Tarkhek. The doctor's sparse, primitive quarters were only slightly nicer than those of the troopers and petty officers aboard the ship.

Vader entered the room without request, announcement, or preamble. The lights were off. Nothing was visible through the thick blackness; but the Sith Lord knew the doctor was there, he could feel the pain and rage roiling through the tiny quarters with startling clarity.

"Doctor," Vader said, switching on the lights with a touch of the Force. "There is something we must discuss."

Tarkhek glared at him through red-rimmed eyes. "How may I be of service, my Lord?"

Vader began to pace the room. "It is not in my nature to harm those loyal to me, my friend."

The other man bit his lip to contain his reply. To be referred to as "friend" now, at this moment, was almost as sickening as the images that had burned themselves into his brain. Images he was now unable to escape.

"Do you think I fault you for loving her?" Vader asked. "How can I? I fear you have been misled, in this matter, into blaming persons who are just as much victims as you are." Vader paused in his pacing. "It was not my idea to force that scene on you, Doctor. I had no more choice in the matter than you did."

"Don't you dare blame her!" Tarkhek's eyes narrowed and he began to shout in spite of himself. "If you expect me to believe this was her idea, you're a fool... my 'Lord'."

Vader shook his head, "No, the blame lies not with my wife - but with my Master."

***

Alaria made her way to the cellblocks deep within the bowels of the ship. She passed more injured 'troopers along the way but ignored them entirely. The novelty of their suffering had passed; she had no interest in them now. When one man dared reach out to grab her cloak, begging for help, she stopped long enough to retrieve the small dagger from her boot and push it into his already ruined, bloody left eye.

"That was rude," she hissed into his mangled ear. "I'm busy."

The man let out a strangled cry and tried to back away from her. She stood and stepped firmly on the handle of the blade, pushing it into his skull until the butt of the grip was flush with his skin.

"Note to self," she muttered as she walked away, "get a longer blade. "

Men were scurrying around the corridors, attempting to dispose of the bodies and see to the injured. When they saw Alaria coming they parted, flattening themselves against the wall in the hope that they would avoid her notice. She caught one man by the arm and pulled him with her.

"M-m-may I h-help you, my L-lady?" he stammered, clearly terrified. He was perhaps eighteen or nineteen years old, a rookie.

"You may." She did not slow her pace. "Congratulations, you've just been promoted."

"To what?"

"My personal assistant."

When they reached the prison deck Alaria sent her new recruit off to find the warden. She then took her time surveying the occupants of each cell through the small, transparisteel windows set into each door.

Her eyes settled on one prisoner in particular - a young human girl, no more than sixteen. She was emaciated and sallow with sunken, lifeless eyes. Her hair had been shaved off.

"What did she do, my Lady?" her assistant asked when he reappeared with the warden. He peered through the window after her.

Alaria paused, probing the young girl's mind with the Force. "Nothing," she concluded. "She's innocent. Which makes her perfect."

"Perfect for what?" The young man could not prevent his curiosity.

She leaned in close to whisper in his ear, "You don't want to know, darling." Then she straightened and turned to the jailer. "What is she charged with?"

"Aiding the Rebel Alliance, my Lady," he answered stiffly. This was the fail-safe criminal charge of the Empire. Anyone could be disposed of with a simple accusation of `treachery' to the Noble Cause.

"Mmhm," Alaria nodded. "Take her to Interrogation Room A. I shall be there shortly."

"Shall I summon an Inquisitor for you, my Lady?" he asked. There were several aboard the ship.

"No. This one's mine," she replied, flashing a toothy grin.

The two men retrieved the prisoner and led her away to the Interrogation room. The girl was conscious, but listless and unresponsive. She'd already been interrogated a number of times since she'd been brought on board; there was little of her left to be broken.

Alaria waited patiently for Vader to arrive, leaning against the door of the now vacant holding cell with her hands laid casually atop the bulk of her belly. The baby had been in a flurry of activity since Alaria and Vader's lovemaking session, and Alaria relished the feeling of the child's renewed movements within her. Part of her had come to fear that the child was dead; it had been still for so long. Now she felt reenergized - protective - and utterly vicious towards the outside world.

She had her eyes closed and was concentrating intently on the baby's kicks when she heard Vader's rich bass voice.

"My Lady, did I keep you waiting long?" he asked.

"Shhh," she ordered, keeping her eyes closed. She reached out her hand and, when she felt his fingers wrap around hers, she drew him to her, placing his palm flat against her belly.

He smiled. "I feel it," he said.

She opened her eyes to gaze up into his mask. "It's been constant ever since... I think she's happy."

"Good," he replied. "Now, where's my surprise?"

"Come with me, my Lord," Alaria grinned and led the Sith Lord down the hall to the Interrogation chamber. She squealed with delight when she saw the girl had been put into restraints on the far wall; the prisoner's head hung pathetically to one side and she stared at them with dead, empty eyes.

Vader's confusion was evident. "Who is she?"

"I don't know," Alaria replied happily, walking over to pet the girl's cheek. "Just some girl."

"What did she do?"

"Take a peak for yourself," she offered, holding up the girl's head.

Vader sent a probe out through the Force, exploring the girl's mind. It was already destroyed, she'd been broken months ago; but from what he could gather from her shattered psyche it was evident that she had not been guilty of anything.

"I can't sense that she did anything wrong," he commented.

"Nor can I." Alaria stroked the girl's cheek absently, as if she were a pet.

"Then why have you brought her here?"

"For a lesson," she said. "She's already destroyed, it doesn't matter what we do to her." She stalked back to Vader and reached up to caress his mask with her hand. "First things first, my Lord. I believe this lesson would be best approached in your other, more subtle form."

Vader scowled. Who did she think she was talking to? She sensed his anger at the command and flashed him a seductive smile, licking her lips suggestively.

"I promise I'll make it worth your while," she prodded.

"Alright, how's this, my Lady ?" he asked, transforming into the guise of Anakin Skywalker.

She smiled at him and her ginger eyes glistened. "Perfect." She pressed her lips to his lightly. "Now, tell me: would you kill this girl for me?"

He blinked. "What?"

"If you had to choose between her life and mine, who would you choose?"

"You. Of course I'd choose you."

"And if I asked you to kill her for no reason?"

"She isn't anything to me," he said. "So yes, I would do that, if you asked it."

"Good," she replied, slinking an arm around his waist possessively. He tipped her head up with one hand and kissed her again. "And now?" she asked.

He looked back to the girl, shook his head slightly, and looked again. With the Force, Alaria had changed the girl's appearance to that of a supple beauty. Long auburn hair fell past the woman's shoulders and brushed against full, firm breasts.

"You're my wife. I'd choose you."

"Would you kill her for me?" she pressed.

"Yes," he answered without hesitation.

She smiled. "Now look."

The girl had changed form again. Vader now gazed at a petite woman with long, chestnut hair and soft, inviting brown eyes. Her full mouth was drawn into a listless pout. He would have recognized her anywhere. The breath flew out of him as if he'd been struck.

"Padme?" he whispered.

The illusion did not answer, merely stared forward with mournful, vacant eyes.

"Would you kill her for me?" Alaria asked, speaking softly into his ear.

He flinched and turned to look at her. His bright blue eyes were clear and strained. "What? I…"

"Her life or mine. Who would you choose?" she demanded, stepping back from him and moving to stand beside the chimera of his first wife.

"Don't do this, Alaria," he growled in warning.

"You have to choose," she insisted, unrelenting; she ignored the fury that was brewing just below the surface of his psyche.

"I can't," he said, struggling to push away the remnants of nostalgia, fighting to push down the tiny voice within him that was still Anakin.

"Her or me, Anakin, make your choice!"

"Alaria, no," he pleaded, dropping to his knees.

"CHOOSE!" she screamed, eyes flashing.

"I… you," he replied, setting his jaw firmly. "You."

She straightened triumphantly. "Then kill her."

"No," he said.

"Do it!" she demanded. "Kill her! Kill her now!"

He looked away and extended one hand, shutting off the girl's air supply with the Force.

"No," Alaria stopped him. She produced a small, curved dagger from her robe. "With this."

Vader looked at her, pained. In one fluid motion he stood and, grabbing the knife from her hand, used the Force to flick the blade in the direction of the imprisoned girl. Her throat opened neatly into a grotesque, crimson smile. As she died, the vision of Padme faded; she again became the frail, bald-headed girl whose life had meant nothing to him.

Alaria took the dagger from his hand and let it drop to the floor. She turned his head towards her gently, and studied his face. "Here endeth the lesson. "

He grabbed her throat and pushed her body back against the wall, glaring at her through eyes of Sith orange. "No, precious one," he said furiously. "It isn't over until I get my prize."

"Surely you appreciate the significance of the lesson, my Lord," Alaria said him calmly.

Vader narrowed his eyes and jerked the hand that was wrapped around her throat, banging her head against the wall. "And what significance is that, Little Wife?"

"That I am as possessive of you as you are of me," she choked out. "You required confirmation of my dedication; I needed the same."

He considered this for a moment; his grip remained firm. "I, however, chose a method enjoyable to both of us."

She gave a coy smile. "You enjoyed my method too."

"I can't say I did, my Lady."

"You did," she insisted. "Don't you see? You're free of it now, free of her. And so am I."

Again he paused.

"I know she's plagued your thoughts," she continued. "And because she haunted you, she's haunted me. It's time to let her go."

He grunted and released her, turning to stare at the lifeless body that hung from the wall. The scene was oddly peaceful.

"Perhaps you're right," he admitted softly.

"I am," she told him, placing a hand on his broad shoulder. "But that doesn't mean you didn't earn your prize."

He turned to face her again and ran a hand through her hair, tugging it free of the clips she'd used to hold it back. She `was' right, in her own sadistic way. He massaged the back of her neck absently.

"What `is' my prize, precious?" he murmured, brushing his lips against her forehead.

She caressed his face, running her fingertips across his cheek. "Whatever you want, however you want it," she whispered.

Vader smiled and kissed her eyelids in turn, then her cheeks. "Anything I want?"

"Anything," she confirmed, tracing the masculine symmetry of his jaw.

"What if…" he spoke softly, placing feather-soft kisses on her cheeks and moving to capture her lips, "I want…" he pressed his mouth to hers, you to look like her?

Alaria's eyes flew open with a start. She pushed him away and regarded him with an icy, murderous glare.

"What?" she seethed.

He began to laugh. "Always so quick to fight, precious," he said.

"Always so quick to provoke, my Lord," she countered.

"If you weren't so alluring when you were angry, I wouldn't be tempted," he answered, pulling her back to him.

She smiled in spite of herself. "Take me back to your quarters," she suggested. "These walls have eyes."

His eyes sparkled. "Are you suggesting something improper, my Lady?"

She turned her back to him and pressed her bottom against his groin suggestively. "Perhaps I am, my Lord."

He chuckled and ran his hands up her sides and around her body to give her breasts a squeeze. She sighed and leaned back against his firm chest.

"Let's go then," he told her.

"One thing first," she said, walking over to the corpse on the wall. She freed the dead girl's wrists from the chained restraints and, with a burst of Force-driven power, tore them from the wall itself. She turned and winked at him.

He raised an eyebrow. "What are those for?"

She shrugged. "I'm sure we'll think of something."

Vader dropped the illusion of Anakin and opened the door. Alaria's newly appointed assistant was waiting patiently in the corridor.

"My Lord Vader!" he mumbled, giving the Sith Lord an awkward bow.

The couple swept past him without acknowledgement, leaving him both stunned and relieved.

Who was that? Vader pathed to Alaria.

My new assistant. she replied.

He seems rather inept.

He tries, and he's terrified of me.

That describes the entire crew and half the galaxy, he said dryly. When he spoke aloud he was serious once more. "You've gotten quite powerful, haven't you?"

"Have I?"

"You know you have."

"Believe it or not, I do pay attention to you when you try to teach me," she told him, giving his arm a squeeze.

"Then why keep your improvement a secret?"

"A secret?" she was genuinely surprised. "I haven't tried to hide anything; you haven't been around much lately is all."

He nodded concession. "Fair enough. I plan on fixing that from now on, my Lady."

They were close to Vader's quarters. Admiral Sundaar had been swift to follow Vader's instructions in removing the dead and dying. The ship appeared to have been restored to normality.

Until they entered Vader's private rooms, that is.

"Well, this is a fucking mess," Alaria commented, surveying the soot-doused ceiling and fractured walls.

"Must you be so crude?" Vader asked with a frown.

"I used to be a bounty hunter," she said.

"And now you're the most famous woman in the Empire."

She shrugged. "Where is your meditation pod?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Through the door there," he gestured to the far wall.

"And you can remove your armor and mask in there?"

"Yes."

"Is there room for two?" she inquired with a smile.

"I suppose so. Why?"

"Because I want to see you," she told him, tracing the groves of his chest armor lazily. "Not how you were then, and not how you appear to others now, but you." She tipped her head up to gaze into his mask. "And then I want you to fuck me."

Vader required no convincing. He grabbed her hand hard enough to crush bone and dragged her to the door. She had to trot to keep up with his long, decisive stride.

The meditation pod was a spherical structure made of black durasteel. As they approached, the top half of the sphere began to rise, separating from the bottom in a jagged, tooth like pattern. The inside of the device was stark white with a single chair in the center. Vader led Alaria into the pod and it immediately began to close again.

The space was small and restricted, only one of them could stand and move about at a time, the other had to sit in the chair. Alaria could just barely stand upright, Vader not at all. He pressed a series of buttons set into the console that sloped along the wall. She heard the familiar hiss as the chamber pressurized, felt more than heard the "pop" in her ears as her body adjusted.

Vader sat in the large chair and began to strip off his armor. Alaria leaned back against the console and watched his pale skin emerge from beneath the sleek black coverings.

"Don't move, love," he told her just before a mechanical arm descended from the domed ceiling to grasp the smooth curve of his helmet and lifted it away. He reached up and pulled off first the mask, then the vocoder.

Alaria smiled. "There you are," she said, moving toward him to lightly trace the scars on his face. He was naked above the waist, and she studied the contours of his body as if she'd never seen him before.

He waited patiently, clearly uncomfortable under her scrutiny. She'd seen him this way before, but had never previously paid this much attention to him.

"That was my mistake," she murmured, trailing her fingers across the metallic tendons of his artificial arms.

"Gods, woman!" he exclaimed. "Don't do that."

She looked up. "Sorry," she said with a sheepish grin.

"Are you finished?" he asked as he slid one hand up her thigh, pushing under her dress insistently.

"I `said' I wanted to see you," she told him, lifting her gown over her head.

"I'm more interested in what you said after that, precious." He reached up and circled her right breast, rolling the peak of her nipple between two metal fingers. His other hand took hold of his cock, coaxing it to life.

Alaria leaned back against the console and spread her legs slightly, slipping her hand between her thighs to stroke herself. Vader groaned at the sight. He stood and guided her into the chair face first, bottom rise into the air behind her, pressing a button set into the armrest to recline the back. He dipped one finger into her and then withdrew, tracing the wetness around the small, puckered hole of her ass.

She gasped and tried to pull away from him. His other hand gripped her shoulder and held her firmly in place.

"Do you trust me?" he asked; his voice was thick with lust.

"Yes," she said, but she'd hesitated, and he'd heard it.

"Trust me," he said, as his finger pushed slowly inside her. It was less a request than a command.

She inhaled sharply when he worked a second finger into her; she'd never done this before, and didn't want to.

"But I do," he told her, reading her thoughts. "And you did say anything."

He was right; she had said that.

"Don't fight it; relax," he told her, scissoring his fingers to stretch her. She closed her eyes and concentrated on taking deep breaths. The discomfort vanished before long. Vader pulled his fingers away and, before she could protest, replaced them with the tip of his cock.

She winced at the sharp sting of pain as the mushroom head of his prick forced its way inside. His hand slipped down to rub her clit slowly and he reached into her mind with the Force, drawing some of her pain back into himself. His other hand kept a firm grip on his cock, easing himself between the round cheeks of her ass.

He continued to push into her slowly, inch by inch, with excruciating patience. Her pain began to lessen, transitioning to pleasure as he continued to tease and stroke her. She rocked her hips gently, helping him, and when she paused, he did the same, allowed her to stretch and adjust to the over-full sensation. Once he was fully buried inside her he held himself still, savoring the feeling of her virginal tightness. Then he began to move, in and out, at a gentle, leisurely pace.

She let out a long, low moan as pleasure finally overpowered pain. The sound of her surrender was enough to push Vader to the threshold of release and he increased the speed and power of his thrusts.

Then he became rigidly still, curling his body against her back and holding her tightly while he came. His body jerked and shuddered as his seed pulsed deep within her until he finally relaxed, laying his full weight against her and stroking her hair.

She heard his thoughts clearly through the haze of lust and satisfaction clouding his mind .

Mine. Mine. Mine. I love you.

Vader and Alaria spent the days that followed exclusively in each other's company. They neither saw, nor spoke, to anyone else; leaving the newly appointed Admiral Sundaar to fend for himself in running the massive flagship. In many ways, the crew was grateful for the reprieve from the combined tempers of the Sith Lord and his equally hostile wife. The more reckless members of the crew snickered amongst themselves over the obvious cause of Vader's distraction.

The only person aboard the vessel who did not appear thankful for the couple's renewed interest in one another was Lieutenant Tarkhek. He kept himself as far from the pair as possible, locked in his small room, brooding and miserable.

After nearly a week with no communication from his apprentice, the Emperor sent orders for Vader to contact him immediately. Vader grudgingly left Alaria alone in her quarters with promises of a swift return, before stalking off to obey his master's command. After several moments spent in contemplation, Alaria summoned the Lieutenant.

Tarkhek arrived promptly, but he lacked the eagerness he'd once displayed in her presence.

"Dustil!" she exclaimed with a warm smile when she saw him.

"My lady," he replied, giving her a curt nod in greeting.

"Oh come on!" she laughed. "You haven't seen me in a week and that's the best you can do?"

"What do you wish me to say?" he asked, setting his doctor's bag on the desk with a sigh.

"How about, 'how are you, Alaria?' or 'how's the baby?', or even 'what have you been doing?'," she said, half-teasing.

"My Lady, clearly you are fine. Clearly the child is fine; if she were not, I would have been summoned before now. And," he added icily, "it's rather obvious to anyone aboard this vessel what you have been doing."

She was taken aback by his anger. "Dustil, what has happened to you?"

"Nothing, Madame."

"You're lying," she stated flatly. "Tell me what happened. You know I can find out myself if you refuse."

Tarkhek set his jaw and pressed his lips into a firm line. "Then that's what you'll have to do."

She sighed and looked at him sadly. "I'm asking you as a friend, not as the Lady Vader."

He said nothing.

She sighed a second time and reached out through the Force to push her way into his mind. She sifted through the rage, despair, and jealousy to find the source of the emotion. When she did, she surveyed the two memories with quiet, steadily growing horror. First, she observed herself, naked and willing and screaming her allegiance to Vader. Then she watched as her husband told his closest friend that it had been the Emperor who had dictated the scene; Palpatine had been behind it all. She sank down into her seat upon the couch and stared at the doctor with pained incredulity.

"I didn't know," she whispered. Tears welled in her eyes. "Dustil, I swear I didn't know."

His face softened as he moved to sit beside her. She reached out and grasped his hand, clinging to it with both of hers. Her eyes, he noticed, were now a permanent, startling shade of orange.

"I will fix this," she vowed. "I 'will' make it right."

"How, my Lady?" he asked. "He's the Emperor."

"He's a man," she said confidently, "and one so drunk on power that he was blinded long ago."

"Don't, Alaria," he pleaded, using her name for the first time. "Please, whatever you're thinking of doing, don't."

She shook her head and looked to the door. "You have to go. My husband is returning."

Tarkhek gave her hand a squeeze. "Promise me, my Lady. Promise me you won't."

"I promise," she said. "Now go."

***

Vader was in a pensive mood when he returned. He removed his cloak and lightsaber, setting them on the desk before moving to his wife. He caressed Alaria's cheek affectionately in greeting. She smiled and leaned into his touch, turning her face to lightly kiss his gloved fingers.

"Miss me, wife?" he asked with amusement.

"Mmhm," she answered.

"Good girl," he said, sitting down beside her in the seat just vacated by Tarkhek. If he knew the doctor had been there, he didn't let on.

"So, what did that old son of a bitch have to say for himself?" she queried.

He couldn't prevent a chuckle in spite of himself. "Our castle on Vjun is nearly completely."

"He summoned you to tell you 'that'?"

"Well, no," he confessed.

"Alright, I won't press you. Sith business, I know, you two are very secretive about it," she teased.

"I can think of other things to do besides talk about my master," he said. "Far more enjoyable things."

"Oh?" she raised an eyebrow.

"If I recall," he said, pulling open her desk drawer with the Force, "you took a souvenir from the Interrogation room last week." The restraints floated into his hand.

"I did, didn't I?"

"You did, precious," he dangled them from his fingers idly.

"Are you suggesting something improper, my Lord?"

"Perhaps I am, my Lady," he laughed.

"Good," she licked her lips and stood, nodding in the direction of her bedroom. "I should warn you, my Lord, that I plan to thoroughly exhaust you this time."

"And I plan to let you, Madame," he replied, reaching out to smack her ass lightly.

She yelped in mock surprise and walked into the other room, gesturing for him to follow.

"I think I'll have you on the bed, my Lady," Vader said, walking to the large posts on either side of the headboard to fasten the shackles.

"Me? Who says they aren't for 'you'?" she asked.

"I say," he answered. "Now, up with you."

"Ooooh," she complied, climbing into the bed and leaning against the pillow to regard him as he completed his task. "I love it when you're all straight to business-like."

He smiled behind the mask. "Hands up," he instructed.

She raised her arms obediently, watching in silence as he fastened first one wrist, and then the other to the bedposts. He bound her tightly. She could move her arms a few inches in each direction, but could not touch the mattress of the bed, and could not bring her hands together.

"I believe I am quite at your mercy now," she commented, testing the strength of the shackles by tugging sharply on each one in turn. They were firmly secured in place, and she suspected that the Force had been put to work as well.

Vader stepped back to admire his handiwork and then stroked one hand up the sensitive curve of her inner thigh.

"How much did I pay for this dress?" he asked distractedly.

Alaria thought for a moment; she hadn't paid attention to price. "A lot," she concluded.

"Hmm, pity," he said before grasping the hem of the neckline with his free hand and tearing the fabric down the center until her full, round breasts came into view. "It's quite ruined now."

"I liked this dress," she pouted, suppressing a shiver as his hand ran lightly over her right breast.

"I'll buy you ten more," he muttered, pinching the peak of her nipple until it became hard and erect. He brought his other hand up to her left breast, giving it similar treatment.

Alaria relaxed under his ministrations, letting her arms hang slack against the restraints and arching her back to press her nipples harder against his palms.

Tsk, tsk, he pathed to her. No moving or speaking unless I say so.

"Or what?" she asked, repeating the gesture.

He reached out with the Force, landing a stinging slap on her upper thigh. Or you get punished.

She sucked in her breath and clenched her teeth as he smacked her a second time. His hands continued to knead her breasts in languorous circles. Alaria forced herself to remain still, fighting the urge to squirm beneath his touch.

His left hand slipped down to nudge her legs apart, dipping into her slick folds. Alaria let out a soft moan, and Vader responded by landing a firm blow to her thighs. She yelped at the pain and he smacked her again.

"I can't moan?" she asked helplessly.

"No," Vader responded. "You. May. Not." Each word was punctuated by a slap to her thighs.

He pushed his finger all the way into her and she bit her lip to keep from responding. A second finger joined it, then a third. Vader began to piston rapidly in and out of her slippery wetness .

Alaria bit her lip so hard that blood trickled down her chin in a small rivulet.

When he brought his other hand down to rub her clit she began to whimper. Vader was too absorbed in his task to notice. He brought her to the edge of release, and then stopped - abruptly pulling his hands away.

"Nooo!" she cried out, flinching when he smacked her for it.

He pulled back, staring down at her triumphantly – she was shaking and trembling, eyes squeezed shut, fighting desperately for control. When he was unable to manage his own desire a second longer, he tore off his codpiece and pushed his cock deep within her, sheathing himself completely in one thrust.

Vader pumped his hips into her roughly, leather slapping against flesh in a frenzied staccato. It wasn't long before imminent orgasm tightened every muscle in his body. When it did,he did he leaned forward and pressed the cold surface of his mask against her ear. "Now you can scream for me."

She did.

Her climax ripped through her, and she screamed until her throat ached. When she finally fell silent, he withdrew, collapsing onto the bed at her side. He waved his hand lazily to release her from the shackles, and Alaria immediately turned to lay her head against his chest.

She then closed her eyes and waited.

When she was satisfied that Vader was soundly asleep, Alaria rose from the bed, donning a simple gown and her favorite velvet cloak. She crept into the sitting room to sift through the folds of his cape. She was looking for his lightsaber. Retrieving it, she immediately stowed it beneath her cloak and moved swiftly into the hallway. Alaria glanced over her shoulder at regular intervals as she traveled to the hangar bay, half expecting the Sith Lord to appear behind her and foil her intentions.

He didn't.

She cornered the flight technician in the hall just outside of the hangar. "Commander, ready my husband's shuttle for departure."

"How soon does his Lordship wish to leave, my Lady?" he asked.

"Lord Vader will not be coming," she told him. "'I' wish to leave immediately."

"I cannot prepare his ship without his authorization, my Lady," the tech said.

"You can, and you will," she replied.

"He'll kill me."

"Yes, probably. But the way I see it, you have two options, Commander. He will kill you when he learns that I've left," she said with a smile, "or I'll kill you right now, and prepare the ship myself. How much do you value a few hours?"

"I'll begin preparations straight away, my Lady," he decided, running off in the direction of the hangar's controls.

She nodded and moved to board the small vessel. The Emperor had interfered in her affairs one time too many. If Vader wouldn't destroy his master, Alaria would do it herself.

Alaria steered the shuttle down into the atmosphere of Imperial Center, guiding the craft to the landing pad reserved for Vader's exclusive use. There was no need to be secretive about her arrival – the Emperor already knew she was here. The voyage from the Outer Rim had taken several hours, and she wondered if Vader had noticed her absence yet. Part of her hoped he had, wanting him to chase after her and rescue her from her own recklessness.

Stormtroopers greeted the ship and were obviously surprised to see Alaria descend the boarding ramp alone.

"My Lady," the soldier in charge greeted her, removing his helmet, "we were not informed of your arrival in time to prepare your apartments; they must be secured before I can-"

She held up her hand. "Don't bother, Captain, I won't be using them. Take me to the Palace."

"Very well, my Lady," he said, replacing his helmet. She noted sadly that it was not unlike the armor she had once worn. Now she was Lady Vader, and any trace of her Mandalorian heritage was all but forgotten.

The brief trip to the Emperor's palace seemed inexplicably, excruciatingly, long to Alaria; who was now full of both worried apprehension, and nervous anticipation. She wrung her hands together with enough force to bruise skin; the child in her womb seemed to be engaged in a full-scale work-out regime, kicking and shifting so furiously that she half expected the baby to claw its' way out of her stomach and land on the transporter floor.

"Shhh, little one," she crooned softly. "Soon your father will rule the entire galaxy. Soon it will all be set right."

She entered the palace with as much regal dignity as she could muster; nodding aloofly to the red guards who pointed the way to the Emperor's study, indicating that she was, indeed, expected.

The door to the study swung open at her approach and she swept through it swiftly, lest she lose her nerve. The Emperor was settled in his chair behind a large wooden desk, looking out over the city he had not created, but now controlled.

"My Lady," the Emperor greeted her, turning his chair to face her. "What a pleasant surprise."

Alaria retrieved Vader's lightsaber from the folds of her cloak and held it casually at her side. "Do you want to talk first, or should we simply begin?" she asked.

Palpatine smiled. "My young apprentice has outdone himself this time."

"He had nothing to do with this," she stated in an icy, flat tone.

"Didn't he?"

"He doesn't know I'm here," she said.

"Doesn't he?" Again he smiled, a jagged, toothy snarl.

"No. This is between you and I."

"Oh, child," he lamented. "You have no idea, do you?"

She took a step forward, body rigid with fury. "I know what you've done. Manipulated him, degraded me!"

"You think `I' was responsible for your performance the other day?" He brought his hands together in a placating gesture. "That was your husband's idea, my dear. As was this entire confrontation."

"You lie!" she seethed.

"Yes," Palpatine admitted. "But not this time."

She faltered, her courage waning slightly.

"My apprentice does not yet have enough anger and hate within him to face me," he continued. "But you do. With the power of the Force living in your belly, through your child, he knew you would come here."

She shook her head. "No. He didn't. That would mean he's been planning this since I got pregnant."

The Emperor laughed outright, a grating, rasping sound that tore at her ears crudely. "My dear, he has been planning this since before he saw you. Since he paid your bounty hunter rival to forge your name to the concubine application."

"You lie," she repeated, but with less conviction this time.

"He'll be here shortly, my Lady. Then you may ask him yourself."

"You motherfucker," she spat, igniting the blade of the lightsaber and bringing it in front of her with two hands. "You stupid, lying motherfucker!"

"I suggest, as a friend, that you calm yourself and reconsider this course of action, Lady Vader," He advised her calmly. "Even you must realize this isn't wise."

In response, she lashed out through the Force, sending the desk flying against the wall where it splintered and fell, leaving a clear path between them. She surveyed him with narrow, amber eyes.

Palpatine stood slowly and produced his own lightsaber.

Then he was upon her. The force of his assault knocked her back against the wall, and he glared at her maliciously, lightsaber held to her throat. Her own weapon skidded across the floor, landing amid the pile of splintered wood.

"Powerful, yes," he muttered. "But not powerful enough."

Alaria's mind was reeling, frantically searching for an edge. She thought back to her early days with Vader, and then she kicked him as hard as she could between his legs. The Emperor was still, in theory, a man; and every man had a similar weakness.

Palpatine howled in surprise and backed off just enough for Alaria to push him away from her with a burst Force energy. She then moved to retrieve her weapon, but the bulk of her stomach hindered her, and the blast of Force lightening struck her unprepared.

He aimed not for her heart, but for her womb.

She screamed, hands flying to her stomach. As the assault continued her cries transitioned into desperate wails. She reached out to try to push the Emperor off his feet with the Force, and found she couldn't.

She tried a second time, and failed again. Then she felt the hot stickiness on her thighs, and slowly glanced down.

The front of her dress was coated in blood, the liquid spreading rapidly in a demented pattern. Alaria fell to her knees, and though the attack had ceased, continued to scream, clutching her belly. She was defeated.

She was broken.

Palpatine walked to her and placed a gnarled hand atop her head. "Do you see, child? It was never `your' power. You could never have won." Then his gaze shifted away from her to rest upon the figure in the doorway. "Lord Vader," he said with a smile. "Please, come in."

Vader closed the distance to his wife in swift, heavy strides. He crouched down and took her face in his hand. She was weeping silently, eyes blank and vacant; she seemed not to recognize him, nor to care.

Alaria? he asked.

No answer. With his other hand, he smoothed her hair gently.

"I admire your ambition, Lord Vader," Palpatine said, his voice cutting into the tender moment. "But you made a significant error."

"I failed."

"Yes, but do you know why?" The Master was grinning. He could feel the anguish rolling off of both of them, and he drank it in like fine wine. "You failed because you fell in love with her, didn't you?"

Vader hesitated. "Yes."

"I know you did. Now take her away from here," he ordered. "And kill her."

"This was my idea, Master," Vader protested. "Punish `me'."

Palpatine laughed. "I `am', my young apprentice."

Vader gathered Alaria in his arms, ignoring the steady flow of blood that was coating his front. He carried her out of the study and through the palace to his waiting airspeeder.

"Anakin?" she asked in a strained, hoarse voice. She was gazing at him as if she'd only just noticed his presence.

"I'm here," he answered softly.

"Why?" she asked, slipping into unconsciousness before he could reply.

"Because," he replied to her oblivious form, "I'm a fool."

***

Lieutenant Tarkhek was waiting for them in Vader's apartments. He examined Alaria with quiet resignation, assessing her condition with no regard for the large, armored form pacing incessantly at his back. When he was finished, he turned to face the Sith Lord.

"She will live," he stated.

Vader was visibly relieved. "And the baby?"

Tarkhek shook his head. The child had died almost instantly, there was nothing he could do.

"My orders are to kill her," Vader said quietly.

Tarkhek remained silent.

"You do realize, doctor, that everything vile she has done has been at my behest. My urging."

The doctor nodded.

"I thought… I wanted…" he trailed off and held up his hands helplessly. "You need to leave here. Take her with you. Take her someplace where neither I, nor my master, will ever find her."

"My Lord…"

"This isn't a request, Lieutenant. It's an order."

Tarkhek looked slowly from Lord Vader to Alaria, and began to smile.

-FIN-

Home Fiction Adult Fiction Art Mail List Staff Links