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Title: The Well of Rage
Author: helgaleena (helgaleenas@yahoo.com)
Genre: Soliloquy
Rating: R
Disclaimer: None of this is mine.

Summary: The Dark Lord of the Sith contemplates the true source of his power - Obi-Wan.

Warnings: References to rape, murder, mutilation, and mind-control – typical old trilogy stuff

Author’s Note: This is set before Episode IV, and references Timothy Zahn's portrayal of young Mara Jade in his novel Allegiance. I also am grateful for the portrayal of the eternal Vader by Jan Duursema in Legacy volume 10.

I admit, to myself, I am—quite mad. Padme knew it. Obi-Wan knew it, too. That is why he thought he had to kill me. Of course he couldn't, but he did make a mess of trying.

He fully expected me to die, anyway, on Mustafar, and ever since, he has hidden from what he has made of me. So would I, in his place. That is the amazing irony of all this. I am bringing order to the

galaxy and balance to the Force, all right, just as I should. And Kenobi, the perfect poster boy of the Jedi Order, still cannot understand.

I understand because I am mad. Understanding such a huge truth will do that to you. And the only way he can cling to his pitiful, old fashioned, unbalanced, starry-eyed "Light side" is to hide himself from that truth, and from me.

He used to pleasure me. He would never refuse me. Then he chose his stupid, idiotic, inflexible "Light side" over me and ruined everything between us. I lost him, and my wife and child—all the love in my life at once. Wife and partner. Secrets and celebrity. All gone.

Instead of "the Hero with No Fear" I am "the Dark Lord". Love is replaced by rage. I am a furnace of rage, and unlimited power from it, because HE let go of me and let me burn.

I almost killed the new Emperor's Hand the other day, just because she had annoyed me. Furthermore it annoys me greatly that's she's certain she's doing the right and good thing in serving Palpatine, when in actual fact, she's not. And I could hear her thinking, as she barely dodged my killing force—he's mad. She is correct.

The chit has skills and cunning, but remains my Master's puppet as well, though he controls her less directly than he does me, by maintaining his façade of benevolence with her. She even thinks she's the only Hand. That's what makes her so brash, thinking she's unique. Yes, I was the same at her age, but I actually was unique—the Chosen One—and also considerably more frustrated.

When I was her age-- I was robbed of all pleasures in life and knew nothing but war. Not knowing that in fact both sides of the galactic show were controlled by Sidious, I lived in hell and dished out more hell to the enemy. I endured it because of those I loved. And to sustain me I had woman's love, and a man's love, and a master's love three times over.

The woman's love was first from my mother, and then from my angel Padme, and it was the most natural thing in the worlds to love as we loved—yet it was forbidden, by the perverse Old Order. You see why they had to go.

The man's love was with Obi-Wan; the most beautiful love I have ever known. Yet again it was forbidden, despite its coloring every single hour we were together. But unlike Padme, he would never even admit that it was love. So brainwashed by his upbringing was he that he would not say it, until it was too late.

The master's love—I speak of the good masters, the loving masters, not those of my childhood in slavery. No love there, though at least they let me have my mother—Qui-Gon was a good and loving

master, for the short time we had him in the flesh, and the long time Obi-Wan and I invoked him in spirit. Obi-Wan, for the time that he was my master only (and that was a short time) did his very best. When he loved me as more than my master, he could not help but think of it as making us weak. Constantly we had to struggle against that supposed weakness, becoming stronger yet; oh how wrong he was, and what strength it has left me with.

My ultimate mentor, my leader into the strongholds of secret hatred, is Palpatine. I was deluded into loving him, and for years, into thinking that what he had for me was love. No, it wasn't. Yet-- his gleeful corruption of me, his avid spoiling of me, his reeling me in at the crucial juncture, cannot help but inspire awe, at the scope of his lying machinations, even now. Even now, the constraints of my existence, the pleasures mingled with constant pain, have driven me even madder than I might have been, had I remained an unblemished, handsome young Sith.

But then, in that future my loves would have not forsaken me. They would have bowed to my will and my charm, and there would be order with less destruction.

In the mechanical suit, I am his showpiece. I am the overt Sith, so he can maintain his façade of benevolent dictator. The little children, who had posters on their sleep-room walls of Kenobi and Skywalker, now have nightmares of the black mask of Vader. For that, a handsome, un-burnt Vader would be of much less use.

In that short space before the pain began, my love was still there for them; certainly it was much less than the bottomless rage of the present, but it was still a useful source of will-focus. If only I had been more persuasive, been able to sway them with glamour, like the Supreme Chancellor could, instead of relying on my raw and personal need! They might have followed me, my strong-minded beloveds, into the golden age I could visualize so clearly.

Yet somehow they scented the madness on me, before it had showed itself outwardly, and rejected it. They resisted, and were swept beneath the tides of the forces of order and balance, which the ascent of Darkness represents. And you, Obi-Wan—you run the farthest and hide the deepest, giving my hatred a bottomless well upon which to draw.

My Dark master has taught me well, how to channel the endless power of rage into an instrument of ruin. I barely contain the devastation I wreak. The Darkness seeks its own level.

Now this Mara Jade is being tricked, led by the nose into my remaining master's service, much as I was. I only want to know: where is her Obi-Wan? Where is her bosom enemy in love's clothing? Who will cut her to the core and show her the truth of the universe?

I have yet to see her in love. Deep down, she is far too detached. If she is more than just a deluded Force user, if she is passionate enough to be worthy of being Sith, I have yet to see it.

Obi-Wan, wherever you are, you are my murderer, and the murderer of my wife and child. I loved you, but now I hate you, more than any living being, even my Master. His reason is understandable; it's power. Yours is stubborn clinging to outmoded perception, and it's idiotic. And I will live off my hate for you, and rage at you until I have scorched the whole galaxy clean.

I should thank you, I suppose… NO. NOOOOOO!

end

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