Fumbling Towards Eden

Chapter Two

“Hers are contradictory words, somewhat mad from the standpoint of reason, inaudible for whoever listens to them…”
-Luce Irigaray

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 the basest
of human emotion - fear.

Vader spent one standard 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 traveling with the Sith Lord 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 Imperial Center. 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 by the journey’s conclusion, 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. “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 home world. 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 defenses 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 spiraled 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 commlink.

“Yes, my Lord?” The Lieutenant was a soft-spoken man in his late twenties 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 commlink 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 commlink 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 auto-chef 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.”

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 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.

“’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 apartments and retrieve his companion. Bring her to me at once.” He clicked off the commlink 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 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. 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 his apartments.

“That old fucker is up to something,” she fumed once they were back in his rooms.

“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 the 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.

“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.

"Tak ala antha’anai sakri’it," she said softly. She watched Vader carefully for any indication that she had come at least remotely close to correct pronunciation.

"Ik me aannet takeem myenya," he answered smoothly. The words had a hypnotic, lilting quality, and he spoke them with strict cadence through his mechanically enhanced voice.

"Aalla shatteen ma be’esha. Simkâth Vader lamâdh S’ad’he," She spoke the words slowly and carefully. The Sith lords waited patiently for her to finish.

"Os pa. Can fin tak ala." 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 admiral 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 placed 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.”