Fumbling Towards Eden

Chapter Four

"Past the point of no return - no backward glances. The games we've played till now are at an end." - Andrew Lloyd Webber


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.”

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 jaw line.
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.”
~”Close your eyes for your eyes will only tell the truth and the truth isn’t what you want to hear. In the dark it is easy to pretend that the truth is
what it ought to be.”~
-Andrew Lloyd Weber

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-