This was the shirt that he had worn the very first night he had woken here - the first time that he had faced the Emperor. He'd felt deeply, uncomfortably out of place in it then, awkward and self-conscious surrounded by this casual, all-pervasive opulence. Now he thought nothing of it at all; like everything here, it existed simply to serve a purpose and clarify intent, subtle messages conveyed even in this.
The elaborate shirt was not to his taste, having been chosen by Palpatine probably before his arrival, but then that was the point. The Emperor had not dined in the private dining room of Luke's quarters since those first twelve weeks, when he had visited every single night, Luke escorted by guards to the same room at the same time, the table laid nightly for a dinner which neither ever ate.
Now, in coming here and commanding dinner be served in that same room, Palpatine was looking to make a statement - a return to that moment; that opportunity.
This was, Luke knew, a carefully considered reminder of what had been, of how much had changed since then. More than that, it was the chance at that moment again - for Luke to remake that decision from a better informed, less naïve standpoint. His Master was offering a clean slate and Luke was willing to indulge him - that much, at least, had definitely changed.
But for every point that had changed over the last three years, another had remained the same. Because Luke still brought his own agendas to the table - he still had his own will and his own goals - he had simply learned how to conceal them; learned to play the game.
Which was exactly what he intended to do tonight.
Palpatine was looking for a response, a clarification of his precious Jedi's viewpoint in consideration of what had happened. He had gone to great lengths to prompt, to induce this change - Luke now believed absolutely that Palpatine had instigated this though he wasn't so foolish as to try looking for proof, which would only alert Palpatine to his realization. It was pointless, since intentional or not, the end result remained the same. In this particular manipulation, his Master had been successful.
Because it had completely clarified Luke's position, isolated and unsupported as it was on all sides. Made it painfully obvious that Luke had no-one, no-one to rely on but himself.
This one fact was about to become the driving force behind all his actions and objectives. He'd left himself vulnerable for too long, torn between conflicting principles and loyalties- Palpatine had been right to point that out to him. Well now he had a new allegiance - the one he should have adopted long ago.
Himself. His plans. His goals.
Yes, Palpatine had sought a reaction, and Luke intended to oblige. For his own ends.
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CHAPTER NINE
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Luke waited patiently to be invited into the massive, ebony-panelled dining room, standing before the tall bank of windows in the drawing room beyond, watching the day settle from the sky, city lights casting an orange glow into inky blackness.
When the heavy double-doors were opened and he entered, it was to find his Master standing before the imposing bulk of the massive stone fireplace, exactly as he had that first night, a fire set within it despite the warmth of the evening. The bank of high glass doors onto the balcony were all open to counter the heat of the flames, something which would never have been allowed when he had first been brought here - would in fact have been impossible, the doors having been replaced only when the rooms' occupant was no longer a flight risk. At the time a series of inches-thick, tensile-wire-embedded transparisteel military-grade viewports, cabled into massive girders about the windows, had been hidden within the body of reinforced walls. A prison to hold a Jedi, as his Master had said at the time. Luke had still breached them, a single Force-induced blow taking out both the windows and most of the surrounding wall, so well had they been anchored. But he'd done it.
Had it been the Light Side or Darkness which afforded him that strength? He didn't remember anymore, couldn't recall at what point he'd begun to falter, though he remembered with pin-sharp clarity the moment of his downfall. His 'revelation', as his Master often referred to it, though Luke wasn't sure why - they both knew what it was.
The Emperor turned slowly, his long cloak rustling against the polished marble of the floor, the harsh, flickering light of the fire playing across his wizened, haggard features. The first time he had seen them, Luke had been appalled at their severity - now, they were more familiar to him than his own. He seldom looked in a mirror any more; didn't care for what he saw.
Luke stepped painfully down into a kneeling bow, injuries still hindering him, and the Emperor immediately gestured for him to stand, voice laden with carefully-measured sentiment. "Rise- rise, my friend."
Palpatine walked to the table and sat, smiling in empty indulgence, watching as his Jedi followed, sitting only when his Master had, aware of how much had changed in the boy since they were last at this table.
Servants entered and whisked in silent efficiency about them, uncovering dishes and filling tall, etched-glass goblets. Skywalker waited respectfully until the Emperor had taken the first mouthful before eating himself, the action neither pointed nor reluctant but quite composed; at ease with the protocol. Palpatine did not eat further, but then nor did his advocate - neither man had come here to eat. Instead he settled back, watching his feral Jedi, remembering...
He had not given a single step of his arduous conversion, had fought Palpatine every meeting, every word, every moment. Nothing had been surrendered - every victory had been dragged blow by blow from that stubborn, recalcitrant, gloriously obstinate will.
It had been a long path from capture to control to commitment. Not like his father; Anakin's desire to be with and to protect his wide-eyed, naïve little Senator had in the final analysis been, if not actually positive then at least well-meaning, all be it easily twisted. But Palpatine had needed more to hold Anakin- had needed stronger, darker emotions - and thanks to Obi-Wan's spectacular betrayal he had found them, cementing Vader's resolve in a way that Palpatine could never have engineered, igniting negative emotions which held a power and a resonance to scar far deeper than even Mustafar's burning flames.
Obedience; deferral to Palpatine's will was one thing, and it would have held Vader for a while, as it had his son... but in mind and body, not in soul.
Betrayal and assault - a personal attack by those he had trusted - that bought Skywalker's soul, just as it had his father's.
Oh, it was an incomparable, glorious thing to see the boy like this - to see him willingly discard those last tattered shreds of weakness with which the last of the Jedi had tried to tie him to pointless, restrictive restraints. He was beyond them all now - except his Master. Because Palpatine knew what made him tick- he had, after all, set it all in motion. Had taken the Jedi and made the Sith. Before today, there had always been something; some ghost of a memory of the past which the boy had clung to, believing it pure and untainted, holding it up as some perfect ideal.
And they had destroyed it... not Palpatine, but them. The very people the boy had admired and revered had sullied and corrupted it.
His Dark Jedi glanced up, the movement still uneasy, and those strange, sharp, wonderfully mismatched his eyes caught Palpatine's own. He was still injured and bitter and angry, and he wanted someone to blame...
And Palpatine would give him someone - would make it personal.
"I have a name for you, my friend." the Emperor said at last with casual nonchalance, "Two in fact. Mon Mothma signed the warrant commanding your assassination herself, and the Imperial traitor Crix Madine countersigned and executed it- it was he who originally brought the idea to the attention of the Rebellion's Chief of Staff."