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The Scandinavian
One Very Lost Viking
- Joined
- May 13, 2020
- Location
- Guess Where
Damn him. Damn them. Damn it all.
The orange glow, ambient heat and the roaring sound of waves of molten rock crashing against energy shields seemed the perfect backdrop for his inner turmoil.
The corpses of the Trade Federation leaders had been fed into the rivers of lava, and cleaning droids were scouring the control room, removing every trace of the brief struggle. No, the massacre. He had personally retrieved the security footage and deleted anything that might seem incriminating. To the galaxy at large, the story would be that the backers of the Seperatist movement, the men who had supported Count Dooku in his ill-conceived crusade, had simply... vanished... when their defeat had become inevitable. They would be far from the first war criminals to go into exile to escape the repercussions of their actions.
The people of the new Galactic Empire would moan and complain about the troublemakers having escaped justice. But there would be peace. Thanks to him. Why did that particular thought make him want to jump the railing and cast himself into the fiery sea?
Search your feelings, Anakin. Before you can control them, you must know them. And to know them, you must first be able to name them. Do not try to put them into perspective, or make them presentable before you do. That way lies only delusion. Face them without fear, and they lose much of their power. Then you can decide what you must do about them with a clear head.
One of the few lessons Qui-Gon had managed to impart aboard the Nubian before they returned to Naboo all those years ago. Name your feelings.
Fear, of course. He was afraid. So much was changing, and he had never handled change well. The war had become his home. He had had an enemy, an objective, and a way to prove his strength and courage. It had made him a hero. Now he would have to find a new way, and that was terrifying. And even with Emperor Palpatine's reassurances, he still feared for Padme.
Guilt. However just the cause, he had betrayed much of what he had come to value, and the principles of many whom he loved. Oaths he had sworn, that had once granted him strength and comfort. It would be difficult... and painful... to reconcile everyone and everything he would need to to go on. Perhaps even impossible. The screams of the Jedi in the temple still rang in his ears. Maybe they always would.
Anger. The only reason any of this was happening was because of the failings of others. The bureaucrats of the Republic had failed to negotiate or compromise or even admit culpability, and forced him, Palpatine and Padme to shoulder the burdens of the galaxy alone. The Jedi Council had failed to resist corruption, and had threatened everything he held dear out of sheer spite and lust for control. Everything had been falling apart because people kept refusing to follow the law, and do their duty instead of pursuing their own interests.
So what must he do? He must trust Palpatine and Padme to know what was best, and would follow their lead. The three of them, together? They could make the Empire great. Make it fair. Make it prosperous. Make it a place where no slave boy would ever have to fear his mother being captured and tortured by Sand People again. That was their duty. The time for selfishness and indignation was over. It had to be. Or everything would have been for nothing.
When he returned to Cosruscant, he would make it so.
Anakin's ruminations were cut short by a movement out of the corner of his eye, a reflection in the dark sky. For a moment he thought his mind was playing a trick on him, until he recognized the shape. It sent a jerk of happiness and apprehension through him, and he wasted no time in running to the landing pad as it descended. Suddenly, the only thing he could think about, the only thing in the universe that mattered, was holding her in his arms again.
He stopped before the ship, her Nubian, as graceful as the first time he had seen it in the desert under a blue sky, waiting for it to lower the ramp. Ready to take him to the stars, along with its angel. His hair was disheveled, and a shadow of stubble ghosted his jaw after the past few days. Dark rings circled his eyes, and while genuine, his smile of anticipation seemed... brittle. Too sharp around the edges.
Nonetheless, his shoulders were squared and his jaw was set. Anyone who knew him could see the new determination in his eyes. He would do this, and do it right. And damn the galaxy to hell if he would allow himself to lose her along the way.
The orange glow, ambient heat and the roaring sound of waves of molten rock crashing against energy shields seemed the perfect backdrop for his inner turmoil.
The corpses of the Trade Federation leaders had been fed into the rivers of lava, and cleaning droids were scouring the control room, removing every trace of the brief struggle. No, the massacre. He had personally retrieved the security footage and deleted anything that might seem incriminating. To the galaxy at large, the story would be that the backers of the Seperatist movement, the men who had supported Count Dooku in his ill-conceived crusade, had simply... vanished... when their defeat had become inevitable. They would be far from the first war criminals to go into exile to escape the repercussions of their actions.
The people of the new Galactic Empire would moan and complain about the troublemakers having escaped justice. But there would be peace. Thanks to him. Why did that particular thought make him want to jump the railing and cast himself into the fiery sea?
Search your feelings, Anakin. Before you can control them, you must know them. And to know them, you must first be able to name them. Do not try to put them into perspective, or make them presentable before you do. That way lies only delusion. Face them without fear, and they lose much of their power. Then you can decide what you must do about them with a clear head.
One of the few lessons Qui-Gon had managed to impart aboard the Nubian before they returned to Naboo all those years ago. Name your feelings.
Fear, of course. He was afraid. So much was changing, and he had never handled change well. The war had become his home. He had had an enemy, an objective, and a way to prove his strength and courage. It had made him a hero. Now he would have to find a new way, and that was terrifying. And even with Emperor Palpatine's reassurances, he still feared for Padme.
Guilt. However just the cause, he had betrayed much of what he had come to value, and the principles of many whom he loved. Oaths he had sworn, that had once granted him strength and comfort. It would be difficult... and painful... to reconcile everyone and everything he would need to to go on. Perhaps even impossible. The screams of the Jedi in the temple still rang in his ears. Maybe they always would.
Anger. The only reason any of this was happening was because of the failings of others. The bureaucrats of the Republic had failed to negotiate or compromise or even admit culpability, and forced him, Palpatine and Padme to shoulder the burdens of the galaxy alone. The Jedi Council had failed to resist corruption, and had threatened everything he held dear out of sheer spite and lust for control. Everything had been falling apart because people kept refusing to follow the law, and do their duty instead of pursuing their own interests.
So what must he do? He must trust Palpatine and Padme to know what was best, and would follow their lead. The three of them, together? They could make the Empire great. Make it fair. Make it prosperous. Make it a place where no slave boy would ever have to fear his mother being captured and tortured by Sand People again. That was their duty. The time for selfishness and indignation was over. It had to be. Or everything would have been for nothing.
When he returned to Cosruscant, he would make it so.
Anakin's ruminations were cut short by a movement out of the corner of his eye, a reflection in the dark sky. For a moment he thought his mind was playing a trick on him, until he recognized the shape. It sent a jerk of happiness and apprehension through him, and he wasted no time in running to the landing pad as it descended. Suddenly, the only thing he could think about, the only thing in the universe that mattered, was holding her in his arms again.
He stopped before the ship, her Nubian, as graceful as the first time he had seen it in the desert under a blue sky, waiting for it to lower the ramp. Ready to take him to the stars, along with its angel. His hair was disheveled, and a shadow of stubble ghosted his jaw after the past few days. Dark rings circled his eyes, and while genuine, his smile of anticipation seemed... brittle. Too sharp around the edges.
Nonetheless, his shoulders were squared and his jaw was set. Anyone who knew him could see the new determination in his eyes. He would do this, and do it right. And damn the galaxy to hell if he would allow himself to lose her along the way.
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