The Memory of His Eyes (Palpakin) R
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I just write gratuitous Palpakin, with no hope of financial reimbursement.
THE MEMORY OF HIS EYES
I miss his eyes.
I didn’t think that I would, you know. (Of course, I didn’t think of it at all. Sith Lords don’t consider such things.) But I miss his eyes: the color, the honesty in them, the admiration for me that was endearing, even as it made him a dupe.
I should have despised him for that, for not seeing through me, but he was so ... pure. That was his nature. Does one despise the sea for its tides?
He’s pure now, I suppose, though in a different way. Whatever he does, Vader -- no longer Anakin at all, not since Mustafar, not since losing his shackle of a wife -- does it with a singleminded purpose, all the intensity of his being -- no mean force -- brought to bear. Whatever he does, he does it thoroughly.
And in a way, I can’t help but admire that. It’s true that Sith Lords don’t admire much, except that which they desire to have: power, mostly. But I admire Lord Vader’s singularity of purpose, even if, being a master of multitasking, I have no desire to emulate it.
It is enough that I possess his.
It’s a strange thing, really, that a boy who dreamed of freeing slaves should be a slave to someone all his life. First whatever being owned his mother when he was born, then Gardulla the Hutt -- Anakin told me about those days, a little, haltingly, as though not sure that such memories were fit for my presence, as though they might sully the pristine walls of the Chancellor’s private office -- then Watto. Then the Jedi, though to the last he would never admit it. Padmé, too: she owned him in ways the Jedi never could, though Force knows they tried. They knew what it would mean, to own his soul that way. Yoda, at least, must have suspected that they never did. I’ve always thought Kenobi knew the truth and didn’t care: a rare gift, from a devoted but deeply flawed man. More fool him. And now, of course, there’s me: Darth Sidious. Lord Vader’s Master.
Seducer of the Chosen One.
I’ve done so much in my life. Become the greatest Sith Lord ever to have existed. Overthrown my own master, Darth Plagueis (with a deep-cutting twist of irony). Brought down the Republic, and replaced it with my Empire. But none of these things have been as satisfying as seducing, then mastering, Lord Vader. The moment he woke to his new reality in my new medical center was the defining moment of my triumph: the moment when I knew, finally, that I had won. Everything else was merely detail.
I haven’t felt a thrill like that since ... well, never. But the closest was probably my first orgasm, with a wretched boy whose name I don’t remember, even supposing I ever knew it. It wasn’t like he was with me by choice.
Lord Vader has given me many, better experiences.
Not with his own hands, of course -- or his own mouth, or anything. He can’t even get out of that blasted suit, an item which frustrates me only when I think of what he could be doing to me if he were free of it.
Then I remember all the other things he could be doing to me if he were free of it, and I realize that, perhaps, it is better this way, after all.
But alone, watching him on my private (hidden) viewscreen as he stalks hither and yon, commanding my Empire for me, restoring order, delivering justice (with an appalling lack of partiality and no regard whatsoever for political advantage) ... sometimes even gloating is enough to bring me near the edge.
Sometimes it requires ... more.
But at this particular moment, watching as the med droid prepares to attach Lord Vader’s mask yet again, I look down into his ruined face and glimpse, just for a second, those beautiful eyes. Still boundlessly blue, still pure in their intensity, though it’s no longer trust they reveal.
Tonight, I won’t even need the viewscreen. The memory of those eyes is more than enough.
THE MEMORY OF HIS EYES
I miss his eyes.
I didn’t think that I would, you know. (Of course, I didn’t think of it at all. Sith Lords don’t consider such things.) But I miss his eyes: the color, the honesty in them, the admiration for me that was endearing, even as it made him a dupe.
I should have despised him for that, for not seeing through me, but he was so ... pure. That was his nature. Does one despise the sea for its tides?
He’s pure now, I suppose, though in a different way. Whatever he does, Vader -- no longer Anakin at all, not since Mustafar, not since losing his shackle of a wife -- does it with a singleminded purpose, all the intensity of his being -- no mean force -- brought to bear. Whatever he does, he does it thoroughly.
And in a way, I can’t help but admire that. It’s true that Sith Lords don’t admire much, except that which they desire to have: power, mostly. But I admire Lord Vader’s singularity of purpose, even if, being a master of multitasking, I have no desire to emulate it.
It is enough that I possess his.
It’s a strange thing, really, that a boy who dreamed of freeing slaves should be a slave to someone all his life. First whatever being owned his mother when he was born, then Gardulla the Hutt -- Anakin told me about those days, a little, haltingly, as though not sure that such memories were fit for my presence, as though they might sully the pristine walls of the Chancellor’s private office -- then Watto. Then the Jedi, though to the last he would never admit it. Padmé, too: she owned him in ways the Jedi never could, though Force knows they tried. They knew what it would mean, to own his soul that way. Yoda, at least, must have suspected that they never did. I’ve always thought Kenobi knew the truth and didn’t care: a rare gift, from a devoted but deeply flawed man. More fool him. And now, of course, there’s me: Darth Sidious. Lord Vader’s Master.
Seducer of the Chosen One.
I’ve done so much in my life. Become the greatest Sith Lord ever to have existed. Overthrown my own master, Darth Plagueis (with a deep-cutting twist of irony). Brought down the Republic, and replaced it with my Empire. But none of these things have been as satisfying as seducing, then mastering, Lord Vader. The moment he woke to his new reality in my new medical center was the defining moment of my triumph: the moment when I knew, finally, that I had won. Everything else was merely detail.
I haven’t felt a thrill like that since ... well, never. But the closest was probably my first orgasm, with a wretched boy whose name I don’t remember, even supposing I ever knew it. It wasn’t like he was with me by choice.
Lord Vader has given me many, better experiences.
Not with his own hands, of course -- or his own mouth, or anything. He can’t even get out of that blasted suit, an item which frustrates me only when I think of what he could be doing to me if he were free of it.
Then I remember all the other things he could be doing to me if he were free of it, and I realize that, perhaps, it is better this way, after all.
But alone, watching him on my private (hidden) viewscreen as he stalks hither and yon, commanding my Empire for me, restoring order, delivering justice (with an appalling lack of partiality and no regard whatsoever for political advantage) ... sometimes even gloating is enough to bring me near the edge.
Sometimes it requires ... more.
But at this particular moment, watching as the med droid prepares to attach Lord Vader’s mask yet again, I look down into his ruined face and glimpse, just for a second, those beautiful eyes. Still boundlessly blue, still pure in their intensity, though it’s no longer trust they reveal.
Tonight, I won’t even need the viewscreen. The memory of those eyes is more than enough.