The Love of a Sith (aka The Chosen One)

Familiar Strangers

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Vader's world seemed to come to a shuddering halt at the familiar voice.  The presence he had attributed to memories of Tatooine, the unexplained presence that had his feelings whirling in turmoil for the first time in three years . . .

He stood, frozen, unable to even turn his head as the girl ran past him.

The girl . . .

Chocolate brown curls and eyes, fearless and strong . . .

His muscles finally unclenched allowing him to turn to face the hooded person to whom the girl was running to.  "W-Who are you?" he whispered roughly, hating the uncontrolled emotion that so plainly spilled out of him.

The figure faltered, confused, then straightened haughtily, lifting its chin.  "None of your concern."  The voice was icy and scornful, startling him in the foreignness of its tone- yet it was one he knew so well he was certain he could never forget it, ringing in his eyes and mind although he did all he could to push it away.

It could not be.

She was . . .

Dead . . .

Yet so alive . . .

And suddenly all he wanted was to hear that voice, hear it say his name with the warm, loving caress it reserved only for him.

Anakin . . . I love you . . .

Then the frozen state melted and there was fire, swirling its way through him, igniting his veins and his nerves, and he could feel, so much that it made him tremble in its intensity.  

Everything was so wrong, but in his mind there was only her . . .

"Momma, momma, what's going on?" the child pleaded, pulling incessantly at the figure's cloak.  "Momma-!"

One tug too hard and the hood had fallen, the figure giving a cry of alarm at the revealing of its identity to a deadly Sith Lord.

Vader took no notice.

His eyes devoured the figure hungrily, taking in the sight like it was water in a scorched desert.

For previously hidden was a mass of thick, chestnut locks, tumbling over the elegant slope of a finely arched neck and curling handsomely over graceful shoulders.  The cheeks were rosy, glowing with health, though the skin still the same shade of pale moonlight.  He frowned as he noticed dark circles shadowing an otherwise flawless complexion that had never been there previously, as if a good night's sleep was impossible to come by.

But what drew him and took his breath away were the eyes, large and chocolate brown as he remembered them.  He wanted to dive into them and rest in the peace there that always had been waiting, but something stopped him.  

They were different- though they looked the same, it was the expression in them that had him unnerved.  The love and acceptance was gone; the usually warm brown color was almost icy in her coldness.  They were narrowed, in obvious hate and distaste, the defiance marked in the arch of one fine eyebrow. 

He never wanted her to look at him like that again.

"Padme . . . " He stumbled forward, his gloved hand reaching longingly for her. In that one word he could hear the tremor of a thousand unspoken ones, raw emotion clinging to every syllable- but for once he did not care, the man shoving the growling beast into submission if only for a second. Because she was here, his Padme, his angel; somehow, when she had been ripped from him in death . . . "Angel . . . "