The Tragic Jedi | Anakin Skywalker

𝓢𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓮 𝟗𝟕

"Well, it is quite apparent you don't like to talk since you didn't tell your wife after your return about all of the monstrosities you have committed," Palpatine spoke as he took a step closer, lifting his hands to lower his black hood. His hood fell back, further revealing the Sith Lord's paper-thin, pale, wrinkled face and mustard yellow eyes. "Shall I tell her for you?" 

Palpatine didn't wait for Anakin's response before he turned his attention to Astrid, startling her, and said, "He killed every last one of them. Every youngling." His voice rose in volume in his impassioned speech. "And he relished it because his power in the Dark Side was growing." 

Shock coursed through Astrid at these recent news. No, Anakin wouldn't have done that. Not when she was pregnant with their own children. Surely-- surely he wouldn't have dared to raise a finger to a child, a youngling. 

But when Anakin turned towards her, the guilty, ashamed look in his eyes told her Palpatine spoke truth. Her wariness increased ten fold, and she found herself taking a step away from Anakin as he reached a hand towards her. 

"Astrid, don't listen to him," Anakin began pleadingly. "Can't you see what he's doing? He's trying--" 

Anakin was cut off as Tarkin finally made his move, lunging towards Obi-Wan as he fired three rounds of blaster fire. Obi-Wan immediately dove into action. He slashed down all three blaster fire bolts with a sweep of his lightsaber before he lunged at the Imperial officer. 

Meanwhile, Anakin squared off to Palpatine, who stood but twenty feet away now. Astrid hesitated; not because she was unsure of who needed her help-- Anakin or Obi-Wan-- but because she was suddenly finding herself doubting Anakin, wondering how much better he could be compared to the Empire. 

Her thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion, uncertainty, and conflict. She felt as if her wrists had been bound to rope and her arms outstretched, and suddenly she was being tugged in two different directions, quartered. She found herself drowning in dark water, and right as she was running out of air, she discovered she no longer knew what was up and what was down because both directions contained but the same dark, muddled water. 

Anakin cannot be trusted, a voice whispered in her head. If he can commit these atrocities once, he can do them again. 

Time felt slowed. 

Astrid buried her hands in her hair as she squeezed her eyes shut against the pressure building in her head, the voice, meanwhile, continuing its relentless assault.

Kill Anakin, the voice urged her in a whisper, and she thought she felt a phantom hand brush her cheek consolingly, empathetically. He cannot be left alive. He might do more harm in the future. He could be a danger to your children. It is better to be safe than sorry. After you kill him, you can kill the Emperor. 

The pressure inside her head built further and further like a vise wrapping and squeezing and squeezing around her head until it felt like her head was about to explode. Voices whispered all around her, and her eyes flitted around her surroundings, seeking the source of the voices. They all whispered the same thing: to kill Anakin. 

She collapsed onto her knees on the ground as she was swarmed and overwhelmed by the flood of voices that seemed to live only in her head. They bombarded her in their intensity. She thought she saw Anakin move towards her, but he was forced to remain where he was as Palpatine took a threatening step forward, his now ignited crimson lightsaber angling upwards in an offensive manuever. 

Except, the Emperor's eyes were focused avidly on Astrid, and his eyes glowed a more vibrant yellow as he watched her struggle with an intensity that suggested he was the source of the voices and the conflict roiling within Astrid. He was feeding her thoughts of distrust and suspicion, urging her closer and closer to the Dark Side with every voice that spoke to her, whispering to her to kill Anakin, that Anakin could not be trusted, that he was a murderer, a threat to the Republic, unredeemable, that he had never been redeemed in the first place.