Star Wars: Dar Angel Scarlet Dragon

Palissa held a tray of danni soup, bread, and chol tea. She set the tray on a table just behind the divan where Lylla sat. "Baroness," she said, "I brought you something to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

Palissa looked around the empty grand room. "It's so dark in here. Would you like me to turn on some lights?"

"No."

The girl hesitantly stepped closer to her mistress. She remembered that Lylla's hair hadn't been cut since the night before. It was now far past her hips. "We'll have to cut your hair soon, Baroness, or else it may strangle you in the night."

"Palissa, stop it. Stop trying to take care of me." Lylla didn't sound angry. She sounded devastated.

Palissa bit her lip. Hours earlier, she had found Lylla in the lift outside, crumpled in a heap and savagely crying, unable to get up. She, along with two other servants, helped her to her feet and inside the apartments. That's when Lylla screamed at all the servants to leave the manor. When she had finally stopped sobbing, Palissa helped her out of her interrogation suit, as her mistress was in no state of mind to safely take the deadly suit off herself. She ran her a bath, and dressed her into the midnight-blue velvet and black furred dressing gown the Dark Lord had given her, Lylla's favorite. Then Lylla came out into the grand room, sat on the divan, and looked out the giant viewport at the stars. Silently. Still. For hours. She didn't tell Palissa what was wrong, and Palissa dared not ask. She only found out through the Executor's intranet that Lord Vader had almost destroyed his private level and it was evacuated until further notice and that repairs would commence immediately on the all corridors leading to it.

Lylla bowed her head. "You may braid my hair, Palissa, if you are concerned," she murmured. Palissa came behind Lylla and lifted her hair off her shoulders, gently stroking, separating, and weaving her thick black-streaked scarlet hair into a braid down her back. She smiled when Lylla rested her head back in her hands. "I was very cruel to you, Palissa," Lylla said. "In the beginning. I've never told you how sorry I am for it."

Palissa tilted her head, surprised. The girl pet her hair. "Lylla. You were thrust into a situation you'd never known before. You were alone, you were scared. But you've been nothing but kind to me since. You released me from indenture, you made me your ward. I forgave you a long time ago." She went back to plaiting her hair, working in silence.

"His son is alive," Lylla blurted.

Palissa's hands stopped. "What?" she whispered.

"The boy. In the hologram. Is Darth Vader's son." Lylla's voice finally cracked. "He has a son, strong in the Force. And I can't give him one." She broke down into anguished sobbing, burying her face into her hands.

Palissa came around and dropped to her knees in front of her. "Lylla, oh Lylla, please don't cry."

"When he found out, he...he..." She pressed her hands into her eyes. "I saw his mind, his memories, his entire life. I felt all of him, in my body, in my blood. So much rage, Palissa, so much pain. And the hate... the hate he has...for himself..." She cried even harder. "He never let me see it before, he always shielded it from me." She clutched her chest. "But now...now that I know... he'll get rid of me."

"Lylla, he wouldn't do that-"

"You don't know that!" Lylla snapped. "You didn't see him. He almost killed me today." She saw Palissa recoil. "And why shouldn't he? I'm useless to him now."

"Lylla, stop it."

"What good am I to him? I can't have his children. I'm Force-blind. I'm not a soldier, I'm not an officer. Why should he need me, when he has a Force-strong child to rule at his side now? I have nothing to give him but... my body." She slapped herself in the head. "I'll be nothing but his whore. If I'll even be that. He threatened to send me back into slavery once before, he could again. I'll kill myself before I go back to that!"

"Enough!" Palissa spat out in a rare display of disobedience. Lylla looked up, eyes soaked in tears and wide with disbelief. Palissa tightened her grip on her hand and stood her ground. "Vader loves you, Lylla."

"Don't say that, Palissa," she hissed. Palissa straightened back. Lylla's eyes narrowed into white blades. "I will not believe that until he says it. And he will never say it. NEVER." She looked away. "The Sith indulge in pleasure. The Sith use. The Sith do not love."

Palissa paused before she murmured, "You do."

"I am not Sith."

"Aren't you?" Lylla gaped at her ward. She squeezed her hands tighter. "You are as Sith as he is. It doesn't matter that you can't use the Force. Not to him." Palissa knit her brow, slowly shaking her head. "You really don't see it, do you? He is so proud of you, Lylla. He respects your opinion, he relies on you, you bring a different point of view. He is training you for something more. Something bigger than Grand Inquisitor." She reached up, touched her cheek. "And I see the way he looks at you when you're not looking. Even through his mask, I can see it." She let out a tiny huff of laughter. "I can only hope that someday, someone looks at me that way." She became serious again. "Yes, I believe the Sith can love. In a way no one else but a Sith could understand."

Lylla stared at her, struck by her words. Then she sniffled and wiped her eyes. "What about his son? What do I do about his son?"

Palissa shrugged a little. "Be his mother." She tilted her head. "Isn't that what you've always wanted, Lylla? To be a mother?"

Lylla regarded her ward, raising an eyebrow. That cherubic face disguised a shrewd and complex mind. She grasped Palissa's hand, drew it to her lips and kissed it. "You are wise beyond your years, Palissa. I am grateful for you."

"And I am for you. Vader isn't the only one who loves you, Lylla." Lylla gasped a breath, and fresh tears sprang from her eyes. Palissa wrapped her arms around her, and Lylla cried into her soft honey-colored curls.

*Lylla*

Lylla raised her head when Vader's voice echoed through her body. *Lylla, come to me.* He sounded so exhausted. So broken. She gasped when she heard him say a word he'd never said to her before

*Please*

Palissa knew that look. "It's him?" Lylla nodded. "Go." She rose off the floor, helped Lylla off the divan, and smoothed her hair back.

Lylla clasped her hand. "Someone already looks at you that way, Palissa." She smirked a little. "When you're not looking." She let herself enjoy Palissa's suprised reaction before she dropped her hand, walked across the grand room, and left through the doors.

Palissa stood for a moment, a little stunned that Lylla knew about her attraction to Piett. But then again, why wouldn't she? Lylla was incredibly astute. But she was even more surprised to find out that Piett was attracted to her too. He never seemed to show it. Which was one of the reasons she liked him. He didn't leer at her like the other officers. He was always respectful to her, even when he was impatient. He was disciplined. He was a gentleman.

She looked up and around their vast manor, unlit, empty, silent. She made a choice. She went to her room, picked up a shawl, wrapped it around her shoulders, and she left the manor.

Palissa traversed the Executor's corridors, taking several lifts, and traveling even more corridors until she finally came upon the wing of the officers' quarters. Officers leaving their private club for the night ogled her as she passed them, surprised to see her there, muttering to each other and exchanging coarse chuckles, hopeful she'd give them a lusty look. She was fully aware of their talk about her. But she ignored them and kept walking.

Several doors down, Captain Piett was preparing for bed. He had just finished his nightly calisthenics, his uniform was meticulously hung and cleaned of any lint or debris, his boots shined (he still insisted on polishing his own, a habit he kept up since his Academy days), his regulation-made bed turned down. He was in his fresher, combing his hair, when he pulled the comb away. He picked even more hair out of it, as he had done this morning, and the night before. Piett sighed and looked in the mirror. He wasn't sure if it was genetic, if it was the stress of serving under Darth Vader, or if it was simply that he was getting older. In any case, he looked very tired in his mirror.

He furrowed his brow when his door chimed. He looked at the chrono, and heaved a sigh. He was certain it was someone sent by Vader, demanding his immediate presence. "This is what I get for being competent," he muttered. Just donned in sleeping pants, he picked a robe off the wall and put in on. He irritably tapped the com. "Piett here."

"Captain. It's Palissa."

Piett straightened in surprise. He was about to ask her why she had come when he decided he wasn't going to talk to her through a bloody door. He palmed it open.

She stood, arms wrapped around her shoulders just like the shawl she wore, her feet bare. His breath escaped him for a second. No one could look lovely under the harsh industrial lighting of the Executor corridor, but she somehow managed to. How did she do that? "Lady Palissa. What a... surprise." He cleared his throat. "Is there something wrong? Does Lord Vader need me?"

"No," she said, her voice soft and sweet. She smiled a bit. "May I come in?"

"Yes," Piett blurted before he thought twice about it. He gestured for her to enter. She did, and he palmed the door closed. He turned to her. "Lady Palissa-"

"Captain, please," she murmured. "Just Palissa."

"Palissa," he exhaled. "Palissa." He watched her drop her shawl. She wore a simple dark green long sleeved shift that ended just above her ankles, but hugged every curve of her small hourglass figure. The color perfectly complemented her golden curls. He averted his eyes when he realized he was staring.

She dipped her head a bit and looked up at him from under her long black lashes. "Captain, what is your first name?"

She had to ask, didn't she? He looked to the floor. Palissa was even more charmed by his reserve. He looked back up, sighed, and said, "Firmus." Honestly, if he could, he would legally change his first name to "Captain".

A wide grin broke across her face, and Piett was convinced she was about to laugh. But she didn't. Instead, she came up to him, raised herself onto her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and whispered, "Firmus" across his lips. She kissed him, parting his lips and caressing his tongue gently with her own. He cradled the back of her head in his hand and pulled her even further into the kiss. So soft, her lips, her tongue, her small curving body, those ringlets of honey.

But he broke away, causing her to whimper at the interruption. "Palissa," he whispered against her lips. "I must know... why me?"

She brushed his nose with hers, and smiled. "I like the way you look at me when I'm not looking." She kissed him again. He wrapped his arms around her, this time without any hesitation or self-consciousness, and crushed her body against his.

Vader be damned.

ix

Lylla walked the battered corridors of the Executor to Vader's sector. Repair crew and their equipment lined the halls, replacing bulkhead panels, installing new light fixtures, hauling debris. Officers, troopers, and droids went about their tasks... until they saw her. They all stopped their work and watched her when she passed. Lylla, of course, was always the focus of attention no matter where she went on the Executor- it was hard to miss a statuesque flame-haired Amazon strutting through the ship. But this time, they stared and cleared a path for her for an entirely different reason: She was the only one who could possibly ease Lord Vader's rage. And hence, save their lives.

She didn't strut in her usual imperious way. Instead, she walked with the cadence and grace of a votaress to her temple. The contrast of her indigo gown to her scarlet hair and white eyes was striking within the dark of the ship's halls and the sea of gray, black, and white of Imperial uniforms. Her height now made her seem transcendent. Like Darth Vader twenty years before, this Baroness seemed to come out of nowhere. And like him, she was an unsettling enigma. She didn't have Lord Vader's powers, but that didn't make her any less formidable. She was fire to Vader's ice. The sorcerer's dragon.

She came upon the lift to Sector 9. Two stormtroopers stood guard, ensuring no one entered without clearance, which no one had. Except Lylla. They stepped aside. One tipped his helmet. "Lady," he said softly, respectfully.

Lylla looked at the trooper. "What is your call number and unit, trooper?"

"TK7866, Baroness. 501st Legion."

"Lord Vader's legion." She turned to the other trooper. "And you, the same?"

"Yes ma'am. TK4932." Both troopers glanced at each other, unsure why she was talking to them. Was she testing them somehow, so she could report them to Lord Vader?

Until she spoke again. "He speaks highly of you all. The finest soldiers in the Imperial Army." She tilted her head. "How do you feel about him? The truth."

TK7866 stood straight, and dared to look her in the eye. "He is the finest commander I have ever served. He is the great military genius of our time."

"He fights by our sides, on the front lines, not like the officers who hide in the command center," added TK4932. "There isn't one man in the 501st who wouldn't lay his life down for Lord Vader."

"Or those close to him," TK7866 added. Lylla turned to him in surprise. Vader's lesson went through her mind: Loyalty is earned, not entitled. Choose your circle wisely. She couldn't choose more wisely than earning the loyalty of the legion known as Vader's Fist.

Lylla touched both their arms. "The 501st will be rewarded for your service and loyalty to Lord Vader. I will see to it."

"Yes, Lady."

"Thank you, Lady."

With that, Lylla entered the lift.

x

When the doors opened to the corridors of Sector 9, Lylla's eyes drifted over the destruction. Temporary slap patches had been applied to some of the cracks, holes, and tears in the metal walls to stop depressurization. The floor wasn't easy to navigate, cracked and bulged as it was, so she stepped around the dangerous spots that she could see in the one light that didn't shatter. The doors to the chamber room were torn open. She lingered there as she took in the damage. Almost all of Vader's medical equipment was smashed, including his Two-One Bee unit, which lay in pieces and cables. Wires hung from the ceiling, crushed glassine sparkled across the floors in the only light available, that of Vader's half-demolished hyperbaric chamber.

She stepped in, and kicked something. She looked down, moved her skirt to see it. She couldn't quite make it out, so she picked it up. A piece of torn and twisted metal, it was unrecognizable at first. But as she turned it in her hands, her thumb ran over a strange depression, and she realized it was an eyescreen. Dread stabbed her gut: It was his mask. He had destroyed it with his own hands.

That's when she heard, "Hey Tiri, how's my favorite mechanic? Listen, I'm having some problems with the starboard thrusters on my X-wing, I'm just not getting the hard bank I like, and I'm gonna need that in case we meet up with some TIEs at some point. Think you might have some time to give them a once-over? There's two bottles of Corellian ale in it for you. I heard you liked it, and I got connections. Let me know when you can get to it. You're the best, Tiri." Silence. Then again. "Hey Tiri, how's my favorite mechanic? Listen..."

Slowly, she came upon the open hyperbaric chamber. Inside, Vader sat in the chamber's seat, his back to her. He was still dressed in his armor and robes, but his helmet was gone. Destroyed, she assumed, like his mask and lying somewhere in the rubble. The garish light of the chamber lit every valley, crevice, and eruption of his scarred head- scars that Lylla never deemed anything other than beautiful, the colophon of a warrior prince who survived that which would have killed lesser men.

"...There's two bottles of Corellian ale in it for you. I heard you liked it, and I got connections. Let me know when you can get to it. You're the best, Tiri."

Vader shut it off. His voice was as scarred as his skin. "You came."

"Of course I did," she murmured. "You doubted I would?"

"After the interrogation, the cell, what you saw, what you felt...what I almost did. Yes. I doubted."

"You should know by now that I don't scare that easily," she said. "I'm one of only three in the whole galaxy. Remember?"

Vader's lip pulled into a small smile, in spite of himself. His woman, while not a soldier, was a warrior in her own right. Truly fearless. However, the smile faded. "He told me I killed her. He told me...I killed them both."

Hatred quietly roiled in Lylla's gut. "Are you so surprised he lied to you?"

"Nothing Sidious does surprises me." He tossed the holocom on the floor, then engaged the seat, turning it around to finally face her. Thankfully, the bottom half of his respirator was still functional, with tubes connecting it to the chair's oxygen pumps. His eyes smoldered blood and fire from their coal-colored sockets. He leaned down, rested his elbow on his knee and sett his lips on his fist, in thought. "I had seen the boy before."

Her eyes widened. "You had?"

"Yes. When I saw the hologram, he looked...familiar. I wasn't sure where at first. Then I remembered. It was on the Death Star." Lylla gasped, realizing she had left the space station just hours before the Organa incident. "The boy in the landing bay. The boy...with Obi Wan Kenobi." The chamber tremored, the broken equipment tinkling from the vibration. "His crimes are now complete. He stole my wife. He stole my body." He curled a black fist. "And he stole my child." The floor beneath them began to quake again-

"Then we must find him."

The quaking stopped. Vader looked up from his brooding. Now he was surprised. "What did you say?" he rasped.

She pulled herself up to her full stature. Her eyes were fierce, her jaw set firm. "We must find him," she repeated. "You will need him to help you kill Sidious and take the Empire as your own."

Vader straightened in his chair and eyed her cautiously. Knowing Lylla's obsessive jealousy of his dead wife, he did not expect this response. At all. "You... you would help me find Amidala's son?"

"No, Vader," she said from deep within her chest, staring at him from under her perfectly arched brows, her eyes hot as supernovae. "I would help you find your son."

He reached out to her with the Force. It was all there- her jealousy, her fear, her anger, her hatred. But she was not succumbing to them. She was drawing strength from them.

Like a Sith.

Lylla rushed into the chamber and fell to her knees before him. She set her palms on his thighs. "I cannot use the Force," she said breathlessly. "I can be at your side, I can serve you in any way you command me. But I can't help you kill him, I don't have that power. But your son does. No one but the son of Darth Vader could have destroyed the Death Star single-handedly! Turn him to the Dark Side," she bared her white teeth, "and you will be unstoppable." She pushed herself up and leaned into him. "Yes, Obi Wan stole your son. But Sidious lied to you, just to enslave you all these years. Remember, the night of the Coronation Ball, when you told me to wait until the time is right? The time has come." He saw murder in her eyes. It aroused him. "Have your revenge. Take what is yours. I will do anything to help you find Skywalker." She tightened her grip on his thighs. "Anything."

Vader looked into Lylla's eyes. And as the Dark Side widened her black pupils to spread over her white eyes, he saw a future unfold before him. After decades of warfare, of uprisings, of petty rivalries within the Imperial ranks... Peace. Order. A system that worked. The abolition of slavery. Mass incarceration of crime lords and syndicates, including Black Sun; especially Black Sun. Finally, a rule of law. Without the splintered chaos of warring trade guilds and bickering Imperial moffs, without the corruption of politicians, the lawlessness of the Outer Rim. Without the games of divide and conquer Palpatine constantly engaged in which kept him in power, but weakened the Empire from the inside. He saw the future of a true galactic dominion; unified, efficient, organized, invincible.