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anakinisvaderisanakin · 4 years

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The Mask of Death Chapter 14 - For Her Sake (Vader Being Scary Fanfic)

Bail Organa had never been so terrified. He felt the layer of cold sweat damp and clammy against his forehead, his lips drawn into a strained grimace to prevent them from trembling. He had been through war zones, kidnappings, terrorist attacks and assassination attempts. He had aided Jedi fugitives Yoda and Obi-Wan Kenobi as they went into exile, right under the nose of the newly announced Emperor Palpatine. He had adopted the daughter of one of his best friends in the wake of her tragic passing, and was actively raising her as his own. He had seen the child’s father murder younglings, in the name of The Dark Side. What he hadn’t counted on was for said adopted daughter to grow to resemble her father more and more with each passing day. She had her late mother’s political lenience, her debate skills, her keen intellect, her dark hair and brown eyes. But she had her biological father’s dry sarcasm, his stubbornness, his nose for trouble, his courage.

Anakin Skywalker died on Mustafar, Obi-Wan had said. At the very least, he had been left for dead, consumed by flames. Perhaps, Obi-Wan had known that was a lie. Perhaps, he had known his former apprentice lived albeit a changed man.

Bail had never been as closely linked to Anakin, he’d been Padmé’s close friend and although Anakin had always been polite and easy to make conversation with, there’d always been a barrier he couldn’t penetrate. Sometimes, he’d wondered whether Anakin was jealous of his friendship with his secret wife - something he wouldn’t find out about until much later. Either way, whereas Obi-Wan and Yoda had deemed Anakin Skywalker to be dead as soon as he transitioned from Jedi Knight to Sith Lord - Bail didn’t share their opinion. Perhaps Obi-Wan had loved the boy too much to see the darkness in him, but Bail has noticed his dull edge early on. What little he had gathered from Padmé when she would mention him, had only served to further his suspicions.

Bail had been wary enough, knowing he’d need to keep his daughter, Leia, under wraps to hide her potential from the Emperor, were she to have inherited her father’s Force abilities. That was trouble enough, knowing the power of Palpatine whose cunning intellect had played both sides of The Clone Wars right into his own hands. No, worse yet was this.

Leia was all of six ars old, and while Bail would have preferred to leave her behind on Alderaan with either his wife, Breha, or a handmaiden, or nursing droid - her big brown doe eyes pleading with him to attend the senate banquet with him had made him cave. It might be dangerous, but she hadn’t displayed any latent Force powers so he deemed it safe enough. She was his daughter, there was no reason for anyone to suspect where her biological heritage might come from. Except, once they arrived - little Leia dressed in a baby blue, frilly gown with puffy sleeves, befitting of her status as crown princess of Alderaan, and a sheer embroidered silver scarf resting over her narrow shoulders - the banquet had turned out to be preceeded by an unprepared gathering. Apart from Bail Organa himself, the small party involved Mon Mothma of Chandrila, Gall Trayvis, Burla Pao, Adrian Loto and Lafreeda Zint - all member of The Imperial Senate, as well active members of the organized secret Rebel Alliance. That in itself was enough to make Bail break into a nervous coldsweat.

Still as the less than unwitting senators settled down, realizing far too late it may be a trap rather than an actual briefing - they were joined by three additional party members. The first two, Bail knew all too well. Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin, with his receeding silver hair meticulously combed back; his piercing, steel gray eyes scanning the faces of each attendant. His thin lips twisted into a callous smile, as he gave a curt bow of greeting before settling down at the head of the long table. The warm mahogany shades of the unusually well decorated dining lounge seemed so much less inviting, his presence bringing everyone up on their toes. Bail felt Leia’s big, dark eyes study his expression as she peered up at him from the spot on his lap where she sat poised; before her gaze travelled over to Tarkin’s gaunt, lanky form.

Hard on his heels strolled the newly appointed Captain Rae Sloane, whose prestige had gained her favours to climb the ladder after her aid had helped retract the Emperor himself unscathed after an assassination attempt over Ryloth; lead by a close ally to Bail himself, twi’lek freedom fighter Cham Syndulla. Her frizzy dark curls were tied back into a neat, tidy ponytail and she held her head high, confident in her newfound position. Bail had no doubts she possessed the ambition necessary to make a name for herself. It was the person to follow after her, that made Bail’s heart drop into his stomach. He gulped, and bit back the bitter taste of bile that welled up in his throat; hands suddenly unsteady as he held Leia closer to his body, as if that would help secure her. It didn't ease his nerves.

Captain Sloane sat down on the chair next to Tarkin, looking suspiciously like his right hand woman, and the small smirk on her painted lips suited her. The third guest the Imperial party had brought along, no doubt as an intimidation factor as he cared little for politics, opted to stand silently to the left side of Tarkin’s chair. His strong arms were folded nonchalantly across his wide chest, the constant sound of his respirator giving off a rhythmic pattern - breathing in and out in steady intervals. Behind the trio, at least a dozen stormtroopers, armed and ready, loomed outside the hydraulic doorway. They stood immobile, the door locked on open as a grim reminder of their presence. But Bail didn’t even glance at their gleaming, polished white armors and helmets. Instead, he found it difficult to tear his eyes away from Darth Vader; as the enforcer of the Emperor hovered like a makeshift harbinger of death right behind Tarkin.

Anakin Skywalker is dead, the Jedi exiles had said. But Bail had seen the holo recording, he had seen Emperor Palpatine - Sith Lord Darth Sidious - deem Anakin his new apprentice. Darth Vader, he had been dubbed. And Darth Vader was very much alive.

There were no physical remnants of the man whom the girl queen and senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo had fallen so madly in love with. Gone was the unruly dark blonde hair, the stormy blue eyes, the cocky smirk, the boyish attitude. Instead, Vader came across more like a reaper. Clad in all black, billowing cape trailing behind him. Taller than Anakin had ever been, by at least a few inches. Bail remembered Anakin had been shorter than him, but Vader made even him and his six foot three frame feel small; forced even him to tip his head backwards to meet the Sith Lord's gaze. Except, Vader’s gaze existed only as a pair of crimson, opaque lenses as eye holes for the face plate he wore. A mask, and helmet, concealing his identity. Making him unreadable, unpredictable. The mask itself eerily reminiscent of a human skull, with exaggerated and accented angles. As Bail peered uneasily down at Leia, he noted that her eyes, too, were glued to Vader’s form.

“I suppose it’s about time I explain the idea behind our little rendez-vous,” said Tarkin’s shrewd, authoritative voice.

“Please, do,” Mon Mothma agreed, faking a rather believeable smile as she invited one of her least favourite people in the world to take the lead.

Vader didn’t move. Bail wasn’t sure whether he was listening, or simply lending his physical form as a prop for intimidation. Even as Bail tried his best to pay attention to Tarkin’s lengthy speech of the Emperor’s supposed faith in this exact group of Imperial Senators - a blatant lie they were all aware of - he failed to maintain his focus. Instead, he carefully watched Vader out of his periphery; feeling Leia squirm, unruly on his lap as she began to get bored and restless with the drawled lecture.

“I was not aware there would be children present,” interrupted an unimpressed Vader, his tone booming and powerful as it ricocheted off the walls - in response to Leia’s annoyed grunt, as she attempted two wriggle loose from her adoptive father’s vice like grip.

“I’m terribly sorry, Lord Vader. Senator Organa was not aware of your direct involvement, we were summoned on the behalf of the annual banquet, as you are aware. He came prepared for the festivities,” Mon Mothma was quick to inject; and Bail stifled a small sigh of relief.

“I see. It is… unfortunate, that he lacks adequate foresight,” Vader replied, the short pause drawn out and premeditated, and Bail felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise.

To calm himself, he gently smoothed back Leia’s soft fishtail braid, looping it through his fingers and she huffed in protest.

“I apologize, with all due respect. This is my daughter, and while I agree that it is not an optimal arrangement, there is little else I can do at this point,” he quickly said, to hopefully mend the situation and direct the attention away from himself and back towards the issue on the table.

“I was under the presumption that you have little trouble gathering up servants upon request. A nurse would hardly be inssufficent for a man of your status.”

Vader seemed to go for a matter of fact delivery, but his voice was as monotone as ever, filtered through the vocalizer as it altered his naturallyspeaking voice. Anakin had had a cheeky, but soft tone - sometimes whiny, sometimes sarcastic, sometimes kind. The dry sarcasm persisted, but all else seemed to have ebbed away until only the unnatural baritone of the modulizer remained. Vader shifted a tad, hooking his thumbs casually into his belt and Bail had to force himself not to clear his dry throat when he realized the man’s head was tilted ever so slightly in his - and subsequently Leia’s - direction. The words were a thinly veiled jab, but Bail didn’t reply. Instead, he carefully bounced Leia a bit on his lap to amuse her and she seemed to relent for a moment, though she was back to fiddling with his laced fingers, determined to break free.

“Either way,” Tarkin picked up where he had been cut off, “ there is in fact a reason this security debriefing was deemed a necessity. The banquet will transpire as is tradition, but I was tasked with informing your particular parties of suspected terrorist activity in your immediate sectors. You are not being accused of anything, neither are you presumed to be involved with these nefarious activities. But, it is our duty as Imperial sovereigns, to warn you on behalf of the Emperor himself. Unfortunately, he will not be able to attend the festivities, much less this brief meeting. He does, however, send his best regards and my only priority is to forward his deepest condolences.”

It was nothing they hadn’t heard before.

In fact, Bail could count the very few and far between appearances the Emperor had made in person since the day he was announced as such. He blamed his physically marred features for his unwillingness to attend social ceremonies. Bail nodded, only half listening.

It was uncomfortably cold. A frigid, dry, jagged sort of icy chill lingered in the tense air. Before the Imperial trio arrived, the company had been warm and friendly, though poignant with suspicion. Now, the space seemed cramped, constrictive and suffocating. As Bail tried to focus on the culprit of the eerie, uneasy sensation - he found its source without really trying. Stinging, piercing, sharp pin pricks emanated from Vader’s direction. As if his very aura, his Force signature as the Jedi called it, was oozing off him. As if the sensation of dread was part of his very core, as if it was emitted from him in a cloud of invisible, foggy haze. Its shadow fell upon the small group, trapping them in despair, contempt and an awkward stillness. Peforating every inch of their perimetry.

That was the moment little Leia chose to make a break for it.

With an agile twist, she rolled around full body and slipped promptly out of her father’s now slack grip. Bail flinched, already reaching out for her to restrain her yet again, but she ducked and avoided his hands. In an instant, all eyes were first on the viceroy's helpless expression as his clumsy hands fumbled through empty air for his daughter’s tiny form. Then, they travelled over to Leia who had already managed to slip underneath the table; dive between Sloane’s legs to crawl under her chair, and pop up right in front of Vader. He towered over her, even as he too appeared to be staring at her petite figure. Her cheeks were tinged pink, the cold of the room nipping at the tips of her ears and nose. One tiny hand clutched at the lace embroidered along the hem of her lavish dress; the other was thoughtfully rubbing her little chin as she tipped her head so far back, she nearly toppled over to peer inquisitively up at Vader.

Bail was up on his feet in the blink of an eye, scrambling as he took a few rushed strides towards his daughter - and the Sith Lord. Vader regarded the small child, head tipped forward to grant him a better view through his seemingly cumbersome head piece. He said nothing, and Bail noticed the green and red blinking lights of Vader’s belt reflected in Leia’s large, dark eyes. He didn’t dare look away, didn’t dare tear his gaze away from the visage of his daughter standing in front of a child murderer, a monster - and unbeknownst to both her and him, her biological father. Bail’s outstretched hands retreated slowly, and he curled them into fists for lack of anything better to do with them. He let out a small gasp through an open mouth, and watched as it came out in a cloud of condensation. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Tarkin’s amused expression, one silver eyebrow quirked at the display.

“You’re cold,” proclaimed Leia in a high pitched tone after what seemed like an eternity. "You could get sick."

Vader did not reply, but neither did he ignore or brush off the comment. Bail felt his heart hammering wildly against his ribcage, as he watched in awe while Leia promptly reached up to slide the flimsy fabric of her decorative scarf off her shoulders with a shrug. She pouted, determination furrowing her fine brows as she stood on her tiptoes.

“This will help,” she declared proudly.

Wobbling slightly, she raised her arms as far as they would go only to tuck the frilled end of her little ornate scarf into the crook of Vader’s sturdy elbow. He stood unrelenting, and Bail wasn’t sure whether he should be horrified by how uncanny the child’s resemblance to her late mother was when she smiled; a wide, toothy beam revealing the missing front tooth. He felt fear pooling in his belly, his stomach churning and his face pale as Leia took a step back to admire her handiwork and thoughtfulness. She clapped her hands, pleased with herself. Vader’s hollow eye sockets shifted to stare first at the small girl, then at the scarf that was barely wide enough to reach around his arm where it rested draped over his elbow. Then, whatever spell had transfixed him seemed to wear off, as he turned his head to lock eyes with Bail. Even through the face plate, Bail could readily feel the intensity and weight of the bewildered glare he was rewarded. It took all his resolve not to shrink back; his concern for Leia’s safety winning out as he hurriedly closed the gap between them to scoop his daughter up into his arms, and settle back down in his seat. Tarkin was first to break the tension, as he chuckled at the unexpected display.

“You have raised a quite remarkable child, Senator Organa,” he said, his tone an odd mixture of snide and amused. “Let us hope she will grow up to develop your sense of propriety.”

The rest of the meeting progressed rather effortlessly, a tirade of threats and insinuations hidden behind a facade of protocol politeness and curtesy. Bail had heard it before, although the knowledge that the Imperial fleet had detected suspicious movement around the Alderaan system did nag at the back of his mind as a foreboding warning. Leia settled down, silent and obedient as soon as she had carried out her mission. The room was still freezing cold, but Leia was warm to the touch; her skin soft, and her head heavy as she rested it against her father’s chest. Soon, she drifted off into the light, easy sleep only a satisfied child could muster. Her expression remained proud even in her sleep, as a dark brown strand of hair fell into her chubby little face. As the party said their goodbyes, concluding the meeting, Bail gathered up his sleeping daughter to close to his chest - protective and paranoid.

When Bail exited, last in line, Vader lingered just outside the hydraulic doors. Tarkin, Sloane and the troopers were already retreating down the hall in the opposite direction - no doubt to touch up on their own appearances before the banquet come evening. Bail hoped Leia’s nap would give her enough energy to enjoy herself, seeing as there were more likely to be at least a few other children in attendance for her to play with. He hoped it'd help her forget the encounter, he didn't look forward to her asking questions about the Dark Lord. Still, as he moved to swiftly pass Vader, a chill went down his spine and he instinctively stopped; an inherent need to adress the man screaming at him to tread lightly.

“Lord Vader. I must apologize for my daughter’s brash behaviour. She can be rambunctious, she has a mind of her own. It will not be repeated, I assure you,” he said, in what he hoped was a respectful voice as he turned towards the other man to face him.

Vader stared dismissively down at him, his head tilting downwards as his gaze shifted to the sleeping Leia. She snored quietly, mumbling something intelligible as she rubbed her cheek against her father's frock. For a fretful instant, Bail felt terror wash over him as he dreaded the thought that perhaps Leia’s obvious resemblance to Padmé was not lost on Vader. Perhaps, he had put it all together. Perhaps, the effort that had gone into hiding Leia’s true parentage had been in vain, to no avail.

Hesitating, Bail held his breath as Vader reached into the left side of his inner robes - only to pull out the little, frail scarf he’d been offered. It was wrinkled, comically tiny where it rested across the Sith Lord’s large, gloved palm. He held it midair for a short moment, as an offering; as if unsure of what to do with it - and Bail took the opportunity to force out a hushed ‘thank you’, relief washing over him when he gently tugged at the end of the fabric and it slid effortlessly out of Vader’s loose grasp.

“Indeed. I would expect as much. For her sake,” Vader said as a reply to Bail's earlier attempted apology, and the impact of those words were not lost on him.

Without further ado, Vader turned on his heel to stalk in a quick pace down the same corridor Tarkin and Sloane had disappeared along. Heart still thundering away in his chest, Bail watched the black shadow of his form disappear in the distance, menace of his presence dying away with it. He knew what that threat meant, and he was determined to honour Vader’s assessment.

After all, Vader didn’t know the entire truth - and he was no stranger to spilling blood of the innocent youth.

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So, I love the installments I've written for Leia and Vader so far in this fic, and I wanted to write something from Bail's POV. What better than to have him fear for his daughter's safety the very first time she is introduced to Darth Vader? Leia is so young, she doesn't remember this encounter later on and whatever she may recall she would chalk up to a fever dream or childhood fantasy. Bail, of course, never brings it up again except for to Breha in secret.

Hence, my explanation for the existence of this chapter. Most of all, I wanted a different angle and take on the dread Vader emanates, and I'm glad to have another installment of this series out. It's been forever!

Enjoy!

Ao3 link below:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24049894/chapters/69212226

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