It seemed like a lifetime ago, to Dormé, that she had been serving in Senator Amidala’s entourage. Her life had been given new meaning and all she was in service of the Empire and Vader. While her former mentor Saché and others were assigned as Intelligence and Security officers, Vader handpicked Dormé to serve as his personal eyes and ears, to report any dissent within the ranks. This also meant that they would have frequent contact, often in person.
Dormé had never expected to form a friendship with Lord Vader—whom she still referred to as Anakin because it would forever be the same man to her—let alone fall in love with him. Even now, this thought weighed heavily on Dormé’s mind. She did not want to believe she would offend the memory of her former mistress in such a way as this. In order to convince herself it was nothing more than an adrenaline rush leading to unbridled lust, she reverted to tactics Moteé taught her back in the day.
After an extremely stressful day in the senator’s service, Moteé returned home extremely late but Dormé was still awake. ‘Where were you?’
‘Relieving stress,’ she murmured, stretching out lazily on the bed.
Dormé shot her an incredulous look, curious as to how she could do so and how she could do the same.
Moteé caught the look and smirked. ‘There are three stress relief tactics I always rely on. Hot showers, stiff drinks…’
‘And the third?’
‘Sex,’ Moteé said simply.
Dormé’s eyes widened. She had never considered such an activity in this manner, but was most eager to learn Moteé’s secrets.
Moteé lead the way, leading her to an entertainment club. They were off duty, but they had lied to their superior handmaidens saying they were going to Moteé’s relative’s hotels, but little did Dormé know the night would end up there as Moteé had planned.
Dormé was fifteen at the time and for many nights closely observed Moteé as she flirted with confidence and ease, her biting wit and slightly allusive persona turned many eyes her way. Soon Dormé learnt her ways and was able to snag men without Moteé’s help. The girls escaped the rigours of handmaiden training as often as they could, though the variety and interest was higher on Coruscant than on Naboo. And many afternoons were spent chatting about their sexual escapades.
Officers were the easiest and most willing prey, as the handmaidens and officers chose a lifestyle which did not lend to attachments and none were expected.
This evening was no different. Dormé found herself in the officers’ lounge were she ordered the stiffest drink possible that was not the liquor Vader and she favoured. But it was enough to take some of the edge off and that was all that mattered. She had far too much free time on her hands without the duties she performed for Vader. A few pathetic oafs attempted to ‘buy her a drink’ though she clearly already had one.
It was not long before her eyes settled on her intended victim, a tech officer with sandy hair and muscular arms. She chatted him up with ease only to find that her prey was too dim-witted to realise she was trying to pick him up. He kept going on about his job, not realising she did not I>care /i> about it and she quickly lost interest in him. It was not worth her time.
However, in her boredom as she glanced around the lounge, she spotted Piett sitting alone, nursing a drink. Her eyes lit up at the prospect, knowing he would do anything she pleased. Confident, it did not take her long at all to get her point across and soon they headed back to her quarters.
The longest week of Dormé’s life went by. Plagued with memories of the tryst with Vader and desperately missing his friendship, she tried her best to preoccupy herself with Lieutenant Piett. Unfortunately, this led to him becoming attached to her which was something she had not intended nor wished for. His little obsession with her was cute and she did not take it seriously at first. However, unlike the other obsessed men whom she had lured into her sordid net, she could not escape him. Usually officers would be called away on missions or the handmaidens would leave with the senator, but here on this ship, there was nowhere to go. As much as duty would allow, Piett seemed to follow her everywhere so as to dote on her and do anything at her bidding. Dormé would not send him away unless he annoyed her too much for she had to admit she did enjoy the attention and the jealous looks from a few other female officers.
When Dormé received news that she was to be transferred to another ship, it did not fill her with relief.
‘I will put in for a transfer as well so we can always be together,’ Firmus assured her, not wanting to be parted from her. ‘Milady, do not take this the wrong way, but if you should be so inclined to, I want nothing more than to be your loving husband—what I mean is—’
But Dormé was unable to hear this protestation of love, for she was consumed with the impersonal order which came directly from Vader. This transfer had nothing to do with her skills being needed elsewhere. She knew he wanted her to leave. It tore her apart and without a word to Piett, she left him, escaping to her quarters where she could cry freely without witnesses.
Yet Vader would not leave her alone. He came to her in her dreams. Sometimes she would even awaken in the middle of the night, thinking she had heard his breathing or his footsteps outside her door. Waking to find it wasn’t so, she cursed herself for wishing it despite the guilt it incurred. She knew even with a transfer that she would never escape Vader. And he would never be there outside her door, not after what she had done.
The more she struggled in her waking hours not to think about him, the more her thoughts diverted to him like an addictive toxin seeping into her veins. What little time of consummated desire she indulged in only enticed her more. But what’s more, she mourned that the years spent deepening their friendship had been in vain. It was her fault for giving in and she would pay for her mistake by never being able to set her eyes on him ever again
Though it was hard to forget her betrayal to her former mistress, she was also unable to forget how carefree, passionate, and, dare she say, happy Vader had been during their little tryst. Despite it all, she could not wish it had not happened. After everything, she had not dared to hope that he could possibly return her growing affections, which she had just recently identified.
She could not, however, feel in any way sympathetic or compassionate for Lieutenant Piett. He was so inferior to everything she admired in Vader. But he was there when she needed him. She prevented the traitor Saché from killing her, he was not allusive about his pathetic feelings for her. He was not forbidden.
But forbidden love is the most romantic... Dormé inwardly sighed as she resumed packing her belongings. She could not blame Anakin for transferring her to another vessel and she desperately wished it didn't have to end like this...
Wouldn't she want him to be happy?
Then Dormé's thoughts darkened as she thrust the last of her belongings in her suitcase. Padmé never understood him... She ignored his darker side. She would not have supported this Empire. She would not have supported him...
Snapping the case shut, she stood upright, blinking back tears.
As she moved to palm the door open and get a droid to take care of her suitcase so she would not have to carry it all the way to the transport, she could have sworn she heard his footsteps. Her heart beat faster in her chest, though she mentally chided herself for getting her hopes up. He had ordered the damned transfer. There was no way it was him unless it was merely for a farewell.
She momentarily paused, tossing her hair behind her shoulders as she decided to forgo the droid and haul the suitcase herself, hoping the strain and pains in her neck and shoulder from the weight would cause enough pain to divert her thoughts from Vader.
Despite her best efforts, even the strain from the suitcase was not enough to divert her thoughts as intended. It was slowing her down as well since she had to pause quite a few times for it was just too heavy and her arms were not strong enough to carry it so far.
A few officers stopped to ask if she needed help, which to anyone was quite obvious, but she curtly replied that she was fine. Dormé did not want to talk to anyone. She did not want to see anyone.
Three-quarters of the way to the hanger, she set down the suitcase once more and frustrated, gave in to her tears. She wanted to hate Vader, so she would not ache for him as much as she did. No matter how he acted around others, what some viewed as 'crimes' committed by him in his crusade for peace, he was still so noble in her eyes that it shamed her to think of how she had inadvertently seduced him into betraying the memory of her former mistress. The woman who never really knew him, she reminded herself, though it was increasingly little comfort to her.
Guilt was an easier emotion to deal with than regret. Guilt was over something consciously done, that one had control over, but regret was over things that were out of one's control, that one did not have the power to prevent or change. And right now, the regret was winning, for she was unable to revoke the transferral and would be leaving her dearest friend and master behind to face whatever was to come...alone. This thought caused her body to shake from her quiet weeping.
on to chapter five
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