A/N: You really shouldn't encourage me >> You still have the chance to turn back now. In fact, for your mental health and stability, it might be for the best...
No one but a woman can help a man when he is in trouble of the heart, and he had no one to comfort him. —Stoker's Dracula
In her dreams, Dormé pictured herself robed in dark purple, the richest fabrics, and a humble, yet elegant diadem on her head. Her arm linked with the noble Dark Lord, they stood on a platform, facing their subjects. When Dormé turned to look at Vader, he wore no mask, his face was no longer scarred; it was the man she always saw when she looked into his eyes...
Stirring, she slowly awoke. When her eyes fluttered open, she was unprepared for the sighte before her and automatically cringed. She would have shrunk away had his artificial arm not been clamped vice-like around her torso.
Oh great gods!
Dormé could not believe things had gotten so out of hand the night before. Her near-death experience with Lady Saché aiming a knife at her throat and Vader's return had left her feeling so alive and he, oh he...
Had she not dreamt of this? Was this not what she wanted more than anything?
Memories of the previous night flooded her thoughts. The whole thing started out so sweet, she thought, but things got out of control. She had not intended—
She had to leave.
Tears came to her eyes at how she had so maliciously betrayed her mistress's memory...how she had seduced Padmé's husband... Oh she had not meant to! She had only wanted to help! There were moments last night when she felt he was not despairing, that she had helped in some way, but-- She covered her mouth as tears came to her eyes.
Forgive me! Padmé, forgive me!
‘Padmé…’ the Sith Lord murmured as he moved to hold her closer.
Her name, Dormé thought despairingly. He had just been using her as a replacement for her. Had he been so lost in the past last night that he thought she was Padmé?
Poor Anakin! she thought desperately. This is all my fault!
Furrowing his brow in concern, he finally opened his eyes slowly as he spoke in sleepy tones of curiosity. ‘What's wrong?’
Her dark eyes met his and she cursed herself for the returning desire. It was evident in his eyes that he had not expected to wake next to her. When he asked her what was wrong, she could not respond. Everything. Everything is wrong! But once he drew away, she did as well, only to sit up and search for her discarded clothing.
Looking around the room it was all too evident how hasty the encounter had been and this added to her guilt that she should have been able to stop herself. Her former mistress had been the furthest thing from her mind and that was a betrayal all its own.
‘We shouldn’t have…done this,’ she heard him whisper.
As she swiftly drew her uniform on, she couldn’t honestly remember the last time she had thought of her, for ever since joining the Empire, thoughts of her filtered away until all that remained was her loyalties to Vader.
‘I'm sorry,’ she whispered, her throat catching from tears that came to her eyes, but she would not shed. Looking back at him, she thought, This is all my fault. Oh Anakin, please forgive me...
He seemed to be studying her in an almost shy fashion. She was unaware that he thought she looked so lovely with her hair cascading past her shoulders and eyes the colour of amber…that Dormé was so much like her and yet not like her at all. But even without Force sensitivity, she could see his sorrow, though she assumed it was solely because of her.
‘I'm sorry too...’ he finally said, his voice heavy with shame in addition to his grief.
At his words, she had to turn away and rush to the doorway, knowing if she stayed any longer, she would succumb to her tears.
In the hallway, she wrapped her arms securely around herself as she moved straight for her own quarters, not taking in any of the looks she received from other officers because she was too consumed with her own guilt. She decided she would have to make sure Vader was not around wherever she turned. To look at him would be to remind herself of her betrayal and to taunt her with the forbidden desire that would, doubtless, resurface. It could not happen again. She would not let it. Not to see that shame in his eyes…directed at her. She would not be the further cause of his pain.
Hastily with uniform partly undone and her long, dark hair tumbling down her back, Dormé flew to her quarters. She was about to palm the door open when an eager Lieutenant Piett approached, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, breathless from her flight.
He seemed to be studying her curiously, but at a loss for words. She figured he was wondering why at this hour of the morning she was only just returning to her quarters.
Dormé was not in a good mood and had little patience for him, though she masked it well.
‘I wanted to see if you were all right, milady, from yesterday’s attack…I had gone to the medical ward, but as you were not there, I decided—well, these are for you…’ he said, holding the bouquet towards her.
Confused at first, Dormé did not speak, but received the flowers. They were a specifically Naboo variety of perennials, she noted. She still felt his eyes on her as if awaiting her approval. ‘They’re beautiful. Thank you, Lieutenant.’
‘Firmus,’ he insisted.
‘Pardon?’ she asked, unsure what he meant having never heard that forename before.
‘You may call me Firmus, if it please you, milady.’
‘Firmus,’ she repeated, testing the name out with her accent. She turned back to palm the door open.
Firmus’s expression fell. ‘You hate them, don’t you?’ he asked forlornly.
She turned back around in the open doorway. ‘They’re lovely,’ she assured him sincerely.
As he smiled at her, she entered and closed the door behind her. She studied the bouquet, momentarily distracted from the memories of the night before, thoughts of which rushed back when she left the flowers on her small inn table.
For her breakfast, she retrieved a bottle of the intoxicating liquor both Vader and she had a weakness for.
‘Can I get you something to drink?’ he asked, moving to retrieve a bottle of the potent green liquor from the kitchen area.
Her hand slipped over his that clasped the bottle. 'Allow me,' she murmured, unsure of her voice, yet feeling right in doing so.
She had only taken a sip and yet, the memories would not cease to torment her.
‘It’s strong, but in moments like this some times it helps.’
His remark brought a mischievous smile to her face. He was quite unaware at how often she had served this to him and that she enjoyed it on occasion when no one was looking. Dormé had not ever considered that intake of alcohol to be against the handmaiden oaths like some of her fellow maidens did. She took a slow, but long sip, allowing the intoxicating contents to swirl down her throat. She drank half in that sip and set the half-empty glass on the counter. ‘I have to admit it has been awhile since I have drunk of this liquor,’ she murmured, her eyes darting from the glass to Vader once more.
‘I wasn't aware that we shared similar tastes. I'll have to keep that in mind in the future,’ he replied with a wry, yet amused smile.
But now this liquor was not helping in any way, despite its potency. She threw the bottle and it smashed against the wall. She watched the green contents run down the wall like tears. Turning away, she left it there for the droids to clean up later and went to shower.
Dormé had lost track of time, her thoughts dodging in and out of different tangents. Upon receiving the news of her mistress's death, she had become so withdrawn and unresponsive, overcome by despair.
Anakin—Vader—came to Naboo to give her life meaning once more. She would still be able to continue to serve her mistress through him.
Everything seemed to move at lightspeed. Before she knew it, the bags were packed and she was aboard his noble starship. Her heart raced in anticipation as one of the imperial officers showed her to her quarters. She curtsied to him and entered. Her own room! She had always shared private quarters with her fellow handmaidens, so this was an entirely new concept to her.
She began unpacking only to see, frowning slightly, that her wardrobe and drawers had way too much room for her meagre supply of apparel. Another officer stopped by to have her fitted for an imperial uniform and, after that was completed, they issued her a few pairs which filled a little more space. But before she had time to think much more on this, she received a message from Lord Vader.
Unfortunately, Dormé was not familiar with the large ship and had to ask for directions to Lord Vader's personal quarters.
One of the officer's was kind enough to show her the way, but he insisted Lord Vader was not to be bothered and that no one was allowed in that wing, not even the Emperor.
'Thank you,' she replied a bit curtly, though she did not reveal that he had personally requested her presence as it was not his business. She did take note, in the back of her mind, that it was forbidden for even Palpatine to enter.
The officer shook his head, muttering something about taking her life into her hands as he walked off swiftly in the other direction.
Unconcerned, Dormé proceeded cautiously through the 'forbidden' wing, wondering where the door panel was. Everything was so black and blue, it was hard to make out where one wall started and another ended. Then the flickering of some small red lights drew her attention and she meandered towards it.
The door slid open without her even touching the console, it gave her a bit of a start, but she entered without intimidation. Dormé stepped inside, barely having a chance to take in much of the elegant decor when he approached to greet her.
‘Lady Dormé, thank you for coming,’ he stated. Without the inhibiting mask, it was so clearly Anakin's voice that her insides gave a light flutter, though she was unable to register just why she reacted in that way.
Silently, she bowed to him in greeting before looking up to him. The lights played precariously around his form and at first, it was difficult to make out his features. But as she took a small step towards him, the grotesque features became clearer.
The vision before her was astonishing. Though Vader had confronted her once before on Naboo with his taller form towering over her (with a few inches added from the new limbs) and the large mask concealing his face from view, Dormé felt that standing before him now, unmasked and out of the protective suit, that he was even more of a domineering figure. The healing, deep scars on his face caused her to shrink back slightly, but she soon compensated for the initial shock as a sublime curiosity overtook her. Just how bad were the rest of his wounds and how they had come about were questions nagging her, urging her to remain still.
She unconsciously blushed, bowing her head in shame for having such a reaction to him. She had not anticipated that she would be able to see him without the protective suit and helmet, but now felt honoured that he would allow her to. When she raised her head to look back at him, her eyes filled with sorrow for him.
‘There is no need to be shamed for you are the not one who did this to me.’
At his words, she stopped rebuking herself for the reaction and she furrowed her brow, angry at the person, whomever was responsible. For someone to take a hand against the most gallant knight was an offence it hurt to fathom.
Dormé wanted nothing more than to take away all the pain he had suffered, for her, for their most sacred love that the Jedi Council refused to allow or acknowledge. How for so many months she had to hide the secret of their child because of the shame it would bring to Anakin.
She sighed softly.
‘I know you have many questions, of which I'd rather not answer, but I will do my best.’
She watched Vader closely as he moved about the quarters. Despite the atrocities committed against him, he was still able to hold himself up tall and walk with such confidence as he always exuded. It showed much for his character and, for that, she admired him all the more.
He bore his own troubles so bravely that her heart bled for him.
When he motioned for her to sit down, Dormé found a seat though she kept her eyes on him. She was about to object that certainly he did not have to speak about anything that she was so curious about. I wish I could comfort all you suffer from within. Will you let me be your friend and will you come to me for comfort if you need it? she thought desperately.
As she was changing into a fresh uniform, she couldn’t help but recall Padmé having to goad Anakin into talking to her, sometimes resorting to her ‘feminine wiles’ to get him to open up about anything. But that had never been the case with her. He opened up to her freely, speaking on the events of the past, even shedding tears in front of her, and lamenting the loss of his family.
Dormé knew the real Anakin. Padmé always ignored his darker tendencies, blamed them on stress. Dormé did not place blame anywhere except on herself. Anakin was free of it.
She resolved she would no longer be able to be in his noble presence anymore lest she give in to her desires and seduce him once more. But before setting about her duties, she could not resist stopping by his quarters to turn down his bed and tidy up one last time. But to her shock and horror:
ACCESS DENIED flashed blaringly at her, lit in an uncompromising red.
‘No, no…’ she hissed at the panel, swiping her hand again. After the sixth try, she gave in to the truth and sullenly went about her daily security detail.
on to chapter four
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