Perchance To Dream
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I own this story. No profit is being made, sadly.
Summary: Anakin Skywalker is dead; all that remains is Darth Vader. But is that really true?
A/N: My first attempt at writing Star Wars fiction. I'm not sure how it's going to come out, but I thought I'd give it a shot.:)
The first thing he notices is the cold.
It seeps through the floor, through the walls and is ever present in the air of the dark room.
He hates the cold.
Padme had been the first person to notice it.
You come from a warm planet Ani. A bit too warm for my tastes.
The warmth from that memory relaxes him a bit, even against the chill.
It's been years since he's last seen her, since he's begun his training.
Frowning, he struggles to sit up and opens blue eyes in the darkness of the room.
Where am I?
He finds it odd that he's been laying awake for at least five minutes and this is the first time that question's crossed his mind.
A bit of fear enters his mind as he tries to get a sense of his surroundings using the Force.
He gets absolutely nothing.
Now that is reason to worry.
Breathing deeply, he tries to stand; only to realise that his legs feel unnaturally heavy and his head is slowly stating to spin. Belatedly, he notices that there's a faint medicinal smell in the room.
Don't panic. Master Obi Wan says I panic too much.
The last thing he remembers is laughing at something his Master said... then this.
He's struggling to remember more, fighting against the drugs in the air when he hears something.
Sitting very still, he tries to concentrate.
He wants to get to his feet, to meet whatever is headed in his direction the way a Jedi should; on his feet, not lying on the floor.
But he can't move.
A door hisses open, directly in front of him and he shuts his eyes against the harsh glare of the light from outside.
There's a tense momment during which nothing happens.
Then he hears a noise he knows, but for the life of him he can't figure out what it is or where he's heard it before.
He winces at how weak he sounds and at how he can't help but shiver. The cold has only increased since the door opened.
There's a figure standing in the doorway. It's tall and imposing and he doesn't like the way things are going.
Where's Obi Wan?
The figure speaks, galvanising him where he is on the floor.
He knows that voice. It's his voice.
He also places the sound.
It's breathing. His breathing. Loud and artificial sounding, but still his.
His heart rate increases. How does he know these things?
The figure in the doorway holds out a hand to him.
Unsure, he struggles to get to it.
When he clasps the hand, he starts screaming, and doesn't stop for quite some time.
Ok, that was the first chapter. Let me know what you think, more should be on the way soon. Constructive criticism is always welcome; flames are not.