not a ship!
vader and tarkin’s dynamic, as wholesome or as unwholesome as you’d want. maybe how tarkin views vader. does he know vader’s past? or no? i always thought their relationship could be explored, has a lot of unanswered questions.
(These events take place directly after Darth Vader comic #18 “Bad Ground”)
Trophy (1400 words)
“I did not ask you to be here,” Vader snarled, suddenly.
“And good morning to you,” Wilhuff said, dryly, not looking up from his datapad.
Vader lay prone on the flat medical platform in a room that looked more like a droid-builder’s workshop than a place for care and healing. He had been unconscious for hours. His hard armor was unscathed, but the soft parts were scorched and ripped. Burns insulted his already tortured skin and Wilhuff wondered if there was any part of him that wasn’t scarred in some way or another. Wilhuff knew Vader had been through an ordeal to become what he was today, but out of respect he refused to let his imagination wander too far.
He wondered if Vader would order him to leave the room. Technically, he had no authority over the Grand Moff, but Wilhuff would leave if he wished it.
“Are you here to gloat?” Vader rumbled.
Wilhuff looked up from his datapad. The reflective surfaces of Vader’s dark lenses continued to stare up at the ceiling, at nothing in particular.
“I am here because I wish to be. Nothing more.”
It wasn’t a proper answer, but truth be told, Wilhuff had just hunted Darth Vader across an unforgiving savanna for the last thirty-six hours and he was exhausted. He also had not left that planet unscathed and the very idea that he would “gloat” after the ordeal was insulting.
Vader let out a deep, growling noise, but he did not argue.
Wilhuff returned to his datapad, but his thoughts remained on Chandar’s Folly and Vader’s chosen hunting ground. Wilhuff loved a good hunt, it was in his blood after all, but why did Vader insist he be the prey?
It plagued Wilhuff. It was all he could think on their flight back to Civilization.
“You have questions,” Vader observed in his irritatingly vague way.
“You know I do.”
With the flick of the Dark Lord’s hand, all the droids shut down at once. The lights dimmed. The machines went eerily quiet, even Wilhuff’s datapad flickered and went dark.
“Ask.”
This was…unexpected. Neither Vader nor Wilhuff were keen on conversation. Not with others, not with each other. Wilhuff, of course, knew the art of political relations and could speak a great deal without saying much, while Vader has the advantage of using “silent looming” as his form of communication. They got along so well because neither asked much of each other in way of conversation. Wilhuff would not go as far as to say they were friends, but the trust was there, however precarious it was at times.
This offer to simply “ask” what was on Wilhuff’s mind was not to be taken lightly, and it was a dangerous offer to be sure. He resisted asking the obvious, instead plucking the words carefully and laying them out as an offering rather than a demand.
“Is this the last time you will ask this of me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“You are relieved?” The question was ornery, Wilhuff could tell in Vader’s tone. For all his majesty and power, that dry wit and mischievous undertones could never be quelled. Wilhuff almost pictured the wry smile behind that mask, but he quickly shoved the thought aside, not trusting that Vader does not skim his thoughts from time to time.
Wilhuff scoffed, and relaxed in his chair. “Of course, I am relieved. Do you think I have the time or energy to chase you around planets all day? I am a busy man as I imagine you are. We have no time for games.”
“Agreed,” Vader replied and he slowly sat up. He looked down at his arms and his legs, meat and metal still exposed and shining with bacta gel. “These droids are not sufficient for my repairs.”
“We are almost home,” Wilhuff said, frowning a little at the familiarity of the statement.
“Indeed.”
“When you were out there,” Wilhuff asked, carefully, “did you find what you were looking for?”
Darth Vader did not look up, still examining his own injuries. “Yes.”
Wilhuff couldn’t imagine what answers Vader found on that Hellish planet. The hunt had been successful technically, but it came with a heavy price.
Wilhuff’s entire hunting party had been killed and it was a long and bloody ordeal. For much of the hunt, it seemed Vader was hunting them as much as eluding them. In the end, Wilhuff managed to lure Vader into a trap resulting in electrocution by lightning storm, but Wilhuff felt no pleasure at the end of the hunt as he usually would. Granted, it was flattering that Vader trusted him to be the predator in this scenario, but it bothered Wilhuff that he was put in a position to bring about Vader’s defeat.
“I was not defeated,” Vader said, suddenly.
“I know.” It was technically true, Wilhuff supposed. As Wilhuff was calling the shuttle to pick them up, Vader had reached out and Force-choked him, reminding him that even when faced with defeat, Vader is more powerful than Wilhuff could possibly imagine. Perhaps Vader would have killed him then, but the Sith Lord had passed out and Wilhuff lay beside him, gasping for breath, without an answer.
“Regardless,” Wilhuff continued. “I still am not pleased with the damage we both sustained out of this.”
Vader turned to look at Wilhuff, but his helmet tilted ever so slightly. He was examining the phantom bruises on Wilhuff’s neck, no doubt.
“I will live,” Wilhuff said, almost touched that Vader had even acknowledged it.
“I know.”
Impossible man, Wilhuff thought.
Vader’s rhythmic breathing hitched and he wondered if Vader had snorted a laugh. His thoughts flashed to Anakin again, a brief cheeky smirk he used to get when he’d say something that annoyed the ambitious Captain Tarkin.
“Care to explain to me what you were looking for out there?” Wilhuff asked.
“Where is the Valanth skin?” Vader asked, blatantly ignoring the question.
Ah, the Valanth skin. When Vader had lost his cape to the elements of Chandar’s Folly he took down the most ruthless creature on the planet, using its bat-like wings for both tactical camouflage, and for dramatic effect. The latter had worked on Wilhuff’s team, who had trembled at the sight of it. Wilhuff recalled smiling. Always with the theatrics. Some things never changed.
“I am keeping it for now. I will tan it, treat it, and return it to you when I am sure it will not rot away.”
“That is unnecesssary,” Vader said.
“It’s your trophy, and a fine one. It deserves to be preserved.”
“To commemorate my defeat?” Vader’s tone turned sharp.
“You know you were not defeated, my lord,” Wilhuff replied, detecting the test immediately.
“Indeed.”
Impossible man, indeed, Wilhuff thought again. “Now I believe you are gloating.”
Vader adjusted his gloves and pulled down some of his soft armor to cover his skin.
Wilhuff wanted to ask after his injuries. He wanted to know who or what did this to him. And there was a small kernel of anger knowing that it was most likely those injuries that killed his friend from the Clone Wars and turned him into this.
Wilhuff wasn’t blind. The timing of Anakin’s death and Vader’s rise were too perfect, and Palpatine was too proud of his new Sith Lord, his trophy, to bother hiding his lack of remorse of losing Anakin. Wilhuff had grieved privately. It was safer this way.
“You have another question,” Vader challenged.
Wilhuff knew better than to take the bait.
“I will always have questions,” Wilhuff said, vaguely, but he made a point to look at Vader, the man he once called his friend, “but I will only say it was an honor to hunt you, Lord Vader.”
Vader stared at Wilhuff silently for a long moment, and it almost seemed like the Sith Lord was wrestling with something himself.
“It was a pleasure defeating you,” Vader said.
Ah, there was that “cheek” again. He could almost detect that sarcastic smirk behind that mask, reminded Wilhuff of long hours of recon with the impetuous young General Skywalker.
Some things never change.
Thank you so much for your prompt, anon! If you havent read this comic I highly recommend it, it is one of my all-time favorites.