Thread: Will (Gwendolyn)

There was a saying I am honored, humbled, even ... Absolute power corrupts absolutely. I will bring forth peace and prosperity for all ... Was it true? In the wake of what turned out to be a tragically avoidable massacre, we will emerge stronger than ever ... Was it really impossible for a single person to rule justly? With the Imperial Senate dissolved, we shall wash our hands of it's corruption and inefficiency ... Could such power be safely vested in one former Senator? Together we shall embark on a new era-- the era of the first Galactic Empire ... Was this no more than a glorified dictatorship? I promise, I will not lead you astray ... Did promises mean anything anymore? Such questions and more were ample food for thought, but none dared to speak out loud. Padme Amidala was named Empress in a smothering silence. There was scarcely a heavy breath amongst the entire audience. When at last the coronation was complete, the applause was at first hesitant, as though her constituents were unsure whether or not such a thing would be acceptable - but eventually the applause turned thunderous and the cheers roaring. In such elation it was easy to forget those hard-hitting questions. It was easy to celebrate and revere the Empress' success, to trust her and feel hopeful despite the carnage of the past several days. A new era, indeed. And while Empress Amidala may have overwhelming support on Coruscant, that wasn't enough for her. In the next few weeks she would campaign nonstop until she had the unanimous 'vote' of the most vital sectors in the Imperial Core Illodia, Alderaan, Corellia, Brentaal IV, and Humbarine, which would be the most difficult to win over of all and a brief stop in her home world of Naboo, though unnecessary and out of the way, would be much refreshing as well. As if the galaxy had any choice but to accept her anyway. That was true, but Padme knew that if she could give speeches, organize parades or throw banquets, if she could only capture their ear for a moment or two, that she'd have them hooked. That was how politics worked. You had to gain the people's support, but you had to make them think that it was their idea. Padme was confident. It was easy to love her. Her physical beauty alone lent itself well to adoration, even worship. That coupled with her intelligence, her charm, her grace and strength and humility made her the perfect candidate in every sense. One gentle smile, one squeeze of the shoulder, one warm, inviting glance was all it ever took to draw them in. Her way with words took care of the rest. It came naturally to her, the words pouring from her lips like a deadly lullaby which lulled her subjects into a coma of obedience and faithfulness whether they liked it or not. And there was none so obedient and faithful than her dear husband. Sweet Anakin. He would do anything she asked and more. She could look into his eyes and make the most horrific requests and know that he would carry out every abominidable task without question or complaint though she could see in his own eyes how he broke a little bit each time. Padme would always be there when he came crawling back. And every time she would pick up the shattered pieces and recast them into something sturdier and more menacing than before. The Anakin she had met all those years ago on Tatooine was long gone, and in his place was a new man of Padme's own creation, a strong and dutiful solider molded from the pliable clay of death and chaos and destruction. Padme heard the door swish open. She saw Anakin's reflection in the corner of her mirror, his tall, broad body lingering near the door like an uncertain boy half his age. She grew a little tired of it sometimes, when he was like this. As if she couldn't sense his complacency, his sadness and confusion which mostly boiled down to a rather dark and primitive fury. But she said nothing, made no biting remark or insult, barked no order at him. She waited until he spoke first. When he did, Padme, perched on a comfortable chair in front of vanity, turned to face him. She offered him a kind, but knowing, smile. So it would be this game again. He too tired, and she having to coax him into it, to draw him forth sometimes sweetly, sometimes brutally from his denial and into the throes of undeniable passion. Try as he might, there was no escaping it - and perhaps even worse, there was no escape from the fact that he always, always loved every second of it. Tired? she repeated, as she stood up to meet him at the foot of the bed. The silky ivory fabric of her night gown pooled at her feet, and draped over her body loosely, yet was just sheer enough to reveal a tease of the curves and softness that lay beneath. With her hair freed from elaborate the elaborate headdresses of the day, and laying in relaxed curls across her shoulders, she looked almost like a goddess. Anakin, I can't feel anything but thrilled... I'd thought-- I'd hoped that you would feel the same. Today was a monumental event, a true milestone for the future of the galaxy. She reached up and cupped his cheek in her small hand and turned his head, forcing him to look at her directly. While I'm sure being on your feet all afternoon was tiring , and there it was, the sting that cut through the honey of her voice to strip his defenses, the day is not quite over yet. Padme smiled a little, again, and slipped her hand to the nape of his neck, where slender fingers twisted in sandy brown hair and pulled, hard, yanking his head back. She kissed the exposed column of his throat, almost affectionately, and then whispered into his ear, You forget sleep, especially in my bed , is a luxury that you must earn. She released his hair and ran her hand down his chest now, where she could feel the rapid thud of his heart, which was already beginning to race. She smirked. Tell me, Anakin, just how tired are you? What might you be willing to do for the pleasure of sleeping beside me?