Title: Cold Mountain

Summary: One year after the formation of the Empire, Vader has a prophetic dream... very similar to the ones he had of Padme dying in childbirth.

Explanation: Inspired by Natalie Portman's appearance in 'Cold Mountain'.

A/N: If anyone can give me a better title, I'll change it.

Chapter 1

He could hear her screams. He could hear the pain and fear in her voice. But he could not see; his vision was obscured.

Her cries were joined by the wails of an infant. It was a sound of helplessness, and his whole being ached to respond... but he could not. The darkness that clouded his vision lay heavy on his limbs; he could not move.

She screamed again, wordlessly. And yet words formed within his mind,

Ani, help me!

Darth Vader jolted awake, the desperate cry ringing in his ears. It had been a year since he assumed the mantle of Sith Lord; it had been several nights since his last nightmare.

But this dream did not have the same aspect as his nightmares. No, this was more like...

More like his dreams from before.

Dreams of his mother's pain; dreams of her death.

But she was dead; his Master had told him so. It seems, in your anger, you killed her.

The part of his being that belonged to her was also dead. He reached once more for the place in his mind, in his heart, that had been their Bond – cursing himself even as he did so for his weakness, but he could not bear to give her part over to the darkness, not his angel – expecting only the silence, the nothingness.

But that was not what he found.

He felt a pulse, a stirring – a hope. She is alive. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to think her name. My Padme is alive.

She was far away; a galaxy away. But that did not matter to Vader. He was filled with elation. I will find her. No matter what.

He did not allow his thoughts to dwell on his dream, to speculate what it could mean.

Reaching out, his fingers lit on the control panel within the hyperbaric chamber. With deft motions that belied the size and bulk of his mechanical arms, he called a holographic galaxy into existence around him.

Keeping his fingers on the controls, he reached out to the pulse that offered him hope. Slipping into meditation, he let the Force guide his keystrokes as he worked to pinpoint his angel.

Vader strode down a dirty, dingy street on a dirty, dingy planet.

Padme's cries had haunted him as the Exactor made its way to Ord Mantell.

Now he travelled alone, following the swirling current of the Force.

Vader could never be considered inconspicuous. There was no way for him to 'blend in'. So instead, he fell back on a trick he had learned as a Jedi Padawan. Drawing the Force around himself, he simply deflected the attentions of all he encountered. Passers-by were conscious of a tall, dark being. But their minds did not register that it was Darth Vader who passed. Instead, their consciousnesses filled in a more comfortable, and less remarkable, image.

It did not occur to him that he could have travelled without cloaking his presence, for who would dare to question Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith and Right Hand of the Emperor?

Vader was still some distance from the glowing presence of his Angel when he was bombarded by emotions. Anxiety and fear dominated. For a moment, he thought they were his. Then he realised – Padme!

Breaking into a run, he sped towards his destination.

He was passing through what appeared to be slums. However, as far as he could tell, the whole city was composed of slums.

A thought occurred to him on his purpose-filled dash, but it was one that he did not have time to consider. What in the galaxy is Padme doing in a place like this?

Somewhere, on the edge of his consciousness, he sensed emotions from another being, growing stronger as he approached. But he had no time to consider this as he charged onwards.

Finally, he reached a stooped old shack. Padme is here, he knew with certainty. Pain had joined the emotions he felt from her.

The shack had its back to him, its shoulders slumped, as if desperately grasping at the percieved protection of defenselessness. Padme's presence he could sense at the front of the house. His auditory sensors were now picking up the sound of Padme's voice, raised in cries of pain, pleading. He could almost hear another noise, too; another voice.

I am coming.

There was a door, deadlocked, stiff-hinged and double-bolted. It flew inwards at his thought, giving way with a cleaving of wood and a sundering of metal. Some deep, cautious part of him cried warning, and he deadened the complaining sounds with the Force.

The occupants of the single-room shanty paid no heed to his dramatic entrance. Their attention was otherwise engaged.

Padme was pressed onto the bed that, along with a heating unit, served to furnish the room. Above her, leaning his weight on her roughly, was an unkempt man dressed in a mockery of a military uniform. Padme's voice was shrill with pain, as the man's teeth tore into the soft skin of her shoulder.

Almost simultaneous to Vader's entrance, the 'front' door slammed open. In swaggered a second man, his harsh voice calling out, "C'mon Sarge, leave some for us!" Spotting Vader, he froze in his tracks. Before he had time for any sort of reaction, he was dead, a crimson blade fountaining through his back. Padme's assailant met an identical fate, flung violently from his conquest by an invisible hand. He hit the wall with an audible and sickening crunch.

Padme's mind was screaming, and Vader could hear it. One loud thought dominated all: LEIA!! The second noise now came into focus – the wails of a clearly unhappy infant.

In a stride, Vader was through the gaping doorway, standing between the roof overhang and the rectangle of dirt that claimed itself a patio. A baby lay on the ground a short distance away, unswaddled. The third, and apparently final man of the ruffians stood hesitantly over the child, confusion and compassion in his eyes.

A tug of the Force, and the infant was in Vader's arms. Within an instant, he knew, This is my child. He stared down at the sweet, innocent face, red from crying, but now calm as Leia lay cradled in his arms.

The man – a mere boy, really – stared. He was wide-eyed and open-mouthed, petrified by the sight of Vader's ominous, armour-clad figure. And Vader found that, somehow, he could not kill the youth. Not with the same hands that nursed his daughter.

Footsteps announced Padme's appearance at his side. Her body thrummed with rage as she stepped through the doorway, blaster clutched in her hand. Vader felt her anger spike as her gaze fell on the mock militant.

"He is yours," he told her, with the air of one giving a gift.

A swift glance at Vader reassured Padme that Leia was out of the way. Then she returned her glare full-force to the hapless, still-paralysed boy. Slowly, with the air of one claiming what they are due, she raised the blaster, sighted along its muzzle, and fired.

A single, clean shot to the head, and he fell. He paid the price for aligning himself with the unscrupulous.

Vader's full attention was focussed on his new-found daughter. He stared at her, in awe of the tiny beauty that snuggled against him. But something was not right.

He was no healer, but even he could sense that the child was unwell. He washed bright waves of the Force over his daughter. It did little to combat the disease, but it warmed and soothed her.

"She's ill."

Vader looked up from the miracle in his embrace. His Angel was there before him, alive when he had thought her dead. Bruises were already forming, stark against her pale skin. Blood oozed from her gashed forehead and ravaged shoulder. Hair and clothes alike were dishevelled, her skirt – donned in an attempt at camouflage – twisted and caught up. She stared at him with desperation and distrust in her gaze.

"Did they... did he...?" A gesture at the hut sufficed to finish his question. After a second's hesitation, she shook her head, taking a moment to feel gratitude. If he hadn't come when he did, she shuddered to think what would have happened.

"Thank you," she murmured with a shudder.

But he was still a Sith.

She held her hands out, wordlessly requesting her daughter's return. Vader hesitated visibly, then stepped minutely closer. Leia fussed as she was shifted between her parents, but a soft stroke of her dark downy hair, and a soothing thought from her father, was all that was required to settle her.

Padme looked up, staring at the dark visor before her eyes. She and Vader were standing close, Leia nestled between them. Vader was absorbed by Leia, seemingly unable to tear his gaze from her, his huge gloved hand still cradling her tiny head.

"Come with me." When Vader finally spoke, his voice was as soft as his vocabulator would allow. The tone of his voice was ambiguous – somewhere, Padme thought, between a request and an order. With perhaps a touch of hope. She wavered – he had saved her, had once love her... the image of her Ani's joyous face at the news of impending fatherhood leapt to her mind – but he was still a Sith.

"My ship has the medical facilities that you and Leia both need." Leia's name rolled from his tongue beautifully. Vader felt as though he caressed the syllables as he spoke them. It was perfect, he decided, for the Little Angel.

It was Leia who decided Padme. She looked down at her daughter, frail and helpless, and knew that she would do anything to get Leia the medical attention she needed.

And here he was, desperate to give it to her.

Silently, she nodded, eyes still fixed on the living porcelain of her daughter's dozing face.

Vader's strong, leather-clad arms swept her up. She startled at his touch. He spoke as gently as he could manage. "We will travel faster this way."