Title: Shadowed Reflection
Category: Alternate universe, vignette

Summary: The galaxy falls under a different kind of darkness. Will hope survive?

Author's Note: Star Wars and associated characters, as always, aren't mine. Feedback is highly appreciated.

Jedi Master Luke Skywalker stumbled as rough hands pushed him forward. He regained his balance, clenching his cuffed hands together as he fixed baleful eyes on the figure before him. The broad-shouldered, dark-clothed man stood at the very edge of the stark-walled chamber, his back to the room as he stared through a wide portal into the space surrounding the ship.

The gloved hands from behind pushed Luke downwards, onto his knees. He went unwillingly, almost sprawling to the floor with the force of the pressure in the end. Pain, crimson and sparkling, flared as his knees hit the floor, but he drew a deep breath and kept his face still.

The Force would have helped him to bear the pain, once. But his faith in that mythical energy field that promised so much and delivered so little had floundered of late, and trust refused to come.

His faith in many things had floundered, in the harshly lit torture chambers with their gleaming silver instruments and their ceaseless daylight. Never night, just day, burning his mind and his eyes and his heart…

The man standing before the viewing portal was the night of this place. The endless days surely existed to counter his darkness, so great was it. Darkness that spread from his soul, and smothered so many good things.

So many…

Tears pricked suddenly in Luke's eyes, clean and hot. He blinked to clear them, and forced a wavering measure of calm onto himself. Soon. Soon it would all be over. Just a little longer…

"Skywalker, Skywalker, Skywalker." The voice came from the man by the window, and it was suave, lazy. Full of weary condescension, as though rebuking a wayward pet. Hate whispered within Luke, a primal response – but it was cold, not hot. He'd gone beyond hot long ago. Cold was so much easier to maintain. He was too weary to fight the hatred anymore, and so let it flow. It didn't matter now. Nothing mattered, save one thing: that he live long enough to succeed in his task.

Behind his back, Luke's hands came together. He rubbed the hard nail of his right hand with his left, and was reassured. Clenching his cuffed hands, he set his eyes ahead.

The man turned. His dark hair was touched with grey, and his hazel eyes matched his tone too perfectly for the expression within them to be real. He was a man of many faces, this one. And every single one of them was a lie.

Luke gazed back with exhausted loathing, and the man smiled. It was a half-smile, near to a smirk; indolent and cocky. It chilled Luke, knowing as he did what lay beneath.

The man lifted his hands, spreading them wide. "Welcome to my Imperium, Luke Skywalker," Emperor Han Solo said, and the smile twisted. "Such a pleasure to have you here."

Luke looked at the other man, and said nothing.

No one knew where Han Solo had come from before he joined the Imperial Academy on Carida. A thousand wild rumours abounded: that he was the result of genetic experimentation during the Clone Wars, that he was Palpatine's illegitimate son, and, most implausibly of all, that he was the product of an illicit affair between two Jedi and that he had been cast aside in secret. But the young man from nowhere had aced every Imperial Academy course he was assigned, and graduated with higher honours than any other graduate in the history of the academy. Naturally this had attracted the interest of the Emperor, and Palpatine had watched closely as Solo accelerated up the ladder of ranks, earning promotion after promotion. He was a brilliant commander and tactician, earning frightening levels of devotion from those who served under him.

Eventually Solo, now the youngest man in the Empire ever appointed to admiral, had been summoned to Palpatine's throne room, and offered a role at the Emperor's side. To draw some of the young man's brilliance into Palpatine's own tactics, or to monitor carefully so potent a threat? No one knew, and in any case, it hardly mattered.

Solo had married a young woman who was one of Palpatine's most loyal supporters: Lady Leia Vader, daughter to the Sith Lord Darth Vader. It was whispered that she had been given to Solo as a reward, an incentive… Other reports hinted that the Admiral and the Lady had hatched a plot between them, and that marriage was the easiest way to cover their plans.

Then Luke had faced his father, and both Vader and Palpatine had perished. At the same time, the Death Star and a portion of the Imperial fleet had been destroyed by a large-scale offensive by the Rebellion. Strangely, most of the officers who opposed Fleet Commander Solo had died there also… and all of his supporters lived.

As such, there were few who were willing or brave enough to voice opposition when Solo subsequently declared himself Emperor. He released documents allegedly composed by Palpatine before the attack, affirming Solo as his successor. Rumours said that the papers were faked, that Solo had made a deal with the Rebels, using them to destroy all that stood in his way only to betray them by declaring himself Emperor.

These reports, Luke knew to be true. He'd warned the Alliance leaders – all long since dead – not to trust Solo, but they had paid little heed to the words of a young farmhand-turned-pilot-turned-Jedi. How they had all come to regret it, in the weeks and months following the battle.

For Solo had soon showed himself to be as ruthless as Palpatine. The Rebel Alliance was routed in a spectacular battle, and any sign of them returning was met with swift, brutal repatriation. Solo's first act as Emperor was to condemn all Force-users traitors for immediate execution – all Force-users, including Palpatine's legion of Dark Adepts. Solo set about constructing elaborate torture chambers solely intended for Force-users, and put them to good use.

Luke doubted that even ten percent of those tortured and murdered by Solo's Imperium were Force-sensitive. Such was the depth of Solo's hatred that it mattered little to him whether the accused could be proven to be users of the Force or not; most were innocents who had the misfortune of particularly good luck, or an exceptional ability, or a series of odd coincidences. Some were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

In other areas, Solo proved himself to be surprisingly fair. He reduced Palpatine's staggering taxes; executed many of the corrupt officers – those who did not support him – in grandiose public executions; hid the true extent of his merciless vendetta against Force-users and the Rebellion. The galaxy quickly fell under the sway of his charm, and the atrocities went unprotested. People prospered and were happy: the whispers of suffering did not affect them or their families. And so, as people do, they shifted their unease to the side, said What can I do?,and eventually forgot.

Some did not forget. Could not. Those accused of being Force-users, falsely or not; those that remained of what had once been the Rebel Alliance. They were slaughtered in their homes, their children stolen, their lives destroyed. But they fought on, in silent ways; and they died, in silent ways. One by one, they died… until only few remained.

And then only one.

Luke lifted his chin and watched as Solo walked closer, his stride long and full of confidence. "Well, Skywalker?" the man inquired easily. "Are you going to speak? I had no idea your kind were so impolite. What a way to treat your brother-in-law."

He mocked Luke, toyed with him. They both knew he was going to die.

Luke looked at the other man. "You are no brother of mine, Solo," he said. "Whomever you are married to."

Solo shook his head mournfully. "Such a way to talk about your own sister."

Luke lowered his head to glare at the filthy material of his combat trousers, splattered liberally with his own dark blood. "That woman," he said, lowly, "is no sister to me."

"Strange," Solo mused. "She expresses similar sentiments about you. Though far more strongly worded, as you can well imagine." He flicked his hand. "It is of no concern." He walked forward, sharp eyes examining Luke closely. "How the mighty have fallen," Solo said after a long moment; slowly, and with great relish. "Even the Jedi cannot hold up against our… special… cells forever."

Luke's lips twisted with a flickering of horror, the torture too recent to be far from his mind. Solo saw this, and smiled. "The woman Jedi," he said casually. "The redhead one – so fiery. What was her name?" He pretended to search his memory. "Ah yes. Mara Jade. Mara Jade Skywalker, I believe." He lifted his eyebrows, looking at Luke. "Of course… Your wife, yes?"

Luke turned his head away, and Solo laughed. "Oh, yes," he said. "How she screamed before she died. How she begged for mercy."

Luke lifted his head. "You lie," he spat. "Mara would never beg."

Solo smiled indulgently, delight in his eyes. "Such a beauty, she was," he said, and the smile shifted. "When we began, at least. When we were finished…"

Luke squeezed his eyes shut.

"That hair…." Solo continued idly. "A lovely colour. Red, but with strands of gold all through it." He paused, then spoke on. "Such a terrible shame, to see how it was in the end. Hanging so limply, dulled with blood…"

Luke couldn't help it; he choked on something that was somehow both a snarl of hate and a sob. He came to his feet, lunged for Solo. The man stepped smoothly to the side, looking on with interest as the stormtroopers fell on Luke, forcing them to the ground. Luke let them. His head was filled with the thought of Mara, Mara hurt so badly, Mara killed so gracelessly, her beautiful hair, stars, her hair…

Had she thought of him? Had she called for him, and hated him for not coming? Luke whispered her name, barely noticing as white-armoured hands placed blows with excruciating precision.

"Enough," Solo's voice drifted to him. The man sounded faintly impatient. "For Kriff's sake, enough. What the hell do you think he's going to do? The man's a wreck." The blows stopped, and the stormtroopers stepped away. Luke rolled over, coughed once. The floor was cold, so bitterly cold.

Polished boots stopped in front of him. "Look at you," Solo said from above. The false humour was gone from his voice now, and all that remained was naked contempt. "Stripped of your robes, you charlatan. And what are you beneath? Only a man." He pushed Luke's shoulder with the heel of a booted foot and Luke rolled limply onto his back, his cuffed arms twisting painfully beneath him. Solo looked down, dark gaze filled with loathing. "Jedi die, just like everyone else."

Luke coughed again. Force, his ribs hurt. He forced himself to a sitting position. "There is no death," he mumbled. "Only the Force."

"The…?" Solo began to laugh. "Skywalker," he said, after a moment. "Skywalker. Such conceit. So typical of your kind. That is why I take such pleasure in destroying you." His voice dropped lower, becoming silky. "I've killed many Force-users," he said. "Light and dark. And I can tell you, Skywalker, I've seen no Force. Just dead bodies, the same dead, ugly skin everyone else is reduced to in the end. Even your precious Mara."

He leaned down slightly. Luke tensed, but made himself relax. Not yet. "That arrogance is exactly why I have made it my purpose to wipe out the Force. It is my duty – my right – to make certain there are no more of your kind littering the galaxy. Fashioning yourself as better, stronger, more powerful than everyone else. Well, no mystical energy field controls me, Skywalker. I can't touch your Force, and yet I have power far beyond anything you could ever be capable of." He lifted a hand; gestured widely. "Just look at us now. I am the captor; you, the captive. So much for your 'chosen by the Force' ascendancy delusions."

"You are the arrogant one, Solo," Luke said quietly. "You may slaughter the Jedi, but you can never defeat the Force."

"Ha!" Solo straightened. "So you think. Without anyone to direct it, your religion will be obsolete." He paused, then said, "I have already succeeded, Skywalker. You are the last of your race. With you dead, the stranglehold of the Force on this galaxy will be forever ended. I have hunted you until none remain, and now I am victorious."

"I see," Luke said. He lifted his eyes to Solo's. "Is that why you killed you son?"

With surprising swiftness, Solo's booted foot lashed out and caught Luke in the chest. Luke flew backward. Solo strode across as Luke pulled himself up breathlessly, grabbing the front of Luke's tunic and hauling him roughly to his feet. He jerked Luke close. "My son's death," Solo said, very slowly and very clearly, "was an… unfortunate… event. Nothing else. And you… you filth. You put those lies into his head. He was no Force-user. You only told him that to turn him against me."

Luke met dark hazel eyes filled with a galaxy's worth of rage, and summoned a well of calm. "Jacen was a Jedi," he said. "A Jedi, and a good man." He let his voice harden. "You pursued him relentlessly, Solo. In word and deed, you pushed him to a place so dark, so filled with shame, that he saw only one way to escape. Your fault, not mine."

"No!" Solo sounded almost desperate now, and Luke saw something trembling within that. But then Solo's face became a snarl, and the flicker was gone. Solo jerked Luke closer. "No. And you will not speak of this again. You hear me?" He shook Luke again.

So it was. And as for the Lady Vader, now Empress Solo… it was her affair, Luke supposed. Did she keep her secret out of fear, or out of abhorrence? Both, perhaps. Or neither. She was a very cold woman, impossible to read or understand.

Not that Luke had ever felt any desire to do either.

That was all beyond him now. Immaterial. Luke could feel his focus shifting, narrowing even tighter than it already was. He had only one thing left, in his entire life. It filled him, eclipsing everything else. Growing stronger with every moment.

It was the most powerful purpose that could exist, though it existed in isolation. In the stricken darkness of Luke's current existence, his existence over the last days and months, it had been a light, a balm, a mainstay and a salvation.

For Solo was wrong about one thing, and that one thing was very important. Luke was not the last of the Jedi. A Force-strong young boy with red-gold hair and ice-blue eyes was out there somewhere, safely hidden. Luke had not seen him for two years: he would be a teenager now. But the early years of his life had been filled with as much love as his parents could bestow on him, and a great deal of Jedi training. Yet more information awaited him, when his guardians decided he was old enough. All the information Luke and Mara could collect – from their own combined experience, from the plethora of fractured Jedi databases they had worked so hard to recover.

That young boy was the hope and love and legacy of his gone-and-going parents, and ensuring his future was the reason for which Luke lived, the anchor to which he clung through the pain and the horror. It was his purpose in a universe that held nothing else.

And Luke Skywalker knew that his son could never be safe in a future where Han Solo existed.

Luke met hazel eyes, cold with a lifetime of lies and hate and bitterness. "Solo," he said, very softly, "I have something to tell you about the Force."

Solo's grip on Luke's tunic had been loosening; now it tightened. "Oh, yes?" the man said, eyes narrowing with intense interest. "And what is that?"

"It can never be destroyed," Luke whispered. "Because it is life, and life is hope. And hope never dies." Solo frowned, opening his mouth. Luke reached into the bright, swirling cleanness of the Force, and then twisted his hands in their binders. The binders came loose. Time slowed.

He heard the stormtroopers moving, and knew they would not be fast enough. He brought his hands before him, pulled back a layer of artificial skin on the thumb of his bionic hand. Beneath was a space; and in that space, fine white powder.

He'd thought long and hard on what poison to use. For Mara, for Jacen, for all the Force-users and the millions of innocents throughout the years; for them, he'd wanted to use something painful, something slow. He didn't care that he would suffer too; he was used to suffering. It had been his life for far too long, now.

But that was not the Jedi way, and Luke thought it oddly fitting that Solo's death be a lesson on compassion. So it was that his chosen poison was painless, and swift.

Luke smiled, and, raising his thumb to his lips, he gently blew. So little time had passed in actuality that Solo was only beginning to react to Luke freeing his hands from the binders. The powder wafted into his face, and he had time to look dumbfounded before dropping to the floor.

As darkness began to close over Luke's vision, he was surprised to find it in himself to feel pity for Solo. Such a wasted life, so much potential lost to darkness.

Han Solo could have been so much more, if only he'd learned to overcome the bitterness in his soul.

Then Luke felt himself begin to fall. His final thought was, I love you, Ben, to that red-haired boy with bright-blue eyes, his hope and his joy and his purpose.

And then Luke Skywalker surrendered himself to the Force, and left the brighter future he had given himself for to those who would live it.

END