Equally Cursed and Blessed

by Mina

29/.

"As I was saying - what a truly wonderful plan," the 'medic' hissed, shifting uncomfortably as the shuttle ramp-way settled to the docking bay floor with a dull thud. "Not only are we colluding with the enemy, but the enemy have got their fingers in their ears and don't want to hear what we've got to tell them. Fantastic - it's like we're dealing with children."

The 'pilot' just frowned at him, his forehead lined with tension. "Give them a chance," he whispered, as a group of guards dashed into view, their blasters trained on the two Imperials.

"To do what? Shoot us and ask questions later?"

The 'pilot' glanced at him exasperatedly, and looked aside to the far doorway. The 'medic' followed his companion's gaze - and sighed as Mon Mothma appeared, striding across the docking bay as fast as she could without endangering her dignity.

"I told you they'd listen," the 'pilot' whispered and the 'medic' resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Gentlemen!" Mothma said as she approached, her cheeks uncharacteristically flushed. "I hear you've been telling the Control staff that Lord Vader is on his way - would you care to elaborate?"

The 'medic' shared a glare with his companion. "Yes, Ma'am. That is correct - Lord Vader is indeed enroute." He paused, momentarily uncertain - was he really about to tell her about Skywalker's lineage? That was treason, at least, and punishable with death (if he were lucky.) He again glanced at his companion, still uncertain. But it was too late now, wasn't it? And Vader would arrive in-system at any moment.

"Gentlemen," Mothma snapped, for the first time sounding truly angry. "Explain - succinctly, if you please."

He swallowed, thickly. Too late to back out, now. "As I'm sure Battalion has reported, Skywalker's ship was destroyed during the retrieval of Captain Solo. Lord Vader is aware that something has happened to Skywalker, and is on his way here, assuming Luke is still with you."

Mothma narrowed her eyes. "How could he possibly know that? Did you contact him?"

The 'medic' shook his head. "No... Vader knows because he has a connection with Luke."

"Go on," she pressed.

The 'medic' wet his lips. Absently, he wondered when 'Skywalker' had become 'Luke' to him. "Madam, if you recall, you had expressed some... doubt ... about Luke's explanation for his escape from Executor..."

"To the point, gentlemen, if you please."

He narrowed his eyes in irritation - he'd been trying to ease this, but he wasn't sure why he was bothering, really. This would still be a surprise for her, and to hell with easing the blow. Maybe she would take it with more composure than he was giving her credit for. "Lord Vader has a connection to Luke because Lord Vader is his father. In the Clone Wars he was known as Anakin Skywalker, before he changed allegiances - and changed his name."

There. It was said. The air had gone disturbingly still, and Mothma had gone deathly pale, but at least it was said. The 'medic' glanced at the 'pilot' again, who nodded at him.

"W-what?" Mothma finally responded. "But Anakin Skywalker is dead!"

"No, ma'am, he-"

"He was a hero of the Republic! A good man, a loyal Jedi - and most certainly not Darth Vader!"

The 'medic' sighed. So much for composure.

The 'pilot' interjected Mothma's shock. "He is, ma'am," the smaller man said, with surprising care. "And he may well believe his son has been killed. You need to start an immediate evacuation." He paused. "We know, however, that Skywalker was not killed in the battle - we recorded him being retrieved by the Imperial Forces, and transferred to another ship. We have a copy of the trajectory it took and-"

"Where is it?"

The 'pilot' stopped, taken aback by the ferocity of the question. "The shuttle computer-"

Mothma turned to the nearest guard. "Go get a computer tech - run. I want a copy of the data sent to Princess Organa before Vader can get here and intercept it."

The 'medic' frowned. "What? Lady Mothma-"

"Have you already transmitted that data to Vader?" she demanded, interrupting him with an impatient gesture.

"No, ma'am - with Executor still in hyperspace, we could not access the secure channel to Vader, and there are parties aboard his ship who would be keen to intercept any unencrypted message," the 'pilot' replied, hesitantly. And the 'medic' knew where that hesitation came from: he felt it himself, in the bitter dread in his mouth. Suddenly, he truly felt they'd just made a terrible decision by coming here.

"Good," Mothma replied. "Then perhaps we have something to bargain with, when Vader arrives - and we will discover whether you are telling me the truth." She fixed them with a stern glare. "What you are suggesting about Vader is... preposterous, to say the least."

The 'medic' pinched his lips together, to try and prevent the exasperated sigh that wanted to escape. Rebels: they were so distrusting. How could they ever hope to hold the galaxy together even if they could wrest it from the Empire? "It is the truth, ma'am," he replied.

"But you have no proof?"

And for a moment the 'medic' almost felt sorry for Mothma - a strange, cold sympathy: an empathy with her disillusionment. "Only our orders from Lord Vader, to keep his son safe. And Luke believes him, clearly."

A look of pain brief flickered over Mothma's face, shadowing her eyes. "So - Luke is aware of this... relationship... then?"

The 'pilot' swallowed thickly. "Yes, ma'am. He knows."

She took a shaky breath. "I would never have believed it possible... never have believed Anakin Skywalker would betray the Republic." She paused suddenly, and looked at them with a strange, wistful sadness. "No more than I would ever have believed that Luke Skywalker would have deceived us."

The 'medic' didn't know how to respond to that. The silence stretched, and he shifted his weight on his feet as he saw a tech come dashing through the far doorway, running towards them. Finally, the 'medic' opened his mouth to reply - although he wasn't certain what he was going to say - but a loud, blaring claxon beat him to it, shrieking through the air.

He shut his mouth. There was nothing left to say - Vader's fleet had arrived.


The static on the viewscreen contorted fluidly before resolving into an image. Vader crossed his arms, pushing back the rising surge of anger at seeing the two agents he had sent with Luke standing beside ex-senator Mothma. For her part, the woman merely inclined her head slightly.

"Lord Vader," she greeted, with a forced calm. "Thank you for responding to our call."

Does she really believe that grooming me with pleasantries will leave me any less inclined towards exterminating her fleet? he wondered, incredulously. He grimaced with disgust. "Save your pleas, Mothma," he said. "I am in no mood for your games. Where is Skywalker?"

She didn't look even slightly flustered by the question. She clasped her hands in front of her. "Your son was part of a battle group that was recently engaged by Imperial forces. His ship was-"

"You sent him into battle?!" Vader interrupted disbelievingly, too disgusted for the moment to pick up on the fact that she apparently knew of Luke's lineage. "He was recovering from psychic-shock!"

She blinked at him. "Indeed," she said. "After being in your custody rather longer than he led us to believe."

Whether it was the silent accusation that Luke had broken their trust, or the silent judgement on Vader for allowing the boy to contract psychic-shock that angered him more, Vader couldn't say. He leant closer to the pick-up. "Where is he?" he demanded.

"His ship was destroyed during the battle." She inclined her head towards the two silent men beside her. "Your spies recorded the battle on long-range scopes."

Vader felt something hard and painful clench in his chest, a full second's worth of searing pain. He had been trying to send the boy to safety by sending him to the Rebels... He wanted to ask - needed to ask - if Luke had survived, but somehow the words wouldn't form. He knew Luke was alive; he knew it. The boy had to be, or there was nothing left for Vader. The pain of losing him... would be intolerable.

"He ejected and was retrieved by your forces," Mothma continued.

"They were not my forces," Vader said, almost to himself, somehow speaking around the painful surge of relief that washed through him.

"No, apparently not," Mothma agreed, placidly. "He was then transferred to a private cruiser registered to the Black Sun Corporation." She paused. "Your men tracked its trajectory and then brought that information back with them."

"Where was it going?" Vader demanded, focusing intently at the two spies he had sent with Luke.

Mothma interceded them, though. "I'm afraid I cannot give you that information without some guarantee that our forces will be allowed to leave this base unmolested."

Vader felt a lashing fury go through him - his son had been taken and she wanted to deal with the information Vader needed to track him down? He felt a glowering anger within him, a surge of pain and loss and dread.

He turned to the two men beside Mothma, both of whom were carefully expressionless. "Where did the ship go?" he asked, and when Mothma opened her mouth to intervene, Vader snarled and lashed out with the Force, driving a spear of energy across space, to the planet, and wrapping it around her throat. He could have killed her... just a little tighter and she would have died gagging for breath... but he didn't. Instead, he fixed his stare onto his two spies. "Where did the ship go?" he repeated.

The shorter of the two men swallowed thickly. "We tracked its jump out of the system, my Lord. Unfortunately, the Rebels have taken our master copy of that data... however I know they have already transmitted a copy to Princess Organa, with the returning battle group. They are still in transit and would not have received it yet. I-"

"You allowed them to take that information from you?" Vader hissed.

The man flushed. "My Lord, we thought that-"

Vader put up a hand suddenly, a thrill of... of something rushing through his blood. Something familiar, that he couldn't quite name. The spy trailed off into silence at Vader's gesture: Vader ignored him - stretching out to the Force, reaching for that tremulous feeling that had just passed over him. And felt... the Princess?

He hit the internal comm just as it started bleating. Piett's voice said, "Lord Vader?"

"What is it?" Vader asked. Though he knew: he already knew, even though he should not, logically, be able to recognise her presence.

"Several ships have just arrived in system," Piett said. "It appears to be a battle group of some form."

Vader nodded. The Princess, returning from battle without her vaunted hero - but with the information Vader needed to locate him. "Hail them," he hissed.


"Ysalamiri," the Emperor said, gazing around the room disdainfully. "Crude, but effective. Yes... yes, very effective: I see that your extended Force-blindness has taken a toll on you, young Skywalker."

Luke was still blinking back the bright light from his eyes, too dazzled to respond - too dazzled, and too busy trying to gather together the pieces of his shattered courage. He wanted to shift away from the Emperor, but he couldn't seem to move - his muscles had gone rigid with dread: too tense to even shudder with dread. He felt trapped, pinned by the amber glare of the Emperor's eyes. And, perversely, despite all the fear Luke felt raging through him, the old man smiled - smiled almost kindly.

Then his eyes went to Luke's hands, where they were bound above his head, a strange glint in his eyes. And Luke couldn't seem to rip his gaze from the Emperor's face - only in his nightmares had he ever thought he'd get this close to the Emperor, and it felt like the world was tilting under him, spinning slowly, as his mind struggled to keep up.

"I see that Prince Xizor has not treated you too kindly," the Emperor said, and Luke thought he recognised that odd glint in the other man's gaze as anger, though he couldn't be certain.

The Emperor must have sensed his stare, because he turned back to met Luke's eyes, sucking Luke back into the hypnotic gaze. The silence stretched, uncomfortable and suffocating. Luke swallowed, wincing at the pain in his throat. "You don't..." he started to say, but his throat was too dry - from fear and from too long without a decent drink - and he started to cough, his throat contracting with dry pain. He turned his head aside, and tried to work moisture into his throat, but it didn't work - the racking cough went on, straining the overstretched muscles of his ribs.

He saw the Emperor move away from him, and tried to capitalise on that - to draw more breath into his pained lungs, but that only initiated another racking cough. Angry with his body for failing him - for making him seem weaker than he must already appear, pinned against the cold wall - Luke clenched his hands futilely and threw his head back against the wall, struggling with his spasming throat muscles. It was mortifying, being incapable of answering the Emperor back - not even capable of throwing insults at the man, if that was all the ammunition Luke had.

A cold hand - Force! So cold! - touched his cheek and Luke lurched back instinctively from the deathly touch. The Emperor was crouched in front of him again, holding a full water bulb in one hand. Luke stared at it, almost hypnotised, and then groaned silently - there would be some price attached to that water, he knew. Some price he couldn't possibly pay, though his body yearned for the water. He could almost imagine it slipping down his throat... a dehydrated hallucination, almost comforting, because it felt so real...

The Emperor's gaze softened in what Luke might have imagined was compassion. Had he lost his faint hold on his sanity? Compassion, the Emperor? Ha! What a joke!

The water bulb was pressed to his lips and Luke reared back, pulling his head free from the Emperor's grasp. "No," he said, impressed that the words almost sounded comprehensible despite his barren throat.

The Emperor sighed. "Peace, my young friend. It is only water."

Luke shook his head. "I don't believe-" he started to say, but the racking cough overtook him again. When he'd finished, gasping for breath, the Emperor reached out and grasped his chin again, with surprising strength, and forced the water bulb to his lips. Luke tried to pull away, but already the soothing water was rushing down his throat, sweeping away that instinct the instant it hit his parched tongue.

He gasped, swallowing almost fitfully, expecting the bulb to be withdrawn at any moment, to be taunted with it. Because wasn't that what the Emperor would do - what the man that Leia and Mothma and his father had warned him about would do?

But he didn't; Palpatine let him drink the bulb dry, and then stood and withdrew to an almost respectful distance, smiling thoughtfully.


The Battalion slid out of hyperspace with too little haste for Leia's taste. She gripped the arms of the console chair, pinning herself in place and resisting the urge to stand and pace. Lando stood beside her, and she saw from the corner of her eye his hands cramping with impatience. The she heard his startled intake of breath and her gaze whipped around to the viewscreen.

She stared at it blankly for a few seconds, and then heard Lando's voice, calling for tactical reports. There was a few tense seconds of harried, shocked work from the bridge crew, during which Leia stood, pacing to the viewscreen, her breath freezing in her lungs. The Executor hung with lethal stillness above the planet, a hundred Rebel ships trapped between it and the atmosphere.

She turned back to Lando, feeling as if the image behind her back was pressing against her, as if the Dark Lord himself stood behind her, his hands heavy on her shoulders. Lando stared back at her, and she saw him swallow thickly.

There was something more than just shock in his eyes - in fact, it didn't look like shock at all; Lando didn't seem the least bit surprised to see Executor here, and Leia frowned. "You know, don't you?" she whispered.

He nodded. "Princess..." he started to say." I..." He shook his head, clearly not able to find the words to express whatever he was feeling - pity, disgust, or maybe something more complicated. Because Luke had been his friend, too, and like her he probably didn't know how he felt about discovering Vader was Luke's father.

She shook her head, resisting the part of her that wanted to just scream out loud. "Can you open a channel to Vader?" she asked.

He blinked at her, either surprised or wary of the suggestion, or perhaps both. Right now, Leia was struggling to separate what she was feeling from what everyone else was feeling. Her instinct for reading people, which had been so integral to her usefulness as a politician, was failing her. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Leia. I-"

"Sir!" someone broke in, their voice a shrill shattering of the tension. "We're being hailed!"

Lando turned, snapping his gaze away from Leia's. "From Barutte?"

The tech shook his head. "No, sir... from Executor."


Luke stared up at the Emperor warily. He suspected that now was the time for some brave and noble words, but he couldn't think of any. Instead he licked his lips, tasting the bitter metallic tang of the sore, cracked skin, and continued to stare at the Emperor.

In truth, he wasn't sure what he'd expected from Palpatine, but he was a little... well, under-whelmed, really.

Perhaps it was because the Force was lacking from both of them, or maybe Palpatine's fear-factor had been blown out of proportion by the Rebel propaganda he'd spent the last three years listening to... but the Emperor wasn't as he'd expected. He was shorter, for one thing. And not quite so sinister looking - ugly, yes, but not as vicious or malignant as Luke had been led to believe.

Luke shook his head. A logical part of his mind was well aware that Palpatine was no less dangerous than Luke had been led to believe. But, still...

"Whatever you're going to do, it won't work," Luke said, at last, for lack of anything better to say.

Palpatine nodded thoughtfully, and sighed. "Ah, the wisdom of youth... you may well be right, young Skywalker." He turned then, and moved to the single chair in the room, seating himself stiffly.

Luke frowned and shifted until he sat further upright, taking more of the weight from his wrists. He curled his hands around the bonds, wishing, not for the last time, that he could feel the Force again. He felt vulnerable like this - and yet, not really threatened. Not in the same way Xizor had made him feel threatened. And that was enough to spark his heart into a higher gear. Because he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to feel more comfortable with Palpatine than with Xizor.

"I suppose... I suppose I may well have to accept the inevitable one day. But today is not that day," the Emperor said, folding his hands harmlessly in his lap. "I have worked with your father for many years. I cannot bear to lose him to this... this foolishness."

Luke narrowed his eyes at that. "He has broken free of your will, Palpatine. He'll never be yours again," he said, and felt a strange welling of hope in his chest - an odd relief at being able to say it: his father was free, even if Luke was not. His father was free.

The Emperor stared at him, long and hard, something cold flashing in his eyes. "And that pleases you does it, son of Skywalker, that your father will die for his foolish ideals?"

Luke's heart skipped fearfully. "He won't die," he said, automatically. "You can't touch him now."

A brief flicker of confusion passed over the Emperor's crumpled face. "It is not I who will kill him..." he said, trailing off before he straightened with apparent surprise. " He has not told you, has he, young one?"

Something kicked hard in Luke's gut at that. He's playing with me, Luke thought, but the idea fell away in his mind, overwhelmed by his rising agitation.

"Told me what?" Luke asked. His throat was dry again, and not through thirst.

The Emperor shook his head, and Luke would have sworn - would have sworn - he saw compassion there. "I have no intention of killing Lord Vader, Luke. I do not have to; he is already dying."


The forward viewscreen was split vertically into two channels - the left side showing Mon Mothma, who looked flushed, flanked by the two traitors Luke had brought back... and the right showed Vader staring down at her, almost looming out of the screen.

Leia spared a glance to the Council Leader, frowning briefly, before turning to Vader. "Lord Vader," she said, feeling the acid in her words. "I see it didn't take you long to get here."

The sound of Vader's breathing echoed across the comm channel. Leia felt a strange tingling sensation in the back of her mind, the hairs on the back of her neck standing upright - like she was standing too close to a live current, the energy sparking towards her. She closed her eyes, recognising the feeling of the Force - of Vader's touch in the Force - brushing against her. Faint memories drifted to her mind - the dark confines of an interrogation cell, the cloying presence of Vader looming over her, the black droid with its needles glistening in the red light...

"You know," Vader said, finally.

Leia opened her eyes, shoving aside the memories. "We figured it out... eventually." She paused. "But too late. What do you want, Vader? It's over - you have him."

Vader inclined his head slightly. "Were that true, I would not be here. I do not have him."

Leia frowned. "But he ejected during the battle. Your ships-"

Vader snorted. "Do you truly think I would send my own forces out against my son, have them destroy his ship and recapture him when I had already surrendered him back to you?"

There were a few hushed gasps around the bridge at that - at the 'my son', and the emotion behind the words. Leia blocked it out. She glanced sidelong at Lando, expecting to see her own disquiet reflected on his face. Instead, she saw him looking at her with an expression of stunned disbelief. He glanced to Vader, then back at her, his expression unreadable. Leia frowned at him, and Lando just shook his head. And what in hell did that mean?

"Alright," she said, turning back to Vader. "Then who?"

Vader stiffened visibly, as if bracing himself. "The Emperor," he said. "In league with Black Sun. My agents captured their movements - after you had fled the battle."

Leia winced inwardly at the implied accusation. She looked away - and looked at Mon and those two Imperials whose names she'd never even learnt.

"Leia," Mon said suddenly, her voice sounding strained, "we know where they've taken Luke. I had that information transmitted to you whilst you were in hyperspace."

She started at that, and glanced over at the comm station. After a pause, the comm tech looked up and nodded at her. The adrenaline surge that went with that information - they knew where he was! - made her feel briefly dizzy with hope. She turned back to the screen. "Good, we'll-"

"Wait, Leia - we cannot give Lord Vader that information. We have no guarantee of our safety if we hand over those coordinates before we have finished the evacuation."

Vader interrupted with a hiss of disdain. "I have no interest in your pathetic fleet. Transmit the coordinates and I will leave immediately."

Leia shook her head. "I'm not giving him that information at all. I'm not going to give Luke to him!"

Vader pointed a black-gloved finger at her. "You are in no position to make demands. You are outnumbered and your fleet is not battle-ready."

Leia hardened her gaze. "You destroy us and you'll destroy any chance of getting Luke back."

His stance never wavered, but Leia felt, somehow, the tremor of denial that went through Vader. "Your arrogance astounds me, Organa. Do you truly believe you can retrieve my son from the Emperor?"

"I will do what I must," she said, but inside she knew he was right. It was a wild hope - a foolish one. But what was the alternative? Give up on Luke? Or worse... give in to Vader?

"As will I," Vader replied, ominously.


Luke just stared, feeling his senses warp around him, the deck tilting beneath him, in shock and in instant denial. "No," he said. "That's not true. You're lying."

Sadness - grief - passed over Palpatine's expression. "I'm afraid not, young Skywalker. Your father has been dying since the moment he passed back to the Light. He-"

"No!" Luke said, though it sounded more like a cry of desperation than the firm denial he had intended. "He is... he's not... that's impossible! He was fine when I left him!"

The Emperor was shaking his head. The cowl of his robe slipped a little off his head, revealing more of his creased white skin and sunken eyes, but Luke was beyond the repulsion that briefly flickered in his gut. "He has been in that suit for many years, young Skywalker... since before you were born. But it is failing him... only the dark side could sustain him, and now that he has renounced that... You were his only hope, young Luke. You. A father and son, linked through the dark side... you could have healed him, Skywalker. Healed him. But instead... alas... he has chosen death, to 'save' you from the dark side."

Luke couldn't breathe. His heart was up in his throat, preventing the air from getting through. He was dizzy, his mind stuttering over this new information and screaming in denial, silently - the scream unable to pass beyond the boundary of his thoughts, blocked as he was from the Force.

Father! he cried, but the words bounced around his mind, each impact unleashing a memory -

--Vader, sweeping into the Tallir detention block in a storm of righteous fury... --

--Vader, drawing him away from the pounding spray of the shower, calling for him with desperate concern... --

--Vader, brushing a thick towel over his wet hair, his mind brushing against Luke's as he did so... --

--Vader, sending him to safety, sending him away, telling him there would be more time for them, more time... --

Luke gasped, feeling his body contort in misery. His muscles spasmed as he did so, but he didn't care - he felt like he was burning, deep inside his chest.

"You're lying," he repeated, but the words felt hollow.

He felt rather than saw the Emperor approaching. "No... no, I am telling you the truth." A hand touched his hair and Luke pulled back, viciously.

"No - you want him dead. You attacked him, I felt it - I felt you trying to kill him!"

The Emperor laughed; a sad, dry sound. "I was trying to save him! To force him back to the Dark! But his love for you has clouded his judgement, and he would gladly die rather than see you turn to the dark side." The Emperor paused then, and Luke shuddered as he thought of Vader making that choice: of him sacrificing himself for Luke. It was dreadful, but loving. Caring, but unwanted. Luke wanted to scream at someone - at Vader, preferably.

"I never asked him to," he said, bitterly, and then wished he could bite back the words, because the Emperor had no business knowing what was in Luke's heart. Force, but to lose his father now... Lost, found and lost again... Luke shattered at the thought of it.

"The dark side is powerful, Luke... very powerful. Long ago, a Sith Lord discovered the secret of keeping alive those whose bodies had failed them... I had hoped that Vader might one day discover that secret himself. But... he did not. Yet you... yes, you are powerful indeed. Whilst Vader's strengths lie in manipulating the Force - in brute power - you are much more in tune with it... you feel it, don't you, whispering to you? Yes, yes - I see that you do. I have felt your presence, across the galaxy, and you are strong Luke. The Force speaks to you louder than ever since you bonded with your father, does it not? Yes... and that is just a taste of what you could do if you allowed the dark side in." The Emperor paused, drawing in a shaking breath, apparently enthralled by his own words. "You could save him."

Luke stared at him, horrified and hypnotised at the same time. "I'm not that strong," he whispered.

The Emperor ran a cold hand over Luke's cheek and laughed, coldly. "This is no time for modesty, young Skywalker. Why do think I have not removed the ysalamiri? Because I would not want you to act rashly without considering the implications first - without knowing the truth."

Luke shook his head. "I..." He didn't know what to say. What could he say?

The Emperor drew in a long breath and stood. "You need time to consider this new information, I see. Good - your instincts will serve you well. You understand, of course, that I cannot remove the ysalamiri before you have made your decision. But... someone will remove your bonds - bring you food, water, something to wash with..." He smiled kindly. "Prince Xizor acted upon his own agenda in restraining you this way - but he will be suitably punished, I assure you."

Luke looked aside, unable to meet that stare. His father was... dying?

He heard the Emperor moving towards the doorway, his cane tapping slowly, in sharp contrast to Luke's racing heart. "Call for me, when you have decided," the Emperor said.

Luke looked up at him, searching for some sign of deceit or malice. But the Emperor's expression was schooled into a caring half-smile. "I have known your father for a very long time, Luke," the Emperor said. "He was a good friend, until he chose to sacrifice himself for you. For his sake... do not wait too long."

And then he turned and was gone, leaving Luke alone with his raging thoughts.