Hello! I hope all of you got off with a good start into the New Year.
My apologies for the long delay—blame college, flu and another Writer's Block on it. The next chapter should come in a couple of days.
I hope you haven't forgotten what this story is about… or about its existence.
Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! I'm always glad to hear from you.
I hope you enjoy. : )
Chapter Thirty Seven
Father's Love
His hand trembled even more as the waves of dark power stormed to it, ready to be unleashed upon the innocent children.
But nothing happened.
The Force, which was supposed to choke the children to death, denied him. Luke and Leia eyed him compassionately, smiling innocently.
Vader shut his eyes and opened them again. It couldn't be!
He tried again, reaching into the darkest recesses of the Force, drawing in as much power as he could. These children had to die, they had to die so that he could finally be at peace, so they wouldn't follow their father's footsteps and become monsters…
Nothing happened.
Biting his lip, Vader looked at Anakin's children, his body shaking badly. They looked so helpless, so tiny, but at the same time, they radiated so much power—power he could never have. Luke and Leia were his flesh and blood; they were his children, spiritually the closest beings to him in the whole world.
My babies.
As he thought of them, Vader felt a strange emotion tug at his heart, ripping through the barriers that he had constructed around himself. It was a suffocating and overwhelming sensation, beautiful and terrifying at the same time. It was not a mixture of the hatred and bitter love he felt for Padmé and Obi-Wan—this emotion was pure and selfless, an emotion he had never experienced before… or simply forgotten.
Overwhelmed by a strange impulse, Vader scooped the babies into his arms. Tiny fingers immediately started toying with his cloak, tugging at his mask. The Force flowed in gentle currents around him, light, not dark. It was a frightening feeling, being bathed in the light side of the Force again, but a part of him welcomed it.
Quickly, Vader walked out of the crèche before Palpatine found out. There was something he had to accomplish.
The floor was hard and cold. Leia shifted position several times, trying to make herself comfortable, but to no avail. The sighs coming from Luke's direction told her that he wasn't comfortable either. But they could indicate that her restless shifting bothered him. There was scarcely enough room for all of them – seven people thrown into a cell designed for one. The Emperor wasn't kind enough to grant them a last comfortable night before the execution.
Execution. In her mind's eye, Leia imagined this word to resemble a fat, black spider that would advance on her slowly, with deliberately unhurried motions so as to prolong the enjoyment of taking her life. It was an evil word that rang with cowardice and weakness.
Death – that she wasn't afraid of. Death was just the door that welcomed you into the other world, a much better one that she lived in. There would be no fear, no worries, no betrayal, no darkness. She would become one with the Force for a blissful eternity.
But she wasn't ready to enter the netherworld yet. There was still so much that had to be done, so many things left to explore. It was hard to believe that she might never see Han again… Yet it was reality – harsh and bitter, like the icy water of the Alderaani lakes.
"Luke, are you scared?" she whispered softly, careful not to wake Padmé. Their mother slept, deep purple rings under her eyes screaming at Leia.
Luke shifted. "No," he replied as quietly, finding Leia's hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Somehow, I don't believe that this is the end."
"It feels wrong," Leia echoed sadly, creasing her forehead. "It can't be the end."
"It isn't. There might be a chance," Obi-Wan's hoarse voice sounded next to her. There was a subtle movement on the left, and then the Jedi's shoulder brushed against hers. "We can make a trade."
"A trade?"
"I could challenge Vader to a duel," Obi-Wan suggested quietly. He lowered his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb. "If I win, we go free. If I lose… then we're executed."
Leia froze, her stomach dropping low into her abdomen. "That's insane!"
Luke stared at Obi-Wan as though he had seen him for the first time. "No, Obi-Wan!" he started out loudly, lowering his voice as Leia poked him in the ribs so as not to wake Padmé. "You can't! It's too risky."
There seemed to be a slight tremor in the Force, a slight shift to the darkness…
"Luke is right," Bail echoed. "There must be another way out. Maybe we will get help from the others."
"They must know by now that we have been captured, and they will send a rescue team," Mon Mothma threw in, yet there was a glint of insecurity to her grey eyes.
Padmé shivered in her sleep, curling into a tight ball. Leia watched her absent-mindedly, sensing the tremor grow, the darkness taking shape. Was the Force already mourning them, or was that something different, something even more grave than their deaths?
"Remember what happened to the last team?" Obi-Wan asked grimly. He looked horrifyingly thin and aged, much unlike the mighty Jedi the twins had encountered nearly two years ago. "They were… slaughtered. We can't afford losing more people."
Luke pursed his lips. "I agree with Obi-Wan. We can't lose any more of our people. We will need them once the Emperor is defeated."
"Then we all agree with my suggestion," Obi-Wan concluded, feigning a listless smile.
"No, we don't," Leia hissed, glaring at the Jedi Master. "Obi-Wan, we can't lose you… or Father."
The Force tossed and reeled, screaming quietly, like a mother pleading with a disobedient son who would go away to meet his death. Its cries engulfed Leia, binding her with its prickly, invisible ties. Something was wrong… Was she the only one who could sense it? Padmé winced in her sleep, a deep crease forming on her forehead.
"I will go," Luke announced suddenly, watching his gloved, artificial hand as he clenched and unclenched it. "I will challenge Father."
"What?" Bail whispered, bemused. "You can't! Vader is too strong for- "
Luke cut through him. "Maybe, he is. Maybe, he isn't. In any case, I stand a better chance than Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes nearly to slits. "Why?"
"Because I'm his son and I love him," Luke said simply. "And, deep down, he loves me, too. We fought twice, and he couldn't kill me either time. He won't be able to this time as either." He stared directly at Obi-Wan, shaking his head back and forth in a nearly imperceptible movement. "I don't want to kill him, Obi-Wan. There is still hope… and a part of you knows that, a more potent part than you realise. You would never be able to fight him to death like you did on Mustafar."
Obi-Wan rested his head in his hands, but didn't say anything. Maybe, he didn't want to start another long conversation with Luke. Maybe, he had nothing to say because Luke's words were true.
Who would fall? Her father, her brother or her uncle? Was there a way for everyone to come out safe and sound, where they all could live happily ever after? The last option seemed unlikely as never before in this small, cold cell, on the brink of the execution, yet Leia still basked in hope – a fool's hope. The cloud of darkness continued to spread slowly yet amazingly fast in the Force, diminishing the last remnants of light. The Force continued to cry and toss, and the cloud seemed to mourn with it—the cloud of sensitive, conflicted and torn darkness.
"Besides, Father was right, Obi-Wan," Luke added, smiling slightly. "You are getting old. I'm younger, fitter and stronger than you."
Obi-Wan grumbled, casting Luke a dirty look. The darkness and the Force melted into each other.
"Anakin," Padmé called softly, wincing in her sleep. "Anakin… "
"Mum," Leia whispered, pulling Padmé on her lap and shaking her shoulder. "It's a nightmare, it's only a nightmare."
Luke moved closer, putting his hands onto Padmé's forehead, beaded with perspiration. Suddenly, another voice joined the Force's cries… and another one, nearly identical to the first, very similar to the darkness's voice. Those voices were the twins. Something was happening to the children…
"Leia," Luke exclaimed, raising his head and staring at her. He was chalky pale. "The twins."
Padmé tossed in Leia's lap, a single tear forming at the corner of her eye and slowly sliding down her cheek. "Ani, please, don't," she pleaded weakly.
"I feel them too," Leia whispered anxiously. "Father is with them."
"Vader is with the twins?" Bail asked, his eyes wide in shock. He rubbed his forehead with his hand, letting out a defeated, nearly desperate sigh. "This can mean only one thing."
"It doesn't mean anything!" Luke contradicted hotly, but Leia could see that his remark didn't hold much truth—those were automatic words, said only to cherish hope… hope which had no more reason to exist.
Obi-Wan moaned, the sound coming deep from within his throat, as though his lungs had been pierced by a sabre. He pulled his knees to his chest, hugging them, staring unseeingly at the opposite wall—a dirty, monotone grey, —his eyes blank. "He can't do it. He can't," he murmured softly, nearly inaudible, as though hoping that repeating those words would stop what was about to be done… unless a miracle happened, a miracle so unlikely and impossible that it wasn't even worth shedding a single thought about.
And then there was an explosion in the Force. Dark and light became one and whole, melting and mingling together, caught into a whirlpool of energy. The power of the explosion was terrifying. The waves rose higher, pulling all of them under, deeper into the waters that were neither dark nor light—it was impossible to tell what had happened. The Force's lament was overwhelming, drumming against Leia's ears—the most powerful yet the saddest thing she had ever experienced. Padmé stirred and her eyes fluttered open, the last call for Anakin escaping from her lips.
As suddenly as it had come, everything stopped. The lament stopped, the waters calmed down—thick dark waters, blacker than space. Everything was deathly still; there was no sound of breathing, no hammering of their hearts, no voices of little Luke and Leia. They were gone.
A thick, impenetrable silence pervaded the cell. Padmé switched her gaze from one pale face to another, her eyes wide open, refusing to accept, to believe.
"It can't be," Leia forced herself to say, her breath cold and hard in her throat, choking her. She sensed the evidence, yet there was a part of her, a stubborn and undying part that told her that looks can fool, that one cannot believe everything one sees.
"What?" Padmé asked, her voice bearing a slightly hysterical edge. "What?!"
"But we all sensed it. They are gone," Obi-Wan said bitterly, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall.
"There must be a mistake," Luke retorted, shaking his head back and forth. "He couldn't. He just couldn't."
Obi-Wan balled his hands into tight fists, his knuckles so white that Leia feared for a moment that the bone might pierce through the skin.
"It doesn't change anything," Leia said through gritted teeth. "They are still alive, I know it."
Bail cast her an odd, almost pitying look. Leia lowered her head, trying to even her breathing, seething. Pity… she couldn't stand it. Hatred, disgust, contempt, dislike—those were things she could handle, things that stopped bothering her much as years passed. But pity—that was something she didn't need, it was when people looked at her from above, in belittling way, as though afraid she might collapse. Pity from family members was the worst.
"I know," she repeated under her breath, staring at a peculiarly shaped crack to calm down and try to ignore the intensifying pity in Bail's eyes. If she tilted her head to the right, that crack resembled a spaceship—the Millenium Falcon, the ship she didn't know if she would ever see again. If she narrowed her eyes the crack looked like a lightsaber—a weapon that had saved hers and thousands of others before its owner lapsed into a deep, deathlike sleep.
"Leia is right," Padmé exclaimed, jumping up and walking to the door, carefully avoiding stepping on somebody. "My babies are still alive, and I'm going to find them."
The pity was nearly tangible now. "How are you going to find them?" Bail asked slowly, in a tone that would normally be used with mentally unstable people.
"How are you going to get out of here?" Fang Zar echoed, raising his eyebrow.
Instead of answering, Padmé banged on the door. It was a very loud and unpleasant sound which made Mon Mothma look away and cover her ears.
"Padmé, it's useless," Obi-Wan shouted, trying to overtone the persisting banging sounds. She ignored him.
Luke turned to his sister, his face undecipherable. "Leia, do you believe that…" he asked quietly, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging.
Leia bit her lip. "I don't know," she said truthfully, her voice a whisper. She felt numb—no sadness, no anger, no outrage—just thick, grey fog and the still, dark Force.
"Me neither," Luke confessed as quietly as she. His face, a strange, lifeless mask of pain, must have been identical to hers. "But Mother still believes in the good… and so should we."
Leia nodded vaguely, staring bleakly at Padmé who continued banging at the door. "Luke," she started unsurely. It was the question she meant to ask from the very beginning. "Did our trip into the past change the fate of the galaxy? Did we make the universe better, or did everything only become worse?"
Luke put his flesh arm on her shoulder, stretching his lips into a very slight smile. "I think we did. I think we did everything we could, but things that are meant to happen cannot be prevented. "
"But the babies- "
"I have faith in the Force. Somehow, I think it intervenes when everything becomes… too much."
"That would be convenient," Leia murmured softly.
Maybe, Luke was right and the Force wasn't simply an energy field that gave them all strength and connected them to each other. Maybe, it was also a being, a being different than them but still alive, with its own will and judgement. Maybe, it was real, although not of flesh and blood, but real nonetheless. It was everywhere—in each stone, in each gust of wind, in each thought that crossed the mind. Who knew?
The Force had given birth to them all, but Anakin was its only child, a child of its incorporeal flesh and transparent, energy-surged blood. If the Force were alive, a thinking and feeling being, a father, it couldn't let its son fall and suffer a fate that was worse than death. Fathers always want what's best for their child. They can punish, they can teach a hard and painful lesson, but never simply let go, abandon the faith—they would stay with the child through tears and ache, through disappointment and hard trials. A father could never push, never seduce. A father could choose to stand by and let the child live, but never abandon, never refuse to give a helping hand.
Maybe, Anakin's fall to the Dark Side was only a father's punishment for his pride and arrogance, for his inability to control himself? Maybe, teaching this hard, unforgettable lesson was the only way to show him how wrong he was, to what fatal dimensions even the littlest, seemingly harmless dreams and illusions can grow.
The child willingly chose wrong and suffered the consequences. But a father would intervene, he would help and guide when it would 'become too much', as Luke had said, wouldn't he?
Luke pulled her into his embrace, and Leia moved closer to her brother, resting her head on his chest. They didn't speak, for there was nothing more to say. They simply drew strength and hope from eachother and waited. Leia didn't want to think about what would happen to her mother, or to Obi-Wan, or to Luke, or to her. It wasn't time yet. The Force's waters were dark, but dark didn't always mean bad. The universe couldn't be simplified, sorted into neat piles. Each rule had an exception, and each exception had another exception. There was nothing to do, nothing to think about.
They could only wait.
Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours, and hours turned into days. Or was it years passing? Leia couldn't tell. They had to wait only few minutes, but it seemed like hours till there was another sound added to Padmé's demanding bangs—soft, quick footsteps in the hall.
The footsteps approached, their stride light and heavy at the same time. Padmé stopped banging and her hand dropped to her side, her breathing rattling.
The door slid open soundlessly, revealing a familiar tall, masked figure. There was something in his arms—two bundles that looked like babies. Dead or sleeping?
"Get out," Vader said quietly. Leia tensed from the tone of his voice—it was bleak and lifeless.
"Anakin," Padmé gasped, taking a step closer to him and reaching to look at the babies. They were surprisingly quiet. Quiet or dead?
Vader stepped back, stiffening visibly. "Padmé, get out," he repeated. "But quickly and quietly."
She stepped out of the cell, not taking her eyes away from him. The others followed.
The hallway was dark; all lights were extinguished. The guards lay motionlessly at either side of the door. Only Vader's mask gleamed slightly from the dim light of the cell. It was a more human, elegant mask than the one Vader had used in the original reality, but it was a mask nonetheless, black and expressionless. Her breathing cold in her throat, Leia's heart started beating frantically, bouncing up and down in her ribcage. Was it fear or delight?
"Anakin, what have you done?" Padmé asked in a ringing voice. Vader ignored her. However, the way his shoulders slumped and his head lowered a tiny bit, showed that he had heard her.
"Take them," he said stiffly, approaching Luke and Leia and handing them the bundles. "You will take care of them better than their father can."
Her arms trembling, Leia took the baby, staring at the mask that obscured her father's face. Her stomach filled with what seemed like liquid metal; she pulled the blanket slowly away. A smiling, brown-eyed baby glanced at her, its cheeks rosy, its eyes sparkling. She was staring at herself, at a perfectly alive and happy little Leia…
Too shocked or relieved to speak—it was hard to tell—Leia gazed at Vader, her mouth agape.
"But we couldn't- " she heard Luke stutter.
Vader started walking down the corridor, motioning for them to follow. "I disguised their presence so that the Emperor wouldn't sense they are still alive, at least for a while," he answered shortly. It was not Vader speaking, yet that voice didn't belong to Anakin either—it was too deep, too booming, too inhuman.
It was hard to walk in the dark, holding on to each other, their sight range limited to nothing. It was harder when you had a baby to carry, with no possibility of holding onto someone who could guide you. It was even harder because Leia didn't know where that dark path would take them all—either to salvation or to death. Who was walking before her? Was it her father who needed her help, or was it a triumphant monster luring all of them into a trap?
"You wanted to kill them, didn't you?" Obi-Wan demanded sternly.
The darkness swallowed his words, leaving no echo.
"I… couldn't," Vader whispered barely audible, his voice trembling oddly. "They were so… I tried, but I couldn't, because I… " He took a deep breath. "Because I… "
"Because you love them," Padmé finished quietly.
Vader gave no answer.
"Why do we walk in darkness?" someone asked. Leia assumed it was Fang Zar.
"Palpatine mustn't know that you escaped. The cover of darkness should give you a couple of spare minutes."
"Or, maybe so you can kill us easier and more painfully," Mon Mothma muttered under her breath.
Vader chuckled grimly. "If I wanted to, you would have long been dead, m'lady."
They came at the end of the corridor. Vader pushed a button and the door moved aside with a hiss. They entered a hangar, full of Imperial ships. Theirs was the closest to the door.
Vader turned to them and stared at them for a long, intense moment. Everything looked peaceful—the hangar was lit dimly, the ships glittered marginally, radiating a feeling of tranquillity. Leia felt her insides squirming painfully, an all too familiar lump starting forming in her throat. What was happening before her eyes?
"Get away from here," Vader ordered softly, jerking with his head to the ship. "Get far away from here and don't come back until my children grow up. Only they can defeat Palpatine."
"You come with us," Padmé said firmly, grabbing his hand.
Vader pulled his gloved hand from her grasp very slowly, as though reluctantly. He looked so sad, so confused, so weary… Leia bit her lip, torn between the voice of reason and voice of love. Vader was a good actor. Could it all be just a horrible, cruel trick, or was redemption at hand? Was she right to bask in hope all this time?
"Don't you understand, Padmé?" he asked ruefully. "Your husband is dead. This thing-" he pointed at his mask, at his long, black cloak "–is all that is left of Anakin. This is only a shell."
Padmé's face was inscrutable, but her eyes blazed oddly. "Then why are you helping us?"
Vader cringed visibly, as though surged by electricity. Padmé's eyes narrowed.
"I don't recognise you, Anakin. Where are you, the real you? You were always proud and independent, you never listened to any authorities. How can you let yourself be twisted by that man? How can you become the thing you hate? How can you become a coward?"
Vader stiffened. "I'm not a coward," he said furiously, but it came more as a plea.
"Then prove it!" Padmé yelled, taking a step closer, the hard, blazing look in her eyes intensifying. "You behave as a coward now, hiding in your cosy, little world, scared to leave the world of illusions. You lived in real world once, you were the Hero With No Fear! Where is your courage, where is your strength?"
Vader raised his head, taking a deep breath. "You know how easily I could kill you now, don't you?" he asked icily, balling his hand into a fist and raising it.
Padmé didn't waiver. "Then be a coward and kill me."
The gloved hand trembled as the mask's 'eyes' gazed deep into Padmé's brown ones. "It takes much more strength than you realise," Vader said quietly. His hand shook even more before it fell limply to his side.
"Because you still love me," Padmé whispered, taking another step to him. He didn't retreat. "You could never hurt me, and we both know that."
He gave no answer. Padmé took another step to Vader, and only few inches separated then now…
Suddenly, all lights flared and there was a movement on every side. Battalions of storm troopers appeared from seemingly nowhere, and a thin, cloaked figure stepped forward.
It was Palpatine. His disfigured, mutilated face stretched into an aghast smile, his yellow eyes gleaming icily. He moved towards them swiftly, his cloak billowing behind him so that it seemed that he didn't walk but hovered.
"Well, well," he exclaimed gleefully, his teeth glistening in the bright, white light. "Very well done! And now, my Apprentice, kill the ones who turned away from you… or die with them."
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