Luke sat against the wall, his knees drawn up. He was rubbing the black glove he wore over his right hand, not meditating; not really thinking either. Remembering.

Vader had deposited him somewhere on the Death Star, and told him to wait. Luke couldn't say it was a cell, not like Leia's was a cell on the first Death Star. It was a room, a closet; a space not yet designated with a purpose on this largely incomplete new Death Star. Four walls freshly painted, a door, patterned tile on the floor.

He wondered at his treatment. Palpatine thought this would break Luke's spirit? A wait? The only thing he found marginally distressing was his father seemed to prefer the company of his Emperor.

Twice, Father. We've met twice. And now one of us is going to die, and you won't visit me.

And then, oh, Luke saw through it. It wasn't so much the wait as it was the wait for the father.

Luke was remembering the farm boy, who chased after his uncle on the way to buy some droids long ago and far away.

What would he say to himself, if he could go back? He had a choice, as he always did. He could try and change things, or he could give himself a warning.

Tell Uncle you can fix the red one's motivator.

Or-

Tell Uncle you won't submit that application. You'll stay on the farm.

Or-

When the holomessage pops up…

But he would do it all again, he realized. Even if he knew, he would still go to Ben. He would still become Luke Skywalker, one-handed-

Luke broke off, looking sadly at his hand, feeling his throat grow tight.

Tell Beru to tell the troopers it's okay to let them know her nephew went chasing after the droids. Tell her not to let them inside.

Make sure you tell them you love them.

And he saw, he would still let them die.

Luke looked up at the wall, his face grieved. They would still die, like that.

And there was nothing to say, except why? If Ben, or Yoda, saw it would have to happen, would they force themselves to come to terms with it, accept it? Why would they do nothing about it?

Looking back, at all that happened, it was their deaths that was the one point that continued to bother him. Did it have to be a forming moment in the development of Luke Skywalker? Could it at least be not so hard, so brutal, for them? Could he go back even further? To Owen and Beru at their wedding, their only trip off planet. When the man comes with a baby, don't take him in.

Ben knew who Luke's mother was. Luke was pretty sure of that. If Anakin was such a good friend, surely Ben would have a sense he had fallen in love. And he could have taken baby Luke to his mother's relatives.

But no. Ben wanted the baby to be a Skywalker.

Would his mother's relatives have died too? Adolescent Luke would come to love those people. It was his nature. He was eager to love.

One-handed son of-

He used to say evil. Son of a Jedi, son of a Sith. It didn't really matter. They were the same.

The cruel thing was, with all these Force Maybes, Luke would have become Luke if he wasn't raised by the Lars. If he went instead to an orphanage, or if someone on his mother's side raised him. Ben should have. He could handle the troopers if they came after the droids.

"I am Luke, though," he whispered to Beru. And his mother, for he felt that's the most the two women wanted for him. The others, though-

Luke had been treated with varying degrees of self-interest and manipulation. A whole list. Owen hoped his nephew would be a moisture farmer. His father wanted Luke to be just like him. All he was was Luke, and Ben didn't want him to be Luke; he wanted him to be the Luke that was worthy of the good friend and cunning warrior he had lost. Yoda wanted Luke to become the Luke who would restore the Jedi. The Alliance, too- be a Jedi and win this war for us.

Well, they were all wrong. He wasn't the Jedi Ben or Yoda trained him to be. He wasn't the son Vader wanted.

He was Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight, and he'd worked damn hard to get here. His was the color green, and he was loyal and true, and the thing that made him brave was his love for his friends.

Luke nodded slowly to himself. This part of his wait anyway had been productive. The reinforcement of his own motivations, separating them from everyone who thought they had a hand in him, gave him a certain strength.

He wasn't here for the Order. The deaths of Owen and Beru had started him on what was a deeply personal journey. He couldn't really fix anything. This wasn't about revenge. He couldn't go back and warn Owen and Beru, he couldn't give Leia Alderaan back, but he could put a stop to what had been set in motion.

When he told Leia about Owen and Beru, she had cried. She couldn't yet for Alderaan, but she did for two people she'd never met. Just because she knew they had taken care of Luke. Ben had not. Ben had merely clapped him on the shoulder.

But he did agree with Yoda and Ben: there was something wrong with living with only the dark side. Two. Always and only two.

But if Vader intended to kill Palpatine, then he would rise to master, and obviously he hoped Luke would become the learner. What if he didn't? Was there a Force-sensitive out there somewhere who would become a Sith, just like there were Force-sensitives out there Luke hoped to find one day and help them become Jedi? What would Vader say to the prospective learner- here, start hating now, so you can become my apprentice.

Luke wouldn't wish to train in the dark side. To constantly need fuel- hate and desire, jealousy and power. Passion, Luke supposed. Everything in excess. It seemed exhausting. How did one learn that? He let himself pretend, envision the Jedi Temple as a place of dark learning. Master Yoda would be there, inflicting beatings, starving the learners while he gorged from his stew pot.

Han, Luke suddenly thought. The one memory Han had shared of his childhood, a home I'd burn down if I had the chance. Luke's pain from his aunt and uncle's death stemmed from love. It was very different from the pain of a child who had none. His imagination put Han in the Temple, and still, even with the man's dark thoughts, he could not see that Han would ever willingly surrender himself completely to the dark side. He was too contrary? No, he was more than that. He had heart, but it had to be hidden deep, and he refused to give it away, unlike his father. And he would show it, like a twinkle bug, quickly and quietly, until someone noticed it.

And too, while Luke didn't know much about children, he did know the emotions of the dark side came early in life. He could remember having a tantrum because Beru said no. He could remember being afraid of monsters; he could remember being jealous of the gifts Biggs received on his birthday. But he was just a kid! He'd learned, with the gentle parenting provided by his aunt and uncle.

This reassured him. I don't think I can turn. I don't think I'll be able to. Why his father was stunted emotionally was his problem, not Luke's. And having a son wasn't going to work a miracle.

The way it looked, as it stood right now, based on things Vader had said and the fact that he hadn't come to see Luke in this tiny forsaken room, Vader would choose the Emperor. Maybe even agree to kill Luke if that's what the Emperor ordered.

I'm a teacher, he reminded himself. He was going to have to work it so Vader learned who, or what, the Emperor really was. It was going to be a painful lesson for his father. For Luke, too, probably.

It was a delicate balance, a precarious situation. It reminded him of a riddle posed to Leia on her cosmography tour. They were visiting a remote part of a world that was advanced, yet Luke would call the humans there mystics. "Worse than the old man," Han had muttered. The settlers were very aware of Alderaan's absence from the night sky, and very aware the planet had been destroyed because of war. Leia attempted to sway them to her side of the cause when an Elder spoke.

"There is a solution," the Elder told Leia, "but it must be worked out for itself, because of itself." And he told them a story. The details were faded from Luke's memory- the world also brewed a potent ale- but it was something about a merchant needing to cross a river with three items, but his ferry only has room for one besides himself. He can't leave two behind on the departing bank that might eat each other; nor can he deposit two on the other side for the same result.

When they returned to the Falcon, he and Leia had sat down at the lounge table. Luke had fetched a washer, a bolt, and a nut. Each represented a food chain they were familiar with: one was a wampa, another a tauntaun, and the third was a beetle borer. They bent their heads together, discussing the riddle. Leia thought the Elder's clue was important. "For itself," she would repeat softly. "Because of itself. What does that mean?"

Luke thought it more of a simple puzzle, and decided the mystics were pulling their legs. "He can't take the wampa," Luke said, moving the washer and embarking on a solution. "The tauntaun will eat the beetle borer."

"But if he takes the tauntaun, then whatever he brings back next will either get eaten or be eaten."

Han, who had dropped into the bench after plugging in the coordinates for their next destination, listened and watched while they slid pieces of hardware across the holochess table and something always ate something else. Finally, he spoke up, "why is your seat always empty on the return trip?"

"What?" Leia had blankly asked.

"He could take something with him when he returns."

"The idea is to cross," Luke pointed out. "Not bring back."

"Yeah, but he wouldn't consider himself crossed until they're all on the other side, together, and uneaten, right?" Han shrugged. "And he's bringing himself back. I don't know. I'm a shipper. An empty hold is a waste of space."

"But he's not getting paid for the return trip," Luke said. "So why-"

"Keeps one on both banks and no one gets eaten."

"You mean," Leia frowned down at the bolt, "bring the tauntaun, and then the borer, but when I return bring the tauntaun back with me? And leave it on the bank?-"

"And get the wampa," Han slid the washer across the table.

Leia put the nut with the washer. "The tauntaun gets two trips."

"Right," Han smirked. "And no one gets eaten."

A parable for war, Leia had called it. She took it to mean rulers. One was a despot, conquering all worlds; one lived peacefully, an easy victim, while the third had the power to seek both peace and hostility. Han found it the straight forward logic of shipping, while Luke thought it taught flexibility and initiative.

"If the Force ferries me across," Luke muttered to himself now, "Vader and Palpatine remain behind and don't kill each other. Status quo. But when the Force brings either one to me, I could kill my father or the Emperor kills me. So-" Luke stared at a spot on a wall- "I get two trips. I'm prey and predator."

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Luke's Force, whole and complete, capable of light and dark, right and wrong, was weaker than Palpatine's. It wasn't unfair, just true. This was the conclusion he came to after more of his continued wait. His legs had fallen asleep, his ass grown numb, he had paced, then thought some more.

The dark side didn't need but one. It had two, because those Sith, or whatever they were called, didn't want death to break the flow, so a second was always nearby to transfer the power. The Jedi needed each other, but now Luke was the only one.

When before he wanted to go back and issue himself a warning, he would go back to Yoda and point out the exact moment the Jedi Order had gone wrong.

How many thousands of years had they operated without a threat? A real threat- not just a conflict on a world. A threat to their own existence. And instead of drawing together, banding together out of love and respect and admiration for each other- each other, Luke emphasized- they had looked to the Force.

The Force needed them as much as they needed it, Luke knew; Ben, student of the Temple, had told him as much. It is created by life, and life creates it. The Jedi stood, above and apart, even from themselves, and so the Force became drained, and the Jedi Order was purged.

But it was impossible to purge the Force completely, and here Luke was, on the Death Star, all by himself. He wanted Leia by his side, but he knew he couldn't have her. The risk was too great. If he failed, and she was with him, then truly darkness would rule the galaxy.

He was breathing fumes. It smelled like fresh paint, but it was the dark side. Dizzying, disorienting. He stuck his upper arm across his nose to keep a clear head.

He thought he might be hallucinating. He saw Han and Leia, her head tucked neatly under his chin. They were here, impossibly, on the Death Star. They looked a perfect fit. Han looked so- satisfied. Leia's eyes were closed against his chest.

Luke couldn't figure it out. He got up and circled the image. Was this the dark side at work? But they looked perfect, and complete, like artwork. "Leia?" Would they move? What about the fight? Wasn't it dawn by now?

He sat back down on the floor, feeling helpless. "I miss you guys."

But he wouldn't think of that. It was on the list of things he barred from his mind. No Leia, for neither Palpatine nor Vader- especially not Vader- could get a sense of her. No Han either, because of the strike on the generator and the impending battle. No, the Emperor could obviously not learn of that. Third, his own demise. Was there anything else?

They wouldn't come. He had fixed it so no one would leave the moon. They had a job to do down there, and he had one up here.

But he was cheered. Let's see… He counted all the times he had set out to rescue someone and had to be rescued himself. And that was something he wanted them to laugh about at his funeral.

After he got tired of counting the dots in the pattern of the tile floor, Luke found himself wondering where the garbage masher was.

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The Emperor had two things Luke wanted: his lightsaber, and a view of the moon outside a wide viewport. Palpatine sat in a chair before the duroglass, and he patted the lightsaber like it was a pet, or he caressed it like it was a lover, and it was disgusting.

As soon as he entered the room, and ascended the wide staircase side by side with Vader, Luke felt- different. He couldn't describe it. Physically, he was glorious, his body a stranger. But in him, edging under like a fingernail prying… Luke knew he shouldn't, but he would, for Leia, because she should know. A great storm, behind the eyes, he would tell her, and small thoughts. You can't. You will. They. They.

Like being pursued, hunted. Luke marched away from his father to the viewport, and stared out at space, at the moon, at the lights which flared like twinkle bugs.

Not stars, he realized. Ships. Hundreds of them.

He turned, accusation in his eyes directed at his father, and felt an odd jolt, a wavering of the will before it was quickly replaced with obedience.

"It was I," the Emperor gloated in his moldy, crusted voice, "It was I who provided the Alliance with the location of the shield generators. It was I who-"

Luke stopped listening. His eyes went from his father, whose own eyes were hidden, hollow and lifeless behind his mask, to his lightsaber, held prisoner by the Emperor, and back to the moon where he desperately wanted to know about Han and Leia.

It was I-

The war. Leia had told him, during the Clone Wars, Palpatine led both sides.

How had they missed this?

It was I…

The beauty of Alderaan, the gentle love of Beru, the anger of a child who would burn the memory of his home down…

It was I.

It was Palpatine, all of it, always, and Luke felt sick. His chest heaved and his lightsaber quivered.

He's not up there counting screws, Han had said.

No, Han. He's not, and Luke had the answer now. He was waiting. He invited the whole Galactic Alliance here, all the parts of the galaxy that were not his, and he was going to destroy them.

The Death Star was operational.

Palpatine's voice mocked Luke with a fake sorrow, "I'm afraid your friends will not survive."

Protect me, Luke breathed, and he wrapped himself up in life, the small gestures, as Leia had taught him. The sound of song, the touch of a hand, fish jumping in a great sea. Yoda would call them attachments. But these parts of him- Luke supposed they were sentimentality- were inaccessible. They were his. Unlike his lightsaber, they couldn't be taken, or stolen. They would die with him.

Luke felt his Force bloom and called his lightsaber to him. It jumped gleefully into his hands. Now was the time. He couldn't count on his father; he knew that. Vader wanted to destroy the Emperor but he might lack the willpower on his own, so it was up to Luke.

His sword was a bright green in the dark room, and he brought it down over the Emperor, who merely sat, his eyes closed and a lustful smile on his lips, and Luke's was met by Vader's red blade.

His father swung again, and Luke parried, advancing a step. His technique wasn't much, just strike, again and again, but he pushed each time, adding the Force, like a gale wind, and Vader was forced down the steps, back to where they had entered.

I can kill you, he sent to his father, but instead he lashed out his foot and kicked his father the rest of the way down the steps. But see that I don't.

All the while the Emperor cackled, and Luke watched his father tumble, recalling they had entered together. Once Beru had to take Luke to a school conference, and they both knew he was in trouble, but still Beru entered at his side. Trouble was once, Luke thought; he definitely heard about it at home later, but solidarity was forever.

The Emperor called out with that same weird lust, "Strike him down, and take your rightful place at my side!"

Luke closed up his lightsaber, satisfied. Surely this was the moment. "I will not fight you," he stated to his father. Surely he had won his father back to the light. There was no mistaking the Emperor's plan. He wanted Luke to kill Vader. The Sith rule would continue, but with Luke as the learner. Vader would be dead. To the Emperor, clearly Vader was nothing. This had to be a low blow.

Unless Vader already knew that.

Luke awaited his father's reaction. Vader approached steadily, his red lightsaber glowing brightly. He loomed before Luke, his breathing even, untroubled. Luke found himself creeping slowly backwards up the steps again, his back toward the Emperor.

"You are unwise to lower your defenses," Vader said calmly, like it was just a lesson, and he hurled his saber at Luke.

The support struts broke, and Luke fell with them. He clambered to his feet, a panic seizing him for the first time. He had failed. Vader would kill him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of the battle, ships firing on each other, thoughts of Han and Leia in captivity on the moon. He could see them, surrounded, hands on their heads. Soon they would be told to stand on their knees, and a gun would be placed against the back of their necks; Leia's fine elegant braids would be matted with blood. Han's lifeless body, the general, would be dragged through the forest-

"Your thoughts betray you," Vader informed him, his voice coming very close.

He was almost out of time. He would join Han and Leia in death. But he never wanted that for them. Think, Luke told himself. If you can't think of how to save yourself, think of how you can save-

"Sister," Vader said, amazement and- relief?- in his voice. "If you cannot be turned," he spoke to Luke, "perhaps she will-"

"No!" Luke bellowed, gripped by a paralyzing fear he had never felt before. But his body filled with that glorious movement, and that edge he wanted Leia to beware of was pried up all the way, gaping and open. Luke was hurt, wounded. His father would drop him, kill him, never think of him, want him, for her. My sister, he slashed. Leia. You won't have her. His lightsaber punctuated each thought. Never. Never.

A hum was in his ears, green. The Emperor cackled and Vader wheezed. Her image rose to him; her eyes were brown while his were blue, but they were twins. They had been through the death of their mother together, and it was their father's fault. I love her. I won't let you. I love her like you can never know love; not since our mother loved you-

The rhythm hypnotized him and he lashed out, the rejection killing him. And he was scared, because what if Vader did find Leia?

It could always have been her, Luke knew. She could be the Jedi and Luke the soldier on the moon. He had always wondered why it wasn't so. He understood now. She knew hate and anger; her belief in the power of love made her strong. She was already primed for the dark side. Luke would let his aunt and uncle die again, but Leia would protect Alderaan at all costs.

His head hurt, and he didn't think he was seeing, just Leia, soft against Han's chest; her pain was gentle and full of hope, and he felt love. Soothing, healing, gratifying love. He saw it, and he saw her, them. Their bond, making the Force grow, Luke's Force, and it was strong.

Love, his and hers, the life he wanted for them, and Han, that they would give him a place to stay; to live and love, and it breathed on him, and then he became aware it was Vader's breathing, harsh and desperate, and still the Emperor laughed.

"Fulfill your destiny," he encouraged.

Luke was in striking pose, his lightsaber over his head when he came back to himself. I already have, he wanted to say. He looked down at his father, who lay on his back, defenseless, the lights on his lifesuit dancing faster than they had before. Trying to regulate his system, Luke realized. He had come dangerously close to killing him. He still could. But that's what the Emperor desired. Wires stood jaggedly from the edge of Vader's wrist, and Luke rubbed the fabric of his own glove against itself.

He could kill his father. He never thought he could, but the moment was here, and it would be easy. He knew that now.

But not for the Emperor. "You failed, Your Highness," and he tossed his lightsaber away. "I'll never turn to the dark side. I am a Jedi, like my father before me."

Vader was trying to get up. Luke was going to help him. He would show his father kindness, what he hadn't seen in a long time, even though he'd never been kind to Luke. But Luke had done it. Broken the cycle of the dark side. He had won. Vader was no longer fighting. But he was not defeated. Luke heard him sigh in acceptance, and the only emotions he felt were sorrow and pride. But the Emperor's lips were quivering oddly and Luke couldn't peel his eyes away.

"Then you will die," the Emperor said, a hard tone in his voice and eyes.

There was more noise, and Luke didn't know how he'd fallen to the ground, but his body was jerking and twitching; the room was filled with a blue light, blue behind his eyes, and he thought of the shimmering form of Ben. Then it stopped, and he grabbed his legs and chest, feeling for his body, feeling like he was disappearing.

He checked on his father, who was trying to roll to his knees, still not able to stand, and when the room turned blue again Luke shut his eyes on it, and realized the noise he heard was him screaming. Get up, he tried to say. "Father!"

It was too much... he didn't want Leia to know his last moments like he knew Beru's and Owen's. He didn't understand how he was dying. His body was not his; there was no pain, just a writhing he couldn't control. But his thoughts were clear. They were Owen and Beru. Is this what it felt like? Will it be quick?

He wanted it to stop. Everyone was in the room but Vader was the only one real. "Father, please!" His teeth were shaking in his mouth. Electricity spawned from the Emperor's fingers. He'd never heard of such a thing. He didn't know it was possible. "Father," he gasped, trying through clenched teeth to impart his last will. Promise you'll leave Leia alone.

Screams on screams, the room was screaming blue. It crackled with a terrifying energy, and though Luke's body was released he curled into a ball, shielding his head with his hands. This was not seduction. This was not easy. Had Yoda never toyed with the dark side? It was awful; it was draining the room of life, sucking Luke away, and his body slid. He gripped at the floor, arms flailing, trying to get a hold of something. Where would it take him? What would it do with his mind once it was finished with his body?

Determined, Luke held on to Beru, to the suns setting, and to Leia, refusing to let awareness go. He plucked bursts of sensation from the room, like catching twinkle bugs in a jar. Racing Biggs, Owen watching in disbelief as Luke spilled some water, Han letting little Lucky nibble the fingers of his glove. There was funny and sad, some was painful, but he took them all, whatever he could find, and when he found his mother he sent her to Vader, showed him how she had named her babies and told them, Know your father was good before, and then she had died. "Father!" Luke shouted.

And then it was quiet. Luke stayed curled up, listening, sensing. He was dead, then. It had happened. He had died. Silence, no discomfort. Was he in the Force? Had he managed that? He'd forgotten- he'd meant to be absorbed, but he was so surprised by the blue energy; he forgot to harness the Force around him.

Leia. He needed to find her. First he would assure her he was fine. It was alright to be dead. She needn't be sad, or angry. He had tried valiantly, but he had failed, and now that it was done, and all he had was eternity, all his struggles became unimportant.

But hers weren't. I did it for you, Leia. Please don't be sad. Don't hate our father. For a moment, I think I had him.

Soon, he would open his eyes, but for now he would stay within himself. Soon, he'd check for the blue glimmer that Ben appeared to him in. Or would mine be green, Luke wondered. I'd like it to be green. Force Maybes opened up to him like avenues. Wide and unobstructed. Would Vader seek Leia? He didn't like the first one he sailed- I'm sailing- down. Leia was dead, at the hands of Imperials, Han's body not far from hers. Not by his father, at least. The next, and Mon Mothma was watching her with pride as Leia made an acceptance speech. Han was there, too, Luke was pleased to see, wearing a proper uniform and beaming at her. Luke found himself down another- he was sitting at a table and she was bouncing a little girl on her lap. You're a mother! he exclaimed and twisted in his seat. Sure enough, Han was there, folding his hands over his eyes and saying to the little girl, "boo!" Luke kept looking. Where was the one where she ruled the galaxy, Empress Leia?

How would he find her? It was too bad Ben never told him how to travel as a Force ghost. Given the odds, it would be a useful lesson. Could he find Ben?

I'm thinking an awful lot, for a dead person, Luke told himself. He took an assessment. I can feel my heel on my ankle. It's kind of uncomfortable. He opened his eyes finally. It's dark in here, but I can see that. And I hear-

I don't think I'm dead. "Father?" The dark side had brought Luke across the room and a small circular railing had stopped his body from falling down a pit. Vader was at Luke's feet, his armpit caught in the railing, his breathing coming in short, squeaking rasps.

"Help me, son," Vader said.

Luke glanced out the viewport as he settled Vader's weight on his shoulder. The battle was in full swing. X-wings buzzed close by.

"They're close," he murmured, more to himself than his father. "They must have broken through." A joy filled his chest, like warm water. "The shields are down!"

"You must get away," Vader spoke brokenly. "The Death Star will be destroyed."

"I'm not leaving without you," Luke declared, and with his father as his burden- fitting, he thought ironically- he found the way out.

Vader told him which way to go to reach his shuttle. The lights in the corridors were on emergency settings, and alarms blared all over. Personnel hastened in all directions, and Luke thought for sure someone would stop and shoot him, or offer to help Lord Vader, but they made their way on their own.

The Death Star shuddered, and Luke lost his balance. He and Vader fell. "We're almost there," he panted to his father. "I can see the ramp." He tugged at his father's shoulder. "Father-"

"Luke, help me remove this mask," Vader managed to say.

Luke didn't know why he told his father in protest, "but you'll die." He knew Vader would- he knew Vader had to. Then he realized, he was asking for another shuttle ride. Another few minutes, in life, and he felt like a little boy. Just one more, please? He had his father, his real father, Anakin. What he'd always wanted, but thought he'd never get. He tugged on his father again. "I've got to save you," he insisted.

His father lay stubborn, heavy like the dead. "You already have," he tried to smile. "Let me look on you," Anakin struggled to say, "with my own eyes."

Without the helmet, his father's voice was soft, like Luke's. His eyes were blue. Years in a lifesuit had rendered the skin hairless and pale, but he was a man. Little crinkles appeared at his eyes. "You were right, Luke," he whispered.

Luke tried to memorize the features, the tenderness in the eyes, the way he tried to smile. He's remembering, Luke thought. He remembers.

"Tell you sister, you were right." Anakin dropped his head exhaustively on the floor and closed his eyes.

Luke looked around wildly, thinking to call for help, but the Death Star shuddered again and there was a rolling noise, like thunder. He dragged his father up the ramp, and left him on the floor. He started up the shuttle.

"Wait for me, Father," he called back from the cockpit. "I need to get us away. Don't- just wait."

His heart was thumping in his chest, jumping to his throat whenever he thought of the man lying on the floor in the back. Hurry up, he begged the engines.

"Father," he shouted, though he knew Anakin wouldn't be able to get his voice to carry to the cockpit. "I wish you could see this- the Death Star's breaking up. I see internal explosions. And-" hey! There went the Millennium Falcon. He watched his favorite ship loop, and he smiled, tears springing to his eyes. He keyed the ship-to-ship.

"Millennium Falcon," he hailed. "Captain Lando? This is Luke Skywalker." After the words were out he remembered it was General Calrissian.

"Luke?" Lando's incredulous voice responded. "Where-"

"I'm in an Imperial shuttle. Your aft. Could you advise the fleet not to fire? I'll be landing."

"Consider it done. But what were you-"

"Later. I gotta go. Skywalker out." Luke keyed off the transmission and jumped out of his seat. "Father? Be right there."

But as soon as he left the cockpit he saw Anakin was dead. He stood there a moment, lots of emotions rolling off him. Shame, that he let his father die alone, anger at his father for not waiting. Stupidity, because what did one do in the presence of a dead body? Should he try and revive it? Move the body? He opted instead to power down the settings for the life suit and the little lights stopped dancing. Then he covered the body with Vader's cape.

It felt odd to take a seat, when there was a dead body on the floor. He sat next to it on the floor. Father? he searched hesitantly. His father's body was whole. He was not absorbed, like Yoda or Ben; not consumed either. Be one with the Force, he encouraged his father. Come on. Don't make me have to explain you.

He would tell Leia their father was dead. And he would tell her she was right- the mystics were giving a clue. The riddle had another solution, one even Han hadn't thought of but maybe he should have. After all, he had dumped his cargo of spice so he wouldn't get caught. For itself, because of itself. One would leave the departing bank and never arrive at the second. It would drown in the river.

Was Vader drowned, or had he sacrificed himself? A little of both, Luke decided. "I already told Leia," he told the body, which remained solid and heavy, "there was still good in you. She didn't believe me. It's not going to appease her, you know. I suppose that's why the Force won't take you." He drew his knees up to his forehead and tried not to start crying. "I can't wait to get back to her."

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Ding dong, the Emperor's dead! There'll be one more ROTJ chapter, because we need to celebrate, and at least one epilogue. We have to set up a safe future for Leia, Han and Luke, and make sure a certain giant corporation does not enter this galaxy. Thank you, readers! I love you for being you!