Luke awoke in the cockpit of his X-wing, blinking away a slumber he hadn't realized he'd fallen into. A quick check revealed they were still en route to rendezvous with the fleet, about an hour from their destination with Artoo confidently at the controls. The droid had taken over shortly after they departed Dagobah as Luke turned his own focus inwards to the conflicted thoughts that hadn't quite settled after his conversations with Yoda and Ben. He could remember falling into meditation in order to consider everything he'd discovered, and as his breaths slowed and his mind stilled, he'd drifted out of consciousness. Now, though, he was awake, and everything felt clear.
"I can take over from here, Artoo. Thanks." The astromech twittered in response, a faint blend of amusement and exasperation colouring his beeps as he acknowledged the return to manual steering.
As the X-wing shot through hyperspace, a shift rippled through him, echoing right down to his core. Dagobah had changed Luke, in its own mysterious fashion, affecting him in a way he didn't realize he needed. It was a planet steeped in the Force, light and dark entwined in a swirling dance that both enticed and concealed. He'd changed the first time, too, gaining knowledge and strength through his training, though at the time he'd lacked the wisdom to fully comprehend what it all meant. It had taken the pain following that first visit for him to truly appreciate just what it was he'd gained there.
Leaving the first time led him to Bespin, where he'd found nothing but loss. Losing Han meant losing another friend, one he'd come to call a brother. It left a hollow place in his heart that had ached enough on its own, but sent a fresh, sharp stab through him whenever he caught a glimpse of the agony casting shadows over Leia's features when she was certain nobody else was looking. Luke had lost his hand, a throbbing phantom pain that did not quite compare to the conspicuous absence of his father's lightsaber on his belt. He had lost his duel, failing at the confrontation he'd left Dagobah for in the first place, failing at becoming the Jedi he was certain he could be.
He'd become well acquainted with loss as it followed him throughout the war. Each loss never really hurt any less, but the familiarity allowed him to find ways to sort through it, to acknowledge the pain and press forward. Losing Han had given them a task, a purpose to pursue in the days to come. The hand had been replaced swiftly with a prosthetic, and constructing his own lightsaber was a much needed exercise to train and test his skills, which he'd carefully cultivated in the year following that failed duel. Each loss held a purpose to be fulfilled, each pain held a lesson to be learned.
Each except, seemingly, the loss that haunted him the most – the loss of who he thought his father was. The loss of where he thought he'd come from. The loss of a significant piece of his identity.
The loss of something he didn't even know he could lose.
For months, he couldn't find the purpose in that. It was easy to focus on the tangible tasks of finding Han, building his lightsaber and training his skills, but every time he tried to find the logic in that fateful revelation, he came up short. Darth Vader was his father. Darth Vader, the man he'd spent three years despising, was the father he'd spent a lifetime idolizing. There was no sense to it.
At night, his subconscious went into overdrive trying to sort through it. There were dreams, repeated and unending, plaguing every moment he hoped to find some rest. He dreamed of letting go of that gantry and falling, endlessly, into a void that swallowed him whole. He dreamed of letting go too late, of being caught and captured and Falling anyways. He dreamed of his friends suffering, of the pain they endured because of him. He dreamed of running, being stalked, being cornered, being caged. He dreamed formless, shadowy dreams that left him with a cold sweat and a twisting dread when he awoke.
He dreamed of wearing a mask, his towering form encased in stiff, heavy armour as his slow, even breaths echoed across the galaxy.
Each night, the dreams had been relentless, setting him into restless fits that really didn't count much as sleep. Some nights, he avoided trying to sleep altogether, but the images that flickered through his mind haunted him in his waking hours, too, spurred on by the fog that had settled over his mind from a combination of anguish and lack of proper rest. However awful it got, though, he was careful not to let it show, so he could keep contributing however he could. High Command had placed him on medical leave for several weeks, keeping him forcibly out of the field for a while, but he still worked on repairs, still attended briefings when he could, still spent time in the flight simulators. He went through the motions, because they were the only things that made sense anymore.
Of course, Leia had noticed – Wedge and the rest of the Rogues had, too, but they were easier to convince that his recovery was going better than it really was. Leia... was far more astute, and far more stubborn than his squadmates. She would respect when he truly wanted to be alone, but there were times when she insisted on sitting with him, perhaps one of their hands on the other's shoulders or maybe their fingers interlaced together, as comfortable silence passed between them. She had been suffering too, had her own burdens to bear, and maybe she needed that just as much as Luke did. It had been Leia's grounding influence that made those first few weeks bearable, even when the dreams threatened to consume his very soul, even when he felt on the edge of complete breakdown, as though the galaxy would crumble, taking Luke along with it. Things could never be the way they once were, not now that Luke knew what he did, but at least he had someone standing beside him to make it feel like they could, some day, feel okay again.
After some time, his mind began to settle a bit. The dreams never quite stopped, and he was still visited by the visions of his downfall, the darkness that could consume him, the monster he might be destined to become... But they were no longer the only dreams he had. Through increased meditation, he could find rest in the Force that he could not find in sleep, and he threw himself into the tasks he'd undertaken. Moving past the more tangible losses made the dreams, and the loss they stemmed from, easier to bear.
Bearing those burdens didn't mean he'd accepted the truth, though. Oh, he knew what the Force was telling him, knew exactly that whatever Vader had done, he hadn't lied to Luke. He knew precisely what the truth was. He just refused to accept it. Accepting it meant accepting that he'd been lied to by people he trusted. Accepting it meant accepting how little he actually knew about his past. Accepting it meant accepting the darkness within him that he desperately did not want to confront.
So he avoided the truth until he couldn't avoid it anymore. In the end, it came back to Dagobah, and his second visit there provided what he needed to accept it - and understand why it had been concealed from him the way it had. He didn't agree, but he did understand. Ben and Yoda had only wanted him to be prepared for the truth, to be strong enough to keep a clear head. But they also wanted him to kill his own father, and as much as he'd avoided the truth after Bespin, in that time he still thought about the man he somehow knew his father had been. He remembered the stories he could coax out of Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen about the life of slavery his father and grandmother had lived. He remembered hearing all about his father's piloting, unparalleled skills that somehow became embedded in legends. He remembered rebels old enough to remember the Clone Wars telling stories about the Hero With No Fear, sweeping in to handle any situation, a Jedi celebrated by the Republic for his endless heroic deeds. Whoever Darth Vader was now, he'd been that man, once. He'd been Luke's father – and Luke could not kill his own father.
So what was he supposed to do?
He would have to face his father again. Leaving Dagobah, Luke knew that much, at least. But could he really consider himself a Jedi if he went into that confrontation with the intent to kill? Could he still truly follow the path of the Light if he refused to even give his father a chance? There had to be good in Vader, still, somewhere buried deep down. He just wasn't sure what he could do about it.
Through his meditation, he turned to the Force for answers, and it responded through his dreams. Perhaps it had been all along, each vision of darkness spurring him towards accepting a truth he worked so hard to deny. He could find no illumination for the future if he could not, also, acknowledge the reality of his past. Now that he had, the Force could, at last, guide him down the path that lay ahead. So it shaped his dreams, once again allowing him to sort through the discoveries he'd made.
First, he dreamed of Leia – and, if he was ever thankful for anything in his life, it was that his father hadn't been able to catch a glimpse of that. It was a reprise of an old dream, one he'd had many times as a child, but could never quite remember or make out clearly. There had always been two figures, small and undefined, running across familiar dunes that shifted and morphed into larger, towering shapes. This time, everything had come into focus, sharpened by the newfound knowledge he carried about his sister. The small figures wore familiar features, the sands of Tatooine laid out before them in picturesque perfection, the endless horizon swallowed instead by what he was certain were the mountains of Alderaan. The two of them ran, laughter ringing through the air, echoing as they moved faster and faster until they began to soar high above the world below. As they flew, the sands and the mountains shimmered and shifted until they were above a verdant lakefront on no planet Luke had ever seen before.
Something about that lush, sprawling world seemed to call to him, and he longed to cling to Leia and explore it together, but the Force resisted – there would be another time for that. There were more pressing matters to attend to, first. Again, the world shifted, and he found himself above Tatooine once more, exactly as he'd known it, flying in a skyhopper rather than on the wind alone. Leia was no longer beside him, replaced instead by the figure who'd visited him in countless dreams all through his life.
His father.
This, too, was a familiar vision, and he couldn't help but simply enjoy it as he had so many times before. For the first time since Cloud City, he wasn't being haunted by the truth or being plagued by fear of darkness. He could, if only for a moment, allow himself to indulge in the little thrill he always got when he imagined flying with his father.
Foolish of him to think that this dream had been a reward for accepting the truth. No, the Force still had other things in mind, and this dream had only been to set the stage for what he was really here for.
Vader's presence was clear as soon as he arrived, a sharp, distinctive cold that Luke couldn't really feel but settled over him nonetheless. He didn't believe it, at first, wondering if maybe his dreams were simply turning back to the same dark place they'd gone to since Bespin, but it was soon certain that Vader was actually present – with an obvious distaste for any reminders of the past. He had crashed the skyhopper, banished the vision of the man he'd once been, and held palpable contempt for the planet around them. In spite of that, though, he was still there, seeming to reach out, in some manner, searching for the same sort of answers Luke was hoping to find.
Communicating with his father in this way felt... different. For one thing, they weren't locked in combat like every other confrontation they'd had. They were still on opposing sides of a war, but a momentary ceasefire allowed them to just talk, and let discoveries come as they may. For so long, Luke had ignored the connection between them, as though he could will it into non-existence, but acknowledging the truth meant he couldn't ignore it anymore. Through their bond, they had the chance to feel each other out and try to gauge their intentions for the coming days. Luke had no idea what his father could sense in him, but the young Jedi's own discoveries certainly proved to be illuminating.
Even through that cold darkness, even after everything he'd done, even after decades of trying to deny it, there was still a sliver of Light within Vader.
Luke had suspected it, wanted to believe in it, but now he was certain. And he knew, now, that tiny speck of Light would be the key to everything yet to come. He could save his father. He was sure of it. He was still unclear on the how, but that was so much less important than knowing that it could be done in the first place. It was a choice he was certain nobody would agree with, but it was the only choice he could see. Turning to the Dark Side wasn't an option, and neither was killing his father. Sacrificing himself to bring down the Emperor was a possibility, but the only answer that felt right was bringing his father back to the Light.
Leaving Dagobah the first time, he'd been so certain about what he was doing, so convinced that leaving was the right choice, only to be proven wrong after landing on Bespin. He'd lost so much, and his conviction became a hopeless uncertainty about the future. Leaving Dagobah this second time, he'd felt nothing but conflict and confusion, only to find what he needed through the Force. This time, he'd gained instead of lost, and felt more certain than ever about what he was doing.
He had gained a sister, one he always had and would have forever. He had gained a father, a more complete picture of a man he hardly knew and yet finally understood. He had gained wisdom and purpose, an understanding of his place within this universe and the role he would play within it.
The X-wing shuddered as it came out of hyperspace, and as it drifted towards the gathered fleet, Luke could sense a buzz of anticipation emanating from the rebels aboard the ships. Part of him shared that same feeling, because they all knew how close this war was to its conclusion. Facing this second Death Star could mean the success of their goals or the destruction of everything they had worked for. The war would be won or lost at Endor, and there was an edge to the sense of everyone in the rebellion. Luke, however, most prominently felt peace settle over him.
Whatever happened, he knew what he had to do.