Green and blue with splashes of purples was all Luke could see, stretching on into what seemed like forever.
The shuttle—a non-descript, non-official transport—swooped in towards Theed but Luke did not shift his gaze off from the direction of the lake country, staring, his nose plastered to the viewport in the passengers' section. Green, and blue, and the colour that was, somehow, a peace and a joy...
Somehow, for a reason he could not quite place, he felt at peace... at home. And he wanted to ask why, but did not quite know how.
Beside him, Nova smiled.
"I've been here before," Luke murmured. "I know that, we visited only a few weeks ago, but..."
She squeezed his shoulder. "But now you get to officially stay here? And see the place?"
His face broke into a soft smile, like dawn over one of the hills. "Yes," he breathed.
They stood there for a moment more, watching the way the light fractured through the atmosphere, whiter and cleaner than it ever was on Coruscant. Theed glittered in its domed blue glory up ahead of them, as they swept past waterfall after waterfall in a full loop of its splendour, the royal palace seated atop it like the crown. Luke looked on in awe.
"Come on," Nova said eventually, tugging him away. "Vader wants to debrief you on what the schedule is."
The schedule. Already, he could feel his headache returning, his sour mood creeping back up on him. This was a holiday, yes, but it was not one like those in the novels he'd read as a child, it could not be normal. Nothing he ever participated in, ever, could be normal.
Vader was standing on the other side of the shuttle, practically in a corner, pointedly not looking out of any of the windows. When Nova and Luke approached, though, he looked over them both, and... something in his sense softened.
"Majesty," he said. "We are descending into Theed. You will meet with the Queen and explain to her the reason for your visit here—the holiday home we will be spending time at is... significant, and was given to your mother's family and Sabé as a gift upon her death, but it remains caught up in palace politics. It is vital that we at least establish what we are doing here before we use it. The Queen is—"
"Queen Dalné, fourteen," Luke interrupted. "I know. I already met her." Besides, of course he knew who the monarch on Palpatine's—and his mother's—home planet was. "The same age as me."
Vader observed him for a moment. "She is running a planet, Majesty, not an Empire."
Luke shrugged. "At least she's running it. No matter how hard I try, there only seems to be one kind of running that I'm doing." A pointed look out the window—back at the Star Destroyer that had dropped them off, the spot it had been before it vanished.
Vader made a sound that might've been a sigh. "This is not running, little angel, this—" He broke off when he realised Luke wasn't about to listen anyway.
"She will meet you in the throne room. Expect to receive the pleasantries and airs expected of you as a visiting dignitary, particularly one to whom she has sworn her loyalty. However, the meeting with her and her council should be brief, and then we will be on our way."
"And then where are we going?" Luke asked.
"Varykino," Nova said, and she... she was smiling. "It was— or rather, it is a holiday home out in the lake country. It was owned by the government, for years and years, and Naboo's most favoured artisans and politicians visited, but your mother spent enough of her life there that when she died, there were discussions about turning it into a museum to her. They did not, eventually, but the house was given to the Naberrie family as a token of thanks for her dedicated service anyway; they use it regularly."
Luke blinked. "You mean... still?"
Nova frowned. "What do you mean?"
His heart was pounding in his chest. "They still use it? My mother still has living relatives, who use the place regularly?"
He saw the moment that realisation dawned, then, and her smile only broadened. Vader stiffened as he realised too.
"Yes," Nova said with relish. "Padmé had a sister—Sola. She, her two daughters, and her and Padmé's parents are still alive, though Ruwee is getting on in years."
Luke... not quite gasped, but gasped at the knowledge, his smile broadening. A relieved huff or sigh, perhaps, but he whispered, "I... I have living relatives?"
He did not miss the pointed look that Nova gave Vader, but she slipped an arm around his shoulder and squeezed gently, meeting his gaze. "
"Yes," she uttered. "You do."
Luke blinked, suddenly realising... everything he'd never asked before, never had reason to ask before. "How? Why wasn't I sent to them when she died? W—" He swallowed. "Was I sent to them, but Palpatine..."
Again, Nova and Vader exchanged a look.
"Obi-Wan took you to Tatooine, where your father's step family lived," she said quietly. Vader... jerked, but didn't refute it, and Luke almost didn't notice; he was too busy staring wide-eyed up at her, his gaze starry and shocked. "He thought you'd be safe from Palpatine there." She pinched her lips. "He was wrong."
Luke's shoulders sagged. "I see."
Nova tried to smile. "But hey! We can introduce you to your mother's family on this trip, if we get the time!"
"We cannot," Vader said, like it was a decree from the Force itself. "The Emperor's presence here is meant to be kept as much of a secret as possible, which will inevitably be met with limited success, but pulling the Naberries into such a difficult situation will only endanger them."
"Oh."
Vader looked at Luke. "I... am sure you will be able to meet with them anyway, another time. But for the duration of this holiday—"
"Which will be about a month," Nova offered—or rather, interjected.
"—you cannot."
Luke sighed.
"Alright," he said, and he just knew that Vader was wincing at his tone. "Let's meet the Queen."
Meeting Dalné was a less than ideal experience.
As he stood opposite her, he tried to imagine what this had to look like for the adults surrounding them, and he found he disliked the resemblance between the two of them immensely:
Two child rulers shaking hands, dressed up in expensive regalia to give this little farce the expected air of dignity.
Queen Dalné smiled politely, and he smiled politely back; for a moment, he had to wish that he had the same ceremonial makeup as her, to better hide his awkwardness. This... was not what he'd wanted, when Vader had first proposed a retreat. A holiday.
A place to find out more about his mother.
He supposed that she was here, in these walls—she had been queen once, just as Dalné was now, and he had to wonder if the regal name Dalné had been picked to honour Padmé Amidala, the way Nova had called herself Sabé from the moment she served her. There had been several stained glass windows that they'd walked past to get here, that Vader had stiffened and avoided looking at with all his might, but Luke couldn't help but stare.
His mother had been serene.
His mother had been stately.
His mother had been... stunning.
But it also all seemed just superficial.
The place was beautiful. If he'd grown up here, the way his mother and possibly his father had no doubt intended, perhaps he would view it in a far more flattering light. Perhaps he would see the history in the grandeur, the respect for beloved figures, the masks that hid the subtle currents of deception enhancing the beauty in a way that was honest about the reverse that lay beneath.
But the splendour... the politics... the two-faced whispering and judgement raining down on him from every portrait and window...
It reminded him that Palpatine had come from this planet as well.
"Your Majesty," Queen Dalné greeted, her smile passive and reserved. He found nothing to relate to in it. "You honour us with your visit to Naboo—again, so soon after your official tour. As the homeworld of your late, beloved father"—there was a shrewd look in her eye and suddenly everything clicked into place; he knew exactly how he was going to play this, and find the warm presence of his mother that he'd been searching for so fiercely—"or rather, your adoptive father, we welcome you will open arms and the highest regards."
Her gaze tracked down his outfit: a simple dark red robe, embroidered in gold and black with fleur de lis patterning in the Naboo fashion, to pay homage. He could almost sense her distaste for the token, shallow respect of what was clearly a rich culture he had not been raised in, but now... now he knew exactly what game Nova had meant for him to play, when she dressed him in this.
You are an Imperial, raised by a shameful son of our planet, and you are not even of our blood, the Queen had implied. Why are you here?
Luke raised his eyes to the murals of Naboo's historical monarchs, painted on the ceilings and high walls of the throne room. He sought his mother's image, in red and gold, and found his strength.
"Thank you for allowing me to stay, Your Majesty," he said in return. He made sure to put emphasis on the title, to try and show that with equal titles, equal ages... they were equal, in a way. "And thank you for allowing me to use the lake house of Varykino for this retreat; it honours me more than I can say."
There, he saw it, even through the mask of the makeup: a muscle twitched in her jaw.
"I could hardly refuse," she said, and there was anger in her voice. Defensiveness at the perceived forcefulness. The slightest glare at Nova—for what? For working with the Empire? Or for willingly handing over Amidala's sanctuary, as it had come to be known, on top of that?
He bowed his head. "I..." He paused, and began again. "As I am sure you are aware, it recently came to light, for myself and for the galaxy, that my father was not the father I was born to, biologically." He looked her dead in the eye. "Even as I wish for nothing but to honour my father and his legacy, I firmly believe that his mercy in raising me, someone who would've been a war orphan, should be continued and expanded upon—his vision should be altered and improved, to fit a changing galaxy. I know that I come from a family who had very different ideas to my father, but his cooperation with my birth mother saw wonderful results during the age of the Republic, and I hope that by coming here to better connect with the mother I never knew, I can better marry these two ideals to become a better ruler, as well as finding peace in myself and my heritage."
Uncertain, or not. Correct, or not. Clever, or not.
If Palpatine had taught Luke to be one thing, it was a damn good speaker.
Dalné's face was creased ever so slightly in confusion, her makeup smoothing it to indifference, but the Force did not lie and Luke could sense her irritation. What was he playing at? Why was he here? What was he planning?
Luke said, "Hearing from Lady Sabé"—he gestured to her; they studied her, and clocked with certainty that that was Amidala's closest handmaiden from during her reign and service—"that my birth mother was none other than the woman I had always idolised, Padmé Amidala... it meant so much to me. And I may never get to speak to her in person, but I will cherish any part of her I can find, and do my best to follow her vision for a galactic government as I continue my rule."
He bowed, and allowed himself to smile only the slightest bit, eyes closed, at the stunned silence in the throne room. Dalné's advisors stared.
"So thank you for allowing Sabé to host me there, while I try to... try to reconcile my identity." He let himself stumble slightly, show a hint of vulnerability, make him relatable. He'd just told them in as many words that Palpatine had taken Amidala's child from what should've been his home with her relatives and raised him for his own. Right now, they would not be seeing the youthful wisdom they so valued in their teenage rulers. They would be seeing a lost boy—a lost son.
They would be seeing the way the robes swallowed him whole… robes which were identical in colour and pattern to the regal dress she was so often depicting as wearing. A clear nod—a sign of respect..
Dalné... smiled, a little. "Well, then, I must welcome you home, Your Majesty," she said. "And we pray that you will find the understanding you seek. Varykino—and the lake country as a whole—is known to be excellent for that."
He bowed his head again. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he replied, and took that as his cue to leave.
He did not stick around to hear the Queen demand to speak to Nova, to hear her point of view on everything that had happened, all of it—and therefore he did not hear the way Nova asked if she could contact the Naberries for her, to pass on a message.
Within the hour, he was in a speeder and on the way to Varykino, and this time... the splendour Naboo had to offer felt a lot less like his father, and much more like his mother, instead.
The house... was utterly stunning. Luke gawked at it, doing his best to ignore the dark lord—he hung over him like an overgrown mynock, though he seemed as lost in thought as Luke was, staring out at the countryside with an almost wistful sense in the Force—and just... enjoyed it.
Nova had already slipped into the large, classical house with its pillars and winding staircase up to the massive rooms, and the colour scheme and the architecture... but Luke stayed leaning against the balcony at the top of the stairs, and watched the sun set over the lake as Ahsoka came up from the speeder, their luggage hovering behind her with ease.
The house was stunning. The lake was stunning. Luke paused to let it... sink in, and was glad when Vader wandered away from him to let him do it; his clear distaste for being there somewhat soured the evening mists. But... it was beautiful.
The house was built in the particularly Naboo fashion, its floors layered and intricate and sweeping in shades of blue and white like something out of a fairy tale. Every balcony burst with flowers, be they ryoo or candlewicks or irises, and the wide, winding staircases even had large pots of small trees tucked into their corners, hanging baskets swinging overhead. The marble of the elegant railing was cool against his forearms as he stared down, left and right, at the open, airy rooms, the lake that spread below him...
It was bluer than anything he'd ever seen. The green hills around it, dotted with shaaks in the distance, rolled like the folds of some of Nova's richer dresses, and he found his gaze hooking on a stretch of beach near where they'd arrived by boat. The last time he'd visited a beach had been when Tagge had had to bring the Dauntless to Scarif, and Luke had had a blissful two hours to enjoy himself there...
Now he had a month.
It was warm here, even in the golden light of the setting sun, but a breeze was cool and whispering. It tugged at his red robes, rifled through his hair; he found himself wondering why the Naboo chose red as their symbolic governmental colour, or why his mother had chosen it, when so much else on this planet was the peaceful blues and greens...
He was going to stay here. For a month.
This was a piece of her—a piece of his history, buried deep inside his blood and his bones. He was going to stay here, Ahsoka was going to train him, and he was going to connect with the Force, and her, and...
...and if the Force, and Vader, willed it, he might get to meet his family as well.
He found himself smiling—found the view blurring and fracturing and bleeding before his eyes, as his gaze swam with tears he did not shed. He just glanced down at the very real railing, at the ryoo flowers in the pot that brushed his ankle, at the embroidery he wore that was identical to her.
Then he started back down the stairs.
Slowly, at first. Then he broke out into a run, faster, taking them two then three at a time in great bounds, his legs short enough that he leapt and seemed to fly with every stride. He passed Ahsoka, skidding neatly under her levitated luggage; he could hear Nova's laughter on the wind; he could sense Vader's intense, worried gaze on him as he went down, and down, and down, until he hit the bottom.
Vader would squawk about security and schedules. As out of character as it was for him, it was all he'd done since they'd arrived. But while the house didn't look easily defendable, Luke knew it must be, through holocams and shields and guard nooks hidden where the beauty could easily disguise them—and Vader would know that better than anyone.
So Vader did not stop him as Luke spun in the waning light of the sun, his robes swirling around his shins; lifted them up, kicked off his shoes, and waded into the lake.
His laughter resonated over the water.
"Every time I think you've reached the height of your foolishness," Sabé said behind him as he watched Luke laugh, making ripples in the lake, "you outdo yourself."
He turned to her and glared. He was already grumpy at being here, Luke's joy aside, if she truly wanted to start being obnoxious—
She laughed in his face. "You love him," she said. "You're happy that he's happy. Go down there and tell him random facts you know about the lake and the plants and animals inside it. Show him the places you explored whenever you spent time here. Enjoy his joy. He's your son."
"Everything I know about this place," Vader growled, "came from Padmé."
"It did. And so did Luke." She shrugged, and wandered over to where Ahsoka was dividing the luggage into carriers for whose bedroom it was meant to go to. "You know, she was a wonderful woman, and a wonderful wife. One day, perhaps those memories of her could be something you cherish—and something you will relish sharing with your son."
Vader... could not sigh. But he sighed anyway, watching Luke tilt his golden head back and laugh, the rays of the setting sun limning his angelic face in light.
"Don't be a shadow on his time here."
Vader swallowed.
And then he started down the steps.
He went... slower than Luke had. Glancing around, savouring every part of the place that he could—he could not smell, could not see the colours, but his memories did the work for him. Let his heart swell with the power of it all.
By the time he stood on the water's edge and made a wry comment, his son whirling to face him, he was smiling broadly.
They settled in quickly, and the next morning saw Luke getting to sleep in, until he was woken by the creep of noonday sun through his window. He ate with Sabé on one of the balconies, Vader off… somewhere else… and then sat under a tree in the garden with Ahsoka for their training that afternoon, feeling the cool air kiss his cheek.
It became a rhythm, over several days. They would sit and meditate; they would practise katas; they would… enjoy the training process, and work hard. Luke felt himself relaxing, here.
One day, a week after he'd arrived on Naboo and two weeks since he'd met her, she'd left him alone to meditate in that position for a while, and though he tried to focus… something worked at his mind.
"Ahsoka," he said softly to himself after a while, breaking the silence. "Can you... Can you tell me more about Anakin Skywalker? Please? I know it's rude to talk about him behind his back, but... I'm so curious!"
He sat under the tree and— no, he stood up and paced. Ahsoka was probably still nearby, watching, and she was probably laughing at him right now, but...
"Ahsoka," he tried again, feeling the words around his mouth. Despite their two weeks of training, they still hadn't quite established the best methods of communication yet, he still hadn't quite got into her rhythm; he'd messed up several times in their levitation lessons, but she hadn't reacted to his failure anywhere near the way he'd expected her to, and he didn't know how she'd react to him slacking off instead of meditating either... "I— I want to know more about Vader's backstory, I feel like there's so much he's not telling me, and—"
"Ask him yourself, then."
Luke yelped, spinning around.
Ahsoka stood by the water's edge, her shoes kicked off at the shoreline and the water lapping around her ankles; despite the fact that this large tree they'd taken to meditating in the shade of grew right next to the lake, its thick, winding roots worn smooth by years of visitors using them as a ladder or series of steps to get down to the water, he hadn't spotted her hanging around.
He glowered. "How— how long—"
"Long enough to know you've not been meditating at all," she said cheerfully. He flushed.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let myself get distracted, I promise—"
"Don't promise me anything. We're all mortal. We'll drift and find other things more interesting, sometimes, and you're allowed to make mistakes."
Luke blinked.
She just smiled. "Now, what was it you wanted to ask me?"
A little emboldened by her lack of ire with him, he pushed, "Could... could you tell me about him? He said you were his padawan, when he was a Jedi."
"I was." The water lapped against the sides of the lake; for a moment, it was the only sound. Before Ahsoka sighed. "I can tell you stories about the great Anakin Skywalker, if you want. I can regale you with how we broke through the Separatists air forces to liberate Ryloth, how we saved Christophsis, how here, on this very planet, Anakin saved both me and Padmé from an insane scientist trying to bring back the Blue Shadow Virus and found a cure for it before we died."
Luke's eyes blew wide. Now that was a story he wanted to hear—
"But it won't answer your questions," she said, "because I know you're not asking for stories."
"Yes I am," Luke whined. "I am asking for stories. I don't know anything about him; maybe, hearing a little bit, will help."
"You don't want stories. You want understanding, but don't know the right questions to ask, yet."
Luke huffed out a breath. "Then how do I find the right questions to ask?"
"Meditating and asking the Force for guidance is known to work."
After a moment, he realised she was teasing. He scowled playfully.
"But I will tell you," she went on, turning her gaze up towards the house—there was a shadow on one of the balconies, keeping an eye on them; Ahsoka waved at him and Luke snorted, "that this place is important to him. You know he cared about Padmé. He spent time here. I'm sure that... with some investigation..." She winked. "You could uncover something."
Luke frowned. "Like what?"
"I don't know. You'll have to find out. Now, take off your shoes and come into the water with me?"
"Why?"
She grinned. "You're questioning everything. That's good. And the answer is because it's hot today, and you look red in the face—and humans aren't meant to be red in the face—and I want to show you how to physically impose the Force on natural substances, like water." She waved her arm, and a wave rippled away from her, collapsing back into the lake.
He scrambled down the tree roots and pulled off his shoes, lying them neatly next to hers, and waded in.
"You know," Ahsoka asked, before he started to raise his hands and try it himself, "you could ask Vader these questions himself. I'm sure he won't mind."
"Really?" His doubt was evident in his tone.
"Really. He hates it here—reminds him too much of Padmé. But he stays anyway."
"Why does he stay?" Luke spread his arms, closed his eyes, and let the Force trickle into him. "He doesn't have to. And I never got the impression that he didn't like it here—he's always seems... not happy, but content, when I see him."
"That's because of you, little one," she said. "That's because he loves you. He likes knowing you're happy."
Luke... smiled. "I know," he said.
Then he said, "You knew my mother too, didn't you?"
"I did," she confirmed.
"Can— can you tell me about her, at least?"
"Are you trying to get out of lessons?"
"Maybe." He grinned cheekily.
Ahsoka laughed. "Alright. Well, I suppose as good as any is the time I had visions she was going to be assassinated while she was giving a speech about refugees on Alderaan, and I joined her on the trip, and she beat me thoroughly at holochess..."
Luke followed Ahsoka's advice. He went snooping.
And he found images of his mother.
In all fairness, they weren't particularly hard to find. Nova had pointed him in the direction of an old, unused cupboard which the Naberries had apparently turned into some sort of shrine to Padmé, or a place to keep all their memories of her in one place.
It... was painful. He'd known who Senator Amidala was long before he'd known she was his mother. Palpatine had had a portrait of her hanging in the Palace somewhere, for goodness' sake, though Luke now suspected that that may have been to torment Vader just as much as it was to hold her up as a martyr for the Empire. Ever since he'd learned, walking to and fro underneath that portrait had meant something else—an indefinable feeling, a pressure, but also a sort of quiet faith in himself and in Nova.
And now he'd found a collection of dusty holos of her. He'd taken them from the cupboard to view them in the light, and for the ones taken at Varykino, he'd viewed them where they'd been taken. Here, by the balcony that overlooked the lake, in an off-the-shoulder dress all colours of the rainbow; here, by the main dining room, in a black dress; here, out in the meadows, her hair in buns like Leia's and gold lacing detailing every part of her bodice.
Then he stumbled upon a holo with another man in it, and Luke's heart stopped.
Could... could this be his father?
Could it be, that after all this secrecy, all this hiding the truth from him, Luke could have just stumbled onto a holo that showed him?
If— if it was his father, and Luke didn't want to get his hopes up, he... he could see some family resemblance, he supposed. His face was much stronger than Luke's, he was much taller, and the holo wasn't detailed enough to make out his eyes...
But then, when he went searching for more holos with the man in, he... stumbled upon a video.
And his heart stopped. He barely breathed before he started playing it.
It was taken somewhere in the meadows. The man was approaching a shaak, larger and bouncier than him in every sense of the word, his hands out and an intensely wary expression on his face. But when he tossed a look back at Luke—at the person taking the holo—his grin was wicked.
"Watch me, Padmé," he said brightly. His accent was from the Outer Rim, Luke noted. It— it could be his father, Nova had said that he had had relatives on Tatooine, and you couldn't get more Outer Rim than that— "I'm gonna do this successfully this time."
The person taking the holo—Padmé; Luke's mother—laughed. "And you're sure we won't get crushed-Anakin again?"
Luke stilled.
Anakin—it had to be Anakin, right? They weren't talking about... crushing a person who wasn't there, right?—laughed, and flashed another charming smile right back at her. The eager-to-please sense in his expression... Luke was familiar with that. He wasn't familiar with the sheer adoration in the look that he was giving Padmé.
"Have a little faith," Anakin—Vader—said, and then he jumped.
The shaak bucked him off and Padmé dissolved into peals of laughter as he grunted, trying to run away, and then the holo stopped.
Luke stared. It had frozen on Vader's face.
That was not the face of a tormentor. Of a murderer. Of a Sith. He was only a few years older than Luke—still a teenager, possibly.
That was Vader.
That was Vader.
And he looked really familiar...
Luke shut off the holo, clenching it so tightly in his fist that he feared crushing it. That innocent question he'd posed so long ago—what's a threesome?—and the implications of it baffled him.
Luke's father, whoever he was, was not... anywhere, in any of these photos. It was only Anakin—only Vader. Was that why he'd been so hurt when it had been Luke's father that Padmé had ended up loving, so long ago? Was that why Vader had become so bitter about it? All that love and adoration, twisted into jealousy—jealousy and festering emotions that had never been resolved, because Luke's mother had died, and Luke's father...
What had happened to him?
All the Jedi were gone. They were dead. And Luke was all too familiar with Vader's anger, his vendettas; he'd seen it against Ben. Had he hunted down Luke's father purposely, the dark side corrupting his emotions into something vicious and vengeful, and cut him down? He would not put that past him.
Luke bowed his head. He knew Vader wouldn't hurt him. Just as he wouldn't hurt Padmé—not when he'd loved her that much.
But that was all he knew.
That was all he knew about anything.
For a moment he thought about Crown of Stars, and the complex, dramatic relationships there—about affairs, and those threesomes whose theory had been thoroughly debunked, and betrayal. But if Luke was secretly Vader's child, not Padmé's husband's, then Vader would have told him by now. There was no reason for him not to have told him, the moment Luke woke up in that medbay; Vader was inclined to harsh truths and disinclined to political lies. Besides, they had been on good terms for a while by now, so... Surely he would have told him...
But he had not.
So it must not be true.
And if he wasn't telling Luke what had really happened... it must have been ugly.
Luke gritted his teeth, swallowed, and put the holo in his pocket. He had a lot to think about.
"That's quite the collection of stuffed animals," Ahsoka noted shortly after walking in.
Luke couldn't help but beam as he responded. "Vader's been helping me add to it."
Ahsoka glanced around Luke's chosen bedroom, the windows wide open to let the sunlight, the wind and even some of the climbing vines in. There was a porg perched on the windowsill. She lowered her gaze, and saw a long, stuffed colo claw fish lying to the side of the rug, winding along to where a bantha was perched at its head, at the base of the bed. There was also a nexu, a reek, a tauntaun, a wampa, a... Ahsoka gave up.
"He... gave these to you?" she asked. That sounded like something Anakin would do. She could picture him in the shop, Padmé hovering over his shoulder and rolling her eyes affectionately, as he frantically tried to decide between two toys and ended up choosing both, lest his little angel not like the one he chose.
Luke smiled broadly. How...? How did he not realise who Vader truly was to him? Was the concept of a father being evil truly so ingrained in his mind that the kinder Vader was to him, the less it was likely that it was him?
But Ahsoka found herself smiling back at Luke, in response. He was a sweet kid. He deserved so much more than this, and Vader—Anakin—knew it. Perhaps that was why he was striving so hard for the boy to at least be happy, even if he couldn't have the true happiness he deserved, and why he was willing to suffer the memories of Varykino to see it happen.
"Have you named them?" she asked instead of voicing any of her thoughts, reluctantly softening when she saw the way Luke cradled his nerf to his chest, tightly, and smiled down at it. The nerf had a colourful scarf around its neck.
He frowned. "No. I'm not a kid."
Ahsoka didn't know what to say to that. So she pointedly did not look at the masses of toys, and said nothing.
"...alright," Luke admitted. "I have named them."
She smiled.
"The nerf is called..." Luke paused, and bit his lip.
"What?" Ahsoka asked, leaning in.
"The nerf is called Anakin," he admitted.
She... didn't laugh. Laughing was too harsh or loud a sound for the word to fit; it was a release of breath, a huff with humour involved, and Luke scowled.
"I know, I know, it's stupid—"
"On the contrary, little one. It's very sweet. Does Vader know?"
He buried his face in the nerf's—in Anakin's—soft fur, but Ahsoka could still see the tops of his cheekbones, and they were red and rosy. "No."
"Are you going to tell him?"
Luke glanced at Anakin-the-nerf. "No."
"Are you sure?" Ahsoka didn't know what Vader had against his past name, why he was so adamant no one use or know it, but she was fairly sure he'd be far from upset to learn that his son had decided, at some point, to name one of his beloved toys—a source of comfort—after him.
Luke tilted his head like a confused akk pup, glanced between her and Anakin-the-nerf, and said, "...maybe."
She just smiled at that. "I think he'd be happy to know it." A Sith would find the concept abhorrent, she knew—but the fact they were here, and the fact that Luke had these toys at all, proved that Vader was no true Sith. "But it's your toy. It's your choice."
Luke nodded. Then his lips quirked up. "Did you just come in here to ask about my toys?"
"No," she said, easily falling back into the reason she was here. "I wanted to ask how you'd feel about working on your mental shielding, now that you've got a decent handle on meditation and levitation. I promise I'll be gentle, but it's a big step, and no one will blame you if you don't want to take it."
Luke stared at her. "I... I'll do it."
"Don't just say that because you don't want to disappoint me."
"It's not—" He bit his tongue.
Ahsoka said, "Vader would be more disappointed if you dedicated yourself to something that hurt you than if you chose not to learn mental shielding. And you know that Sabé is the same."
Luke swallowed.
"I still want to learn," he said firmly. "I promise it's not because I don't want to disappoint anyone. It's because I trust you, and I want to get stronger."
"You are already very strong."
"And there's no harm in getting stronger."
Ahsoka smiled, and ruffled his hair. "You will tell me if I make you uncomfortable?"
"Yes."
"You promise?" She held out her hand.
He raised his eyebrows and took it guilelessly, if confused. "I promise."
She shook it firmly, then tapped him lightly on the chin. He grinned.
But when she turned to go, he said, "What do you know about my family?"
She froze.
"What do you mean?" she asked carefully, turning around again in one fluid motion and crossing her arms. He looked sheepish.
"Anything about them, really," he said. "About my mother's relatives, about my father's relatives on Tatooine, about..." He bit his lip. "About my birth father."
Ahsoka said, "I know Padmé's relatives live on Naboo. I'm fairly sure that Sabé's been arranging a way for them to come here to meet you, and convincing Vader to agree." She winked. "But you didn't hear that from me."
His eyes blew wide. She scampered out the door before he could ask anything else, hoping that was a sufficient distraction.
It was not a sufficient distraction.
The moment she vanish down the corridor, Luke swept the bantha off of his bed with a muted cry, clutching at Anakin.
Why did nobody want to tell him the truth?
He could sense Ahsoka's retreating presence down the hall, so he had no qualms about shoving his face into Anakin-the-nerf's fur and letting out another muffled noise, frustration welling up inside him and bursting forth like the waterfalls of Theed. He—
He knew Ahsoka knew something. He'd been raised a politician. Of course he knew when people were trying to avoid awkward questions. He knew that she knew, and as excited as he was at the prospect of meeting his mother's family, freezing, ironclad fear also seized him at the thought, and... and he didn't want to get his hopes up. He didn't want to hope, only for them to reject their hated emperor, only for Vader to decide they were too much of a risk, only for—
He screamed again.
Vader must have killed his father. Or... something terrible went down between them, because it was clear that Vader had loved Padmé and would never wish to hurt her, but he'd only spoken of Luke's father in scornful, hateful tones, and he had led the Purges...
He forgot the precise time, but he thought he might be able to remember Vader telling him that his father had not died in the Purges. Had died before the Purges.
But that did not mean that Vader hadn't killed him.
He scowled, and clutched Anakin-the-nerf tightly, suddenly wishing that he hadn't named him on that whim just after Vader had told him his real name, suddenly wishing for any other toy. He trusted Vader, he l— liked Vader, he didn't want to doubt Vader at all, but...
He didn't know what to think.
So he dropped the nerf toy and made to pick up his bantha from where he'd knocked it to the floor. That, he knew, had come his mother—and it had been given to him by Nova. He could trust that.
But looking at the other toys, given to him in the facsimile of fatherhood by the man who probably killed his father...
He wished it was guilt or shame he was feeling, at the relationship he and Vader had started to cultivate. He wished he was that good, that strong.
But Luke felt nothing but intense longing.
Vader was hurting.
Sunset was burning upon the surface on the lake all around the house. Seeing his son lean on the balustrade brought back too many wistful memories. It hurt.
It hurt, and Vader had been in pain from the moment they set foot on this planet, but Luke was here and Luke soothed it.
"I can't understand it," the boy said quietly, fidgeting. "All the pieces are there, but they don't fit together. I know you knew my mother... intimately. That you loved her, even. If your angry heart is capable of love."
Vader turned his helmet to face him, a little shocked—and hurt. That… What was that supposed to mean?
He'd thought that he and Luke had—
"But even so, why swear your loyalty to the flesh and blood of your rival?" Luke's voice cracked. "Of the man my mother loved and married, the man you killed?"
Vader stiffened where he stood, gaze latching on the tree that Ahsoka and Luke so often meditated under. He was suddenly hyperaware of Luke's gaze on him.
"You—" He paused. Closed his mouth, opened it again. "Little angel, you think..." He tried to dissect what Luke had said in his mind, but it made no sense.
Then he just said it: "You think I killed your father?"
"He was a Jedi, wasn't he?" Luke asked dully. He sounded... resigned to it, and Vader hated it; he'd grown to enjoy Luke's outbursts, his passion, his enthusiasm. Where had his fight gone? "You killed the Jedi."
"I told you that he died before the Purges began."
"You did." Luke nodded. "But you also told me he was worthless. Never deserved anything he had. You hated him."
Vader... didn't know how to respond to that.
Because it was true. He did hate Anakin Skywalker—hated him with every fibre of his being. He was a fool, a weakling, a disgrace to the power he wielded and the blessings he'd been given.
Vader was a disgrace to it all.
But that was not what Luke thought he meant when he said that.
So... how could he fix this, without...?
"Luke," he said, "little angel, I—"
"Don't call me that," Luke snapped suddenly, and there was the fight Vader had missed, but he had not missed the sudden spark of hatred that came with it. "You— you are not my father, you killed my father, you don't get to act all— all parental— you—"
"Luke—" Vader tried to put a hand on his shoulder; the boy shook it off.
"No!" Luke took a step back. "I know you hated him. I know you did. I— I found a recording of you and my mother, in this house. I know you loved her, you've told me that already but it's clear from that that you loved her yourself, possessively, or something like that, and— how did you react when she chose my father over you? Why support me, when I'm his son, and you hated him so much?"
"Majesty—"
"I know I'm Padmé Amidala's son," he hissed. "That's exactly it. I am a reminder of what you didn't have. Why are you so insistent on supporting me?
"Because—"
"You killed my— you killed Palpatine, my adoptive father. If you killed my birth father—and if you didn't, then I don't know what you did, but clearly it's suspicious and shady enough that you don't want me to know about it at all—then why—"
"Why what?"
"Why!?" Luke shouted, finally. A he swung his arms, he knocked a plant pot over; it went careening down the steps, dirt sluicing out. "Why—why are you supporting me? Why do you try so hard to be gentle and protective? Why do Nova and Ahsoka trust you? Why are you doing this?"
Vader said nothing.
"And why won't you just tell me the truth!?"
Vader stood there.
Then he tried again, "Little angel..."
"I looked for him here, you know?" Luke said, sweeping his arm around again. He missed the other urn, thankfully. "I— my mother's presence is here in full, but every time I look for him, it's just you. I want to know who my family was, Lord Vader, I want to erase Palpatine forever. But you won't tell me anything!"
Vader made his decision.
He took several breaths with his respirator, bracing himself. Oxygen flooded through him; he lowered his head, to look Luke in the eye, and took the boy's wrists firmly but gently in his hands.
"You don't trust me?" he asked.
Luke stared, anguished. "I do," he said, voice pained. "But everything I know tells me not to. Everything I've ever learned tells me that you're not trustworthy."
Vader took three more breaths. One... Two...
"You killed my adoptive father. You probably killed my real father, and now everywhere I look for him, you're there, blocking me or flooding the role, and I can't make space for him, but it was his family who took me in and you're killing his memory and—"
"Luke." Vader let go of his wrists to rest his hands on his shoulders. Luke shook him off.
"You can't kill him again—"
"Luke," Vader said, and thought about Sabé's constant insistences. Thought about Padmé. Thought about Luke staring up at him with baleful eyes, begging for scraps of knowledge of his mother.
Luke deserved to know.
Even if Vader did not deserve him at all.
"Your father is not dead," he said finally. "And I certainly did not kill him."
Luke's mouth dropped open. Vader swallowed, and tried not to look at him. He couldn't back out now—if he did, he'd have just dug himself an even deeper hole.
If he did, he'd be a coward, and Luke would be right to despise him.
Luke deserved to know.
Luke deserved to know.
"Little angel," he said. "I am your father."
Luke stared at Vader, numb, incredulous, rooted to the spot. It was preposterous... and yet it made all too much sense. The pieces were falling into place, the light was shed on clues that had seemed so mysterious before…
He wanted to scream. Years of hurt came back to the surface as every memory shifted and changed around this new information, but he couldn't breathe; it was fitting, he supposed.
"I..." he tried to say, floundering like a fish. "What?"
"I am Anakin Skywalker," Vader boomed. It was loud, it was inexorable, and it was so, so confusing.
"Yeah, you said that, but—"
"I met Padmé Amidala on Tatooine. I married her ten years later, here on Naboo. I had a child with her three years later. You are my son."
Luke stared.
"What?" he whispered. "Why?"
Vader... was brought up short by that.
"Why?" he echoed. "Why did I marry her? Why did we have a child? It was an accident, but the moment I found out your mother was pregnant, it was the happiest moment of my—"
"Why," Luke said heatedly, "didn't you tell me?"
Vader jerked back as if he'd been struck. Luke could feel his gaze roaming over him intently. "Luke..." he said. "I... I did not want to hurt you. I had already hurt you so much."
"You didn't want to hurt me?" Luke repeated, perplexed and— and baffled. Not quite hurt, or maybe a little hurt, but— "Didn't you want—"
"I have wanted to tell you," Vader said, "from the moment I found out. I thought that you... would react to it badly at first."
"And you thought I'd react better to being forced to trust someone who'd threatened to kill me before, but now suddenly wanted to protect me!?"
"I thought—" Vader's breathing stuttered. "I thought you deserved better than just another Sith Lord for a father. I failed as a father, for fourteen years. I was not fit to be one."
Luke stared. "You were worried I would reject you."
Vader... froze. His hand stilled in mid-air.
But then, with a slowness that betrayed the effort admitting this vulnerability cost him, he nodded.
"You cannot tell me you would not have."
Luke swallowed. "No. I would have." Then, in a motion that surprised even himself, he took Vader's hand. "But I won't now, and I wouldn't have for quite a while now. Why didn't you tell me after— after the bunker? After the toys? After we arrived here? You must have known that I'd be looking for you, as well as for Mother."
It was the first time he'd called Padmé that out loud—and acknowledged Vader as his father out loud.
Vader had not usurped Luke's father's place. Vader... was meant to be in that place, in his heart.
Luke's longing turned to relief.
"You were the one in the holo," he said softly. He'd already known that, but... "And you're my father."
He'd known that Vader had loved his mother. It had been the whole reason, he'd thought, for all of this.
But having seen how much—remembering what Vader had said about how Luke had been wanted...
Luke threw himself forwards and Vader barely caught him.
The height difference was enough that with Luke's arms around Vader's neck, Vader's arms firmly around Luke's waist, his feet were left to dangle in mid-air; Vader held his weight, here on the balcony over the long drop to the lake. It was alright. He knew his father wouldn't drop him.
"You're my father," he whispered. "You're alive."
"Barely, little angel," Vader said back, as quietly as his vocoder would allow him to. "Until you arrived."
Luke let out a sob and buried his face in Vader's armoured shoulder.
"I named my nerf toy after you, you know?" he said. "The first one you gave me. After you told me your name was Anakin, I named it Anakin."
Vader's immaculate breathing hitched, his arms constricting around Luke.
"If you'd known that, would you have told me sooner?"
Vader let out a breath, a burst of static, then set Luke down on the balustrade—sitting on the railing. Luke balanced himself carefully, but there was no need; Vader's hand was still firm on his shoulder, the Force wrapped around him. He would not fall.
Vader would never let him fall.
And this way, they could look each other in the eye.
"No," Vader admitted. "Because I am a coward."
Luke snorted. "Yeah," he said, blinking tears out of his eyes and loading his tone with the utmost affection, "you are. Does Nova know?"
"She has known since Captain Vassic tried to kidnap you. But she was... insistent that I tell you myself, would not allow for my weakness, and continuously nagged me to get on with it."
Luke smiled even more broadly. "I love Nova."
"Your mother did too. I can see why, though it irritates me at the moment."
Luke laughed.
"So... my father is Anakin Skywalker?" he asked. "You— you're my father?"
"Yes, Luke."
"So my name is..." He scrunched his brows. "Luke Skywalker? Luke Naberrie? Luke Naberrie-Skywalker?" Each name settled in his chest, like an old key turning in a lock. Luke Palpatine had never sounded so bitter.
"Whichever you choose."
Luke stared at Vader open-mouthed, and felt... something strong, immensely tender, well up in that bond between them—a bond that grew so strong it felt like it was abhorrent it had ever been weak at all. Vader brought the gentlest of hands up to cradle the side of Luke's face.
"When your mother told me she was pregnant," he said. "It was the happiest moment of my life."
Luke beamed. It seemed to take Vader's breath away.
"I..." he said, wobbly, "I have so many regrets—"
"I know you do," Luke interrupted. "But..." He closed his eyes, and tasted salt at the corner of his lips when his tears spilled into the crook of his smile. "I'm so glad you told me."
"I am sorry I did not do it sooner."
"Stop apologising. Don't make this a sad moment." He took a deep breath, and opened his eyes again. "You gave me toys to cheer me up and make me feel less alone. You watched over me when I was sick. You protected me time and time again from people who would hurt me. And... in the bunker..."
"I told you, Luke. Your parents would be proud of you." He said a little wryly. "Your parents… are proud of you."
Luke's breath hitched.
"I love you. None of what I do is any achievement. It is the baseline for what you deserve, and what I want you to have."
Luke said, "I… love you too… Father," and... bestowing the title onto someone else just felt so right. Palpatine had never been a father. Vader was a far better one than he'd ever been.
They had their scars. They had their traumas. Luke knew, with an aching certainty, that he would never be comfortable around Vader's lightsaber, or training in any way with the man, or numerous other things. But he loved him nonetheless.
And the way Vader collapsed into a fussing, bashful, awkward man rather than a Sith Lord the moment Luke said Father only consolidated that.
"Woah."
Ahsoka's eyes went wide in wonder as she watched Luke in deep meditation. Items floating around him as he was so deep in the Force his abilities outstretched his body. Vader in that moment had entered the room from the other side, pausing to take it in as well.
She smiled slightly to herself, watching the way Luke mindfully kept a hold of the datachips; the slight furrow of concentration in his brow; the way his signature pulsed and flared with every tug of wind that tried to pull the items out of his orbit. Even the sudden intrusion of Vader's harsh breathing, echoing through the arched pillars of the lake house to where Luke was seated on the patio in the back, couldn't break him from his spell. The Force had him in its grip; it wasn't letting its child go.
She'd been wary, when she started training him, that she wouldn't be able to teach someone of this sort of power. All too well she remembered Anakin during the Clone Wars, pulling off feats no one could imagine until they'd seen them, his power bright and sparking and untamed. It had been exciting to be around him, never sure what he was going to light up next, and she'd felt her own sense of the world expand vastly under his tutelage.
She'd never thought that one day, she would be training his son.
Especially not when the dark pillar of fire that his Force presence had become was hanging over her shoulder, watching.
She glanced at the chrono—Luke had been at this for two hours now, sitting still and sinking into the Force so easily it almost alarmed her, wondering how often Palpatine had forced him to sit still and be silent, how often he'd been forced to instinctively draw on his power to keep him alive and well. This was highly impressive, and Luke had been at it long enough; it was already clear that his connection was deep, true and abiding. It was time for lightsaber training.
So, heedless of the slight jolt Vader made towards her, as if he was trying to stop her from interrupting his son's peace, she stood up and walked forwards to place a hand on his shoulder.
She didn't bother calling his name verbally; there was a good chance he wouldn't hear her. Younglings were never quite skilled in balancing a deep submersion into the Force with paying attention to their mortal senses.
Instead, she just reached for the core of his presence, bright enough that it was almost painful for her to look at; she wondered how in the stars Vader managed it. Perhaps he enjoyed the pain, so long as he knew it was his son he was regarding.
Luke didn't come, at first. Ahsoka frowned, huffed; Obi-Wan would've known what to do, here. He'd trained Anakin, the Chosen One himself—he'd have known how to deal with this sort of power.
Or perhaps the fact that Obi-Wan had trained Anakin was precisely why Vader didn't want him training Luke.
She latched onto Luke's presence again, tighter, and tugged more fiercely. Come back, she broadcast, though they didn't truly have a master-apprentice bond to draw on, yet. It still did the job.
Luke came back, surfacing towards the material world the way he'd swum for the light dancing of the surface of the lake when they went diving that morning. He opened his eyes, flexed his hands and smiled faintly at her, letting the items hovering around him—a vase of flowers, a belt, a hat, datachips, even a footstool—sink to the ground gently.
It was then that Ahsoka realised Vader had vanished from the doorway.
"How did I do?" he asked.
She pursed her lips, though her smile didn't fade; it was an odd expression to wear. "It wasn't a task that can be measured in successes or failures..." she said carefully. "It's a spiritual thing, a repetitive thing, impossible to do wrong or right."
Luke nodded, though she could tell he didn't understand. Not really. The concept of failure was hammered too hard into him.
"But you did very, very well," she admitted softly. "You... you are very naturally skilled at all of this. I don't know what I was expecting when I came here, but it wasn't you. You're amazing." She reached out to touch his face; slowly, at first, then when he didn't flinch back she brushed her thumb against his cheek. "The only other Force wielder I've seen with your sort of skill and power was..."
She trailed off after a moment, not sure if she should say that.
But Luke seemed to pick up on her thoughts anyway, and his eyes lit up. "My father?" He cut his gaze to the doorway where Vader had stood—perhaps he had known he was there, then, and they'd connected in the Force in a deeper way than Ahsoka would ever understand—and his akk pup eyes lost a hint of their excitement when he saw it was empty.
Ahsoka nodded. "Yes. Your father. You've got exactly the same sort of power he had."
"That's..." Luke blinked. "Impossible. I'm—"
"Extremely powerful, and skilled. I couldn't ask for a better student." She ruffled his hair. "Now, you've been at this for hours, so I suggest we take a break now—and then I'll see you for lightsaber practise by the lake this evening?"
"Are you going to throw me in the water again?"
"Of course I am."
He huffed, and she laughed—but she didn't miss the way his gaze cut to the door again.
"Go find your father," she told him. "He was in here lurking earlier. He's probably got even more praises to sing than I have."
Luke nodded, and left to follow him. Ahsoka sat back on the patio, watching the sun creep towards the horizon, and smiled to herself.
Luke was doing so well.
Luke was powerful, beyond anything Vader could have imagined for his little angel, if he had the ability the sheer power of it would have knocked the air out of his lungs. If he was a different man, he would go to his son and be delighted and so proud of him, but, he could not, he had to protect his little angel. No matter how much it hurt—and watching Luke use his powers, without his father's help, hurt more than Vader thought it would.
Padmé would be so proud of him, he thought as he walked away from where he could hear Luke and Ahsoka conversing. She would adore their son, so much; if she were alive to see him, she would be so, so proud of him. Vader certainly was—he'd learned so much so quickly, things that his father had taught him only to fear...
He couldn't stand there and watch Luke learn. As brilliant as he was. He should be the person training his son—but he would never be that person, and he knew it.
He'd blown it.
He made for the quarters he'd been assigned for this trip. There was work to do, there was always work to do; things to sign and reports to read. He should go and be driven to distraction by those, instead of tormenting himself with glimpses of his son. The boy had accepted him as a father, had been happy to be told the truth; Vader should not ask for more. He did not deserve more.
He was halfway up one of the sweeping marble staircases when he heard the running footsteps, sensed that supernova coming closer. He turned, the breeze tugging at his cape, to see Luke stand at the bottom and look up.
The sunlight streamed through the window, pocked with shadows where the flowers on the windowsill blocked it, and shone on his face, patterning it in dark and light spots. He beamed when he saw Vader, and Vader tried not to instinctively beam back at the sight of it, but it was... a hesitant smile. Luke was always shy, was still shy to call him Father, though he was growing more accustomed to it, but this... felt different.
Vader paused, meeting the boy's gaze silently. "Luke?" he asked. Something was wrong. "Are you not with Ahsoka?"
Luke seemed to shake himself off, then. "No. The lesson's finished, I..." He swallowed. "I wanted to talk to you?"
His voice was quiet, but it still traversed the large space between them. Vader frowned and tilted his head, making a gesture with his hand for Luke to join him.
Luke blinked, then smiled, jogging up to meet him there. He settled into a position at Vader's side—grabbing at the edge of his cape to steady himself in a way that made Vader's heart melt—and walked with him for a few steps before he spoke.
"Father," he said then, and Vader smiled dizzily under his mask, but Luke couldn't see that; he was still working his fingers, nervous. "I... Ahsoka said I was... extremely powerful."
"You are," Vader said. He let the simple pride swell in his voice; Luke flushed red, looking pleased at it. "You are my son." It was always so liberating to get to say it out loud.
"Yes. I am. And Ahsoka said I would be as powerful as you, someday?" Luke looked, if possible, even more hesitant.
Vader was not hesitant at all. "Or more so. You underestimate yourself."
"Right. But... I..." Luke swallowed.
They reached the top of the stairs and Vader reached out his palm, letting his son place his hand in his before he closed his fingers and pulled him towards the nearest sitting room. It was beautifully bedecked, as everything in this lake house was, and he ushered Luke into one of the fine armchairs before taking up his stance by the window.
"Something troubles you," he observed softly.
Luke nodded. "If... Palpatine..." Vader tensed at the mere mention of his name; Luke closed his mouth and tried again. "If he does succeed, if he—"
"Do not even entertain such an idea," Vader snapped. His voice was cruel, he was being cruel, but the very idea of that made him cruel— "That will not happen. I refuse."
Luke, to his credit, didn't flinch. He just stared, doggedly, at Vader. "If it does," he insisted, "which is a possibility, I... I want you to promise me something, Father."
The boy was far too clever. He knew that the moment he called Vader Father, he would be willing to do anything for him.
He did not like its implications here.
"If it does happen," Luke said in a shaky voice. "If it happens—and I know you won't let it, but... I want you to promise me that you won't let him win."
Vader blinked. "Of course. I will never let him win, I will find a way to save you—"
"No." The quiet resignation in Luke's voice shattered him. "Palpatine was a monster, who abused every piece of power he ever got his hands on. If he seizes control of me... gets access to my power... I want you to promise that you'll end it. I might not be there to be saved—and if that's the case, then I want you to kill him, kill me, before he can hurt anyone else with my power."
Vader stared.
"No," he said flatly. "I will not, little angel."
Luke pressed his lips into a thin line. "Father," he pleaded, "you have to—"
"I most certainly do not," Vader snapped. "I understand that you have not been raised with an adequate opinion of your own self-worth, that you have no idea how important you are. You have no idea how important you are. I will not allow anyone to harm you, and I will never hurt you again. I swear it."
"But—"
"If it does happen," Vader continued hotly, "if the absolute worst, most unlikely outcome happens, and you appear to be gone, and there is no hope—I will make hope. If he has crushed your soul, I will rebuild it piece by piece. If you are gone, I will find you. I will not allow Palpatine to use your power, or your body, to hurt anyone, least of all you; I will keep him contained, and I will find a way to save you, Luke. No matter what."
"And if you can't?"
"I will perform miracles to save you, my son. Nothing will stop me."
Despite the intensity of the situation, he saw Luke smile faintly at the word, and he said it again through their bond: my son, my son, my son.
Luke smiled wider.
"That's not what's best for the galaxy," he said, still—oddly enough—smiling.
"I do not care about the galaxy," Vader shot back. "I care about you. You are worth the galaxy."
When Luke tilted his head down, and lifted his hand to his face to wipe away tears, Vader counted it as a success.
But he wasn't finished yet.
He strode forwards, until he was standing right in front of Luke, then knelt to him so they were on eye level, and dipped his head, deep enough that it couldn't be interpreted as anything but a bow. When Luke held out a hand, he gripped it tightly.
"I will not allow you to be lost, little angel," he swore. "Whatever I have to do to protect you, I will do it. Whatever I need to sacrifice to save you, I will do so gladly. You are everything to me, the heart of my galaxy..." He reached up to cradle Luke's cheek in his palm, wipe away a tear; his poor, weak heart stuttered at the way Luke leaned into the touch. "I love you, Luke."
Luke blinked slowly, glistening eyes fixed to Vader's, and smiled.
"I love you too, Father," he uttered, and Vader noticed that the tension Luke had been carrying in his shoulders was now gone.
Another for you, little angel. Rest well.
The note was attached to a stuffed shaak toy, and Luke hugged it to his chest with a smile, burying his face in the fur.
He couldn't understand it, but Vader knew how to make him happy. That speech earlier… playing with his fork with him at dinner… giving him gifts, constantly…
But something was wrong.
The toy was making his skin burn. Alarmed, Luke dropped it, but now his head was pounding... He looked up, desperately trying to focus on anything...
Even as the room spun, he realized he was not alone.
He sucked in a breath and staggered towards the bed, bracing his hands on it. The stuffed shaak thumped against the carpet and he watched the way the lights glinted in its glass eyes, his own shocked face reflecting back at him and a shadow behind. Its design was pink and green, clashing violently; it struck him, suddenly, that he already had a shaak. His eyes sought it out, wildly, in the pile above the headboard by the best, the colours beginning to crash together in his vision. There it was; it was blue.
This one...
Why... Vader had never...
He was racked by a sudden shudder, then, and cried out as he lashed out at the toy with his leg. He missed, so he lashed out again, and again, until it thumped away, those eyes still staring at him accusingly. A sob caught in his throat.
His limbs trembled. His skin burned.
And then he heard that person in the corner of the room approach.
"Vader tried so hard," they said, smiling. "But he is not the powerhouse he thinks he is."
The footsteps, slow and heavy and calculated, paused by the shaak. Luke blinked, trying to see the figure, but they were all in black and unnaturally skinny, eyes blurring with tears and tiredness and the effects of the toxins. They crouched down to pick up the nerf, then continued towards him, and crouched in front of him. Somewhere in the darkness, he saw white teeth bared in a smile.
The shaak was shoved in his face. "Come now, prince," the voice mocked. "Don't you want to cuddle this toy too? You're a child. Vader bribes you with toys and you comply. Why not accept my gift as well?"
His words were slurring together in Luke's ears. Luke's eyes were sliding shut, and his arms trembled too much for him to reach up to push the toy away. It burned where it shoved against his neck.
"I..." He tried to step forwards then, square his shoulders, but he stumbled back instead and his back slammed into the wall. He sobbed.
"Father," he whispered, "Father!"
Father! he shouted out through the Force, though his connection to it was... was... Father...
"You'll be with your father soon, little prince," the intruder said, and Luke flinched at that nickname. "Have no fear of that. He's most eager to see you again."
Luke raised his eyes to look the intruder in the eye. Those eyes were gold, he realised, and the Force... he could sense...
He lashed out, trying to shove him back, emphasising the motion with a smack of his hand—but the intruder caught his wrist. Clutched it so tightly Luke cried out.
"That's enough of that," he whispered. "I think you should sleep now. Wouldn't want you to fight—wouldn't want you to get damaged."
Luke bucked and bellowed. He tried to get away. But whatever drug had been on that toy, it worked... too...
The last thing he saw was that grinning face, staring down at him.