Warnings for Palpatine being an abusive and manipulative bastard.
"Luke?"
Vader reached out his senses, but felt nothing—he frowned, coming up the stairs, calling as gently as he could as he went. "Luke…?"
No reply.
His harsh baritone voice echoed off the elegant walls, mocking him.
He kept climbing, then walked along the landing to Luke's chosen room, heedless of the stunning view out the wide windows of nighttime Naboo giving way to the dawn. He knocked on Luke's door… but there was nothing.
No reply.
No flicker of acknowledgement in the Force.
So, loathe as he was to enter his son's sanctum without his permission, he opened the door to see—
Empty.
The room was empty.
The bed was messy, the thick fluffy carpet was rubbed in ways that looked like there'd been a lot of struggling motion, and…
There was a tiny, unfamiliar toy on the floor.
Vader picked up the toy, fear trickling in his chest as the pieces slowly fell together in his mind.
Luke was nowhere to be found.
And his son—his son—was no longer afraid of him; it made no sense for him to run away. Right?
He— he would not have run away, surely?
He knew he would not have.
So that meant…
They had taken him.
The possibility struck a death knell in his chest—whose, he could not have dead—and he wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to deny it, but—
It was the only explanation.
He barely noticed as the toy tore itself apart and littered the scuffed-up carpet like ashes. Panic flooded him.
Luke was gone.
There was a rumbling noise, a tearing, and feathers burst around the room, spinning in dizzying patterns, as the bed and mattress exploded under his rage. The shower of white flickered, eddied with the currents of the Force, but then—
The leather of his gloves creaked with how hard he clenched his fists but no. He reined himself in. This was Luke's bedroom, the one he'd chosen, full of his beloved toys—the ones which didn't stink of poison and subterfuge. He would not destroy it. He would not destroy it.
Not when everything else was already destroyed.
Luke was gone.
He marched out of there, a whirlwind in flesh and metal, a single, driving arrow. He pawed at the bond they'd only just started to develop but it was weak; nothing could get through. It was stretched thin and distant, so taut it tugged on his heart painfully, and he wanted to roar.
He did.
His anguish echoed around the lake house, the birds who'd been singing with the morning mists startled out of their perches. Luke had gone to bed happy last night, after Vader had reassured him that he would always be safe with him; he had been content. But when Vader had gone to find him that morning, when he hadn't turned up for training...
He was gone.
He conducted a more thorough search, but all was clear: The room was empty. Luke's Noghri guards were found unconscious outside, and when Vader examined their mind, they were... they bore the marks of a skilled, brutal mental invasion. Force-sensitive, then.
They bore the marks of an attack by an Inquisitor.
Of course the remaining Inquisitors were with Palpatine; they knew that already. Of course he hadn't stopped sending people after Luke.
Of course Naboo, with the lower security than on Coruscant, despite the utmost secrecy with which they'd conducted their visit, was not as safe for him.
And now he was gone.
Sabé... Sabé had insisted they come here. Sabé had put Luke at risk, despite his objections, despite his points about the danger, she had put Luke in the line of fire—
And Luke had been so, so happy because of it.
Vader deflated, then roared again, something collapsing in his chest. Because he knew that he was so selfish that if he could turn back time, if he could stop them from ever coming to Naboo, kept Luke cooped up in the Palace... he wouldn't have.
Luke had been so happy here—Vader had been so happy here.
Luke had accepted him as a father here.
Luke, Vader vowed to himself, would not see his end this way.
"Sabé!" he bellowed, and some of the Noghri guards who were still on duty sprang to attention at the razor edge in his voice. He could sense their minds, on the floors below, and resisted the urge to unleash his wrath on them; they had been meant to protect Luke. They had been meant to keep this from happening.
They had failed.
Sabé came rushing up the stairs to this floor, emerging onto the landing—this delicate, elegant, airy landing, with the flowers trembling in their vases and the thin patterned rug rippling underfoot as he desperately tried to suppress his fury—with a look in her eye. "What is it? Ahsoka says that Luke was late—"
"Luke," Vader growled, "is gone."
Sabé froze.
"What?" she uttered. She looked like she'd had the world ripped out from under her; like she was floating, dead in space, with no gravity well to anchor her.
"I found... a toy, in his room. Its fur was poisoned. I have never seen that toy before. And his Noghri guards were attacked and disabled."
Sabé put a hand over her mouth. She swallowed, and said, thickly, "And... Luke...?"
"Not a trace."
She sucked in a sharp breath, gaze catching on the corridor towards Luke's room. She started towards it—
"Do not. It is not in any state that will be beneficial to our enquiries."
She glanced back at him knowingly—sympathetically—like she knew exactly what that meant.
"Someone should tell Ahsoka," she said distantly, but she narrowed her eyes; he could already see the cogs working in her brain, her hands starting to twitch as she made gestures with the lilt of her thought, ideas starting to spark.
"Someone," Vader said, "should find Luke."
A ship had gone by in the night. Quiet as a whisper, it had deposited someone, then it had returned to pick someone—multiple people—up, and vanished. Sabé contacted the government in Theed with the utmost secrecy to find if they had any records where such a ship could have come from or gone. Ahsoka meditated and searched the Force for answers, leading search parties all over the place, contacting contacts all around this area of space.
Vader paced and panicked.
"Where would Palpatine have a base?" Sabé drilled him at one point. "Are there any planets or stations you know of that he would have turned to, that would have supported him over you? Any bases?"
"If there were," Vader snapped, "then keeping them secret from me would be precisely the point. The apprentice is always fated to rise up against the master; he would have been prepared, so he could outwit me."
"Which he might have done now. With Luke."
"He has not!" he roared.
Ahsoka cut in, "What about places strong with the dark side? Do you know of those?"
Vader paused. "What?"
"Places strong with the dark side. Like... Malachor, or somewhere where the energies are at their most intense. He would be at his strongest there, and most likely to come back."
And then Vader froze.
He knew.
Where would Palpatine go to be resurrected? What place, what planet, would be ideal for that; what building could have been designed to channel the dark side so perfectly?
He had spent his time hoping for resurrection, once.
He had built a castle on a planet he thought would have made it possible.
He had failed. But that place had remained his base—his base, under the careful watch of the Emperor's red guards and Vaneé, the Emperor's servant-spy—until...
Until Palpatine had died.
Until he'd had to stay with Luke.
And in his absence... had Palpatine...?
Of course he had.
"I received an intruder alert at my castle on Mustafar several months ago," Vader said. He had not thought it out of the ordinary. "The security alarms had been triggered. I assumed it was the native Mustafarians launching another assault—it is not uncommon for them to do that—and dismissed it." He gritted his teeth. "The castle was... built to channel the dark side energies on the planet, particularly to bridge the gap between the living and the dead. I can imagine he encouraged it to be built this way with this purpose in mind; he... had already kidnapped Luke, when I was trying."
"Who were you trying to resurrect?" Ahsoka asked warily, but Sabé just gave him a disgusted look.
Vader did not look away. "I believe they have taken him there."
There was no argument from the women. He clenched his fists.
He had lost everything on Mustafar. His health. His brother. His wife.
Now, he vowed, he would not lose his son, too.
Luke woke up to a mild but persistent headache. He groaned and shifted; maybe it'd pass soon.
His head pounded with every motion; he grimaced even more fiercely, and found himself eternally grateful that wherever he was, it was dark. He opened his eyes...
...it was only dark.
He closed them again.
The headache pounded some more, but with every deep breath he took, every flood of oxygen into his lungs, it abated like it was the dancer in some elaborate routine he didn't know the steps to, drifting away. When he opened his eyes again, and took in the shape of the darkness—there was a dark white ceiling above him, knotted and rough—he remembered.
The shaak toy.
The intruder.
Father, he thought, where was—
"No need to sit up and panic," said a strangely mechanical voice. Luke panicked—sat up so fast his headache returned with a vengeance. He grunted, in pain, and that voice just chuckled.
The lights flicked on. He moaned, pain stabbing through his head again, and was almost grateful when a tall shadow came to block it out.
Not so much when they gripped his face and turned it up so he had to look at them.
"Such a pretty face," they marvelled—crooned, even. A shudder ran up Luke's spine. Their position in front of the light, the glare around them, made it difficult for Luke's dazed eyes to pick out many details, but they were in a dark suit. A dark helmet.
A dark, circular lightsaber bounced at their hip.
"And such power," they continued vaguely, the hand on his chin fluttering to rest against his cheek. Luke glared, and wrenched away, his head exploding as he did. "It is not difficult to know why he wanted you, and only you."
Luke tried not to show his terror. He was— they were— they were going to—
Vader had said— Vader had promised—
Vader.
"Where am I?" Luke demanded, reaching for the Force—reaching, to try and gain any sense of him. He felt only darkness... and a cloying darkness in particular that made him nauseated just from the memory of it.
He couldn't see it, but he felt like—from the tilt of their helmet—this person smiled. "You're with us."
Us.
"Where's my father!?" he demanded further, heartbeat quickening even more. He— he knew exactly what this was, he was fairly sure he knew how this would go, and no, no he couldn't, he wouldn't—
"Waiting for you, little prince."
Luke shuddered so violently he wanted to throw up.
"Do you still have a headache?" The person tutted, a touch threateningly. "Poor dear. I have something for that."
They stepped away and came back a moment later with a small glass bottle, shining like a small star in the light. The liquid inside was silvery. Luke swallowed, and sealed his lips shut.
They laid it against them anyway. "Drink. It will make you feel better."
Luke pursed his lips even tighter.
He expected the Inquisitor—for he was certain that was what this was—would grab him by the shoulder then, and shake him for his defiance, but they did nothing of the sort. Just pushed it against his lips harder.
"Drink. You must be the pinnacle of health today, of all days."
Luke turned his nose up and glared.
Get away from me, he tried to project through the Force, without opening his mouth. Judging by the amusement he sensed a moment later, he at least got that message across.
The Inquisitor just sighed. "If you want to do this the hard way, little prince... as you wish."
And then they pinched Luke's nose between two gloved fingers. Fiercely—it hurt. His eyes blew wide.
He clenched his jaw. Sucked an experimental breath through his nose but nothing came through. He tried to stay calm, tried to hold his breath, tried to calm his racing heart—
He kept glaring but the Inquisitor just tilted their head mockingly, observing him—
His lungs were burning—
He gasped for air, as quick as a ship at lightspeed, slammed his mouth shut—
But the Inquisitor tossed that silvery liquid to the back of his throat anyway. Luke gagged, bending over ready to spit it out, but a strong hand grasped his jaw and held it closed with a grip he couldn't break.
He was forced to swallow.
Finally, the Inquisitor released him. Luke was fuming, but they just said, "There you go. Isn't the headache gone now?"
It was ebbing away, but Luke didn't want to admit that. He kept his mulish silence.
The Inquisitor didn't seem to care. "Good. Now, come. You're awake, and we want to get this over with as soon as possible, don't we?"
"Where is Lord Vader?" Luke snapped. "Where am I?"
"Lord Vader is far from you, little prince, have no fear. Your father will protect you, as he always has." Luke shivered to hear that. "Come along now. He's been eager to meet you."
Luke gritted his teeth. "No."
"No?" the Inquisitor growled. They stalked forwards for a moment, hand raised; Luke flinched in anticipation but stood his ground, knowing exactly what sort of corporal punishment was coming—
Then they paused. Lowered their hand begrudgingly.
That scared Luke more than the hit would've. He knew exactly why they didn't want him damaged.
"Come," they insisted, reaching to wrap a hand around his wrist—but no, even that was too much of a risk, apparently. They glared at him, then Luke felt a harsh tug through the Force.
Luke shoved back. He was the powerful one here. He—
He was the one who sent this Inquisitor flying across the room to collide with the opposite wall. They fell to land on their feet with a snarl.
"So afraid, you little brat," they snapped. "Bruises aren't ideal, but neither is resistance, and it seems we'll have plenty of that. So you"—they stormed forwards and did, actually, seize him and drag him by the wrist this time, yanking both his hands behind his back and summoning a pair of binders by the door to snap around them and hold them steady—"are coming with me."
Luke fought and struggled the whole way there, flinging things at the Inquisitor with the Force, unlocking his binders over and over, spitting and spluttering insults—but he was fourteen years old, and small for his age, and this Inquisitor was strong. They would drag Luke there like a sack if they needed to, and they did, when he just tried to outright refuse walking.
Unfortunately for Luke, it was a short walk from the nice, comfortable cell he'd been kept in to the turbolift where three other Inquisitors joined them, boxing Luke in. The place stank of the dark side and he shuddered, there, among their presences and... this planet's presence. It felt familiar in a way, but in an awful, painful way—
It reminded him of his father, though he could not say how.
It was when the turbolift came to a halt at the very top of the tower they were in, and the Inquisitors wrestled him out to along a walkway, he glanced out the window and his stomach flopped.
Lava flows, volcanoes, ashy skies so thick with clouds they blocked out the sun...
Mustafar.
They were on Mustafar.
Why? Why were they on Mustafar? This was Vader's sanctuary, this was—
A place he hadn't returned to since he'd killed Palpatine.
A place strong with the dark side—built for the dark side, its shape... channelling the energies to be stronger, more intense, more easily wielded...
No.
It made sense, of course. That was why Palpatine's acolytes had set up shop here. In Vader's own sanctum, which had never been his at all, spied on by the Emperor with every red guard and every servant, assured that, distracted by the new emperor as he was, Vader would not be returning in a hurry.
Here they were.
Here Luke would die.
They pulled him up several more stairs, down several more passages. And then they reached a circular room that was clearly the pinnacle of this great monstrosity, this monument to the darkness... an empty, circular room, with arches all around the outside that opened it to the elements, blue shields shimmering around to protect from lava splashing.
And in the centre, there was a circular altar.
Usually, Luke would expect... a crystal ball. A body. Some sort of charm, though the japor snippet still at his neck seemed to grow heavier with the thought. He didn't know.
But it was none of those things.
It was a large pile of... black dust. Ashes. Soot.
Luke had a bad feeling about this.
"What—" he tried to ask, before the Inquisitors shoved him into the room and the hum of a containment field hissed into place behind him.
When he turned back to look, their faces shimmered with blue.
"What now?" he demanded. "What is going on? Where am I?" He knew exactly where he was, that was the problem—
"You are fulfilling your destiny."
No.
No, no, no—it couldn't be. It... Luke knew that voice, knew every cadence, every disapproving sigh, every snarl. He'd hoped he would never hear it again.
"Lord Vader has kept you from the truth, kept you as his own puppet, for too long. Now, we embrace what I have foreseen."
But he could hear it. That was not a lie. This was not an illusion.
And when he turned around, despite how awful it made him feel, like he was betraying someone by saying it, the word that jumped to his mouth was, "Father."
He saw nothing. Just the altar, just the empty room and himself, but the voice came like a grating along his spine.
"Yes, my son." It slithered into his ear like a worm, latching onto his mind, taking him back— "Death did not defeat me, and nor did Lord Vader. I am here, to protect you from him, as I always promised I would. He will hurt you no more."
Hearing the voice activated the same fight or flight instinct he knew so well, and the lie and the emotions transmitted to support it had flown before he even gave it a thought, responding to what Palpatine had said.
"Good," he got out through a choked throat, voice trembling, "I— I hate him. I want him dead as much as you do."
His brain whirled a mile a minute as his gaze lashed around to behold the room, because... there was nothing here.
No Emperor. No bodies.
And yet that voice still said, "I am certain of that, my son. You always were sensible in that way."
Luke unlocked his binders with the Force, freeing his hands and letting the cuffs clatter to the floor.
Nothing here... except...
While he watched, a stiff breeze blew through the room, disturbing the pile of ashes in the middle of it—no. That wasn't a breeze; breezes weren't laden with dark intent, they didn't crackle with the dark side and they didn't radiate malice in the way that this did. He didn't know what this was, but it wasn't a breeze, and he realised that even before...
It whipped the ashes into a frenzy, scattering them around the room; Luke coughed, fiercely, and spat; his saliva flecked the obsidian floor. The ashes swept back into the middle, into a pile, and then...
They moved.
"What?" Luke asked. It seemed to be his favourite word, today. "What is this?"
No answer came; he could see for himself. See for himself as the ashes rose to a pillar just above his head, then collapsed in on themselves to form a different shape, a more humanoid shape, a...
Luke stared into the ashes to see Palpatine's face staring back.
He screamed.
Backpedalled, running for the way he'd come in to collide with the shield, getting shocked all the way through and tossed back to collapse onto the floor. Palpatine followed him, his incorporeal form just... hovering as Luke stayed there on his backside, frozen, staring in terror and confusion, at— at—
"Impossible," he breathed.
"All is possible, my son," Palpatine said, smiling, "through the Force."
"You— you're alive?"
"No." His voice, not... disembodied anymore, but still separate, ringing around the room as a thing individual of the ashes, rang out with disdain. "I am dead. But my research and my studies have allowed me to linger, and soon they will allow me to return." He reached out: a crooked, ashy finger solidified to tap Luke's chin; Luke sneezed. Palpatine drew back, as if offended that he'd dared to disturb the drama of the moment. "But to do so, I need your help, child."
"No!" Luke scrambled to his feet; he clenched his fists, shaking. He tried to reach for the Force but it was far away, here, drenched in darkness, and it skittered out of his control. Peace was not something he could find. "No, I know what you mean by that—"
"What do you think I mean by that?" Palpatine sounded genuinely concerned—in a kindly manner, the way he'd always pretended to be, always taken pleasure in misleading him with, and then punishing him, crushing his hopes, the way he wanted to—
"You're going to crush my soul and take my body and my power for your own! I won't let you!" He scowled at him. "No, Father, you are dead and I am glad of it."
Palpatine's expression soured for a heartbeat, but then it was gone again and he continued, "Oh, I had no idea you hated me so fiercely, my son. Whatever I did to warrant such behaviour, I am sure—"
"I am sure," Luke gritted out, "that you enjoyed doing it. I won't let you do it anymore."
"Luke. You do not understand." His voice was back to chiding now, and Luke hated it. "I would not be crushing your soul, or whatever nonsense Lord Vader has fed you. Of course he would want to turn you against me; do you not see? I will do nothing of the sort."
"I don't believe you."
"Did you research this yourself? Or did Lord Vader generously offer to research it for you?"
Luke froze. How— Vader had, and Luke trusted him, but how could he explain—
Palpatine noticed his conflict. "Luke. I do not want to see you hurt. I have loathed the idea of leaving you alone in the galaxy, at his whim, to be paraded around like a puppet. This 'possession' you seem so afraid of... it will not be permanent. You will be in no danger. But it will enable me to return to life, so that I may return as Emperor and protect you from him—"
"I'm fine, thank you."
"Luke. You say that." Palpatine smiled, and then... ash flew from the right side of his body to the left side, solidifying his left arm to the point that he could physically brush a lock of hair back from Luke's face. It was the most affection he'd shown him in years, and it took everything in Luke not to scream. "But...
"Whatever Lord Vader is doing, you may think you can handle it. But he will not stop. And when it gets too much for you to bear, you will not be able to escape. If you run, he will follow wherever you go, he will hunt you down. No matter how far you go, or where you end up, he will find you, and you will not enjoy it when he does. He will linger over you, a shadow, for the rest of your life without my help."
Luke wanted to laugh in his face.
He wanted to. He knew Vader, knew his father would protect him. He had no fear of that.
But one thing stood out to him—
He will not stop.
Palpatine wouldn't stop.
He will linger over you, a shadow, for you rest of your life.
Death had not stopped him. He and his acolytes would just keep coming for Luke, keep coming, and nowhere Luke ran or hid could stop them. He would spend the rest of his life in constant terror of the man who'd made it a living hell.
There was only one way out of this, he realised, staring into Palpatine's face. His two eyes glowed like embers in the ashes—as yellow as ever.
And Luke realised:
There was only one way he would ever escape the monster that was his father.
"Father..." he said, staring. Let the weight of... all of this... crash down on him as he sagged, tears springing to his eyes, his voice ragged. "I..."
"Shhh..." Palpatine soothed. He stepped forwards, ash... encircling Luke in the parody of a hug, holding him, constricting him tightly enough that it was possessive. Luke wanted to shout, wanted to cough up the ashes from his stinging throat and weep the ashes from his stinging eyes, wanted to run away, wanted—
He wanted Vader.
"Shhh... my son..." Palpatine soothed. "All will be made right."
Luke just closed his eyes.
He was doing such a stupid thing.
This was such a stupid decision.
He might never see Vader and Nova again.
But there was nothing else he could do.
Palpatine said, "Do not think of Lord Vader. He is nothing. I am your father." A hitch in Luke's breathing, and Palpatine tsked. "Don't you want to make your father proud? I am proud of you now, Luke."
Luke swallowed tightly. Fourteen years of longing, of being eager-to-please, of hope, ignited in his chest.
"Yes," he said hoarsely, and it was true. "I want to make my father proud."
"Then, my dear son..." The voice whispered against his mind, this time, and Luke's shields shivered at the touch. "Let me in."
A heartbeat.
A heartbeat of indecision. Of doubt. Of fear.
Then he dropped his mental shields, and the darkness rushed in to devour him whole.
They arrived on Mustafar too late.
Too late, they shot past the guards in their Naboo cruiser, and the backup forces Vader had ordered from the 501st from Coruscant were too late in arriving to help them through.
He was too slow storming the castle, carving his way through the locked doors and the disabled turbolifts and then the side passages, and every Inquisitor who foolishly threw themselves in his way. Ahsoka finished the vermin where he did not, and the troopers, the Noghri, Sabé… they fought too.
They were not enough.
Vader was too late.
He could sense Luke's presence above him—muted with the darkness that this place held, but alive—so he kept going, kept fighting, but the dread weighed his heart down like an anchor.
He was too late.
He kept going. He had one destination, now that he'd cleared the bulk of the castle: the two-pronged tower at the top.
There was suspiciously little resistance while he forged up there. He used the side staircase for this, not the turbolift, but still he encountered no Inquisitors, no red guards. They were occupied with Sabé's explosives and Ahsoka's twin ivory blades, it seemed.
Here, there were only dusty obsidian walls and silence.
He disliked this immensely. Lit his lightsaber before he even entered into the walkway at the top, the steady thrum soothing to his ears; if something happened, he could handle it.
If something happened, he could handle it.
He forged onwards, sweeping the area with his senses—and there. There was Luke's Force signature, still with that horrid darkness—
He knew the room Luke would be in. The observatory, of sorts, or just the top of the tower. He did not stop, did not falter as he strode for it, threw the doors open with a clang, and—
If he could have sighed, it would have been loaded with relief.
"Luke?" he'd asked, and watched as the boy turned from his kneeling position next to the altar. His shoulders were shuddering—had he been crying? Vader strode forwards to hold him, to comfort him, to help him—
Luke moved away.
His back was still to him. Vader paused, observing his silhouette against the bright, bubbling lava in the distance, the thick amber clouds in the sky. It all seared his eyes, but then…
Luke turned around and met his gaze, head tilted curiously.
The sickly gold shine of his irises seared even more.
He stared at those eyes in horror, as his eternal momentum, his drive, everything in him… was brought to an unnatural, painful stop.
Luke's soft features contorted in a cruel smile. Luke's voice uttered an awful laugh he knew all too well.
"Thank you for preserving my heir, Lord Vader," he said, and Vader shuddered. "I knew I could count on you."
Vader stared and felt the floor vanish beneath his feet.
He had tried so hard, he had got so far, but now…
His son was gone.
Luke's—Palpatine's—smile widened, and he laughed again, sending chills down his spine.
"I admit," he said in Luke's sweet voice, but the inflections were all wrong, the accent and shape of the words alien to him, "that there were times I had doubted you. Oh, Lord Vader is a Sith Lord. The boy should only be viewed as a threat to the throne, by him, regardless of which DNA was mixed and which woman bore him. The boy is merely a potential apprentice, and a weak one, who would never—"
"Luke," Vader gritted out, "is stronger than you will ever know."
"Oh, on the contrary, Lord Vader." Palpatine smiled, and stretched out his hands, Luke's hands, flexing them with naked enjoyment. Rolled his shoulders. Bringing his hands up to touch his face, running them through his hair. "I know exactly how powerful this boy is. Untrained, perhaps, but his raw power..." He breathed in, deeply, and Vader felt that dark stench in the Force writhe, tapping into a well of power it should not have access to. "Exquisite. I know better than anyone how strong your son is."
"Leave, my old master." Vader took his lit lightsaber and pointed it at him. "Or you will regret it."
"Oh, I don't think I will. Are you really going to cut down your beloved son? Your dear Luke, who you spent fourteen years cutting down already?"
Vader looked away.
"I thought so." Palpatine laughed, lowly, and in Luke's voice is sounded so wrong.
He finished, "You have lost already if you wish to fight me now."
Vader knew it.
He knew that, if nothing else: he would not hurt Luke.
He had failed Luke. In the worst way possible, more than he could ever say or atone for, he had failed his son. He had made him suffer. He had lied to him—made empty promises. He had failed to protect him.
And now he looked at the son who was not his son, and he had never hated himself more.
Please, he whispered to no one in particular. Please, there must be a way...
He had promised to protect Luke.
Luke had not believed him. He had forced him to promise... to promise that he—
No.
Vader had refused, then and now, to ever let Luke go. To ever eliminate him, Palpatine or no Palpatine. He— he would find a way to reverse this, he would let the galaxy burn, he—
Palpatine was still... feeling around his new body. His hands travelled from his hair to his face, to his arms, running up and down them, to his neck—
To the japor snippet still looped around there.
Palpatine patted it for a moment, confused—then he smiled broadly and dropped his hands.
"Ah," he said. "So you found that in my collections, did you? Padmé's lucky charm, recovered from her grave." He examined it, then Luke's own body, then mused— "Are you sure it was good luck it brings the wearer after all, Lord Vader?"
He lifted his right hand. Vader flinched as the japor snippet spun in the air, tore itself from around Luke's neck to hover above his palm.
"You should be proud of your son, for this," Palpatine told him. "Because of him, I will live forever. His name will grace history books for eons to come."
"I would rather," Vader growled, "my son got to live at all."
Palpatine laughed again. Higher pitched, this time; mocking.
He clenched his right fist, and the japor buckled.
Crumbled into ashes and dust.
Vader watched its splinters fall to the floor and all he could think was:
Padmé.
Padmé, I'm sorry.
He'd failed her. He'd killed her. But she had reached back from death to give birth to the greatest gift in the galaxy, the most wonderful creature who could ever exist. And Vader had continued to fail consistently for fourteen years, and then he'd vowed to make it right, to make everything right, to make Luke happy and safe in the way his dead mother had not been, in the end, to give him the galaxy, and...
If only he hadn't been so stubborn.
If only he had told Luke the truth earlier, so that his boy would not have been forced to rely on parental affection from Palpatine to overcome.
If only he had let a Jedi train Luke earlier, so that his boy could have fought him off with ease.
If only he had let Sabé take Luke to Naboo after all—let her take him far away from the court and the crown and the cutthroats, so that this horrible life had not haunted him further.
Vader was not the father he had fancied himself to be. He had told himself, over and over, that Luke's comfort was worth sacrificing for his safety; that Vader was the only one who could care for him, who could keep him safe; that Luke could rely on him, should stop fearing him, because he would keep him safe.
He'd been wrong.
He could not keep Luke safe.
He could not be Luke's distant but loyal protector.
What good was a protector who did not protect?
All he could be...
He swallowed. Looking into Luke's yellow eyes, his face, the way Palpatine watched him like an amused hawk, twitching in anticipation for Vader's first move... all he knew was that he'd failed at what he had tried to be.
He'd failed.
All illusions were stripped away. He was not almighty. He was not invincible. He was a pathetic man whose only reason for living had just been wrenched away.
He could not pretend to be strong; he was not.
All he could be was who he was:
A father.
Luke's father.
If his voice cracked when he spoke, the vocoder did not pick up on it.
"Luke," he intoned. "Luke, I know that you are in there."
If the master could not successfully fight and destroy the soul of the body they were inhabiting, the apprentice would live on untouched, that long dead Sith in the holocron had said.
You could defeat him, Vader had told Luke. You are strong enough.
"I know that he does not have the strength to have defeated you so thoroughly."
Unless Luke submitted to it. Unless Palpatine promised him something you could not give. Unless...
No.
Vader knew his son.
Vader trusted his son. And he had faith in him.
"Luke," he whispered. "Come back to me."
Palpatine's smile had frozen on Luke's face.
There was... something building, in the Force. Luke's head jerked to the right, wiggling, like he had a crick in his neck or a worm in his ear. Vader watched with a frown.
Then Palpatine snapped his gaze back up again and snarled, something without words, something horrible.
Something was happening. Something was happening—
Palpatine lashed a hand up and a sheet of blue lightning lanced from Luke's fingertips, leaving the skin charred and burnt. Vader deflected it on his lightsaber with ease, pacing closer now, in a circuitous route; around the circular room, the obsidian tiles on the floor, the lava fields of Mustafar heaving below...
"Luke?" he asked again.
Palpatine growled again. Out of nowhere, a saber flew into his grip; he lit it, left forwards in that spinning jump he favoured so much, and their battle commenced.
The throne room was silent except for the steady hiss of Vader's respirator and the panting of the Emperor beneath him.
Even though Palpatine was defenceless and still twitching from the aftershocks of redirected Sith lightning, there was a malicious, triumphant light in his eyes as he looked up at Vader and smiled through his cracked, bloodstained teeth, seemingly uncaring of the red lightsaber beneath his chin.
"The whelp, Luke," he spat with glee. "Do you know his true parentage?"
Lightning lashed the windows outside but Luke was transfixed. He couldn't move his eyes, couldn't help but stare, as Palpatine had, as this memory had originally proceeded, as Vader just held the Emperor at saber tip and snarled, "I care nothing for the brat. He is dead."
"Dead?" Luke clucked with a tongue that was not his own, that was pitted with sores and felt clunky in his own mouth. Everything ached, everything stung, and the faint tremors and bright light of that saber in his face branded his retinas, leaving half of his vision shrouded in its afterimage. "What a pity. Padmé would be so disappointed."
If Luke could have, he would've gasped—because it didn't take a genius to figure out where he was now, what was happening, why this was the very last human memory Palpatine had had, or what—
What this moment had meant for Vader.
"You dare," he roared, and it boomed so loudly it hurt Luke's ears, "speak her name!?"
Palpatine smiled a fierce smile, one that was more of lips peeled back from his teeth than an actual expression of joy. Even if there was joy, here—a brutal, savage, sadistic joy, from tormenting this man just before he killed him, because he knew something this man didn't, and dear Lord Vader would play right into his plans whether he liked it or not because he was predictable like that—
"You may have seen to it that Prince Luke is dead," he hissed. There was blood in his mouth, on his lips; he could taste it. He knew that that whelp was not dead. Of course he wasn't. That would interfere with Palpatine's plans.
And even if he was dead.
Even if Palpatine's plans had all unravelled before his eyes.
Even if he was dead at Vader's hands…
There was no reason he couldn't make his old apprentice suffer for daring to uproot fourteen years of Palpatine's careful conditioning and lay waste to his ambition.
He continued. "But did you truly think that boy is my son?"
"His adoption was declared loud and clear to the galaxy at the time, my master. You mocked me with it."
Palpatine laughed. It hurt, and that would have ordinarily given him strength.
"Indeed," he whispered. "But before I adopted him, and made him into everything I needed him to be, do you know what his name was? Do you know which pathetic farmers I ripped him out of the arms of, having their homestead burned for good measure? Do you know which beloved queen and senator gave birth to him, tried to save him, while my empire rose from the ashes of the failed Republic?"
Vader, Luke realised, had stopped breathing.
"That boy's name was Luke Skywalker," he said, and Luke wanted to scream. Wanted to vomit at the thrill Palpatine got from saying that, the utter joy and pleasure at the way Vader reared back, the laugh he unleashed as that lightsaber finally swung down to sever head from neck and then there was only darkness, though the laughter still rang in Luke's ears, the darkness closing in around him like a vice, choking the life out of him, his breaths coming short and quick.
Where was he?
This— this wasn't the mindscape he had imagined this battle would have to take place in, the place he was open his eyes to.
There was only darkness, and another putrid memory coming up, as his father—as Palpatine—expanded his presence to seize control of Luke's body and squash him to a pulp, engulfing him in his horridness, and—
This was what he had let in.
It was awful, and terrible, and cruel. It was the worst thing he'd ever experienced. It made him want to just crawl into a hole and hug his knees and cry, and maybe die quietly, painlessly, rather than a slow, agonising fight—
This was what he had let in.
This was what had been hunting him for months now. Stalked his nightmares, sent agent after agent to capture him, all for this express purpose.
Luke could not stand against this sort of darkness. He was going to die here.
But no.
No.
He closed his eyes—or… whatever the equivalent was, in this mental realm where the physical held no sway—and took a deep breath. He felt tears leak out from under his eyelids, but no.
He would not give up here.
This was not where his story ended.
He had invited Palpatine into his mind and his heart so that he could crush him there, permanently, once and for all. That Sith holocron had said that the stronger soul would win. Ahsoka had said that Luke was strong—Vader had said that Luke was stronger than Palpatine.
Vader had said that this was something Luke was capable of doing.
Luke was not weak. He would not curl up and die here. He would not let his father continue to terrorise the galaxy the way he'd terrorised him for fourteen years.
Luke... placed his incorporeal hands near his incorporeal feet. Pushed against nonexistent ground to look around his nonexistent surroundings. This was his mind. There was nothing here because he made it so. He could change that.
He could change everything.
He was Luke Skywalker, and he was done being afraid.
This ended now.
He hadn't known cold or dark like this before, but it felt like it would swallow him whole. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't see. All he could do was try desperately to regain control and not give in to his fear.
So he just took several more deep breaths, against the weight that tried to stop him. In, deeply; out, deeply. He imagined he was by the lakes of Naboo; at Varykino, beneath his tree, meditating. When he opened his eyes again, a wind stirred his hair and birds chirped in the branches above him.
Ahsoka was nowhere to be seen, but that was alright. He had company.
There was a storm out on the lake.
It was a thick, knotted black cloud, swirling and expanding with every moment. It grew and heaved and crackled with lightning, like something out of a holofilm about old time sea ships, the sound it gave off akin to nothing more than an ear-splitting howl, something that built more pressure, generated more static in the air, than the storm itself ever could.
Luke stared at it.
How was he supposed to beat that?
That wasn't a person! That was— that was a physical manifestation of everything evil in the galaxy. That was a representation of every wicked feeling every being on every star had ever experienced. That was a villain out of a children's story.
That was not Palpatine. That was not a person. That was his ghost, corrupted and chained and claimed by the dark side he'd wielded for so long.
How was he supposed to beat that?
Luke, he heard. He snapped his head up. Luke, I know you are in there.
He sucked in a breath. Clean, fresh countryside air rushed through him, clearing his head.
That was his father speaking.
From... somewhere. Somehow, Luke still had control of his ears. Enough control to hear. Enough control to... feel... someone reaching out to him.
The tips of his fingers stung and tingled and scorched. He wondered why.
Luke.
The words reverberated down to his bones, enchanting the heavy summer day with wonder, with heaviness, with weight. With a sense of purpose, and urgency, and—
Pleading.
Love.
Devotion.
Come back to me.
He swallowed.
"I'll come back to you," he whispered.
Palpatine was still over the lake, growing and growing and growing. He was about to engulf Luke's precious haven—tendrils of his presence were snaking towards the beautiful, beautiful house, and wherever they touched the stonework blackened with soot and ash, the stones crumbling, the climbing vines and potted plants shrivelling where they stood.
No.
That was Luke's sanctuary.
That was his chosen home.
That was his strongest connection to his mother—
The next time a tendril lashed out, it burned with a light so bright it would've hurt to look at if Luke had physical eyes to see with. As it was, he stared into the glow—if lights made a noise this one would be shouting words to a crescendo no one understood—and stared back at the storm, which— who—
Who was staring right back at him.
He had been noticed, growing his little corner of existence into something strong enough to stand his ground on.
"You," hissed a voice that was older than time itself; the voice of the dark side, of sentient suffering. "You are still fighting."
"You're not someone I'll risk not fighting against."
The storm roared and shot towards him, but Luke was strong. Luke was powerful. He—
He was knocked off his feet.
The darkness rushed over him, glittering in its depths, like the remnants of all the stars it had consumed, and into him, a press a thousand times harsher than the time he and Ahsoka had been swimming in the lake and the waves had slammed him back onto the beach, a thousand times more intense than the time Vader had nearly carved him to pieces. He couldn't breathe, the Lake Country had vanished into twisting shades of violet and indigo chaos around him, and he couldn't breathe—
He opened his eyes and stared through red-tinted vision to look a wrinkled, hooded white face in the eye. When he clenched his fists, they were prosthetics; when he breathed, the harsh sound of a respirator scraped at his ears.
Palpatine laughed.
No. This was Luke's mind. Luke's world. He clenched his fists tighter and leather gloves gave way to durasteel, then the flesh again and the biting pinprick of his nails against his palms sharpened the reality around him into something he could recognise—the room of that Star Destroyer where he had stayed on the tour of the Empire. The large, uniform rooms, that Nova had nonetheless bedecked in blues, greens and golds to make him feel far more at home there, the brightly embroidered cushions plopped on Imperial grey sofas.
The shadow was lingering behind the door to the corridor, he knew—the door Vader had always come through. Luke could feel its malignance, see it oozing underneath the door cracks.
But it could not enter.
Luke pushed at the door with his mind and it could not enter. This was a hollow Luke had scraped out within his existence that Palpatine's power could not breach; Luke was resisting, and it was working.
Luke could not resist a storm. A storm would've hammered down the door and blown them all to pieces. Nature was unstoppable—but then, the dark side was not nature. It was just power.
The dark side was the opposite of nature.
It was not inevitable.
It was not eternal.
It was not right.
The door rattled where it was, but stayed firmly closed.
He walked straight for it.
Luke... please, little angel, if you can hear me...
"I hear you," he said firmly. Limbs trembling, heart racing, fingers spasming with a feeling her couldn't name. "I HEAR YOU!"
He hit the button and opened the door.
There was a vortex behind it, glittering still, grinning even without a mouth. He was afraid. He was afraid. But he made sure not to flinch as he stared it down.
"You are not a shadow," he said. "Stop pretending to be one, and fight me like a man."
"I am more than a man," it hissed back. "I am something you will never understand."
"You are a man," Luke reiterated stubbornly. He'd been wrong.
Palpatine was not all the evil in the galaxy combined; the mere thought of defeating that gave him a headache that pounded like his blood through his veins, like his father's respirator, and the pain fed the nexus of the dark side before him.
Palpatine was not a force of nature.
He was not inevitable. He was wicked, and fed off hatred and suffering, like every Sith Lord throughout history had, perpetuating the awful misery from whence they came and triumphed. Luke had suffered under him. The galaxy had suffered under him.
But he was just a man.
No matter how long his shadow had been, no matter how dark. No matter how hopeless Luke had been under him; no matter how much he and the galaxy had put his image up on a pedestal; no matter how afraid of him Luke had been, always, for as long as he could remember.
He was just a man. He was, in fact, a dead man.
And Luke was more powerful than him.
"I will be a god—"
"You are a man. You are nothing." Luke smiled, and... walked towards Palpatine. Reached deep inside him the way Ahsoka had taught him and felt for the light, holding it in his hands before him like a shield. The shadow—manifesting into a humanoid shape more and more with every moment—scrambled to get away. "And you are about to be defeated by a boy."
The vortex consumed their surroundings. Luke was standing on nothing, in the middle of nothing but chaos, dark and depressing thoughts pressing at him from all angles—
And then he blinked, seized hold of himself and they shifted, and the violent dark hues manifested into far more familiar ground.
His quarters in the Imperial Palace.
He had never thought about it before, really. But these had not been his prince's quarters, nor had they been Palpatine's. Vader had had them prepared in a hurry from the moment he'd learned the truth, and their luxury was far beyond what Luke was accustomed to—fine sofas, fine rugs, fine tables. The art was tasteful, and Luke had been able to change it as he chose; the bathroom was so large for a small boy it was almost ridiculous; the study and library and bedroom and eating area and everywhere else in those quarters had been exquisitely seen to. And it had all been changed at his will when he'd awoken and started living in them, a real person with preferences and idiosyncrasies and opinions. Vader had put so much love into his care before they even knew each other, and...
And Luke took strength from it now.
Palpatine was standing in the middle of it all—Palpatine, not a storm. Not a torrent of power. Not an unbeatable shadow.
Amidst the bright colours and large displays of affection, he and his black robes looked very, very small.
When Luke looked at the table next to the sofa—the sofa Nova had cuddled next to him on, the sofa he'd fallen asleep on Vader on, the sofa he, Zev and Leia had watched Crown of Stars on—there was a lightsaber on it.
It was not a lightsaber he recognised.
That didn't matter.
"You've reached the end, Father," he spat, standing up straight. For the first time in his life, he felt tall.
Palpatine tried to regain his composure. "Have I?" he sneered.
Luke lifted his chin, eyed the lightsaber, and smiled.
"You have."
"Luke. Listen to me."
Their sabers clashed together; Vader twisted his blade and they screeched and whined but Palpatine's grip was tight and it did not fly away as intended. The boy dodged to the side, small and nibmle as ever, and Vader turned to track his motions—
"I too, used to want him to be proud of me. And then I just wanted him to make amends."
The words spilled out before he could even really process them, heartbreak a punch and a stab in his chest. Seeing Luke's yellow eyes stare at him like that; the way Palpatine smiled with Luke's lips, Luke's dimple pocking a face that had been stolen; his expert handling of that lightsaber, and the lightning that lanced from the fingertips—
"Luke," he reiterated, sidestepping to avoid the next slash as Palpatine drove forwards in his favourite corkscrew, strange and off-balance in Luke's lanky teenage body— "Luke, I know that you— you always longed for someone's approval, but know that you have it. He is not the person you need to satisfy. He is not the person you should want to be proud of you. You are worthy of being proud of yourself."
Palpatine just laughed. It was high-pitched, light-hearted, the way Luke's laughter was; Palpatine giggled, and Vader shivered.
"Luke is gone, Vader. Are you going to stand there and talk to the dead whole time?"
He lashed forwards, the crimson blade a blur in his hands and Vader parried left, right, forwards. Luke was small and had no strength to press against him with so Vader pressed forwards himself, using all his considerable weight to shove him back, to slash forwards—
"Are you going to talk to Padmé as well?"
Vader stumbled but carried the slash through—and that slash was brutal.
Luke was not an excellent duellist.
But Palpatine was, so he ducked back at the perfect moment to avoid being gutted from the nave to the chops.
Vader lowered his saber in shock.
He— if Palpatine hadn't, he would have—
Luke's hands came up again and blasted lightning at him, the skin of his fingertips blistering, the nails cracking. Vader did not raise his sword in enough time to stop it, was thrown back, electrified...
The Force billowed around him and cushioned his landing. He dared not lie on his back for more than a moment before he was up again, on his feet, diving out of the way as a small, ferocious head came barrelling straight for him.
Parry, block, deflect. Stab, parry, slash—
And again, only Palpatine's quick movement kept Luke alive.
"Good. You understand that your son is gone." Palpatine stalked around the room, on the other side of the altar, grinning all the way. The tip of his saber scorched ovals in the obsidian flooring. "You are not holding back. Good, good—it would have been disappointing if, in this rematch of our final duel, you were not genuinely trying to kill me—"
He leapt forwards, taking the whole room in one bound and their sabers crashed high, left, low. Vader spun his and forced Palpatine back, who danced with feet lighter than what he'd had in years.
He was right.
Vader— Vader, if he kept going like this, could kill Luke.
He remembered their training session together, how he'd lost control; remembered Luke's terrified face; remembered... remembered cursing himself, swearing never to hurt him again—
"You failed your mother," Palpatine said. More lightning; Vader deflected it, this time, letting the respirator pump oxygen into his lungs, letting his mind whir. "You failed your wife. And now—"
A flurry of blows; quick, sharp, vibrations humming through air charged with static.
"You have failed your son."
Yes, Vader thought. He was failing his son.
Luke was still in there.
Luke was still in there.
If— if Vader struck him down— if he killed his son before he could ever have the chance to fight this wicked man off and triumph—
He would never forgive himself.
That could not happen.
That would not happen.
"Luke. My son," he rasped, standing to his full height and towering over Palpatine, over Luke over everything; he was the father, and he would protect his son— "I know you can do this. I know you are in there. I know you are strong enough to beat him."
Palpatine just watched him with amused eyes...
Then he twitched.
Moved his head like it was ringing, like he had something in his ear.
He snarled. Vader smiled.
"I have faith in you, Luke," he said. "I love you. You do not need him; he has always needed you, and in the worst way possible. I know you are good enough, have always been good enough, yourself. I know you can do this, I know Sabé and Ahsoka will want you back, so please..."
He lifted his lightsaber hilt, and tossed it. It bounced once, twice, against the shields, then rolled into the corridor and out of sight.
"Come back to us."
Palpatine flinched. Took a step back, and spat, "Your son is gone."
But he buckled over, blinked fiercely, and his eyes flashed blue.
Vader covered the distance between them in three short strides, seizing Luke's hands and pinning them to his sides, gently but firmly. Palpatine bucked, but the saber rolled out of his grip and clattered across the floor, and his grip on his wrists was too tight, he couldn't summon—
"My son is," Vader said, "is right here."
The lightsaber flew to Luke's outstretched hand and he seized it, shifting his grip, ready.
"You do not scare me. I am Emperor and you are in my head." Luke activated the weapon and shifted into his battle stance, his jaw set and his mind made up. "I have had enough of fear for a lifetime, and I do not fear you."
The shadow—Palpatine; Sidious—just hissed, "Then you are a fool—"
He lashed out with one tendril, the glittering darkness coalescing into something far, far too solid, to catch him across the chest and fling him, but Luke slashed down. The blade that had erupted from the hilt was blue, warm and solid—the shape of the hilt in his hands was oddly familiar but he couldn't have said where from, whether it was a dream or a fancy or fate—and the cerulean light scoured away the darkness.
Palpatine screamed.
It was a terrible sound. Awful, screeching, the sort that could shatter eardrums and shatter worlds and still send a shockwave that would be felt by everyone in the galaxy. It was like he'd tapped into some spider's web and a raindrop had hit a strand in the distance, sending deep, deep reverberations through his being.
Luke grinned grimly, and pushed himself to his full height.
There was a beam of red, now, he saw—it was a lightsaber but not, and shot towards him like a blaster bolt. He ducked and rolled as it slashed through the air, remembering what Ahsoka had taught him—spun the saber in his hand into reverse grip and slashed the beam out of balance.
You are as flimsy as a stick, he thought, and neatly sliced it in two. And you snap like summer twigs.
When he looked back at the figure-storm, those twin sun eyes were glaring at him.
"You are nothing," he spat at them. "I am Luke Skywalker. I am in control here. You spent far too many years in that position already."
"I will spend a thousand more!"
Luke gritted his teeth. "No. You're going to die properly this time."
He did not wait for Palpatine to attack. Though he could clearly see the attack coming, he did not wait for it. He was done living in a galaxy under this man's rules, his whims, his actions.
Instead, he darted forwards, fierce and free, and slashed right through his torso of his own accord.
Palpatine screamed again. Luke willed him to be silent, and he was silenced.
He hacked into him again. And again. And again, and again, and again—
Until the shadows dissipated.
Until he could breathe again.
He took up straight. He... he was no longer into his quarters at the Palace. He was in a room of light, a tower. Someone whispered, I knew there was still good in him…
Everything was bright white, then everything was turning gold, then red. He slid his eyes shut and it grew even redder, and redder even more, the veins and arteries and flesh of his eyelids picked out in harsh chiaroscuro against the light. He didn't know when he stopped clutching the lightsaber, but suddenly he had; it was gone, and his fingers were empty.
His fingers hurt.
He opened his eyes again and collapsed to his knees.
They hit hard, cold obsidian. He blinked, everything fading into focus, and there was the altar, there were the arches and the shields and the lava fields.
There was his father, gripping his wrists tightly.
He turned his head up to look Vader in the eyes, his mouth falling open in a faint oh. He blinked. His lungs felt like they were on fire. His fingers were torched and burned.
"I did it," he realised slowly, blinking more quickly now. "I did it. Father—" He sucked in a breath and stared. From this close, he could see his father's eyes behind the mask, and they... were not the bright gold of the Sith he had been expecting.
A laugh bubbled up in his throat, as inevitable as water boiling over, and it spilled everywhere, ringing in the dull chambers like a victory bell playing wildly and joyfully and—
His father sagged in relief at the sound.
There were arms around Luke. Luke leaned into them, let them crush him against Vader's chest, and half-smiled, half-sobbed.
"I did it..."
"You did," Vader said, though he sounded very distant, very stunned. "You did, Luke, you brilliant—"
He pulled back to cup Luke's cheek in one massive hand; Luke tried to rise with him, grabbing onto his arm and elbow to hold him steady. "You— my son, I—"
Luke's knees buckled.
Vader caught him before he hit the ground. Hoisted him up into his arms, holding him close and precious, murmuring proud words, sweet words, endless proclamations of love and worth and longing...
Luke drifted off to the sound of them, the memory of Palpatine's rancid scream very far away.
When Luke collapsed, Vader thought it was the worst.
Fear speared him. He couldn't breathe, for all that his respirator struggled to force it; he rushed forward, seizing Palpatine's red lightsaber from Luke's grip and tossing it—it sailed out of the arches, down, down, down, to hiss and sizzle in the lava below.
He grasped Luke's shoulders, turning his chin up—and Luke opened his eyes.
They were bluer than the Lake Country, with twice as much water; tears toppled down his cheeks.
He had done it, Vader realized in shock. He'd done it.
Palpatine was gone.
Luke focused on him with difficulty, clearly exhausted, but relieved.
"I did it," he gasped out. "I— I did it, Father."
Father.
Before Vader knew what he was doing he had moved forward and seized his son in a tight embrace.
"I did it," Luke breathed again against his chest. The words were a prayer and he had waited far too long to say them.
"You did." Vader could still barely breathe, the way relief was crushing his chest like he crushed throats; he crushed Luke against him just as fiercely. His son was there. He wasn't— he wasn't possessed, he wasn't wielding a red lightsaber, his eyes were blue. Emotions were sparking and shattering in his chest, tumbling across his tongue faster than he could move it— "You— did it, Luke, you brilliant—"
He needed to see his face again. He needed to be sure. He pulled back, every inch of lost contact feeling like a tear, so he could rove his gaze over his face, take in the darkening blond hair, the pale, clear eyes, the tears tracking down his cheeks and dripping and burrowing in the cleft of his chin. A hand came up to press against Luke's tiny cheek in his palm and wipe away some of those tears, to still assure himself that Luke was there, he was real, he was safe...
"You—" He didn't know what to say. His emotions and thoughts were still crashing and colliding like stars in a supernova, giving off colours so bright they hurt to behold, and his mortal voice was not equipped to deal with such ferocity. "You— my son, I—"
Luke collapsed.
Terror engulfed the colours in darkness. He was moving before his mind gave permission, one hand seizing Luke's limp shoulder and the other going under his legs to bring him up, closer to Vader, cradled beside his heart. He didn't know what he said as Luke drifted off to sleep, the words leapt from him unbidden, but he sensed peace before he sensed full slumber.
Luke would be alright.
Luke was alright.
He carried him gently down the long, long flights of stairs, to the antechamber they'd entered by, next to where they'd left the ship. Sabé was pacing. Ahsoka was perched on the edge of the landing ramp, her lightsaber unlit in her hands. The moment the door whooshed open they tensed, but then—
They stared at him, at the great looming figure with the greatest treasure in his arms, and sighed.
"Luke," Sabé breathed, and ran forwards. "He's— he's—?"
"He will be fine," Vader said, softer than he'd known he could, and watched her press her hand to her mouth and try not to let the tears fall.
