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His hard gaze was level with her narrowed green eyes, the jewel color of those eyes offsetting brilliant red-gold tresses tumbling down her shoulders. There was a thin sheen of perspiration on her brow, furrowed in concentration, and Luke could feel the beads of sweat running down his own face, plastering his hair, stringy and damp, to his forehead. Their sabers were locked together in a hissing standstill, and, except for the visible trembling in Luke's taut muscles, neither of them moved.



The high, bright sunlight coming through the throne room's windows contradicted the darkened anxiety in Luke's heart as he held the gaze of this fiery young woman. He did not want to fight her. Indeed, his saber seemed glued in his hand with a force against his own will, and he shied away from this weapon of his own creation as the very thing that would bring about his downfall.



To the Dark Side.



Once, the lightsaber had represented to him everything good he that fought for, but now, he longed to drop the glowing blade to the ground and watch, mesmerized, as the laser beam melted into the stone flooring, sinking into the depths of the palace—away from Luke and the dangerous power he wielded; the power that the Emperor was trying to twist and mold into darkness.



It had been three days. Three days of exhausting exercises and relentless battling. Three days without sleep, or food, or water. The grazing blaster burn on his shoulder, still aching furiously, had not been treated, and he had not yet been able to pause long enough to attempt any of the limited healing techniques Yoda had taught him. He was shaky with exertion and fatigue, and his head pounded, constantly now, with every thunderous beat of his heart. His dry mouth felt like cotton, and the world seemed dimmer around him—fuzzy at the edges. Palpatine obviously enjoyed pushing his new pupil to his limits, and Luke was definitely feeling the strain. He was waiting now for either the dreaded feeling of a burning blade cutting through his flesh signifying he'd lost his concentration and fallen prey to his designated opponent, or for the cool, sinking depths of unconsciousness to claim him, signifying the simple fact that his body and mind had just given out, no longer able to take the strain and exhaustion. Fleetingly, he hoped for the latter.



With a chilling glare, the young woman stepped back away from him, deactivating her lightsaber and attaching it to her belt. She turned her head toward Palpatine's throne as if taking in some unspoken command while Luke deactivated his own saber, the weapon seemingly molded into his grip, its contours filling his hand with the familiarity of its weight.



"And how are you enduring these battles so far, my young apprentice?" Palpatine asked, his voice traced with amusement. Standing stoically next to his throne, Vader was a motionless statue, the black, glossy eyes boring into Luke's face.



Luke still felt the determination flowing through him, feeding him a sort of renewed energy. "Well," he answered quietly, "physically, I might be about to collapse onto the floor here, but mentally I am no closer to turning to the Dark Side than I was three days ago."



The Emperor didn't even bat an eye. "Then perhaps your next lesson should be on endurance." He chuckled. "Of course, you are wrong when you say that you are no closer to turning to the Dark Side." He got to his feet and slowly started toward Luke.



"By the time you have completely turned, you will not even know it has happened. Right and Wrong will no longer have any meaning to you—your whole world will be completely twisted, mutilated, and reshaped to fit a more useful, more dangerous mold." He stopped, his face mere inches away from Luke's, his features wrinkling into a horrible smile. "The only thing you will care about is serving your Master."



Palpatine reached out one white, papery hand from the yards of black robe surrounding him and clawed fingers grasped Luke's chin before the Jedi could turn away in disgust. The ruler emanated evil and death. It leached from him, into his very surroundings, and in such close proximity to Luke, the young man felt nausea turn his stomach, briefly envisioned himself collapsing into dry heaves onto the biting stone, repulsive black robes swirling dizzy patterns in front of his eyes.



"And, my young apprentice," the Emperor added quietly, tilting Luke's chin so the Jedi would look at him, "You will serve me well."



The chamber was deathly quiet and it seemed to breathe the tension into the air. That silence was suddenly broken with the dull *clunking* sound of metal striking stone as Luke's hand dropped the lightsaber like a white-hot coal, the weapon bouncing down several steps before coming to an abrupt halt somewhere below him.



It was dangerously quiet.



What happened next was sudden, but then, he should have been expecting it, Luke thought hazily as he was hurdled with the force of the Darkside lightning against unforgiving stone floor. The air was completely knocked out of him, the raw pain arcing through his exhausted body. Dimly he heard his own choked cries of pain as wave after wave of dark energy washed over him.



Then the air was thick with silence once more.



It took several moments of just trying to breathe, unconsciousness threatening to roll over him, for Luke to gather enough strength to open his eyes. Two black silhouettes of Darth Vader stood over him, steady, ominous breathing sounding in Luke's ears as if they came through a long tunnel.



Gradually, as Luke blinked away the pain, pushing up laboriously on to one elbow, the two images coalesced into one. Vader stood over him, lightsaber in hand.



"Stand up, Luke."



The Jedi turned his head away, wanting to curl up into a ball and make all of this disappear. "I can't," he said hoarsely. "I won't. I will not fight anymore."



The Dark Lord straightened, the snap-hiss of his lightsaber puncturing the silence. "It would be well for you to remember," he said calmly, "to behave and do as you are told—for your sake, and for the sake of your sister when she is brought to us."



A white-hot rage boiled up in Luke, blotting out the pain, filling him with anger-fueled adrenaline. They would never get their hands on Leia—never. Suddenly, it seemed perfectly reasonable and fitting to leap up, and strike the Dark Lord down, to strike them all down. They deserved to die if they even thought about going near his beautiful sister.



"Don't you dare bring Leia into this!" he cried furiously. Without having a recollection of getting up, he was suddenly on his feet, lightsaber in hand, and bearing down on the Dark Lord with all the anger and fury he could muster.



The battle raged on for only a few minutes, Vader clearly having the upper hand. Luke was too weakened by the last three days to be very much of a threat. Finally, the Dark Lord brought his son to his knees, lightsaber held threateningly at the Jedi's throat. Luke was gasping, black spots swirling in front of his vision. Adrenaline receded from his system and so did his anger, his strength gone. Blurrily, he felt himself falling, pitching forward onto the cold floor, the cool of the flagstones providing some small relief from his burns. From the long tunnel of his consciousness he could hear the sound of the Emperor's mocking laughter.



Luke had failed. He had given in to his anger. It was Palpatine who won, who had been right. He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting nothing more than to sink into the cool black depths of nothingness, away from everything.



Someone took hold of his arms and began dragging him across the rough ground. He was carried brusquely back to his quarters and dumped none too gently on the floor, the door hissing shut somewhere behind him.



Taking a deep breath, Luke forced himself to get up, to stagger to the refresher where he was sure he was going to be sick. The Emperor's words kept repeating in his brain…



*By the time you have completely turned, you won't even know it has happened.*



Was it true? Despite his best efforts, was he turning to the Dark Side?



As he rose up, in prepatory to getting his feet under him, what he saw on the small decorative dining table almost made him fall down again in surprise: There sat a collection of dishes and polished pots holding a meal big enough to feed three people, steaming and hot, and Luke wondered how he had not noticed the smell of food wafting into the air. He had not eaten anything in days, and rightfully, he should have been ravenous, but a sick feeling twisted in his stomach as he saw how Palpatine was manipulating him. He did not want to eat the food, did not want to swallow its symbolism.



The water was another matter entirely though, and he tottered over to the table, filling the crystal glass from the large pitcher, and drank it all down. Water had never tasted so good to him in all his life.



It gave him enough strength to stagger weakly to his bed, falling fast into a much-needed sleep before his head even touched the pillows.



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