That day aboard the Death Star will live on in my memory as if were yesterday, forever. No matter how much I go over it in my head, it never falls into the same pattern of thought like other memories do, the sort of pattern you acquire from thinking about something so much that at last all you remember is having remembered it before. These memories are so clear and strong that there are no patterns, just as there are no patterns when it is happening. I fought Vader.

It wasn't the first time–I had a missing right hand to show for that. But this time it was entirely different. It had certainly been personal before, but now knowing about mine and Leia's conception made my hate for him a hundred fold greater, burning inside me like no emotion ever had. Save maybe love–with Leia. And the thought of her pushed me on. Drawing my power from those feelings, I fought harder and faster than ever before, and better, too. I saw openings in Vader's defense that were so minute that I never would have noticed them before, and I took advantage of them. My thrusts and cuts as well as my blocks and deflections were more finely tuned than my skills. It was the dark side of the Force, flowing through me like blood in my veins. It made me powerful, gave me clarity, made my passion useful instead of a hindrance. For the first time, I thought I understood the true nature of the Force. I loved it.

The Emperor heard my thoughts–I had no reason to hide them. He laughed gleefully at my acceptance of his religion, and encouraged me from his throne to "use my aggressive feelings." I ignored him completely. This wasn't about him. He was missing the point. After all, there were those who fell to the dark side, and then there were Sith. I would not be a Sith–I was too smart for that trap. The Sith were as bad in my mind as the Jedi. It was because of the whole Jedi/Sith conflict that I grew up an orphan, that I was separated from Leia, that the Empire rose, and that all of the details of my own life were kept hidden from me. I would have no part after tonight. Not with the Sith, not with the Jedi, and not with the Force at all. All it did was cause conflict and pain.

Vader and I were matched, and the fight continued for a long time. How long, I'm not sure, but judging by when I came aboard and when I left, I'd say at least an hour all together. He kept talking to me though I didn't say a word, obviously trying to rile me enough to snap and swear my devotion to the Sith. But I didn't budge. Besides, didn't he understand? If I was going to snap, that is if I hadn't already, it was going to be much the worse for Vader.

It was when he started talking about Leia that it started working. "Luke," he said, "If you join me, we can see to it that you wife and child are kept safe when the Rebellion is destroyed. It is the only way you can save them."

I thought of Ben and Leia and the new baby killed by a firing squad or worked to death in a camp and my blood ran cold. There was defiantly a difference between never wanting to see my son, and being happy with the thought of my own flesh and blood brutally murdered. "That's not true," I spat. "There's more than one way to end this war!" I thrust at his chest, but he deflected. We fought on.

"You can save the others, too," Vader offered. "The other pilots in your squadron. That Corellian you are fond of. I can see to it that they are not mistreated after our victory."

Han. Han wasn't part of this–he didn't deserve to be put in the middle, to even be talked about by the monster before me. I pushed him from my mind, and fought all the harder.

After a long time, I could see I was beginning to get the upper hand. Slightly. But Vader was weakening, I could see that. His breath was regulated and could not speed up, but it sounded heavier, much harder. Yet he blocked and cut with the same rhythm as myself, the same rhythm as before. It was only my hate that kept me quick and strong.

"Your wife is a traitor to the Empire, Luke," Vader continued, desperate to break me. He couldn't hold out much longer. I had more stamina. "She is a traitor to your heritage. Do you expect her to crawl into bed with you when she learns who you are?"

Memories of rolling with Leia on an Alliance cot, tangled in sheets. Memories of feeling her all round me, needing me. Memories of hot, soft skin like a princess should have, pressed up to mine as we fell asleep. They clenched at my heart because I hated those memories, hated what I'd done. And because they were things I could never have again, so long as I live.

"She knows!" I growled. "She knows who I am–what I am. And what I am is your fault!" I hadn't thought it was possible, but I fought harder, muscles burning, painful breath tearing at my lungs, hate caught in my throat. "And it's your fault that the Jedi fell!" Enraged thrust, barely blocked in time by my opponent. "And it's your fault that Ben and my aunt and uncle are dead." Downward cut, deflection. "And it's your fault that Leia went through all of that!" He didn't know what I was talking about, but that didn't matter. Side cut, deflection followed by a feeble attempt at a thrust on his part, easy block. "And it's probably your fault my mother's dead!" My thrust was knocked back with such force that I fell to the floor, Vader's saber threateningly at my throat. I felt anger from him such as I'd never felt before.

There was a long pause, the only sound our heavy breathing. "Kill me," I said. "Just do it. I want this to be over."

We were below the main throne room, having chased one another down to the shadows. I couldn't see the Emperor any longer, and if he was still chuckling I couldn't hear him. Vader regarded me a long time, and finally dropped his guard. "I did not mean to kill her," he said as quietly as his mechanical voice would allow him. "I did not mean to."

I blinked in amazement. He had killed her. He had murdered the person he loved more than anything else. And here he was softly admitting it to me as if he needed to unburden his conscience. As if Vader had a conscience.

"Until a few years ago, I had thought I had killed the child inside her as well. But here you are."

I could have sworn that was affection in his voice. I looked up to meet his eyes though his mask. "Why are you telling me this?" I asked, and my trembling voice betrayed my feelings. "I don't want to hear this!"

"Go home," he said, shutting off his lightsaber. "Go home to your wife and child. Do not make the same mistake I did."

I gaped. "You're letting me go?"

"I will see that you are not harmed."

He turned his back on me to return to his Emperor. Big mistake.

I was up again in a second, lightsaber ignited, rushing at Vader. He didn't turn around, but whether it was because I was too quick for him or because he welcomed death, I will never know.

Thrust. The smell of singed plastic, cloth, and flesh.

He fell. I watched him crumple at my feet. He didn't move, though I could feel that he was still alive. Still, I had cut through the lungs and numerous workings of his life support systems. It was only a matter of time. I did not feel the glee I thought I would. I felt guilt, remorse. We were no longer fighting–it was murder.

But I let out a long sigh of relief. It was over. It was finally over. It was worth all the guilt in the worlds, just to have this peace now.

"Come here, boy!" I heard from above. Of course. The Emperor sensed Vader's defeat and wanted me to take his place. Clutching my lightsaber, I climbed to the main level and regarded Palpatine calmly, the relief of my accomplished task replacing the burning hate I had felt before.

"I felt that," he purred. "The way you took your father's life, when he had every intention of setting you free." He smiled. "It was brilliant. And yet you feel guilty."

I did not answer.

"Poor boy. It is natural to feel remorse for such an act. But you can use that feeling constructively. Join me, take your father's place at my side, and we will end this war together. I know how you value life, Skywalker, and that you want the people of the Galaxy to be happy. So do I. We can bring a new era of compassion to the Empire. If I teach you the ways of the Sith, you will be powerful enough to reach your goals, Darth–"

I would not be christened as a Sith. I cut him off insistently. "I'm not Darth. I'm not Darth anything. I've renounced the Jedi, but I will never embrace the Sith." I took a last look at my lightsaber, and cast it into the seemingly endless shaft to my left to be lost forever. "You've failed, Your Highness. It's over. I understand the game you've played with my father for all these years, and you're not doing it to me, too. I'm too smart for that. This ends now."

His gleeful and falsely compassionate smile abruptly faded. "I see," he said in a dark, disappointed tone. "I believe I underestimated you. I had expected your connection to you father to be your downfall, but it seems to have been his instead. You are indeed clever, boy." He rose carefully, his old body weak. "Too clever, I think, to let live." He walked towards me slowly, and I stood firm, the relief growing. I was going to have peace at last. He was going to kill me, and I would be free.

There are better ways to die, I would imagine, than by Force lightning, but it was so welcome to me that it was almost sweet. I didn't resist, didn't cry out, just relaxed and let it take me. I fell when I no longer had the energy to stand, and waited as darkness flooded my eyes.

But I woke up. He had stopped at making me unconscious, not bothering to finish me off. I opened my eyes to a blinding headache and was shocked to see Vader laying beside me.

He was breathing, in extremely raged and weak regulated gasps. Gathering all of the strength I had left, I sat up and stared him threateningly in the face. "What happened?" I asked. "Where is he?"

"Down...the...shaft..." answered Vader.

I glanced over my shoulder, unbelieving what I heard. "How?"

"I...couldn't let...him...kill you," he gasped.

A blaze of anger rose in my chest, and I shouted desperately. "I wanted to die! Damn you!" Cold angry tears coursed down my cheeks, the kind that seem to be created of their own accord while you're distracted. "How dare you save me! I killed you, and you saved me?"

I collapsed on his wounded chest, sobbing uncontrollably, clinging to him as if he really were my father by more than blood. I didn't show my shock when I felt his hand gently touching my back, smoothing my hair as if he was trying to comfort me. "My hair...was that...color..." he mused softly.

I looked up, again meeting his eyes through the mask. "Why?" I demanded desperately, crying and screaming. "I hate you! You're evil! How could you possibly love me?"

"Sometimes...Luke...love...is all...we really...have..."

His hand slid off my back. His breathing grew weaker for a few moments.

And then it stopped. Darth Vader was dead.

I sat watching him for a long time, not understanding anything that had just taken place. I was alive. I was alive because Vader had saved my life. I was too confused to be upset any longer.

My heart clenched to look at him. Maybe somewhere inside, he had still been Anakin. Maybe Leia was right.

At last, I rose and left. In the turmoil of the evacuation, no one seemed to notice that I stole a shuttle and escaped.

That night we won the war. I didn't celebrate. I found myself on Corellia a few days later in a medcenter with radiation poisoning and a few really bad bruises. When they released me, I got a little apartment there in a big city and tried to forget everything, Leia, Han, Ben, the new baby who was due any day, Vader, the Jedi, and the Alliance. Even Rogue Squadron. I wanted it all gone from my memory. But I made good on my promise to let them know if I lived. I sent a message from a public console and messed with the signal so that it would be hard to discover its planet of origin. All it said was, "Congratulations, guys."