Where Am I Going To?

Part One

Chapter Six

Luke had never tried to put up such a strong barrier around his thoughts before. Still, this did not dampen his desperate zeal for trying to. Somehow, he knew he could. If he were assigned the sometimes tricky duty of assassinating a Force sensitive, he could put extremely strong walls up. But he wanted them to be one hundred times more strong than that.

He succeeded admirably. He locked himself away inside his own mind so well that not even Obi Wan, standing right next to him, could detect the confused and aching boy using the Force.

Everything around Luke was different now. He flatly refused to touch his old garments. He burned them in effigy to his old life that he was leaving thoroughly behind. He had never bothered picking up his lightsaber after tossing it away. He used his father's instead. The light blue blade was actually a bit less bulky than Luke's old one. The other had forced him to work constantly on improving his muscle mass and simply overrunning an enemy. The new one – new to him, in any case – was better suited for his lighter frame, and focused more on speed than strength. Still, Luke couldn't truly be proficient with it as it wasn't his. But he was not quite ready to set about the hard task of making a new lightsaber. That reflected who you were, it was a part of you, something you had labored to create. And until Luke knew who he was, he could not bear the idea of making something from him. It would only mean another mystery to solve, and he had enough of those.

Keeping himself blocked off from everyone was entirely his intention. He didn't want anyone to find him. At once he was both reaching desperately out for someone to grab onto, and at the same time drawing away. A more apt description might be that he wanted his soul to be saved. His mind he wanted to be good and left alone.

But who was he hiding from? Certainly not Kenobi. Quite the contrary. Lord Skywalker – now just Padawan Skywalker – could keep nothing from the old man. Whatever he asked of Luke was delivered ten fold. He was as a beaten and starved puppy; so readily obedient, so willing to please, and yet still very terrified.

Probably the easiest transition out of all was the transition from powerful Sith Lord to weak Jedi Padawan. The tumble from the top was quite easy to bear. He didn't in the least mind the falling sensation. It was the bone shattering landing that jarred him.

But now the healing could begin. "To get better you must get worse," he had once been told. And it was true. The healing was more painful than the actual wound. Luke didn't care. He bore it with patient, mournful, apathetic indifference. His world had been turned upside down in two chaotic minutes that he didn't understand any more. Or had it been two hours?

In the end, Luke really wasn't sure why he'd, sobbing, declared himself seceded from the Sith and from the Empire. There was something far more terrible than seeing two burning skeletons. He'd seen lots of burning skeletons. So, something had come together and exactly the right time, in exactly the right setting to shatter him, to push him through a catharsis. And he wanted to know what it was.

It seemed he wanted to know a lot of things these days. Who his mother was, what sort of transformation he'd undergone, what had driven him to it. And who he was. That rang clear as a bell in his mind. He knew what he was, in a vague sort of sense. But who he was? How did one even find that sort of information out?

He decided that what he needed to know was buried in his soul somewhere. But he wasn't sure what he needed to do in order to draw it out. How did one go about dragging secrets from a soul? It was a trick he desperately needed to know. And someday, he would. But not yet.

That would have to wait. The journey his soul was taking would take forever, and he would have to be patient to see when he would learn what he so desperately needed to learn. And that was another thing he needed to learn: patience.

But who was Luke trying to hide himself from? That is a very easy question to answer.

"You go in."

"No, you go in."

The two deck officers on board the Death Star were nervously shifting from foot to foot. Neither were quite willing to enter Darth Vader's antechamber and be the harbinger of death. Mostly because it was almost certain that their own death knoll would be sounded as well. But the news must be delivered, flood, fire, or fog. Or maybe it could wait. Was it really that important?

"Look," said the first, nervously gripping the wrapped object in his hand, "we'll flip for it. Heads, I win, tails, you lose."

"Oka- Wait a second! I'm not that stupid."

"Fine, heads I go in, tails you go in. Fair?"

"Fair."

"Okay then."

The first dug out a coin and was about to toss it when the other cried out "Wait!"

"What is it now?" demanded the first, angrily and nervously clutching the piece of metal.

"How do I know it's not a trick coin?"

"Look, here, see it! See?"

The second carefully examined the coin and nodded his head. "Okay, but I flip."

"What? But it's my coin!"

"Exactly!"

Grumbling, the first gave in, and the coin was tossed: heads. "So, um," the owner of the coin muttered, "was it me who went in if it were heads, or you?"

"Just go!"

The second gave him an angry shove at the door, and the trembling man stumbled over his own feet. Straightening, he gathered all his courage, and entered. Barely managing to keep his voice from cracking, he walked over to the impatient and expectant Vader and nervously handed him the small brown package.

"I regret to inform you, sir, that we have received reports that your son, Lord Skywalker, is dead." Following this surprisingly solid string of words came the silent thoughts of "Please don't kill me, please don't kill me, please don't kill me."

Stunned, the Dark Lord did not move, his black, gloved fingers tightening around the package. The room was entirely silent as the Lord of the Sith unwrapped the package, only to be met with his son's lightsaber.

"Storm Troopers believe it was murder, as there were three other dead bodies of soldiers. Only that was left."

A tense moment crawled by, a moment when absolutely no oxygen was inhaled. Gulping, the officer felt himself begin to shake. Finally came the longed for words from the deep and terrifying voice: "You may go." Saluting, the officer marched out to safety, and the Sith Lord continued to stand there, clutching at the lightsaber.

Luke?

There came no reply. The terrible sorrow came rolling off of the Force user. Surely his son would respond to that. If he were still alive.

Luke? He tried again, and still there came no answer. He probed and groped for some sparkle that signified his only child's presence, but nothing came.

He was dead.

And Darth Vader was bitterly alone. He'd long ago been forced to endure the lesson that you cannot fully appreciate something until you lose it. It seemed unfair that he was forced to learn it all over again. How could he be dead? What could have possibly killed his boy? It was just simply impossible.

"So….You're my….I'm your….."

He well remembered prying that tiny bundle from the stunned Jedi's arms. He could never forget the soft blond hair and the icy blue eyes. And that first moment when he'd known that he was a father. When he'd known that there was someone who did love him unconditionally. That little baby boy, so unafraid, so perfect. His baby boy.

Luke….please, don't do this. Nothing. Luke!

The demand went unanswered, and the father felt his heart breaking. Everything he'd ever loved or held onto had been stolen from him in one way or another. How could fate be so cruel as to steal away his son? How was it possible?

Finally sucking in a painful breath, the Dark Lord locked the lightsaber securely in a cabinet. He couldn't stand to look at it. It just wasn't fair! How…how! There wasn't even a question to formulate at such sudden, undeserved, unexpected pain. He wheeled from it in a terrible frenzy of emotion that he hadn't let himself feel in years.

He'd never gotten to tell Luke that he loved him. He'd never really gotten to say goodbye. Did he know? Did he care? Was he disappointed? What were his last thoughts as he died? They were unanswerable questions, and the Lord of the Sith hated them.

And the princess! What to do with her now? Should he tell her that her sort of future fiancé was dead? It wasn't any real concern of hers. Maybe he would, and maybe he wouldn't. He supposed it really didn't matter, in the end. Very little mattered, it seemed. There wasn't much point to much of anything. Not without the one bright light in his life.

Luke? The air was still empty around him.

To Be Continued….

Bill: I find your review amusing in the sense that I don't understand what has upset you. If you think that writing this is easy or I'm taking the easy way out, you're sadly mistaken. Yes, I am following the plot line of the movie. That was my whole intention. But it is an experiment of sorts. Luke is very different than before. He'd darker, he's more easily upset. Now I'm going to take that and find how things change. Basically, what I'm telling you is that this will pay off in later chapters, but I could see it being so much as a year before that sort of pay off comes. So, hey, I'm not going to make you read it.

Schnickledooger: Thanks! Great to know I have support.

Scullymunder: Thanks very much!

Elocindragon: It's got charm, doesn't it? Well, hope you'll like he stuff to come.