Published September 2, 2021

"Counsel"

It's impossible. It's unthinkable. How could Joy be my wife? I'd have to love her, wouldn't I? I'd have to care more for her than for anyone else in this world. I'd have to be suffering the torments of the damned. ~ William Nicholson, Shadowlands

In the weeks following her rescue, Rey was almost always resting when the Force connected her with Ben. First, she was kept under medical supervision to make sure there was no damage from the gas. Then, when she was discharged, she was sent to Maz Kanata's new establishment with the instruction to "take it easy," a concept that was rather foreign to her.

"They're giving me a leave of absence—time to recover and reflect," she told Ben before making the trip. She suspected it was Poe's way of trying to make amends with her after their recent clashes.

"Good," Ben said. It was a rare occasion when he approved of a decision made by the Resistance's leadership. "You deserve it."

"But I don't know what I'm going to do!" Rey burst out. "I've always had something I needed to do—working to get food, or going on missions, or helping rescued slaves."

Ben was silent for a moment. He held himself back from suggesting that she spend her leave of absence on Ahch-To. As simple and sensible as it seemed, there were too many factors to consider in that scenario.

Instead he ventured, "You've been taking care of other people for years. Maybe it's time to take care of yourself again—or let other people take care of you." His expression was wistful as he added that last part, but his voice came out sounding frustrated.

"What is it?" Rey asked.

He shook his head. "I just—I wish I could be there to take care of you, like you did me when I was sick."

"You have been taking care of me, on the worst nights," Rey reminded him.

"Yeah, but you do the same just as often," he countered.

They had both suffered some bad dreams since the incident in the mines.

Ben's nightmares had lessened in intensity and frequency over the years, but Rey's near-death experience had revived them. It was hard to say which dreams were worse: the ones where Rey died in his arms, or the ones where he could not even reach her, could not be with her in her final moments. The promise he had made was foremost in his mind during those dreams.

If he woke up alone, he found himself rising and taking his father's dice down from the hook above his door. He worried each die between his fingertips, wove the chain between his knuckles, or pulled the links taut between his hands. He contemplated luck and destiny, the Cosmic Force and its nature, and tried to pray to whatever gods could hear him.

But if Rey appeared, she was quick to comfort him, and he no longer hesitated to cling to her. He had no shame, no embarrassment, as far as she was concerned. There was no judgment between them—indeed, there had not been for a long time. The way Ben held her reminded Rey of their parting embrace the day she brought him to Ahch-To: there was an edge of desperation, something deeper than mere affection, though that was certainly there. But it was different, too—more intimate, more protective.

Rey's dreams were newer and more visceral than his. She usually had a roommate or a companion nearby, so if the Force connected her and Ben in that panicky moment when she woke, they could only speak in whispers. But often, no words were needed. Instead, Ben would put himself within her reach, and she would close the distance, clinging to him until she was able to relax, then cuddling against him until she fell asleep.

Ben still marveled at the trust that existed between them, particularly when Rey fell asleep with him so close, even resting her head on his shoulder or in his lap. He wondered about it later. Did she not know how much, or in what ways, he wanted her? Or did she simply trust him not to take advantage of her vulnerability?

He started working harder at controlling and shielding his thoughts while in her presence. When she needed him, he simply focused on the task at hand, making her feel safe and cared for. To that end, he held her hand, stroked her hair, rubbed her back, and kissed her cheek. He could almost imagine that he had the right to touch her.

He only wished that she would not disappear eventually.

On one occasion, they were both in bed when Ben had a nightmare; he woke to find Rey lying across from him, grasping his hand and shaking him by the shoulder as she pleaded for him to wake up.

"I'm here, Ben," she reassured him. "It was just a dream."

The light was dim, barely enough to see by, but he reached out to her, and he knew her by touch well enough to recognize her face, her loose hair, her strong frame. "Rey …"

"It's okay. You're safe."

After a pause, he confessed, "I wasn't dreaming about me."

"… Oh." She sounded sorrowful, almost guilty, realizing that she had once again been the subject of his nightmare.

"It's not your fault. It's me."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. I don't want to even think about it. I …" His voice was choked. "I know you're not mine to lose, Rey. But if anything happened to you … I would feel lost." As he said these last words, he sounded broken.

Rey reached for his face, and when she found it, she felt wetness on her fingertips. "Oh, Ben." She wiped away his tears, then drew closer and kissed his damp cheek. He felt her breath there as she spoke. "Tell me what to do."

The command, or offer, or plea—so open-ended, so full of willingness—caught him off guard. "You don't have to do anything."

She kissed his forehead before lying down again, and rephrased: "What can I do to make you feel better?"

Ben's mind raced almost as wildly as his heart. Did she know what she was asking? Was she inviting him to voice what he truly wanted, in his body and soul? They were already pushing boundaries, lying together in their scant nightclothes, practically—technically?—sharing a bed, touching each other in the darkness. It would be so easy, so understandable, if they kissed, or touched more intimately, or …

Ben shut down that train of thought reluctantly, helped by the force of habit. He could not ask Rey to grant all his desires—and, in fact, he did not think it would be satisfying if she only assented because she wanted to comfort him. If they ever went as far as his body wanted, it ought to be because she wanted that too, and he was not prepared to discuss that now. He just wanted to rest knowing that she was close by.

He lifted one hand to her shoulder, poised to move further back. "You know, I've held you exactly three times: when you were unconscious, when you were dead, and when you were dying. I don't want the only time I ever hold you to be when you're unaware or in danger." He sought her eyes in the semidarkness. "… Would it be wildly inappropriate to hold each other in bed?"

"Oh, Ben." He could hear her smile in the tone of her voice: she thought his concern for propriety was endearing. "No, it wouldn't." She crawled across the space between them, placed one hand over his heart, and slipped the other around him. Moving just as swiftly, Ben slid his hand behind her back and his other arm under her, pulling her to him until she was snug in his arms, her head tucked under his chin, his fingers tangled in her hair.

He tried not to think about how loose and thin their nightclothes were, but at the same time he wanted to savor the feeling of holding her so close. They were both in sleeveless shirts, and Ben couldn't remember the last time he had felt so much skin pressed against his skin. Their heat passed through the fabric easily, and he could feel her body's softness when he squeezed her against his chest.

"Are you comfortable?" he murmured.

He felt her nod against his chest. "You can hold me as long as you want."

"What if I don't want to stop?" There was a note of warning in his tone.

"Well … I might not want you to stop either," she said quietly, in a way that might have been either shy or flirtatious, a confession or a teasing invitation.

Ben was not sure how to interpret it, but he felt encouraged by the hope that his feelings were not entirely unreciprocated.

"It's funny," Rey mused, "when we first met, I was so scared of you; I knew you were probably the most dangerous person I'd ever met up to that point. And now … I feel most safe when I'm with you."

"I'm glad I can do that for you. I wish I could do more."

"This is enough for now."

But Ben was not sure that was true.

He wished he could hold her like this every night, that they could stay in this time and place of safety forever, comforting each other with their presence and touch. If only they could be even closer, and able to touch without trepidation, without the fear that it might not be welcome or respectful.

After some time, Rey spoke up tentatively about what she was observing. "I sense you're feeling … a lot of things. Happy, but sad at the same time. And … anxious. Is that all because of me?"

Ben did not answer the question directly; but, by way of explaining, he said, "I don't think now is the best time to talk about it. Maybe when we next see each other …?"

Rey did not know what that might be, but she said, "Okay."

"Thank you." Feeling a little daring, he lifted his head and bent over, and pressed his lips against her neck. She was surprised into stillness, until he laid down again and kissed the top of her head, a more familiar gesture. Then he pressed his cheek against her hair and tightened his arms around her momentarily as though giving a hug. "Goodnight, Rey."

She snuggled against his chest, and he could hear the pleasure in her voice as she answered, "Goodnight, Ben."

Ben wrote in his journal frequently, and sometimes furiously, in the intervals between their Force encounters. Where before he had avoided writing too much about Rey, now she was almost the sole subject of his entries. He looked back on the past with clarity, and contemplated the future with anxiety. In these bouts of writing, he got up frequently to walk or meditate, trying not to let his thoughts and emotions overwhelm him as he painstakingly sorted them out.

Identifying his emotions was not that difficult. He knew what he felt toward Rey and why he felt it. The much more difficult thing he had to wrestle with was what to do about it—or whether to do anything about it.

He had spent the past five years deliberately not acting on his emotions, at least as far as they concerned the outside world. He had sat with them and processed them and tried to make peace with them. Looking back on his past entries, it seemed that he had done that well enough regarding some of the biggest components of his life.

But where Rey was concerned, his feelings had not gone away. In fact, they had only increased over time, as the two of them grew closer and their relationship grew stronger. What had started out as a wishful, impractical desire now felt like a need.

So, Ben had his own self-centered emotions to contend with. But he also considered Rey's wellbeing and what she would get out of any shift in their relationship.

He had always thought that it would be selfish of him to ask her to stay on Ahch-To, or to commit herself to him in any permanent, exclusive way. That was why he had tried to let her go when he went into exile.

But what if being with him was actually the best thing for her? Wouldn't she be safer on Ahch-To than in the Resistance? Wouldn't she be happy enjoying his company in this peaceful place?

Then came the nagging self-doubt. He wondered if he might have misjudged the strength or nature of her feelings. He had no doubt that she cared for him—which, if he was being honest, was already more than he deserved—but did she care enough to act on her feelings in a way that would change every other area of her life? That led to a spiral of insecurities in his mind. What if she came to stay with him, and found it miserable? Would she miss her other friends more than she missed him? Did he matter to her as much as them? How could he ask her to give up everything she was enjoying, just to be with him? Was he still so arrogant, after all this time, that he thought he could be enough to justify her leaving everything and everyone else behind?

He would have everything to gain, but for Rey there would always be some kind of tradeoff: being with him would mean being away from her friends, giving up her interplanetary activities.

He did not like sharing her, but he did not want to make her choose between them. Because he knew that she ought not to choose him over the galaxy.

But if he did nothing, proposed nothing, and things remained the same between them, there was another fear, one he had never articulated because he had no right to fear it: what if, someday, Rey found someone else, someone she loved more than him and wanted to spend her life with? When they were enemies, that prospect had angered him; when he was exiled, it had saddened him; but now, it actually caused him pain.

Since his bed was built on rock, Ben would go outside and fling himself onto the grassy turf whenever he realized the situation was more complicated than he had thought.

He barely even knew how people navigated this kind of thing in normal circumstances. Truth be told, he had never really had time or interest for anything like romance in his former life. He had still been a child when his parents sent him to train with Luke, and there had never been much chemistry between the young Jedi students. They had all been focused on unraveling the mysteries of the Force and mastering the power within themselves. And then Ben's life had fallen apart with the revelation that Darth Vader was his grandfather, followed by his uncle's betrayal. While training with Snoke and the Knights of Ren, there had never even been a thought of finding another kind of relationship, let alone one so unique and powerful as a martial union; he doubted whether Snoke would have allowed such a thing.

Not for the first time, Ben wished he could talk to his father. Aside from an obligatory conversation about the mechanics of humanoid reproduction, they had never really talked about relationships of a sexual or romantic nature. Han Solo had not been an exemplary husband, but he had been a loyal and faithful one—his actions on the last day of his life proved as much.

Ben wondered if it might be possible to contact him. The Skywalkers and Solos were both known for defying the odds and pushing the limits of what was believed to be possible. If anyone who was not a Jedi could ever communicate after death, it would make sense for Han Solo to be that one.

Acting on that shred of hope, Ben went up to the mountaintop to meditate. Holding one gold-colored die in each hand, he called up some of his favorite memories of his father—images and anecdotes he had written in his journal.

After a short while, filled with many pleas and some tears, he felt a presence. He knew at once that it was not his father. For a moment he thought it might be his mother—it felt similar—but it was someone else, someone who shared blood with her and with Ben. Dread filled him as he realized who it must be. Almost against his will, he opened his eyes and stared at the ghostly figure standing before him.

Luke Skywalker looked on his nephew with solemn but kind eyes. The grief that had once haunted them was gone, nor was there any trace of anger or hatred. He looked not as Ben remembered him, which was how he had appeared when he projected his image on Crait; he looked the way he had when he died, his hair long and gray and wild, his face etched with lines caused more by worry than age. His lips were twisted, just slightly, revealing the faintest trace of a smile.

For a moment they simply looked at each other. Ben had spent so many years hating and fearing this man, and even longer loving and trying to please him, it was hard to know how to feel or act toward him now.

"I wasn't expecting you," Ben said neutrally.

"I know," Luke returned.

"So my father …"

Luke shook his head regretfully. "I'm sorry. Communicating this way depends on the ability of both parties, and he doesn't have that ability."

Ben had known that, deep down, but he supposed part of himself had hoped to talk to someone—anyone—who could help him. He might have understood if Obi-Wan Kenobi or one of the Jedi of old had come to his aid. But Luke …

"Why are you here?" he asked, but then retracted the question. "Actually, no—this has been a long time coming. Why are you here now, and not sooner?"

"Well, you seemed to be doing so well emotionally, I didn't want to risk spoiling that."

"And now?"

Luke's gaze was knowing, sympathetic, and concerned. "Now you're feeling more conflict than you have in some years."

Ben grimaced. "You're not wrong about that."

A bit of that haunted look returned to Luke's eyes. "But I was wrong … about a great deal."

That admission hung in the air for a moment. A part of Ben wanted to rub it in, but knowledge of his own guilt stopped him. "You were right, too, though. The future you saw—I made it happen, didn't I?"

"Yes. But you need to understand this, Ben." Luke's spectral form sat a few feet away. "On Crait, when I told you I was sorry, I didn't mean about what you did to other people. It was about what I did to you. I let my fear overpower me, and I didn't give you the love or trust or guidance you needed."

"No." Ben could not keep the bitterness out of his voice. "None of you did."

"Can you forgive me? Forgive us?"

"I can try. I have been trying. It's easier now that—well—Rey's given me those things."

Luke nodded, understanding. "And now you're afraid of losing them."

Ben shot him a wary, reluctant look. "Is this why you're really here? To talk about her?"

"Hey, you wanted someone to talk to, and I'm here. But there was another reason too. There's someone else who wants to apologize, and offer some advice, if you'll hear it."

"What kind of advice?"

Luke smiled thinly. "The kind drawn from experience I don't have."

"Like what?"

"I haven't been in love."

Ben eyes narrowed in confusion, then widened in understanding. "You mean—"

His question was answered before he could articulate it, as another figure, looking like a mixture of light and shadow, appeared. Ben had never seen him before, except in some old holos dating back to the Clone Wars, but he sensed his aura at once—and once he did, it seemed incredible that he had ever mistaken Palpatine's imitation for the real thing, or the shell-like armor of Darth Vader for the person inside.

This was Anakin Skywalker.

If Luke's appearance caused mixed feelings, Anakin's was downright bewildering. Ben had grown up thinking his grandfather was a heroic Jedi; then, after the scandalous revelation of his double identity, a murderous tyrant; then, a revered warrior of the Dark Side and agent of the Galactic Empire. But the man standing before him did not look like any of those things; he looked rather ordinary. His age was ambiguous—he might have been as young as twenty-five, or as old as fifty—but Ben thought he could see traces of Luke and Leia in his features. He even looked a little bit like Ben, with wavy shoulder-length hair. Like Luke, he wore the robes of a Jedi.

Anakin's eyes were melancholy, and his posture was tentative, almost bashful, but his smile was both fond and courteous. "Hello, Ben."

"Grandfather …" Ben swallowed with some difficulty. "For so long, I thought I was hearing you, talking to you …"

Anakin nodded somberly. "I heard you. But I couldn't speak to you. I wasn't strong enough, when Palpatine was alive; and you weren't ready to listen."

"What about after he was gone?"

"Well, I wasn't sure seeing me would help much, and I knew you needed to see your mother first. I had to show her how. And since then, your girlfriend pieced together most of my history."

Ben bristled at the casual reference to Rey, but he could not think of a good argument against using that term. She was, after all, much more than just a friend to him.

Anakin sat down, forming a triangle between the three of them—three generations of Skywalker men, face to face for the first time in history. He looked at Ben with a contrite expression. "I know an apology isn't enough, but I still need to offer it. I'm sorry for all the suffering I caused you."

"You caused me?"

"Yes—this legacy you've had to shoulder, the two sides you tried to live up to … becoming a target like me … none of it would have happened if I hadn't turned to the Dark Side."

Ben had never thought of it that way.

"You would think death would be the end," Anakin said wryly, "but it turns out some of us still have growing to do. Even an old geezer like Yoda—he has a very different outlook now than he did when he passed into the Force. He thinks the greatest thing we can learn from, and teach about, is our failure."

"You must have a lot to teach, then," Ben concluded. They half-smiled dolefully at each other.

"I know you have no reason to trust my word, or value my opinion," Anakin said, "but if you're open to it, I'd like to give what guidance I can."

"Yes," Ben said, unable to contain himself. "Please."

Anakin smiled at his eagerness. "What would you like to know about?"

Ben hardly knew where to start. "I want to know everything—about you, and Grandmother, and Obi-Wan, and the emperor. I want to know everything I should have known sooner, everything I need to know now—and what I need to do next."

"Are you sure you're up for it? It's a long, sad story."

"Well, I don't have much else on my schedule."

That earned a laugh from all three of them. "Alright, then," Anakin agreed.

For a long time, Ben simply listened while Anakin talked. He spoke about his mother, and Padmé, and Obi-Wan Kenobi, and the Jedi, and Sheev Palpatine. He confirmed much of the story that Luke and Rey had pieced together from their research, and filled in the gaps that remained. He was frank about it all, neither glamorizing nor demonizing himself; he was nostalgic at times, regretful but resigned, and somehow at peace with his guilt. Luke's ghost left them at times, resting from the effort of manifesting himself, but he reappeared to contribute his perspective.

Ben was surprised by some of the conclusions Anakin had drawn about his life and his relationships.

"I wanted love without pain. But genuine love opens yourself to the possibility of being hurt, of experiencing loss or betrayal. And while love itself doesn't hurt, it will drive you to endure pain. You know when I finally learned that?"

Remembering Luke's stories, Ben hazarded a guess. "On the Death Star? The second one, I mean."

"Yes. I saw the emperor torture my son, who had surrendered himself to save me and laid down his weapon rather than fight me. He was willing to suffer for me, and I knew that if I intervened to save him, it would cost me my life."

"I can imagine how that felt," Ben said sympathetically. "I saw Snoke torture Rey, after she surrendered to us in the hope of saving me. I knew then that I had to save her."

"But were you afraid for your own life then?"

"Not really," Ben admitted. "There were the praetorian guards, but I was just—determined to fight. For her. With her. And on Exegol, that was all that mattered—whatever else happened, I had to make sure she was okay. I didn't think much about who would benefit from that—myself, or the rest of the galaxy."

"She's been very good for you, that much is clear," Luke said, reappearing now that the conversation was turning to Ben and Rey.

"She has," Ben agreed. "I think that's why I'm so afraid now—it's been a while since I felt that much fear."

Anakin wanted to probe this matter most of all. "What is it that you're you afraid of?"

"When she was in the cave … I was terrified of losing her. I guess I still am, even if the danger's passed. But I'm scared of losing control if something triggers my anger, especially if it had to do with her. And I'm scared that she doesn't feel the way I do. I'm scared of what might change, and also scared of things staying exactly as they are." He sighed, fiddling with the dice between his hands. "When I first came here, I tried to content myself with just being her friend. And I'm grateful for that, and I don't want to lose that. But now … it doesn't feel like enough. I want more."

"Do you want more from her, or for her?" Luke inquired.

"… Both." Ben could not help but sound guilty when he said it.

Anakin's voice and expression were gentle. "Ben, there's nothing shameful about what you feel for Rey. Not now, anyway. You've done remarkably well tempering and ordering your desires. In that, and many other respects, you're a much stronger man than I was."

Ben gaped openly. "You think … I'm stronger … than you?" After so many years of aspiring to be as strong as his grandfather, hearing it now, in such a different context, seemed incredible.

"I know you are. You've proven it, again and again."

"I don't feel strong. I certainly didn't feel that way in the cave. I felt helpless, thinking there was nothing I could do."

"You had done everything you could. The hard part was trusting that her friends—and the Force—would take care of the rest."

Those were the two biggest variables in the situation: the Force, and Rey's other friends. Both parties had a will of their own, and Ben still was not sure what they would allow. "I still can't believe she's part of my life. I don't deserve her."

"No, you don't," Luke acknowledged. "But your awareness of that fact makes you more worthy. I know that sounds like a paradox, but it's true."

Ben looked at him skeptically, not sure whether he understood or agreed with this idea. Luke searched for another way to put it. "If Rey were to be with you now, it would be her own choice, because it was what she wanted, not what you demanded or thought was your right. That's a much better foundation for a relationship than what you first proposed to her."

Anakin drew a practical lesson from his own relationship history. "One of the biggest problems Padmé and I had was failing to communicate. We didn't understand each other, and we were never totally honest with each other." He looked directly at Ben. "Have you and Rey ever talked about your relationship, or your feelings for each other?"

Thinking back on their countless conversations and nonverbal communications, Ben failed to recall a time when they had actually addressed that topic. It seemed to be a subtext, an unspoken understanding that formed the basis for everything else. Perhaps it had seemed too sacred to speak of. Or perhaps it had felt so obvious it did not seem necessary to discuss it.

"I don't think we have, even after we made peace. We've talked about our connection in the Force, and the fact that we're a dyad … but aside from when I first came here, we haven't talked about what role we could have in each other's life."

"Then maybe instead of proposing any major changes," Anakin suggested, "you could just talk."

Ben looked at him, unblinking. "Talk."

"Yes."

"About how I feel."

"You'd be better at it now than you were five years ago," Luke pointed out.

But Ben was thinking of six years ago, when he had tried to open his heart, only to have it broken. "I've already offered, invited her … I pleaded with her to join me …"

"You invited her to be your student and your co-dictator. You may have meant more—and she probably realized that later on—but that's not the same as asking her to love you, or live with you."

"I know, I understand now … but … it hurt. It still hurts."

"All the more reason to talk it out," Anakin posited. "She can't apologize until she knows what it did to you."

Ben already felt uncomfortable imagining it. He had reacted to her rejection by attacking her few surviving allies on Crait, and attempting to kill Luke. Since the war's end, they had generally avoided talking about his crimes, focusing instead on fostering peace between them. Examining their shared past was bound to stir up old feelings of blame.

Then again, it might feel good to hash out those emotions that had lain dormant for so many years. It had been a long time since Ben had an actual argument with someone. And fighting with Rey had been almost fun at times …

"What's the worst thing that could happen if you tell Rey how you feel?" Anakin asked.

"I don't know. She might laugh. She might stop coming, stop talking to me—I don't know if I could bear that."

"I'm not sure the Force would let you stop seeing each other," Luke said frankly.

"I've learned not to underestimate Rey," Ben said. "She's powerful. I think if she really wanted to, she could find a way to keep me out."

"And what would you do then? Would you let her?"

"I …" The last time Rey had done that, in the year between the Battle of Crait and the Battle of Exegol, the silence between them had ended when Ben reached out, pushing against the walls she had put up in her mind until they gave way. It had ended up working to their advantage, enabling them to see each other and share the Skywalker saber on Exegol; but prior to that point, Rey had hated it, and insisted that she did not want it.

Ben nodded, albeit with difficulty. "I would let her. I would help her, if she needed help. If she didn't want the bond …" His heart ached, thinking about it, but he forced himself to consider the most painful decision imaginable, and only his past several years of self-denial gave him the strength to find some resolve in himself. "… I'd help her find a way to break it."

Anakin slowly smiled. "Then you're finally ready."

"What?"

"You care more about her happiness than your own. If you're willing to let her go, despite the cost to yourself … you're well along on your way to being worthy of her."

Ben almost blushed, unused to receiving praise; but for the first time, he started to think it might actually be possible.

"You've made a good life for yourself here," Luke complimented.

"Only because of her," Ben countered.

"She may have taken the lead logistically, giving you peace and freedom and friendship, but you've been working on yourself. You have more wisdom and self-mastery than ever before. She may have influenced that change, but you were the one who underwent it, and you did it of your own free will."

Ben was not sure whether these words ought to inspire pride in himself, but both Anakin and Luke's esteem for him was clear, and a childish part of him treasured it.

"I think, if you chose to continue your life as it is, you'd get along well enough," Luke said. "You're both strong, individually as well as together. But I can't say whether either of you would thrive."

"What if we changed things? Would we thrive then?"

"If you're as good for each other as you have been … I think your odds are good."

Anakin spoke up. "I have one piece of advice I want to give you, Ben."

"What is it?"

"Whatever shape your relationship takes, don't keep it secret. Padmé and I didn't confide in anyone, and that left us isolated when we needed help the most. No relationship is completely independent of others. You'll need the support of other people to make it work."

Luke nodded in agreement. "Rey has other friends and acquaintances besides you. She won't want to cease contact with them, or with the rest of the galaxy."

"No," Ben acknowledged. "She wouldn't. I couldn't ask that of her."

"Then if you're going to commit yourself to loving her, you'll have to learn to love other people too."

Ben had not thought about in such terms. He loved Chewbacca, and he might have some affection for Lando and Maz, but that had more to do with their connections to his parents. Rey's own friends were another matter—the best he had felt toward them was gratitude and a growing sense of respect, at least for Finn and Rose. But at any rate, they would need some measure of support, or at least tolerance, from the Resistance.

"I'll try," Ben said finally.

"Then you're decided?" Luke said, a smile spreading across his shimmering features.

"I am. I know what I have to do—I just have to figure out how to do it." He stood up, and the two ghosts followed suit. He looked between his uncle and his grandfather. "Thank you both for your counsel."

Anakin shook his head. "Don't thank me, Ben. I haven't done you any favors. I only hope you can continue to learn from my mistakes, and have a better life than I did."

"I still appreciate it."

Anakin smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. Luke mirrored him on Ben's other side. "May the Force be with you," they said at the same time. Then they were gone; but somehow, Ben did not feel alone.

He was still uncertain about many things, but he felt more hopeful and more confident than he had for some time. As he trekked down the mountain and back to his hut, Ben replayed parts of the conversation, and started mentally rehearsing things he might say to Rey. How should he begin? What points ought he to make? Should they talk via the HoloNet, or wait until their next in-person visit?

Ben had just about made up his mind to send a message asking when they could speak. But when he opened the door to his hut, he stopped short, and all his half-formed plans fell away.

Rey was standing in the middle of the room, looking mildly surprised but overall pleased to see him.

Somehow Ben managed something like a greeting. "Rey?"

"Hi, Ben. You wanted to see me?"

Author's Notes

A word of explanation about the epigraph: Shadowlands is a movie and play about the true story of C.S. Lewis and Joy Davidman. Lewis is the character who speaks the lines quoted here, as delivered in the movie, in which he was portrayed by Anthony Hopkins. I won't spoil it here, but if you watch it you'll see the parallels to Rey and Ben's situation and Anakin's words of advice.

This chapter underwent a lot of rewriting and editing, so I would appreciate feedback on how it turned out. I had thought about making the nightmare scene much longer, but I realized most of the conversation had to be saved for the next chapter. Sorry to leave you with a cliffhanger!

I've tried to update this story roughly once a month, but I don't know if I'll be able to keep that up for the next few months. Firstly, I'm rethinking the structure of the next few chapters; and secondly, I've just taken on a commitment that will limit my free time for the next two months. I appreciate your patience in between updates.

In the meantime, I can recommend something else Star Wars related that I'm involved in. A friend of mine who runs a podcast, "Everything You Never Needed to Know About Movies, Music & Theatre," has been having me as a guest to discuss each Star Wars trilogy. Our episode about the Prequel Trilogy came out on May the Fourth, and he just recently released our episode analyzing the Original Trilogy. You can find it on Spotify, Anchor, or Apple Podcasts, and if you subscribe to it, you'll be notified when we release an episode on the Sequel Trilogy!