Thank you for all the follows and the reviews! -T
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Luke was still recovering his energy, so running seemed like a bad idea. But he knew he had to get out of the ship, escape what was starting to feel like suffocating confinement.
He did so early the following morning, weaving his way through a cold, damp mist that obscured everything, padded the specters of trees into soft cotton lumps, quiet gray shadows, blurring the ground at his feet.
Luke was already more cautious than he had been before Cattairn III, the lesson learned that even the most innocuous situation could turn out to be deadly. Still, he felt no fear as his slow, but deliberate pace took him farther and farther away from the Falcon, losing his sight of the ship quickly in the fog.
Luke continued doggedly, for what began to feel like hours. He climbed over large twisted tree roots, rising from the ground as tall as he was, ducked under hanging moss, moved aside for more than one languidly-slithering snake and circumvented the quiet bubbling swamps. The sounds from the forest only seemed to increase as the rising morning sun burned off some of the mist, though the fog never cleared quite enough for him to actually see the sun.
Luke's boots squelched through green-gray mud as he came to the rolling edge of a ravine. Without hesitating, he started down the incline. It was too steep to walk it without hanging onto hand-holds. But once Luke realized he had nearly mistaken a thick green snake for a hanging vine, he decided to sit down on the muddy ground and scoot his way down instead.
He hadn't heard Darth Vader's voice since arriving on Dagobah. Luke wasn't sure if it was an effect of the planet, Yoda himself, or perhaps Vader simply had grown tired of calling to someone who studiously ignored him. He grimaced. The latter didn't seem likely.
Luke set his jaw, wiping his muddy hand against his pant leg, easing carefully down the steep hill. Hiding from Darth Vader was a definite plus in the consideration of whether or not to stay on Dagobah and train as a Jedi. If the dark lord couldn't find him here, maybe Luke could stay for months - years even - all under the guise of training.
Coward, a small voice inside his head chided.
He grimaced as he reached the bottom of the ravine - the fog was thicker here, the air much cooler - and straightened to continue on his determined walk.
He knew - felt it, even before Yoda had told him - that he had a responsibility as an up-and-coming Jedi knight to step into his role as protector and guardian. He wasn't sure quite what that entailed exactly, but before he'd known Darth Vader was his father, the job had sounded heroic and appealing. Now it seemed fraught with peril. What had happened to Luke's father that had turned him from Anakin Skywalker, Jedi knight and friend to Obi-wan Kenobi, to Sith lord and monster who had killed the elderly Jedi?
Was that something that could happen to him? Something that ran in his blood? Did he too possess the potential for evil, the ability to turn on his friends? The thought that he could become a monster like Vader, angry, power-seeking, willing to kill those who were closest to him, chilled him to the core.
Luke set his jaw, feeling his legs start to tire - an ache in all his bones - and the realization that he had come this far and now he was going to have to retrace the entire path back to the ship.
If he weren't to train as a Jedi, there would be no one left who could stand against Vader and the Emperor. That was what Yoda had said. Luke wondered if his conscience would let him shirk that kind of responsibility for long before the guilt got the better of him. All his life he had tried to do the right thing. His aunt and uncle had taught him never to be cruel, to look out for the underdog, to be kind. He hadn't always succeeded, but he'd always meant to do right. Of course, as a kid, he was the one, more often than not, who was being bullied or picked on. Now he had an opportunity to do right by his friends, by Leia….
But if it was true what Han had said that the Alliance - the only family he had known for the past year - was hunting him down and intended to kill him simply to get back at Vader or to keep the dark lord from catching up to him, what did he owe them? He may believe in their cause, but their alienation of him wouldn't incline him to stick his neck out for them. Would it?
A fresh wave of anger swept over Luke, followed by the dull pang of loss. Of loneliness. The flood of memories from the past year, of Wedge, Hobbie, Commander Narra, Leia, General Rieekan, of his squadron; their missions together, the pranks they played on each other, the solidarity choking down the mess hall food together. It had been a camaraderie of a type Luke had never really had in his life. He craved it. He missed it now. Yes, life was uncertain. Pilots and soldiers routinely didn't come back from missions. The grief of losing someone hurt afresh every time it happened. But Luke had been driven by a purpose, a cause. He had been surrounded by friends. He had known who his enemies were.
Now...he had no idea, no bearing.
He wondered what Vader wanted from him. Why did the dark lord want him alive? What would happen if….when….Luke eventually confronted him? Was Vader as curious about his son as his son was about him? Could it be possible for the dark lord to actually...love him?
A small childish part of Luke imagined for a moment Vader actually cared, pictured having a relationship with a father, his father, but quickly quashed the image. Silly. Ridiculous. Wasn't it?
He didn't know.
Or was Luke just a pawn in the game of war for Vader as well?
All this Jedi training, just to face and defeat the man who was not only the terror of the galaxy, but also Luke's long-lost parent. Even if Luke possessed the skills to do so, could he really kill the man who now represented every boyhood, starry-eyed daydream Luke had ever had about his heroic father?
He didn't know if he would be able to do it. Furthermore, it was a decision he should not have to make. It was painfully unfair that he even had to consider this.
Luke was turning to retrace his steps back to the ship now, beginning with an arduous ascent back up the ravine, his barely healed lungs heaving in the effort of the climb.
Who did he think he was anyway? Just a backwater kid whose hopes and dreams had been dashed when he found out he was no longer the hero of the Rebel Alliance, but the spawn of their sworn enemy. When the Alliance decided his work, his sacrifice, his devotion to their cause against the Empire was not, and could never be, enough. Because of whose son he was.
The shame burned through him. It wasn't though he had asked for any of this. Not the infamy of being the one who'd fired the fatal shot at the Death Star, nor the notoriety of being Vader's son, nor the responsibility of shouldering the duties of a thousand years of Jedi knights who were now extinct.
Luke staggered to the top of the ravine. He felt dizzy and still weak from his illness. Some part of him deep inside wallowed in the pain as he stumbled down to his knees to rest momentarily on the mossy ground, swallowing gulping gasps of air.
He eventually regained his feet after several long minutes, pushing back the pain and discomfort with determination - he could do this - assuming a shaky course that seemed vaguely pointed in the direction of the ship. Years of living on Tatooine, with its lack of navigational landmarks had given him a good sense of direction. With the Force, Luke could even reach out and discern the indistinct but familiar presence of Han and Chewie. That felt new - something he couldn't have done even a few weeks ago.
If Luke told Han he wanted to escape on the Falcon, put the Alliance and the whole war behind them - forget about everything - and just mind their own business smuggling and hauling freight, Han would jump at the suggestion. Luke could have a permanent place as a member of the Falcon's crew, a place to call home, an anonymous existence.
Of course there was the small detail of Jabba the Hutt's price on Han's head and Vader's price on Luke's. They were both marked men. How long would they really be able to outrun the Empire and the bounty hunters? Weeks? Months? Eventually, it would probably catch up to them, just as it nearly had on Terrenia.
Luke reached what looked like a familiar spot of ground, terrain he'd covered before. The mist wasn't as thick here and visibility was better. In the distance, there was a light. It looked like a fire, flickering through a small portal.
Curiosity piqued, he set forward in the direction of the light, his mind still churning. As he came closer and closer to the flickering light, the clear outline of a small dome-shaped dwelling of sorts came into view. A few steps further, and Luke could make out the distinctive outline of Yoda, standing backlit in the arched doorway. Staring in Luke's direction.
Luke's first instinct was to turn and walk the other way, his senses affronted at the idea of being watched. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say to the old Jedi master right now anyway. He wasn't sure the tamped down heat of anger wouldn't flare up like a sunspot in conversing over the same ground they had gone over the day before.
Obi-wan's betrayal burned through his chest again. Like an idiot, Luke had trusted the Jedi. If he trusted Yoda enough to listen and learn from him, would he regret it? Would he look back just to realize he'd been used by the Jedi to take a swing at Vader and the Emperor?
"Good morning, young Luke." Yoda's voice carried the thirty-foot distance between them. "In time for some hot stew, you are."
Luke frowned. Why did it seem everyone was hell-bent on a mission to feed him? He stepped toward the small domed house, catching a whiff of the strange aroma. "I'm afraid I'm not very hungry at the moment. But thank you," he added out of politeness.
Yoda seemed not to have heard him. The small Jedi turned, with a gesture to Luke to follow, back into his house, leaning on his small cane. "Good food. Come!"
Pursing his lips, Luke followed. He ducked carefully through the arched door.
Yoda's hut was clean and dry. A small fire burned in the corner, a spit and black kettle hovering above, thin curls of smoke rising up through a narrow chimney of sorts. Yoda was standing at the pot, ladling some stew into a small wooden bowl. He stepped forward and offered the bowl to Luke.
Unsure what else to do, Luke sat down on the woven mat - his head still nearly coming to the ceiling - and accepted the food.
"Much pondering this morning, you have," Yoda remarked quietly, dishing his own bowl of stew. The small creature crinkled his forehead at Luke, awaiting a response.
Luke shrugged. "I…" he hesitated, still unsure. "I want to make the right decision."
"Ah," Yoda nodded, coming toward him now to sit on the mat across from Luke. "And what decision is that, have you decided?"
Luke bit the inside of his cheek. It would have to be a decision not based on fear - fear of his own inadequacies, or of Darth Vader and the Emperor - or anger over being lied to or being made a target. He needed to make his decision based on what was the right thing to do, on his ability to do the most good.
Stars, he hoped this was the right decision.
Luke swallowed, straightened, met Yoda's steady gaze straight-on. He would do what he considered his duty.
Even if it cost him. Which it would. He knew down to his bones that he was choosing the harder thing.
"I want to learn the ways of the Jedi."