Children of the Sand and Sky
Summary: Luke and Vader meet at the grave of Shmi Skywalker.
Notes: Alright, so this lil project here is ongoing both on this site and AO3. The first 7 oneshots on AO3 are published in the order they were written, but I'm choosing to publish them in a different order on here. Original note below:
The chapter summary? literally all I had in mind for this oneshot when I started. then the characters kinda just did their own things and I have no idea if it's IC at all but I just let it roll and it ended up being like 6k words. also like... Shmi is so important, and I love the idea of her (and Tatooine) having some kind of significance in the Force. but ! let me know what you folks think!
The sandstorm swallowed up the vanishing silhouette of the Falcon, once again carrying its rightful Captain on board, as it soared beyond the atmosphere. From the planet's surface, Luke watched it go, pulling a black glove over the exposed, frayed wires of his prosthetic. A pang went through him as the sensation of the smuggler's hand on his lingered, and his voice echoed through his head. "I'm thinking… I owe you one." It hurt to have to say goodbye to Han so soon after getting him back – Luke hadn't realized just how much he missed him until they'd reunited – but they were all where they were meant to be. Han belonged on the Falcon, Leia belonged with Han, they all belonged with the Rebel Fleet, and Luke…
Luke had promises to keep.
Climbing into the cockpit of his X-wing, he considered soaring back into space immediately to pay Yoda a visit to keep that promise, first, but something caused him to hesitate. There was a pull through the Force, a quiet whisper hinting at him to remain here; he had a promise to keep to someone here.
It took a questioning beep from Artoo for Luke to realize he'd been flying towards the homestead without noticing he'd even taken off. For some reason, he felt drawn to the farm he hadn't been able to bring himself to visit since he'd found it a smoking wreck four years ago. That thought sent a twinge of guilt crashing over him, and he suddenly recognized the responsibility he'd been neglecting along with the promises he'd almost forgotten he'd made to the people buried there.
"I know, buddy," he said in response to the inquiry flashing across his readout. "We'll join up with the fleet once I handle some… unfinished business." The astromech sent a confirmation in response, though Luke could tell that Artoo wasn't entirely convinced. At the very least, however, he seemed to trust his pilot enough not to protest, which Luke remained silently grateful for.
A strange sort of melancholy settled on his chest as he laid eyes the rundown remains of the place he'd called home for nearly two decades. It looked the way he'd left it, just as, if not even more bare than when it had been burning. Landing just beyond the main entrance, Luke's breath caught in his throat as he truly allowed the Force to descend upon him, echoes of pain and love and fear and care and an undefined tenderness sitting heavy and thick in the air. His aunt and uncle had loved him, had raised him, had cared for him even when they had no obligation to do so. They weren't even blood relatives, had only met his father once, but they still cared for him as though he'd been their own. They couldn't have children of their own, true, but he'd been far too stubborn and resentful as a child to recognize the reason they were willing to accept him in the first place.
Shmi Skywalker.
After disembarking from his X-wing, Luke walked around the main dome and living pit of the homestead, stopping in front of the small, nondescript graveyard in the sand. The sandstorm had dissipated, leaving the atmosphere around him strangely still as he gazed on his grandmother's grave, marked by a weathered slab of stone next to the makeshift headstones he'd carved for Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. It seemed fitting for them to be laid to rest next to the woman who'd linked them all. They'd known her, for a time, loved and been loved by her, and even though Luke had never known her himself, he'd always imagined that she was with him, watching over him, and loving him through his aunt and uncle.
Standing here again sent a strange blend of emotions through him. There was grief – his own – pain – a blend of his and his family's – and… love. He could never have been satisfied if he'd stayed on Tatooine, but he couldn't deny the moments of happiness he'd had here. Even through that longstanding longing for something more that always plagued him, he knew he was loved. Part of him began on this world, and he would never forget that.
Then again… perhaps a part of him already had.
"There's nothing for me here now," he'd declared, so certain at the time. And yet, somehow, it always seemed to come back to Tatooine. He'd left this world with its bitter memories and echoes of pain, but he'd also left the people who had cared for him, burying their memories with the sand if only because that was easier. Not that anything had been easy since he'd left, but it was easier when he didn't have to face the fact that he'd let them down and left them behind. He'd failed to protect them – his aunt and uncle may very well have survived, if not for him – and he'd failed to honour them.
"I'm sorry…" The words felt hollow, nearly meaningless, and his breath shuddered as he felt his next thoughts stick in his throat. What was it that he was sorry for? What could an apology possibly do to rectify the situation he found himself in? Had he ever been worthy of the love and dedication anyone had directed towards him? An insidious voice at the back of his mind whispered a definitive 'no,' sealing his fate and confirming his responsibility, but a gentle brush of something against his sense served to reassure him, insisting that he deserved the tenderness he felt.
A woman's voice – indistinct but familiar – uttered kind words and soothing notions that settled any misgivings he might've had, and he felt his breaths slow and his heart settle. 'You are where you are meant to be, young one,' the voice whispered, each word soothing and melodic as it lulled him into a gentle sense of contentment. He'd only ever known his grandmother through stories, but the voice matched how he imagined she'd sound. There was strength and resilience there, a rough quality that could only come from someone who lived as a slave on Tatooine, but there was also something far gentler than anything the desert could ever offer. It felt like the warmth of the suns first thing in the morning as their blazing light cut through the remnants of the night's chill. It felt like the brush of a soft kiss across his cheek or forehead, or a warm embrace, a physical tenderness that spoke to affection and care. It was precisely the voice he'd matched to the woman he'd seen in the old holos from before he was born, and he felt the warmth bloom inside him at the thought.
Even if he could not shake the guilt coiling around his gut, his family forgave him, and they loved him all the same. His grandmother. His aunt. Even his uncle. They all cared for him and could understand his absence. They all loved him and were grateful for his return.
'Rest now, child,' beckoned the voice. It echoed in the back of his mind the same way he'd sensed thoughts through the Force. 'Your duty is not yet complete, but you will not complete it tonight, and certainly not in this state.' The suns were sinking into the horizon, and the air was eerily calm; Luke could not say when the sandstorm had ended, but the serenity that had settled over the homestead was undeniable. 'You will face your destiny soon, but its true burden lies beyond this horizon.'
Exhaling slowly and closing his eyes for a moment, Luke allowed the Force to flow through him and connect him with the sand below his feet. There were people here he'd lost, but they weren't truly gone. Not so long as he remembered them.
He allowed himself one moment longer to send his love out through the Force before it ebbed back inward and his eyelids fluttered open. Muttering a few words of respect in a language he spoke little of but knew to be passed between the slaves who'd preceded him, Luke bowed his head before turning back towards the homestead. His childhood bedroom had been ransacked and raided, much of its familiarity existing in charred and gutted forms, but it still felt like coming home. A tattered, stuffed bantha lay atop the threadbare covers he once slept on, one of the few remaining belongings he once laid claim to, and he clutched it with a distant need as he lay himself down on the familiar-yet-unfamiliar bed and drifted off to sleep far quicker than he was accustomed to.
His dreams that night seemed almost as though they were viewed through dust clouds kicked up by a sandstorm swirling all around him. The world appeared fogged and dull, and the planet he'd grown up on felt like a vague, distant memory that didn't belong to him. It was like viewing the sands through eyes that weren't his own. Curious, he tilted his head as he surveyed the distorted, familiar sights surrounding him.
That same voice from before cut through the fog, clearer and more distinct than it had been earlier, and this time it was accompanied by the shimmering figure of a woman who shone like she was made of light and flickered like a mirage. He had never met this woman before, that much was clear, but she was still familiar, as though he had known her all his life. He didn't even think to ask who she was; somehow, he knew the answer to that already.
'You are home, little one,' said the woman, brushing her fingers across his cheek. The touch was ethereal, but he could still sense the rough callouses on her fingertips and the quiet warmth she radiated. 'The desert is a part of you, and you carry it in your soul. You are born of the sand and the sky, a child of the Force itself. So long as you remember that, I will be with you, and you will be home.'
Home. It was a strange feeling, thinking of home. Since leaving Tatooine, home had become his friends, his ship, his missions – something without definition. But… perhaps home meant something deeper after all.
Perhaps he would find home in the answers he'd longed for all his life, and he could finally feel complete.
'You have questions that remain unanswered,' the woman continued, cupping her hands around his cheeks. 'You have fears and trepidations you have yet to face. There are pieces of you that are yet missing. You must be patient, however. Everything will become clear soon enough, but first you must wait, and trust that the answers will reveal themselves when the time is right. You will fulfill your destiny yet.'
Patience. Ben and Yoda had preached the same. His aunt and uncle would often bemoan his lack of it. Even in the Alliance, there were those who saw his impatience as reckless. Sitting still and waiting felt so passive, and he balked at the very idea. It felt different hearing it now, though. The tenderness offered to him by this woman came with no reprimand, no suggestion that he calm himself or sit still and do nothing. Instead, he got the distinct impression that he was meant to continue doing what he was already doing.
"But what if I fail?" He was fully aware of the weight that sat upon his shoulders, had no illusions about what had to be done next, now that Han was safe. He did not like to think of what the galaxy might become should the worst come to pass.
'You will not,' insisted the woman, one hand moving to his shoulder while the other brushed through his hair. She sounded so certain. 'You are far more capable than you realize, and you are not alone.' The world around him, still unfocused and slightly obscured, began to fade into a quiet, warm darkness. He had no reason to fear this dark, for he could still be comforted by the Light. 'Now rest, child, and allow me to relieve some of the burden upon your soul.'
Luke had not slept well since Bespin, nightmares plaguing his already restless sleep, guilt and shame and anxiety twisting at his gut, sending him tossing and turning each night. He was exhausted in his mind, body and soul, and it was only through the Force and sheer stubbornness that he'd made it through each day. He could not say that there was a single night that he'd slept peacefully through the night since returning to the Alliance after Cloud City.
At least, not until tonight.
Tonight, back in his childhood bedroom, surrounded by bittersweet memories and the sting of grief, Luke had slept as soundly as he ever had. It felt almost like those nights when he'd crawl into bed with his aunt and uncle after a particularly vivid nightmare. Aunt Beru would curl around him protectively, her warmth calming his trembling form, and she would whisper-sing lullabies to soothe the terror wracking his mind. The woman in his dream – his grandmother, he was certain – had the same weathered warmth as his aunt, which wrapped around and soothed him into the deepest, most restful sleep he'd had in a long time.
Stretching out on his bed and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Luke glanced around the room and took in just how dishevelled it really was. Scorch marks dotted the walls, his old model Skyhopper lay in melted, misshapen pieces on the floor, and a thick layer of dust coated every surface in the room. Still, even with all the chaos and the painful reminders of his loss, that sense of warmth and comfort persisted. He marvelled at how rejuvenated he felt. Rescuing Han lifted a huge weight off his shoulders, and finally getting something resembling a good night's sleep left him feeling content.
So content, in fact, that he almost missed the icy presence nipping at the edges of his mind.
Sitting up stock straight, Luke's eyes blew wide as he slammed down his shields, hoping that presence hadn't noticed he was awake yet so he could make a quiet escape during its distraction. The insistent prod at his mind told him otherwise, though, and even without hearing the precise words, Luke knew that he would find little success in any escape attempts.
With a heavy sigh, he opened up his shields just a touch and stretched out to the dark, suffocating supernova that was Darth Vader, if only so he could figure out just where the man was and then… well. He'd like to avoid him. But perhaps he was better off just going to him. When he determined just where the Empire's second in command was, Luke did a double take.
The graves.
In retrospect, he shouldn't be that surprised. If Vader was who he said he was, he had just as much reason to mourn there as Luke did. But part of him still wrestled with denial, still longed for the awful truth he'd carried for months to be a lie, a trick, a deception. Another, traitorous part of him, though, yearned for it to be true, longing for the hint of good he could swear he detected in the man to be real. It was that part of him that set his feet moving out of his bedroom and beyond the main entry dome. He passed by Artoo – who remained in shutdown mode, getting some well-deserved recuperation after the ordeal at Jabba's palace – and headed off towards the four small, unassuming graves that lay beyond the living pit.
Against the empty backdrop of the Great Chott salt flat, Darth Vader's looming figure seemed simultaneously larger than ever while appearing to be swallowed up by the endless sands. The steady rasp of the respirator echoed loud and ominous in the heavy silence, and Luke imagined his voice would boom even more imperiously here than usual.
Vader did not turn to face Luke, did not utter a word, but his shoulders stiffened, slightly, as the only real indication that he sensed his presence. Luke took that as an invitation to speak first. "How did you know I was here?"
While he still didn't turn, Vader's helmet inclined ever so slightly, and Luke got the strangest impression of amusement and triumph blended with grief, disappointment and anger. "You were unwise to linger." Luke was right. His voice did boom much louder than normal. Still, the amusement and triumph won out in his tone – as much as they could, with the vocoder – and Luke couldn't help but feel a bit like when Uncle Owen would chastise him after any of his escapades. It took everything he had not to wither sheepishly in response. "You surely did not believe that I would not notice the ripples you sent through the Force upon the completion of your lightsaber? Or that word would not reach me of your assault on Jabba's palace?" Finally, Vader turned to face him, and Luke could swear he could see what might pass for a wry, smug smirk emanating from behind that mask. "You are not nearly as subtle as you think you are, my son."
Luke did not acknowledge the form of address, did not want to consider the implications of doing so, opting instead to go for what some might call bull-headed stupidity. "I wasn't aiming for subtlety, exactly. Just results. That's what I got."
For a long, silent moment, Vader remained motionless, his gaze boring into Luke with enough intensity to make him wonder if that was the wrong thing to say. Finally, the vocoder crackled with what had to be its interpretation of a sigh as Vader shook his head and turned back to face the worn headstones. "You are… far more your parents' child than you realize."
The gasp that escaped him was sharp and short and involuntary, and his legs seemed to move of their own accord as he took several steps forward, narrowing the chasm that lay between them if only by a fraction. Following the gasp came a choked noise that may or may not have been an attempt at speaking, and Luke found himself skidding to a halt when he finally realized he'd been reaching out, hoping to grasp at some semblance of the life he'd dreamed of for so many years. He remained frozen in place for a split second before he withdrew his hand with a jerking motion and took a single step backwards, hoping Vader hadn't noticed.
If he had, it was not clear, but after a brief pause, he spoke again. "I suppose I cannot blame you for returning." It did not seem possible for words to sound so tender in that rumbling basso designed to strike fear into the hearts of sentients, but it was tempered by a blend of emotions unexpected for a Dark Lord. "She would have loved to know you. She would be proud of the man you've become."
Stretching out along the bond, slowly, carefully, Luke reached for his father's emotions, picking out, among the typical rage and hatred, echoes of grief, guilt and shame. "So what about you? She… she wouldn't be proud of you, would she?"
The bond slammed shut with such force that Luke was left staggering, Vader's towering rage flaring and sending what felt like crystals of ice skittering along it. That had been the wrong thing to say. The cape flared as its wearer whirled around and stalked forward, pointing a gloved finger in the face of the figure who had put him in this mood to begin with. Luke shrunk back and had to fight not to flinch as Vader's voice regained its typical rage – a far cry from the tenderness it possessed just moments before. "Mind what you say, child. You know nothing. You know nothing of who I am, and you know nothing of who she was. Do not speak on matters you do not understand."
It took a moment for Luke to regain his composure, trying to shake the persistent feeling of being reprimanded by Uncle Owen after crashing his Skyhopper one too many times, but once he did, he tapped into his own brand of anger. It flared within him, feeling hot where his father's felt cold, a flame that sparked and burned in his belly but eventually burned itself out, contrasting the perpetual icy layer that lived over his father's. Flaring his nostrils, he drew himself up to his full – though admittedly unimpressive – height, jutting out his jaw defiantly and boring his gaze into where he somehow knew his father's eyes were. "I know more than you think. I understand more than you think. I may never have met her, but I knew grandmother Shmi. I knew her through the stories my aunt and uncle – my family told me. I knew her through the legends passed down through the generations. I knew her through the words shared by the slaves – freed, escaped and captive alike – and I knew her through…" Luke paused, considering all those feelings he'd had as a child, that warm presence that always seemed to soothe his aches and settle his soul on those days he felt truly restless. He'd always imagined he had a guardian angel, and he supposed he did, in a sense, through Ben. But he could also feel someone else, someone more gentle and parental, and it was only now that he realized just what it was. "I knew her through the Force."
Several cycles of Vader's respirator echoed over the barren dunes as he hooked his thumbs through his belt but remained stock still otherwise. "These people," he spat, pointing his helmet towards the graves of Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru, "did not deserve you. Either of you," he added, glancing at the stone etched with the name Cliegg Lars.
It was all Luke could do not to roll his eyes and groan in exasperation. He barely managed to restrain himself, but a hint of his irritation still worked its way into his voice. "And you do? They were good people. They were honest. Hard-working. Kind. I learned duty and diligence from them. I learned compassion and honour. I learned to love, and I learned to care."
"They kept you here," Vader snapped, pure disdain dripping from his voice. "They held you prisoner on this Force-forsaken world, keeping you from your true destiny."
"It wasn't an easy life. And I spent most of my time here wanting to leave. But I wouldn't change it. Not for anything. I know who I am. I know where I came from. And… I know who Anakin Skywalker was."
"That name no longer has any meaning for me." Luke could hear something strange in his father's voice that he was sure Vader did not notice. Clearly, he was working to convince Luke this was the truth, but there was an edge that hinted he might also be trying to convince himself.
That was Luke's cue to press on. Eyes still locked on his father's, he took a single step forward and allowed a shade of pleading to enter his voice. "My father's name is Anakin Skywalker. That woman buried there – the one you're mourning – her name is Shmi Skywalker. If that name has no meaning for you, how can you claim either of us mean anything to you?" Vader did not move, but the bond opened up just a touch, and an ancient, deeply rooted ache bled across it. Luke continued. "It's the name of your true self, you've only forgotten! Search your feelings, Father. Don't you want to be free? Grandmother was a slave. Anakin Skywalker was a slave. And I truly believe that Darth Vader is still a – "
"Enough!" That single word roared loud enough to rattle Luke's insides, and he was sure half the desert heard or felt its echo. Vader closed any gap between them and yanked on Luke's collar, eliciting a small yelp as he was tugged forward. Despite the heat of the suns, he found himself shivering as a dark, heavy cold descended upon him. The death mask loomed far closer to his face than was comfortable, but Luke refused to cower. "Idiot boy. Do you think I do not know my own past? Do you believe I could so easily forget the life I once lived? Anakin Skywalker was a fool who allowed himself to be ruled by his fear rather than controlling it. He could find no strength in his pain, and he was far too easily swayed by notions as frivolous as love. I have not forgotten who I was, in that time, or what I endured, but in that life, I was weak. In this galaxy, only the strong survive." As he spoke, his grip on Luke's collar tightened, causing his next few breaths to come out in gasps. Vader seemed to notice, releasing the tunic as he flinched backwards. The Force went quiet again as he withdrew back into himself, allowing silence to ring out across the dunes before speaking again. "I… would not see you fall prey to that same weakness."
Rubbing at his collar, Luke let out a shaky breath. "Weakness?" It took genuine effort to keep the hurt out of his voice and remain collected, but he somehow managed it and carried on. "I have pain, and I have fear… but I also have love and hope and compassion, and I don't think any of those things make me weak." Finally turning away from his father, he walked towards the graves and knelt in the sand. Idly, he dragged his fingers across the weathered stone, tracing the name Skywalker with delicate reverence. "It's true, I never met her. But I still feel like I knew her. The woman I know as my grandmother was the strongest person I could imagine. A slave forced to say goodbye to her nine-year-old son, remaining in servitude just so he could have a chance at freedom. A woman who believed in love, who believed that the galaxy could be a better place if only we did a little more for each other. I don't believe that strength and weakness are as clear-cut as you make them. Maybe I'm not as strong as I… could be. But I've always tried to do right by my grandmother, and I know that she wasn't weak."
Behind him – looming, as was typical – Vader remained motionless, his gaze boring into the back of Luke's skull before sweeping across the stones. Softly, in a quiet rumble that nearly blended with the wind, he uttered a few words in that ancient slaves' tongue. May you find freedom in the rest that has returned you to the sands from which you were forged. Vader did not kneel beside his son, but when Luke glanced up, he found his father standing over him, helmet bowed towards the sands.
The mourning words had a response, one Luke had to search his memories for, but when he found it, the words flowed forth in a trickling stream the likes of which could never exist on Tatooine. The suns and the stars and the sky will watch over you. They will welcome your soul when it arrives.
A heavy, gloved hand settled on his shoulder and guided him to his feet. It wasn't until he turned and saw his reflection in the eyeplates staring intently at him that Luke realized he'd started crying. "She loved you, you know." The words were whispered, his voice was cracking, but he did not care. "More than anything. Uncle Owen wouldn't talk about you at all. He talked about grandmother, but never you. Aunt Beru, though… Sometimes, when she spoke about grandmother, she would tell me the things she'd heard about you, from her, how she was endlessly proud of you, how she loved you even in your absence. She would speak of your courage, your skill, your resilience. The picture of you I'd painted in my head, as a kid… it came from her."
Vader withdrew his hand from Luke's shoulder and turned away from him. His presence in the Force was still shuttered, despite Luke's prods at their bond, and he stood in silence. Vader, it seemed, had several brands of silence, ones that could be dangerous and hinted at brewing storms, or ones that stemmed from indifference or disappointment, but this one… Luke could almost sense some form of regret in this one.
"Come with me, Father," he said, stepping forward and allowing himself to reach out. "There was good in you once, and there is good in you, still. Come with me, and we can make things right. Together." He settled his own gloved fingers on a broad, armoured shoulder, which instantly stiffened at the contact.
"I – I cannot." Something akin to remorse rang through the Force, and though he did not believe that Vader was truly considering his offer, a sense of 'what if' hovered in the air. "You do not know what you ask of me. I must obey my master…"
That final word hung between the two of them, suspended in an almost mocking fashion, its implications weighing heavy over them both. Master. For the truly benevolent, that word simply meant one who had an apprentice – one they trained in the art they themselves had mastered – but, to a Skywalker, that word meant far more. Neither father nor son mentioned as much, but the notion was clear as the bright blue sky above them. Luke had been correct in his earlier assertion about Vader: he still served a master, and not the benevolent sort.
Suspecting that his father agreed, Luke did not say any more on the matter. That would be counterproductive. Instead, he withdrew his hand and shifted to stand before him. His eyes settled on the mask, and a quick probe beyond it revealed that Vader was avoiding his son's gaze, using the mask as the barrier between them it was meant to be. For some reason he couldn't quite fathom, Luke found himself reaching out that same gloved hand to brush against the sculpted plasteel that hid his father's face from him, perhaps hoping to imitate some level of the connection he could sense they both desperately longed for. The gentle contact brought with it a tenderness that Luke craved for himself and readily offered to those around him.
He did his best to ignore the utter absurdity that he was offering that tenderness to Darth Vader, of all people, and instead relish the moment for what it was. After all, it was a tenderness that he suspected Vader had never experienced, and perhaps even Anakin had sorely lacked.
The moment shifted, however, and panic flared within Luke as he felt a durasteel grip close around his right wrist. Had he misread his father? Was his tenderness to be repaid with cruelty as he was dragged off-world and thrown at the Emperor's feet? Eyes wild, he tugged at the grip and flinched backwards, working to wrest himself free. Vader's grip only tightened, however, drawing a strangled noise of protest from Luke.
He did not find himself being pulled across the sands, however. Instead, he felt his hand twist back and forth in Vader's grip. The glove covering the prosthetic was pulled away, and the frayed wires were traced with a care that seemed utterly alien for the Sith Lord. Luke almost expected some comment to be made about it, but that silence persisted, and he resigned himself to his father's touch. He couldn't say how much time passed, but it was long enough that his breathing seemed to fall in sync with the hissing respirator, which in turn fell in time with the winds and shifting sands around them. The gentle care persisted, however, and when the glove was finally pulled back over the damaged synthskin and the grip released, an odd reluctance seemed to accompany it.
"I… will not force you to join me, Luke." Pain had made its way into the words, betrayed by the Force even when the vocoder revealed nothing. "I cannot do that to you here, of all places." Though he did not say the words outright, Luke knew precisely what he meant: Vader would not bring his son into a life of slavery at the resting place of his slave mother. Decades of regret weighed on his shoulders, and this was not something that Vader would add to that burden. "You deserve the opportunity to choose your path, of your own free will – an opportunity I was never given. You may leave, if you wish, and return to your… friends," he said, disdain from seeping into his voice at that word, "with the understanding that next time we meet may not be under such… pleasant circumstances. Or, if you wish… you could accompany me off-world, and we could… further discuss the future elsewhere."
His father still avoided looking at him, as though laying eyes on Luke would burn them in the same manner as staring straight into the suns, but he radiated longing and a resignation that his son would leave him once again. Something flared in the Force, bright and warm and inviting, but Vader emanated a sense of alarm at its rise. Luke could not stem the flood of hope that washed over him, and he did not dare to think it for fear of tempting fate, but for the first time in his life, it seemed possible, in some sense, that he might just get what he always wanted.
That meant leaving Han and Leia. It had been hard enough saying goodbye to Han when he thought their separation following their reunion would only be brief, and he could not bear to think what it would do to Leia to lose one friend so close to regaining the other. But that same gentle voice from before whispered assurances in his ear, insisting that it would be temporary, and he had a chance to set right what once went wrong.
Smiling gently, Luke gripped his father's arm, his flesh hand unknowingly tracing where prosthetic joined the remains of Vader's own flesh. The compassion and assurance he sent along their bond was deliberate, though. "I… will come with you, Father." Once again, triumph flared across the bond, which had opened itself back up to both of them, and a sudden understanding rippled through the Force. Luke would come willingly. He would not turn – Luke Skywalker could not serve the Dark Side – but that was not what mattered now. What mattered was that he would stand by his father's side and they could redefine their destiny on their own terms.
Tatooine was a strange world. Aunt Beru used to tell him that the desert was a mysterious place, harsh and fickle, but filled with secrets she revealed to only her most trusted children. As a boy, he'd always taken that for granted, believing it to just be another one of his aunt's folk tales. But now, standing with his father before the graves of his family, he finally understood. For so long, this world had meant nothing but pain to his father; that truth rang through in resentment over their bond. It seemed, though, at last, a portion of that pain had been soothed.
Luke did not believe that the pain would heal entirely, nor that his father would ever forgive himself. Certainly, he would never love Tatooine, by any means. But, perhaps, he could find some reconciliation with himself. The Force sung its approval, and Luke allowed the sense of satisfaction to flicker back and forth between himself and his father. They were, the two of them, children of the sand and sky, the deserts' favoured sons, and, together, they could relieve some of the burdens upon their souls.
Notes: Vader is probably OOC bc he's more tactful with Luke here than he is with anyone in canon at all ever. but then Luke and Dad go off to Mustafar or something and Luke stays Light and they overthrow Palps and then they all live happily ever after? who knows but I do know that the love of Shmi Skywalker can save the galaxy...