Star Wars belongs to Lucasfilm Ltd., itself property of The Walt Disney Company. I make no lucrative nor commercial use of my writings in relationship with the Star Wars license.

The trial was set to happen in the afternoon, in one of the justice halls of the Senate building. It was unusual for a court-martial to take place in these mostly civilian rooms, but Vader hadn't questioned the Emperor's decisiona.

The time had nearly arrived. He was walking next to Palpatine as the Emperor made his way to his reserved chair in the public, surrounded by Imperial Guards, and respectfully saluted by all those present. Vader didn't sit, merely stood at the Emperor's right arm, his hands on his belt. Around them, he could only see reporters with cameras and recording devices installed, all there with special authorisation from the Emperor.

He didn't want to be there; and at the same time, he wouldn't have missed it for anything in the galaxy. His stomach hadn't sat still for the past two days, a constant knot of burning regret searing his guts permanently. Yet here he was, unable to look away from the tragedy as it played out, even as he knew its terrible end.

Next to enter were the judges. There were five, all officers in shining olive uniforms, none of them ranking lower than Moff. Vader didn't know any of them, save one: presiding the jury stood the emaciated face of Grand Moff Tarkin, a favourite of the Emperor ever since he had written his famous doctrine. Vader had worked with him before, respected the man's efficiency and ruthlessness as nearly equal to his own. In this context, however, he wasn't sure it was a good thing.

Behind them entered the prosecutor and a few clerks. All of them offered the Emperor a military salute, then took their places behind the table.

Vader only granted them a glance. He was looking at the door, waiting and fearing the moment his son would arrive.

He didn't have to wait long before an escort of red-clothed guards arrived, surrounding Luke's frail figure. His hands were bound, and he was looking down, without reacting to the way his guards were pushing him around. Nothing was left of the bruises on his face, but Vader knew from his pained gait they had only used bacta on the places the public would see. They marched him to the defendant's dock, where he let himself fall down with obvious relief, closing his eyes with a sigh.

Vader took the time to watch him in more detail, a pang going through his heart when he realised how sick he looked. He was slouching in his seat, his brow furrowed, staring absently at the wooden table in front of him. They had given him another uniform, one without any rank insigna, but his hair was still greasy from sweat, his eyes encircled with dark rings, standing out above pale and jutting cheekbones.

The guards took place at both sides of Luke, and Tarkin opened the proceedings.

"Let the defendant stand up," he said.

Luke closed his eyes again, looking like he was summoning his strength. He put his bound hands on the desk in front of him, and leant on them to come up to a standing position.

"Luke Skywalker," Tarkin said, "you are accused of the charges of treason, sedition, and forgery of official documents. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty, sir."

His voice was weak and hoarse, but held a quiet, restrained confidence nonetheless. Tarkin leant forward, his face contorted in indignation; but Vader, who had met the man more often than he would have liked, knew he was secretly enjoying this.

"Young man," he said with his clipping Core accent, "I do not think you are fully conscious of your situation. We have evidence against you that you will not be able to deny. Nobody here is fooled by your act. Confessing to your crimes will only make this easier for you. I repeat my question: how do you plead?"

Luke's hands tightened into fists.

"Not guilty, sir," he repeated.

Tarkin pinched his lips.

"You, young sir, are a piece of scum, a disgrace to the Imperial Navy and this entire nation," he said, detaching each word. "Not only have you aided enemies of the Empire, but you maintain your posturing even now that all know of your felonies, dishonouring yourself even further! Have you no sense of shame? No shred of decency? Do you not know it is a crime in itself, to lie in front of His Majesty?"

"I am not lying, sir," Luke interrupted him. "I am innocent."

A whisper ran through the room. Tarkin threw him a glare that rivalled the Emperor's lightning in dark intensity, then slowly leant back in his chair.

"Very well," he waved at him dismissively. "Let the defendant sit down. The prosecution may bring the evidence to the Court's knowledge."

Luke collapsed in his seat, tension leaving his body. The officer in charge of the prosecution, a general with a crooked nose and tiny dark eyes, stood up, a stack of flimsi sheets in front of him. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"Gentlemen," he took the first flimsi in his hand, "I have here a written testimony from a source that prefers to remain unknown that confirms the presence of the defendant to several forbidden Rebel meetings during the course of his education at the Imperial Academy of Prefsbelt." He brandished it for the whole assembly to see, then put it aside and seized the next one. "Here is another, linking him to two of his fellow cadets and defectors, named Biggs Darklighter and Derek Klivian, who left their posting to join the Rebellion's ranks soon after their graduation..."

The officer went on, but Vader stopped listening. He was looking at Luke, who sat motionless in his chair, looking down and somewhat dazed while the prosecutor kept accumulating documents upon his head. The list went on, from anonymous testimonies to Imperial records, a damning litany to seal his ineluctable fate.

He had to die. The fact hit Vader like a punch in the gut. This trial could have but one outcome.

"Thank you, General," said Tarkin after the man closed his indictment with a show of Luke's school records found on Tatooine. "Do you wish to call witnesses before this Court?"

"Yes, Governor," the prosecutor said, gesturing towards two benches behind his stand. "Two pilots in Ensign Skywalker's squadron have accepted to share their testimony with us."

Now that he looked in their direction, Vader realised Black Squadron was indeed reunited on the prosecution's side. They were all wearing grave expressions, some sombre, others sorrowful. At the general's gesture, one of them stood up and took place at the witness stand.

Vader watched Luke again; he had looked up and was staring at the newcomer's toad-like face, his skin even whiter than it had been before, if that was possible.

"Witness, state your rank, name, and posting."

The pilot gripped the stand tighter.

"Lieutenant Aarm Jago, call name Qorl. I am a pilot in the service of the Empire."

The general took a look at his notes.

"Lt. Jago, is it true that you served in the same squadron as Ensign Skywalker, defendant to this case?"

"Yes, General."

"And that you have noticed suspicious elements in his behaviour during that time?"

The pilot swallowed.

"Yes, General."

"Can you tell the Court what these elements were?"

Qorl hesitated, then threw himself in.

"He has never seemed especially dedicated to the cause," he said. "Now, we've all been kids, afraid of battle and of killing. But his reluctance struck me as more than that. It didn't leave him even months into his commission. He never seemed eager to take out enemies, even hesitated several times before killing them. He was secretive and defensive."

The prosecutor nodded, his face neutral. Luke's expression was crumbling, and he was looking at Qorl as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Did you believe, even then, that Ensign Skywalker was involved with the Rebellion?"

At that Qorl threw a quick look at Luke, before looking at the general again.

"I – I'm not sure... I thought it was fishy, for sure, but – the Rebellion... He did save my life once –"

"Please, Lt. Jago, just answer the question. Did it ever occur to you that Ensign Skywalker could have been involved with the Rebellion?"

The pilot was gripping the stand with white knuckles, torn. He looked down and left as he thought. At last, he raised his eyes and took a deep breath.

"It... it crossed my mind once or twice."

Vader didn't need to hear it to know Luke gasped. Qorl pinched his lips.

"Thank you, Lt. Jago," the prosecutor told him. "You can sit down."

The pilot didn't need to be told twice. As quickly as he could, he headed back to his bench, his back straight but his eyes down.

Vader realised his fists were clenched and made an effort to relax his hands. This wasn't looking good at all. To think they had noticed his betrayal, and he never had... that he had been played so well... it was maddening. He truly was a fool. And yet, he realised with some surprise, he would have given anything for these pilots to have remained as blind as him. He wished this Court had never heard a single word of this testimony, if it meant Luke could...

But he couldn't, of course. It wouldn't have mattered.

"The prosecution would like to call a second witness," the general said.

"Proceed," Tarkin said.

The man that took Qorl's place was much more strongly built, although of small stature. He looked tired and torn, and his movements were stiff. He was biting his lip, and contrarily to his squadmate, never seemed to seek Luke's eyes, but carefully avoided looking in his direction.

"Please state your rank, name and posting."

"Lieutenant Rerick Pell, I'm a pilot of Black Squadron," he answered in a deep voice that Vader recognised as one of the men he had heard talking about Luke the day before.

"Lieutenant Pell," the prosecutor asked, "in the time you served alongside Ensign Skywalker, did any of his behaviour strike you as strange or suspicious?"

The man remained silent a long time before answering.

"He... was distant at times. Claimed to be busy, some days we hardly saw anything of him at all. Especially after our second-in-command's death."

"Did you ever wonder if this distance could hide nefarious motives?"

"No," Pell immediately said, without a hesitation. "I sometimes wondered what he was up to, but I never – never imagined..."

He broke off, looked down.

"And now, looking back while knowing what you know, does any of his actions strike you as suspect?"

The pilot looked back at him and frowned in deep concentration.

"Maybe... He was making incredible progress in flying, but would never speak about it..."

"Nothing more?" the general pressed. "Just secrecy?"

"Yes," Pell said, before starting again, as if he had a sudden remembrance. "Although... I wonder if – if I haven't seen him hide a datapad under his bunk quickly once..."

"That's not true," Luke weakly said, eyes wide open, as if the words had escaped him without his consent. "Boomer, what are you doing?"

He looked at his squadmate pleadingly, his expression more crushed than Vader had ever seen him. Pell threw him a glance, then looked away just as quickly.

"Quiet," Tarkin snapped at Luke, who looked down, his face darkening. "Witness, finish your answer."

"I don't know," Pell said, wringing his hands. He looked shaken by Luke's intervention. "I don't remember."

"The datapad," the prosecutor reminded him. "You had seen Ensign Skywalker try to hide it..."

"No," the pilot said, and Vader was surprised by how categorical he was. "I made a mistake. I don't remember."

The general threw him a loaded look, that Pell held as well as he could. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he sighed.

"Very well," he said. "You can sit down."

The pilot regained his spot among his squadron. Luke stared at them from afar. Vader's felt a strange pressure in his chest, seeing them all assembled so far away from his son, against him, when they had flown together so often. He knew Luke was attached to his squadron; his loneliness and pain was all too evident.

The prosecutor addressed Tarkin with a grandiloquent gesture.

"Governor, I rest my case. As you have heard, the evidence against the defendant is overwhelming. It speaks for itself; I have nothing to add."

"Thank you," Tarkin nodded to him. "Does the defence council wish to speak?"

"No, Governor," the man sitting next to Luke said, a lean man with glasses and greying hair who hadn't said a word since the beginning of the proceedings. "The case seems clear to me. I have nothing to add."

Vader's heart quickened. This was it. This was the end...

"I want to speak," Luke said, leaning forward on his desk. There was a hard glint in his eyes that made Vader ill at ease. He looked ready to stand, but too weak to do so. "You can't do this, you have to let me speak –"

He broke off with a grunt when a guard thrust his spike in his calf.

"Silence!"

"No, let him," Tarkin slowly said, staring at Luke. There was a smile on his face Vader didn't much care for. He gestured at Luke and leant back in his chair.

"Come forward, boy! Tell us what you want us to know, and try to change this Court's opinion if you believe you can."

Luke breathed in, then pushed himself up once more, wincing at the movement. Slowly, carefully, he moved around the desk and took two steps to the middle of the room. Tarkin nodded, seeing him come with such difficulty at the centre of everyone's attention.

"I know I won't change it," Luke said, with an effort to make his tired voice carry in the entire room. "I know you condemned me before this trial even started. But I won't come quietly. I won't let you send me to my death without even a word."

He swallowed, cleared his throat.

"I have gone, in my entire training, to exactly one Rebel meeting. To make my friend shut up. I was certain it was only propaganda, I'd just be losing my time. During that reunion they talked about the treatment of prisoners of war. I came out of there furious. The lies, the exaggeration, their claims were so ridiculous there was no way they could be true. I didn't understand how anybody could believe that junk."

He took a deep breath.

"Well now I know."

Vader nearly started, surprised at the pain and the rage contained in that softly-spoken sentence.

"I know," Luke continued, letting his emotions build up in his words, "because I was made to live it. Enhanced interrogation, you call it – I've seen it written before. I've been drugged, beaten, electrocuted – barely left to eat, drink or sleep. In my entire life I had never imagined it was possible to be in so much pain."

Luke glanced at Vader, whose heart nearly stopped in his chest.

"And I was innocent. All along that thought burnt in me, kept me fighting when despair threatened to overwhelm me. I was loyal, I wanted nothing more than to serve – and still they tortured me, without making a difference, as if they didn't even care. I know I'm going to die. I'd be glad to die for the glory of the Empire. I've been ready to do so since applying to the Academy."

He swallowed again, licked his lips, grimaced in pain. Despite his weakness, Vader found himself transfixed, hung to his every word.

"But this is not the Empire I'm fighting for. This is not the security and the stability we were promised, the peace we strive to obtain. I can no longer close my eyes to the brutality that literally hit me in the face," his voice wavered in a shaky semblance of a laugh. "We deserve better. The Empire deserves better."

There was a long silence in which Luke's words echoed. Vader stood motionless, but inside his heart was drumming, an excruciating rhythm against his chest. He hated the emotion swelling inside him at his son's impassioned words, the regret that he'd had to go through this, the hope against every hope that this desperate cry would be enough to save him.

But he knew it wouldn't. He needed to die. Nothing could change that.

Then Tarkin started to laugh, a shrill and unexpected sound in the heavy silence.

"Well, well, well," he said to everyone around, still wearing that insufferable smile, "gentlemen, here is the proof that the right methods always lead to confession."

He reported his attention to Luke, whose expression had become positively astonished.

"So, young man, you recognise at last that you have attended these Rebel meetings you first denied with such passion?"

"What?" Luke blinked. "I –"

"You recognise the existence of a friend who opened you these doors, undoubtedly one of the two you then helped defect?"

"That's not what I –"

"And this passionate speech in favour of Rebel sentiments! Added to your previous confession, that of your ascendancy which you made when you were being detained, I quite believe you have just confirmed every single charge held against you."

"My father died before the end of the Clone Wars," Luke retorted to Tarkin's triumphant face. "He never betrayed the Republic, no more than I betrayed the Empire. I never wanted to hide my connection to him, I am proud of being his son!"

Vader gritted his teeth, using all his restraint to remain immobile. He wanted to... he didn't even know what. Anything but seeing this, his son's humiliation, his devotion to a man he believed dead.

Oh, how he wished to grab him, to protect him, to shield him from this ill-intentioned assembly while he told him the truth about his father. Once again he thought about what could have been, if only he had known earlier, if only he'd had the occasion to take him away before everything could end so badly...

But he remembered Palpatine's words. He will betray you again. There was no other way this could end.

Tarkin stared up at the raging Luke, no longer even hiding his pleasure at seeing him fall apart in that way.

"I knew your father, boy," he said. Luke gritted his teeth. "And I knew the Jedi. They were nothing but a nuisance, a decrepit old cult that did nothing but stand in the way of progress. Their eradication was a cleansing for the galaxy. The world has fared far better without them, just like it will once it is rid of every being like you. You are a criminal, a vermin of the worst kind, and you will perish as such."

He looked down at his papers, seized his gavel.

"Luke Skywalker, you are hereby found guilty of the charges of treason, sedition, and forgery of official Imperial documents," he said, his tone cold and professional again. "For these motives, you are sentenced to death, which is to be carried out in the next standard forty-eight hours, as prescribed by the Imperial Military Code of Justice."

The sound of the gavel resonated in the room, much too final.

A cold liquid spread in Vader's veins. This was it. It was said.

He had to die. He needed to die. He repeated the sentence in his head, as if it could help him accept it better. The words slowly seemed to lose meaning in his mind, their terrible signification dulling; but the grief and the regret remained.

It was over.

Luke stared in front of him, dazed, lost, as if he couldn't process what had just happened. He only seemed to register what was happening around him when Red Guards approached to take him away. He jerked away from them, then staggered and raised his bound hands to his eyes, looking around frantically, reaching out for something to support him. His knees buckled, and he collapsed on the wooden floor.

Vader couldn't repress a panicked gesture when he saw him pass out, irrationally afraid he was already dead. But the guards surrounded him, and one of them barked at him to stand, striking him with his pike. Luke jolted before raising himself on trembling arms, something made more difficult by his shackled wrists. He crawled to the judges' table and used it to haul himself up, his whole body shaking in exhaustion. He kept his gaze down, refusing to look at Tarkin's smug face. As soon as he was on his feet, the guards seized him forcefully and took him outside, half restraining him, half supporting him.

After Luke was taken away, the judges stood up, Tarkin first. They saluted the Emperor in a perfect ensemble, then left the room in a line.

The silence broke after their exit, and journalists started talking together as they organised themselves to broadcast it. Vader hated that it would be made public, that Luke's sentencing would be spread for all to see, but that had been the primary goal of this trial, after all. To make an example out of him. To show that nobody betrayed the Empire and remained unpunished, and certainly not its own soldiers.

The Emperor rose, and there was silence once again. Vader had nearly forgotten his presence, swept in the well-organised horror of the proceedings. The Red Guards preceded him, and Vader followed as they left the room.

They walked in the corridor and headed towards the landing pads in order to return to the Imperial Palace. But Vader didn't follow all the way. At the exit of the rotunda, near the doors, sat Luke on a stone bench, now surrounded by Stormtroopers. They were waiting for the speeder to take him back to the cells of the Imperial Palace.

Vader's step faltered, and his heart quivered as he saw Luke's slumped posture, staring at the landscape around him with a faraway look. Vader hated the thought that this was the very last time he would be able to see the sky.

Irresistibly drawn, he came closer to him. He wanted to see him, to look at him while he still could. He wanted to speak to him... to tell him everything he couldn't.

The troopers moved aside to let him through. Luke looked up at him and tensed; his expression cut the words in Vader's mouth before they could come through. From here he could see the blood in the white of his eyes, in awful contrast to the pale skin of his face. His irises had an unhealthy shine, but the light in his eyes seemed dulled. Vader did his best not to think of these same eyes extinguished and vacant.

"Young Skywalker," he managed to articulate to put up a front of confidence, trying to get rid of the awful image.

Luke averted his eyes.

"What do you want?"

Vader had felt the defiance and hostility in the Force, although the words themselves came out as an angry whisper. Immediately a trooper seized his arm.

"Show some respect!"

He was about to strike him when Vader reached out an arm.

"Don't," he said, unwilling to see his son any more brutalised. Luke had endured so much... he deserved some gentleness, in the short time he still had before the end.

He already looked like he was on death's door. Vader couldn't tear his eyes away from him, filled with some kind of morbid fascination at seeing him slouching so, suffusing such weariness, such pain and exhaustion. Unbidden, a memory of a better time sprang to his mind: his easy smile and laugh, his endless curious energy, and it made his chest ache at the thought of all that was lost.

Surprised by his intervention, Luke looked up at him. Vader could feel his puzzlement, as well as that of the troopers around him. Embarrassment overcame him.

"If I deem it necessary, I shall punish him myself," he added on impulse, to hide his moment of weakness.

He immediately regretted his words. Luke paled – how was it still possible? –, gritted his teeth, and shot him a glare so full of hatred Vader nearly started. Then he pinched his lips and hung his head, staring at the ground.

Vader watched him for a long time, frozen, finding his words once more dying on his tongue. So many things remained unsaid between them. But what use were words now? Nothing could fix this situation. No confession or revelation could spare them from the truth, this terrible truth that Vader had shied away from for so long.

He loved this boy. He loved this son he had never known. And nothing hurt more, not even the pain of his betrayal, than knowing he would soon lose him, too.

The sound of a speeder engine made Vader turn around, and see the vehicle with the Imperial crest painted on its side stop in front of them. Numb, he stepped aside to let them through, and watched as they took Luke inside, the doors closing on him before the speeder moved away.

The Emperor came at his side, looking at the vehicle like he was. Vader hadn't realised he was still there. Wordlessly, he followed him to their own speeder.

.

The evening went by like a blur. Vader had stood motionless in these same corridors of transparisteel, absently watching the sun set. He had reopened the bond he shared with Luke, and spent this time contemplating it, knowing there were separated but by a few floors. It was muted, distant, but he would take any sense of his son he still could, before it all ended. It was all he still could do.

Night had fallen when the Emperor approached him again.

"The execution has been scheduled at 0530, at the first rays of sunrise," the ruler murmured, so low only Vader could hear him. "I think it is best for you not to be present. Commander Piett is in charge of it."

So he was pushed away from his own son's execution. Regret shot at him at the thought that he would never see him again; he wanted to protest, to say he needed to be there. But a part of him was too tired, too relieved not to have to see Luke exhale his last breath.

At least Piett was no cruel man, he couldn't help thinking. He wouldn't draw it out. It would be quick.

"Be strong, Lord Vader," the Emperor whispered again. "Draw on the power of the Dark Side. It beckons you: let its might feed you, grow in you."

Again Vader curtly nodded. He would have liked to tell him that it did not matter, that the boy was nothing to him, but there was no more use in pretending. A lot of things had been revealed in their futility, in these last, life-altering moments, when nothing else remained than the purity of pain.

Vader looked at the time in the corner of his lenses' screen, feeling a strange restlessness come over him. It was well past eleven, nearly midnight. In a little less than six hours it would all be over.

The Emperor's pale hand brushed his shoulder. "I will leave you for the night," he said. Then he walked away, and his apprentice stayed alone with his thoughts.

Beyond the pane, the stars quivered in anticipation, their lights trembling, small and frail in the unending darkness of the universe.