In the amorphous boundary between deep sleep and dreams, Luke Skywalker became aware of the silken rope. It glowed white as it lay on the ground, leading him along a dark path with just the hint of starlight to illuminate his surroundings. Without conscious thought, he followed the rope. The path was smooth and wide, making it easy for him to walk. As he moved onward into the unknown, the sky began to glow from the rising sun, even as the color of the rope darkened. What had been white shifted to gray. Luke stared at it thoughtfully. Was this some manifestation of the sunlight? He knelt and picked it up a quarter of a meter, noting the surprising heaviness of the rope which prevented him from lifting it more. No, it was gray now, not white.
He continued on, the sun rose higher in the blue sky, and the rope continued to shift in color, though not consistently towards either light or dark. There were lengths than were lighter, others that were gray, and one section was black before turning light gray again. Then, just as he topped a hill, to see a lake and building in the east, the rope turned very dark gray, almost black.
He felt a chill in his bones and heart, even as his eyes beheld the glories of … Varykino. Though not Varykino as he had seen with his own eyes, but an even more vibrant, beautiful, well kept Varykino. A Varykino of the past?
Onward Luke marched, following the very dark gray rope, only to see it turn to medium gray, to light gray, and finally to vibrant white again. And now he was at the end of the rope, which was attached to a person.
Anakin Skywalker, who stood staring to Luke's left, stood tall and still with the end of the rope in his left hand. He was staring towards a terrace at Varykino. Luke stepped to the right of the father, to avoid being tangled up in the rope, and looked as well.
Two people stood on the terrace, 20 meters away, oblivious to their presence. The man was tall. The man was Anakin Skywalker. A young Anakin Skywalker, with short hair except for a braid, dressed in dark clothing. The woman, Padme Naberrie Amidala, glorious in white.
"Your wedding?" Luke asked.
"Yes," his father replied sadly.
The Anakin near him turned to look at him.
"You should have let me go, Luke," he said quietly.
Luke felt a surge of anger, but tamped it down.
"Why?" he asked evenly.
His father stepped a little closer, his face contrite, "Please don't think I am ungrateful for what you did, Luke. I know that getting me out of the rubble took superhuman strength, and then to carry me safely away, to pour your Force power into me so that I would survive – I know how much it took. But Luke, my life is of no benefit to you and your sister now. Rather, I will only bring shame and sorrow. If I had died heroically destroying Palpatine, there would have been some closure. Perhaps some would even celebrate that your father had the courage to destroy the despot that he blindly followed for so many years. Yes, I know you would have grieved losing me, but that would pass with time. What do you two have to expect now? Condemnation, for being the son and daughter of a tyrant. Public humiliation during a war crimes trial. And then you'll lose me anyway, my son. Execution is the only appropriate response for my crimes against the galaxy. And I am broken in the real world, Luke. I am old, ugly, burned, weak, useless. You should have let me go."
Luke stared at his father for a long moment, and then something inside him snapped.
"Do you think I care about that? Do you think I have the slightest, vaguest interest in what the Alliance leadership and the Imperial warlords and the press and the people of the galaxy think about you? About me? I don't care. All I want, all I have ever wanted, was to know my father. And now?"
Luke stomped over to the rope being held in his father's hand, and lifted it up.
"It is white, Father. You have come back to the Light! I don't care what you look like, I don't care how weak or strong you are. I don't care if you have two weeks or two months or two years or two decades left in your life. I want every second I can with you. I want every minute, every hour, every day. I want to really know you, to talk about starships and flying and sand and your favorite food and what Mother was like. If that takes place in a prison cell, then so be it. I just want some time with you. Is that too much to ask? I have fought and suffered to be a part of your life. Why can't you do the same for me?"
Anakin looked at Luke in disbelief, and then burst into tears. His head bowed and his whole body shook with sobs.
Startled, then horrified, Luke stepped forward grabbed his father's arms and said, "I'm sorry, Father…"
"No," Anakin gasped out, "No, Son, don't be sorry. That is the best, the kindest, thing anyone has ever said to me in my life. Ever. Everyone except for Padme and my mother always wanted something from me – they wanted my service or my power or my abilities or my devotion. You…you just want me. Luke, I don't deserve you."
Dream states were so odd, Luke thought in one corner of his mind. He was able to feel the sinew of his father's flesh arms. There was no mechanical apparatus, no burns, no volcanic ash from the fires of Mustafar. Both of them were whole. Even his own right hand, lost at Bespin, had been restored.
"Father," Luke said gently, after Anakin had calmed down, "I know your death right now would be easier. But easier isn't always better, certainly isn't always right. I don't want anything but you, but if you need a more abstract reason to live consider this. I don't know much about the history of the Jedi and right now, as far as I know, I am the last of the Jedi. Except for you. There were mistakes made in the Old Order, and you know about them far more than I do, and far more than a ghostly Obi-wan Kenobi will ever admit. If the Order is to be reestablished, and I'm not sure it even should be, I would benefit tremendously from your wisdom about what they did right and what they did wrong. Please Father, in the real world your body is failing. Please fight for me."
Anakin Skywalker leaned forward, white rope held tightly in his hand, and looked straight into Luke's eyes.
"I will, Son, I promise."
/-/-/-/-/-
"Luke? Luke?"
Groggily, Luke pulled himself out of sleep and sat up.
The master bedroom had been turned into a temporary medical ward, and what was left of Darth Vader lay on a large bed in the center. Two medical droids stood watch over him, and his sister Leia stood at one side of the bed, looking at her brother on his cot.
Luke stared at Vader. His father lay with his eyes closed. Just being able to see his face, even though it was obscured by a breathing mask, was an amazing experience. The helmet had been badly damaged by Palpatine's Force Lightening attack, and could no longer be used. Vader's one remaining full limb, his right arm, lay motionless next to him. His father's torso was still covered in the suit, but parts had been cut open by droids to allow for direct treatment of some of his injuries.
Luke felt a stab of guilt as the dream/vision came back to him. He could have left Vader in the rubble. Maybe he should have. When he had cut his way into the Throne Room of the Palace and moved some of the rubble off of Vader, his father's limbs were pinned down and crushed such that the only way to get him free quickly was to cut him loose. Of course, Luke would have hesitated far more over flesh and bone limbs. Prosthetics could be replaced. But his father did look weak and crippled, with only one full arm and his body and head showing damage from his confrontations with both his former masters – Kenobi long ago, Palpatine only 2 days ago.
Luke rolled to his feet and approached his father, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. No, it had been right to get his father out. He couldn't have lived with himself if he had let Vader die alone in there, slowly suffocating from the rubble and the Emperor's attack. If he did die soon, he would die knowing he was loved.
Leia touched his arm, and he looked at her concerned expression.
"How is he?"
"He's much better, Luke. We thought…we thought we were losing him while you were sleeping, but a few minutes ago his heart rate stabilized on its own and everything looks much better."
She smiled at him now, and Luke was struck with his sister's nobility. Vader was living for Luke's sake, and Luke was guiltily aware he hadn't considered what Leia's desires might be. She might want their father dead. If she did, he could not blame her. She was a politician, he was not. For her, having an ex-Sith Lord for a biological father might ruin her political life, and Vader had already devastated her in other ways.
He opened his mouth to say something, though he didn't know what.
Leia forestalled him, "Luke, we have a situation which requires your special set of skills to resolve."
/-/-/-/-/
Imperial Governor Britzen sat at his desk, staring gloomily at the bottle of Alderaan Ruge Liqueur. It stared back, temptingly.
Well, in this particular case, there was no obvious reason to fight temptation. He poured another finger of the amber liquid into a glass, and threw it down his throat in one practiced move. It burned going down, and the haze in this mind intensified slightly.
Where had he gone wrong? He'd worked hard. He'd been ambitious. He'd flattered his superiors. He'd manipulated his equals. He'd abused his inferiors for personal gain. Two days ago, he was on the cusp of running his own personal tiny fiefdom. Of course, he would have continued to pay lip service to the new Emperor, whoever that was. But he knew that with the deaths of Palpatine and Vader, the chaos on Imperial Center would make the Outer Rim worlds of minimal importance.
He would have had this beautiful planet, to rule, to pillage, to make into his own private domain.
He sighed deeply. But no, the blasted Rebel Alliance apparently had the same bright idea! With Vader gone, and Palpatine gone, and Ryloth under Alliance domination, he should have known that Naboo could be next, as no entity in its collective mind would want to take over Tatooine. The appearance of the Rebel Fleet at the worst possible time, just after two attendant Star Destroyers plus the Eclipse left for Imperial Center with Palpatine's body, was an added insult. It was almost as if…
No, it really could not be. He had been over this before, rolling it around in his mind and consulting with his advisors. For all the rumors that Darth Vader had been Anakin Skywalker and was the father of the noted Rebel Luke Skywalker – even if it was true, there was no chance the black monstrosity had allied himself with the Rebellion. He didn't know much about Vader, but the man didn't have a bleeding heart for anyone or anything. No, Vader had attempted a coup and died in the attempt, and his master with him.
Good riddance to them both.
But all the good was wiped out by the Rebel onslaught on Naboo. He glanced with near despair at his holopad, but did not pick it up. The reports were uniformly bad. At this point, the battle in the skies above Naboo was a lost cause. The Star Destroyers had either been destroyed themselves, or fled under the onslaught of the Executor and other Rebel ships.
The Executor. How had the Rebels gotten control of her? She was Vader's flagship. Maybe that meant…
His thoughts ran in a little circle and staggered to a halt. He couldn't work it out.
Britzen looked at the liqueur. It must be even more potent than advertised to affect him so. He had a hard head for liquor.
Well, getting roaring drunk tonight would probably be fine. There wasn't liable to be any direct contact from the Alliance yet. They would no doubt complete their victory in space, and land ground forces, and engage the remaining Imperial ground forces, and lay siege to the Imperial garrison where he was holed up safely.
And then, the negotiations would begin.
He leaned back in his chair. At least he had been wise enough to snatch Queen Soruna. The Rebels pretended, anyway, to be of the people and for the people, and the queen was exceptionally popular. He had her locked away in a very secure cell, surrounded by guards. He would use her as a hostage to allow him to leave the planet, and not empty handed. He would insist that his private accounts (which had been augmented by careful juggling of Imperial resources) be transferred to the Corellian system. He could either settle in there and live a comfortable if somewhat dull life, or possibly move back to Imperial Center at some point with the hopes of rising in the new Empire. He would have to contemplate that, however; the situation might be so volatile for some time that avoiding that mess might be the wisest course.
At any rate, he had a plan. And an expensive liqueur to finish…
There was a sudden beep at the door. With a growl, Britzen glanced at the door monitor, identified his second in command, and pressed the button which allowed him to enter.
"I believe I told you not to disturb me," he snarled, slurring his words just slightly.
"I apologize, sir," his second said with his eyes focused on the wall behind Blitzen.
He had always appreciated that his second ignored the times when his governor was clearly under the alcoholic weather.
"Sir, we have a direct holocall from Princess Leia Organa, of the Rebel Alliance. She wishes to negotiate for the release of Queen Soruna."
Britzen felt his jaw go slack, and some drool tracked its way down his chin. He quickly wiped it on his sleeve.
Princess Leia Organa? Now? This was not what he expected at all, with Naboo still partly under Imperial control, and Theed a battlefield.
But negotiation now was preferable to later. Now, he had more to bargain with. He could offer a complete surrender of Imperial troops in exchange for additional financial incentive.
Ignoring his second, who still stood at attention, he pulled up Princess Leia Organa's file.
His first thought was that she was gorgeous. What was a girl like that doing fighting in a war? She should have been married to some politician or Imperial governor and been taking shaak milk baths. A quick perusal of her file revealed that she was more than a pretty face, but a skilled negotiator and fighter. She had a reputation for recklessness with her own life in pursuit of her ideals. Britzen shook his head. She was young. In the unlikely event that she survived 10 years, she'd be less naïve and idealistic.
Ah, interesting! He had forgotten that she was from Alderaan. Hmmm, maybe he could offer her the rest of that Alderaan Ruge Liqueur. Perhaps they could negotiate in person while sharing liqueur! Not that she would be that stupid.
He could suggest it. If she was really reckless, she might go for it. And if he had a queen and a princess under his control – he'd probably be able to demand a Star Destroyer with men on his way out.
He finally looked at his second.
"Give Princess Leia the following message…"