[This is our attempt to make the final confrontation at the end of Return of the Jedi make sense, taking into account and sifting through a bunch of those disparate nuggets of lore scattered throughout the fandom, because the novel left a lot to be desired. It was a little theoretical at some points, but I think it works. Honestly, getting inside Darth Vader's head was not the easiest thing to do.]
4 ABY, Endor
Darth Vader stalked along the bridge of the Executor, watching the intermittent and mundane traffic in men, construction supplies, and war materiel, trying not to resent being placed there. There were many other officers in the Imperial fleet who would be equally qualified to perform the task, and it seemed the Emperor was keeping him there out of spite, cracking the whip just because he could, keeping Vader from the single preoccupation that had burned in his mind for the last few years, finding and capturing his son.
The knowledge that he still had a son had changed everything. It had given him something he had thought lost to him forever, something he didn't deserve, something that sat awkwardly in his blackened heart. Luke, rogue Jedi in the rough and traitorous rebel that he was, had given him hope. It was a sinister and self-serving kind of hope, but hope nonetheless. He hadn't killed Padmé, their child had survived, and Palpatine had lied to him for twenty miserable years. That realization had finally justified Vader's festering hatred of his master, fatally weakening whatever misguided loyalty bound them together. He could still salvage this wreck that was his life, could still rise to rule the galaxy as he had been destined to do. Padmé would have been a glorious queen, but Luke would be something else entirely. The boy didn't know his own power, but with Vader there to mold him they could be a force to dwarf the memory of all Jedi, of all Sith, strong enough to stop that wasteful war and impose order on their galaxy. They would be like gods, the Father and the Son, the Celestials of Mortis remade.
Vader suppressed the sudden swell of emotion before it could become too obvious. Carefully, now. This was the balance point. Luke was not yet disposed to join him, and Palpatine certainly had no intention of obligingly lying down to die. The Emperor had his own designs on Luke, and he would be a fool not to suspect some conflicted feelings on Vader's part. It was a delicate dance of subterfuge despite all the players being aware of the conceit.
He was certain Palpatine knew of his secret betrayal, or at least anticipated it. That was the way of the Sith. Ultimately it was always the will of the apprentice to try his hand against the master. Palpatine had already shown his willingness to defy that danger by treating his apprentices with the same indifference one might show a disposable hygiene wipe; he had abandoned Maul, sacrificed Tyranus, and Vader had no illusions of being afforded better treatment, not if Palpatine smelled any chance to replace him with a younger and more vibrant Skywalker. The thought of the Emperor adding Luke to his collection of broken things, using him before tossing him out with the other refuse, only inflamed Vader's hatred. Luke wasn't some pawn to be used in a rotten old man's bid for continuing power. Luke was special.
It would be difficult to manage Luke in one hand and Palpatine in the other. Despite his new hatred for the man, confused and intermixed with his old habits of deference and loyalty, Vader did fear him. None had yet challenged Palpatine and prevailed. It wasn't just that he was extremely powerful, but he was cunning, cruel and subtle. Subtlety had never been among Vader's virtues. He was more inclined to smash his way through his trials with an iron fist, but Palpatine would not be taken so easily. He needed Luke beside him before he made his move.
In the meantime, he must continue to bow and scrape before the Emperor, to endure the subtle infantilization, the manipulation. The ruse served his own purposes as well. Vader knew a thing or two about surrendering to the Dark. The power was immense, but so was the sacrifice. He had made his own choices, but he couldn't help but resent the one who had turned him.
He had carefully reconsidered his approach, and he had decided that he didn't want to poison his relationship with Luke that way. They could be something new in the history of the Sith, above the petty struggle for dominance that always fractured the Rule of Two. They could be coequal, bound by kinship and common purpose, perhaps even by some degree of affection. Let Palpatine corrupt him, disillusion him, drive him to the bitter despair that unlocked his latent power. Then Luke and Vader could be united in their hatred of him. They could take the Empire in hand together, indivisible and unconquerable. The rebels would be crippled without Luke, and with his presumably extensive knowledge of the Alliance's inner workings, they could destroy it in short order. It would be the sweetest victory he could imagine.
Stop it. Vader filled his mind with the vast emptiness of space, only a few inches away through the transparisteel. He mustn't get carried away prematurely. The sticking point in all this was Luke. He hadn't responded well to Vader's first offer. How could he bring him in line, convince him to understand his importance and share the dream?
In time he will seek you out, Palpatine had assured him, and when he does, you must bring him before me.
Palpatine did have unusually keen foresight, but his appraisal of the situation seemed unlikely at best. Privately, Vader thought it delusional. Luke had confronted him on Bespin burning with self-righteous idealism—fatally naive though it was—secure in his understanding of who he was, and driven to heroism by the sacred memory of his father, Anakin Skywalker, champion of the Old Republic. Impressed by the boy's skill, and darkly amused by the audacity that was a half-trained whelp threatening him with his own lightsaber, Vader had perhaps taken a bit too much fiendish glee in dragging his son into the harsh glare of reality. Luke's father was not some unsullied figure of legend, Luke's father lived, and he was a monster. They could make their own legends.
It had been too much too quickly. Luke had been too traumatized to process the possibilities, and had reacted with the desperate courage of a martyr, throwing himself into an abyss rather than exchange one more word with the abomination offering his hand. It hadn't helped that Vader had been obliged to literally disarm him first; he had tried to twist the saber out of Luke's hand again, but the boy was a quick study and wouldn't be taken by the same trick twice. It had left him with little choice.
Looking back, Vader suspected he had botched that whole opportunity. Once again, he had charged forward without sufficient thought, and now everything was more complicated. Luke's hatred would be more potent now because it was grounded in truth, hatred of a father who had robbed him of his identity, persecuted and killed his comrades, and maimed him into the bargain. It was going to be a difficult case to make. Somehow Vader would have to redirect that hatred toward Palpatine. Maybe the Emperor could manage that himself.
However it would be, it required a monumental act of self-discipline for Vader to stand there looking at the distant stars and minding the traffic over Endor when he wanted to be hunting for Luke. Perhaps the Emperor was right that the rebels would be coming to them instead. The second Death Star hung in stationary orbit, looking vulnerable and crippled, ripe for an attack. Irresistible rumors had been seeded into the spy networks, and a fleet was allegedly massing near Sullust. It was, perhaps, the calm before the storm. All they had to do was be patient.
Patience had also never ranked among Vader's virtues.
A pinprick of light stabbed into his mind out of nowhere, causing him to wince behind his mask. Then recognition flooded through him. It was Luke. He was here. After a year on the run, the boy was finally within his grasp. Vader scanned the reaches of near space, looking for the source of that presence. There was nothing out of the ordinary, just another nondescript Lambda-class shuttle cruising along the standard approach vector, but Vader was now certain there was nothing ordinary about it. Luke's presence flinched and flickered, but was unable to conceal itself, and Vader knew that he had been recognized as well.
He stalked toward the command station where Admiral Piett supervised the proceedings. "Where is that shuttle going?" he asked.
Piett leaned into the comm. "Shuttle Tydirium, what is your cargo and destination?"
"Parts and technical crew for the forest moon," came the deadpan answer.
Piett looked to Vader, awaiting further orders.
"Do they have a code clearance?" Vader asked.
"It's an older code, sir, but it checks out," Piett informed him. "I was about to clear them."
Vader reached out to that light suspended in the dark. Luke was outwardly calm but inwardly panicked, realizing too late that he had betrayed the rebels' masquerade simply by being there. Would they bolt? Or would they dare maintain the pretense and hope for the best?
"Shall I hold them?" Piett prompted.
"No," Vader decided. "Leave them to me. I will deal with them myself."
The admiral shrugged so slightly it could hardly be noticed. "As you wish, my lord." He nodded at the crewman on duty. "Carry on."
The crewman nodded. "Shuttle Tydirium," he confirmed, "deactivation of the shield will commence immediately. Follow your present course."
As though nothing had changed, Tydirium continued on toward the moon.
So be it.
Vader was at war with himself all the way back to the Emperor's throne room. He was duty-bound to report the breach to his master. Would he dare consider otherwise? Might he report the rebel force but neglect to mention that his son was among them? It was too dangerous to play angles now. Palpatine saw everything. If Vader failed to make a complete report, it would only prematurely undermine his plans. There was no help for it, not yet.
He exited the lift and climbed the stairs, enduring the surly disregard of his master once again. The Emperor did not even trouble to turn his throne to face him.
"I told you to remain on the command ship," was the curt rebuke.
Vader fought to control his feelings. Soon he would not have to tolerate being spoken to like a disobedient pet. "A small rebel force has penetrated the shield and landed on Endor," he said.
"Yes, I know." Palpatine finally turned his chair, smug in his omniscience.
"My son is with them."
Now the Emperor leaned forward with new interest. "Are you sure?"
"I have felt him, my master."
Palpatine settled back into his throne with an expression of dubious consideration. "Strange that I have not. I wonder if your feelings on this matter are clear, Lord Vader."
Well, damn it. They might have gotten away with that, but it was too late now. The patronizing doubt was particularly infuriating. Of course he recognized his own son. "They are clear, my master."
"Then you must go to the sanctuary moon and wait for him," Palpatine decided, accepting the circumstances for what they were.
Wait for him? "He will come to me?" Vader couldn't quite keep the incredulity out of his voice.
"I have foreseen it," Palpatine decreed in that distant and lofty tone that forbade further question. "His compassion for you will be his undoing. He will come to you, and then you will bring him before me."
"As you wish." Vader bowed, and took his leave as quickly as decorum allowed. Palpatine had already turned to face the viewport once again.
Compassion?
The word echoed in Vader's mind all the way back to the Executor. He remembered the agony and revulsion on Luke's face as he had screamed at him in the same voice in which Vader had screamed at Obi-Wan on Mustafar. It was the voice of hatred, disgust, and utter rejection. Where was there room for compassion among sentiments like that?
Whatever the rationalization, he had permission to go down to Endor. By the time he had completed his routine medical maintenance and boarded the shuttle, it was deep into local night. Dawn was close when they landed.
So was Luke. Vader could feel him very close now, and his son was making no effort to hide. He felt an involuntary flutter as he descended from the landing pad onto the catwalk to meet the AT-AT walker lumbering into position.
The door hissed open, and a squad of troopers exited with their prisoner.
"This is a rebel who surrendered to us. Although he denies it, I believe there may be more of them, and I request permission to conduct a further search of the area."
Vader wasn't listening. Luke met his gaze without flinching, without blinking, and his demeanor could not have been more different from their first meeting. He was slight and strong like his mother, dressed in Imperial black, all of twenty-three years old but carrying himself with the gravity of a much older man. He had obviously worked through his initial shock and was now prepared to meet the truth head on. Despite the fact that he was the one in cuffs, Vader had the strange impression that this time they were meeting on Luke's terms. There was still fear, but it was buried deep beneath more unexpected emotions: acceptance, gentle defiance, and yes, compassion. Luke was there because he wanted to be there.
"He was armed only with this," the commander continued, dragging Vader back into the present. He laid a lightsaber in his gloved hand.
"Good work, Commander," Vader said. "Leave us. Conduct your search, and bring his companions to me."
Luke twitched, but brushed off the reaction in the next moment. Of course he was concerned about his friends, but there was nothing he could do for them now. He had personal business to resolve.
Vader turned to walk back along the platform, and Luke kept pace with him. "The Emperor has been expecting you," he said.
"I know, Father." It still didn't sound quite natural coming out of Luke's mouth, but he was making the effort. It was strangely touching.
"So," Vader continued, "you have accepted the truth."
Luke turned a sharp sidelong look at him. "I've accepted the truth that you were once Anakin Skywalker, my father."
"That name," Vader growled, rounding to wave Luke's own lightsaber in his face, "no longer has any meaning for me."
"It is the name of your true self. You've only forgotten," Luke insisted, unintimidated. His eyes were pale, blue according to his dossier, and looking at him now was uncannily like looking at his younger self calling him to task, the incarnation of the conscience Vader had thought long dead. He wasn't sure how to answer him.
"I know there is good in you," Luke continued with unjustifiable confidence. "The Emperor hasn't driven it from you fully." He looked him up and down with obvious regret for the mechanical monstrosity he had become. Then, in an act of unaccountable trust and utter disregard for his own safety, Luke turned his back and leaned on the opposite handrail, gazing out into the sleeping forest. "That was why you couldn't destroy me," he said. "That's why you won't bring me to your emperor now."
You're a good person, don't do this!
Padmé's voice rocketed back to him from across the empty years, and Vader did feel a stab of shame at the thought of what he was intending to do to her son, what he had already done. He paused, his motivations suddenly confused. He was doing this for Luke's own good, he reminded himself, though it wasn't as convincing as he would have liked. It was the only way forward. He had come prepared to tempt Luke into a future of conquest with him, but Luke had met him with a stark counteroffer, calling him back into a world of right and wrong, goodness, discipline, self-denial, love, and compassion. What could he say to that?
Vader elected not to say anything. Instead he ignited the lightsaber in his hand, shaking Luke's serene composure for a moment. It was a sound no one liked to hear at his back. "I see you have constructed a new lightsaber," he said flatly, examining the hilt. It was simple, almost crude, but it was solid and perfectly functional, powered by an impressively-grown synthcrystal. It also bore a striking resemblance to Kenobi's old weapon, and Vader felt a flash of jealousy at the thought of Obi-Wan being the father figure in Luke's life that he might have been. "Your skills are complete."
Vader dramatically deactivated the blade, deriving some petty satisfaction from seeing Luke's stiff posture wilt in momentary relief, and then he also turned his back. Obi-Wan was long dead; where was the boy getting all this? What else had he mastered during the past year? Luke was an unknown quantity at this point, and trying to quantify the unknown was always a dangerous exercise. Palpatine thought him capable of destroying both of them, and Vader had no doubt it could be true. Whatever it was that made the Skywalkers different had clearly manifested in Luke as well. He was a prodigy, advancing with only broken and intermittent instruction to the very cusp of Knighthood. What might he be capable of with dedicated guidance? "Indeed you are powerful, as the Emperor has foreseen."
He felt Luke turn, felt his eyes on him, felt the weight of his judgment, his concern, and again, his compassion. Luke hated what his father had become, but he was willing to set aside the past, all the hurt and the wrong done, willing to begin again. It was more grace than Vader had ever expected, more than he wanted, and it made him very uncomfortable.
"Come with me," Luke said.
Vader grimaced, haunted again by echoes from the past. Luke could not possibly know how much like his mother he was, speaking now with her voice from beyond the grave. He also spoke for Obi-Wan, who had trained and guided him as he had trained Anakin. Luke was himself a walking victim of Vader's cruelty, and it seemed he spoke for all of them. It was all so pointless, so much pain and guilt churned up to no purpose. Vader didn't want their forgiveness, he didn't deserve it. He could not submit his darkness to the light again, because to do so would be to face the evil he had done, to return to a world of consequences, justice, punishment, and death. He deserved death, and he could not accept that. He still had ambitions.
"Obi-Wan once thought as you do," he said, and he rounded on him. "You don't know the power of the dark side," he insisted. "I must obey my master."
Luke shook his head, unapologetically defiant. "I will not turn," he warned him, "and you'll be forced to kill me."
Just like Padmé. Just like Obi-Wan. Damn it, Luke. "If that is your destiny," he said, his voice flat, almost petulant, like a child daring a parent to enforce an unpleasant threat.
Luke was having none of it. "Search your feelings, Father," he demanded, advancing to within spitting distance, calling his bluff. "You can't do this! I feel the conflict within you, let go of your hate!"
No doubt he did feel it, and Vader felt a twinge of pity for him. Luke couldn't understand, not yet. There was no going back, no matter what he felt. He was too far gone already. Luke would have to come with him or not at all, and the latter possibility filled him with deep regret.
"It is too late for me, son," he said gently. He gestured toward the lift, triggering the door at a distance, knowing he was sending Luke to either his death or his corruption, and part of him was genuinely sorry. The gutted expression on Luke's face made it clear he understood the implications as well. "The Emperor will show you the true nature of the Force. He is your master now."
Disbelief gave way to resignation as Luke was flanked by a pair of stormtroopers. He nodded solemnly, and it wasn't fear that Vader read in his eyes. It wasn't dread or outrage. It was disappointment, the disgusted, withering disappointment of someone who had expected better. "Then my father is truly dead," he said.
Luke held that disdainful eye contact for a drawn moment before he walked away of his own will, forcing the troopers to follow him. He turned in the lift, and Vader found himself unable to look away from his smoldering stare. Luke, as good as his word, had chosen death rather than the alternative. This was your choice, he seemed to say. I'll accept it, but you'll have to live with it.
Unfortunately, as the lift closed and finally separated them, Vader suddenly wasn't sure he could.
He spent at least an hour debating his next move, as though there were any choice to be made. He mustn't lose sight of the goal now, whatever Luke might have said. Still, the game had changed again. Luke wasn't just an impetuous boy in over his head anymore; he had come with purposes of his own, putting all three of them in opposition from the outset. Vader wanted Luke to ally with him against Palpatine, Palpatine wanted to take Luke from Vader, and Luke wanted to take Vader from Palpatine. It was going to be a horrible mess if he couldn't manage it properly.
Dawn was breaking when Vader finally boarded the shuttle.
"Prisoner secured and ready for transport, sir," the captain reported with a stiff salute.
Vader waved him down with barely an acknowledgement. "Carry on, Captain. Return us to the station immediately. The Emperor is waiting."
"Yes, sir."
Luke was strapped into his seat between two troopers, his boots firmly planted on the floor, his hands neatly folded in their restraints, staring at nothing. He didn't acknowledge Vader as he also took a seat, and continued to studiously ignore him all through the preflight sequence and takeoff. That was logical enough, Vader decided. Luke had, after all, just declared his father to be dead to him.
A tangled flume of emotion hung around Luke, as deliberate and controlled as his breathing, and Vader realized he was mentally detaching himself from everything he cared about, taking the time to grieve each one, preparing himself to make a good death. It made Vader feel as though he were escorting his son to his execution, which hadn't been his intention at all, but which may well be the result if Luke forced an impasse. That emotional discipline would make him dangerous, as one with nothing left to lose.
For a moment Luke bent lower over his crash harness, his sorrow sharpened, and it struck Vader that he was mourning the family he had always wanted, the parents he had never known, the mother who had died, and the father who had betrayed them all. An acrid glance out of the corner of his eye only served to drive the point home.
All I want is your love, Padmé had said, and in that look Vader read a similar sentiment. He bristled again, made to feel a spectrum of unpleasant emotions he had been avoiding for a very long time. Guilt was a chronic affliction he had been trying to ignore for years. He had it in abundance, intermixed with the silt of regret and self-loathing that had fueled his first descent into darkness. Luke was dredging it all up without a qualm, deliberately muddying the waters and making it difficult to think clearly. It was making him angry now.
Stop whining, and let me raise you to glory, he thought, hardening his mind against Luke and his naive notions of good and evil. If Luke died that day, it would be his own fault, and it would be a hideous waste.
At the same time, a sudden confluence of perspective made Vader painfully aware that Luke was exactly the same age Anakin had been when he had first been ensnared by Palpatine. Here he was deliberately leading his son into the same danger, perhaps—with a fatal naivete of his own—providing his master with his own replacement.
Come away with me. Help me raise our child. Leave everything else behind while we still can!
What kind of father was he?
Enough, he decided, burning those intrusive memories away with fresh hatred and resentment. Love couldn't save any of you. This is the only way. Just come with me, damn it, and the rest is ours for the taking!
The shuttle landed aboard the Death Star without incident. Vader climbed to his feet, released Luke's crash harness himself, and ordered the stormtroopers to stand down. They didn't need any extra witnesses to this drama.
Luke came willingly and said nothing. He could not help being increasingly nervous, but Vader couldn't fault him for that, considering where they were going. Despite that, the surface of his mind was as cold and smooth as the crust of ice on a frozen lake. He was already detached, already considered himself forfeit to the fortunes of war. The resignation made him brave.
All the while, Vader was consciously taking his son's measure. Their confrontation on Bespin had been too heated and chaotic to get a truly accurate read on him. While the Emperor seemed to have at least some understanding of Luke's character, he had completely failed to detect him yesterday. How extensive was Palpatine's blindness in that regard? Success or failure may depend on how precisely they could all read one other. Vader was very gratified to find that he and his son already seemed naturally attuned on some level, an advantage they might be able to exploit.
He was strong now. Luke had by no means tapped his full potential, but he had acquired new discipline, more maturity, even a creeping flirtation with some darker sentiments than Vader would have expected of him. He hadn't quite crossed the line into murder, but Luke had tasted some very satisfying vengeance in the recent past, and he didn't quite regret it. Vader pressed that point as deeply as he dared without provoking Luke to resist him.
It had been in service to his friends, Vader realized. Of course it had. That could be his most effective leverage. The lure of direct power wouldn't tempt Luke, might even repel him as it had his mother, but it could be a completely new game if he were to see Vader's offer as the only means by which he could help his friends. Luke's infiltration team had clearly been the vanguard of a major assault; what would change when he realized the bulk of the Imperial fleet was waiting in ambush behind the moon? Would he seize the opportunity and fight by whatever means necessary? Or would Luke surrender to his better principles and sacrifice himself as Obi-Wan had? That was an unpleasant thought.
Damn you, Obi-Wan, you've turned him against me too. There's too much of you in him.
Again, Vader wondered who had been training him. Jedi Knights did not spring fully formed out of the sand. Obi-Wan was dead. Had the old master defied even death in order to mold Luke into his ultimate weapon, somehow preparing him for this confrontation? For a sickening moment, the strange similarities and the abrupt change in attitude and ability seemed to align just enough to make Vader wonder whether Obi-Wan was alive in Luke, speaking through him and animating his body. Was that what he had meant when he had alluded to the unimaginable power he would find in defeat? Were those steely eyes Anakin's or Kenobi's?
Vader dismissed the notion immediately. Despite the eerily similar lightsaber, despite the familiar sentiments and Luke's startling maturation, Vader could not believe Obi-Wan would violate any padawan of his that way, not even if it were possible, not even to defeat his nemesis. The Jedi were subject to many limitations. Besides, Obi-Wan had lost all hope for Anakin long before they had met on the Death Star. Obi-Wan would have come swinging, wielding Luke's power to finally finish him. That was definitely Luke's mind Vader felt pulsing beside his own. Luke's hope was bruised, but not quite conquered.
Then an even colder thought suggested itself, one he could not reason away. Yoda. The elusive Grand Master had never been accounted for in the purge, lost to the vast reaches of space for more than two decades. Might Obi-Wan have directed Luke to Yoda? The idea of his son being trained by the most dynamic swordsman in living memory was sobering indeed. It might also explain several things. Vader resolved to approach any possible combat with extreme caution.
At last they were riding the lift into the Emperor's tower. Luke's mind was a void as they were carried toward the pinnacle, a void that was actively suppressing the more natural cocktail of restless anxiety and nausea that churned just beneath it. Vader felt a bit nauseous himself, pulled and prodded by contradictory emotions like a moon caught in an unstable orbit. There was an instinctive pride in presenting his son to the Emperor, but also an undeniable shame in showing Luke his loathsome master. He must still play his part, say the right things, until the opportune moment. He didn't dare speak his treachery aloud, but he hoped Luke remembered what he had told him at their last meeting.
The lift stopped, and the door slid away. Otherwise completely still, Luke glanced quickly around the room, establishing his bearings as any halfway-competent soldier would. Perhaps he intended to fight after all. Then he stepped out without waiting to be escorted, marching up the stairs with Vader only a pace or two behind. Luke might have been there against his will, but he wasn't defeated yet.
They reached the top of the platform, and were obliged to wait a moment before the Emperor deigned to turn his throne and acknowledge them from the dais. It was typical of the petty abuse Vader had become accustomed to in his service, and he supposed Luke was getting an accurate first impression of the regime.
"Welcome, young Skywalker," Palpatine crowed with a disquieting smile. "I have been expecting you. You no longer need those."
He lifted a finger, and the cuffs unlatched themselves and fell from Luke's wrists. Rather than lighten the mood, the new state of play doubled the tension, the air heavy with new possibilities. The psychological battle was joined.
"Guards, leave us."
The ominous Royal Guards slowly withdrew, allowing the antagonists another moment to appraise one another. Palpatine was leering, welcoming a confrontation, but Luke seemed to recognize the game. Vader hoped he realized there were several games unfolding simultaneously.
"I'm looking forward to completing your training," Palpatine continued. It was an invitation that landed like a threat. "In time, you will call me master."
"You're gravely mistaken," Luke answered with a soft-spoken insolence that made Vader twitch. It was just another reminder of how deeply enmeshed in the Emperor's web he still was. "You won't convert me as you did my father."
"Oh no, my young Jedi," Palpatine retorted with that patronizing scorn that could make anyone question his own resolve. He stood and approached them, little more than a corpse animated by a relentless spirit that refused to die. "You will find that it is you who are mistaken, about a great many things."
"His lightsaber," Vader interjected. He felt a prickle of possessive indignation from Luke as Palpatine closed his fingers on the hilt, his composure already eroded by the master's caustic proximity, but he remained rigidly still, only his eyes betraying the shift of his thoughts.
"Ah, yes." Palpatine accepted it with unctuous poise. "A Jedi's weapon." He turned back to Luke with cruel relish. "Much like your father's."
A dissonance of observation struck both Vader and Luke at the same time. Luke's saber bore no resemblance to his own whatsoever, except perhaps for the synthcrystal. Were these apparent lapses of awareness evidence of infirmity, or just another ploy to tempt and expose disloyalty? Anything was possible with Palpatine. Vader tried to draw Luke's attention to it regardless, as subtly as he knew how.
"By now you must know your father can never be turned from the dark side," Palpatine was pontificating in the meantime. "So will it be with you."
Luke bucked Vader's pressure off his mind, sparing only a sidelong glance. He didn't want the distraction. "You're wrong," he insisted, confident in his own incorruptibility. "Soon I'll be dead, and you with me."
Palpatine just smiled and laughed, a creeping, chilling derision that could leach the courage from the stoutest hearts. "Perhaps you refer to the imminent attack of your rebel fleet," he suggested.
It was a masterstroke that undermined Luke's confidence immediately, and the change was obvious. He stood rooted in place, but a fresh jolt of adrenaline coursed through his veins, his heart began pounding, and the Force rippled wildly as he considered the implications of that revelation. Here was where it really began, Vader realized. Palpatine would systematically strip him of everything that stood between him and despair, would begin stoking the flames of hatred until Luke lost sight of everything he thought he had known.
"Yes," the Emperor continued, seeing Luke's reaction and obviously enjoying it very much. "I assure you, we are quite safe from your friends here." He turned back toward his throne with a sneer.
"Your overconfidence is your weakness," Luke shot back, not yet so panicked that he couldn't offer a witty retort.
"Your faith in your friends is yours," came the crushing reply.
"It is pointless to resist, my son," Vader offered. It was pointless. Palpatine would have his way, the rebellion would be brutally put down, and Luke would be left with nothing but a choice between the two of them. Vader was angling to be the least hateful candidate.
The Emperor resumed his throne, serene, grotesque, master of the galaxy. "Everything that has transpired has done so according to my design," he explained. "Your friends, up there on the sanctuary moon, are walking into a trap, as is your rebel fleet."
Luke's state of mind deteriorated as he realized the extent of the coming disaster. Names and faces flashed through his thoughts too quickly for Vader to read or recognize them, but Luke cared deeply about each one of them, and they were all now as good as dead. He couldn't even warn them.
"It was I who allowed the Alliance to know the location of the shield generator," Palpatine gloated, feeding on Luke's despair. "It is quite safe from your pitiful little band. An entire legion of my best troops await them!" Then he leaned forward with a look of mock sympathy that was as brutal as it was crass and unnecessary. "Oh," he moaned, "I'm afraid the deflector shield will be quite operational when your friends arrive."
That sympathetic look melted back into a cruel smile, and in Luke's heart Vader felt the first stirrings of that hatred Palpatine intended to kindle.
The pieces fell into place exactly as the Emperor predicted. There was no damage done to the shield generator. The rebel fleet tumbled out of hyperspace for their grand assault, their communications jammed on the off chance that they would obligingly immolate themselves against the intact shields. But either their commander was very canny, or else the desperate warning Luke was projecting through the Force reached someone, because they all pulled up in a dramatic reversal at the last moment. It was still for naught, because the Imperial fleet had emerged from behind the moon and lay in wait behind them. The trap was sprung.
People began to die, both in space and in the forest. If Vader could feel it, he knew Luke could as well. Those were his comrades, his friends, some as near to him as family, winking out of existence one by one, a symphony of sudden agony and enduring silence. And there was nothing he could do but suffer it.
"Come, boy." Palpatine was not even attempting to conceal his disdain, directing Luke to the viewport beside the throne so that he might enjoy a better view of the tragedy. "From here you will witness the final destruction of the Alliance and the end of your insignificant rebellion."
What was he doing? Vader dutifully took his place beside his master, wondering at his strategy. When Palpatine had initially seduced him, it had been after cultivating a relationship as a trusted confidant for years. It was only later that Vader had come to hate him. Now it seemed Palpatine was goading Luke into hating him immediately. It was very direct, but Vader wondered how that could possibly be a foundation for a lasting partnership.
Luke turned, a storm of indecision veiled by a fragile calm. The temptation was obvious.
"You want this," Palpatine said in a husky whisper, laying his pallid hand on Luke's lightsaber. "Don't you? The hate is swelling in you now. Take your Jedi weapon," he taunted him. "Use it. I am unarmed. Strike me down with it. Give in to your anger!"
Recognizing the trap, Luke turned away again in disgust, staring obdurately out into space.
"With each passing moment, you make yourself more my servant!"
Luke turned back again, choking on his frustrated rage. "No."
"It is unavoidable," Palpatine insisted. "It is your destiny. You, like your father, are now mine."
Vader didn't like that. That tone stirred an instinctive jealousy in him despite the fact that he had willingly brought his son here to face this trial. Luke had turned his back again, refusing to cooperate, but casting about in his own mind for something he could do. His options were extremely limited.
The battle continued to rage, distant flashes of flame signifying the mounting casualties they could all feel. Each death struck Luke like a wound, only exacerbated by the Emperor's undisguised satisfaction at both the carnage and the emotional distress it caused. He was feeding on it, reveling in it, nursing that festering hatred in the back of Luke's mind. But still Luke refused to act, refused to be baited. It was agony for him to do nothing, but he would only act on his own terms. Vader wasn't enjoying the torturous process the way Palpatine was, but it was necessary to break Luke down before he could rebuild him.
The battle wasn't going well for the rebels, trapped as they were between the fleet and the shields, unable to even begin their planned attack. Luke was bending all his thought toward the moon now, perhaps hoping for some progress against the shield generator, but there was none. Everywhere was chaos and death.
"As you can see, my young apprentice," Palpatine ventured to comment into the brittle silence, "your friends have failed." Then his tone changed, becoming gleefully harsh. "Now witness the firepower of this fully-armed and operational battle station!"
It was the final blow, the revelation that all the intelligence that had inspired this offensive had been false. Luke was transparently horrified, agitated and helpless to avert the imminent catastrophe, turning back and forth between the Emperor and the beleaguered rebel fleet as Palpatine keyed for an open comm channel from his throne.
"Fire at will, commander!"
A subtle vibration shook the whole station as the enormous laser battery drew all available power to itself. Luke was silently screaming into the Force, but there was none among the combatants to hear him. Two seconds, four, six, and then the massive bolt shot into the battle, and five thousand people cried out at once, blasted to atoms aboard their capital ship.
Pain and death were commonplace to Vader, but Luke pitched forward as though he would be sick. The Emperor chuckled into the heavy stillness of the observation tower. It was so quiet, so eerily still, a universe removed from the slaughter outside. Luke was trapped, squirming like a bug pinned alive to a board, trapped in some liminal hell, unable to return to that world or be of any help to anyone. Or was he?
Vader was aware of Luke reorganizing his thoughts on two fronts. There was hatred, and anger, and pain, but beneath all that was a desperate calculation, a forced calm, a tense equilibrium that he could only hold with a great effort. It was that cold resignation he had brought with him from Endor, a paradox of hopeful despair, and a determination to act. It was the determination of a dead man preparing his final move. Did Palpatine see it?
The Death Star struck again, needing only a fraction of its full power to vaporize a rebel cruiser, and that wave of horror and death rolled over them again. It only confirmed Luke in his resolve. Scattering as best they could, the rebel fleet turned to attack the wall of star destroyers directly, choosing suicide over piecemeal destruction. It would serve them no better.
"Your fleet is lost," Palpatine intoned, "and your friends on the Endor moon will not survive. There is no escape, my young apprentice."
Luke turned to Vader, a last plea for some recognizable human feeling, but Vader simply bowed his head. There was no place for pity or mercy in their world. That disgusted disappointment flared up in his son again, and a barrage of thought from Luke's deepest self slammed into him. Where was Anakin? Luke wanted to know. Where was that legendary hero with no fear he had heard so much about? Had he really become this heartless, spineless, pathetic excuse for a man he saw now?
"The Alliance will die," the Emperor continued, as though pronouncing sentence, "as will your friends."
Luke's disgust and resentment shifted back to Palpatine, and his eyes fell again on the hilt of his lightsaber.
He was going to do it. Vader could feel Luke screwing himself up, focusing that deadman's courage. But he wouldn't be striking out of anger, and not for himself. And that changed everything.
"Good," Palpatine hissed, savoring the bitterness of Luke's desperation as a predator might the scent of blood. "I can feel your anger! I am defenseless," he goaded him. "Take your weapon. Strike me down with all of your hatred, and your journey toward the dark side will be complete!"
Luke turned stiffly back toward the viewport. But it was a feint. He was coiled to move, to make his last breath count for something.
Vader had only a moment to think. Palpatine didn't see it, couldn't see beyond the hatred to the sacrifice Luke intended. Luke would strike on behalf of the Alliance, on behalf of the rebels who were dying in their thousands for that one chance to destroy the Emperor. Luke was there, not two meters away, and he would strike for them. Palpatine may well be able to stop him, perhaps even kill him in the attempt, but if Luke somehow succeeded he would be lost to Vader forever. He would never betray the rebellion if he managed to secure a clean victory for them. Then Vader himself would be facing an ultimatum, and that filled him with an unexpected fear.
He could destroy us. . . .
You'll be forced to kill me . . .
Luke spun, his saber igniting as it hit his palm, but the swift downswing was foiled by Vader's blade just inches from the Emperor's throat. And Palpatine laughed.
Vader twisted Luke's saber to the side and engaged him in a duel of their own. Realizing what he'd done, Luke flew at him with a frustrated roar, genuinely angry now, angry at his father for proving such a disappointment, for always choosing Palpatine over him, for robbing him of his last best chance.
There was no time for Vader to consider his larger strategy, as he suddenly found himself on the defensive. He was improvising at this point. The last time they had fought, Luke had shown more bald-faced confidence than skill, although he had given a better account of himself than Vader had expected. Now he was at it again, surprising Vader with a level of competence that was once again inexplicable. Luke's attack was sloppy and undisciplined, shifting through one combat form to another and back again with no discernable pattern, combining elements from all the traditional forms in ways that would have scandalized the battlemasters of the previous generation. It was masterfully unpredictable, and he was attacking in anger now, the hot and resentful anger that grew out of the pain of betrayal.
Vader was also angry, angered by his son's insolence, his audacity, his maddening moral superiority and his refusal to cooperate. He attacked with the brutality of Sith lightsaber forms Luke would have no knowledge of, battering him back with the sheer force of his rage.
But Luke retreated only to counterattack, backfooted for only a few moments before he was again matching Vader blow for blow, forcing him again into defense.
It was impossible. It made no conceivable sense. Where did he learn this? Vader was shouting into the Force, not expecting an answer. But it came, a cold bolt of understanding as they crossed sabers in a contest of strength and Luke looked him dead in the eye. He had taught his son that form just now.
Luke broke away and renewed his attack, intuiting and mirroring his father's technique with a mental agility that filled Vader with both pride and fear. The longer they fought, the more his form improved, the more dangerous the duel became. Luke was quick, moving and bending in ways Vader no longer could. Unable to control the fight, Vader felt himself being maneuvered, pushed, dominated in ways he hadn't felt for more than twenty years, not in this arena. He had hunted and slaughtered Jedi all across the galaxy, his name alone enough to strike terror in the bravest hearts, but this one . . .
This one was his own son. This one was no longer afraid of him.
Luke bent sideways and kicked Vader squarely in his center of mass, sending him tumbling down the throne room stairs to land in an inglorious heap on the lower deck. It was a painful impact, jarring his hips and injuring more than his pride. Vader cursed his broken body, the limitations imposed by his cybernetics. He wasn't focused properly. This fight had unnerved him, and it was taking an ominous turn.
"Good!" said an insidious voice from the past. It stopped Luke immediately, cutting through the angry haze in his mind, even as it filled Vader with disgust. "Use your aggressive feelings, boy! Let the hate flow through you!"
It was an uncomfortably familiar scene, but unlike Anakin Skywalker, Luke had no reason to think well of Palpatine, and he slowly turned back to Vader, obviously determined to do exactly the opposite. He deactivated his lightsaber and relaxed his fighting stance, dampening all his negative emotions by enveloping them in his better nature and ulterior motives.
Meanwhile, Vader climbed back to his feet, stretched his stiffening back, and tried to collect what remained of his dignity. He was reminded of Mustafar, his greatest failure, the defeat that had branded him a disappointment in the Emperor's eyes no matter what his other accomplishments. And there was Luke, holding the damned high ground. "Obi-Wan has taught you well," he said, biting back whatever else he might have been tempted to say.
Luke shook his head, almost remorseful. "I will not fight you, Father," he said softly.
You will do what you must, Vader thought bitterly, supplying the more appropriate response himself. There was no sound but the harsh purr of his lightsaber and the thump of his heavy tread as he slowly mounted the steps, closing the awkward distance while both Luke and the Emperor watched intently. Luke began to step backward, diplomatically yielding ground, sincere in his intention to forego the fight. But they were far beyond that now. "You are unwise," he growled, "to lower your defenses!"
The other blade reappeared at the last moment to block Vader's attack, but Luke was just holding steady now, defending himself and no more. None of them were making any headway, Vader observed as he and Luke held one another at a crackling stalemate. Luke still refused to be turned, refused to partner with either Vader or the Emperor, all the while trying to pull Vader away with him. Three stubborn forces at perfect opposition, pressing ever harder at the same point. Victory would belong to whomever introduced the right catalyst.
Another series of blows, and stalemate again. To his consternation, Vader realized he was stalemated against his will. Luke was braced against him with greater strength than his size and weight should have allowed, and Vader realized he was striking from a deep serenity, drawing on the Force to root himself in place. Incensed, Vader strained against that insufferable calm with all the violence of his rage and frustration, but Luke would not be moved.
Then, just as Vader was preparing a devastating assault, Luke swept aside the other blade with a sudden burst of power as though the stalemate itself had been childsplay. Vader struck at him but was always a second too slow as Luke ducked away, sprang backward into one of the vacant duty posts, and then launched himself into a flying backflip, landing on his feet on the catwalk suspended above the throne room.
The only sound once again was Vader's saber and his breathing, left behind on the deck, winded, sore, and humbled. His rage smoldered beneath the impassive face of his mask as his son once again presumed to look down upon him. He was being made to look incompetent.
"Your thoughts betray you, Father," Luke had the gall to say aloud, a fresh glimmer of hope in his eyes. "I feel the good in you, the conflict."
"There is no conflict," Vader was quick to insist, painfully aware of his master looking on. His whole career he had been accused of being conflicted, not being committed enough, not being ruthless enough, not being powerful enough, never completely free from those cloying memories of his former life, memories of people, friends, family, and the one he had loved most. Now there she was, back from the dead, speaking through their son. How long could he deny it?
Luke cautiously sidestepped along the suspended platform, putting greater distance between himself and Vader's thrumming blade. "You couldn't bring yourself to kill me before, and I don't believe you'll destroy me now."
Was that a challenge? "You underestimate the power of the dark side," Vader warned him, angrily trying to dominate his unruly sentiments. He'd had enough of this game. "If you will not fight, you will meet your destiny!" He flung his active lightsaber, the hilt glancing across Luke's chin as he ducked away from the blade. The support struts were severed in a shower of sparks, and the entire catwalk collapsed, dumping Luke into the shadows beneath the upper decks.
Palpatine was chucking to himself as Vader descended the stairs beneath the drunken ruin to seek out his wayward son. "Good," he said, enjoying the battle. "Good!"
Vader called his saber back to his hand, and marched down into the dark.
The hunt was on. Luke had slipped into some corner somewhere and refused to show himself. Vader had to shake him out of this mentality of righteous martyrdom, or Palpatine would eat them both alive. If he could harness that anger Luke had shown earlier, they might have a fighting chance. Someone would die before any of them left that room.
It wasn't an especially large or complicated space, but Luke was proving hard to find. He wasn't trying to shrink his presence in the Force, but rather was magnifying it everywhere, like holding a faceted crystal in sunlight. There were echoes and reflections of him on every side, masking his real location. It was a clever trick, and Vader wondered just how long he intended to keep it up.
"You cannot hide forever, Luke," he complained.
A strangely disembodied voice answered him. "I will not fight you."
Vader tried to turn toward it, but the echoes muddled its origins. Maybe if he could keep him talking . . .
"Give yourself to the dark side," he continued, peering into the shadows beneath the room's fixtures. "It is the only way you can save your friends."
Ah, now Luke had betrayed himself. In magnifying his presence, he had also magnified his emotions, and that idle comment stirred a wealth of activity in his mind. His friends were his weak point. One of them was hurt, and Luke was attuned enough to feel vicarious pain, a burning wound to the shoulder. Images were leaking into the Force, growing only more distinct as Luke tried to suppress them.
"Yes," Vader said, allowing a grim smile to creep across his face. "Your thoughts betray you. Your feelings for them are strong. Especially for . . ."
It was a woman. A lover? No . . . "Sister! So, you have a twin sister!" The revelation lit up Vader's imagination even as Luke recoiled. "Your feelings have now betrayed her too."
The very idea that Leia Organa, of all people, was his daughter made his smile something maniacal. Padmé, Bail, Alderaan, Obi-Wan, Owen Lars, Tatooine—everything fell shatteringly into place, a cruel conspiracy to deprive him of his own children. Of course Leia was his blood. She was headstrong, defiant, impetuous, all of his own traits remade, even as Luke embodied Padmé's warmth and optimism. They were all perfectly inverted images of each other, exquisitely balanced. It was more plain than ever that they were destined to be the new Celestials after all, a trio of semi-divine Skywalkers: Father, Son, and Daughter.
"Obi-Wan was wise to hide her from me," he mused, basking in that delicious fantasy. "Now his failure is complete." Perhaps Leia was the key to it all. Perhaps, considering her temperament, she would be more easily turned, and Luke, devoted as he was, would follow her. "If you will not turn to the dark side," he wondered aloud, "then perhaps she will."
"Never!"
Luke exploded out of the shadows with a rage Vader was not prepared for, and he fleetingly realized he had touched something that completely superceded Luke's regard for him, that once again he had badly miscalculated. Vader retreated as Luke beat him back with an artless, animal ferocity, and for the first time that day he genuinely feared for his life. He couldn't turn it, couldn't move fast enough to escape it. He tried to repel Luke with the raw power of the Force, but Luke brought the Force with him, as devastating and unstoppable as a collapsing star.
Vader felt it physically pushing him back, the burning aura of rejection and wrath pulsing out of his son, the son who wanted no part of him anymore, who would destroy anyone or anything that dared to threaten his sister.
Back, back, back toward the turbolift. Vader stumbled against the railing, ducking away from Luke's wild swings. Some cable in his leg snapped, and he fell against the other side, defending as best he could with one hand.
And then that hand was gone. Again. His saber was gone, his future was gone, all his hopes were gone, and he collapsed onto the deck with a last miserable cry, the hot blade of Luke's weapon angled at his throat.
Sharp, cackling laughter broke the spell. "Good!" Palpatine was descending to join them, clapping his hands as if the whole drama had been a performance for his benefit. His presence hit them like an ice bath, cold and cruel, freezing them on the spot.
"Your hate has made you powerful," he said to Luke, leering like a discerning connoisseur at a flesh market. "Now fulfill your destiny, and take your father's place at my side!"
Everything was lost, and Vader realized he would end his pathetic life as just another of Palpatine's failed apprentices, another victim of the inevitable rhythms of corruption and betrayal, dispatched and replaced by his own son. He remembered the disbelief on Tyranus' face as Anakin had held him at saberpoint, his hands reduced to smoking stumps, Palpatine gleefully goading Anakin to kill him. Anakin had made his choice, and now here he was, condemned to the same fate. Now Luke, the same age, before the same tempter, faced the same choice. The outcome was almost inevitable; Vader knew he had given his son no reason to show him mercy. Perhaps Luke would also endure this fate in his turn, and Palpatine would continue on like a parasite, draining the life out of everything he touched.
But the final stroke never came. Luke wasn't even looking at him, but rather at his own trembling cybernetic hand. His lingering disgust and fear were centered on himself, on what he was becoming, on what the Emperor intended to make of him. But he could not be taken against his will.
With an incongruous sigh of relief, and the giddy tranquility that came with self-conquest, Luke deactivated his lightsaber. "Never," he said, turning to Palpatine and tossing the weapon away. "I'll never turn to the dark side."
Palpatine's sour silence was deafening. Whatever relief or pride Vader might have felt under the circumstances was drowned in a misery of another kind, because he knew that was the wrong answer in their situation. One of them still had to die, and Luke didn't realize he had just volunteered.
"You've failed, Your Highness," Luke continued, squaring up and putting Vader at his back, almost protectively. "I am a Jedi, like my father before me."
Still the malevolent silence, the ominous calm. Luke had set himself against the Emperor, physically and emotionally, but Vader was surprised to feel something else directed at him, almost like a shield. It was cold and rational, but distinct and deliberate. It was Luke's concern, his compassion, and his love.
It stirred something intensely painful in his warped and broken heart, the memory of what it was to be loved. He remembered his life with Padmé, remembered touching their unborn child through the Force, remembered the thrill of feeling that child reach back to him in those last days. Now Luke was reaching for him again. He didn't deserve it. Luke knew he didn't deserve it, and yet he reached anyway and in spite of everything, just because that broken thing behind him was his father, and he wanted to love him.
Luke didn't know his own peril, but he had made his decision, and finally Palpatine deigned to accept it. "So be it," he said, his voice dripping with disdain, "Jedi."
Vader knew how it would be. The Emperor had no use for a Jedi, and he would not suffer him to live. Sure enough, Palpatine lifted his hands in an offensive posture that was all too familiar. "If you will not be turned," he said, "you will be destroyed." A blast of lightning erupted from his fingertips and threw Luke across the deck.
The Force bloomed once again with a cacophony of pain, surprise, and fear, hatred, contempt, and grisly pleasure. Luke was stunned and momentarily paralyzed, a mute question he hadn't been able to form into words reverberating in Vader's mind. Clearly no one had warned him about Sith lightning, or taught him how to repel it. The damage was done now. No Jedi could focus himself properly after a blast like that. Vader hauled himself to his feet as best he could with his one hand and his one functional leg.
"Young fool," Palpatine mocked his victim, intent upon delaying death just long enough to derive some satisfaction from it. "Only now, at the end, do you understand."
Another blast, and then another. Luke almost pitched into the open reactor shaft beneath the platform, clinging to the ledge with his fingertips. Vader was certain the display was meant to punish him as well. One sustained electrical surge like that would be enough to cripple his life support systems. He was suddenly understanding many things himself, here at the end. He finally understood that he had been a slave his entire life, that the illusion of freedom offered by a life of darkness and powerlust had just been slavery of another kind. Padmé had tried to make him see it, Obi-Wan had tried to make him admit it, and Luke had tried to call him out of it, but all of them had died for it, fatally trapped in the black hole of dysfunction and misery he had made of his life.
"Your feeble skills are no match for the power of the dark side," Palpatine continued, slowly advancing. Vader limped to his master's side as he knew he was expected to do. The Emperor owned him, and would own him until the day he died. But what kind of life remained to him? Only the wretched existence of a broken tool, an unloved plaything that had outlasted its appeal. Another bolt struck Luke to the deck.
"You have paid the price for your lack of vision!"
A long and merciless blast had Luke screaming and convulsing, his agony exploding through Vader's mind as though it were his own. Somehow, in the midst of that onslaught, he managed to turn and reach for him. "Father, please!" he shouted before Palpatine redoubled the assault, but even as Luke spasmed beneath that hail of electricity Vader could still hear his slurred cries for help. What pierced him to the heart was Luke's despair. He was calling for his father, desperately wanting him to intervene, but he didn't expect it. He expected to be abandoned. Vader was no use to anyone, no use to his family, no use to those he had once called his friends, no use even to the Emperor now.
At last Palpatine relented, the storm of bolts suddenly dissipating with the echoes of Luke's ragged screams. But the reprieve wasn't to last. "Now young Skywalker," he said, savoring the moment, "you will die."
Luke couldn't speak anymore, the only protest left in him a series of broken gasps as he fought for breath, an unpleasant haze of steam rising off him.
Then the killing bolts struck, and Luke screamed with the last of his strength, wild sobs of torment, disappointment, anguish, and despair. He would die, the rebel fleet would be destroyed, the war would be lost, and Palpatine would take everything. It had all been for nothing.
Or had it?
With a sudden flash of clarity, Vader realized he could change everything. The shriveled life he had been clinging to for more than twenty years was worthless, and he didn't want it. He didn't want the suit, he didn't want the name, he didn't want the power or the title, didn't want anything that cowled monster had given him. He wanted Anakin's life back, he wanted his wife, and he wanted his children, the only bright points to survive his ruin. Darth Vader was a tragedy, but Luke was the future, Luke was hope, Luke was the light, and there was no way Anakin Skywalker was going to stand by like a beaten dog and watch Palpatine murder his son.
He moved, grasping the Emperor's body and lifting it into the air, electricity burning through him. Anakin clenched his cybernetic arms in place, hoping they would freeze in that position before they failed entirely, lurching toward the guard rail before his legs gave out. Pain and blinding light exploded behind his eyes, systems seizing and faulting all over him. Only a few steps would do it. He hurled that hateful man and all his empty promises into the abyss, and then collapsed against the rail.
It seemed an intolerably long time before Palpatine's angry howl was swallowed in the depths of his own battle station, and a fierce storm of dark side energy belched out of the reactor when he finally met his death.
It had been so simple, and yet everything was changed. Anakin felt terrible, broken and paralyzed, a pathetic worm of a man gasping for breath, but he also finally felt free. He felt like himself again. Then, somehow, Luke was there despite being half dead himself, gathering him by the shoulders and pulling him back from the brink.
They crumpled to the floor together, and Anakin was dimly aware of the world turning sideways, the hard, flat surface pressing into his back. Luke was burnt and shaking, deliberately pulling air into his spasming lungs, but he was also looking down at him with unconflicted gratitude and affection, even pride. It had been so long since anyone had been proud of him. More than ever, Anakin regretted the hideous mask that separated them, knowing his son had done all this without ever seeing his face.
The whole station shuddered as it sustained some kind of catastrophic damage, and Luke seemed to remember the danger they were in. The battle had clearly turned. Anakin tried to tell him to go, to leave him there, but he couldn't find his voice.
Luke apparently never considered it for a moment. He stumbled to his feet, and tried to lift Anakin's deadweight by the arm. Failing that, he tried to levitate him, but the pain and the urgency and the residual effects of the lightning attack played havoc with his concentration. Again, Anakin tried to tell him to go, but his body wouldn't cooperate. His useless limbs and other augmentations made him almost twice Luke's weight, and it was going to require a hero's effort just to drag him as far as the lift.
Luke seemed to realize that, but he simply set his jaw and redirected his efforts toward suppressing as much of his own pain as he could. He pushed Anakin's shoulders up off the floor, slung the lifeless left arm around his neck, and began dragging them both toward the lift. Anakin did what he could, clinging to Luke's shoulders with whatever strength he had left in his stump of an arm.
The station quaked again, throwing Luke to his knees, but he struggled back up, closed the last distance and reached up to slap the door control. Fortunately, the system was still functioning. Alarms were sounding now. Luke grabbed Anakin beneath the arms and dragged him backward into the lift, bracing him against his legs as he squinted at the keypad.
"Wait," Anakin managed to say before the door closed again, though it was little more than a harsh whisper. He bent all his concentration back into the throne room, and after a few moments Luke's discarded lightsaber came skittering across the floor and collided with his foot.
"Thanks," Luke panted, appreciating the gesture. He clipped the weapon to Anakin's belt and turned again to the keypad. "Which one?"
"Second from bottom."
The door closed and they began to descend. The alarms were blaring a full emergency now, and it would be a madhouse in the docking bays, but for just those few moments, leaning ponderously against Luke's leg, feeling Luke's hand on his shoulder, Anakin felt strangely peaceful. His suit was shutting down, and he knew he wouldn't live to see the next day, but he didn't regret his choice. At least he was dying for something, which turned out to be much more satisfying than living for nothing, and he was able to end his life reconciled with the son he had always wanted. Luke had fully accepted him already, and his aura was warm and forgiving, like an echo of his mother. Anakin could hardly believe he had ever considered smothering that light. Those few moments of quiet understanding were ultimately better than a lifetime spent subjugating the galaxy together.
When the lift opened, Luke slung Anakin's arm over his shoulders again and lugged him out into the rush of panicked troopers and pilots. Even the officers were running scared. It was a long way back to their shuttle, but Luke grit his teeth and doggedly put one foot in front of the other, afraid that if he broke the rhythm he might not make it. Anakin again considered telling him to leave him, but Luke was obviously prepared to fight him on that point, and they didn't have time for an argument.
It almost defied belief, but their shuttle was still waiting when they rounded the corner. The crew was gone, the whole place was rocked with explosions, and people were running to claim every other available transport, but some instinctive dread prevented anyone from presuming to commandeer Lord Vader's shuttle, even when Lord Vader was himself being hauled across the floor like a pathetic wreck.
Nearly exhausted, Luke's strength finally gave out within sight of the ship, and they collapsed in a heap. "Leave me," Anakin wheezed, but his voice was drowned in the explosions and the alarms, and Luke didn't hear him. He crawled up again, grabbed Anakin by the wrists, and dragged him the rest of the way to the ramp. There he paused to catch his breath before trying to get them both on board.
Enough was enough, and Anakin felt himself fading. "Luke," he said, "help me take . . . this mask off."
"But you'll die," Luke protested, aghast at the suggestion.
"Nothing . . . can stop that now," Anakin confessed. Just a few hours earlier, he had tried to convince Luke that it was too late for him, and now he realized it was true, just in an entirely different way. "Just for once . . . let me . . . look on you with my own eyes."
He was tired of the armor, tired of hearing his filtered voice, tired of seeing everything through that hellish red tint. If he was dying, he wanted to see the world as it really was one last time, not the way Palpatine had condemned him to see it. Luke was hanging on his every word, a strange bittersweet happiness on his face. It took him only a moment to puzzle out how to first remove the helmet, and then peel back the faceplate.
It was very bright, and everything smelled like smoke and burnt wiring, but it was real. Luke's eyes were indeed very blue, just like his own had been, perhaps still were, but it had been years since he had seen his own reflection. Luke expressed no horror or revulsion, no visceral reaction to his scarred and disfigured features, just a weary joy and acceptance. Anakin instantly felt and understood that Luke had been searching for him his whole life, picking through the lies, the secrecy, the tragedy, and the black masquerade, and that he would have done it all again just for this, the privilege of meeting him—Anakin Skywalker—face to face. That love that had been so cold before had become as warm and as natural as his smile.
Anakin smiled too, though he had to blink away his tears. Luke grasped his shoulder with an affectionate hand, the artificial one Vader had cursed him with, but all was forgiven. They had both been through hell, and they had lived to see the other side, in no small part because Luke had believed so passionately that they could. Unfortunately, it was as far as Anakin could go. "Now," he managed to say, his voice tremulous and weak as he choked on the air, "go, my son. Leave me."
Luke shook his head, dismissing the notion. "No, you're coming with me," he promised in a gentle tone one might use with a frightened child. "I'll not leave you here, I've got to save you!"
There were some fates even Luke's belief could not change, but it was a victory nonetheless. "You already have, Luke," Anakin assured him. There were so many things he wanted to say, twenty-three years lost, but he felt his life ebbing away, and he had no breath to spare. "You were right," he managed. "You were right about me. Tell your sister . . . you were right."
He smiled up at him again, knowing it was probably the last thing he would do. His tormented body was finally giving up. His eyes closed, and it seemed an unbearable effort to open them again.
"Father," he heard Luke say through the growing haze, as though from far away. "I won't leave you!"
I'm sorry, Anakin thought, aware of his son's grief as he felt himself falling into that black emptiness. I'm so sorry.
And then there was nothing.
The forest was peacefully buzzing with insect and animal life, the tall trees and long-leaved ferns rustling in the warm afternoon breeze. Nothing within five square kilometers seemed to be aware of the commotion centered around the smoldering blast site that had once been the Imperial station, or the significance of the fading debris cloud in the sky.
Being dead was nothing like he had expected it to be. It was like continuing to be alive in the world but separate from it, immaterial and yet sometimes able to interact with physical things. It was being one with the Force and yet distinct from it, shifting between different states of being either at will or when willed by someone with greater power or authority.
They were there now, almost as near the living world as possible. The Imperial shuttle was a jarring incongruity in the forest clearing, though not an unwelcome one. Luke had landed it there almost an hour ago, but hadn't come out yet. He was still sitting alone in a dark corner, weeping over Anakin's body.
It was a grief Luke would have to bear completely on his own. None of his fellow rebels would understand, probably not even Leia. Certainly no one in the Empire would shed a tear for Darth Vader. It was a sobering reflection on one's life to realize there was only one man alive who would mourn you.
"I wish I could speak to him, Master," Anakin said, not sure exactly what he would say, but knowing Luke would be glad of the company.
"Nothing more to say have you," Yoda insisted, as dispassionate and serene as he had been in life. "Find his own way he must."
"I'd say he's done an admirable job of that already," Obi-Wan offered, quietly allying with Anakin. "He did what was required of him, though in his own way and against all sound advice, and came away with a greater victory than we could have expected."
"At what risk, I ask?" Yoda protested. "A grave risk to himself and the galaxy it was, all for personal satisfaction." He looked sidelong at Anakin, not resenting his presence among them, but not ready to condone the means by which he had gotten there.
"It seems to me no bad thing if this new generation of Jedi gives a bit more consideration to empathy and personal fulfillment," Qui-Gon interjected. He had never been shy about speaking his mind to Grand Master Yoda. "What did the old ways give us but legions of psychologically stunted adults with no idea how to emote in a healthy manner."
"Healthy is this?" Yoda asked, nodding toward the closed shuttle. "Or indulgent?"
"He'll be out soon enough," Obi-Wan guessed, waving down the budding debate. "Just let him work through it."
Eventually the hatch did yawn open, and Luke emerged into the sunlight, moving like he had aged twenty years in the past six hours. His expression had gone flat, the numb fortitude of one still trapped in what had proved to be both the best and worst day of his life. He was a dusty, burnt and battered mess, and he would need proper medical attention after being nearly electrocuted to death, but even after all that there was something he still wanted to do. He heaved a sigh, and then trudged into the undergrowth, scouring the forest for deadwood.
Dusk was falling by the time Luke had finally built a suitable pyre using only his own hands and his lightsaber. He was running on fumes now, injured, starving, and sleep deprived, but no one else was going to do the honors. Satisfied, he returned to the shuttle, and after a while came out again escorting Anakin's body on the ship's emergency repulsor sled. It was a very solemn, very lonely scene.
Luke hesitated before the pyre in the failing light, reluctant to say that final goodbye. He laid his good hand on his father's cold and misshapen face, ran his fingers along the dead chest panel and defunct controls that had once been so iconically terrifying. Anakin would have given a great deal to know Luke's thoughts, and he might have shed a tear or two if such a thing were possible in the spiritual realm. Whatever their regrets or sorrows, it was time to lay all that pain and misery to rest. Luke finally replaced the mask, and then the helmet, the nightmarish suit the closest thing to a coffin Anakin's corpse would have, a coffin Anakin had lived in for half his life.
More in command of himself now, Luke slowly levitated the body in the deepening twilight, moving it off the sled and settling it onto the pyre. Then he stood very straight, brought his feet together, and offered his father a final salute.
Qui-Gon smiled wistfully. "Impressive," he said. "He is learning detachment, but by an entirely different route, and perhaps a better one. Yoda, I believe we may be looking at the next Grand Master of the Order."
Yoda grunted as flames engulfed the pyre. "Young Skywalker has still much to learn," he said.
"But the foundation is good," Obi-Wan insisted, agreeing with Qui-Gon. "I think he's more than proven that today."
Anakin said nothing, simply looked on while Luke stood silhouetted against the firelight, standing that vigil with him.
"I mean," Obi-Wan clarified, leaning toward Yoda, "I think Luke has earned the right to see his efforts were not in vain."
Yoda frowned and quietly harrumphed to himself, but seemed to recognize the overwhelming human advice in this very human affair. "Very well," he relented. "See you he will, but no more."
Flights of starfighters began streaking across the night sky, dropping celebratory fireworks that some optimistic soul had wasted valuable cargo space to pack. It was a strangely appropriate counterpoint, Anakin realized. Ultimately it was a happy occasion. He was free, he and his son had found one another, Luke had survived his ordeal, and Palpatine was gone. Despite being dead, Anakin had a family again, and he would enjoy watching them make their way in the galaxy. His one life seemed inadequate recompense for all the evil he had done, but he had every hope that Luke and Leia would continue to redeem the Skywalker legacy. At least a small part of his best self lived on in them.
It was a long time before the pyre collapsed into ash and glowing embers, nothing left of either Anakin or Darth Vader besides a few charred bones, blackened metal components, and wads of melted plastic. That chapter was closed, and there was nothing more to be done. Rather than walk the ten kilometers back toward the victory celebration, Luke decided to take the shuttle and set it down a bit closer. No one could blame him after a day like that.
They watched as he arrived back in the crowded Ewok village. He was immediately welcomed with a warmhearted hug from his sister, and then another from that rogue Han Solo. He was clearly well loved by all of them, and Anakin was glad. So much for the Emperor's legendary powers of foresight; the Alliance lived, their fleet hadn't been lost, Luke had escaped, and his friends had survived. All that had been necessary was the courage to defy him and to accept the cost, to aspire to a cause larger than himself. Luke had reminded him of that, and now he could be content in the knowledge that together they had reset the course of history.
Lingering on the edge of the firelight, Luke slowly turned as if he were somehow aware of them. Anakin felt himself strangely present in the physical world again, Yoda and Obi-Wan beside him, and the smile that spread across Luke's face was instantly infectious. He was either too trusting or too tired to be surprised, but he was very grateful. Anakin hoped he looked both as proud and as contrite as he felt.
Then Leia was there again, wrapping her arms around her brother in a gentle admonition to rejoin the celebration. Seeing them together filled Anakin with a simple joy he hadn't known for a very long time, the twins he hadn't realized he had, who had gravitated to each other in spite of everything that had conspired to keep them apart. Destiny could be a very powerful thing.
Luke didn't resist as Leia pulled him back into the lively circle of light, though he spared a glance and parting nod to those figures who must remain in the past. The future belonged to the living, and it seemed much brighter than it had that morning.
That was the funny thing about the Light, Anakin remembered. It could hurt sometimes, like fire, but it would always help you see the way. He had been lost in the Dark so long that just seeing clearly was a vast relief, and he would be forever grateful that Luke had been clear-sighted and generous enough to show him the way out.
Our baby is a blessing, he had told Padmé so long ago, when he had first felt circumstances closing in on them. He hadn't realized at the time just how true that would be.