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Chapter Text

The death of an emperor was a momentous thing, and it had taken years of planning to reach this moment. It was one of the rare few days that the Coruscanti Weather Control let a storm ravage Imperial City and the lightning that forked outside matched the violet sheets inside the throne room, whose tall windows cast light onto—

The bloody swathe carved through the antechamber and up to the dais.

The crimson robes of fallen guards lying limp on the floor.

And the scarlet saber that jutted out on the Emperor's chest, his white, gnarled hand clawing at it just a little too late.

Vader savoured the aghast expression on his master's face with every fibre of his being.

He had planned every facet of this. Every detail. Palpatine would die, and his legacy would be stripped from the galaxy—Vader would seize the Empire that was his by right, with the men he'd squirreled into key positions for this very purpose; he would destroy the precious collections and wealth the man had collected to lord his own superiority over; and with the Rebel attack he had good intelligence was being mounted against Prince Luke's Star Destroyer even as they fought, the heir to all that worthlessness was dead as well.

"You have lost," he hissed, shoving the lightsaber in deeper. "You will die, your precious prince is already dead, and I will destroy everything you have built!"

Palpatine's brat was dead. Palpatine would be dead. And now the galaxy would be remade in Vader's image, in Padmé's memory—

And yet Palpatine laughed.

"That boy you have killed is no son of mine," he said, amber eyes sparking with vicious hatred one last time.

And then he shattered Vader's world.

The Force was with the prince: when Vader commandeered the comms and reached out, frantically, in the desperate hope that the boy was still alive... he was.

In a fateful stroke of beautiful luck, he had survived.

The Star Destroyer was obliterated. Tagge, who commanded it, was dead. But when one of the early shots had blown apart the prince's quarters, his elite escort of troopers and pilots had reacted quickly enough to fetch him from the cold vacuum of space and ferry him away from the heat of the battle—straight back through hyperspace to Coruscant.

To where the heir to the Empire could get all the treatment for his wounds that he needed.

Those elite forces had done well—extremely well. Vader had made sure to thank them personally, and break the news of the death of the prince's father personally.

Then he killed them all.

He strode to the medbay immediately after, where...

He stared at the datapad the medic had handed him. The man himself still hovered at his elbow, paler even than his white coat, his shock still blaring in the Force; he'd seen Vader extract the blood from his own arm before comparing it with the sample taken from the prince. He'd seen Vader jerk back, the only physical sign of his shock and fury, as he received the results.

He knew what this must mean.

Vader ignored him.

He approached the bacta tank, where the boy—Luke—had already floated for six hours. Six hours since they'd extracted the sample, six hours for the tests to be run. Luke's face was peaceful in unconsciousness, though he occasionally grimaced in pain, and Vader found himself running his gaze over every inch of him: the nasty wounds, scored deep in his back, from the attack that should have killed him; the curve of his cheek and nose, half-obscured by the mask but now crystal clear in his memory; the golden drift of his hair, like sunlight through water.

No wonder it had always hurt so much to look at him. He was every inch the child they would've had, the child that was stolen from them, and Vader had never hated Palpatine so fiercely.

But he was dead, now. And while true justice could never be done... the closest approximation of it, in this cruel galaxy, had been.

Vader stood in front of the tank—in front of his son—and vowed to give him everything.

He rested a hand on the glass of the tank. There was a crack, too quick for a gasp, and a life went out behind him.

"You will be Emperor," he promised, low and dark and roiling in his fervour. "You will have the galaxy your mother refused, that you were born to command, and you will rule it just as well as she would have. The universe will bow to your brilliance."

The boy's eyelids didn't so much as flutter.

"And I—" Vader paused. "I will be with you. Soon, you will shake off Palpatine's influence and accept me as your father, but until then it will be my honour to be your protector, your defender, your advisor and attack dog. Nothing like this will ever happen to you again, my son, and you will be happy. I—"

Memories flashed to the forefront—of months and years of training the boy, of beating him, of taking out his woes and hurts and grievances at Palpatine on a child barely old enough to fight, who'd barely been taught how to smile. Sins of the father, sins of the son.

Sins of the father, sins of the son.

Palpatine was no father to Luke.

He never had been.

"I will make up for everything," Vader whispered. His hand clenched on the glass. "I will be the mentor you deserve, a father you can love. No one will hurt you, little angel, I swear this to you. I swear it all."

And then he lowered his hand, took several steps back, and turned. Left.

He had reports to read. Operations to plan. An empty throne to defend from usurpers until his son awoke, and a boy on a throne to defend thereafter.

He had an entire galaxy to gift wrap.

He was sure it would not take long.

He barely glanced at the dead body of the medic as he went.

The mantra repeated in his head for days and days after: as he stormed through the palace executing Palpatine's loyalists, as he secured the planet with his 501st and other officers he trusted, as he planned a coronation that would be heralded as the dawning of a new era. Blood and bodies littered palace halls to be cleared up again shortly after, servants were fired and hired, senators interrogated on their loyalties, and that was all he thought about:

If he couldn't be a father to Luke, then he'd be his attack dog. His enforcer. His advisor. Anything the boy needed him to be.

That was what he would do. That was how he would make up for the years of loud and quiet hatred, of spoken and unspoken threats, as he'd watched the boy be handed everything he had ever aspired to and worked for just so Palpatine could spite him.

He'd hated that young upstart so much. But no longer.

Palpatine was dead, and his son would rule.

He had been unconscious for days, recovering from his wounds. He knew nothing of any of this—he didn't even know that his father was dead.

But now he was waking up.

The royal medbay was always well-stocked, and Palpatine's prince had of course been well-cared for, especially in the wake of the man's... mysterious death. And if that death provided Vader with an excuse to hover for a ridiculous amount of time in between his crusades, while the boy was in bacta, in bed, recovering... well. There was no better security for him, after all.

Vader even stood over him as he woke.

He was the first thing Luke's eyes latched onto when they slid open. Fear blared in the Force, but the impassive, unreadable expression Palpatine had taught him so cruelly held his features in an iron grip.

"My prince," Vader greeted. Luke's brow furrowed in the slightest indication of confusion. "I am glad to see you awake."

Luke's reply, when it came, was hoarse and biting. "I am glad to be awake, Lord Vader."

Vader was sure that sitting down might put Luke more at ease, make him seem less threatening, but he was also sure that the pathetic medbay chairs would collapse under his weight. So he just hooked his thumbs in his belt and said, "I regret to have to inform you that your father is dead."

Again, there was little visible reaction to the news: Luke's breathing came a little quicker, his eyes widened slightly, and the corners of his mouth deepened in a frown.

He looked at Vader, at his lightsaber on his belt, then at the door. He knew there was no possibility of escape.

And he was the only one standing between Vader and the throne, now that his only protector—his father—was dead.

Vader would make sure to be a better father than Palpatine ever was.

"You are Emperor," he told his son, and watched shock shatter that carefully kept mask.

Luke swallowed tightly, licking his dry lips, then found it in him to croak, "Me?"

This is a trap.

He heard the thought plain as day— not that he needed to. Vader had had every intention of taking the throne himself, it was true, of disposing of the boy, but the moment he learned the truth... no.

His son would be Emperor. That was the most righteous thing in the galaxy.

"Of course, Your Highness," Vader said. "You are the Imperial Prince. You are the heir."

My heir.

He dipped his head, deep enough that it couldn't be interpreted as anything but a bow. "I will serve you, and you alone."

Luke was still staring. Vader didn't blame him. Years of dismissal, of threats of what Vader would do the moment Palpatine's protection expired, had left their scars in what relationship they could ever hope to form.

But he still had hope.

Luke would ascend the throne, and Vader would be his attack dog, his enforcer—his advisor, if he ever trusted him enough for that. It would take time, but eventually, once Luke understood how deep Vader's loyalty to him was, once he knew he could rely on him, maybe even start to... care for him, as a paternal figure, as a mentor...

The boy was only fourteen, after all. Vader had missed fourteen years.

But no longer.

He knelt properly then, to Luke's stunned and suspicious regard. "I pledge myself to you, Luke... Palpatine." The name was ash in his mouth; one day, he hoped, he could tell him the truth. "I swear to protect you, to serve and defend you, to carry out your will as you see fit and obey you alone. My loyalty is yours, my prince…"

He tilted his head up to behold his son. His salvation.

His prince, his heir, his hopes and dreams and suns, the bright, beating heart of his galaxy…

"…my emperor."

There were numerous things to address from the moment of Luke's waking to the moment he could start ruling his empire, but first there were two public events that took priority: Palpatine's funeral, and Luke's coronation.

Vader had put a lot of effort into planning Luke's coronation—it had to be perfect. He had put less effort into the funeral, but in the end, it wasn't lack of planning that made the funeral go so badly.

It started off seeming... adequate, though Luke looked much too young and fragile as he walked alone in front of the casket, spearheading the funeral procession. Vader walked directly behind the casket, with a perfect view of Palpatine's face as it sneered up at him.

He watched Luke's back as they walked: his shoulders were tensed, his breathing short and quick, and he didn't think he was faking the tears that streamed down his face as he crossed the threshold into the vast, cavernous hall. This was where Palpatine's body would be presented for three days until it went to be buried on Naboo, among the garden of tombs they had for their most prodigious children. Padmé was also buried in that place, if he remembered correctly.

He clenched his fists at the thought of that.

Well, he mused. It would be a tragedy if Palpatine's body were to be... lost on the way to Naboo, so he could never sully the earth Padmé lay in.

Luke mounted the steps, the red guards—his red guards, not Palpatine's, Vader had purged the survivors of those incapable traitors before Luke had even arrived back on Coruscant—perfectly in step on either side of him, like bloody shadows. The boy looked so small, and his gleaming head of hair bore no crown.

His coronation would be tomorrow. Then, everyone would see his son for the radiant emperor he would be, the vast improvement over the stagnant darkness that had reigned for the last fourteen years, and Vader—

Vader would emerge from that darkness, as well.

Luke, that boy he'd once hated so much, that boy he'd— he'd hurt so much, had given him hope. In return, Vader had given him the galaxy, and he would reign with all the grace and skill and wisdom of his mother before him.

He could see it even now, as Luke stepped onto the dais and turned to address the hushed crowds. His face was as impassive as a mask, but it was not difficult to see the cracks in it—the too-tight lips, the heavy shadows around his eyes that not even excessive makeup could hide. Sweat beaded his forehead and upper lip.

He stood stiff as a soldier, pale as a ghost.

He was supposed to give a speech. It had been written for him, by the few advisors who'd survived Vader's initial purge but would no doubt fall prey to a later one; it honoured his beloved father, swore to uphold his memory with every one of his actions, recognised the enormity of his task but made it clear that despite his youth he was prepared to lead them into the future...

Instead, when Luke squared his shoulders and looked down at his father's corpse, his eyes swam with tears. Vader didn't know if he could even see the procession that had halted before him like a long train, the crowd who'd gathered to see the mighty emperor in death, his own notes clutched in one trembling hand.

Through the Force, all Vader could sense was an explosion—of pain from his lingering injuries, of anxiety and terror, of— of feeling overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of all this, as he looked out over the sea of people and realised how utterly, utterly alone he felt—

Luke opened his mouth to speak. No sound came out.

Instead, there was only the soft thump of flimsi notes against the carpet and the whisper of red guards' robes closing around him as, there and then, he fainted.

After the farce that was his father's funeral, Luke was drilled and briefed and dosed up on even more painkillers for the coronation, in a desperate attempt to prevent a repeat of his performance. On top of that, he knew he was being watched intently on all sides, the whole time, and he tried to keep his back straight and head held high, but...

It was difficult.

Despite even the extra painkillers the medics had given him, Luke wasn't sure how he would make it through the vast hall and up the stairs to the throne in the uselessly elaborate cloak he wore. Fabric hung like shackles off his limbs; perhaps that was the point.

He looked left, then right again, but the two 501st stormtroopers flanking him didn't seem like they'd be receptive to a teenager's desperate pleas.

He shivered under that stupid cloak. It was so heavy he didn't know what it was made of, but it was a horrible dark red, large enough and... fluffy enough that it dwarfed the little boy wearing it. He near-staggered up the stairs outside the throne room. A spot between his shoulder blades twitched; he wondered if it was his own paranoia or the Force, that distant energy field his father had always told him he was disappointingly weak in, informing him exactly where a sniper was aiming their shot.

At least if he was assassinated here, at this event, in these clothes, he mused, the cape would hide the blood.

The uncarpeted black stairs were hard and slippery under these decorative boots; he teetered at the very top. The troopers—who wore red armour, really, what was Vader playing at when the actual red guards were all mysteriously dead or missing?—tensed, but none of them dared touch their royal charge. Luke didn't know what Vader's orders had been, but they were very much not useful when he was about to fall down an embarrassingly long flight of stairs in heavy clothing that would do nothing to cushion the blow.

At least if he broke his neck, he mused, it would be a quick death.

But he regained his balance and lifted his head, neck twinging with the movement. He didn't know how he was going to bear the weight of a gold crown with his injuries so recent, but he supposed Vader had a plan for that. He'd seized control so quickly, had Luke spared his cold, mindless death, and now Luke was here with no choice but to play his role in his grand scheme. Puppet emperor, whipping boy, plaything...

...martyr.

He stopped outright at that.

The troopers escorting him stopped too but it was clear they were uncertain. They couldn't touch the little emperor-to-be, they couldn't hurt him or make it look like he was being controlled; that would ruin Vader's charade. But they couldn't let him back out either, or their master would have their heads, and until now they'd thought that their intimidating presence would suffice...

But Luke wasn't listening to their thoughts. He was listening to the sprint of his own.

He'd thought that maybe Vader wanted him to be a puppet, wanted him safe and secure as a legitimate means to power without fighting a civil war to seize it. He'd clung to that explanation—hoped desperately that Vader's oath to protect him had been the truth, if only for the man's own ambitions and plans.

Even so, alive did not mean unharmed. Still the promise Vader had hissed so often in their training sessions could well be enacted upon, and that Luke would know exactly how much his father's protection had defended him from—Luke's perception of his situation had been bad.

Very, very bad.

But if he also had the constant sense that he'd be assassinated at this event... what if Vader...?

Would he kill him before he ever reached that throne?

Would Luke die, with a show of Vader trying to protect him—of being loyal to the son of the man he absolutely didn't murder to get this throne, not at all—and leave the path open for the next ruler to ascend in the wake of the prince's tragic demise?

Well.

At least if he died at his publicly broadcast coronation, he mused, it would be sure to make the history books.

Vader appeared, then. It seemed like he'd just popped into being beside Luke, but logically he knew he must have come up the side stairs, or out of the throne room, anything. Vader was not a ghost, or a demon, or a nightmare made flesh. (He had made Luke's nightmares himself, not the other way around.)

Vader was just a man. Just a man.

Fearsome... politically, physically and metaphysically powerful in a way Luke would never be... but he was just a man.

The thought did not calm him in the slightest.

Vader tilted his helmet down to observe him, and Luke tried not to cry.

"Your Highness," he said finally. "The public are waiting for you."

And then, with a wave of his hand, he opened the vast double doors to the throne room.

The crowd fell deadly silent the moment they did. Luke stepped in, now flanked by a murderer as well as his minions, and the hissing of Vader's respirator was the only sound to be heard.

Nobody bowed their heads as Luke passed. He was too small, too pale, too weak. He could never be the strong emperor they had all just lost. He was pathetic.

A path cleared the way to the throne, where some captain stood beside the crown Vader was to bestow on him. It should have been Mas Amedda crowning him, but his father's most trusted servant had apparently been accused of treason.

It didn't matter.

It didn't matter. Luke was doomed anyway, so he just kept his chin held regally high, kept shuddering and sweating underneath the heavy robes, and mounted the dais with trembling legs.

There was a feather-light touch on his mind. Luke stiffened his mental shields as far as they could go; no. Vader could parade him around, could kill or torture him at whim, could make the puppet dance on his strings, but he could not invade his mind. Luke wouldn't let him.

Not willingly, at least.

His father had always said that Luke didn't have the mental capacity to keep either of them out truly...

But Vader receded at that spike in fear. Thankfully. Luke breathed out. In again. Out again.

Tried, and failed, to relax.

He needed to get out of here. But there was no getting out of here.

Not now, not ever.

So Luke knelt, head bowed painfully, like a Rebel being presented to a firing squad. The audience's eyes bore like bolts into his skull.

Vader took the crown from the captain, dropped it onto his head, and his fate was sealed.

At least death would not have been slow.

Chapter Text

Luke sat down, and took a deep breath, before reaching for his comlink. Standing still exhausted him and showcasing his weakness would do him no good in this coming interaction, so... he should stay seated.

He was on thin ice already, outright testing Vader's proclaimed loyalty.

Vader came quickly, and without hesitation. Of course he did. He'd argued about Luke sending him to the other side of the vast palace in the first place, citing assassination attempts and protection and advice, but Luke was not taking Vader's advice. He had no idea why the man hadn't already slaughtered him and seized his crown, public relations be damned.

It wasn't like Vader had a history of caring about them.

Luke's father had been the only one who could keep him in line—and now he was dead, under... suspicious circumstances.

When there was a firm knock on the door, that crown sat heavy on his head as he lifted his chin to call, "Come in." The Rebel attack on the Dauntless had left shrapnel embedded all down his back and the backs of his legs. It'd missed his spine, mercifully, but the injuries and the long days of surgery to extract them had taken their toll; his neck twinged with the weight of that thin gold circlet.

He understood why he had to wear it. He really did. He was ridiculously young for this, to sit in meetings and look Lord Vader in the eye and make decisions that would affect the entire galaxy; people needed to be able to see the Emperor in him, rather than the little boy.

Even if Luke couldn't see it himself.

His father had had a commanding presence. He could freeze you in place; make you want, with every inch of yourself, to please him; rule with the mercy needed for manipulation and also the force needed for obedience.

Luke was weak, and soft, and useless. His father had been right.

Vader, in the training sessions his father had sometimes forced him to give, had been right.

So Luke had to take this course of action, because he had no idea why Vader strode into the room and knelt to him even without the tension and reluctance there had always been when he'd knelt to Luke's father. Vader had despised him, for so long. Why...

"My emperor," Vader said smoothly.

Luke swallowed. He didn't like having Vader tower over him—especially when he was sitting down and couldn't stand up—but he liked seeing such a large man kneeling to him even less. "Rise," he said softly. Vader did so, but hesitantly—as if he could hear the uncertainty in Luke's voice.

Sense it in the Force.

He'd always been able to batter down Luke's shields with ease.

Luke took in a few deep breaths, and reached for one of the datapads stacked high on his desk. There were so many to go through, all with some pointless bickering or bureaucracy; he was sure his father hadn't handled them on his own, had probably delegated them to Amedda and various aides, but until the transfer of power was complete and his authority consolidated, he couldn't afford to trust anyone to handle petty things for him.

It didn't help that Vader had had Amedda and several others executed for killing his father while he was in the medbay.

Which... was suspicious.

At least, he was pretty sure that was what would be advised—what Nova would advise. And he trusted his old nursemaid more than anyone.

He wished she would come back.

He used his grip on the datapad to steady his hands and cut straight to the point: "I need you to go to Eriadu, Lord Vader."

As expected, Vader immediately balked at that. If he was resistant to being on the other side of the Palace to Luke—

"Your Majesty, Eriadu is in the Outer Rim."

"I am aware of that, Lord Vader." Luke raised an imperious eyebrow, the only expression he allowed on his face. He had never made his father proud, but he could always at least strive to make him satisfied with Luke's emotionless conduct. "Grand Moff Tarkin vanished off to his homeworld the moment the coronation was complete, and he was one of the most powerful officials in my father's empire." Vader tensed at that; it was expected, so Luke didn't bother to address it. He'd calculated that Tarkin was the most likely person for Vader to ally with if he wanted the throne for himself—they'd worked together often and successfully—so this... this was a test of loyalty.

Destroy his aspiring ally, and consolidate Luke's power. Obey Luke, as he'd sworn to, and give up his constant monopoly over his immediate personal space.

"Tarkin has control over a great many of my father's pet projects. I believe he will bring them to bear against my government if I ever threaten his standing in the elite, and I will not suffer such a challenge. I want you to eliminate him."

Vader was silent for a very, very long time. Luke was about to snap did you not swear to obey me? when he growled, "Project Stardust."

Luke didn't know what that was. He did know that it would be a terrible idea to admit that. "Exactly. If you truly want to serve me, Lord Vader, I need you to fulfil this task."

"I cannot leave you vulnerable, Majesty."

"I am sending a communiqué to my old nursemaid and bodyguard. Hopefully she will return to assist me with certain things." With everything, Force, he'd never needed Nova so badly.

She'd been the only one who was nice to him, she'd been his governess and raised him since his father had adopted him, she'd protected him and reassured him when he'd confided in her. She'd been his mother in all that mattered, and he loved her.

He would understand if she didn't want to come back—she'd left the palace on suspicion of treason—but he'd already had the charges dropped, and he hoped...

"Sabé," Vader rumbled.

Luke tensed. "Her name is Nova."

"Her real name was Sabé—one of your birth mother's handmaidens." Luke fought the urge to stare at that; how did Vader know, and why would he drop that knowledge so flippantly? "I recognised her the moment she applied for the job. At the time, I didn't understand why she did so. I do now."

Luke didn't have the faintest idea what that was supposed to mean.

"If Tarkin intends to bring his projects to bear against you, action needs to be taken, and taken quickly," Vader continued. Luke narrowed his eyes at him minutely. "I will of course you as you bid—but please, Majesty, allow me to stay to protect you until Sabé returns to the palace."

So he was willing to leave Luke with a bodyguard of Luke's choice—or rather, someone Luke had chosen that he knew—but not alone. At least, not alone—not with his father's old followers on the loose. Not with most of the Inquisitors missing in action.

Interesting.

"Very well, Lord Vader." Luke allowed himself a sigh, then reached for the next datapad. There were always more to take care of. "I will consider your request."

His father had taught him that: always make sure you hold the cards in your dealings with people. Never allow them to feel in control, unless you plan to take advantage of it. To dominate, make sure they know you dominate.

Luke had never been very good at domination.

"Now, I believe this military insurgency in Imperial City is under your jurisdiction to deal with..."

They'd discussed the military insurgency. They'd discussed some of the renovations to the Palace. They'd discussed nearly everything, Luke had confided in him his plans for so many projects, and... he wanted to summon Sabé?

It had enraged Vader, when he'd first recognised the young prince's nursemaid, so many years ago. He couldn't speak to her, couldn't betray who he was, but he'd hated her.

She should've been helping Padmé with her child. She'd been preparing to help Padmé with her child. And now...

With Padmé was dead, she just replaced them with the Emperor's brat?

Now Vader understood what she had been doing, far, far better. But still...

Luke didn't need her.

Sabé had fled, left her charge to Palpatine's tender mercies. Had never told Vader who, exactly, it was that she was guarding. She'd fled on suspicions of Rebel activity, and—knowing where some of Padmé's other handmaidens had ended up—had probably spent the last few years rebelling against the very Empire Luke now commanded.

Luke did not need her.

She would be a bad influence. She was unworthy of him. She couldn't protect him the way Vader could.

And it would be agony to see her face, haunting him in every corner of the Palace, every time he tried to visit her son.

But Luke would not take no for an answer.

He was going to send his father away, he was going to renounce his flesh and blood to be replaced with a woman who did not deserve it, and Vader—

And Vader was powerless to disobey, lest he ruin his relationship with his son even more.

The topic haunted him until dinner. Vader... was aware that perhaps he should afford his son some privacy while he ate, especially because it wasn't like Vader could participate in the meal anyway. But he'd been in the middle of summarising a report on those military uprisings in Imperial City he'd been sent to quash when the food had come and he'd realised that he'd interrupted the boy in his private dining room, seated in the Emperor's large, throne-like chair...

So. He was here now. He might as well stay.

Luke was shooting him odd looks but didn't dare object; just fixed his eyes on the shaak steak that the serving droid sat down in front of him, with a stiff thank you and a restraint that bordered on mechanical. Then he smiled slightly, picked up the small orange and white flower that decorated the steak to set it on the side of the plate, flexed his hand, grimacing, then picked up his knife and started cutting.

Vader had noticed that Luke liked those flowers—had noticed that Luke liked flowers in general, and colour. But this flower in particular was a favourite of the cook's to decorate the young Emperor's meals, and Luke always saved it for last, looking at it. It made him seem so young.

In fact...

Vader raised his eyes to inspect the rest of the dining room, now that Luke had refurbished it—the colourful portraits, the vases of flowers, the intricate tablecloth that spanned the long dining table—and wondered, now that he'd given the galaxy as one gift, whether a garden or a greenhouse might be an ideal gift for the boy's fifteenth birthday...

When his gaze moved up again, Luke was slumped back against the chair, eyes closed, breathing shallow.

Vader roared.

The guards standing outside rushed in immediately; of course they did, they were 501st. He ordered, "Get a medic!" then jerked into action, panic seizing his innards like a dianoga. A sweep of the Force sent Luke's dinner clattering away and he dropped to his knees beside him, reaching—

"No. Luke, Luke, stay with me!"

Luke's eyelids fluttered, still closed, but there was no other movement in the boy crumpled over the dinner table, the large throne-like chair dwarfing his already-small frame. His crown sat askew on his head, unnervingly dark gold against the pallor of his face, and when Vader glanced at his right hand, the blistered skin was tinged an unsettling dark colour he couldn't recognise through his red vision.

His knew he should stand before the medic came, should maintain the illusion of a lord only supporting the boy-emperor in the aim of making him his puppet, but—

He rested his hand on Luke's brow, for all that he couldn't feel the heat in his prosthetics; he shifted it to support his lolling head.

"Luke," he murmured, almost too quietly for the vocoder to pick up. "Stay with me."

There was a gasping noise, Luke's lips mouthing something as his eyes rolled under his lids. Vader leaned in, automatically reached out with the Force to brush Luke's mind, only for Luke to recoil violently.

"Father?" he muttered, choking. It was plaintive; it was pleading. "Father!"

Vader wanted to hold onto him tighter, but at those words he let go.

He was not the protector Luke had been raised to turn to.

Then the medics came, hesitating briefly when they found Vader like that, but helping the unconscious boy onto a stretcher and whisking him away.

Vader followed hot on their heels. No one relaxed as he hovered, a seething presence in the corner, until they'd identified the poison and found the antidote.

It was the flower.

A tiny flower, orange and white, almost identical to the usual blossom that Luke and his cook liked. But it was an entirely different species—a highly poisonous species, with barely a brush of skin contact needed to transmit that poison. Native to Felucia, but also famously relocated to...

Eriadu.

Eriadu.

Vader let his respirator breathe for him for several moments.

There was one man that he thought of when he thought of Eriadu.

And although he doubted this was Tarkin's work, doubted the man would be so unsubtle about an attempt on the Galactic Emperor's life, he had to admit...

It was a reminder of the threat the man posed. He'd known that threat conceptually, when Luke was speaking to him earlier, but...

This was real.

It was also a reminder of the threat everyone posed.

So many people wanted to kill Luke. Rebels, Imperials, power-hungry idiots. To them he was young, he was naive, and he was the perfect target.

Vader would not let that happen.

Tarkin was one threat, and a threat Vader would personally be seeing to, quickly. Whether it was him behind this or not was irrelevant; any killer smart enough to get this far would see the connection, and they would know to fear his wrath when he found them.

Because he would find them.

He would dig out every slightest threat to his son, tear the perpetrators to shreds and string them up for the galaxy to see, until everyone—Luke included—saw that when he pledged his loyalty to someone, he did not suffer threats to their wellbeing.

But he couldn't wipe out Tarkin—he couldn't wipe out anyone—as Luke had ordered without leaving Luke behind.

Unguarded. Vulnerable.

Vader made sure to always be around his son as often as possible, but Luke needed space sometimes, and he was loathe not to give him anything he asked for. Yet, if Vader had followed that, he wouldn't have been in the room when that happened.

And if he hadn't been there...

If no one had been there...

He moved, then.

The medics jerked, but didn't stop him, as he marched towards the clothes Luke had been wearing and rifled through the pockets for the comlink. If his son took offence at Vader rooting through his personal communication devices whenever he pleased, he should avoid assassination attempts so that he'd be in a state to tell him so.

Luke had contacted Sabé, Vader noted—still calling her that ridiculous alias—but her response had been calm, lacklustre, requesting time to think about it. He didn't know why; he doubted it was from lack of eagerness, if the woman he'd known as his wife's most loyal companion was anything to go by. But he did not dwell on that for long.

He just typed out his own message, curter and more demanding:

Come now, or do not come at all. If not, you will find it far too late for your lady's son.

It was not long at all before she replied.

I will come, she promised, and that was that.

Luke didn't know what had happened in the time he was unconscious, but he did not like the fact that Vader seemed to have confiscated his comlink. Did not like that at all.

Yet there was nothing he could do about it.

The medics had purged most of the toxins from his body, with only a few lingering symptoms that were apparently due to pass. And though his hand took a little longer to recover fully, it had been a simple matter to add the daily exercises he was expected to do for that onto the ones he already had to do for his back and legs. The biggest impact was in his mind.

Anything could have happened while he was unconscious. Vader could have let him die—it might've been Vader who'd poisoned him in the first place, for whatever nefarious reason—and no one would've lifted a finger. He had no allies.

At least one person out there wanted to kill him, and had the resources to do so. And he had no allies.

He needed Nova. He needed her desperately, and he needed Vader away—to eliminate Tarkin, at least, and eliminate one threat to his wellbeing.

He spent a week hoping she'd come soon, and then was surprised when she did.

By the day she came, it had become a habit of Luke's to look over his shoulder whenever Vader was around, to keep an eye on him as much as he was keeping an eye on Luke—which was always. It was awful, being dogged like that—like having his own personal grim reaper.

Like having a knife hovering above his throat.

And he was still expected to walk around like a calm, collected child emperor and keep his nose in the air, feet on the ground, head in the sky, and totally ignore the fact that death's shadow had apparently decided to become his.

Soon. Soon, he wouldn't have that problem. He just had to wait.

He glanced up from the novel he was reading—he hadn't taken a single word in, he should really focus—to eye Vader, sitting in the corner of the room, quietly working on something of his own. Tinkering, Luke was pretty sure, and he was almost tempted to go over and talk about it, to see what the master engineer that Vader was known to be could teach him, but then his father's voice hissed in his head:

Luke was a prince, now an emperor, and Vader was his enemy. It was beneath him. It was dangerous for him.

Luke picked up his novel again with trembling hands, and he wasn't even sure he could blame it on lasting symptoms of the poisoning, this time. He still felt weak, far too weak to bear such a heavy crown, but the wounds on his back were healing, even if he still bore scars. He would recover from this too, he was sure.

Vader had insisted he not return to his duties yet, that he relax for that recovery, and Luke had almost scoffed. Knowing that he was handling the running of Luke's empire for the time being made him even tenser than he was before.

Finally, Vader looked up from whatever he was doing, rose to his feet, and said, "It is time, Majesty."

Luke blinked, and frowned. "Time for what, Lord Vader?"

"Sabé has arrived; I just received a message from security informing me that her shuttle was cleared to fly to the palace."

Sabé—

"Nova?" Luke asked, scrambling to his feet too fast; the scars on his back, his neck, squealed in protest. Already? "You— she said she needed time—"

"I contacted her while you were indisposed," Vader said. "She agreed to come immediately."

"You—what did you do?"

"I contacted her," Vader repeated impassively. He gestured to the door. "Shall we go and greet her?"

"May I have my comlink back?" Luke shot back. If he could find—or find a way to reconstruct, if deleted—the exact message Vader had sent...

There was no response. Only a tilt of the helmet from Vader, then Luke groaned and continued on.

He just wanted to see Nova again.

And when he did, in the hangar, despite the hulking shadow at his back, he burst into a smile.

She smiled right back. Standing on the ramp to the nondescript shuttle thanking the pilot, she looked as elegant as ever: clad in a blue tunic and grey trousers, a midnight travelling cloak around her shoulders. Her hood was down to show off the slightly messy but elaborate crown she'd braided it into at the back of her head, and her neat black shoes clacked on the floor as she strode, almost sprinted, across the hangar towards him.

He hadn't realised he'd moved to meet her too until she'd wrapped her arms around him and suddenly they were in the middle of the hangar, and he was engulfed by her cape.

Up close, it had subtle coloured threads woven throughout it: clouds of pink and gold against the dark blue, silver dots picked out against it all. Like her name, he supposed.

She tried to lift him up, but gave up with an oomph. "Guess you're a bit too big for that, now, little prince," she joked, ruffling his hair. His crown sat askew on his head; she delicately moved it back into position, and dusted his curls so they fell about in a more regal manner. "Or is it little emperor now?"

"How can I still be little if I'm too big to pick up?"

Nova raised one perfect eyebrow and straightened up. Sure enough, she was still ever-so-slightly taller than him. "That's how."

Luke giggled.

He thought he sensed a stab of something from Vader—something dark, lustful—but it was too fleeting to pin down, and Luke ignored it when Nova's hand moved from his hair to his face, brushing his cheek then moving his head left and right, inspecting him.

"You've grown up so much," she murmured.

"It's only been three years."

"Three long ones!" She smiled again, a little sadly, and squeezed his hand. "I never got to say goodbye to you when I was sent away, I wanted to apologise. I—"

"No, Nova, it's fine."

"It's not fine. I left you with him—"

Luke found himself tensing at the casual slander of his father—sure, he hadn't been his biggest fan in the past few years, and mainly because he had sent Nova away, but...

He didn't want to hear that.

"It's fine," Luke insisted. "You're here now. And I need you, now."

"I heard." She swiped a thumb over each of his cheekbones, tracing the dark blue around his eyes. "How are you feeling? I heard about the Rebel attack, and— I thought—"

"I survived," he said softly. He unclasped his hands from her cloak, let the fabric run between his fingers, and clasped her hands instead. "I'm alright. The attack came, and went; the poisoning came, and went—"

"Poisoning?"

Luke frowned. "Did you not know? Vader"—he shot a glare over his shoulder, to find the man with his gaze still riveted on him—"said he'd told you."

"He sent a very cryptic, very threatening message that scared the life out of me," Nova informed him. "So I came as fast as I could; I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner." She lowered her voice. "How are things with Vader? I know..."

"I know." Luke swallowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

He worked his jaw for a moment, then tried again.

"When I first woke up from the surgery, the last thing I remembered was the attack," he whispered. "And then there was Vader, telling me my father was dead, and... he swore his loyalty to me as the new emperor, but I don't trust it, I don't trust him. But he's always around, he never gives me any peace; he swore to obey me, but when I ordered him to go and eliminate Tarkin he refused to leave until you got here, even before the poisoning. He's replaced all my father's red guards with the members of the Five-Oh-First, Amedda and other senior politicians were executed for murdering my father, and I—" He choked; he hadn't realised how much he was keeping bottled up until it all came spilling out. "I just feel so alone."

Nova looked dismayed: there was a pinch in her brow and her lips. But when she spoke, her tone was still light.

"You're not alone anymore," she assured him. "I'm here. I'll help." She lowered her voice a little further. "And I bet I can give Vader a run for his credits."

Luke's choking turned to laughter.

"Come on." She turned Luke around, sweeping an arm, and a good section of her cloak, around his shoulders. "Let's head upstairs, and we can talk in more detail. If you'll have my things brought up to my quarters...?"

"Of course," Luke said, and nodded to the servants standing by. "Take Lady Nova's things up to the rooms prepared adjacent to mine."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"'Your Majesty'," Nova murmured. "It suits you. But I'm no lady."

Luke smiled. "You are to me."

She squeezed his shoulder. "Well, you're just as sweet as I remember. You'll be doomed at court." It was said in jest, but the words hit a little close to home. She must've noticed his flinch. "Let's get started on preparing you for it, then."

They were passing Vader now, and Luke found himself involuntarily tensing up as he looked into that death mask. He opened his mouth, but again, nothing came out—

"Thank you for protecting my emperor, Lord Vader," Nova said, clearly and confidently as ever. "I can take it from here, though; we won't be needing your services again today. You have a chance to rest."

There was a smile on her face and in her voice, but Vader still took it as the vaguely insulting dismissal it was meant to be. He stiffened, then turned towards Luke, who did his best to stand up straight and look... well, like an emperor.

"As Lady Nova said," he ordered Vader, watching Vader stiffen in response, sensing... disappointment? Sensing something. "I will see you tomorrow, Lord Vader."

Vader hesitated a moment then, very reluctantly, bowed his head.

"As you wish," he said, and Nova marched Luke onwards, until that cold, burning gaze was no longer fixed on his back.

Chapter Text

"Will you tell me what happened?" Nova asked gently. Luke swallowed a sob that blocked his throat.

"It... it all got worse after you left."

Nova gave the faintest frown of concern, hand still hovering on his knee, but she didn't pressure him as he took a moment of silence to gather his thoughts. He stared around the office they were sitting in—the office he'd shown her to, adjacent to her quarters, for her personal use—and shifted on the armchair he'd picked out for her, with the fleur de lis pattern she'd always loved. She said it reminded her of Naboo.

"I..." he began, then shut his mouth again. "Father was... angry that you'd left"—escaped, more like, but Luke didn't want to think in too much detail about the stressful night in which the only person who loved him had been accused of being a Rebel spy—"and he... he thought I'd helped."

Nova sucked in a breath.

"He didn't hurt me," Luke rushed to assure her. His voice trembled with the half-lie: his father hadn't, not physically, but Vader had. And the agony of having his mind ripped apart until his father had been satisfied that he hadn't helped her escape was an entirely different sort of pain. "But... after that, things were a lot more intense. More lessons, more guards, and a lot more training."

Nova stiffened. "What training?" she asked slowly. "The... dark side?"

He shook his head. He didn't know where she'd heard that phrase, but Nova was smart, well-connected, and she'd raised a Force-sensitive child for eleven years, so he figured she'd done her research. "No. He said I wasn't worth that much training. Just the basics: how to sort of shield my mind"—just enough that no one but Vader or his father could breach it, and it was excruciating when they did—"how to levitate objects"—from hours and hours in a room with Vader or an Inquisitor sending furniture and knives and sometimes active thermal detonators flying at him that he had to stop, or pay the price in scars—"and lightsaber skills."

And that had been the worst of it. Seeing Vader come at him with a lit saber while he trembled like a leaf...

He swallowed a sob. "It got worse," he summarised. "Eventually, when I turned fourteen, I was allowed to leave the Palace, go travelling on a Star Destroyer and learn military tactics from Tarkin or Tagge or Thrawn, but even then he sent red guards with me everywhere, to keep up my training."

Nova was quiet for a moment, then asked, "And that was where you were during the attack?"

"Yes." Luke lowered his head. "O— over Sullust, when Tagge's ship was attacked and nearly everyone was killed. I barely survived, and then when I woke up..."

"Vader's in charge," she said softly, "and you're trapped in the Palace again."

He nodded.

When Nova wrapped her arms around him tightly, he flinched for a moment, then melted into her embrace. She pulled his head down to bury it in her shoulder; tears dampened her tunic.

"I'm sorry I left," she whispered. Luke made a crying, keening sound, low in his throat, and was mortified when he heard it with his own ears. She just held him more tightly. "I'm so, so sorry I left—I should've stayed, no matter what, but I had things I needed to do. And I'm here now." She stroked Luke's hair back from his face. "I won't ever let anyone hurt you again. You're the Emperor, Luke. I can teach you what that means, since your father never did."

Luke pulled back, feeling compelled to defend, "My father—"

"Was a kriffing terrible man and father, and you know it, Luke," Nova said sternly. He actively flinched, but she cupped his cheek in her hand. "You are nothing like him, and I know you feel like a disappointment for that, but it means that you are worth so much more than he ever was."

Luke grimaced.

"Do you..." Nova hesitated, then, gaze flickering to the doorway, before she asked, "Do you know how he died?"

Luke shook his head. "Vader said it was an illness, heart failure, something," he said hoarsely.

Nova snorted.

Luke smiled a little through his tears. "I know."

"Suspicious, to say the least," she commented. She squeezed his hand. "I'll see what I can dig up about it—whoever did it..."

The implication was clear.

Palpatine's murderer would not suffer his son to live, after all.

"They won't want the second coming of my father," he muttered.

Nova's gaze steeled. "As I just said, you are not your father." She knocked the back of his head lightly to get her point across; he didn't know whether to laugh, or cry, or curl up into a ball and hibernate until all this madness had passed. "You will not be an emperor like he was."

"I—"

"And you shouldn't be an emperor like he was," she continued sternly. "Yes, I will continue to disrespect the dead, and good riddance to him: he deserved all he got. He was a terrible man, a terrible ruler—you know it as well as I do—"

"I know," Luke cried. He ripped his hands out of her grip and paced the study, bashing his hip against the corner of the desk. The pain reverberated throughout his entire body, aggravating his old wounds. He went down, hard, but someone caught him before he hit the floor.

Nova gently guided him back into the seat, and knelt in front of him.

"You need to be more careful, little emperor," she murmured.

He held her gaze. "He was my father."

She pursed her lips. "No," she said shortly, "he wasn't. He was a power hungry emperor who wanted a powerful child to mould into his successor, to adore him and continue his legacy of terror even long after he was gone. He wanted someone to act the sweet little prince the galaxy could latch onto while he pursued his wicked acts, and he cast you aside when you fulfilled that desire too well. He was not your father. Not by blood, and not in heart."

She sounded... defensive.

She did.

And suddenly, Luke remembered that Vader had said Nova knew his birth mother.

Had, perhaps, known both his birth parents.

"Nova?" he asked suddenly. "Can I ask you something?"

Nova hesitated at that, frowned, but nodded.

"Before you knew me," Luke asked Nova, "what was your job?"

She smiled.

Let out a breath.

"I've had a lot of jobs," she admitted. "I was a fighter pilot at one point, a spy at another... but I think the one you're asking about is the time when I was working for your mother."

He nodded, eyes wide. The pain in his side was all but forgotten.

She smiled at his eagerness. "What do you want to know about her?"

Luke paused. Gathered his thoughts.

Then let them tumble out.

"Who was she? How did you meet her? What was she like? Who was my father? Did you know him too?"

Then, the slower, more hesitant ones, tagged on the end: "Did— did they want me? Did they love each other? Are— are they dead?"

She smiled wider, than got to her feet, smoothing the creases of her dress in a far more regal manner than Luke could ever hope to achieve, and seating herself back on the armchair. Luke sat back himself, anticipating a long story.

She began.

"Your mother was my dearest friend, and probably one of the most influential people in my life," she told him. "She was kind, and steadfast, and brave, and believed fiercely in helping other people." She ruffled her hair, her smile nostalgic. "I see a lot of her in you."

Luke ducked his head and flushed red. "I— I doubt—"

"Really?" Her lips twisted suddenly, violently—her anger wasn't directed at him, he could sense, but he couldn't sense who it was directed at before it cleared like summer rain. "I see it. She was Padmé Amidala of Naboo. She was queen of an entire planet when she was fourteen—not quite an Empire, but she was as brave and just as you are now. As I'm sure you'll show everyone that you are, once we've dealt with Vader."

Luke shivered. She said it with such certainty, such conviction, but doubt still chilled him.

"I— I remember you talking about Queen Amidala, in history lessons," he offered. "And Senator Amidala."

Her smile returned. "One and the same, little emperor. I was her handmaiden when she was queen—we were both thirteen or fourteen when we met—and served her for the duration of her term. She was an extremely beloved queen, enough that the people of Naboo tried to amend the constitution so that she could serve for longer, but she believed in term limits. She'd no sooner stepped down than the new queen asked her to serve as senator, and she did, until the day she died."

Luke nodded, leaning forwards with his chin on his hands. Nova—Sabé? He knew handmaidens had always changed their names to reflect their monarch's, as a badge of pride and prestige—was sitting very still, staring at Naboo's white dot on the star charts on the wall of the office, lost in memory. In her dark blue and grey ensemble, her intricate hairstyle and the neat fold of her hands on her tunic, she looked like a living oil painting of a famous, ancient stateswoman.

"She was just as much of a force in the Senate," she said wistfully, "though by that point I was serving her less directly—I teamed up with Captain Tonra to help on a mission near and dear to her heart, but we failed, and then I was carrying out other tasks I could for her across the galaxy..."

She shook herself. "But she still trusted me, and I trusted her, so I knew about her marriage to the Jedi Knight who'd been tasked with her defence when someone started trying to kill her. And... they definitely loved each other." She bowed her head a little to hide her smirk. "They were not subtle, either—all the handmaidens knew, I'm sure of that."

But Luke had gone cold.

"My father," he said, "was a Jedi?"

"No, Luke! That is— yes." She huffed out a breath, snapped back to reality. "He was a Jedi, and he was a great man. The Jedi were bastions of peace and justice in the Republic, no matter how your fat— how Palpatine— agh." She laughed; shook her head. "No matter how Palpatine, your false father, may have slandered them, they were good."

Her lip curled. "He just needed to justify setting Vader on them like an attack dog, to secure his reign, so he framed them with treason and made sure no one was strong enough to challenge him. Your mother's death was pinned on them—supposedly she was killed by a Jedi, but I know Palpatine was lying."

Luke tensed up a little.

Nova had never sounded so... critical.

Well, she'd always sounded critical. In an intellectual way, trying to think of all sides, evaluate whether decisions made were the best possible ones or not, to teach him leadership skills even if he had a father who despised his heir. But not...

"Nova," Luke said, and fought to keep the tremor out of his voice. He failed. "You sound like a Rebel."

She deflated at the fear in his eyes.

"Maybe I do," she conceded, brushing hair out of his face. "I'm sorry—and I recognise that my personal politics, as the most devoted supporter of a senator who never stopped fighting for democracy, will differ from what you've been taught. I am a Rebel, in that sense. I wasn't here for love of the Empire; I was only ever here for you.

"And I will stay for you," she promised. "I'm not going to stop believing in democracy, but I won't hurt you, or put you at risk to further that. I will not harm one part of my lady's legacy in a desperate attempt to save the other. You're new to the world of politics, Luke. Think over what you believe in, not what I believe in, or what Palpatine believed in. I trust that you will make a better choice than any of us."

Luke relaxed again.

Nova always knew what to say.

He wondered what would happen when Vader found a way to take her away, too.

"I..." He swallowed, and bit his lip. "Vader called you by— by another name."

"Sabé," she finished.

"Yes."

She shrugged. "What do you want me to say? It's my name—one of them, at least. I was born Tsabin, took on the name Sabé when I served your mother, and took on the name Nova to hide my identity so I could serve you." Her smile fell a little. "I didn't think Palpatine would want any of your parents' acquaintances anywhere near you."

Luke nodded. That made sense. "What do you want me to call you?"

"Nova," she said simply. "Or Sabé. Tsabin is an old, archaic name to me now, though you can use it if you want, little emperor. But Nova was the nickname my family gave me, and still call me, from something I did when I was too young to remember it. And you're a firm part of my family, too." She ruffled his hair. "I'd be honoured if you kept using it."

"Your name is Sabé," he said slowly, "but your nickname is Nova?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll call you Nova." He beamed as he said it, and something seemed to fit into place in his chest.

His father was dead. His tormentor essentially held him prisoner. He had no power, he had no hope, he had no allies.

Except one.

He had his Nova.

And she was going to support him no matter what.

That positivity did not last for very long.

The physical therapy exercises he needed to do were embarrassing, showing a vulnerability he couldn't afford to advertise, and he did not want Vader here to witness them.

But Sabé was on the other side of the Palace, vetting potential successors to Amedda's role as babysitter of the Senate, and with her was all of Luke's courage. Vader had strolled in moments after Luke's personal medic had—at least, his new personal medic, transferred directly from the 501st, since the man Luke had known and trusted had mysteriously turned up dead with a broken neck—and Luke was already being guided through some of the more straining of the exercises, causing sweat to dampen his back and a half-groan, half-scream to tear through his teeth.

Vader stiffened at the sound, jerking forwards, but the medic held up a trembling hand and he deigned to step back again.

"Please," Luke said through gritted teeth, just as he had when Vader had first entered, "go away."

Vader didn't move an inch.

It was too hot in here, despite Vader's chilling presence; Luke shrugged off the thin top he'd changed into for this so he was just in his vest underneath. When the medic bade him to bend over, it rode up his back slightly and Luke was hyperaware that Vader's gaze was drawn to the jagged red scar that jolted up his back, like a bolt of lightning, or a poisoned tree. It was even leafed with the smaller, white scars left from years and years of training; Luke supposed he was lucky that he couldn't see it beyond agonising glimpses in the mirror, or lucky that emperors wore such heavy, ornate clothing.

At least, Luke did. His father had had presence, hadn't needed costumes to show off his position, but Luke needed it desperately.

"Lord Vader, you swore to obey me," Luke reminded him coldly, though he doubted the way his breath hitched in pain while he did helped the image. "Obey me now, and leave. Make yourself actually useful to me."

Vader finally spoke then, hooking his thumbs into his belt. "I am sworn to protect you, Your Majesty. So long as Lady Sabé is not in the immediate vicinity to do so, I must pick up the mantle."

"Do you not trust your own men to defend me?" Luke bit out, lifting his arms above his head. He winced despite the medic's gentle hands as he guided his arms into the right position, and it stretched uncomfortably.

Vader said nothing.

Which... was odd. Usually he did.

The 501st were Vader's Fist, his soldiers handpicked from the Clone Wars, from the ranks from all over the Empire, totally loyal to him. Extremely competent as well; if an assassin did manage to make it this far into the Palace, they'd react perfectly.

So why...?

Luke half-turned towards Vader, that very question in his eyes. To his surprise, Vader inclined his head and a murmur ran through his mind: Can you not sense it?

Luke flinched, violently, at that presence.

"Your Majesty?" the medic asked, concerned. He ran his hands over the spot they'd been when Luke had reacted. "Did that—"

"No," Luke said, breathless. "It wasn't that." But he was shaking, trembling all over, and his sweat had turned cold.

And he could sense what Vader had been talking about now: a steady, building screech of danger from the Force, far more distant than it had ever been before his father's death, running shivers up and down his ruined spine. Or perhaps this was his own paranoia, his own weakness—

His legs could barely hold him up, they were shaking so badly. Ignoring the medic's query of "Your Majesty?" he stumbled across to the nearest chair, a simple stool in the dull, white medbay, and collapsed into it—

It was then that the shot rang out.

The medic had been reaching for Luke; now he stopped, looking down as his own chest in shock as the bolt went wide and punched him through the heart. Luke reared back in shock.

His gaze was dragged up, up to the vent in the ceiling, where he could just make out the flash of a sniper rifle pointed at him—

Then he was knocked back by something massive, pain flaring all over his body as he fell to the floor with an unnerving crunch, and darkness swamped his vision.

All he could think was: Of all the ways I expected Vader to kill me, crushing me to death was not one of them.

Luke blinked, and crawled out from under Vader's bulk after a moment, head pounding. He scrambled back to his feet, staggered a little, the stared at the corpse on the floor, unable to drag his eyes away. Vader's breathing was loud in the room, the smell of burned flesh nauseating.

Luke puffed out his own breath, heart hammering, and asked, "Why? Why did you do that?"

Everything hurt, but he forced his gaze away from the medic long enough to sit up—only to stare again as Vader, ignoring his question, closed one metal, unyielding hand and there was a scrabbling noise in the air vents. A person of a vaguely humanoid species, with green skin and blueish scales up much of their back and arms, came flying out, sniper clattering out of their hand as they clutched for their throat.

Vader did not hold onto them for long enough for them to die there. He threw them into the members of the 501st who unleashed a barrage of stun shots into them, until Luke thought they might die anyway.

"Take the assassin down to interrogation," Vader ordered. "Find out who she was, and how she got in, and also increase security on all wings of the Palace. Launch an investigation into how they could come so close to killing the Emperor."

Killing the Emperor.

Luke, staring at the floor in a mute state of shock, heard the words as if from a great distance. He could've died...

He'd come so close to dying...

"Get up."

He snapped his gaze up in instinctive terror at that harsh voice, then cried out when the motion aggravated his lingering injuries. Everything still hurt, and tears filled his eyes when it increased.

He cringed away from that dark shadow standing over him, but then the terrible voice from the vocoder sounded horribly soft. "Your Majesty, we need to get you to your quarters, so we can take care of the security matters." He held out one black-gloved hand—the same hand that had dragged the assassin from the vents, screaming for mercy.

Luke said nothing. But when his gaze caught on the blood seeping from Vader's shoulder, from the chink in his armour, he repeated his question: "Why did you do that?"

He'd thrown himself on top of Luke to stop the bolt from hitting him. And he'd been shot.

Vader had taken a shot for him—

"I swore to protect you," he said. The vocoder did not betray any emotion in his voice, but Luke thought he sensed... something. "If it becomes necessary to lay down my life to accomplish this, I will gladly do it."

What—

What the kriff?

Luke was Vader's puppet emperor, surely? Luke had thought about it in detail. He was meant to be the kind face of the regime while Vader held the power, ordered him around, until he grew too old to be used in such a way and was conveniently disposed of, and the panic around the assassination of the young emperor allowed him to justify even harsher methods of ruling with his durasteel fist.

None of that could happen if Vader died for him.

So Luke stared at him, his shock evident, and Vader gestured gently. "Your Majesty, we must get you to safety."

Still, Luke stared.

"Why didn't you just deflect the bolt with your lightsaber?" he asked, seemingly fascinated by the tang of the blood, the dark, wet colour that was spreading across his sleeve, blackening the black. It was evidence, he supposed, that Vader was, actually, human.

Vader huffed a breath. "It is clear to me that using my lightsaber causes you discomfort, Your Majesty. I did not think it wise to exacerbate the situation more than necessary."

Luke stared some more. He—

He what—

Vader hated him. Most of the scars on Luke's back were from him. Luke— Luke suspected he'd known in advance about the Rebel attack over Sullust and done nothing in the hopes that the heir would die, and leave the throne empty.

So why—

Why did he care?

Inexplicably, tears filled Luke's eyes again; his vision swam.

Why didn't anything make sense?

"Majesty," Vader said, and this time he was begging. The Force shifted around Luke, but it was just Vader, casting his senses out to test for any other threats that could threaten him—that could threaten his emperor. "Please. Let me keep you safe."

Luke did not relax.

He didn't relax in the slightest. He was still as taut as a bowstring, breath held tightly, not daring to waver his gaze from Vader.

But he accepted the man's hand and, when he shouted in pain and nearly collapsed, he accepted the other arm that clutched his elbow, supporting him.

"I will send for a medic once you are safe," Vader promised.

And Luke would never admit it, but he leaned against Vader a tiny bit as they walked, too tired and upset to walk for himself, and his childhood tormentor kept him steady the whole way there.

Chapter Text

It was the next morning that Vader walked into his quarters uninvited, trailed by two strange aliens and announced: "These will be your new bodyguards, Majesty."

Luke stared. He had never seen that species before.

As if picking up on his thoughts, Vader added, "They are from the planet Honoghr—the species Noghri."

He shifted on the futon as he watched them, the light streaming through the window of his receiving chamber to warm his back and illuminate the ridges on their grey skulls. They stood even shorter than Luke, with snouts brimming with teeth and muscles bulging everywhere the eye could see. When they'd entered it had been unnervingly fast: Vader just waved a hand and barked an order and the door to Luke's private chambers had slid open to admit them for only moments before they entered with a grace that Luke had to admire, even as he felt all his muscles lock up with fear.

There were two. The first one who'd entered—who stood ever so slightly taller than the other, and seemed older somehow, even if Luke had no idea what aging looked like in their species—stood slightly forwards and bowed to him, the second following suit.

Luke swallowed. "Two new bodyguards?"

They bowed their heads to Luke.

"Eight," Vader corrected, "but the other six are currently scouting out the Palace and familiarising themselves with the terrain, especially the air vents. And only two will ever be guarding you directly, Majesty, for the sake of your privacy."

Privacy. Like Vader knew what that word even meant. The other six were probably going through his rooms even now, making sure there were no hidden weapons—for an enemy or for him to use.

"And what is wrong with your own troopers?" Luke asked Vader pointedly. He watched the two carefully: the younger one's nostrils flared, gaze fixed on Luke, then realisation flared in his eyes and he leaned in to whisper something to his elder, who nodded grimly. "You are the one who assigned them to me with such high praises, but now a man is dead because they failed to stop a sniper infiltrating the Palace."

Vader took a moment to respond to that. Luke wondered if he remembered his lost medic at all.

"The Noghri are far more skilled than any human trooper, Majesty," he informed him. "They will keep you safe."

Safe?

The same question from yesterday boiled at the back of his mind: Why did Vader care so much?

Why did he want him safe?

But Vader did not volunteer an answer, and Luke wasn't comfortable with demanding one in front of witnesses. So he just asked, "What are your names?"

"Abrak'haim and Khamalorkh, Mal'ary'ush," the elder reported, tilting his head and snout again in what Luke thought might be their version of a bow, and gesturing to his companion when he said the second name. Luke nodded, and slid his gazes between them; when they moved, the sickles at their waists flashed in the light of his receiving chamber.

Luke did not miss the way Vader tensed when he spoke that title.

"Then I greet you, Abrak'haim, and you, Khamalorkh," he said. "Why do you call me Mal'ary'ush?"

Vader tensed further.

"It is our title for you in our language," Khamalorkh said succinctly. From the way Vader relaxed at that, Luke was pretty sure there was more to it than that, but he decided not to push it.

For now.

It wasn't until later that evening that they ran into a problem—well, a problem other than the fact that Luke didn't want any bodyguards of Vader's near him—and it arose once Luke tried to go to bed.

"You are not standing right there while I sleep," Luke ordered, glaring at the Noghri who'd positioned themselves just inside the door to his bedroom, right in full view of the bed. It was a large bedroom—an emperor's bedroom, rather than the prince's one he'd had before—but it was not large enough for Luke to feel comfortable with them standing on the other side of it, staring at him as he slept.

It didn't help that they faded into the shadows, as well, and he could barely see them in return.

Abrak'haim was one of the two guards, and said in his scratchy accent, "Mal'ary'ush, we are to protect—"

"You can protect me from outside the door," Luke snapped back. He already felt... on edge; it was obvious that the Noghri had indeed been through his rooms already, even if they'd left no trace, and it made him feel so, so exposed.

And his— and his toy was gone.

That was a trace. His bantha toy was gone. He always hid it under the bed painstakingly, lest his father find out about this one too and punish him for it, and it was gone.

He didn't want to think about where it was.

Abrak'haim and his colleague exchanged a look.

"Vader ordered you to obey me," he reiterated. "Obey me now, and leave me in peace."

"Ary'ush ordered us to protect you," the second Noghri said, and something in Luke's brain noted the similarities between Ary'ush and Mal'ary'ush but he hadn't had any languages or linguistics lessons since before his father had died and he couldn't say what that might mean.

Luke felt tears start to prick his eyes as he stared at them, the shadowy figures on the opposite side of the room. "Leave," he said, and it wasn't an order; it was more like he was begging, and if they didn't leave they were going to be treated to hours of him crying himself to sleep, he was sure of it—

They exchanged another look. Muttered to each other in their own language, pointing at their eyes, and Luke wondered if a Noghri's sense of smell was acute enough to pick up on the tang of tears, if they could hear the hitch in his breathing.

Finally, they left.

Luke lay down and buried his face in the pillow. He— he hated this—

He wanted to breathe.

Force, he just needed to breathe.

Luke was not a stranger to crying himself to sleep. He'd spent years in his father's tender care, and getting to sleep when your torso was a patchwork of burns and bruises from training was not a painless experience. But Nova had given him two fluffy toys, when he was young—a shaak and a bantha—and he'd clung to them even for years after she was gone, and it had helped. It had helped, somewhat.

But his father had taken the shaak when he'd found it, and... informed Luke of how inappropriate it was, for the prince to be hanging onto scraps of fabric and stuffing. And now the Noghri had taken the bantha.

He did not get to sleep for a long time.

It was early the next morning that he woke to the hiss of a respirator right above his head and he jerked into consciousness like a terrified mouse, scrambling to put as much distance between himself and that noise as possible.

Fortunately, it was a very big bed, but that was the only thing that stopped Luke from toppling out of it. He froze, staring up at Vader wide-eyed, heart racing.

He yelled.

"Peace, Majesty," Vader tried.

"Get out!"

"Luke—"

Luke flung a pillow at him. Vader was so surprised at the sheer audacity that he didn't even use the Force to block it. It just smacked him clean in the mask, then thumped back to the floor.

"Out!"

Another pillow. Vader did deflect that one, this time.

"Majesty," he tried again. "I just came to return this."

And then he held out his hand.

Luke, with another pillow primed and ready to fly, froze. His bantha was in Vader's hand.

He stared at it for a moment. "You—"

"I assumed you would want it back, Majesty."

"I do!" Luke spat, but couldn't quite make himself reach out to touch it, to take it from Vader's hand.

Vader huffed a quiet sigh and tossed it instead.

It bounced on the bed. Luke scrabbled to pick it up, clutch it to his chest. It smelt like flowers.

"Why did you—"

"The Noghri reported they had found an extremely dirty cuddly toy under your bed, Majesty, and I felt that it probably needed a wash for hygiene reasons," Vader drawled. He... hesitated, then sat down on the side of the bed. Luke stared at him, but didn't move away. "I apologise for upsetting you."

"I'm not upset," Luke said, and blinked tears out of his eyes.

Vader's voice softened. "I am not going to take it from you, l— Luke," he said. "I am not Palpatine, and I will not begrudge you your comforts. Your childhood did not have an abundance of them."

Luke stared and muttered, "I wonder why."

There didn't seem to be anything Vader had to say to that. Luke just buried his face in the soft fur of his bantha—softer than ever, now.

Vader stood again, and made to leave. But then he paused. "May I ask where you first got that, Majesty?"

Luke didn't answer.

"Was it Sabé?"

Luke paused... then nodded slowly.

"Then I shall thank her," Vader said, and made to leave before Luke could even begin to figure out what that meant.

"Call them off," Luke said suddenly.

Vader paused. "Majesty?"

"Call them off," Luke repeated. "Let them guard the rest of my quarters. But they are not allowed in my bedroom, and neither is anyone else except for Nova, and except for in emergencies. This is my space. I'm sick of being constantly watched. I can't sleep."

He lifted his head, eyes bright with anger and tears. "Are we clear, Lord Vader?"

Vader said, slowly, "As you wish, Your Majesty."

"A person becomes naive if they're too kind. Careless if they're too bold. And no matter how hard you try to protect others, there's no gratitude. Those who can't comprehend such things aren't fit to be leaders."

Nova ran her fingers over the years-old notebook—an actual notebook, with actual paper, the sort she'd got for Luke to draw on and he'd used for writing things he wanted to be able to burn before his father found them. And then she let out a tiny huff of laughter. "You wrote that down?"

"I wrote everything down," Luke said lightly. He uncurled his legs from their position tucked into the cushions and leaned forwards to pluck the notebook from her fingers. She leaned against her arm of the futon, amused, as he flicked to the next page, cleared his throat, and read out:

"Luke, put your pencil down and actually listen to what I'm telling you."

She snorted at that. "Very funny. I know full well that page is from the lesson I gave you about the strategic and economic strengths of Bromlarch, I caught sight of it before you interrupted."

Luke pouted. "You're no fun."

"I'm not here to have fun," she snatched the notebook back and smacked him lightly on the head with it; he laughed, and grabbed at it again but failed to catch it, "I'm here to make you a political powerhouse the likes of which the galaxy has never seen."

He sank back again at that, leaning his head back as far as the pillows would let it go to hide his scowl. "I'm never going to be my father."

"I don't want you to be your father. I patently hated your father." She tapped him on the knee with the book. "I want you to be the best you that you can possibly be."

"I'm never going to be my mother, either."

Nova sighed, and laid her hand on his hand, much softer and more gentle than the book had been. "I know you're not," she quipped. "Padmé was a lot moodier at fourteen. At least I don't have to worry about you panicking about the fact that a single person got a grazed knee while you were in office, or just feeling responsible for every ill that every occurred in the galaxy."

"Am I personally responsible?" Luke said suddenly. He'd never thought about that before, and it scared him. "I'm the Emperor; all the wars that my father started and I'm allowing to continue..."

"Oh, for the love of—" Nova sighed. "No. You are not. But, if you want to exert the sort of influence you could, and start shaping the Empire in your vision instead of in the visions of warmongers like Palpatine, Vader and Tarkin—"

"Vader's due to go after Tarkin any day now, now that you're here."

"—you need to focus." She opened the notebook and flicked to the next clean page—the first page after the last lesson she'd given him, years ago, before she'd been chased from the Palace in the dead of night. "So. What allies do you already have?"

Luke thought about it for approximately half a second. "You."

"Anyone else?"

Luke shook his head meekly.

"That's alright," she said encouragingly, pulling out a wickedly sharp pencil and beginning to jot something down. "You're fourteen: most people never expected your father to die this... young," Luke snorted, "so they didn't think of you as an immediate heir anytime soon, so they didn't bother to suck up to the future emperor at risk of alienating the current one. It didn't help that you were so sheltered—"

"Sheltered?"

"I know." Her forced, friendly façade dropped a little as she winced. "But you weren't exposed to the public, for your own safety, and when was the last time you left the Palace?"

Luke didn't answer.

"So you're essentially a non-entity right now. You were the cute face who always turned up, charming, in court, but no one ever talked to you, just over you. They don't know anything about you, so they'd rather bet on a candidate they do know than one they don't. We just need you to make some friends—be visible in politics, with visible opinions."

"Vader keeps me under lock and key," Luke said bitterly.

"Vader cannot keep you locked up forever. If he intends to use you as a puppet emperor, which I suspect he does"—Luke had to say that he was... still confused about that—"then he needs his puppet to dance on its strings. He does need you to put on a show."

She leaned in. The emerald satin of her dress rippled with the motion. "I'll arrange for him to have to let you into the Senate tomorrow. I have friends there—if you decide you like the people I introduce you to, and want to ally with them, like-minded people will flock to support you."

Luke still stared at her.

She smiled encouragingly. "Just try it out. If you don't feel comfortable allying with them, we'll find someone else. You have agency here, Luke. Your father's not here to control every aspect of your life anymore."

"Vader took my bantha without even needing to ask," Luke said. "He has guards in my apartments at all times—watching us right now," he gestured to the Noghri in the corner, who looked like he both wanted to say something and would rather be anywhere else, "and he has command of the entire military. Even if I choose to hand it to someone else, I doubt he will concede. I—" He choked up. "I couldn't even stop him from taking my comlink."

With a sudden ferocity, he ripped the thin gold circlet off his head and lunged forwards. Nova jerked back, surprised, and it fell wonky. But it still looked like a halo when it landed on her, glowing against her dark hair, and her instinctually perfect posture gave her an air of regality Luke could never hope to achieve.

"You should be Empress," he said bitterly. "You know what you're doing, you're— you're not a child, you have experience. And the crown actually fits you." Vader had had it made specifically for Luke, but he'd wanted it to also look decent when Luke was older and bigger, so it just looked comically large on him.

Nova lifted her chin. The sunlight from outside caught on her black dress, her shoulders and cape, the circlet, twinkling. She did look like an Empress, crooked crown or not.

Then she gently lifted it from her head.

"I was never born to wear a crown," she said, cradling it in her hands. "I've known that since I was younger than you are now."

Of course, it was then that Vader stormed in. The Noghri didn't even flinch.

Luke did, though. He started so badly that his legs, twisted underneath him on the futon, cramped.

But Vader's gaze wasn't fixated on him, for once. It was on the crown in Nova's hands.

Nova raised a belligerent eyebrow at him, and lifted it back to Luke's head. The moment that weight settled above his ears, he felt like he'd had binder re-shackled around his wrists.

"Yes, Lord Vader?" he managed to say, voice tremulous.

Vader said, "I came to report that the interrogation of the assassin who made an attempt on your life has yielded few results, Majesty. We know nothing of their intentions or connections, or how they got so far." His frustration was audible.

Luke nodded, trying not to shake at the mere memory of... that. "Very well," he said. "Thank you."

"Lord Vader?" Nova asked.

Luke froze.

So did Vader.

Nova rose. "While you're here, there's one matter I'd like to discuss with you in my office, if it pleases you." It was phrased like a question, but delivered as an order. "Now."

Vader hesitated. But after a moment, he said, "As you wish," and stepped aside to allow her to go first.

Luke gave her a panicked look. "Nova—"

"I'll just be a second," she promised, and squeezed his shoulder before she left the room, Vader casting Luke one more glance, then following. The Noghri returned to their positions by the door the moment it shut behind them.

Luke sank back against the pillows, picking up the notebook Nova had left behind and hugging it to his chest, wondering why he suddenly felt so cold.

The moment Vader followed her into her office, Sabé whirled on him.

"Stay away from him," she hissed with enough ferocity that he took a step back. "I don't know what kind of show you intend to put up here, but I still remember very well how you used to treat Luke. I'm here to protect him from anyone meaning him harm and that includes you."

She stabbed her finger right at him. "And you will give Luke his comlink back!"

Vader recovered for a moment, then drawled, "Have you any other requests, my lady?"

Sabé always looked remarkably like Padmé, but especially when she was furious; something twisted in his chest at the storm of anger, dislike, dismay that seized her expressions, rearranging them almost faster than the eye could pick up on. Her shields were tight in the Force—she had not had those when he'd seen her in another life, though he'd taught her the basics; he wondered who, exactly, this democracy-loving political force had been spending time with in this Imperial era. He couldn't sense anything from her.

She circled her desk and sat down, a cold, cutting tilt of her head indicating that he should sit opposite her. He did not follow her request; he preferred to stand.

She refused to let it faze her. "Those are all my requests for the moment, yes," she said, her heated demand giving way to a cool, regal snap. "I want you to leave, Lord Vader. I do not trust you around Luke, and I feel I have highly understandable grounds for that stance."

Yes, Vader thought, ripe with self-loathing, you do.

"If you are as intent on serving him as you claim, then I am sure you understand that your proximity is doing him more harm than good, and I would have you serve him from afar, not close enough to do any more damage than you already have."

Her dark eyes assessed him coolly. "Preferably on the other side of the galaxy."

"My lady," he replied. His vocoder did not possess the ability to be soft, or soothing; it boomed, with all the authority of everything else he said. "You are correct. I have rarely put His Majesty at ease, and never showed him kindness in his childhood."

She stiffened, eyebrows flying upwards. Her mouth opened slightly—

"But I will not leave him alone and unprotected."

It closed again with a snap.

"I have sworn to protect him, and ensure that no harm comes to him. What you request would leave him vulnerable to the assassinations and kidnapping attempts which have already begun to occur."

"Kidnapping?" she asked. "There have only been—"

"The sharpshooter was a highly skilled mercenary, yet they missed Luke by a wide margin when they killed the medic. They, I sense, were sent in to eliminate his companions before stunning him and taking him captive."

"Why?"

"I do not know. But that is why I should stay."

She shook her head fiercely. "You think I'm incapable of protecting him?"

"You are not a Sith Lord."

"Yes. So I'm far less likely to subject a teenage boy to wanton abuse, manipulation and invasions of his privacy while he takes on the already-behemoth task of ascending to Emperor."

He himself stiffened, now.

"You go too far, Lady Sabé."

"I go exactly far enough."

"Accusing the previous Emperor of such a thing—"

"I know full well you feel no loyalty to Palpatine. You probably killed him."

He looked down into her face and sighed.

"You are far too much like Padmé Naberrie."

He knew it was a mistake in moments. Her face split into a snarl.

"How dare you use her familial name," she hissed, "when you stand there, the antithesis to everything she fought for or believed. If I could, I'd have taken Luke away from you—all of you, Palpatine too—years ago, and let him grow up a happy, healthy child on Naboo or Alderaan, instead of allowed him to be the punching bag of two pathetic Sith Lords. If I hadn't been a coward, I would have."

"If you hadn't been a Rebel spy," Vader countered viciously, "you would have."

A weighted silence.

It was a suspicion. Only Jedi would have taught her that sort of shielding—Jedi preparing her for a job under a Sith Lord's nose. But suspicions were not proof.

Her face gave nothing away, but he liked to think he saw a minute flinch.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she had the gall to shoot back. "I came to look after my lady's son, protect him from what I knew would be an awful situation for him. I failed before, but I will not fail again."

She lifted her chin. "I know Luke ordered you to Eriadu, Lord Vader, and I know you disobeyed him. Go now, take your Noghri guards with you, and kindly do not come back."

Vader stared at her.

And stared.

And a plan came to mind.

Before he could assess it in too much detail, he strove to follow it.

"I will go to Eriadu," he conceded. "And I will call off the Noghri while I am away. We will see how well you function without me—and after I return, I will only answer to Luke's decision on how to proceed."

She bit out, "We will function perfectly well."

Vader had nothing left to say to her. He wondered, briefly, if she might believe his intentions if he told her the truth. If he confessed why he cared so much, so deeply, and so fiercely.

But if she knew how far he had fallen from her esteem, she would loathe him even more.

And he could not bear to see that on a face so much like his wife's.

So he just turned to leave the office, letting her run back to her charge to coddle and mother him the way Padmé should have done, and made preparations to go to eliminate the one threat to his son he could control.

Chapter Text

The last time Luke had set foot in the cavernous Senate hall it had been for Empire Day and his father had made him stand behind his seat for five hours.

It dwarfed him now, as it did then: the thousands of pods, bubbles slotted unnaturally neatly into the sides of a chamber that dropped farther than any child (or human being whatsoever) could ever be comfortable with. Nova helped him up onto the central podium that rose from the floor and he gulped, clinging to her hand perhaps more tightly than necessary, forcibly not looking down.

When the pod got moving, he may have yelped. No one heard him but the guards at his back—Vader's guards, but Vader himself wasn't here so he could relax—and Nova, who smiled and squeezed his hand a little.

Then they were up, and up, and he could feel every single senator's gaze on him like needles.

His introductory speech was short and sweet. He knew the tradition of the Senate was to open with his father's voice—even from before the rise of the Empire, when he was still the Chancellor of the failing Republic—so Nova had advised that he should seek to keep that, to assure the Senate of at least some continuity. She'd helped him write it, showed him how to make it suggestive of but not committed to certain things, to give the impression of someone with wisdom beyond his age.

After he'd done that, he stepped back to let the new spokesperson—one of Amedda's surviving aides—introduce the speakers. They were debating which planet a new academy should be built on, and Luke sat back in the Emperor's chair on the podium, datapad weighed against his knee as he took notes.

"That's a good idea," Nova murmured to him. "It makes it look like you're paying acute attention to each and every one of them—like you really care about their opinions on the situation."

"I am," Luke replied. "And I do."

She smiled. "I know."

The session didn't quite last five hours, but it did last four, and when Luke stood again to give his closing speech it was with a sore backside and drooping eyelids. He'd paid attention to... nearly everything in the session, he'd only zoned out a few times, and now he was looking forward to the smaller, closed event where Nova had arranged for him to personally meet a few senators at a time, and to after, when he could read or draw or sew quietly, in peace. Fully process the day.

"You're smiling," Nova observed as the pod descended.

Luke smiled wider. "I like feeling a little bit in control."

"Then let's try and increase that feeling," she said, and placed a cool hand on his shoulder to guide him down the nearest corridor. The guards fell into place behind them.

The function was held in a small room off to the side, with locked doors and shielded windows, and a table of small, worthless food that in Luke's experience tasted weak and did nothing for hunger. Before he entered, he ordered that his escort stand guard outside, behind the door, while only Nova accompanied him in; he didn't want Vader's men witnessing this exchange.

The three senators he was supposed to meet today had already taken seats on the low sofas around the table, and the moment Luke saw them he understood what Nova was up to.

Senator Organa from Alderaan. Senator Mothma from Chandrila. Senator Pamlo from Taris.

Nova had not been subtle about her Rebel sympathies, when last they spoke of such things—and it was no wonder that she wanted to present people who'd disagreed with his father's regime first. He'd need to... talk to her, about that later. Organa was rumoured to be an active member of the Rebellion—was she one, too? How did she know him?

Why had she been so insistent on raising Luke?

But for now, it didn't matter.

He trusted Nova.

So he smiled broadly at the senators the moment he entered, and it was not faked. They smiled back—if a little warily, for Pamlo and Mothma—and stood to bow. "Your Majesty."

"Senators," he greeted. He sat down quickly, letting them sit as well; even seated, he was noticeably shorter than them. He hoped his distaste didn't show.

He rested his datapad on his knee and, despite how tired and hungry he was, did not reach for the food.

"I believe Lady Sabé informed you that over the next few weeks, I intend to speak with several of the factions in the Senate. My father's unexpected passing left me somewhat unprepared to immediately take up his mantle, and I would fix that as soon as possible," he began. "I'd like to start by asking you of your broader opinions of the state of the Empire, and the Senate, today, and to let me know if there are any issues you believe should be addressed."

He worked to keep his voice perfectly neutral, gaze on his datapad. He granted them a moment to glance awkwardly at each other before he looked up again, gaze latching first on Organa.

He did not expect—and would not appreciate—open treason. But Organa was smarter than that.

And the definition of treason was set by the monarch.

"My concerns about the Empire, Your Majesty, are that it has proven too focused on military prowess, and that therefore other areas have degenerated severely in the past few years..."

Another hour and three interviews—discussions, perhaps, between the three Rebel senators, while Luke stayed neutral and listened—later, and Luke was exiting the room with a datapad full of notes, and questions he was going to ask Nova. But he had been taught politics and diplomacy for as long as he could remember, far more thoroughly than his father or Vader had ever tried to teach him about the Force; he was already coming up with some ideas.

He'd speak to some of the more pro-Imperial senators before he implemented any, to get a more balanced picture. Erialus, maybe...

Nova stayed behind to talk to her friends a little bit, so Luke walked down the corridor alone save for his guards; he just wanted to get back to his quarters.

But he'd barely been walking for a few minutes when something felt... off.

Yes. Off.

He stopped in the middle of the corridor. They were surrounded by senators' offices, but they were all empty at this time. It wasn't them...

It was...

He turned to face his guards.

They wore the armour of Vader's 501st, right enough, but the Force, that mystical energy field he knew he wasn't skilled in, he knew he shouldn't trust as much as he did, it said—

He blinked.

Well.

It said there was a blaster pointed at him, and his eyes could corroborate that.

"Come with us, Your Majesty," the guard said. "We mean you no harm."

Luke's heart hammered in his chest. His eyes widened slowly. His breathing quickened as he raised his hands.

"I— I—"

"I said, we don't want to hurt you."

"You have a blaster—"

"But we will," he continued harshly, "if you do not cooperate."

That was when Luke recognised him.

That gruff voice, the utter lack of patience—

His eyes widened even further. "Captain Vassic—"

He dived to the side before he'd even finished talking. The stun shot grazed his thigh; he wasn't hammered by it but a numbness seized his leg and he stumbled into the wall, sliding down. He shoved himself up and staggered back, away from—

From his father's guard.

The captain of his father's red guards, who'd had to guard him enough times in the past as well.

Bolts streaked past him, blue and red—they turned the setting off stun, oh moons, they want to—

"We do not want to kill you, prince, but if you do not come with us I promise that you will get hurt. You know we have never taken disobedience lightly."

No. They hadn't.

They never, ever, ever had.

There was feeling in his leg again. Luke put weight on it, testing, and sprinted—

And a shot caught him in the waist—sent him down in a shout of pain.

Hot blood pumped from his side; he squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to stifle it, screaming—

But then Vassic took one step closer and Luke peeled his eyes open again so he could see him approach, holstering his blaster.

So he could see the black-clad nightmare who should be on the other side of the galaxy storm down the corridor with his lightsaber lit.

Vassic froze, and whirled on Vader in a cry of shock and outrage, but Vader was faster. Luke flinched at the brutal snap of his neck, at the way the other trooper was stabbed in the gut and left to die, moaning on the floor in a blubbering mess.

Luke stared at the trooper, at the body, and at Vader, who knelt in front of them.

"Luke," he said. "Luke, you—"

"You're meant to be on Eriadu," Luke said dully, staring.

"I— I sent the Noghri to perform that task, Majesty, my apologies—"

"Luke!" came a shout. Luke's gaze slid over Vader's shoulder to see Nova running for him, but then it was pulled back to Vader's mask, and he stifled a bloody sob.

"They didn't want to kill me," he said.

"Majesty, you must get to a medbay—"

"They wanted to kidnap me, like you said. Take me away." His gaze slid towards the floor. "They didn't want to kill me."

"Luke..."

"Why didn't they want to kill me? What did they want me for?"

Vader was quiet for a moment.

Then he murmured, "Sleep, Luke."

Unconsciousness sucked him down, and he knew no more.

Treatment whirled by quickly, and it wasn't long before Vader was watching Luke's blond mop bob in the bacta tank. Stable, the medics had said. He would recover well enough.

Then it was time to think of the future. And time to eliminate the dangers which had put him at risk in the first place.

The woman who stood next to him was small, and delicate, and looked incredibly like Padmé. That did not mean he didn't want to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze.

"You said," he growled, "that you could protect him."

"Those were your men they were impersonating, Lord Vader," Sabé shot back immediately, but she did not take her gaze off Luke for a moment. "If you are incapable of preventing infiltrations into the Five-Oh-First—"

"It was under your command—"

"I'm not convinced," Sabé said cuttingly, "that you didn't send that attack yourself to justify storming back here and steamrolling all of my measures for Luke's peace of mind. Again."

Vader froze.

Sabé glared at him. Then she glanced down, face twisting, her hand reaching for her neck—

"How dare you," Vader ground out, "imply that I would ever endanger the boy like that."

Sabé took a step back but kept close to the bacta tank, pressing a hand to it to steady herself. She tried to say something, but all that came out were quiet squeaks.

But Vader's gaze followed the line of her hand, and, as Luke drifted in the bacta, his hand brushed against the glass next to hers.

Vader let go. Static burst from his vocoder.

Sabé gasped, cheeks flushed a bright red, but her gaze was violent. "Look—" she tried, voice hoarse and cracking, then jabbed a finger at Luke. "Look at that boy's scars. There are hundreds of them, all over his back and arms and shoulder, his legs; every non-lethal inch of him."

Vader, despite himself, looked.

She wasn't wrong.

There was a long, jagged scar from Luke's first lightsaber lesson, where Vader had sought to show him just how weak and insignificant he was by gouging his saber in a shallow channel down his back, careful to miss any important bones. There was a starburst of scar tissue on his shoulder from where he'd failed to deflect three small detonators at once and Vader had only bothered catching the ones that could have killed him. And aside from those, there were so many smaller burns, cuts and injuries that he didn't remember inflicting. Palpatine had always ensured the best medical care for all Luke's injuries, so they healed fully and no longer pained Luke, but they still painted a bloody history over his skin.

"I told you before," Sabé hissed. "I think I am perfectly justified in believing that he is not safe with you."

Vader... couldn't deny that.

"I have no intention of hurting him," he reiterated.

"Why in all the stars should I trust that?"

Vader didn't answer. He just turned to face Luke in the bacta tank head on, and placed his hand to the glass, his fingers spread.

And then he made a decision.

"Because he is my son."

She stiffened.

Stared.

Vader, ignoring her, continued, "I sent a Noghri warrior to assassinate Tarkin. They are reliable, and will get the job done, but I did not want to leave my son vulnerable. There are many others who would seize the throne from their child-emperor, so I stayed in Coruscant's orbit, until a premonition from the Force informed me that I was needed."

Sabé was still staring.

She said, "Anakin?"

He tensed. "I no longer recognise that name."

"You recognise his son," she snapped. "What— how long have you known? Did—" She trailed off, gesturing to all of Luke's scars again, and Vader set his jaw.

"I did not know then," he got out.

"When?"

"When I killed the Emperor."

She fell silent at that—at the second admission in as many minutes. Her dark gaze, inexorably, was drawn back to Luke.

"So you killed him," she said slowly, "because you found out what he'd done to Luke—who Luke was to you?"

Vader hooked his thumbs into his belt.

That was a convenient lie to tell—if she thought it had been paternal protectiveness that led to this situation, she might be more inclined to trust him with Luke. Trust him not to hurt her lady's child.

But if she dug any deeper into how he'd learned—found out that Palpatine was dead for Vader's ambition, and Vader's ambition alone—the lie would fall apart.

So he stayed silent, and let her judge what she thought to be true herself.

She let out a breath, idly rubbing her throat again. Bruises stained her pale skin there, and Vader thought that he'd need to make sure she got medical attention; his son would not be happy if he woke up to find the only person he trusted had been murdered.

They both watched Luke in silence, his two—very different, very distant—protectors standing watch. Then she asked, "What happened to you, Anakin?"

He knew that insisting she call him any other name would be fruitless. But he couldn't help stiffening every time she didn't.

Instead, he both answered her question and didn't answer it at all:

"My wife died," he said. "I will not allow my son to die as well."

Her eyes flicked between them, but she nodded.

"You'll stand watch while I..." she gestured to her neck, then the door to the medical office, "right?"

He nodded silently.

Her footsteps padded out of the room quietly. When the door closed, a hush fell, and the rasp of his breathing was the only sound.

Sabé stroked Luke's blond locks as he slept for the night, as gently as she could. Luke still slept fitfully after his dunk in bacta, but he was alive. Padmé's child was alive, something she would never cease marvelling at. She'd taken so many risks for this boy, just to stay around him, to protect him.

She would take them again in a heartbeat.

Her throat was still a bit sore, but the medics had done their job, and when the door to Luke's bedroom slid open to admit Anakin—that horrible respirator announced his presence everywhere he went—she managed to conjure up a smile. She recognised the slinking shadows of those Noghri guards just outside the door, but as Luke had so fiercely requested, they didn't take a step inside. Sabé smiled to herself.

Knowing what Anakin actually intended with them, instead of constantly thinking they were his spies... she felt safer with them watching, now.

But Anakin!

She stared at him as he rounded the bed and sat on the other chair beside Luke's bed. He paid her no heed at first, gaze fixed on his son's face, but she couldn't take her eyes off him. What had happened to the ferocious defender of democracy her lady had fallen in love with—had a child with?

What had made him into the ferocious defender of tyranny?

She needed to get word to Bail—

"Cease your wondering," he boomed. "I am not going to indulge your petty curiosities."

She just said, "From what I remember, the Anakin Skywalker I met was too polite to read someone's mind without asking them."

"Then you never knew him at all."

She narrowed her eyes.

"I bought a book, you know," she said pointedly. "A guide for how to parent teenagers in difficult situations—how to respect their boundaries, how to help them grow. I left it with the Noghri outside your office."

"I need no book."

"The fact that your son is lying unconscious with no idea that you care whether he lives or dies, let alone why you care, says otherwise."

"Unless there is a book about how to mend a relationship with a child I have consistently tormented for years, only to suddenly make Emperor and give all the power in the universe," Vader shot back, "I need no book."

Sabé swallowed.

"I suppose you do have more of a challenge ahead of you than most parents," she conceded.

"Hmph."

"But you need to talk to Luke," she pressed. "Tell him the truth."

"There is nothing to tell. He would only hate me more."

She... couldn't deny that. And she couldn't say that she was eager to traumatise Luke even more with another Sith Lord for a father.

"I think you just don't want him to reject you," she said quietly.

Vader said nothing.

She sighed. "So, what?" she asked instead. "You'll never tell him?"

"I will tell him when he is ready. When he is happy and stable in his position as Emperor and can rule the galaxy with a just hand."

"And when will he be ready?"

"When he is old enough. As I said, when he is happy and stable in his position as Emperor, and can rule the way she—"

He froze.

She froze.

"—the way she would've," he finished, as little more weakly than he'd begun.

"She?" she asked.

He said nothing.

"...you mean Padmé?" She scoffed. "Padmé would never have ruled—she believed in democracy, through and through. She would have rejected you."

There was a creak. After a startled moment, Sabé realised it was Vader—Vader, and his clenched fists.

"She did reject me," Vader—no, Anakin, she had to remember that—spat. "Luke will not be given the opportunity to."

"You can't lock him up here, he's a child. He needs to see the sun, he needs to play and talk to people his own age, he needs to—"

"You will not be taking him to Naboo," Anakin threatened. You will not be taking him away from me.

She glared. "I would if I could."

"You cannot."

She couldn't deny that.

"What now, then?" she said instead. "You have Luke here, all to yourself—what now? Let him continue to constantly think you'll kill him for who his 'father' was?"

"His parentage," came the heated response, "is precisely the reason I would give my life for him."

"Then give your life for him," she shot back. "And don't expect him to give his life for you." She sneered at him. "Because this is no life, locked behind palace walls."

"He is safe."

"It is wrong, and it is bad for him."

They stared at each other for a moment.

Stalemate.

Vader repeated, "He is safe. That is more than can be said about his mother."

And Sabé snapped.

She threw herself to her feet and jabbed a finger in her face. "At least. Padmé. Was happy."

And with that, she strode from the room—unaware of the blue eye that had cracked open at the sound of her voice, and was watching her go.

Vader stared after Sabé, scoffing quietly to herself, before he turned back to Luke. Insolent woman, fool, she didn't understand...

And then Luke cracked an eye open.

"You know, I've been awake for a little bit longer than you think," the boy said, too lightly for it to be sincere. "What did you mean, when you said my parentage was precisely the reason why you would give your life for me? You never made such a show of your loyalty to my father before you killed him."

Vader, hand was hovering in midair about to brush back Luke's fringe, froze.

Luke's eyes were clear and bright despite the darkness of the room, and they were staring right at him.

He retracted his hand. "You... are awake, Majesty."

"As I said. I've been awake for a little longer than you think," he reiterated. His gaze was sharp, but his voice revealed that he was more out of it than he appeared: the words slurred into each other, like beads on an abacus knocking together.

For a moment, Vader considered just using a Force-suggestion on him to send him to sleep again, and hope he dismissed this as some strange dream. But if he did that now, he risked leaving far more damning things in his mind; first he needed to know...

"How much of that did you hear?"

"I do not see why you expect me to answer your question when you persistently ignore mine." Luke huffed. "I know you and Nova are keeping something from me—clearly. I will not ask you outright what it is. I will only ask you why my parentage is so important, and why that did not save my father when you killed him."

Vader ground his teeth, but was fairly confident that Luke was too ill-trained in the Force to detect the lie in, "I did not kill your father, Majesty."

"Oh no, I forgot. He died of heart failure." Luke scoffed. "And then Amedda and all of my father's advisors are arrested for conspiring to kill him. Pick a story, Lord Vader, and stick to it. Even then I know the truth."

Vader... really needed to distract him from this. And he doubted outright asking how much Luke had actually heard would help him.

So instead he said, "It is not Palpatine who is the reason I am loyal to you, Majesty. It is your birth parents."

"My birth parents?" Luke... looked alarmed. "My birth father was a Jedi, Nova said, and you led the Purges—"

"No, Luke." The words burst out of him before he could regulate them; by the look on Luke's face, startled, as he flinched back, he knew he hadn't expected them as well. "I— I knew your father. He died before the Purges began. But I was talking about—"

"My mother?"

Vader let his respirator cycle. "Yes."

Then he said, "Now how much did you hear?"

"How did you know my mother? Why is she the reason for your loyalty? Did— did you—"

Luke's eyes widened comically.

Right. He was a fourteen-year-old. Ahsoka would have had exactly the same reaction.

"Did you love—"

"How much did you hear, Majesty?" Vader interrupted. "And I may answer some of your questions."

Luke pouted. Funny. He seemed to have lost all fear, here in the darkness of his bedroom and the comfortable knowledge that his watcher had loved his parents—the knowledge that he'd get stories about them.

Or maybe it was just the painkillers.

"I heard Nova say she wanted to take me to Naboo," he said. Vader wanted to laugh—from relief and at the childish frustration there—but also cry. Padmé wanted to take you there too, little angel. "And then everything after."

He turned that clear gaze up to him and asked. "Why can't I leave everything behind and go to Naboo? I think this incident has shown that even the Palace isn't exactly safe."

Vader was silent for several more cycles of his respirator. In, out.

In, out.

In, out.

Because I am selfish, little angel.

Because I don't want to lose you.

Because I don't want to be alone.

He said, "Do you want to know about your mother, or do you want to know about the highly complex and delicate political situation right now?"

"You don't care about politics. You just kill everyone who disagrees with you."

"Would that I could kill everyone who disagrees with me."

It was the wrong thing to say. Luke's boldness vanished like a shadow; suddenly he was pulling the covers further up his chest, like Vader was a monster to be hidden from.

"No," he whispered. "You just hurt them."

Vader squeezed his eyes shut. "I am sorry, Majesty. I promise I will never harm you again."

"That's not how you treated me before."

"I did not know of your true parentage before. You were a Force-sensitive brat my master adopted in order to avoid naming me his heir, as was my rightful place, not the son and only living remnant of Padmé Naberrie."

"How did you learn the truth, then?"

Vader said nothing.

Luke laughed bitterly. "So if I did not happen to be the son of a woman you loved, you would have revelled in torturing and slaughtering me?"

And there it was.

Vader was silent for a long time. He didn't need to answer; they both knew the truth.

"I do not claim to be a good man, Majesty," he said at last. "Only a loyal one. And I am loyal to Padmé Naberrie." He bowed his head. "I am loyal to you."

Luke shivered at the bluntness to it—the knowledge of exactly who Vader was, and what it meant, and also what it meant to have that serve him. He reached for his bantha toy and hugged it to his chest, looking very cold.

"You..." Vader began awkwardly. "You seem very attached to that toy, Majesty."

"Nova gave it to me," Luke said. "She gave me a shaak, as well, but Father found that one."

Vader didn't remember that specific incident, but he could well imagine what might have happened. Impotent rage rose up in him.

"May I see it?"

Luke didn't so much a twitch to hand it over. Vader supposed he couldn't blame him.

"Was that the only one you had, after the shaak was found?" he asked. "Ever?"

"Ever," Luke confirmed.

"I... didn't realise."

Luke clutched the bantha tighter to his chest. "I imagine you were too busy torturing innocent children to notice such things."

Vader had the good grace to wince, at that.

"I cannot take it back, Majesty," he said. "All I can do is swear my fealty, and my service, to you."

"Your obedience needs a bit of work," Luke muttered.

Vader laughed. "It always has."

The boy fixed him with one more of those piercing stares. "Tell me about my mother," he commanded. "How you loved her—how you met. Anything about her." He buried his chin in his bantha's head. Two pairs of baleful eyes stared at him: the boy's, and the bantha's. "Please."

Tell me if—and why—I can trust you.

Vader was happy to oblige. "I met her shortly before the Battle of Naboo."

He talked for a while, agonisingly careful with his words, hushed with reverence in parts. He knew Sabé must have told the boy stories, but she could never quite get across the sheer awe Padmé inspired in those who weren't in on the act—in a little slave boy, then a Jedi, who thought she hung the stars.

Even when Luke started to drift off again, he didn't stop talking, until he sensed his son drop into the deepest of slumbers. When he did, Vader rose, pulled the covers around Luke's shoulders as gently as he could and tucked them around him, before padding softly out.

He paused at the door. "Goodnight, my son."

He revelled in being able to say it.

And, as he left, he had the faintest flicker of hope that one day, far in the future, he'd be able to say it to his face as well.

Luke dreamed.

He was in a high rise apartment on Coruscant, the speeders whooshing by in the distance beyond the windows. It was a room, with comfortable sofas arranged around a central table and rug, a landing pad just outside the transparisteel double doors.

And on one of those sofas was Padmé Amidala.

With a bantha toy and a shaak toy cradled against her swollen stomach.

"I think you'll be a boy," she murmured, lying back against the multitude of pillows on the sofa and smiling down at her bump warmly. As expected for a senator, the clothes she wore were fine, the furniture and trappings of her apartment around her even more so, but there was no disguising that bump, especially with the way she cradled it. "I— I bet you're going to be a boy, but I know that when Anakin comes back he'll say you're a girl, and with his fancy Force powers he'll probably be right. But motherly intuition counts for something." Her hand twitched in shock, and she smiled suddenly—Luke guessed that the baby, he, had just kicked.

Someone came up behind her—Luke gaped as he recognised Nova, fourteen years younger and less stressed, looking uncannily like his mother.

"Moteé and Dormé tell me you've both been less than subtle, Padmé," she said lightly, though there was a hint of warning to her voice. She sat beside her on the sofa, knees lightly knocking Padmé's where the latter's legs were propped up on a stool in front of her, and ran a finger along the back of her hand. "If this is going to work out..."

"It will work out," his mother replied, smiling slightly, though she looked tired. "And Pooja just had her birthday, so it made sense to ask Moteé to buy these now."

Nova raised her eyebrows at Padmé for a heartbeat, then cooed a little when Padmé shifted to hand her the toys cradled in the crook of her elbow. Luke had the sudden urge to sob.

They were new, and fluffy in a way they certainly hadn't been in years, and Luke smiled to see Nova handling them like that, gently and reverently.

"A shaak and a bantha?" Nova asked. "Like the children's book?"

There was a children's book about them? What was it about? Was it a biology book or something?

"Yes and no," Padmé said, smiling. "One animal from each of our homeworlds."

Nova smiled too, at that, and propped both toys up on her knees. "That's sweet," she admitted. "But you do have to be more careful."

"If the war isn't over by a few weeks before the med droid says I'm due, then I'll contact the Queen and resign," she said easily, but there was tension around her eyes. Luke wanted to know more—why? What was going on between her and... Anakin, she had mentioned? Why should she resign?

But it moved too quickly for that. Nova just sighed.

"As you wish, my lady," she conceded, with the expression she'd had whenever she'd tried to get Luke to eat his vegetables. She set the toys beside her again and said, "Now, come on, Padmé. I haven't seen you in months." She glanced down at the baby bump. "Have you a name, yet?"

"If he's a boy," Padmé said, "then... Luke."

She gazed down at her belly as she caressed it again, eyes crinkling.

"I'll call him Luke."

When he woke, he woke slowly, that sense of calm, joy, peace ebbing and flowing away from him with every passing second. When he sat up finally, he winced as it aggravated the injury in his side—right. He'd been shot.

Had— had that been a dream?

Had what he'd just seen actually happened, once upon a time?

Was it possible, he thought, tearing up, that Nova was correct in that his parents—at least, his mother—had truly loved him?

The toys...

He reached for his bantha and clutched it to his chest. Its fur had absorbed many tears over the years and now it absorbed more as he buried his face in the ragged sides, not even sure why he was crying.

That conversation with Vader had been draining. If that hadn't been a dream too...

When he shifted his legs, though, something went thump.

He stiffened.

What...?

He bent over double to peer down at the floor, frowning. There was a little lump there; clambering out of bed and scooting across the carpet, he picked it up to see...

A stuffed toy.

A— a nerf, he thought it was. Clean and fluffy, the colours bright. A red and blue striped scarf was wound around its neck.

There was a flimsi note attached to it. It said:

A gift, little angel.

He... thought he might knew who this was from.

If not everything from last night was a dream, at least.

And he didn't really want to think about receiving gifts from that person, but it was a toy, and he'd rarely had those before, and it was so soft...

He hugged it to his chest and crawled back into bed. He fell asleep again like that—bantha under one arm, nerf under the other. He slept without dreams.

When one was a governor, a Grand Moff and numerous other things, in both the military and civilian sectors, one came to expect to be treated with a certain amount of dignity. Or perhaps respect was a better word, but the fact remained: when one was powerful, influential, and a dangerous opponent to have... one would expect that their enemies would try to dispatch them personally, to ensure that the job was done.

Which was why the Governor Tarkin was waiting up that night. Eriadu stormed and rained and howled beyond his window, but he just continued to sip his beverage, wholly unaffected. He had people who had informed him as to the nature of the assassination attempt against the Empire—using the deadly sunbeam flower was a bold move, and tied intrinsically to Eriadu—and he had been expecting a visit from Lord Vader every day since.

He had not sent the flower. But he knew that Vader would be reminded of how much of a threat Tarkin was, or perhaps the little child emperor would have sent his new, resentful attack dog to eliminate him in the belief that it had been him. Either way—Tarkin sat here, and waited for Vader to arrive.

He had plans: datapads of schematics, lists of contacts, and his overall proposal for Vader. Vader would not suffer to bow to such a brat. Tarkin was confident that whatever Vader's plans to overthrow him were, he could assist them, and maintain his high standing in the new order...

When the Imperial shuttle had arrived on Eriadu from Coruscant that morning, he had been certain of what was to come.

He had ordered his servants to leave him; ordered all guards to take the day off. He trusted them, but he was no fool, and he did not want to take the slightest risk with this, and they could not stop Vader anyway. It would be a risky game, convincing the man before he killed him, but the rewards could well be astronomical...

So he smiled to himself, and sat there for hours, awaiting the dark lord's arrival.

When his servants and guards returned the next day, they found the governor with his throat cut, an expression of utmost shock and insult on his face. His notes and plans and details of how to and who would start the coup were gone.

Chapter Text

The situation that had led to Luke's near kidnapping was a regrettable one—one that Vader endeavoured to fix as soon as possible.

Luke, however, was less than impressed at his proposed solution.

"You will not train me! I've had enough of your 'training' to last me a lifetime. If you wish to injure and torment me, do so without the pretext of helping me."

Luke... was not reacting to this in an ideal manner. Vader pressed his lips together.

"It is necessary," he intoned. They'd had their moment of— not bonding, but understanding yesterday; he'd thought now, in the wake of the attack, would be the ideal time to bring this up.

Apparently not.

"Necessary? Pushing and burning and hurting me to within an inch of my life is necessary—!?"

"No, Majesty, but you must learn to defend yourself," he snapped suddenly, and then Luke's newfound bravado vanished; he shrank back into the sofa in his quarters. Vader let the respirator take several deep breaths, struggling not to clench his fists and shatter every worthless trinket in the room, not to pace and wear out this fine carpet. "This attack has shown—"

But Luke was not totally cowed. "This attack has shown that you cannot control what happens within your own forces."

"Nevertheless," Vader cut back heatedly, "it would only benefit you to learn how to defend yourself. Pal— your father," he choked on the word, "never had you taught adequately, and I would have that corrected now. Your life is too important to be put at risk."

Luke just stared at him.

"I know what your training looks like, Lord Vader," he said simply. "And I will never go through that again."

Vader flinched.

Took a physical step back, and did start pacing then. The Noghri by the door watched him with wary eyes, and if he lashed out at Luke in his fury he didn't think they would intervene—they were his agents.

He stopped when he was facing the door. He should leave, now, take this opportunity and go—leave and find Sabé. She could convince the boy that he needed training; he actually trusted her, didn't think of her as—

As a monster.

He spun round again. "Young one, you must learn to defend yourself!"

"Then let Nova teach me how to use a blaster!" Luke glared, crossing his arms across his chest. "I don't need to use a lightsaber." He eyed Vader's with obvious disgust.

"The Force is the greatest ally you could ever have—"

"And I don't want training in any of it. Not the saber skills, not the sensing, not the— the hurting people."

Vader went cold and couldn't bite out quickly enough: "It is not only used for hurting—"

"Well then," and Luke's gaze was frozen, "you and my father were never token practitioners of it, were you?"

In, out. In, out. For a moment, the rasp of his breathing was all he heard.

"...no, Majesty," he got out. "We are not."

"Even if I ever wanted to actually continue my training in this power, if I actually want to use it, I would never want you to teach me. Not again. There is nothing you can teach me that I would want to learn."

"This is your birthright."

"Birthright?" He raised an eyebrow. "Because of whom—my Jedi father? Who you no doubt killed in the Purges?"

Vader had nothing to say to that.

Nothing but the truth, and that would go down extremely poorly.

"No, Lord Vader. If you are so intent on me learning what he would've taught me, then perhaps you should approach some of the surviving Jedi, see if they're up to the task?" Luke smiled bitterly at Vader's sudden surge of rage—they would not be allowed near him, not be allowed anywhere near him—and Vader forced himself to calm. He was saying it to spite him; Luke, for all his twisted childhood, had been taught to hate and fear Jedi. Palpatine had done one thing right.

Whether that hatred would hold up in the wake of discovering his father was one, and his disillusionment with everything else he'd ever known...

Vader brushed the thought aside.

"You must learn," he reiterated instead. "It is the only way you can assuredly be safe against all attacks—including attacks from these Jedi you seem so eager to learn from. Or have you forgotten that they are enemies of the Empire you now lead?"

Luke flinched at that. "I will not learn from you," he said stubbornly. "I refuse."

"I am not giving you a choice."

"I am the Emperor, Lord Vader. You swore to obey."

Yes, but Luke had to be safe. He had to be safe, or Vader would tear the galaxy to shreds and even then use the debris to build a shield.

And from Luke's last, weak, desperate attempt, from the hunted look in his eye... he knew he had no say in the matter at all.

They started training the next day.

The saber swung. Luke flinched back from it, but it carved a swathe of red light in his vision nonetheless; he blinked fiercely, and backed away, his own saber shaking in his grip. Vader followed the motion, his heavy footsteps echoing loudly in the massive training room, and bore down with all the force of a thousand planets—

Luke's foot hit a nonexistent flag in the room's tiling and he tripped, went down hard onto his back, desperately lashing up to bat away the attack. It was sloppy, and Vader came right back—

His saber tumbled from his grip. He rolled, and heard Vader's blade plunge into the floor next to his head.

For one, horrifying moment, he stared up at Vader mask—impossibly big, impossibly powerful, the contours limned in crimson light. His blade danced in front of him.

He'd been here before.

"Pathetic," Vader rumbled. "I'd do your father a favour by killing you. He's wasting his time with you."

"Passable," Vader said, but Luke could hear the barely controlled disdain in his voice— "passable, certainly. But you can do better."

Luke swallowed, unable to tear his gaze away from the tip of the blade at his throat, close enough to heat his skin painfully. He could feel it smouldering.

"Now retrieve your weapon," Vader ordered, "and get yourself out of this predicament."

Luke's breathing raced. His heart jack-hammered.

"Too weak in the Force to retrieve your weapon from here. Too pathetic to stop lying on your back and die on your feet."

Luke shook his head to clear the memory—that wouldn't help him now—as Vader got impatient. That saber came down again and he flinched, the saber jumping into his grip suddenly, jerking back enough that his parry was easily knocked aside, and the training blade scoured a line of welts along his arm.

"Focus, Luke," Vader ordered. Luke glared. Bad enough that he'd forced him into this session, bad enough that he'd done all of this at all, but this ridiculous pace he was trying to push him at—

A sudden feint by Vader and Luke slipped, went down with a yelp, his saber slipping out of his grip. It clattered to the floor.

For a moment, he stared up at Vader, looming over him with the lightsaber still lit—

"Then do it," he challenged, twelve and miserable and already ready to die— "do it, you coward, or are you too afraid of my father's wrath?"

Vader's laugh was horrible, scraping on his vocal cords and Luke's ears, and he flinched.

"I said it'd do your father a favour," he taunted. "But you're so insignificant, it's just not worth the effort."

Vader turned away with a swish of his cape and Luke could breathe again, no shadows enveloping him.

"Get up," he said. Luke considered reminding Vader that he was not the Emperor here, but then figured that commanding tone was Vader's default state.

Luke didn't get up though. "I despise this."

"That is because you are doing terribly," he said bluntly. Luke wondered how long it had been since he'd taught someone he actually wanted to succeed at what they were doing. Because his teaching methods were kriffing awful. "Get up and try again. Try to feel the Force flowing through you—use it to bolster your movements."

"I don't want to."

"You must. You cannot avoid your destiny."

"I will."

"Stop acting," Vader growled, "like a child."

Luke lifted his chin. "I am a child, Lord Vader."

He hesitated at that.

"Get up, Majesty," he said at last. "Pick up your saber. Go again."

He wouldn't listen.

Of course he wouldn't listen. Vader was never going to listen to his puppet prince, no matter what platitudes he expressed; he'd just cut him down until he obeyed and have done with it, and Luke was a child who'd never be free of this mess, who'd just be the powerless emperor for the rest of his life, and he—

He hated it.

He hated it so much that when he finally crawled towards his lost saber and staggered back to his feet, he felt colder than he'd ever felt before.

"Good. Go again," Vader ordered, and Luke gritted his teeth but obeyed, adopting a ready position.

Then Vader slashed his blade forwards, Luke unleashed a cry, and the duel was on.

Better, Vader thought with a twinge of satisfaction. He was doing—better—

Luke propelled himself to his feet, the Force bunched around him so tightly it knotted like bedsheets, and launched forwards. Vader bared his teeth in a grin.

Luke slammed his saber against his, locked their blades together, deflected a stab and clenched his jaw; his saber skittered off Vader's with a screech—

Then he took a deep, savage breath, glanced up at Vader, and suddenly Vader couldn't breathe.

The Force barrelled towards the boy like he was a black hole and it was sucked in by his gravity, vanishing and twisting into something— something—

Rage exploded out, that line of welts and the other, uncountable minor burns Luke had sustained here splitting and glowing like cracks on the surface of Mustafar, in the Force. Pain, suffering, the two most beloved companions of the Sith, gushed out of those fault lines like magma and Luke lunged—

Vader had lost control.

The boy was channelling wild, boundless rage. His lightsaber sheared upwards, the force of it unfathomable; gashed him in the shoulder. Vader's own rage rose up to relish the pain, to counter it, sparking a ravenous fire inside as—

Vader decided to end the duel.

Luke's style was terrible, his footwork appalling, but he was so fast when he was motivated that Vader suddenly—distantly—had the very real fear that he was going to hurt himself. He was just a blur of black, red and gold in Vader's vision, and that lightsaber kept hacking, kept slashing, until—

The heat in his arm was negligible, nothing—they were training sabers—but the fire it lit—

—the fire it reminded him of—

—brought forth an uncontrollable tide of rage, and suddenly he couldn't see anything. Just washes of red, starker than usual: Luke's face, twisted in hatred and anger; the backdrop of the training room, dark floors and high windows; the slash of the saber as it retreated from the notch it had carved in his arm, as the boy parried—

And Vader hammered his saber on his.

He couldn't kill Luke, he couldn't kill Luke, he couldn't kill Luke—that was the only rational thought in his mind and he had no idea what it meant, but it did not stop him from blasting him back with the Force, head over heels, until his skull smacked the floor. He didn't give him a chance to recover, stalking right after him, and Luke had barely found his footing when he stabbed down again, barely rolling out the way—

He flinched bodily, and for some reason that made Vader even angrier than his terrible feint, leaving his torso wide open—

The saber came down, hard, on Luke's wrist and his son screamed.

Vader froze.

No.

He remembered another time, fourteen years ago, where he'd stood above someone who'd collapsed to his knees, cradling his forearms to his chest, and no—

No. It was alright. Luke was alright.

No. It was not alright. But this was a training saber he was using, and Luke still had use of the hand pressed against him: there, he could see all five fingers, shaking—

There was a horrible, horrible welt and burgeoning bruise there as well, but this was a training saber.

He hadn't—

He hadn't cut off his hand.

His son had been spared that pain, at least.

"You—" Tears still wetted Luke's cheeks, though, and he looked like death warmed over, pale and shuddering and scared, and Vader just wanted to reach out— I'm sorry, little angel, it won't happen again I swear, I love you, I never wanted to hurt you—

Luke threw himself to his feet and stormed towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Vader asked, but it boomed in the room. It was a demand, not a question packed with worry, regret, concern; it was a scolding, not a plea.

And he got a similar tone in response. "Away from you," Luke tossed over his shoulder with a cracking voice, marching straight for the door.

"Come back here now." Again, he sounded so cruel, and Luke cringed away from him—

And then he was gone.

Vader went after him, as fast as he could. He tracked him down to the nearest medbay—the Emperor's private medbay. He was within an inch of barging in when the med droid demanded, "Halt."

Vader halted—momentarily—and sneered.

"The patient is being treated," the droid continued. It had no expression, just that blank face most droids did, but Vader still felt like his sneer was reciprocated. "I'm afraid, sir, that visitors are not allowed at this time."

He should crush the droid and march in regardless. He would do that, if he didn't have the Force.

But he did have the Force.

And the Force declared Luke's terror like it declared the existence of life itself.

So Vader took a deep breath.

And he waited.

He waited outside for a while. There... was a chair, in this antechamber just outside the medbay actual, but he did not seat himself in it; he just stood, and loomed, and paced, until the droid came back—what felt like infinities but was probably more like minutes—later, to allow him in.

When Vader finally looked Luke in the eye, their conversation did not go well.

Any words he might have had dried in his throat.

Luke was trembling as he spoke, fists clenched and gaze down, and Vader... wanted to step forwards, to lay a hand on his shoulder and— and beg, and plead, but—

But Luke's stiff stare, the way he sat on that little chair next to the desk, sleeve rolled up to his elbow and bacta patch on his wrist, halted him in the door.

"I can't do this anymore," Luke said, running a hand through his hair. His hands shook, but his voice was still steady, although by the sound of it, not for long. "If you were just waiting to see me break, there you go. Bring it on, all you promised me my whole childhood: imprison me, torture me, cut off all my limbs, hear my screams as I die. I'm sick of being constantly on guard, seeing you watch me like a hawk hunting a mouse. Cut off the chase already; we both know your prey is trapped."

He dropped his hand from his hair to his knee and clenched it into a fist. Vader winced.

"Stop just standing there," Luke muttered. "Stop—just stop. I'm tired of all of this. Take this whole kriffing Empire for yourself. If you want to torment me, do it. Kill me, hurt me, just do it, because the wait is unbearable. Depose me and become Emperor yourself. And if you have no interest in torturing Palpatine's worthless brat after he fails as your puppet emperor, then please just let me go. I'll find my own way out there. I can't stay here like this."

Vader... didn't know what to say. "I have sworn my loyalty to you, Majesty."

"You have a terrific way of showing it, Lord Vader." His voice cracked, tears slipped down his cheeks, and that was worse—

"I know, Majesty," Vader said. He had the sudden idea that seeing him loom might not help Luke very much, so he seated himself instead on another free chair, praying it didn't collapse under his wait. The indignity of that would be unbearable.

Although... if it made Luke laugh...

"You aren't sorry then?" His son's voice cut him out of his thoughts like a saber through ice. "Did you just come here to explain again why I must endure that sort of thing, and yet never give me a convincing argument?"

"No, l— Luke, I... did come to apologise." He hung his head; he couldn't meet those blue, accusing eyes. "I am sorry for what I have done to you. I am sorry for everything. I swear I will try—"

"Try?" Luke snapped. "You swore to protect me—which I never believed anyway—yet you attack me and wound me the moment I actually deign to put effort into your ridiculous training regimes. Make up your mind, Vader. If you want me to be your puppet, or your whipping boy, or just dead, just say the word."

Vader stared at him. There was nothing he could say.

He'd lost control.

He could've killed his son, in the same heady rush of darkness that— that had—

That had killed Padmé.

He'd lost control.

"And if you do just want a whipping boy, then stop playing games." Luke's voice was shaking again, Vader was dismayed to hear, tears flooding his eyes as he flexed his left hand, his right still too painful to shift. "My father is dead; you are the master, or whatever you Sith call it. You need justify yourself to no one, and you have no need to keep up the charade of training any longer."

Vader wanted to bury his head in his hands. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shake the boy, Palpatine, himself, the universe, until everything fell into its rightful place again and his relationship with his son was good—

"I have no wish to torment you, Majesty," he choked out. "I told you: I am a terrible person, and I would've hurt you were you not who you are, but you are, and I have no wish to hurt you because of it."

"That is not reassuring, Lord Vader."

"I know." Nothing was reassuring to a traumatised boy in his son's shoes. "I lost control of myself, Majesty, and fell back into old habits. I will do my best not to do so again."

But Luke stared, and uttered, "Your best isn't good enough." He shook his head. "I will not be training with you again, Vader."

He let his respirator fill his lungs. "You must—"

"Yes, you said so before. But I won't." He lifted his chin. "You may leave, Lord Vader. The guards will escort me back to my rooms when I am finished here."

"Majesty—"

"I said," Luke said, voice cracking, "leave."

Vader... didn't want to see Luke cry again.

"Yes, Majesty," he acquiesced, before he said pointedly, "I will see you again tomorrow morning, at the same time, in the training hall."

Luke just glared. Vader felt the look follow him all the way out the door.

Luke would have breathed a sigh of relief, under any other circumstances.

But even with Vader gone, of course, no one would allow Luke peace.

Not even the senators and civil servants who'd professed to protect his empire so dearly.

"Senator," Luke hissed to the newcomer. The nerve of this man... He may not want to move from his chair, but he could still level a glare. "You're not supposed to be here."

Erialus—possibly the most pro-Imperial senator Luke had ever met—only folded his hands behind his back, bowed deeply, and smiled shallowly. "Your Imperial Majesty."

"How did you even get back here?" Luke demanded.

"I wanted to speak with you, Your Majesty," Erialus said, smiling more broadly, now. The harsh white lights of the medbay glinted oddly off his perfect blond hair, his pearly teeth. He'd just strolled into the medbay even after Vader had left, apparently, despite Luke's obvious wish to be alone, and now he took the second chair as if it was his own seat in the Senate.

"I apologise that I have not been able to make it to your faction so far for these interviews, Senator," Luke snapped, as imperiously as possible, "there are rather a lot of you, after all. But that is no excuse to come into restricted areas as though you own them. I will have to ask you to leave."

"Oh, I completely understand about the interviews, Your Majesty—I'm highly impressed and encouraged that you are embarking on such a monumental task at all. Your work ethic must be astounding, and I very much look forward to discussing and working with you when the time comes."

Luke restrained himself from narrowing his eyes. Flattery. Sycophancy.

Erialus wanted something.

"I believe I asked you to leave, Senator," Luke reminded him, with a pointed look at the guards at the door—guards who had apparently let him in, he'd need to have words with them about that, at least Vader's precious Noghri wouldn't pull such a stunt—and a glare.

"Ah—of course, forgive me, Your Majesty, it's just..." He sighed. "I heard about your injury, and I wanted to express my condolences."

For a burn on his wrist...?

And how had he even learned in the first place?

Luke shot another suspicious glare at his guards. Perhaps Vader, as much as he hated to admit it, was right; perhaps he should start a purge of his personal guards, eliminate any who may have old loyalties...

No. He wouldn't think about that right now.

"Thank you," Luke said shortly. "That is extremely presumptuous of you, but thank you. Now you may leave."

On the other hand, though, he didn't leave. He stepped forwards and took Luke's arm—gently, but firmly enough that Luke couldn't pull away—and brushed his fingers over the bacta patch. "That looks nasty."

"Senator—"

Erialus lowered his voice and whispered, "I also came with a proposition, Your Majesty. As you know, I was one of your father's most fervent supporters, from the moment he became Chancellor to his tragic death mere weeks ago. And there are some of us—many of us—who fear for what his legacy is becoming."

"If you intend to insult—"

"Oh no, Your Majesty, I would never dream of insulting you. But I do fear Vader's influence. We both know he holds the power in this palace—his troops are everywhere, and he never lets you out of his sight. I, and many of our associates, would hate for your father's legacy to be sullied by the man who killed him."

Luke closed his eyes at that. "He really killed him?" he asked weakly.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Erialus slipped his thumb from the bacta patch to rub the back of Luke's hand in an empty gesture of reassurance. "He tried to wipe the footage and execute those who knew the truth—Amedda, and the likes—but my associates managed to get hold of the proof before he could eliminate it all."

Luke swallowed and tried not to sob. He'd known that—he'd grown to accept that—but... hearing that the tormentor, the gentle gift giver, had killed the only father he'd ever known...

A tear crawled out from under his eyelid and down his cheek. Erialus had the gall to wipe it away, but Luke did not stop him.

He was used to having his boundaries steamrolled.

He was used to being belittled.

"We are very concerned about ensuring that your father's true heir maintains power over the marvellous Empire he built," Erialus continued, "but to do so we know you cannot be near Vader, or he will exert physical force, threats, or other sanctions to keep you in line. Coruscant, particularly this palace, is his stronghold at the moment. If we want you to take back power, you cannot be here when you do it."

"And what," Luke pushed, "would your plan to take back power be?"

"I cannot say it here. But we have one—one so effective even Vader will be brought to his knees by it." Erialus smiled that too-white smile again, and patted him on the shoulder. "I will tell you all about it once we get you out of here, but first you must escape. Do you think you could?"

"Escape from here?" Luke snorted. "No."

"Could you make it to the kitchens, though?" he pressed. "Without guards. Could you make it that far, where one of my associates can send a maid to meet you and take you to a hangar? You could be in hyperspace before dawn tomorrow."

Luke's heart started to beat a brand in his chest, but he said nothing.

"You could get away from Vader—from everything. We can help you, Your Majesty, and you need never deal with Vader again."

Vader.

Vader.

Vader.

Luke didn't trust this. He didn't trust Erialus. He was not stupid.

But he mistrusted Vader even more.

If he had even the slightest chance of escape... he had to take it. He was sure he could give Erialus and his associates the slip, once he was out, and then— then—

Nova had talked about taking him to Naboo, if she could.

Well, Luke would just have to meet her there.

"Yes," he said. "I could do that."

Erialus smiled. "I am glad, Your Majesty." He released his hands like he was dropped papers onto a desk, and stepped back. "I will see you at dawn, then."

Then he turned around, and was gone.

Luke spent a long time staring after him.

After a while, Luke returned to his quarters, mind still whirling. His plan had more and more holes in it the more he debated it, and he couldn't deny its idiocy, but—

He had no choice, did he?

He wasn't going to train with Vader again, no matter what else the man had to offer. So he had to escape. Tonight.

No matter what.

It meant that when he entered his bedroom that evening to see a stuffed nexu, glass eyes staring up at him pleadingly, he sucked in a breath. Picked it up.

The note tied round his neck read, An apology, little angel.

Luke twisted his face into a snarl and flung it across the room. It bounced several times then landed, eyes staring in his direction, glinting in the light. He climbed into bed and shut his eyes.

It was a good thing he wasn't planning on sleeping anyway that night: the nexu's eyes watched him the whole time, and he couldn't have if he'd tried.

The door slid shut behind the guard checking to see if Luke was asleep. Luke waited another minute then slipped out of bed. If they stuck to their pattern he'd have a few hours before anyone would notice his absence. In his old rooms all air ducts were sealed, his father had made sure of it. But here...

Well. Here he might have a chance.

The Noghri and his human guards were still banned from entering his actual bedroom—for better or for worse—so as long as he was quiet, he'd be fine.

He'd be fine.

He'd tested the air vent before he went to sleep—it opened with barely a whisper, but a whisper nonetheless, and now as he clambered up onto the head of the bed he desperately hoped the Noghri's sense of hearing wasn't good enough to pick up on it.

And he hoped they couldn't hear his grunts as he yanked himself up and into it, as well. It wasn't small, and nor was he a large fourteen year old, but it was still quite tight as he scrambled through; he had to clamp down on his panic.

No. Vader would sense him. Vader would sense him if he panicked. He couldn't afford for Vader to sense him.

So he dragged himself forwards, suddenly hyperaware that his pyjamas were thin and cold against the breeze that ran through the vent, the chilly metal of the vent itself. He shivered, goosebumps prickling up and down his back, and tried to forge on.

He'd studied the maps of the vents when he was younger—a guard's son who liked playing in the palace had given them to him, and he'd made great use of the knowledge, moving all over the palace for days until his father had hunted him down and caught him. He'd been put under Vader's sole, direct... tutelage for that instance, for an entire week; when he'd returned, he'd found the vents in his room sealed up shut, and they remained that way still.

But Vader had insisted he move to new quarters—not his father's old quarters, but newly converted ones, which Vader had control over. Luke was pretty sure they used to be some sort of training room and quarters for someone, some apprentice, judging by the size of the hall, the feeling from it and the proximity to Vader's quarters, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that they weren't his old ones.

So. If Luke remembered his maps correctly...

He twisted left on the next turn. This ought to be taking him past the entrance hall, where some of the Noghri were stationed, and sure enough when he came to a grate he could peer down at the corridor below. The Noghri stood firm, though when he knocked his elbow against the side of the vent and couldn't restrain his curse, he froze.

They twitched.

Glanced at each other, peered around—and up, gosh, hadn't that sharpshooter come through the vents what if they thought he was an assassin—but Luke shoved himself back, away from the grate, so no light touched his face. He held his breath and counted to ten, twenty, fifty—

He did his best not to gasp when he finally dared breathe again and inched forwards, peeking down. They'd gone back to staring at the opposite wall, stony silenced.

His sigh of relief was barely audible.

He continued to crawl.

The kitchens Erialus needed him to get to were in this direction—straight ahead, with a few short drops and a few lefts. He just needed to keep crawling onwards, towards...

After a few minutes of crawling, he stilled.

He— he could hear—

No.

It was just the air moving through the vents. It was nothing.

He couldn't twist his head around far at all, could only see a sliver of what was behind him, but he went as far as he could until he could peer back. Nothing there. Of course.

But...

He was approaching Vader's chambers now. He just had to crawl past them; the man was probably asleep. He just needed to keep his nerve and not wake him with his sheer terror.

That was not a respirator he could hear. Only the air vents. That was not a lightsaber humming. Just the power in the walls.

It was fine. He just had to keep going.

It was fine. He just had to keep going.

It was fine—

There was light up ahead.

Another grate—and, if he was calculating right, this would look down onto Vader's quarters.

Luke had never seen inside them before. He doubted anyone had—save for droids who were wiped the moment they left, and perhaps his father. For a moment he hesitated... then kept crawling.

No. He had to get out. He had to escape.

He had to get away from Vader, not find out more about him.

But that humming noise was getting louder...

Something had Luke craning his neck again to see behind him.

And a lightsaber erupted from the metal just behind his foot.

It carved a slash clean through the metal, screeching, tearing; Luke screamed.

Scrambled forwards—no, no, no, Vader was really gonna kill him this time, he had to get out of here—

And then the saber slashed right in front of him too and he reared back so fast he smacked his head. Stars sparkled in his vision—or maybe that was the sparks that flew when the lightsaber made its third and final cut, precisely along the side of the vent, centimetres from Luke's hand.

The thin metal creaked ominously.

It was not meant to carry a human like this.

And yet it still shocked Luke to his core when it gave underneath him and he fell.

He slammed into black polished floor, head hit hard, and a shout—of pain, of terror—tore out of his throat without abandon.

And the last thing he saw before darkness closed in was Darth Vader, his childhood nightmares incarnate, looming over him, lightsaber lit.

Chapter Text

Luke's vision blurred, and as his breathing rasped, increasingly laboured, he knew he was dying.

Vader had got what he wanted. Luke was dying, and his vision dimmed at the last sight of Vader hovering over him—blade ignited.

"At last," Vader sneered. A kick to his ribs had him spinning over onto his back with an oomph, starbursts of pain blooming in his side. "Perhaps your father will see you for the pathetic creature you truly are."

Luke didn't bother answering—just watched darkness swamp his vision. He could see his father's face now, and thought bitterly that at least he wouldn't be around to see his disappointment when Vader told him of his utter failure—

Nova's face swam before his eyes, for a moment. He wondered if he'd see her, in the afterlife; his father said she'd been exiled and banished from the palace for treason, but he'd long suspected that she was actually dead, or caught, or executed, so maybe in death he'd actually get to see someone who'd cared about him—

"My lord," said a voice. Captain... Vassic, Luke realised. "His Majesty does not want his heir unduly damaged."

Luke stiffened and, by sheer instinct and learned deference, his eyes slid open and he forced himself to at least sit upright, nearly slitting his throat on Vader's blade. The wound in his side throbbed and he felt like his guts would spill out across the scuffed training room floor if he didn't clutch at it, though that left waves of pain and nausea washing through his nerves like ink through water.

A shadow passed in front of him, dark red robes dragging in menacing whispers on the floor and pausing before him. Firm, gloved hands pried his away from his side.

"What," Vassic snapped, sounding nothing more than irritated at having to babysit him, "what did you do this time, Your Highness?"

Luke cringed back from that helmeted gaze, the scorn and frustration in it, and let his father's captain of the guard drop his hands so they landed on and bloodied the floor.

"I didn't maintain my guard," he said shakily, averting his eyes. He didn't have the yellow eyes of the Sith son his father would want, he knew that well, so best not to show them to anyone altogether. "I fell for an obvious feint and couldn't block the attack or avoid it."

"Is that correct, Lord Vader?" Vassic asked, raising his voice a little. Luke didn't shift his gaze to look at Vader as he growled, but the words still sent shudders down his back anyway.

"Inform my master that his son's footwork is abysmal, his technique is mediocre at best, and he barely has the strength to resist the lightest of blows," Vader reported, tone as dark and furious as ever. Luke still hung his head but shot his gaze up to glare at him. Luke was not that bad—

"You disagree, Your Highness?"

Luke's gaze went right back to the floor. "No, Captain."

"Please continue, my lord. His Majesty will want to know the details."

"He is an embarrassment to teach."

Luke flinched.

Vassic scoffed a laugh. "You are always so harsh on him, Vader. He may be useless in the Force, and you may think his unworthy of the mantle of the Sith we both serve, but there's no need to be cruel."

As if Vassic knew how to not be cruel. He taught Luke self-defence—at least, had tried to, before Luke had proven how ungifted he was there—and oversaw various other lessons when it was his shift to watch Luke. He wasn't kind during any of them.

"Our emperor has even suggested that we should be kinder to the boy. He will never meet yours or his exacting standards, so..." He smiled. "We should allow him to meet someone's, at least."

Luke boiled with humiliation.

He was shaking. The wound in his side still throbbed, but he didn't think it was life-threatening; his father would have excused him from this conversation by now if it was.

Vader said, in that tight, borderline disrespectful tone he always used around the red guards, like they were beneath him, like he shouldn't have to report to them at all, "He remains weak."

"Then we should work on building up some of his muscle." He reached over to squeeze Luke's bicep so tightly it hurt, but Luke barely flinched. "Do you want to return to the training room and go through your exercises again?"

It wasn't a question, so Luke didn't give his honest opinion—not that he ever did. He just said, "Yes, Captain."

"Good boy." He smiled tightly. "For now, your father requests your presence. Empire Day is approaching, and with it your birthday."

Luke's heart leapt into his throat, hope kindling—

"He had arranged a TIE simulator to be brought here for you so you could practise your flying..."

Luke almost dared to smile.

"...but in light of your... disappointments, here," Vassic gestured to the wound, "in your training recently... I suspect he will rescind the gift. You have to earn these things, prince, and your father will feel you have not."

Luke deflated.

He knew that his father would agree with that.

He'd done it again. If only he succeeded, if only he worked harder, fought better, his father would be able to dote on him the way fathers should. He always wanted to, always came so close, but Vassic was right: he couldn't reward poor behaviour in Luke.

Luke was going to be Emperor one day. He had to be the best, and he had to be ready. His father could not settle for anything less.

"Now go to your father," he dismissed. "I suspect he will only send you to the medbay immediately, but go. And if he does, remember to tell them to ensure it does not scar."

Luke nodded. Things could never scar. Never cause lasting pain. He didn't know why—he had enough temporary pain on a regular basis that it wouldn't hurt him anyway—but it was his father's policy, so he obeyed.

That was what sons did.

So he nodded some more and—with a groan—heaved himself to his feet, trying not to faint at the pain that seared through him. He staggered out, burning with the disapproving stares that followed.

"Vader," Vassic turned to him, "what plans have you made to rectify his training? I agree with you that he is a hopeless case, but His Majesty cannot give up on his only son and heir."

Luke paused by the door, gasping in great breaths and staring at Vader in between the spots of darkness in his vision. Vader was staring right back at him with unbridled loathing.

His lightsaber was still lit. Luke wanted to throw up at the sight of it.

"Tell my master," Vader said, "that he should."

The images floated at the back of Luke's mind, barely understandable amongst the ringing pain and consciousness buffering at the corners of his mind, like he'd imagined balloons would, from the few descriptions of them he'd found in various novels.

A bright light, a brilliant light, and a dark, rasping shadow coming down to eclipse it, and that shadow asked, Who promised to help you escape?

Luke blinked and darkness descended, wiping all memory.

Then the light came again, and with it a gentle pain against his mind.

Who was it?

Who wanted to take you from me?

Please, Luke...

And Luke wondered if he could keep the name a secret, if he really wanted to save Senator Erialus and his sorry neck when he'd no doubt meant him harm anyway, the way his father had, the way everyone meant him harm—

Senator Erialus, the voice growled and then the looming shadow stormed away. Luke wondered why his lightsaber wasn't lit and wondered why he wondered that.

Then he knew no more.

Luke slowly came back to his senses. He was half sitting, half lying on something moderately soft with some kind of blanket wrapped around him. Slowly his eyes blinked open and he stared directly at the being he had so desperately tried to escape. Terror shook through every cell of his body.

Then he blinked, and the horrible shadow vanished as light hit it and the curve of the helmet melted back into Nova's head, covered by a burgundy hood. As he watched it slipped down her hair and she rested a hand on his cheek. His eyes fluttered closed again.

"I know you're awake, Luke," she said, amused. He relaxed slightly, feeling the corners of his mouth tug upwards. "If you're tired and want to drift off again, feel free, but don't just pretend to be asleep."

Her tone was teasing. That more than anything had Luke opening his eyes again to look up at her.

She reached to the side when he did and pressed something into his hands. His thumb brushed soft fur; when he looked down, his smile split his face. It was his bantha.

But this was not his bedroom.

He pushed himself into a sitting position and glanced around, past her face. It was a sofa he was on, sure enough, and it looked like something homely enough to be out of someone's private quarters. But in the corner of the room was a mechanism that looked kinda scary, there was a rack of... mechanical limbs? Then there was a slab of metal that he supposed could serve as a very uncomfortable thing to lie on, and droids deactivated along the wall next to it, and the milky, pearlescent glow of a bacta tank in the centre, eerily lit.

Luke blinked around at it all, suddenly aware that Nova's lips had pressed themselves into a thin, thin line.

"Where—" Luke had a horrible suspicion, but— "Where are we?"

Nova's lips were still tight. "Vader's personal medical chamber," she said. "The... sofa wasn't here before—he had that brought in from somewhere else—but he insisted you stay here, that it was best for you."

"Why?"

"I don't know." She grimaced. "Luke, why were you trying to run away? He said—"

"He said I had to continue being trained by him," Luke said. "I won't. I won't."

"And you won't," she agreed. "He— he really insisted on that?

"He did."

She cursed under her breath in a language he wasn't familiar with. "Idiot," she said to him. "Does he have any understanding of human beings at all?"

Luke shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Me neither." Nova rolled her eyes. "But from what I re—" She cut herself off.

Luke was watching her tightly. He was suddenly aware that the... blanket over the top of him was thick, and black, and heavy. He fisted a hand in it and it scraped his knuckles.

Nova did not flinch at it. He had to wonder if she knew what it was, the way he was growing increasingly certain he did.

"Nova..." he asked, and something in his tone made her tense. "If you knew my birth parents..."

"Yes?" She was looking at him with her total, undivided attention. She took his hand and held it, thumb rubbing the back.

"Vader says he knew my birth parents, and you," he said at last. He didn't know why he was so nervous to ask—it was Nova—but actually, no, he did. But this was Nova, not his father, not Vader. He didn't need to be afraid with her. "Do... do you know who he was?"

Nova paused for a moment, glancing at the door, then her hand moved to Luke's hair and stroked it gently. He automatically cringed away from it—Erialus and his face flashed to mind, brushing away his tear with a cloying touch; Captain Vassic, dragging his fingers over his shoulder, bicep and cheek; his father, touching his face just as much if not more, whenever he pleased—and she stopped, retreating to rest her hand back on his, a question in her face. He nodded, and squeezed her hand.

"I do," she said. "I think I do. The man I knew would never have done the things he has, but the rise of the Empire changed us all."

"Then... do you think..."

"I don't think he means to harm you, little emperor," she confirmed, and a planet rolled off Luke's shoulders at the words. Nova was smart. He trusted Nova. She'd always judge far better than he could, so having her confirm what a ridiculous part of him was suspecting, even as the rest of him screamed sense...

Well, he no longer felt quite so ridiculous.

"Alright," he said, and smiled at her, squeezing her hand again. "Where... where is Vader now?"

Because wishing him harm or not, the man had still let him fall a long way from the vents to the ground, lightsaber lit, looming—

"I don't know," she admitted with a frown, and turned to one of Luke's Noghri guards, standing watch. It was Abrak'haim, Luke recognised. "Where is Lord Vader now? He was here a short while ago."

It was Nova who asked, but he addressed Luke. "He said he had an important meeting to keep, Mal'ary'ush."

Nova snorted. "A meeting? Vader? With whom?"

"A senator," Abrak'haim said. Luke's stomach dropped as if from a dizzying height and then froze, at, "Senator Erialus."

Nova frowned and wrinkled her nose in disgust at the man's name, but then she saw Luke's reaction. "Luke? What is it?"

"He's going to kill me," Luke breathed.

"Who? Erialus?"

"Vader." He threw himself to his feet, and would have collapsed from the sudden wave of dizziness that swept through him had Nova not stood to catch him. "Vader, no, he's probably killed Erialus and he's gonna— going to kill me—"

"Luke, Vader will not kill you."

"I tried to escape—"

"And he won't kill you! I told you, and you know it's true: Vader does not want you hurt. You must believe that."

"Then I'm wrong," he shouted. "I'm always wrong, and you're wrong too because you agreed with me, he's going to—"

"Luke." She guided him back to the sofa, and tucked Vader's cape back over him with a gentle tug when he half-sat, half-fell back against the pillows. "He is not going to hurt you. Either because he doesn't want to—"

"He—"

"Or because I won't let him."

He stilled, at that, watery eyes looking up at her.

"I won't let him," she said fiercely, "come near you if he so much as twitches threateningly. I promise you that, Luke. I am here for you, as I couldn't be in the last four years, I am here now."

She reached out a hand to put it on his cheek, paused a respectable distance away, and let him lean into her touch instead. He did, smiling a little as her warmth burned away the memory of Erialus and... everyone else, really.

His eyes slid closed. He was so tired...

"Sleep again, Luke," she murmured. "I'll watch over you."

And with that he drew Vader's cape back up around his shoulders, lolled his head back and slept.

"Why did you want the prince to escape?"

Erialus, stripped of his dignity and his fine senator's clothes and his freedom, curled up in the corner of the cell, screaming.

"I didn't, it wasn't me, I didn't—"

A shove against his mind in the Force and a ferocious backhand from Vader; his mind screamed while his hand cracked to the side, blood bursting from his nose and mouth like the juice of an overripe fruit.

"Who are you working with? Why did you mean him harm?"

"I didn't, I meant no one harm, I did nothing—" Hoarse babbling, endless, incoherent...

Untold rage roared up inside Vader and he lashed out one last time—

"WHY HAVE YOU DONE THIS?"

—and then there was a snap, a buckling, and Senator Erialus lay dead on the floor of the cell.

Vader's rage was nowhere near sated, his fury far from spent; he wiped the blood off his gloves as he stormed out of the cell, snapping indiscernible orders to the officers stationed outside to dispose of the body. He knew how this would look—a Palpatine loyalist being murdered by the head of the new order that had replaced him. He didn't care one bit.

What had he been trying to achieve?

Where was he going to take Luke?

Why had he tried to take Luke away from him?

The sheer terror the mere thought invoked in him had him marching up from the cells on the lower levels of the Palace right the way to where he knew Luke would still be asleep in Vader's quarters. He should still be unconscious—but he should have been unable to escape his quarters, but he nearly had, and Vader had nearly lost him—

He needed to see that Luke was still there. He needed to see that Luke was still there.

But when he stormed into the room, Sabé was on her feet, and she was glaring at him.

"You," she hissed, "are the most incompetent, idiotic, ins—"

"Where is my son." Vader ignored her, storming forwards—Luke was still there, on the sofa Vader had had installed in his private medbay for this very purpose. A quick brush of the Force revealed he was still unconscious, too. "He—"

"He woke up momentarily before drifting off to sleep. And now, Anakin, we need to talk about parenting strategies."

"I have no interest in that book you insist on me reading."

"You—!" She nearly snarled at him, there. "You terrify Luke! You desperately try to get him to train with you, after you've traumatised him so much, and then you traumatise him again, enough that he'll follow a random sleazy senator just because they're offering to get him out, and then you prevent his escape by terrifying him even more! What the kriff are you thinking!?"

"I am doing what is necessary."

"You are hurting him." Sabé stood tall—well, as tall as someone of her stature could—and glared at him. "You are hurting him, and I promised Luke that I would never allow him to get hurt again."

"I am caring for and protecting him."

"By doing what? Torturing and killing the person he thought could help him?" She'd clearly already heard about Erialus. "Carrying him to the sofa after he was knocked unconscious by a fall you treated him to? Giving him your cape as a blanket to try and show how much you care, rather than showing it in actually useful ways?" She scoffed. "I knew you were a fool, Lord Vader, but—"

"Everything I do, I do for Luke."

"No," she challenged. "Everything you do, you do for your idea of Luke. And your delusions are pathetically removed from reality."

He was silent for a moment. His limbs were prosthetics, but even then they were trembling.

He could not kill Sabé.

If he killed Sabé, it would be like killing Padmé again. If he killed Sabé, Luke would never forgive him.

He could not kill Sabé.

"You have no idea what you are talking about," he snarled.

"I know Luke. And I know that all you do is cause him pain."

Vader didn't know what to say to that.

Luke was terrified of him. He knew that. But it wasn't his fault—wasn't it?

Sabé's comlink bleeped, then. She glanced at it, and scowled.

"Your murder spree has stirred up all sorts of objections and conflict in the Senate," she said. "Congratulations."

Vader said nothing but, "I do not regret it. Erialus was a danger to Luke, and so were his allies."

"I don't doubt that, Lord Vader, but—" Her comlink went off again and she sighed sharply.

"That is something you should handle," he pointed out, seeing his chance.

She saw his chance, too. "No. I'm not leaving you alone with him. I promised him I would help him."

The comlink went off again.

"It sounds urgent."

"So is this."

"He is my son."

"And he is my ward. I will not leave him unprotected."

"I will protect him."

"And who will protect him from you?"

The comlink. Again.

"The odds of him awakening while you are gone are slim," Vader pointed out slyly. "If you handle that quickly, I am sure you will return before he does."

"And I'm sure you won't—"

"What do you think I will do to my unconscious son? Cut his hand off?"

The look on Sabé's face was not reassuring.

"Seeing as you do not know how abysmal the idea to force Luke to train with you is," she said. "I would not put it past you."

He bristled. "I would never hurt him."

"But you did. Every time you try to train him, you do. Why are you forcing him to continue? It will not make things better. It will only make things worse."

Vader... couldn't argue with that.

This whole situation had proven it.

"I will not force him to train with me again," he promised.

She gave him a look—clearly, that wasn't good enough. But when her comlink went off again, she gave another of those sharp sighs, and moved.

"Stay away from him until I get back," she snapped, striding for the door. "And leave your lightsaber outside, for stars' sake, or you'll just upset him even more."

Of course, Vader did nothing of the sort. Once the door slammed shut behind her, he took up his seat beside Luke and just... watched.

His son was here. His son was alive.

That, despite everything else, relaxed him somewhat.

When Luke woke again, the first thing he noticed was that awful respirator.

Vader was in the room, this time.

Nova, that thought immediately provoked, where was—

"Peace, Majesty," Vader intoned. "She was called away on some business in the Senate that had to be mediated urgently, and did not consider me up to the task."

There was humour in his voice but all Luke could think was he'd dealt with Erialus.

The mere name in his thoughts sparked a maelstrom of fury in Vader and Luke immediately scrunched his eyes shut; he didn't want to see his death coming—

There was a creak in the floor as Vader stepped closer and—

He gently took hold of his cape, and pulled it up to Luke's shoulders from where it had idled at his waist.

Luke's eyes slid open in shock.

He... hadn't realised he'd been shivering.

"Majesty," Vader implored, "I do not have my lightsaber on me. Lady Sabé instructed me to leave it outside."

Luke's breath hitched when he actually looked at Vader for the first time. He looked... so odd without his cape.

"You don't need a lightsaber to kill someone," he muttered.

"No, I do not. But it is the more dramatic way."

Luke stared. Was he—

He was joking.

Vader lifted a hand, as if to put it on Luke's shoulder, but lowered it again when he tensed.

"How did you kill Erialus?" Luke asked, but there wasn't much bite in it.

"With the lightsaber. It was quick."

Luke couldn't detect the lie in Vader's voice—but he shuddered nonetheless.

Vader picked up on it. "He did not want to help you, Majesty," he said, and Luke could hear the anger creeping into his voice, but somehow knew it wasn't at him. "He was loyal to— to your father, not to you. His plans..."

"What were they?" Luke swallowed. He didn't want to know, or maybe he did, but he didn't—

"I do not know. I do not know where he wanted to take you, or what plan he had. I just know that he had orders to stun, hurt, threaten, and do anything short of kill you in order to make you come. He was not concerned for your wellbeing, Majesty. He wanted you for something, and I do not trust what that was."

Luke closed his eyes again. "The way the sharpshooter wanted to kidnap me," he uttered. "The way Captain Vassic did."

"Yes."

A tear slipped out from under his eyelid. "I had plans to escape, as soon as I could," he said. "I'm stupid, but not that stupid. I knew he wasn't any good. I just needed to get away."

"You are not stupid, Majesty. You are a very intelligent child." Luke jerked his head up and stared, but there wasn't a hint of sarcasm in Vader's artificial voice. "And you have dealt with a highly stressful situation better than anyone could expect you to."

Luke... didn't know how to take a compliment from his biggest, fiercest critic. "I was stupid. There's no way I even could've escaped—from the palace or from them."

"I have no doubt you have the intelligence and skills to do both," Vader assured him, and shock pummelled the breath from Luke's lungs for the second time in as many minutes. "But even if you had escaped, Majesty, where would you go? You are a beacon in the Force—you would have been found and captured by Jedi within weeks. With some training you could protect yourself, but—"

"I am not training."

"I know, Majesty," Vader said softly. "I will not force you to."

Luke sat tightly and stared, but a relief bowed his shoulders, unleashed a sigh from his chest. Vader felt... sad, at that.

But Luke still had so many questions.

And now, he thought, was as good a time as any to demand answers.

So he opened his mouth. Closed it. Thought of Nova, swearing that Vader didn't want to hurt him...

...and he opened it again, and asked.

"You always told me I wasn't worth the time to train."

"A lie," Vader said bluntly. "Palpatine was afraid of your potential in the Force. Once fully trained your powers will by far exceed his, or mine."

Luke blinked at the immediate answer, and hesitated briefly in response to it. Then, because there was no other way of wording the demand for clarification, his accusation, his confusion, his... hope, he repeated: "You always told me I wasn't worth the time to train."

Lord Vader paused, and gathered himself before he spoke again—far more delicately, and clearly, this time.

"Your father lied to you," he said, more slowly. "He... I don't know why he went to the effort of adopting a Force-sensitive child as strong as you, if he was just going to lie to you about how powerful you were and refuse to allow your potential to develop the way it should. I used to think it was his way of cutting me off from my rightful place as heir to the Empire, but," he paused for a brief, humourless chuckle, "that was self-centred of me. His reasons were far crueller than that, I am sure, and possibly also far more cowardly. I have no doubt that he wanted to ensure you were nothing but slavishly devoted to him before he dared develop you into the Force wielder you have the potential to be. You would have been too much of a threat otherwise."

Luke blinked down at his hands. Vader hadn't asked for his cape back yet and he wrapped his hands in it, suddenly hating how cold they were, how hard they were shaking.

"But I'm weak," he reiterated. "You said—"

"We lied. You are the strongest person in the galaxy."

"Stronger than you?"

Vader knelt down in front of him and looked him in the eye, then, taking his hands.

"Stronger than me," he confirmed. "Once fully trained, you will be invincible."

"Then why are you so insistent on me training?" Luke got out. "Why would you want me to become more powerful than you?"

"I want you to become powerful. I want you to protect yourself."

Yes, but what was in it for Vader?

"I want you safe. Being able to protect yourself will help that."

Luke dropped his gaze to his hands, still in Vader's grasp. He was suddenly aware that with Vader kneeling—in a tender, familiar way he'd never seen him kneel to anyone, not even Luke's father—his helmet was at a height with Luke's head, and their gazes were level.

"I'm still not training," he said softly. "If this is a ploy to get me to—"

"It's not, Majesty. I promise you that. I will not force you to train again." A few, empty rounds of his respirator. "And... I... regret, everything that I did. I know no apology will ever suffice, but I still do not think my previous apologies have been at all sufficient. I apologise, Your Majesty, from the depths of my soul and with every molecule of my being. If I could go back and sever my own limbs, plunge my saber into my own heart, before I committed such horrible crimes, I would. But as it is, all I can swear is that I will protect you until there is no more breath or pulse left in my body, whether you choose to develop your remarkable gift or not."

Luke ground his teeth. He... still didn't know how to take any of this. But there was a loosening in his shoulders, and a sigh building at the back of his throat, so he let it out.

"And this... power, that makes me so special," he said. "Whose is it?"

Vader seemed taken aback by that. "Yours, Majesty."

"I assume I got it from my father?" he pressed. "The Jedi. They had this power, so I assume I owe it to him."

Vader was silent for several moments longer. "Yes," he said. "You did get it from him. He was a very powerful Jedi, before he died."

"Did you know him? Personally?"

A small laugh—a scoff, almost. "As far as anyone could know him, I suppose."

"Did you know him better than you knew my mother?"

Vader was quiet again.

"I knew them both," he said. "Though I loved your mother far more."

And Luke didn't know what it was in Vader's tone he was picking up on, nor what feeling he felt, deep inside, but he found the urge to ask, "Were you jealous of him?"

"What?"

Luke flushed. "You... sounded like you loved my mother. Greatly," he elaborated. "Were— were you ever jealous of my father, for—"

"No," Vader said. "No. I loved her. She was happy." He patted Luke's knee, and made to rise again. "I want the same for you."

Luke said, "Oh."

"She would have been a fine Empress, had she lived for me to crown her," Vader said, almost as an afterthought as he turned to leave. "And I see much of her in you. I have faith in you, Majesty, although I know you do not have faith in yourself."

Luke had nothing to say to that.

Vader said, "You are free to return to your quarters whenever you wish to, Majesty," and slipped out of the door, leaving Luke alone.

Luke curled up under his cape again, trying not to shiver. If Vader had... faith in him, he—

Well.

Other than Nova, no one had ever had faith in him before. To do anything.

Not even he'd had faith in himself.

So...

Maybe...

Maybe he wanted to stay. Try being Emperor, for a bit. He had enjoyed doing the interviews with the senators, enjoyed taking back control where he could, and had enjoyed doing something. Knowing he could make a difference, after a life where his every word and action was silence or brushed aside.

And... he wanted to know more about his parents.

Nova could tell him stories, but she self-confessed to not having been there when his parents had married—nor at the end. Vader, apparently, had.

So Luke knew exactly who he needed to ask.

After Vader had stopped his lessons in the Force, Nova had turned to a completely different way of teaching him to defend himself.

Luke raised the blaster, aimed it at the target put up at the other end of the repurposed hangar, held his breath and fired. Once again the shot went wide, not even close to hitting the target.

Luke sighed through gritted teeth.

Nova had talked him through this, she had demonstrated, showed him the correct grip, why—

He fired again. It went wide.

"Lord Vader said you could need help with that," someone said behind him.

Luke whirled around to see... a general, standing there? He stood strongly in the doorway at attention, observing the room, then he noticed Luke's gaze and offered a perfunctory bow.

Luke narrowed his eyes for half a second, before the general—he was pretty sure he was a general, he'd been drilled to death on what the different rank plaques on different uniforms meant—came back up again to look him in the eye, by which point his expression was unreadable.

Vader had agreed that Luke could train to defend himself in different ways. Not in the Force, and not with him. Had agreed that Luke would learn hand to hand combat, and sharpshooting, and be allowed to return to using flight simulators—one of the few forms of entertainment his father had allowed—until he was good enough to fly his own ship one day.

Now he was involving himself in that, too?

"N— Lady Nova is training me, thank you," he said, as politely and forcefully as he could. The general didn't seem fazed.

"I understand, Your Majesty," he said. "Lord Vader simply suggested that in your practice sessions, when Lady Nova is preoccupied with matters of state or other such issues, it would be beneficial for me to offer critique or advice wherever you need it." He clicked his heels together and bowed again sharply. "It would make you improve much faster." His gaze flicked to the scorch marks on the walls from Luke's previous, utterly atrocious shots.

Luke felt a slight sting of offence, but appreciated his candour.

"What's your name?" Luke said slowly, eyeing him.

The general nodded. "General Maximilian Veers, Your Majesty."

Luke had heard of him. Of course he'd heard of him. One of the most successful generals in the Imperial Army, orchestrated the Rebels' most crushing defeats, bore badges and medals of honour for his victories at Sullust, at Mimban, at Felucia, countless other worlds. He was a legend, almost.

Veers commanded ground forces. As good as Nova was with a blaster, as worldly and experienced as she was, as much as he loved her, Veers probably had more experience teaching and dealing with people who used them.

But...

"Why?" Luke asked, one last check. "Why did Vader send you?"

Veers didn't flinch at the open distrust. Luke got the feeling he admired it. "I have a son about your age," he said. "My first assumption would be that he thought I'd be the best choice because of that."

Luke... nodded. That made sense.

And it fit with how... thoughtful Vader had been, recently.

"Alright," he said, smiling a little and gesturing for Veers to step inside the training room. It was a vast room, with mats and racks of weapons as well as the targets lined up along the far wall, and Luke felt very small and self-conscious standing there.

Veers had no such qualms. "Your posture's off," he said briskly, not holding back any of his criticism or walking on eggshells around him. Luke appreciated that—he appreciated it greatly. "You need to plant your feet, like you know what you're doing—"

"I don't know what I'm doing."

Veers looked at him side-on of for a moment, amusement as well as sympathy in his gaze. "Ever?"

"Ever."

"Well, you're doing an excellent job of faking it, and that's the most important step," Veers said baldly. Luke found a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Now. Plant your feet like this, back straight—not that straight, you're too stiff—and hold that position. No, not like that, what are you, a pilot?"

"I'd like to be," Luke said, and grinned genuinely at the thought.

Veers barked a laugh. "The bloody navy romanticise everything," he said. "Now. Let me see your grip on your blaster. Imitate mine—no, imitate mine a bit more—who taught you that? Some fancy pants from Naboo?"

"Yes."

"How did I kriffing know, look here, this is how you do it..."

And Luke watched his hands shift around the grip of the blaster he took from his belt, and found that his lack of faith in himself was mysteriously absent.

By the end of the lesson, he'd hit the target three times. And when he got home, there was a stuffed colo claw fish, as long as his arm, lying on the bed with a now-familiar note tied around its neck.

Chapter Text

Weeks passed quickly, then months. Luke came to know Veers better and better, he and Vader maintained their cordial, loaded exchanges, and they continued on.

But still, despite these improvement, Luke had spent his life accustomed to the fact that people were going to spy on every little thing he did, so when he started watching a holo drama, he knew that it would not last long. No matter how harmless it might be, he was hyperaware of the Noghri watching him at every moment, Vader judging even if he wasn't enacting on his judgements, the opinions of adults all around him weighing heavier than his own ever could. He was enjoying the holo, but it couldn't last.

But he didn't expect for Nova to join him.

Yet, there she was, sitting next to him, just as swaddled in blankets as he was, the long colo claw fish V— Luke had received the previous night acting as a pillow long enough for both of them to use. The rest of his gifts were snuggled around them on the large sofa as well, and Luke felt so... comfortable, lying atop cuddly toys and watching something pathetic and ridiculous like this, like he was half his age.

When the episode finished, Nova glanced at him. "Do you want to watch the next one?"

Luke blinked. "I can?"

"Of course you can," she said simply and patiently. "Do you want to?"

He glanced at the holo projector. "It's not a good show."

"It's really not. But it's fun to watch."

"And it's getting late."

"Yes."

"And I shouldn't waste my time on this sort of trash."

Nova pouted. "That's your father talking."

"It's me talking—"

"C'mon, you're fourteen. You should be having sleepovers and watching trashy shows until your eyes bleed." She swatted his arm. "Do you want to watch the next one?"

"I— no," he decided, getting up. The nexu toy tumbled off his lap and landed on top of the holoprojector, its face being cast into odd, slightly comical shadows by the blue light. "No, I don't want to."

Nova said, "Hmmm," and watched him go.

And then the next morning, she said to him, "How many times how you spoken to someone your own age?"

He looked at her. She knew the answer to that. "Zero," he said.

She wrinkled her nose.

"Well then." She patted him on the shoulder and walked away. "We should fix that."

"Nova," Luke said that afternoon, staring at the two teenagers sitting awkwardly on one of the sofas in the entrance chamber to his quarters, as far away from each other as they could get without standing up and being explicitly rude, "what did you do."

It had to have been her. No one else would've done this.

"You said you'd never spoken to someone your own age," she said cheerfully. Luke flushed berry-red, and hated the look one of the teenagers, a girl dressed in white with a bun of dark braids, gave him at that. It was far too close to pity.

"These two agreed to meet you, and you just have to watch one movie together," she badgered, taking Luke's shoulder and steering him closer. He felt like a five year old. "If you decided you all hate each other, then you never have to socialise again, but until then, please give it a chance, Luke."

She whispered. "It'll be good for you."

Luke swallowed tightly, hating the way the two teenagers—likely infinitely cleverer, more socialised, more experienced than him—were gazing at him. It was probably scorn—scorn for the child emperor who couldn't even talk to his peers—

Then Nova ushered them all into the living room of his quarters and sat them down around the holoprojector. They each took separate chairs or sofas, and Luke was intimately aware of the confused glances his Noghri bodyguards were giving and receiving from the newcomers, but he stubbornly tried not to flush again.

"So, uh," he said. "I'm Luke."

"We know," the girl said.

He nodded. "Right."

She took pity on him and smiled. "This is Zevulon Veers," she said, and the other teenager—a tall, dark-haired human—gave her a look.

"I was going to introduce myself, thank you."

"Well, now you don't have to."

"Any relation to General Veers?" Luke asked tentatively.

Zevulon... didn't frown, but he didn't smile, either. "My father. I hardly ever see him."

Ah. If only Luke had had that pleasure with his father, he might not have disappointed him as much.

"I met him a few weeks ago," he offered. "Apparently Vader roped him into teaching me how to shoot."

"You don't know how to shoot?" asked the girl. Her voice was loud, regal, and it brimmed with confidence. Luke felt like a shadow next to her.

"No," he said tightly. "My training never covered that. But Vader and Nova thought it would be a good thing to learn now." He decided not to mention the whole fight there'd been about that. "The general was a good teacher."

Zevulon nodded. "He is. When he's around."

"When he's not off slaughtering people?" the girl chimed in.

Zevulon tensed. "Excuse me?"

"What? He's a general. That's what he does."

"It's his job, he's good at it. Doesn't mean you get to insult him for it." He bristled. "Who even are you? It's pretty creepy that you know who I am but never thought to return the—"

"I," she said, glaring daggers, "am Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan."

Oh.

That made sense—Luke recognised her now. She'd been dragged in front of holocams just as much as he had as a kid.

Zevulon snorted. "Ah. That explains it."

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. She puffed herself up. "And what does that mean?"

"You're all Rebel sympathisers on Alderaan, aren't you? No wonder you hate my father."

"We're—" That seemed to have taken the power out of her engines. She grimaced and said, tensely, "That's not true, and I never said I hated him—"

"No, you just—"

"Can you two... not fight?" Luke asked. "It's kinda awkward sitting here watching it."

Zevulon stopped immediately. Leia's mouth opened and closed for a moment before she did the same. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Luke winced. "Don't do that. Don't call me Majesty. I'm just Luke."

The princess actually smiled a little, at that. "And I'm just Leia."

"I've met your father as well," he said to her, smiling back. "During the talks with the senators. He was nice. Had some good ideas."

She nodded. "That's my father."

He turned his head. "And Zevulon—"

"Zev." He fidgeted. "While we're exchanging names, I'm just Zev."

Luke nodded. "Alright."

Then he glanced at the holoprojector. "Do either of you know what you want to watch?"

"This is stupid," Leia said, her mouth full of cake. "Monarchies don't do arranged marriages anymore, that's archaic."

"Hey, you're the one who randomly decided we should introduce Luke to daytime holonet shows. It's called Crown of Stars, what did you expect it would be like?"

"I have heard of a few arranged marriages in recent years, mainly between magnates and industrial leaders and Moffs and such," Luke admitted, reaching for the tray of food Nova had sent a droid in to deliver for them. The jogan fruit was sweet when he bit into it; juice dribbled down his chin. "But yeah, it's not that common. And why should she marry that guy anyway? His system doesn't exactly have any resources that her family would exactly need, and they're on the edge of Wild Space."

"It's a holodrama, it's not meant to be logical!"

Luke shrugged. "Shouldn't they at least try?"

"They're more interested, as the name suggests, in the drama," Leia said, drawing out the word a tad longer than needed. "To keep their viewers hooked."

"To keep their viewers confused?"

"That too."

"Oh stars, the wedding scene." Zev cringed away. "I can't watch."

"Getting invested, Veers?"

"She's about to marry someone twice her age while her one true love watches in agony! I can't bear it!"

Leia rolled her eyes. "Then let's turn it off—"

A pillow smacked her in the face.

"Hey!" She glared at Luke.

"Shhh, it's getting tense."

She chucked the pillow back at him. He threw himself against the sofa to dodge it.

"Oh no," Zev whimpered, peering through his fingers, "he's gonna kiss her..."

"Wait, look!" Luke leaned forwards. "Is that—? I don't understand."

"Shhh, let it finish."

"The lover burst in and read out a law that declared the marriage illegal," Leia drawled. "A law which doesn't exist, by the way—"

"Oh, that's a sweet ending." Luke smiled at the projector.

"They're kissing and riding off into the sunset together, it's literally the most cliché ending in the galaxy."

"But it's sweet."

Leia had to smile when she glanced at the holo again—at the woman's beaming face.

"Okay," she admitted, "it is pretty sweet." She glanced at Luke and Zev, and cackled when she saw they'd both inched their chairs and sofas closer to the holo, as well as closer together. "You sappy romantics."

The credits began to roll.

Luke glanced at the time. "Uhhh," he said, "the time Nova said she was going to lock us in for is up. If you don't want to stay any longer..."

"Are you kicking us out?" Leia asked. Zev looked hurt.

"No! I just thought... if you did want to leave..."

"Well." Leia grabbed the remote. "He can leave, but I'm not going to go until you've been introduced to a holonet show that is actually good. How about—"

"Are you kidding?" Zev burst out. "They haven't resolved the secret letter arc yet, and the Count is still missing! Luke has to finish watching the series!"

"No. Absolutely not."

"One against one." Zev crossed his arms. "You're a senator, Leia—"

"Aspiring senator, I'm actually an apprentice legislator—"

"—you like voting. Luke gets the deciding vote."

Luke smiled. "Crown of Stars."

"No!"

"There's too many plotlines that haven't been wrapped up yet!"

Leia glared at Zev. "You've ruined his taste forever."

"Shhh," Luke said as the theme began to play. "It's starting."

The holodramas—or rather, the daily experiences of watching them alongside Zev and Leia—were... educational in more ways than one. Crown of Stars covered all sorts of topics and complicated family situations Luke hadn't dreamt of before in his life.

There were people who loved a different gender to themselves; people who loved the same. Three- or four- or five-way marriages, groups of people who lived together as friends, groups of people who lived together as lovers. Marrying for money, marrying for affection, marrying for honour.

There were orphans, adopted and abandoned. Long lost relatives claiming fortunes and unions and divorces until the family trees were knotted forests. People having dozens of children, people having no children. People having children and losing them, only to find them again; people having children and giving them up, ignoring them; people having children and... never admitting that that was their child, yet still watching over them, watching them grow up, because they hated themselves too much to trust that they wouldn't hurt the one they loved so much.

Legitimate births. Illegitimate births. Crowns tossed around like discuses where the blood ran free.

Luke may be ignorant, but he was not an idiot.

He wondered what had gone on between Vader and his mother, before she had died. He wondered, and... when the holodrama brought up a plotline of a young lordling, Maxwell, and his relationship with his mysterious, almost paternal benefactor—Luke recognised that dynamic.

And if he went by this interpretation of the truth... of who Count Vistra really was to Maxwell... what did that say about his own past?

Were they comparable?

Vader had said that he had loved Luke's mother far less than Luke's father.

Luke pinched his lips, one day, after Zev and Leia had left. There was no use dwelling on this. If he outright asked Vader he might get an answer—and if he caught him off guard enough...

...well.

There was a chance, hopefully, that he might get the truth.

"What's a threesome?"

Vader's vocoder unleashed a sound he was fairly sure he'd never made before. It sounded like a cough close to choking.

"WHAT."

Luke flinched a little at the loud noise, but barrelled on, his voice still so curious and innocent: "A threesome. I watched— I— I... overheard some guards talking about it and it... sounds like it has to do with three people in a relationship with each other? Were you...did you and my birthparents have a threesome?"

Vader stared, unmoving.

"Only.. you said you loved my mother more than my father, so..."

The boy trailed off, looking up at him from his desk with an expectant, inquisitive gaze, and while Vader appreciated that there was no fear in that gaze this time, this...

His vocoder squawked again.

Luke blinked. "Lord Vader?"

He... he was so young.

He was so innocent.

Who was ever that innocent at fourteen!? Especially raised by Palpatine? Vader had spent half his life a Jedi and still the younglings talked, the padawans talked, they watched holos that weren't a part of the Jedi's syllabus to try find out about the galaxy beyond those sterilised walls. He had known...

And Luke... was asking him...

If he'd been in a threesome with Luke's parents?

His vocoder squawked again.

"Your guards were not talking about that," he accused. It was fairly obvious Luke was lying. "They are far too professional."

"I never said it was my guards, it was when we were walking past the kitchens and—"

"Majesty."

Luke smiled—Force, he smiled at him—sweetly. It was more of a nervous flash of teeth, but he'd take it; it still practically lit up the office. "We were walking past the kitchens, Lord Vader, and some of the troopers on duty said that. And, well..." He fiddled with his hands. "I was trying to work out what you meant, when you said you loved both my parents, but my mother more. And, well, a threesome sounds like—"

"Not what we had."

"But you said—"

"I did not love your father," Vader snapped. "He was... not worthy of anything he received in life, and failed to protect any of it."

Luke winced, but continued on, doggedly, like he'd sensed something Vader could not: "You didn't answer my question."

Vader wanted to scream.

"You," he said, "are not watching any more of that terrible holodrama with your friends." Teenagers were ridiculous.

Luke's goodwill dropped like a ship that'd lost power. "You don't have any power to control that, Lord Vader, I—"

"I know, Majesty, I apologise." He got it out through ground teeth, but then he relaxed. He wouldn't have banned that anyway. As worthless as those friends of his were... especially Organa... they made Luke smile so much. They made him happy.

Vader wanted Luke to be happy.

Luke narrowed his eyes. "So," he said in the ensuing silence, "were you in a threesome with my mother and father or not?"

Vader stared.

Force help him.

Force help them all.

"No," he said, and left Luke's office as fast as he could move.

Sabé was just outside and she'd clearly overheard. She wasn't even trying to hide her cackling.

"You," he snapped, jabbing a finger at her. "Did you put him up to this?"

"Nope." She had to force herself to stop laughing long enough to speak. It took a few moments. "No, that was all Luke."

With a scoff of disgust, he strode away. "This is nonetheless your fault; you arranged him to meet with his friends and watch that contemptible—"

"It's good for him," she defended, still snickering. "You're just touchy."

"Touchy?" He swivelled his head around to stare at her.

She held his gaze and snorted.

He kept walking.

"Did you at least have fun in your threesome, Lord Vader?" she called after him. Two guards exchanged an alarmed look.

He powered ahead faster than his legs could carry him.

If the Palace was rife with rumours by sundown... he knew exactly who was to blame.

The awkwardness and endless amusement that had ruled Luke's interactions with Vader from then on... shifted, harshly, a week later. Because Luke had to go to a ball.

Luke hated balls.

Since it had first been proposed, he'd been dreading it. And he never failed to find these unpleasant. It was just a silly party—just a celebration of some military victory from a while back, something that had been in the planning for months, but Luke... Luke, as Emperor, was forced to attend.

He stood a few steps above the dance floor, halfway up to the dais his throne sat on, marvelling at the fact that so many people were willing to come. Court was full of vipers, their fangs decorated in gold and silver—why, if you had more choice than a fourteen year old emperor, would you willingly subject yourself to that?

He'd already danced with far too many people. His feet were sore, his back aching. His shoes didn't pinch—Nova and Vader had hired only the best cobbler to make them, specifically for this occasion—but no one was meant to be on their feet for that long.

He didn't want to dance with anyone else. He was tired, he wanted to retire to his rooms, but Nova had said that to be safe, he should retire at midnight, so he didn't seem to cause offence or slight. It was half past eleven, and he didn't want to dance with anyone else—

Except he did.

Zev and Leia had come to the function, dressed up to the nines, and they hovered on the other side of the grand room. Luke couldn't help the furtive glances he cast towards them; Leia looked stunning, as always, while Zev... Zev looked mature, clad in a regal black dress suit.

Luke could see Veers a few metres away from him, standing stiffly in grey garb identical to that of the man next to him. General Veers and... Captain Piett, that was it; Nova had shown him holos of everyone invited tonight. Vader had spent quite a while conversing with those two at the beginning of the evening; military matters never ceased, it seemed.

But Zev and Leia looked good. Zev especially. He wanted to go towards them, to be with his friends—

"Whom are you looking at, Majesty?" Vader asked.

Luke started so badly he nearly fell over, and ignored the amused looks some of the older elite gave him; none of them still took him seriously.

Luke took a deep breath and turned away, cursing himself for not noticing the way Vader had loomed up behind him. "Nothing."

He could still feel the weight of that gaze on him, heavy and calculating. It turned back to where he'd been staring; there was a slight inhale when he clapped eyes on who it must be.

"I see. You," Luke flushed prematurely, "wish to spend time with your friends? No one will begrudge you it."

Luke blinked. "Yes," he said, a little too quickly. The blush still hadn't faded; he felt hot, in this dark blue blazer and the white trousers and puffy shirt he was expected to wear. He felt like a child playing make believe.

"Ah. You have an interest in the princess?" There was no teasing in Vader's voice. There wasn't disapproval either—or, perhaps, maybe there was. Luke wanted to faint on the spot.

Thank all the stars Vader's continued presence had ushered the courtiers surrounding them away. He already really didn't like this. He didn't need rumours and gossip about the Emperor's love life making it worse.

Luke didn't shake his head, or vehemently deny it, but Vader seemed to pick up that that wasn't right anyway. He tilted his helmet back and repeated, "Veers's son, then?"

Luke swallowed and said nothing.

"He is a friend to you. I do not know him, but if he is anything like his father, then he should be a perfectly honourable companion—"

"Please. Stop."

Miraculously, Vader stopped.

"Do you want to ask him to dance?" he said simply.

Luke... nodded. Slowly. His stomach was butterflies, he didn't understand anything, but he did know that he wanted to dance with Zev. A little familiar ground.

"Then go."

Before he knew it, Vader had given him a fierce push and he was propelled through the crowd, until he reached Leia and Zev in their little corner. Leia was resplendent in white, as always, though she had faint pale blue and silver patterning on this gown of hers; Zev was just in his black dress suit, but wore it well.

"Your Majesty," he said, semi-jokingly. Luke relaxed.

"Do either of you want to dance? I can't leave without being rude for another half an hour."

Zev shrugged. "Why do you care about being rude?"

"The courtiers and politicians will gossip."

"So? If that's all they have to do with their lives, so be it. You should focus on more important things than their opinion."

Luke sighed.

Zev... he could really see how he was Veers's son.

"I don't want to deal with even more dirty looks," Luke muttered.

Leia chimed in from where she'd been seized in conversation by her father, "You know—he's right. At the end of the day, they only gossip because you're above them, and that's the only way they can bring you down. You can ignore them and take away all their power."

"I don't—" He didn't want to talk about this. He'd spent his life surrounded by people who judged and found him lacking. He was tired of it. "Never mind, then." No matter what Vader said, no matter what this was with Zev... never mind.

Too many people would be watching. Luke couldn't take that, any sort of relationship with people watching his every move, and Zev didn't deserve to be dragged into it. He'd always felt stifled, but he'd never felt like...

He ignored the weight of Vader's gaze on him from across the room.

No. He had.

He'd felt hope and interest only to be disappointed before.

"Enjoy the ball," he said to them, and made to turn away.

"Wait, Luke"—Zev grabbed his wrist and spun him back around; Luke let himself be spun, hoping the way his breath hitched wasn't too noticeable—"sure, we can dance."

Then Luke was being dragged away.

There was... a faint smile on his face as he was dragged, and General Veers watched them with amusement as they went; that was probably the only reason that the guards stationed around the place to protect Luke didn't step in immediately. (That, and Vader's approval, whatever that stood for.) There was an antechamber beyond the next set of double doors, and a smaller room to the side. It seemed to be a storage room, but was swept free of dust, and empty—all the tables and chairs for the ball were laid out in the ballroom.

"We can dance here," Zev said softly, "if you want to."

Luke bowed his head, smiled, but took Zev's upturned hand when he reached it out.

They took a few tentative steps, Luke guiding the way. It was... nice, melting into the rhythm, and the music they could still hear from the ballroom, and the movements, against his body. Luke had had enough dancing lessons over the years to find it at least somewhat natural.

"You're a good dancer," Zev said to him. It was a little awkward.

Luke snorted. "You're not."

"Never learned how to dance. Especially not the romantic ones."

"The romantic ones were the only ones I was taught." They were traditionally the court ones, after all.

"Then you'll know a lot more about romance than me."

"Please. You've watched holodramas with me. You know that's not true."

"Those are holodramas. Even the kissing is weird in those." Zev delivered that line with all the self-assuredness of someone who'd never done it—Luke knew that. He knew, from their conversations, that both Zev and Leia had grown up pretty isolated because of their positions, with Leia a princess and Zev needing to constantly move around as a kid for his father's job, being homeschooled by his mother.

"Kissing... seems weird anyway." Luke shifted his grip nervously—were his palms sweaty? They were probably sweaty—as he made the observation, still leading Zev through the steps of the dance. "I don't understand what adults like about it. But I never tried it so I wouldn't know."

Zev shrugged, looking everywhere but at Luke. "Yeah... weird..." He took a deep breath and then very quickly pressed out, "Soyouwannatry."

"What."

Zev flushed. Strange; Luke had always seen him as more put together than... well, than Luke. "You shouldn't if you don't want to, Luke, I just saw you looking at me, and—"

"No, I—" Luke paused. Led Zev around in a wide arc, and a spin. "I do. How?"

"How? What do you mean how?"

"I mean how. What—"

"What do you do for it? You just push your mouths together."

"Yeah. Do other species kiss?"

Zev blinked. "What?"

"Well—if a species has multiple mouths, or doesn't have one at all, or just doesn't think that swapping saliva is romantic—"

Zev laughed and it made something in Luke flutter; he'd made him laugh. He was amusing. That had meant to be a joke, if a poor taste one, and he'd made him laugh with it.

"I don't know," Zev confessed. "Probably not. I think Twi'leks touch each other's lekku to show affection or... intimacy."

"Ew."

"You know what intimacy is meant to be a euphemism for but not how to kiss?"

"I only covered so many areas of reproduction in biology!"

"Reproduction—" Zev nearly choked to death laughing, there. He stopped dancing to cover his mouth with his hand and Luke watched awkwardly.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"What? No. I'm sorry." Zev straightened up again. "But... do you wanna try?"

Luke took a deep breath.

Vader wasn't here. His father wasn't here. There were no courtiers here. What could go wrong?

"Alright," he said with a faint smile, tilting his head back slightly to look him in the eye. Zev smiled back, then they both, somewhat clumsily, leaned forwards—

"Oh!"

They sprang apart like they'd been burnt.

Luke whipped his head around. There was a young woman there, in a servant's garb, carrying a stack of chairs to put in the corner; she'd backed away upon seeing them, but when Luke turned her brown eyes went wide.

"Your Majesty..." she said. "I— My sincerest apologies for the interruption—"

"It's nothing," he dismissed, hating the way her gaze flicked between him and Zev, how close they were, their hands still entwined. He let go. "We were just leaving."

Zev blinked at the obvious lie, and so did the maid, but she nodded politely and skedaddled as quickly as she could.

Luke hoped she wouldn't gossip. If she did, he deserved it.

"We should get back to the ballroom," he said to Zev, not quite having the guts to look him in the eye. "I have to hang around a little longer, then leave."

"And then we'll come back?" Zev's tone made it clear he knew the answer.

"No. I— people will gossip. No." He hated being put on a pedestal. He hated being recognised. He hated being judged and mocked and stared at for every moment of his life.

He didn't want to drag Zev into it, which was exactly what a scandal would do.

As friends, they'd be fine. He could be less alone—but he was Emperor. Of course he was going to be alone.

"It's alright, Luke," Zev said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. His quiet acceptance of Luke's decision made it hurt more.

Luke dropped his hand, and headed back into the ballroom.

Vader tried to talk to him about it. Nova tried to talk to him about it.

Luke, increasingly, did not want to talk about it.

His fears were further justified two days later, when he was sitting through an officer's meeting. It had barely begun when a confident, disdainful voice asked—

"I understand why you keep Palpatine's brat around, but do we have to keep up this charade of bowing to the twerp when discussing important matters, Lord Vader?"

Luke stiffened.

He didn't look up, but he was suddenly hyperaware of the many officers clumped around the table, the old men of the Empire turning to stare as Ozzel's comment vibrated, unnaturally loud in the silence.

He'd only murmured it, while everyone was talking quietly amongst themselves after the token greeting of the Emperor. But he was not as subtle as he thought, when he used his favour and subsequent seat near the head of the table to lean forwards and whisper conspiratorially with Vader, so now all that reigned was a deadly silence.

Luke fought to keep his face blank, as his father had so painstakingly taught him, and just stared unblinkingly at Ozzel with an unnervingly calm smile to set him on edge—another trick Palpatine had preached. But his reaction paled in comparison to Vader's.

The room cooled rapidly.

"What do you mean," Vader boomed; Luke's skin prickled at the vibrations that hung on the air, "charade?"

Ozzel's eyes were wide, glancing between Luke and Vader rapidly—he was used to Palpatine, who had allowed and even encouraged insults and criticisms of Luke's conduct at every turn, to better him. He had thought Vader would be the same.

He was wrong.

"I— my lord," he tried, not even bothering to address Luke. "I recognise the Emperor, in all his power and"—he did look at Luke, then: looked him over, top to bottom—"stature, as the heir to Emperor Palpatine and figurehead to this great Empire. However..."

He was growing bolder now, Luke could see. Vader was just— Vader was just letting him speak, letting him run, and he was taking his cue from that, he was being inspired, and... did Vader agree? Was that why he was letting this happen?

"He is a child. His own father regularly described him as a failure"—Luke flinched—"and while I will be honoured to follow him once he is grown and capable, while I understand the importance of tradition and ceremonies and a demonstration of respect to the wider public, for now I see no reason why we should waste our valuable time in meetings—"

"Listening to treasonous drivel from the navy's most incompetent, imbecilic officers?" Vader purred.

Ozzel trailed off.

He swallowed. "Lord Vader?"

"That is your emperor you are insulting, Captain Ozzel."

"My lord?" He glanced around the room. Luke was ready to throw up, vanish into the floor, or burn to a crisp. "He is Emperor in name, but we all in this room know where the real power in the galaxy lies. I am simply pointing out that there is no need to waste time—"

"Indeed, Captain," said a voice. Luke flicked his gaze to the opposite side of the table, and practically sagged with relief when he saw who it was—General Veers, his patient, praising teacher, standing from his chair to his full impressive height.

He leaned forwards on the table. "There are a lot of things that waste an unnecessary amount of time in meetings about what the Empire's strategy for its expansion into the Outer Rim will be, including insulting the Emperor without cause, justification or restraint." He gave Luke a courteous nod; Luke returned it. "This time has been difficult for all of us—and it says a lot about you, Ozzel, that you have the disrespect and inhumanity to attack the Emperor, who is most bereft, in this time."

He glared. "So please, for the love of all that is good, shut up and let us get on with the meeting."

"General Veers," Ozzel shot back, somewhat... sneering. He... would've backed down, if it was Vader, Luke realised. But it wasn't, and Ozzel didn't have enough respect to spare for the army man, and— "I would think a sensible officer like you would understand my issue with this entire farce; the boy is merely a pawn, an incompetent pawn, and..." He trailed off.

He reached for his neck, twisting his head to the side...

"Vader," Luke said, realising. He flung himself to his feet. "Vader, stop it!"

But Ozzel kept choking. Gurgling noises burst from his throat, his cheeks reddened, then purpled.

"Vader," Luke said, "stop."

But it was difficult for even him to breathe, here.

It was so cold he shivered under his layers of ceremonial clothing, and the Force was like daggers in his veins as he tried to ignore it—ignore what it was telling him about Vader.

"Vader!"

Vader released him; Ozzel slumped against the table. Luke waited for him to get up, to rub his neck and whine, or scurry to the medbay, but long moments passed and he didn't move—didn't breathe.

Luke sagged.

Vader hadn't listened to Luke.

He'd just let him die.

Luke lifted his gaze to Vader, who stared back at him. That mask gave away no expression whatsoever.

Luke returned to his seat, and they continued with the meeting. No one bothered to mention the corpse still on the table.

"What were you thinking!?" Luke shouted the moment he and Vader re-entered Luke's quarters. Nova poked her head out of her office in the corner to see what all the yelling was about. "You killed him!"

"He was being rude and extremely disrespectful to you, Majesty, so I made an example—"

"He was accusing me of not having any control over my own government, and the fact that a member of said government went against my orders to kill him, right in front of me does nothing to disprove his point!" He scoffed and threw himself down on the sofa, kicking off his shoes so he could lie down entirely. "Everyone already thinks I'm a puppet, and you just made it worse."

"You are not a puppet, Majesty."

"I am, so long as you refuse to listen to me, and even if I wasn't," he ran his hand threw his hair, "what people think you are is all that matters." His father's words—in that exact phrasing—rang in his head.

Perhaps that was what made Vader insist so heatedly, "What people think you are means nothing."

"It means everything, when I'm the Emperor of the kriffing galaxy!"

"What happened?" Nova said, coming out of her office fully to sit next to his knees on the sofa, patting his leg. He shifted over to make room for her.

"Captain Ozzel insulted me in front of everyone. Vader killed him, despite the fact I clearly and publicly asked him not to."

Nova said to Vader, "You imbecile."

If Vader had eyebrows, Luke was sure they would've shot up. "Excuse me?"

"You swore to obey Luke. That's important, for emperors to be obeyed. You just undermined him even more effectively than Ozzel ever could."

"He insulted and demeaned you, Majesty. What," Vader drawled, "else was I to do?"

"What General Veers did! He actually acted with respect and decency, and tried to handle it without immediately resorting to violence! He actually knows how to stay calm, and not fly into a rampage!"

Luke didn't know how, but he got the feeling Vader narrowed his eyes at him behind the mask. "You believe General Veers is acting as a better vassal than—"

"Yes, Vader, that's exactly what I believe," Luke bit back. "You should be glad: you introduced him to me, he's your officer. It reflects well on you." He smirked. "Or it shows you up even—"

"Luke," Nova said. He looked up at her, the cock of her eyebrow, and calmed down. "It won't help."

He flinched.

Yelling never did help. Losing control never did help.

It only got him hurt even more.

Right.

He lowered his gaze. "I... apologise, Lord Vader," he said.

Vader reached out a hand before he stopped himself. "It is nothing, Majesty," he said finally. "You have a right to shout."

Then he added, "General Veers is an excellent general, tactician and soldier but you should not idolise him in all things, Majesty."

Luke blinked. "I... don't. I was just saying—"

"His relationship with his son is reportedly not close—"

"Which father-son relationships are?" Luke scoffed. Vader stiffened at that. "I don't know why you're so hung up about him."

"I am not."

"You—" Luke sighed. "I want to go on a tour of the Empire."

Now it was Vader's turn to stiffen in shock.

"What."

Confusion, anger and panic roiled, Nova's mouth fell open as she stared at Luke, but he shrugged both of them off and sat up, pushing against the pillows to say, "I was thinking about it on the way here. I am Emperor, and I'm supposed to have some sort of control or understanding over what's going on—in my own palace and in the galaxy. So, with the coronation having been a few weeks ago—or, months ago, now—and the interviews with the main senators all but concluded... I want to take a tour of the galaxy. Be a visible presence, a visible person, so people can't just accuse me of being a puppet."

"This is insane, Majesty," Vader said heatedly. "You have already been subject to multiple assassination attempts within this very palace—how will you fare elsewhere, outside of your own stronghold?"

"Are you doubting your own ability to keep me safe, Lord Vader?"

Vader stared at him. Luke stared back.

And he realised, abruptly, that there was terror in that gaze.

So. He... he knew the answer to that, then.

"I want to go," he reiterated, no gentler than before. "I want to go, and see the galaxy the way I was before the Rebel attack on my life and my father's death."

"Would you like to be attacked again the way you were?"

"Shut up," Nova said. Vader swivelled his head to look at her, betrayed. "Luke's right. He needs to get out of this palace—he needs to make an impression, rather than live in his father's shadow for years."

They exchanged a heavy look. Luke had no idea what that was about.

"Very well," Vader conceded eventually. "I will... make the preparations. Where were you thinking of going, Majesty?"

Luke smiled. "It's a bit unconventional, all the way out in the Mid Rim, but... Naboo might be a good place to start."

Nova clapped. "That's perfect—your father's homeworld, sends all sorts of good messages—"

"And your birth mother's homeworld," Vader cut in pointedly.

Nova grinned. "Yes! And there's something I need to show you, Luke—a house, where your parents got married..."

Vader... tensed up, suspiciously.

"No," he said. "We will be on a tight schedule, we cannot stay for long—and for security reasons, we will have to stay in Theed."

Nova snorted. "I'm sure."

Vader glared.

But Luke just smiled. It was something.

It was something.

"Alright," he said. "When do we leave?"

The members of the 501th had been wondering why in the nine Corellian hells Darth Vader, dark lord of the Sith and Regent Apparent of the Empire, would need stuffed animals.

This was the fifth time they'd been sent to storm some poor person's toyshop. The first time had been unprecedented. They'd accidentally rooted out a petty thief hiding between the aisles in the aquatic animals themed section, and sent him to the nearest station to be dealt with. Then they'd bought one of each stuffed animal in the shop.

Literally.

One. Of. Each.

By now, Kreel suspected, the news was spreading. When they arrived at this toyshop, this time, the Nautolan man behind the till just sighed at their appearance, and pointed them to where the stuffed animals were. Mothers grasped for their children's hands as the troopers marched past, some people glared, while a few snotty kids alternated between gaping at these armoured giants and glaring at them. It depended on the political opinions of the parent, Kreel supposed.

"Why does Darth Vader need so many stuffed animals?" he heard one trooper whisper to another as they tried to choose between a pink Gungan and a fluffy anooba. They went for the Gungan.

"I don't know. Maybe he likes ripping them apart, tearing them to pieces. Y'know, to get the anger out."

Kreel imagined Vader, dark lord of the Sith, lightsaber lit, black cape flowing... and littered with white stuffing from the decapitated heads of children's toys.

"He doesn't need toys to do that, he has droids. Or people." There was a round of laughter.

"Maybe he's starting a collection?" a third trooper suggested. Snorts drowned him out.

A final trooper shrugged. "Maybe they're presents. That kid was just made Emperor. If these are for the most important child in the Empire, of course they'd send the best of the best to buy them." He puffed out his chest. "Maybe Vader wants to cheer him up.

Vader.

Cheer.

Vader and cheer did not belong in the same sentence.

Although, to be fair—neither did Vader and stuffed animals.

"Nah," Kreel said out loud. The troopers jumped. "That's not it."

Chapter Text

He shouldn't have agreed to this, Luke thought as the decompression steam cleared and rows and rows of officers and troopers, all standing ramrod stiff, came into view. He walked past them, head held high, ignoring the way they hesitated to bow to him until Vader was at his side. They swept right past them, into the turbolift, and up to Luke's quarters on the ship.

Was Vader insane? He should not have agreed to Luke's whimsy.

Luke was regretting it himself.

What he regretted most of all, though, was standing at the viewport of the royal quarters on the Devastator, watching the blue and green orb of Naboo vanish into the dark folds of hyperspace. He'd barely spent any time there—Vader was being strict about their timetable, so they were only touring a few select worlds from the Core to the Mid Rim, and they'd only spent two precious days on his mother's home planet. Two days full of fine dining and official functions, dramatic gestures of friendship between the Queen and the Emperor. Queen Dalné had been nice, he admitted. She was about his age, and their conversations had been bearable enough when there were no holocams to record their stiff pleasantries, but he'd never managed to summon his voice and bring up any of the questions that had dogged him the whole trip.

Even when he'd walked right past the stained glass window of his mother's image, and Nova had given him a pointed look. His tongue had lain limp between his teeth.

His birth mother may have been the most beloved monarch this planet had ever seen... but his adoptive father had abolished the democratic values they held so dear. He could see it in their eyes, the way he could in Nova's: they hated his father. And some of them carried that hatred onto his son, while others were just wary.

They wanted to see him show his true colours before they declared him a monster, too.

Luke doubted they'd have to wait long.

"You look upset, Luke."

He started. Nova approached from behind him, smiling kindly. How had he not heard her approach?

"Upset?" he asked. He realised he'd been clasping his hands behind his back as he stared, and released them now; his muscles were all clenched up.

"You've also been staring into the baffling, unknowable depths of hyperspace for five solid minutes now," she said lightly, coming to stand next to him and looping an arm around his shoulders. She was wearing a deep green dress with white embroidery up and down the bodice; the wide sleeves brushed the back of his neck as she pulled him in. He leaned into her embrace, slightly, her crystal earrings tickling his scalp. "Is something wrong?"

He sighed and joked, "I was going to be watching the finale of Crown of Stars with Zev and Leia today. I guess that'll have to wait."

"This was your idea, Luke."

"I know, but..." He sighed again. "I heard some people, at the leaving banquet... talking about me. They were insulting my father, of course—"

"As those of Naboo are wont to do," she quipped.

He smiled. "Yes. And... that wasn't what bothered me. It was when one of my father's actual supporters in Naboo's government chimed in, he said—"

Luke swallowed.

"He said that I was a disappointment anyway," he said. "And— and I know that, I don't harbour any delusions—"

"Anyone who thinks you are anything less than brilliant is the delusional one," she snapped. He blinked at the sudden ferocity in her voice, the way she hugged him tighter. Like a composed, well-dressed mother nexu. "Your father was a bastard for telling you that, he didn't understand the precious person he had, or rather he did, and took pleasure in abusing you—"

"Yeah. Bastard." Luke swallowed again, and glanced down. There was nothing to see but his own reflection: the floors were too perfectly polished. "That... was what they were talking about."

Nova blinked for a moment before she understood. "Luke..."

"They don't know who my mother was," he said baldly. "And—it was never made common knowledge that I was adopted, I know that it's not even considered a legitimate method of inheritance for monarchies on a lot of planets... so it never came to mind, for a lot of people. But now, with him gone and me so obviously woefully unprepared for all of this—"

"You are doing amazingly," Nova shot back fiercely. "This is a delicate situation, and you have handled it with all the grace and intelligence—"

"They're suggesting that, with our very little shared resemblance, whoever my mother was, she was unfaithful to my— to Palpatine," he said. Nova turned her face away in disgust, like the image of his mother with Palpatine was too much to bear. "And that I don't actually have any legitimacy to the throne." His face crumpled only when he said, "Or to Naboo."

Nova's grip on his arm tightened.

"Tell me their names and I'll shoot them," she said.

For a moment, he didn't think she was joking. "You're not Vader."

"You're right. I'll get Vader to do it. He'll be happy to, and will draw out their suffering far longer than I would ever have the stomach for."

Luke winced. "If he cared."

"Oh," Nova said, with a terrifying confidence, "he cares." She rubbed his shoulder. "Was that all there was?"

Luke hesitated.

"Do you think it will ever be possible for me to visit my mother's planet?" he asked, and he was hyperaware that his longing seeped into his voice. "Without diplomatic obligations, I mean. You've— I've heard so many wonderful stories, and I..."

Nova opened her mouth to say something and Luke barrelled on: "We didn't leave Theed. We barely left the palace. I want to see my mother's—your—home planet, and I don't want to see it out of a beautiful cage."

"And you will," Nova promised. She seized his shoulders and spun him around to face her, gripping tightly. "I promise you that, Luke. I will take you to Naboo, without diplomatic obligations, without holocams, totally in secret if you want, and we will visit all the places that were important to me, your mother and— and her family." She swallowed. "We will meet your mother's family."

Luke stared. "My—" His voice cracked. "My mother has living family?"

"Yes. You have two grandparents, an aunt and uncle, and two cousins. I— I can actually introduce you to one of your cousins the moment we get back to Coruscant; she works as a senator, one of the youngest and newest. She's called—"

"Pooja Naberrie," Luke said, eyes widening. He knew many of the senators by name and by heart. How— how had he not made that connection before?

"Yes." She took his hand, and led him over to the sofa in his living quarters, seating them both down. "If you're feeling disconnected, we can absolutely do something about that. You're not powerless, Luke—you're one of the most powerful people in the galaxy."

Luke smiled. "Thank you," he said. "For..."

For—

For making me feel like a person again.

She glared. "Don't thank me. I love you, and you deserve to know that. I will walk through blasterfire and Naboo's planet core and even a vacuum to make you feel the slightest bit better."

Luke blinked... and fat tears rolled down his cheeks.

Nova made a noise. He didn't know how to describe that noise, but she was pulling him close again and he buried his face in her chest, letting her stroke his back and comfort him.

"I missed you when you were gone," he murmured. "So much."

She clutched him tighter. "I missed you too."

Then she let go.

"When we visit Naboo," she said, "there's one place in particular I want to show you. It's a beautiful house—a holiday home, which your mother's family were gifted by the government when she passed. Padmé stayed there with your father when she was hiding from assassins, just before the outbreak of the Clone Wars. It's lovely, it's a wonderful place to stay, and it's full of so many memories..."

The door hissed open.

Both Luke and Nova jerked, to see Vader standing in the doorway, stiff and awkward like an unwelcome statue. His gaze moved between them, lingering on Luke, and Luke realised that he cheeks hurt a little from smiling, even as tears tracked down his cheeks.

Nova patted his arm. "I'll take you to Varykino soon," she promised, and Luke wasn't sure if the alarm he suddenly got from Vader was genuine or not.

He smiled anyway. "I'd like that."

Vader's alarm faded at the sight of him.

"And maybe," Luke grumbled, "I can visit my birth father's home planet. "The thought came suddenly and bitterly. "If you could tell me anything about him." He gave Nova a pleading look.

No one had told him anything.

The shape of father in his life was eclipsed by Palpatine's darkness.

He wanted something.

Nova just shared a weighted glance with Vader. She looked almost... he didn't know.

Luke looked at Vader himself, who stood there, breathing in and out for several moments, before he said, "Your father was a Jedi. His home planet was unimportant—once a youngling was taken from their family, they were not allowed to return."

Luke, despite himself, shivered.

And Nova glared at Vader for his bluntness, but didn't move to refute it.

There was a throne on the Devastator—there was no throne room, as Vader had apparently taken the chance to convert that room into something more useful the moment Luke's father had died, but there was a throne.

It was less impressive than the one in the Palace on Coruscant. Smaller, and far more comfortable, practically an armchair; Vader and Nova insisted that Luke sit in it every time they had to brief him on the updates to the course and the Empire at large.

Luke didn't like it. He had a study in the corner of his quarters where he could work through all the updates, read through all the reports and proposals and sign off the ones he approved of, sometimes calling Nova in to help. Vader may have a tight grasp on the military—Luke never received any paperwork from that sector—but Luke was pretty aware on what was going on elsewhere. He could be in his study when they discussed this, not lounging on some throne without so much as a stylus or datapad to hand.

But one sector he did not know about—simply by virtue of being the Emperor, rather than awareness of it—was court gossip.

Nova grimaced as she said, "Following on from that conversation you overhead on Naboo..."

Luke winced. That didn't sound good.

"There's a significant faction that thinks you're not actually related to Palpatine. They want you dethroned."

"He is not related to Palpatine," Vader said hotly, "but this is no threat. I will simply pay this faction a visit—"

"I am not going to let you massacre my court," Luke snapped. He propped his elbow on the arm of the throne and rubbed his temple—staring at datapads long into the night, as well as constantly conversing with diplomats on this tour, had started giving him constant headaches.

Nova nodded, folded her arms and shifting her weight onto her left leg. That was the other thing Luke hated about this throne—it was in his antechamber, where the only other seats were along the walls for people to sit on when waiting to see the illustrious Emperor, and he felt bad being the only one sitting down.

"Killing them will not solve anything," she agreed. "Others will have heard about their ideas, and while they may not buy into them yet, seeing them silenced might be extremely suspicious. The idea will spread, and Luke's legitimacy will falter. They might even demand a blood test, or refuse to accept him as leader."

Luke blinked.

Blood test...

"If this rabble refuses to accept him, we should remove them from court—whether quietly or permanently—and replace them instead with those who are loyal—"

"To whom, Vader? To you? You're not Emperor, and you shouldn't have total influence in the court either—"

Luke scrunched his eyes shut. His hands knotted in his hair—and this was not helping his headache, but neither was their arguing and—

"That's what we'll do," he declared suddenly, eyes shooting open. "We'll take a blood test."

Both Nova and Vader ceased their arguing to stare at him in abject confusion.

"And fake the results?" Nova asked. "Eliminate all doubt that you're his son?" Vader clenched his fists at that.

Luke ignored him. "No," he said. "They'd suspect that we'd do something like that—everyone knows that test results can be faked. No one would believe them, and it'd be no use."

"Then why take the test?"

He squared his shoulders. "To tell the truth. Or at least, part of it."

"Tell them you were adopted?"

"Make them think I didn't know," Luke replied. "We're heading back to Coruscant, soon—announce that I'll take the test publicly, and when it shows that my father and I were not related by blood, I can pretend I didn't know. That the knowledge crushed me."

"And how would that help?" Vader boomed.

Luke said, "Father always told me that people are easy to manipulate. A little sympathy goes a long way. And I look small and cute enough to generate a lot of sympathy." He shook his head. "It won't do anything about the people who'd want me gone so they can seize power—but nothing will do anything about them. Leia is adopted, and she's the undisputed heir to Alderaan. I can generate sympathy, and even without it, I am my father's most logical successor. Other than you, Vader." He fixed him with a look. "Are you going to overthrow me?"

"Of course not, Majesty."

"Then they have no limbs to stand on." Luke stood from his throne. He was sick of this. "Give the order, Vader, and arrange it. I am not going to hold onto this secret any longer—I am not going to hold onto any secrets any longer. I'm sick of them."

"Luke—"

"Give the order." He marched into his bedroom, where his guards still weren't allowed to follow. "I'm done with this for the day."

Piett knocked on Vader's door, quaking in his boots. When the door slid open without either he or Vader touching it, he took that as the ominous invitation in, and entered.

"What is it, Captain?" Vader sounded impatient at best. Piett considered a tactical retreat but no: he was committed on his path.

"If I may speak freely, my lord?" he asked.

Lord Vader's office rang with a pregnant silence, then—

"If you must," Lord Vader growled, and Piett swallowed. His lord had been... particularly touchy during the last few days of the journey back to Coruscant, since the blood test had been announced—Piett's own new position as captain was proof enough of that—but this was something that needed to be said. Damn the consequences. A boy's life was at stake.

"My lord, I can't help but feel concern over the young Emperor," he said, and was simultaneously gratified and terrified by the way Vader immediately stiffened.

"Why? Are you aware of any threats to him?"

"No, my lord—none malicious or concrete, but..." He paused, then just dived in. "He looks tired, stressed. I doubt that ruling the galaxy directly, for a fourteen year old, is at all healthy for him, mentally or physically."

"If you doubt his claim to the throne, Captain, you are about to be reassured of it."

Yes. The conference in a few hours, which Piett thought might just be more and more stress piled on the poor boy.

"It's not his claim I doubt, my lord—"

"Is it his suitability to rule? Do you believe him unfit for the throne?"

"Not at all!" The vehemence came entirely from the threat he could hear lurking in Vader's tone, though the words themselves... weren't wrong. He did consider the boy intelligent, hardworking, if quiet—he'd sat in enough strategy meetings with him to know that, and he'd heard gossip on the Devastator that the boy barely slept. Spent too much time working on the myriad of bureaucratic tasks a man four times his age would find difficult. "But I find the throne unfit for him."

Again, that terrible silence in the office. Followed by a creaking sound—Piett resolutely did not look at whatever item Lord Vader was destroying now.

"Why?"

Piett said, "He is fourteen. I do not think him incapable, but I cannot help but think it would be better for him, emotionally and mentally, to be allowed the rest of his childhood in peace, and to develop fully, rather than placing so much stress on a boy when it could impact his development and affect him for the rest of his life. Allow him to step down for now, and perhaps you could rule as regent in his place."

Vader said, "And where would you propose he find this childhood peace, Captain? On a planet like Alderaan, where any assassin could find a clear shot at him? Or on a warship, where he could reliably be safe, yet still be exposed to the stress and machinations of a wicked court, thus rendering the point of your regency null and void?"

Piett swallowed. He knew he was not supposed to answer that.

"His Majesty will remain on Coruscant, or wherever he chooses to take up residence, and stay safe," Vader declared, already reaching for his next datapad. "I regret that he must undergo this much stress, indeed, but I can protect him here. It would be far more dangerous elsewhere. He must stay with me."

Piett wondered if he was imagining the fierceness in that tone—the possessiveness, almost.

Lord Vader would not let the Emperor come to physical harm, he was sure. But, he had to wonder, what would be the cost?

"I understand, my lord," he said. When he was dismissed, he didn't question it.

The function came the next day, the moment they arrived home. Luke walked straight, tall and proud, watched by a thousand pairs of eyes, onto that stage, in clear view of the holocam... and consented for the droid to push the needle into his arm. It extracted it again and wheeled away, accessing a file that held the code of Palpatine's DNA within.

And then it came back, the results came in, and the great act began.

Luke's legs gave out and he collapsed in his seat, white as a sheet as he stared in horror at the results.

"No... no, that's not true," he whispered, not quite quietly enough that the holocams didn't pick it up. "That's impossible."

Sabé watched Luke perform with something a lot like pride, though she had to hide her smile for the audience, and the knowledge of where—or rather, who—these talents at feigning emotions to get what he wanted had come from soured the feeling. A lot.

But Padmé's son was skilled as ever. He clutched the arms of the chair he'd collapsed into and whispered, "He wasn't my birth father?"

Vader had a job to do here, of course. Sabé didn't think Luke's flinch was faked when he suddenly boomed, "You were a war orphan. I was there when he adopted you, and raised you as his own."

Of the courtiers and reporters who had been allowed to be here for this, Sabé could see in the eyes of the ones who'd started the conspiracy that this was delighting them. One particularly bold governor—Sabé forgot his name—made to push forwards, to squawk or speak up and probably lay his own claim in the wake of this, but Luke's words stopped him before he could.

"He was not my birth father," he said, voice ringing out clearly, if quietly. "He did not sire me, and I do not bear his blood."

Luke stood from the chair again, his crown—that thin gold circlet that she'd become so used to seeing on his head she forgot it wasn't a part of him—straight and shining. He said, "But this knowledge does not change anything about my regard for him. It does not change my respect, my love, my..."

He glanced away, blinking rapidly, and he was really selling this.

"How much I miss him." His voice did tremble as he raised it again, but it was with emotion, with a righteous fervour— "And my ferocious drive to uphold what he taught me, and keep his Empire strong. If I was not born to him, then that means he chose me—out of all the other orphans left by the devastation of the war he ended, out of all his advisors he could have selected to the role, he chose to raise me as his own and allow me to inherit the crown after his inevitable, tragic passing. And he—" He paused to wipe at his eyes. "He chose me as his son. Blood or not, he is my father."

The reporters were lapping this up. That governor looked dismayed.

"I would do anything to have him back," he said. "But he is dead, and we must all carry on without him." He lifted his chin. "And I will use all the skills and assets that my father has passed onto me—his sole heir, by blood or not—to go forwards. His goodness, his generosity, his ingenuity—I will use everything he ever taught me to continue his work. With Lord Vader, his most trusted right-hand man, at my side..." A veiled threat if there ever was one. "We will seek to bring the Empire to new heights, to greatness, more so than ever before."

When he bowed his head, a tear slipped down his cheek.

"Thank you all for serving my father so well," he said. "I can only pray that we can ensure his legacy is upheld to the standard he deserves."

When the crowd started clapping, Sabé finally allowed herself to smile.

"That was brilliant, Luke," Nova said after they returned to his quarters. "You really sold it."

Luke found tears were still leaking from his eyes—the thing about that trick his father had made him pull, about crying on command, was that it was difficult to turn off—and he swiped at his face angrily.

"Good," he said, a little sharply. "I hope that solves the problem—and I hope that Vader can deal with it if it doesn't." The man himself had gone to organise something with Luke's bodyguards immediately after the conference.

"It will," she assured him, "it was perfect." She frowned. "Are you alright?"

He felt dirty. Unclean. Switching loyalties and opinions about everything—about the Empire, about his father, about Vader—so quickly, dishonest about everything, including himself. Even coming clean about this hadn't helped. Had made it worse, with how he'd put on a show, like his father would have him do at state functions and parties, with the sole aim of making people do what he wanted them to—

"I'm tired," he said. This was the first time he'd been back in his quarters since they arrived on Coruscant, and he was relieved to see them; since he and Vader had started to reconcile, he'd grown fond of the place he'd once wanted to escape so badly.

Vader... had been nice, recently. In an officers' meeting on the Devastator, Luke had been doodling, and Vader had struck up a conversation with him about it afterwards and made sure he was supplied with proper colouring pencils to draw with. Vader...

He didn't know. But he didn't hate him—not quite.

"I think..." Luke sighed. Everything was so confusing. "I just want to sleep."

Nova gave him a sympathetic look. "I understand. I'll see you tomorrow, Luke." She kissed him on the forehead then, gathering up the folds of the crimson dress she'd worn to the conference, left him alone.

Luke sighed.

Then he staggered into his bedroom.

There was something on his bed. He frowned, and approached it carefully... before realisation hit and he smiled.

This cuddly toy was a tooka—though a bright blue one. The tag on its collar read little angel, as always.

When he crushed it to his chest, he sighed again, and felt lighter.

Then he heard the door slam shut.

He whirled around immediately, backing off, tooka clutched to his chest. There—

There was a man here.

Tall, skinny, humanoid—that was all he knew, that was all he recognised in the black suit, before there was a knife at his neck and a gravelly voice in his ear.

"That was a beautiful speech you gave, Your Majesty," it murmured. Luke's gaze was filled with the black fabric across the assassin's chest; he squeezed his eyes shut. "Did you mean it?"

"Which bit?" Luke rasped.

"About how if you could bring your father back, you could."

Luke opened his eyes again, frowning. "Of course I meant it. He was my father." The lie didn't bother him as much when someone was about to cut his throat. "But that's impossible."

"What if I told you it wasn't?"

Luke blinked fiercely. "It's impossible. Now—" He choked up as the assassin pushed the knife deeper against his skin; blood beaded on the blade. "What do you want with me?"

"Come with me, Your Majesty," the assassin promised, "and you'll see."

Chapter Text

"Just tell me what you want from me!" Luke demanded before he could think better of it, chest heaving in his panic. The assassin just pushed the knife deeper again in response and he coughed, trying to jerk back against the pain that sliced across his throat. He made to say something else, but every motion jostled it farther.

Right in his ear, the assassin hissed, "I'm not meant to kill you, Your Majesty, but scream again and I might just test how far that mandate goes."

Where were the guards? The Noghri? Had the assassin killed them? Had— was Khamalorkh lying in a pool of his own blood, unblinking—?

Luke shut his mouth. He shut his eyes, too, tears leaking out from under his lashes.

His face was burning—from the tears, from the blood; he felt flushed with heat all the way through, except...

Except there was a cold, as well.

A cold shadow, that he instinctively shied away from, that had stalked him for as long as he could remember, folding around his shoulders like icy wings.

Help me, he begged, not caring if it had never helped him before. Help me.

Then he asked, "What do you want from me?"

"I told you. I want you to come with me."

"Why?" He gritted his teeth to keep from screaming again. "Why do you all want me to come with you, why do you claim you won't kill me then do everything short of it!? The poisoned flower, Captain Vassic—"

"We had nothing to do with any flower, Your Majesty. But as I said earlier: we do not want you dead. But we don't mind hurting you to get you."

"For what?" Luke whispered. "Why do you want me so much? What— what does this have to do with my father coming back?" He let himself open his eyes again there, gaze moving up to seek two yellow eyes behind the cloth covering the assassin's face. The grip on his shoulder tightened painfully.

"I want him back," he lied, letting desperation pass for vehemence in his voice. Vader was coming. He must be coming; Luke didn't want to think about otherwise. "I— I'm not ready for any of this, I don't want to be here, I hate everything here. I want him back too, and I would appreciate it if you told me how I can help you achieve this rather than poking me with a knife and act like I'm nothing but a traitor!"

The assassin paused, at that.

Then he let go of Luke's shoulder and stepped back, taking his knife with him.

Luke gasped for air, hand going to his neck, where blood wetted his fingers. But he was not out of danger, and he looked back up again to face his assassin, trying not to tremble.

"Who are you?" he whispered.

"I am the First Brother," he said idly. "And you were always a disappointment to your father."

Luke flinched. The First Brother didn't care.

"What if," he asked, "you could reverse that? Make sure you never disappointed him again?"

"He's dead. It's impossible." Luke let his voice break on the last word.

"It is not. But we need you."

"I'm not related to my father by blood, apparently," Luke said bitterly, "if that's what you're talking about."

"Oh, no, we have known that this whole time. You have another role to play in his resurrection—the greatest role of all."

"What role?"

Instead of answering, the First Brother reached for a pouch at his belt—Luke tensed, but no, he wasn't reaching for more weapons—and drew out something. It was a vague pyramid shape, and a deep, deep red, and Luke stared...

He knew what that was.

That was a holocron.

The First Brother tossed it to him. Luke caught it with trembling hands. The... malignance and sheer hatred that spilled from it told him exactly what type of holocron this was.

Luke took a deep breath. He knew what he needed to do—and distantly, he remembered how to do it.

He winced as he drew on the Force, but he focused on the thing in his hands—funnelling all his frustration and anger at the situation, his pain from his injury, his fear of what he was going to find out...

Slowly, agonisingly slowly, one of the triangular caps at the corner of the holocron began to wiggle.

Then they all turned at once, and the holocron opened.

Luke stared.

In this dim light of his quarters, the harsh red and white light of the holocron felt like vibroblades to his eyes, but he squinted through it and stared.

And the figure it projected.

Funny, Luke thought. He'd never seen a hologram that was red before, but he supposed the Sith had a colour scheme to maintain.

"I am Darth Tstarun, Dark Lord of the Sith," the hologram—of a Falleen, if Luke wasn't mistaken—announced. "You who are watching this recording, Sith acolyte, have no doubt learned of my quest for immortality; this holocron seeks to pass on what I have discovered in my research and experimentation with the practice of passing souls from dead bodies to the living."

Luke stared.

What— what was this?

How—

"I investigated many ways this could be achieved. The most obvious way, of preserving a Sith line by transferring the soul of the master to the body of the apprentice when their apprentice kills them, proved a dead end, as the transfer of souls was... complex. If the master could not successfully fight and destroy the soul of the body they were inhabiting, the apprentice would live on either untouched, having destroyed their master's soul themselves, or as a strange, abominable hybrid of the two. The side effects of this merging are... uncertain, but undoubtedly catastrophic."

This Sith Lord was insane. This Inquisitor was insane.

"Therefore, I experimented with cloning—but cloning Force-sensitives is a business even more fraught. The Force warps in strange ways between two beings so alike; after the death of the original DNA donor, the clone is half-dead themselves, and the exchange of souls is traumatic enough that it risks destroying the vessel."

Captain Vassic had bought into this? Senator Erialus had bought into this? What was this?

"Therefore, I propose that instead, the master prepares a person they intend for their soul to inhabit themselves, before their death."

And then...

Luke looked at the First Brother.

Suddenly, in horrible, horrible clarity, he understood.

"Preferably from birth—my research suggests that Sith worshippers make the best vessels, as they consider it an honour to sacrifice their body and immortal spirit for the greatness of the Sith, and they do not fight back. The instinctive resistance in any living being is the trickiest part of the exchange—but if the vessel is willing to make the sacrifice, prepared and groomed as eager-to-please, undyingly loyal and considers themselves worthless in the face of greater Sith power, it will be an easy transition."

Luke stared.

"Of course, there are other factors. Children's minds and souls are easiest to crush if necessary but there can be complications in the merger between adult and child's mind, while adults are often too strong willed or jaded, and their bodies will falter sooner. Therefore, for most humanoid species I recommend the vessel be a teenager, and that they be of the same species as your original body—"

Luke closed the holocron.

"That—" He tried not to let his voice shake. "That..."

He failed.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the First Brother intoned. It was sickening, how delighted he sounded. "You claimed to want your father back—didn't you?"

"You want me to be the vessel for his soul?" Luke was shocked his voice didn't squeak.

"Exactly. Do this, allow him in willingly, as the holocron described, and it will be totally painless. He will make sure that menaces like Lord Vader will never threaten you again. With his spirit there to make use of your immense power... you will be unstoppable. He will guide you through everything. Your father will protect you."

Luke stared at him. The First Brother stared back, alight with fanaticism, leaning forwards slightly in his eagerness.

Luke thought, My father will destroy me.

"You are his heir," the First Brother continued. His fervour was still sickening, still... horrible, and Luke didn't want to think about Inquisitors, or how his father treated them. "Perhaps not the heir to his blood, unfortunately, but you are the heir to his power. To his Empire."

He finished in a hushed tone, "And to his soul."

He sheathed his knife and held out his hand.

"Come with me, Your Majesty," he said, and Luke realised that the Your Majesty wasn't meant for him. It was meant for the body that would one day be his father's. "You are the most important part in achieving this."

It was awful that the First Brother really thought that was something Luke would want.

Help me, Luke begged of the icy wings again, though he kept his face stoic and impassive. This was what Erialus had wanted of him. This was what Captain Vassic had tried to kidnap him for. Please, please, help me.

I am here, Majesty, came the reply.

Luke barely had time to dive behind his bed for cover before the door burst open and Darth Vader loomed.

There was a crash. A shout, a scream, a flash of red—

Luke ducked down and squished his eyes shut, jamming his fingers in his ears against the sound of—

Thunk.

A lightsaber deactivating.

Luke dropped his hands back to the floor and crawled to peer round. The First Brother—or rather, his body—was lying limp on the floor, while his head...

It had rolled and bumped into the end of Luke's bed. Luke tried not to vomit.

Vader stood in the doorway, the light casting his bulk in shadow like an avenging angel, and Luke stared as he put the lightsaber back on his belt.

Vader took a step forward. "Majesty..."

"Luke!"

Luke jerked his head up in relief, tears soaking his cheeks when Nova strode in, her hair half-undone from its fancy plaits, face twisted in alarm and panic. She barged past Vader and hopped over the dead body without flinching.

Luke shoved himself to his feet just in time to collapse into her arms and let them both sink onto his bed in a tangle of limbs. She hugged him tightly as he sobbed.

"A— Vader," she said after a moment, voice forcibly calm. "Will you take the body away and investigate why the guards aren't in their usual places? I'll talk to Luke."

Luke saw Vader hesitate, felt his gaze on his back... Then the softest, "As you wish," came from the vocoder and he levitated the First Brother's remains—Luke looked away from the head—and made to leave.

Then he paused.

The Sith holocron was still lying on the floor where Luke had dropped it.

Vader glanced at Luke. When Luke didn't object, he summoned that to hand and took it with him too.

Luke leaned his head on Nova's shoulder as the door slammed shut.

"Luke?" She touched her fingertips lightly to his collarbone, just below where he realised he was still weeping blood, but he didn't have the motivation to go see a medic right now. He just kept his eyes closed and wet her dress with tears. "Did— did he—"

"No," he rasped. "Only the neck wound, and it's shallow. I'm fine."

"You're clearly not fine," she pushed. "What— what did he say?"

Luke's face crumpled.

He pulled back and accepted it when she tried to take his hands, squeezing tightly, but he couldn't meet her gaze and ended up just bowing his head to avoid it. "He said..."

He'd said that Luke's father had only ever raised him to be used.

He'd said that that was the plan from the beginning.

He'd said that that was the only reason Palpatine had ever cared about him—had ever wanted Luke well, or healthy, or skilled, or— looked after—

The way Nova had looked after him so well.

Fresh tears flooded his eyes and he looked up at her through the blurry haze. She looked steadily back, and there was no faking the concern there.

No. There was no way Nova would have known. Nova loved him, in a way that apparently no one else ever had.

"He said that my father raised me as..." Luke swallowed. "There was a Sith technique for finding immortality. It was about... transferring the soul into another body, a younger body that you'd prepared, and taking control of that body by destroying the person's soul there..."

He swallowed.

"And he wanted me to go with him so they could resurrect my father."

Nova stared. Luke blinked fat tears out of his eyes so he could see her expression better, and—

And he'd never seen the sort of fury that contorted her face.

He yelped as she seized him, crushing him against her chest so tightly he gasped for air, and then she hissed in his ear:

"I am going to kill him."

He laughed wetly, pushing himself up slightly so he could look her in the eye. "He's already dead."

"I'm going to shred his spirit into a million tiny pieces and scatter them to the most wretched corners of the galaxy, I—" She wiped Luke's tears away with her thumbs and pinned him with her gaze. "I am not going to let him, or any of his henchmen, anywhere near you. I—" She shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Luke."

He took her hand in both of his. "You didn't know."

"I should've stolen you and taken you to Naboo the first time I laid eyes on you," she murmured. "We could've fled to the Outer Rim, or the Unknown Regions, and you would've been safe."

She shook her head again. "I failed you. I can never apologise enough for that, but I promise that he will not get to you."

"He... he never..."

Luke slipped his eyes closed.

Nova kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry, Luke," she whispered in his ear. "But no: I don't think he ever loved you at all."

Luke sagged against her and shuddered. She caught him, stroking his hair until he calmed down.

"Who else knew, then?" he asked mournfully. "Captain Vassic clearly knew. At least one Inquisitor was in on it. Who...?"

He shot up.

"Vader." He and Nova stared at each other. "Do you think Vader—"

"I don't think he did know, Luke," Nova interrupted, but he could hear the doubt in her voice.

Luke was halfway out of the room with barely a thought.

"Luke, wait—"

"No! I'm going to talk to Vader." He clenched his fists so hard he drew blood, but he didn't care. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered, anymore. "He's going to explain this."

The door slammed shut on Nova behind him.

Vader had disposed of the body. He had found the unconscious—and, in a few unfortunate cases, dead—bodies of the Noghri guards and seen to them. He had had the body searched then thrown in the trash compactor, and then he had opened the Sith holocron.

It was not difficult to come to the same conclusion that his son had inevitably come to.

It was not difficult to understand why he was so upset.

Vader's office trembled under the force of his rage, the glass of datapads tinkling and shattering around him.

Palpatine would pay for this. They would all pay—

Then there was a knock at the door.

Vader barely had the time to sense that it was Luke before it hissed open and his son stormed in.

"You need to tell me. You need to stop hiding, stop your displays, stop everything and tell me!"

Vader didn't even look at him. He couldn't. He was furious, his anger was a dangerous, living thing in his chest and if it was unleashed—if Luke was caught in it— "Tell you what?"

"Are you my father?" Luke demanded. Vader's heart nearly stopped, and it took all his effort to keep his gaze away—but still, it remained that if he looked at the boy, covered in blood after that attack, considering what he'd learned he would lose it—but Luke barrelled on— "Are you going to lie to me the way he did? Ignore me, silence me? Tell me how much you knew."

Vader's heart was still struggling to beat, but he got out, "How much I knew about what, Majesty? I have the report here," he gestured to a datapad on his desk, with three long cracks down the centre of it, "of how the assassin got in and what security measures I would like to implement—"

"He was not an assassin! Now tell me what you knew about my father's plans for me!"

This confrontation had been inevitable.

Control. Vader had to have control.

He said, "I assume that you are talking about the information in this." He stood from behind his desk, tossed the holocron onto the datapad, and tried to keep a handle on that apoplectic, all-consuming rage.

He would not lash out. He would not hurt his son.

"Yes! I am!" Luke uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on his hips. He was small enough that it had no effect on how intimidating he looked. "Did you know that my father was raising me like a shaak for slaughter, was planning on turning me into a— a vessel for him to continue to rule the galaxy with, a—" He froze, paling, eyes widening. "A puppet."

Vader took a step forwards. "Majesty, I—"

Luke just stared at him. He looked so, so lost; it was shattering.

"Did you want to use me like that as well?" he asked miserably. "Like a— like a literal puppet emperor?"

He stared at Vader's mechanical arms, his suit, and Vader had a horrible premonition of what he was thinking.

"Absolutely not, Majesty," he promised. "Never."

Luke just kept staring at him.

Vader gestured to the holocron. "This is the first I have heard of any plot to possess you and crush your soul, Majesty." His fists clench. "I will not stand for it."

Luke seemed to take in, for the first time, that most of Vader's office was ruined. Smashed to bits. Shredded.

He blinked.

"He will not succeed, Majesty," Vader vowed. Even Luke could hear the vehemence in his tone—the dark, dark promise and the bloodlust and the violence. "I will destroy anyone who so much as allows his acolytes shelter. You will be safe, and your father will stay dead, like the pathetic, wicked man he was."

He let his voice go tender as he said, "No one will hurt you, Majesty. I swear to you that."

The look on Luke's face was indecipherable, but when he spoke, all he said was, "This is the third time they've nearly managed to take me away."

"Nearly. They will not succeed—they will never succeed."

Luke didn't deign to answer that.

"If I wasn't the son of the woman you loved so much," he said instead. "If I was just that brat you tormented for fourteen years without a single flicker of conscience..." Vader flinched. "Would you even care about my father's plans for me?"

"Palpatine's," Vader corrected. "He was never worthy to be called your father."

"Would you, Lord Vader?"

Vader was silent for several cycles of his respirator.

Then he said, "I had no fondness for the previous Emperor. I hated him. The only reason I did not kill him sooner was because I hated myself more."

He didn't realise what he'd said until Luke gaped at him, shock and alarm shrieking in the Force, and even took an entire step back. Vader cursed—fluently.

"You killed him?" Luke whispered. "You admit it?"

"Yes," Vader said baldly. No going back, now. "I hated him, and I killed him, and just before he died he told me who you really were. Whether to make me suffer more, or to ensure that I did not kill you—ensure you would still be a viable vessel for him to return as—I do not know. All I know is..." He pressed his lips together.

"I killed him far too quickly. If I could do it again, I would inflict a hundred years of suffering on him for what he has done to you, before finally letting him die. I—"

He cut himself off.

Luke didn't seem to be listening. He was leaning against the doorway, gaze unfocused, and suddenly Vader processed just what a traumatic experience this whole thing had been for him, and here he was just heaping more on top of him—

"Majesty? Luke?" He rounded the desk and strode forwards, realising his son looked alarmingly pale— "Little angel, are you—"

Luke didn't even react to the nickname slip. He just fainted, right into Vader's arms.

Luke came to again to the sounds of beeping; a medbay, then. He took a few deep breaths, tried to turn, to do something, only for a heavy, gentle hand to fall on his shoulder and roll him back into his reclining position.

He stared up at the impeccably white medbay ceiling; it blurred before his eyes.

"Lie still, Majesty," Vader intoned quietly.

Luke ignored him and tried to sit up. "I feel fine."

"You fainted."

"Because—"

It all came barrelling back, then: the holocron, the Inquisitor, the reveal and Nova's warm arms around him and Vader's furious admission that he'd killed Luke's father, and never wanted to see him come back—

Well.

At least, Luke thought, pulling the bedsheets closer to his chin, he knew that Vader wouldn't hand him over.

"It wasn't a dream?" he asked quietly.

Vader's vocoder gave a sound that might have been a sigh. "Would that it was, Majesty," he said. "It was not."

Luke closed his eyes.

"I hate him," he whispered.

"We are in agreement there."

"He— he's going to—"

"He is not going to do anything," Vader insisted sharply, then, but Luke didn't flinch. "I will not let him—I told you that, and I will stand by it.

His voice softened. "Lady Sabé will not allow anything to happen to you either, and I know you trust her. So trust that she will keep you safe, and I give you my word that I will keep you safe, even if you do not trust me."

"I do trust you."

Vader froze. Luke froze himself. He hadn't meant to say that.

Nevertheless, he repeated: "I do trust you. You— you've saved my life. You've explained why enough times. I do trust you to protect me."

Not necessarily to make him happy.

Not necessarily to confide in.

But certainly to keep him safe.

Vader reached out a hand, hesitated, then when Luke didn't react negatively he placed it gently on his shoulder and helped him sit up. "I do not want to lose you—least of all to Palpatine. Anything I do, I do to that aim, but... If I go too far, Majesty, let me know. We can discuss it."

"You... are opening yourself up to discussion?" Luke teased—a little. The faintest smile tugged at his lips.

Vader grumbled, "Indeed. You are much like your mother, and it seems I have no choice."

Luke actually laughed a little at that, but he had to admit, "From what I've seen, I don't think I'm much like her at all."

"You are everything like her!" Vader still had a tight grip on his anger, but the vehemence was nonetheless surprising. "If you knew, little angel, you—"

Luke's head whipped towards Vader, astonishment and outrage written over his whole face. Vader cut himself off.

Luke asked, "What did you just call me?"

Vader winced behind the mask, regretting his slip. He hadn't wanted to give that away, not again.

But—

But Luke was laughing, now.

It was a lovely laugh. It made Vader smile in response to it, made everything seem brighter, as Luke's momentary shock melted away.

"I knew it was you," he said. "The one sending the toys."

Vader said nothing.

The infernal boy pushed himself further up in his bed, raising his eyebrow. "Are you going to deny it?"

"I was trying to find a plausible way to do so, Majesty," Vader admitted, "but I have nothing."

"I knew it." His eyes crinkled. "You're not subtle."

"It never has been one of my strengths, no."

"Why did you do it?" Luke asked. "Why did you start sending the toys? I—"

"You told me that Lady Sabé gave you two, but Palpatine allowed you none. You were highly protective of the bantha you did have." Vader rested his hands on his knees; the medbay chair was getting uncomfortable, and uncomfortably unstable, underneath him. "I had felt that… When I discovered Padmé was pregnant… I would have hoped her child would have as many toys as he wanted. She certainly would have doted on you. I felt you only deserved that."

Luke blinked a few times, and Vader realised with alarm that tears were gathering at the sides of his eyes. "Thank you," he said. "They— they're comforting. I like them. Very much."

Vader smiled. "I am glad."

"How did you get them?" he pushed. "Did you—" He snorted. "Did you stroll into the shop and down the aisles? Did you pick them out, or did you rope some poor shop assistant to—" He dissolved into peals of giggling, suddenly; part of it was hysterical, Vader suspect, but part of it came from a genuine amusement.

Vader was not amused. "If you must know," he informed him, "I assigned some members of the Five-Oh-First to acquire them."

Luke cackled. "You got stormtroopers to go— well, to storm the toy shop so you could give me a toy with a cryptic message tied around its neck?"

"...yes," Vader ground out. He was not nearly as annoyed as he thought he should be; he'd never seen Luke this happy, and he was growing increasingly certain hysteria was involved—or even if he was just trying everything in him to avoid thinking about what he'd just learned. "The messages were intended to be sweet."

"They were vague. They were cryptic."

Vader sighed. Deeply.

But when Luke buried his face in the pillow to keep from smiling, Vader didn't bother to resist his lips curving upwards.

His son trusted him, he thought. His son trusted him.

His son had just been threatened with the worst sort of death, by the man who had threatened him for the first fourteen years of his life so far, but he trusted Vader to protect him from him. For now, at least.

Vader swore, there and then: He would not fail.

Not the way he had failed Padmé before.

Chapter Text

New security features were swiftly implemented, and although he stayed safe Luke couldn't bring himself to relax. He carried out more meaningless tasks as Emperor, adapted to the tighter restriction Vader insisted on without feeling too stifled by it… but one thing he refused to compromise on.

He was enjoying his time with Zev and Leia too much to give it up—and Nova was on his side, so at least he had that. They'd resumed their binge-watching of Crown of Stars—they'd even started watching the spinoff series, Heart of Stars—the week he'd got back to Coruscant after his tour. Leia had taken one look at him, opened her mouth to ask about the... revelation about Luke's parentage—or lack thereof—they'd all seen on the news, then promptly shut it again. They'd operated on an unspoken agreement to not mention politics in these sessions.

It was pretty clear that Luke was having a rough time of it.

But still. Watching holodramas with these two was great for distracting him from... court intrigue, from assassinations, from plans to steal his body and crush his soul—

Until things like this happened.

Zev and Leia were giving him that look again, like it was beginning to occur to them how he hadn't grown up with... normalcy.

"Don't..." Luke rasped, quickly shoving his sleeve back down so they didn't see the scars riddled down his arm. Leia and Zev, probably just on instinct, followed the motion with their eyes and said nothing; his panic had Vader's shadow rearing up in the back of his mind.

Luke did his best to send out clumsy waves of reassurance, of safety, and relaxed as he sensed Vader back down. "Don't..." he repeated, giving them both a wary look.

Leia paused the show. "I'm sorry, Luke," she said, "but I have to ask..." Her eyes traced over his arm again. "Who did those?"

Luke swallowed.

"Was it— was it Vader?" Leia dared to ask. "Does he still..."

He winced, but said, "It was... my f— Palpatine."

There were... two very different reactions to that. Zev, who'd been raised as a loyal Imperial youth for most of his life, shifted uncomfortably, and Luke grimaced at the thought that maybe he didn't want to think about his benevolent god-like Emperor as the rancid bag of shavit that he had been.

Leia, meanwhile... didn't look all that surprised.

She… reached out. When Luke didn't flinch away again, took Luke's arm and traced the fabric of his sleeve, as if she could see the scars underneath. "Do they still hurt?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No—he made sure the pain was never permanent." Some scars were alright, but no permanent disfigurations, no lasting pain, nothing that could irk him or hold him back when he took Luke's body for his own.

Leia frowned deeply, then turned back to the holoprojector. "Well, he's dead now," she declared. Zev, despite his apparent reluctance to speak ill of a deceased emperor, nodded in agreement. His face twisted into something unpleasant when he glanced at Luke's arms—something fiercely unpleasant—then he glanced back at his face and gave him a reassuring smile.

Luke warmed, slightly, as he shuffled closer and put an arm around his shoulders, and he leaned into him in response.

"He's dead," Leia continued, "and we're here. Vader doesn't hurt you, right?"

Her piercing look was impossible to lie to, but she still didn't accept his quiet, "No, he doesn't," for a good few moments before she finally lowered her gaze. She wrapped her arm around him as well; Luke felt like his stuffed bantha, and decided it wasn't an unpleasant feeling.

"We're here now," she insisted. Zev grunted his agreement and Luke laughed, surprised to find himself fiercely blinking back tears. A smile curved his mouth.

"You..." Leia started, then forged on: "You definitely trust Vader?" She exchanged a pointed look with Zev; Luke had no idea what it meant. Or what they might have discussed while he was away. He was hit by intense pang of jealousy for a moment, but forced himself to brush it aside. "If he was your f— Palpatine's henchman, are you sure—"

"He... wasn't kind to me as a child," Luke admitted. It was the first time he'd admitted to someone that since Nova had arrived, and he didn't meet Leia's gaze as he said it. "But I trust him now."

"Are you sure? What do you mean unkind—"

"Leia," Zev said firmly. "Leave him alone."

Leia did not leave him alone. "Do you trust Vader?"

Luke thought of the shattered office—of the man who kept dropping stuffed toys on his bed, because he'd realised that it was a pleasure Palpatine had denied him.

"Yes," he said. Almost unconsciously, he reached out to brush that dark presence he could still sense hovering at the back of his mind. It jerked, surprised and momentarily panicked on his behalf, but when it sensed his... affection, almost, it warmed in confusion. "I do."

Vader would not hurt him. He would not let anyone hurt him. He believed that, he realised.

"Can we get back to watching?" Zev complained, though Luke was pretty sure it was for his benefit. Zev's grasped his arm and squeezed it gently.

Leia just rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'd have thought an army brat would have more patience."

"Oh, you would know all about brattiness, wouldn't you, Princess..." he shot right back.

Luke rolled his eyes as Heart of Stars started playing again but he could barely hear the drama over their bickering. He had to smile.

They cared, he realised. They wouldn't have asked if they didn't care.

He lay his head against Zev's arm; Zev shifted so his arm was around his shoulders.

And on the heels of that last realisation came another one:

He felt, for the first time, safe.

That feeling of safety continued, later, even after they'd both left his quarters and he was half-daydreaming , half-dozing on the sofa. He distantly heard the door open, his Noghri guards bristle to attention and Vader enter, his breathing loud. But he just closed his eyes and smiled.

Vader sat down next to him. "Are you alright, little angel?"

Luke smiled at the name. "Yes," he whispered. "Can— could you sit with me, for a little while?" He blindly sought out Vader's hand and took it, every scar that wound up his arm seemed to burn for a second, but it faded when he breathed out, and Vader curled his fingers delicately around his, as gentle as anything.

"Of course, Majesty," he whispered, and Luke closed his eyes, and lay back, and just... drifted.

He lay there for an indeterminate amount of time before he finally asked the question, thoughts shifting from Leia and Zev to his father to his father's plans with an alarming lack of alarm. That sense of safety, desperate the madman coming for him, was yet to abate; perhaps it was a delusion, but it was a delusion he'd rarely indulged in, so he allowed it for now.

Then he asked Vader, the only one who would know: "How did my father die?"

There was a beat of silene. He sat up, when Vader didn't seem inclined to answer, or perhaps didn't realise what he was asking; looked him in the eyes.

"How did you do it? So many people have tried, and failed, how did you do it? How did he take it? Was there a fight, did he..."

He trailed off, ashamed to even think it.

"He suffered, Majesty," Vader vowed. "I made sure of that. He watched as I cut down his aides, as I cut down his guards, every moment that I advanced. He tried to electrocute me, but I deflected it back at him and made sure he felt it."

Luke winced, but... had to admit to a savage satisfaction at that. Palpatine had electrocuted him before—it was less common than just handing him over to Vader for the dirty work, and was never done to a dangerous excess, but was far from uncommon. The coppery tang of blood in his mouth, the scent of burning hair, smelt like his father's disappointment to him.

"He was a formidable fighter," Vader continued. Luke could almost see two bright eyes behind those eye plates—but they weren't yellow, he noted. Strange... "And the duel was long. But I killed him, in the end."

"And when did he tell you about me?" Luke asked, glancing away.

Vader didn't try to stop him, but he could still feel that intense, basilisk gaze fixate on him as he said, "With his last breath."

"I see." Luke swallowed. "W— why? Did he want to make sure you wouldn't kill me, so that I'd still be alive for him to use?"

"I'm sure that was it, little angel," Vader said quietly. "He... I thought, at the time, it was just to hurt me—I told him that I'd received word that you were dead, and his legacy would be destroyed, but he threw it back in my face. Now, with this knowledge... he may well have meant multiple things by it, but I'm sure that was his primary concern."

Luke took a deep breath, and nodded.

The reminder of how much Vader had hated him still sent a chill of fear down his back—one day he'd realise that Luke was nothing, wasn't worth all this fuss, and his disdain would return—but... for now, he trusted him. Vader... cared about him, in his own twisted way.

Luke did not have enough people he felt he could trust.

"I... understand," he said. "What... what do you think the ritual entails?"

He ducked his head immediately after he said it, but he wanted to know. He needed to know. And Vader was Sith—if he'd heard anything about this, if he knew anything—

"I do not know," Vader replied. "But we have access to many of Palpatine's old resources, in his vaults, here in the Palace. I will research it."

"I want to help," Luke said immediately.

Vader looked at him. "You are not a Sith."

Luke flinched back. "Right. Sorry. I'm not—"

"You are more than worthy," Vader barrelled on fiercely, and Luke stared at him, "but these are Sith holocrons. I fear what I may find in there, and I fear their reaction to someone as g— someone like you may be dangerous."

Luke frowned; folded his arms across his chest. "What does that mean, Lord Vader?"

"Only that you are a remarkable person, especially considering how horribly Pal—" He paused. "How horribly we treated you, and what you were taught. I do not think you want to have any more contact with the Sith than you have already had."

"You're one of the Sith," Luke pointed out.

Vader stiffened. "I am," he said, and said no more than that.

Luke scowled. "I want to help."

"Majesty—"

He glared. "Don't Majesty me. I want to help, Lord Vader. I want to take back control and understand this, so I can better combat it."

They glared at each other for a moment, gazes locked.

"...very well, Luke," Vader finally said, and Luke relaxed into the sofa again. The argument had taken a lot out of him when he was already drowsy, and he found his eyes slipping closed again. "We can look into it tomorrow."

Luke barely heard the gentle words. He just blocked everything out, and let himself drift off again.

Luke had fallen asleep. His head rested against Vader's arm—Vader could feel him. His upper arm was still flesh, underneath the armour, and Vader could feel his son.

He hardly dared to move. Hardly dared to breathe. He did not want to disturb this boy, and he did not want to disturb this moment. Luke sleeping on his like he trusted him.

Luke he knew, somehow, who his true father was.

He wasn't sleeping in a very comfortable position, and Vader knew that. He should rouse him and tell him to retire to his bed if he was so sleepy, but… he was greedy. For a moment, just a moment longer, he wanted to continue to feel his little angel.

Then the door slid open.

Sabé paused in the doorway, watching them both, and Vader would've felt self-conscious, but... he didn't. He barely glanced at her—she looked so much like Padmé in that overly-fancy blue nightgown, it hurt—before tilting his mask down to look at Luke again. He'd shifted on Vader's arm at one point, gold hair spilling across his sleeve and armour like sunlight, and his face looked... at peace.

Luke's impassive politician's face was impeccable—but Vader had spent a lot of time studying him these past few months. He couldn't help but notice, and worry about, the faint anxiety lines carved into his forehead, the constant furrow between his brows, his clenched jaw. In sleep, that was relaxed, and he looked...

Young.

He looked so, so young.

He was so, so young.

"You should get him to bed," Sabé said quietly, and he hated her for it. "Or he'll be uncomfortable when he wakes up."

He couldn't be his usual intimidating self, not without disturbing Luke, but his finger sprang out to point at her. "You—" he hissed.

She stepped forwards, her pale blue gown swishing around her. "I know," she said, smiling. She looked at Luke's sleeping face again. "Trust me, I know. But Luke will be uncomfortable when he wakes up."

And Luke was what was important. They both knew that.

So reluctantly—painstakingly reluctantly, and gently—Vader shifted and hoisted Luke into his arms. Luke's head lolled, forehead pressing against the corner of Vader's chest plate, and his heart contracted in a way that surely couldn't be healthy.

Sabé followed him through the door to Luke's bedroom, pushing aside Luke's bantha and colo claw fish and nexu so Vader could put him down peacefully, then brushed a lock of hair out of his face.

"He's a good kid," she murmured.

"He is perfect," Vader replied. She smiled faintly at him—it was not difficult to hear the adoration in his voice.

"He told me that you didn't know," she continued, creeping towards the door so as not to wake Luke, "about Palpatine's plan."

Vader hesitated, then followed, shutting the door quietly behind him.

"I did not," he said. "He never told me anything of this power, and I will do anything to protect Luke from it."

"I know," she replied.

He studied her for a moment. "Luke wants to help me look into Palpatine's vault," he informed her. "And look through the Sith holocrons. I do not think this will be appropriate or beneficial for him—some things he may find will be... extremely disturbing."

"Then tell him that."

"I tried."

"Then tell him again," she said. "And ask him, on your own behalf, to refrain. He may back out of it himself anyway—he probably only wants to investigate the Sith so that he feels in control of things, rather than to leave all control of the fate of his soul up to you. He does not want to involve himself in the Sith at all—not in their training, and not in their philosophy."

"That is the problem," Vader got out. "If he involved himself in their training, he would be better defended. An untrained Force-sensitive, that holocron said, is easier to possess than a trained one."

"Luke wants nothing to do with the Sith."

"He must be trained."

He did not like the look that Sabé gave him, then. "The Sith are not the only practitioners of the Force in the galaxy."

He whirled on her, finger jabbed in her face, towering over her, in the middle of Luke's comfortable sitting room. "What," he snapped, "are you implying?"

She did not back down. Of course she didn't. "Get Luke trained," she said, "by a Jedi."

He scoffed. "No."

"Luke—"

"The Jedi are weak, dying. There are none around powerful enough to teach him, and none I would trust with my son. They would simply take the opportunity to assassinate the leader of the Empire they loathe so much, and I will not risk him like that."

"A Jedi would not," she shot back. "And they are still very much alive, I..." She trailed off.

He gave a barked laugh. "I knew you had Rebel ties," he sneered.

"If you are implying—" She glared. "I am not here for the Empire, or a Republic. I am here for Luke."

"And that is the only reason you are still here," he informed her coldly. "Take my word for it."

"And take my word for it, Anakin," she snapped, "that Jedi training is Luke's best chance. Are you going to sacrifice your own son on the altar of your hatred for them?"

Vader just stared at her.

If he killed her, Luke would never forgive him.

Luke would never forgive him.

Luke would never forgive him.

He just turned on his heel and marched away.

The antechamber to Palpatine's vaults was lined with shelves, each stacked to the brim with trophies. Luke wasn't quite sure what he was doing there, just standing, staring, shivering. It was cold in here, of course—this was the domain of a Sith—but somehow, just the entrance to the vault made him uncomfortable already.

These trophies symbolised his previous political or military victories. He knew what those victories were. He'd been drilled on them incessantly. And he wasn't sure if it was more soothingly repetitive or upsetting that when he passed his eyes over the shelves, he automatically recited their histories to himself under his breath.

But, of course, the door to deeper into the vaults, where the Sith holocrons and artefacts lay, had to be opened by a Sith wielding the dark side. So while Vader summoned his terrible power and the door screeched, metal Imperial cogs turning, Luke had no choice but to distract himself by looking around at the artefacts. There was only one he didn't know the meaning behind—a primitive looking Tatooinian pendant or amulet—he realised.

A flagstone from the Jedi Temple's council chamber, bearing their insignia, now scarred with strokes of Vader's saber. A traditional brooch from Alderaan, typically worn by the queen. A recording of the moment Luke's mother had led a vote of no confidence in Chancellor Valorum and another of the moment Palpatine had made his speech elevating him to Emperor. A small Shoto lightsaber that he'd taken from the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order, Yoda, after he won their duel.

Luke knew them all, knew his father's victories, his glories—had always known that he was unbeatable.

Looking at them now made him sick to his stomach.

The necklace was the one thing that had never been explained to him, and he had never dared to ask. So he fixed his eyes on that as Vader finished with the door.

It was wooden. It had symbols carved into it that Luke didn't know. It was on a string, not a chain.

Yet it was placed in the middle of its own shelf—an area of significant importance.

Luke moved towards it, even as the heavy vault door swung open. Palpatine was not here to punish him, and, as his heir, as the Emperor, all of this belonged to Luke anyway… but even then he hesitated to reach out and pick it up.

Then he did, and cradled the little snippet in his palm.

Vader turned back to him. "If you are ready to enter, Majesty?"

Then he paused.

"What..." He reached out a hand, but drew it back before Luke could react. "Little angel... what is that?"

Luke closed his fingers around it, then opened them again, like the petals of a flower. "I don't know," he admitted. "It's the only thing in here I don't know."

"I... do," Vader said slowly, and reached out his hand again. From what Luke could tell, it wasn't trembling, but... he had the feeling it would have been, were it flesh. "It— it is a japor snippet, and it was your mother's. I had thought she was buried with it, but it appears Palpatine ransacked her tomb."

It wasn't hard to hear the fury there, and Luke thought he felt a dull, throbbing echo of it, deep in his gut. Whether it was his own, or he was sensing Vader's, he had no idea.

Luke closed his fingers around the necklace, then, and blinked away tears. If— if this had been his mother's—

"Your father was from Tatooine," Vader continued. "He carved it for her—it is meant to bring luck."

Luke murmured, "Good or bad?"

Vader didn't answer. He turned his hand over, so his palm was facing up. "May I, little angel?"

Luke wanted to say no, wanted to cling to it, never wanted to let it go... but Vader's voice was agonisingly tender, and it did not take a genius to figure out why.

He dropped the necklace into his palm, watching the string coil on the leather of his black glove.

Vader inspected it for a moment, his other hand coming to trace the shapes and whorls infinitely delicately, so delicately he barely seemed to touch them. Luke stared.

Then, to his surprise, Vader untied the string, looped it around Luke's neck and tied it again.

"What..." Luke flinched for a moment, before he realised what was happening, then his hand came up to rub his thumb against the wood.

"It is yours by right, Majesty," Vader said, dropping his hands from the back of Luke's neck. Luke tilted his head up to look him right in the eye plates, but that mask was unreadable. "She... she would've wanted you to have it, I'm sure."

Luke blinked fiercely, to no avail. Tears crawled down his cheeks.

"I can't do this," he whispered. He could feel... something from the snippet, something warm and sweet and loving, but it was like a candle against the crash of darkness he could sense from the vaults. He couldn't do this. "Why would he display this as a trophy? Did he order my father killed? Did— did he order my mother killed," he'd researched the circumstances of Padmé Amidala's death the moment it had come up, and Nova had been quick to refute that the Jedi had killed her, "and take her necklace just because he could?"

He swallowed.

"Did he rip me out of her arms just because he could?"

Vader knew what he was asking. And Vader was honest—brutally so, in some cases. Luke looked to him for honesty now.

He said, "Yes. I think you were his greatest trophy of all."

Luke nodded, and closed his eyes.

"I can't do this," he repeated. "I can't look. Could you..."

Vader's hand was gentle on his shoulder, the snippet nestled gently at his throat.

"Of course, little angel," he said, and led him out of the room. The door deeper into the vaults was still open behind them, a yawning chasm of darkness, but Luke knew Vader would go in there soon enough. "I will report to you what I find."

"All of it?"

"All of it."

"Even the parts that don't seem relevant to the spirit possession? Even the parts you have doubts about?"

Vader swore, "All of it."

Luke sighed, and wondered at the weight that rolled off his shoulders when he realised that he trusted Vader to keep his word.

Vader spent much of the day in that vault, increasingly furious at what he found. Several shelves of artefacts were lost to his crushing rage—he tried not to think about the fact that he may be destroying information vital to the survival of his son, lest he grow angrier and destroy even more—and eventually he decided that he should… leave it, for that day. He needed to report what he had found, and he needed to get a grip.

His son would be fine.

He would protect his son.

When he got there, there were soft voices coming from Luke's bedroom. Vader lurked closer, peering in through the half open door, and what he saw tugged the corners of his lips up ever so slightly—Luke was sitting on his bed, talking to Sabé, and smiling.

He lifted his hand to knock, to draw attention to himself, before he paused. It was still so rare for him to see Luke smile that he wanted to soak in the moment even if it wasn't meant for him, and all of a sudden he was hit with a surge of gratitude for Sabé. Sabé, who'd brought Luke happiness even in the depths of his miserable life, and had taught Vader's son love and goodness and light when all Vader had done was try to beat it out of him.

Vader didn't want to interrupt this. Not at all.

He didn't want to report everything to Luke anyway, despite his promise, but now...

He couldn't destroy this moment of peace. Luke deserved this, and Vader deserved to stay away.

So he turned, heart clenching...

"Vader?" Luke asked, looking up. He froze. "Are you finished in the vaults?"

Vader paused, let breath fill his lungs three times, before he said, "There was far too much in there to be certain that I have finished, but I believe I have found most of what can conceivably be found." Of what was left to be found.

"Are you here to report, then?" Luke asked, sitting up against his pillow. Sabé smiled at him, then more tentatively at Vader, from the armchair she'd pulled up next to the bed. "What did you find? What are your theories?"

Vader paused again. "I can report now if you so wish it, Majesty."

Luke nodded. He was in a much better mood than he was earlier, it seemed; the japor snippet sat snug about his collarbone. Vader's heart soared and shattered at the sight of it. "If you're ready?"

Vader let his respirator breathe again, and suddenly he felt odd, standing and towering over Luke and Sabé while they were seated. He used the Force to pull another one of Luke's armchairs over to next to the bed and seated himself, ignoring the way the chair creaked underneath him. Maybe it would collapse. Maybe it would make Luke laugh again.

"I... am ready," he said. He could feel Sabé's gaze on him.

"Then what did you find?"

Vader winced. "It seems that Palpatine put... a great deal of energy into researching this, little angel. There are all sorts of texts and holocrons which discuss this very ritual, and there are few decisive, accepted opinions of ancient Sith scholars. I believe a great deal of what Palpatine's plan was based on was merely his own theories." And his foresight, which was far more of a problem—it was famously accurate. But Vader didn't want to scare Luke.

Too late. Luke was scared, though he could tell he was doing his best to stay strong. "And what few decisive, accepted decisions did you find?"

"The body cannot hold two souls," Vader said simply. "Any sentient species researched was incapable of holding—"

"Researched?" Luke paled the moment he started thinking about what, exactly, that would entail.

"Yes." Vader stiffened as Sabé shot him a look. This was why he hadn't wanted this... "The human body, in this case, cannot hold more than one soul, and more specifically the soul it was naturally born with—natural attachments between body and soul—"

"You mean the act of living."

"...yes. But it is harder for the invading soul to seize control and settle into the body than for the original soul to fend them off, especially if the original being is Force-sensitive. So it is considered necessary for the invader to be far more powerful than the original, in order to be assured of success when faced with resistance."

Despite the morbid subject, that last part was said with hope. Luke was powerful—so, so powerful. If the worst came to the worst, Luke could...

"I'm doomed," Luke said. "There's no way I'll be able to resist him."

Vader stared.

The boy shifted awkwardly. "What? It's true. He's—"

"Luke..." Vader broke himself off. "You are far more powerful than Palpatine."

His son stared at him.

"What?"

"That is why he wants you as his vessel in the first place, I believe," Vader said, shaking his head—well, helmet. "Your connection to the Force is unparalleled, undoubtable. If it came down to it, you could resist him."

Luke looked at his fingers, entwined in his lap. "How?"

"Little was documented in the holocrons about how one resists or battles for dominance of the body, but I suspect it would be a similar skill to shielding, or resisting invasions of your mind—"

"Which I can't do. I can't keep you out. I could never keep him out."

"Because he kept you that way," Vader insisted. "Untrained, easy to overcome. But this is something we can change—"

"No."

Vader blinked. "What?"

"I trust you not to kill me," Luke said. His hands shook as he said it, and the words cut Vader to the core. "I trust that you don't want to hurt me. But you have hurt me, Lord Vader, and I refuse to train with you. I will never train with you again."

And as he said that, Vader thought he might have heard a death knell.

"Even if it may be the difference between life and oblivion?" he asked. "Even if it may be the only thing that allows you to keep control of your body?"

Luke kept his gaze steady. "Even then," he uttered, and the pieces of Vader's heart were crushed to dust.

He deserved this, he thought to himself.

He should've expected this.

If he lost his son, he knew, it would be all his fault.

"...very well," he acquiesced. "Then we shall do our best to simply keep him away from you."

Sabé was giving him a look. A fierce, furious look, and he knew exactly what she was thinking, but no. He could not. He could not.

...even if it was to save Luke's life?

He stood abruptly. "That is all for today, Majesty," he said to Luke. "I... will inform you if I learn anything else."

"Thank you, Lord Vader," Luke said, as Vader turned to leave the room. His happy mood from earlier was completely gone.

Vader stormed away.

It was no wonder.

Vader paced the Palace corridors for hours on end after that, trapped in his own thoughts, his hands trapped in fists. It was no wonder that Luke did not want to train with Vader.

There had been so many hellish experiences for him.

"I am departing on a diplomatic mission to Alderaan," Palpatine had said one time, resting a gentle hand on Luke's shoulder. "It will only be for three days, but do not fear." His father smiled. "Lord Vader will watch over you."

Terror shot through the boy—Vader could sense it—and he raised his eyes to the gigantic form of the Sith Lord standing there.

"This will be good for you, young prince," Vader rumbled. There was hatred in his voice. He did not bother to hide it. "It will give you the opportunity to hone your skills."

What few skills he had, had been the main thought that ran through Vader's mind as he observed the brat. He was peering at his father with a pleading expression, but of course any gentleness that Palpatine showed anyone, whether it be a young Anakin Skywalker or the nameless orphan adopted as a prince, was nothing but cold calculation. Palpatine squeezed the prince's shoulder lightly then let go when the lambda shuttle landed on the pad next to them. The prince took one look at the ship, took a half-step towards it, then shuddered away when his father shot him a withering glare.

He knew his place, and he knew it intimately.

Palpatine had left. Luke had been left with Vader. And…

Vader had spent those three days making Luke's life a living hell.

Luke had cried out, but never cried. He'd fallen over and over again, but whenever Vader ordered him up again, he got up. Lightsaber swinging, shields buffering, ready to do his best even when his best was terrible, through the fault of his teachers rather than his ability.

Palpatine had electrocuted Vader himself within an inch of his life, for that—for nearly ruining his precious vessel, he was fairly sure now—but even then Vader had sensed his delight at the savagery unleashed. There had been such pain, hatred, suffering in the Palace those days, and Luke had borne the brunt of all of it.

As Vader stormed through the corridors, mind whirling with the realisation that he could never teach his son to use the power that was his birthright, that he would never get that chance again, and that it might mean he lost Luke all over again...

He couldn't find it in himself to blame Luke for his decision at all.

He was the worst excuse for a father there was... barring Palpatine.

And as Vader desperately examined the situation from every angle he could, desperately tried to find a way that he would not have to cave to Sabé's suggestion... all he could feel was utter fury on Luke's behalf, that the Force had seen fit to saddle him the boy with both of them.

Did it have no mercy at all?

Of course it didn't.

In this galaxy, there was no such thing as mercy.

Vader kept pacing, desperate rage rising in his chest, even as his thoughts spun in a kaleidoscope of confusion, terror, and the most overwhelmingly horrifying realisation of all:

He would have to find a Jedi to train his son.

It seemed that the Force had no mercy, but it did have an abundance of irony—the moment he returned to his quarters, meaning to meditate in his hyperbaric chamber, to desperately find another way… he found someone else there.

He had only just entered when he spun around to come face to face with a determined Sabé.

He tried to look anywhere but at her: the blank white walls, the closed door to his personal medical bay, the ridiculous, inane furniture that he had to keep should he entertain guests and that more recently he had been hoping might entertain Luke. But she would not be denied.

"You know what I'm about to say," she informed him, crossing her arms across her chest. He scoffed, turned his back on her to resume his pacing, within his quarters this time, but she had the nerve to grab his arm. Grab his arm. "Luke—"

"I know," he hissed. "He will not train from me, so—" No, no, no, no, no... "So I... I will simply make sure that he—"

"Remains a fugitive from a ghost his whole life? Knowing that if he ever gets caught, he has no means of defending himself? Left vulnerable to not only metaphysical attacks, but also to every other sort of attack on him, as the Emperor, that being trained could help with—"

"I am not," Vader roared, yanking his arm away, "entrusting the fate of my son to a Jedi!"

Sabé's jaw trembled but she just glared up at him, unyielding. "Then you will lose him," she said, and her face wasn't hard, wasn't apathetic—it trembled with passion, and rage, and desperation that reminded Vader that she was desperate not to lose him too. "The Jedi will not hurt Luke, they wouldn't hold the sins of a father—of either father—against the son—"

"You have no idea what the Jedi are capable of."

"I know that it wasn't a Jedi who kidnapped Luke and raised him as a vessel!"

Vader straightened up. Sabé was taller than Luke, but both of them were so much shorter than him, and he wondered what sort of family he, Luke and Padmé might have made had they been given the chance.

"No," he shot back, enraged by the image and the fact that it would never come to pass, "but it was a Jedi who kidnapped Luke to raise him as a weapon!"

Sabé blinked. Vader glared.

"Palpatine told me that when he found Luke, his name was Luke Skywalker," he hissed. "That he had been living on Tatooine, with my mother's stepson and his wife. If Padmé is dead—if she was not looking after Luke, and died when— when—"

"When you strangled her?" Sabé asked, voice thick with disdain.

Vader froze. "How did you know that?"

Her face was impassive. "I didn't until you just confirmed it," she said grimly. "I just knew that she was supposedly choked to death by a Jedi, but you..." Her disgust rang in the Force—and so did something else.

"You're lying."

She blinked. "What are you talking about? I—"

"Padmé died on Mustafar," Vader declared hotly. "Yes, I know that, because I killed her."

"Do you regret it?"

"Do— what!?" He let his respirator take several breaths just to calm himself down. "Of course I regret it, you foolish woman. I have regretted it every moment of every day since I woke up to a galaxy without her. Especially since I found out about Luke."

Sabé blinked again. "Oh."

"But she did die," he continued. "She died on Mustafar, and Luke would have died with her. So there is only one possible explanation for the person who could have cut Luke out of her womb and spirited him away to Tatooine—far away from the Empire, where the Jedi could train him to be their weapon against us, but not far away enough!"

Sabé swallowed.

You were my brother, Anakin! Vader tried not to think. I loved you!

"The Jedi are deceptive, and cruel, and would absolutely separate a child from his father if they disapproved of that father."

"But they would not hurt that child!" She scoffed. "Are you worried that a Jedi would take Luke away from you?"

"How dare y—"

"Because I think," she informed him, rage crystallising in her eyes and making them spark all shades of brown, "that if it was to save Luke's life, they would be right to do so!"

Vader exploded.

Luke would hate him.

That was the thought in his mind a split second later, a split second in time: Luke would hate him if he killed Sabé.

Luke would hate him, and that was something he could not bear.

When he became aware of his surroundings again, that inane furniture was in splinters, some of which were embedded in the shell of his hyperbaric chamber, the door to his medbay had been blown open, but Sabé still stood—untouched and ferocious.

"And I think," he continued, voice low and deadly, "that you are a Rebel and a traitor."

She snorted. "We are all aware of the charges levelled against me when Palpatine wanted me gone, Lord Vader."

"I am not talking about that. Those charges were an attempt to rid Luke of his anchor, the one person who loved him." Sabé frowned, and Vader was suddenly aware of the way his voice had broken on that last part. "You are genuinely a Rebel, and a traitor, and you conspired with Obi-Wan Kenobi to steal my son in the first place."

"I did no such thing. Any involvement I had with the Jedi—"

"Is declared loud and clear by the strength of your mental shields. You did not have those during the Clone Wars."

"The person who taught me my shields," Sabé snapped, "was no Jedi."

"Nevertheless. You are a Rebel."

"By that, do you mean that I have always hated the Empire, and always wanted to see the Republic that I and my lady fought so hard to protect return?" She lifted his chin. "Of course. Padmé would be disgusted to see what you have wrought here."

"Do not presume—" Vader lifted his hand, clenched it into a fist and lowered it again. "You knew exactly who my son was, and you knew he survived the death of his mother."

"A friend of mine, and of Padmé's told me. Someone on Naboo needed to know. And when I heard that that child had been taken in by Palpatine, I was not going to leave him to the Emperor's tender mercies. I did not know who you were, Anakin, and my only thought was to keep her son safe."

"A friend?" Vader snorted, thought over it only briefly... and he knew exactly who. "So. Bail Organa is conspiring with the Jedi and the Rebellion?"

Sabé's politician's face held true, as it had when she was lying, but the slightest widening of her eyes gave her away.

Vader said smugly, "I will make sure he is made an example of."

"If you touch him," Sabé said, "his daughter, Princess Leia..." She nearly said something, then paused, then continued. "...will return to Alderaan. And, in all likelihood, not visit Coruscant again."

He scoffed. "Why would that make any difference to me?"

"Because she is Luke's friend."

He froze.

"And that would upset Luke."

He jabbed a finger at her. "You—"

She met his glare head on.

He released a sharp sigh out of sync with his respirator and marched around the room, using the Force to toss furniture debris out of his way.

"This is all irrelevant," she called after him. "And you know it. The fact remains that you have to let a Jedi train Luke, and you are grasping at straws in your desperation to deny it."

"Luke will not train with a Jedi," he seethed. "He will not. They would only teach him weakness, they would only hinder him, and turn him against—" He cut himself off.

Sabé raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. "Turn him against whom?" He said nothing. "Against you?"

Just like Padmé.

"No Jedi are needed for that," she informed him. "You seem to have done it perfectly well yourself."

You have done that yourself!

Vader clamped down on his rage this time. He could explode when she was away. When she was gone.

"I can protect Luke," he insisted, clenching his fists. "I could have saved Padmé. I can save Luke now. He does not need training, and when he finally decides that he does want it, when he trusts me enough to, he—"

"You can tell yourself whatever you want." The rage and fervour was gone from her voice now. Now it was just dead, emotionless, tired—and there was no escaping the terrible ring of truth. "But your justifications will mean nothing when you look into Luke's eyes, when you hear Luke's voice, and know irrevocably that your son is gone and your master has returned."

Vader stood there for long, long minutes. The rasping of his respirator was the only sound in the room.

"Contact your precious Jedi," he said finally. "Find one of them you trust, and bring them here to train Luke. Only one of them. I will allow them one week, and if they incur my displeasure, I will remove their head from their shoulders."

Sabé's brows twitched. "Charming," was all she said, but her triumphant smile said everything else.

Totally unaware of the conflict Vader and Sabé had had, Luke was spending that time distracting himself by reading. His japor snippet—and the knowledge that his birth father had loved his mother—was more than motivating to investigate further, so he started with the only thing he had: records of Naboo, Naboo's Jedi heroes, and some of the great figures of the Clone Wars.

"Nova?" he asked, after he'd done a significant amount of reading—about the Battle of Naboo, about the Battle of Christophsis, about the Battle of Coruscant. "Can… can I ask you something?"

Nova, sitting at her own desk in the corner of his office while he distracted himself from the actual paperwork on his desk, looked up. "Of course. Ask away."

"I read about a general who was close to my mother during the Clone Wars..." Luke began, and Nova's face shifted noticeably. Alright, then. He was on the right track. "He was a hero at Naboo, and during the Wars, and I… I had to ask…"

Nova looked ready to explode, so he just bit his tongue and let it all garble out of him:

"Was General Kenobi my father?"

Nova choked on her own tongue.

"What?" she asked, then composed herself. Forcibly. "I don't know where you could've possibly got that idea."

Luke crossed his arms, leaned back against the sofa and scowled. "I just explained my logic—is he my birth father or not?"

Nova was still struggling to speak, her mouth working, though no sound came out. She fixed her gaze resolutely on one of the Noghri guards, just over Luke's shoulder, and mouthed something at him.

"He is not," she finally said, decisively and clearly. "General Kenobi was a hero of the Naboo—he and his master, Qui-Gon Jinn, fought to liberate Naboo during the Trade Federation's invasion, and he worked closely with your mother then. I suspect she might have had a slight crush on him at the time, even, but..." She snorted. "He was most certainly not your father, little emperor."

"Do you know who my father was, then?" Luke pressed. Nova cleared her throat.

"I always had heavy suspicions—there was one Jedi whom she was particularly... fond of," she hedged. Luke could sense the part-lie, and frowned. She smiled when she saw that, leaning forwards to run her thumb over his cheek. It distracted him, as it was meant to do; he did not notice as the Noghri guard slipped out to find Lord Vader. "But I was the keeper of her secrets, and I wasn't about to tell anyone my suspicions."

Luke narrowed his eyes. "Including me?"

"They're only suspicions, Luke." Lie. She was getting more nervous now, gaze flickering to the door. "I don't want to—"

"I understand," Luke said.

She blinked, but regained her composure almost instantly, and smiled. "I'm glad. I... don't want to implant any false ideas in your head."

"I understand," Luke repeated. Had he hit the nail on the head? He'd been so certain that Kenobi was his father, and she was so adamant that he wasn't, but this was...

Suspicious...

The door flung open and Vader strode in. Luke jerked upright in his seat, and shot Nova a look. She smiled at him in a way that was both reassuring and grim.

"Why did you summon me?" Vader asked of Luke, but it was Nova who spoke.

"Luke asked a question about his father, and I just wanted to ensure that there were two people he could hear the answer from, instead of just me," she said smoothly. Vader tensed. "He was looking through some of the old Jedi records, and found references to one Obi-Wan Kenobi." Vader tensed even further at that. "Help me convince him that Kenobi was not his father—I'm not sure he believes me alone."

She smiled wryly at Luke. Luke scowled at her.

And Vader seemed apoplectic.

"Kenobi," he growled, stalking forwards, "was certainly not your father."

Luke raised his eyebrows up at Vader, but he wasn't finished.

"He was a traitor and a fool—one of the Jedi Order's greatest failures. He never deserved anything he got in life except his fall."

"You hated him?"

"I despised him. I despise him still."

But if Luke wasn't mistaken—and if watching too much Crown of Stars had told him anything—then that level of hatred could only come from love. If Vader was so disgusted, so panicked by the idea of Luke thinking, realising, this...

Whoever, Luke's father was, Vader had insulted and derided him before. Claimed he didn't love him. He'd also made it clear that he had loved both of Luke's parents... once upon a time...

Perhaps Luke's guess wasn't as far off as they wanted him to think.

He sighed. "Alright then," he conceded dramatically, letting himself seem dejected. Letting himself seem beaten down. "But can't you tell me who he actually was?"

"He was nobody," Vader answered immediately. Nova shot him a glare for some reason—and another, more urging look—but he said nothing more.

"Alright." Luke didn't bother masking his disappointment at still having secrets kept from him, but clearly, he wasn't getting anything from them here. He trusted Nova, he knew she wouldn't be keeping the truth from him if it wasn't for good reason, but...

It hurt. He wanted to know.

"On the topic of Jedi," Nova said, straightening up and putting her hands on her knees. "Luke, we still need to address the matter of your training."

Luke's gaze snapped up. "I am not—"

"You're not training with Vader. That's confirmed. We all know that." She nodded. Vader... nodded as well, more slowly. "But if the worst comes to the worst, being trained to defend yourself, defend your mind, would help greatly. And..."

Luke closed his eyes as he put the pieces together. "You want me to learn from a Jedi?"

"It is a foolish idea," Vader cut in.

"You, shut up. Of course you don't like it." Nova turned back to Luke. "And I know you probably don't like it either, but—"

"Jedi are evil." Nova flinched."Fat— Palpatine always said—"

"Palpatine said it," she said quietly. "Exactly. Do you not want to—"

"Overturn everything the Empire is based on?" Luke shot to his feet. "No! The Jedi are enemies of the Empire, how do I know they won't kill me, or— or—"

"Because I know this person. She kept me alive after I was chased out of the Palace. She taught me how to shield my mind so that I could look after you." Nova brushed Luke's cheek again, brushed a lock of his hair behind his ear. "She was a close friend of your mother's. And technically," she smiled a little, "she's not even a Jedi."

Vader stiffened. "If you are sending for who I think you are..."

"You know that she will not hurt Luke."

"I know that she will not be pleased to see me."

"On the contrary. She's been wanting to have a chat with you for years. She'd certainly be happier to see you than anyone else would."

Luke looked left, then right. "Who?" he echoed. "Who is this?"

"You'll meet her soon," Nova said. "I've already contacted the person who will get me in contact with her—but she might not want to come. Or she might not be able to come. And the other candidates are less than ideal, but... you need them, Luke. And you will be safe, with them. I promise."

He looked her deep in the eye, blinked away a few tears, then nodded. "Alright. Alright, I'll... give it a try."

"Good." She squeezed his hands, then there was a chiming sound. When she glanced at her comm, she got to her feet immediately. "I have to go," she said. "That's the person I contacted, getting back to me. I'll tell you what he says." She smiled. "It'll be good, Luke."

"I trust you," he said.

She left, folded her dark red skirts around her as she did.

The moment she was gone, Luke turned to Vader and demanded, "What do you think of this?"

Vader crossed his arms. "You know that I dislike it, Majesty."

"Little wonder." Luke gritted his teeth. "And even you won't tell me my father's name?"

"Your father was nothing. I told you. He did not deserve your mother and he certainly did not deserve you."

Luke stared at him... and he realised.

Vader hated everything. Everyone.

And he seemed to hate himself the most.

And if he was so adamant that Luke speak no more of Obi-Wan Kenobi, of a Jedi who was never reported dead and who vanished around the start of the Empire, when Vader appeared...

Luke narrowed his eyes.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Vader jerked. "Majesty?"

"Your name," he repeated quietly, channelling an imperious voice, staring at Vader. "You want me to trust you, then prove it. Give me your real name. "

Vader froze, and stared at the boy.

"You know my name," he uttered, thoughts racing. This— this...

"I do not know your original name."

"That is unimportant. Vader is my real name. I dedicated everything I had to the Sith, and the name I received is exactly who I am."

"Is Luke Palpatine my name?" the boy shot back. Vader shuddered, hearing it in full, because— "It was not the name I was born with, but it was the name I was raised with. It's all I know—and yet I don't think you've ever used it."

"You should not have had to use that name," Vader argued weakly. "That was not your choice. You call your Lady Sabé by the name Nova, yet that was not the name she was born with."

"But she chose it. It was not a name forced on her, especially by a dead man we all despise. I want to know who you were before… him."

Before the Empire, Vader thought he heard.

"I am not in any of the records of the Jedi you will have looked through," he warned. He'd been erased. "If you wish to know more about me in that way, then my name will not help you."

Vader didn't realise he'd half-turned away until his son's voice called him back.

"Maybe I want to know anyway," he said softly, "Lord Vader."

Vader sighed then, and his respirator protested the motion.

"It will not tell you anything," he reiterated. "And it is a name I left behind me long ago."

"I still want to know who, exactly, I am putting my trust in. That will not change, Vader, no matter—" Luke cut himself off sharply and looked away. Only when Vader saw the tears glittering in his eyes did he realise the toll this entire conversation had really taken on Luke. "I don't know who you are. I barely know who Nova and my mother are—were. I don't have the faintest idea who my father was, and I just found out that the man who I considered my father only ever wanted me as a puppet."

Vader swallowed. Luke closed his eyes.

"I'm tired of not knowing anything," he continued. "Knowledge is power, and you and Nova have it all. I'm sick of never being in control."

Tell him, Sabé had urged him earlier. Luke deserved to know the truth of who his father was. He deserved to no longer be left in the dark. Vader knew that she would not tell him before he did—it was something he should hear from Vader—but her opinions on the matter were quite clear.

Luke deserved to know the truth. And, if he was honest, Vader knew he deserved the pain that would come with seeing understanding click in his son's eyes, and suddenly being considered a monster—a monster too cruel and blind to realise he'd been torturing his own son, and too weak and ashamed to admit to it when he did.

He deserved that.

But by all the stars in the sky, if he could avoid it for the rest of his life, he would.

He did not want to lose his son. Not when they were so slowly growing closer. Not when Luke felt comfortable enough to demand this of him.

"My name will tell you nothing, little angel," Vader said. "It will not give you the knowledge you seek, or the understanding you crave."

He braced himself for further objections, but none came. Luke just sighed, and bowed his head.

"You're right." He stood abruptly, scrubbing at his face with the back of his hand. "I— I'm sorry, I'm being stupid. You can go now, Lord Vader."

"Anakin Skywalker," Vader said.

Luke froze. He dropped his hand from his face and turned to stare at Vader. His beautiful, embroidered shirt, crumpled from all the time he'd spent sitting down, was now damp with tears. "What did you say?"

"My name was Anakin Skywalker, little angel," Vader said. "I know that it means nothing to you. But I will offer it anyway."

Luke blinked. "I— thank you," he said. "I... appreciate that."

There... wasn't much more to say. Vader just turned on his heel and left, leaving Luke to his own thoughts.

Anakin Skywalker, he'd said.

Luke closed the door to his bedroom and collapsed onto his bed, pulling one of his stuffed toys—a porg, this time, the most recent gift—towards him and clutching it to his chest.

Anakin Skywalker.

Vader was right. It sounded... vaguely familiar, but it ultimately meant nothing to Luke.

And it was not a lie. Vader had not been lying.

So... that meant...

Vader was not Obi-Wan Kenobi. Kenobi had been Luke's father—he was sure of it, there was no other explanation he could think of for Nova and Vader's strange behaviour, Vader's hatred of him—and if Vader was not Kenobi... then he was not Luke's father.

Luke hugged the porg tighter. He'd thought that for just one moment, things would make sense. If Vader had been his father, all of this... it would all make sense.

But he wasn't. And it didn't.

Luke wondered at that for a long while.

Chapter Text

Vader was resolute.

He would not allow Sabé contact Kenobi. The man—his brother—had already destroyed all that Vader had held dear. If he ever saw him again, he didn't know what he would do.

The thought had occurred to him upon leaving Luke's rooms, in his desperate attempts to ignore the... confusion that the boy radiated. He knew exactly who Sabé had been talking about earlier, but if Ahsoka didn't come through, if Ahsoka didn't want to do this, then—

Kenobi had been the one to hide Luke away from him, immediately after Padmé's death. He was sure of it. And he was sure that if the chance came again, he would not hesitate to come and teach Luke the weak ways of the Jedi, to turn him against his father, steal him away again…

Vader stormed down the corridor. Sabé's office was just up ahead, and he ducked to the left and inside without bothering to knock; she yelped and dropped her comlink.

"Vader!" she snapped, cutting off the connection immediately, but Vader had already seen the tiny blue hologram before it vanished.

"Of course," he boomed, "Senator Organa is your Rebel contact."

"I don't know what you're talking about. He's an old friend who happened to call to check up on me." She glared. "Now, what is it, Vader? I am certain that you're not here to tell me that you changed your mind about telling Luke the truth."

"I have not caved to your ridiculous request, no. I am here to further discuss the matter of who will train Luke."

She rolled her eyes. "I have already told you who I've sent for."

"Indeed. And I support your decision to choose Ahsoka." She blinked in shock at that, but Vader barrelled on: "However, if she is somehow unavailable, or refuses to come, then I have one demand."

Sabé's lips were pursed. "And what demand is that?"

His finger sprang out. "You will not send for Obi-Wan Kenobi."

She did not stiffen at the implicit threat. In fact, the only physical reaction he got from her was a calculated, contained raise of her eyebrow. "Oh?"

"We have had this argument already. He kidnapped Luke the first time. I will not have him do so again."

"General Kenobi was one of the greatest Jedi Masters to ever live," Sabé observed. "You don't want him teaching your son?"

"I am intimately familiar with the failings of his teachings. If I see him again, I will kill him."

Sabé said, "Isn't that what you used to threaten Luke with?"

Vader flinched back. "You—"

"Kenobi would also be the best option for convincing Luke, once and for all, that he is not his father, don't you think?"

"I don't care." The finger point came out again, but again it had no effect. "Do not dare send for him. I am not losing my son to him again."

"And you're afraid to face him?" Sabé asked.

A roar was his only response. Sabé observed disapprovingly as a shelf of flimsi books and datapads collapsed to the floor.

"I will not send for him," she said. "I will promise you that. There are plenty of other Jedi survivors who you might not be so," she eyed her books, "touchy about."

Vader was silent for three rasps of his respirator. "Thank you," he said at last.

"Get out of my office."

He left her in peace—leaving the books still scattered on the floor, as well.

"How should I look for when she arrives?" Luke asked, nervously touching a jacket with royal reds and blacks. Vader, standing in his chambers let out a noise that almost sounded like a growl; Luke winced.

"However you desire." Vader's reply was gritted out. "She is not one for materialism."

Luke raised his eyebrows at that. He'd known that Jedi were known not to cling to possessions, and to dedicate everything to the Force, but... "I thought Nova said she wasn't a Jedi?"

"She isn't." Nova strode into the room, then, dressed in a long, dark green tunic cinched at her waist with a brown belt of interlocking rings. Her hair was down in its curls, rather than exquisitely styled; she still looked lovely, but the obvious lack of formality and effort she'd put into her appearance put Luke more at ease with his own clothes. He put down the fancy brooch he'd been eyeing; the jacket, over his plain shirt and trousers, was enough. "But she still doesn't care about these things. She'll judge you for you."

Luke shifted uncomfortably.

Nova, without missing a beat, strode over and ruffled his hair. "And she'll definitely like you."

He ducked away before she could mess his hair up even more, grinning to himself.

She came less than an hour later. Luke had wanted to meet her out on the front steps, the ones that overlooked Coruscant and the traffic lanes, but Vader was... strangely insistent against that. He claimed that it was to do with security risks, but Luke frowned at him and thought it might have more to do with the fact that the Imperial Palace used to be the Jedi Temple...

Either way, it meant that he met her in one of the receiving chambers of his throne room instead, after one of Vader's guards had escorted her in. He didn't know what Vader's guard had said to her on their journey, but by the time the doors opened and she strode in, she looked highly amused and Luke could... sort of sense discomfort and irritation from the trooper.

Then he fixed his eyes on her.

She did not have her eyes fixed on him—she was watching Vader instead, with naked curiosity and suspicion—so he allowed himself a moment to be surprised before he reassembled his features back into the mask of indifference. She was... not what he'd expected, from Vader and Nova's descriptions; she was tall, very tall, as Togrutas often were, with dark blue stripes on her montrals and white patterns on her face. And what she wore... it was obvious that she was a fighter, he thought, from the way she moved to the clothes she wore to the look in her eye, even without taking into account the two lightsabers hanging from her belt.

But she slid her gaze off Vader soon enough, smiled broadly at Nova then transferred that smile to him. He found himself relaxing, slightly, which she seemed to smile even more in reaction to.

She bowed, deeply and with flourish; he got the sense she didn't know what she was doing and was enjoying it immensely. "Your Majesty."

"Don't." He started forwards immediately and stopped right in front of her as she rose from her bow, craning his neck to meet her gaze. "If you're going to teach me, don't call me that."

"Then what should I call you?" she asked, shifting her weight onto her right foot; her montrals swayed around her head.

He stuck out his hand, a little hesitantly, shoulders tense. She noticed, tilted her head, and her gaze softened. "I'm Luke."

Just Luke.

She took his hand, in the sense that she clutched his forearm and shook it like that. When he didn't flinch away—just blinked in shock—she pulled him in for a brief, affectionate hug before she let go, gentle but firm all at once. It startled a laugh out of him; he beamed up at her, and she grinned back.

Luke had heard horror stories about austere, cold, distant Jedi, who forsook love and attachment and power for a greater good for themselves. He'd known that Palpatine was a nothing but a liar, would've wanted him to believe that, and he trusted what Nova had said about them, but...

Actually meeting an ex-Jedi who was the total opposite of that, he thought, helped more than anything.

"I'm Ahsoka," she replied. "It's lovely to meet you, Luke. And lovely to see Sabé again." She smiled at Nova... then her gaze became calculating, in an amused sort of way, when she glanced at Vader. "And you, of course, Anakin."

Vader nearly roared in his hurry to spit out, "That is not my name any more."

"As you say. Now," she carefully slipped an arm around Luke's shoulders; when he didn't flinch away from the contact, even welcomed it, she pulled him more tightly against her side in a half-hug. "Are we ready to start training?"

Luke smiled.

It was decided. He liked her already.

Ahsoka was having a slightly different experience.

When she noticed the small, white pendant on Luke's neck, she froze. Horror and dismay rose in her throat.

Where had Luke got that snippet?

Had… had Vader ransacked Padmé's tomb for it?

She'd corrected herself almost instantly, there in the throne room, and allowed something in her—something that missed Anakin and Padmé fiercely, and rejoiced to see their son—to soar when he smiled so broadly at her. But even as she introduced herself, even as she mentally resolved that's it, I'm adopting this kid and Anakin can't stop me, her eyes kept returning to the snippet.

It was nestled against Luke's heart, so it clearly meant a lot to him. And it should, it was likely all he'd ever get of his mother… but Ahsoka could tell he was a sweet boy, as she carefully hugged him, ready to retreat if he showed discomfort, and she doubted that he would have robbed him mother's tomb. She doubted Sabé would have let him.

Which meant that it was Vader who was to blame.

Later, she couldn't help but ponder it. Anakin... had always been very... intense about Padmé. (Well, about everything.) She didn't know why he'd turned to the dark side, why he'd become Vader, but... Obi-Wan had told her enough about what had happened on Mustafar just before she arrived.

She knew what he'd done to Padmé.

If all that intensity, all that emotion, had been channelled and funnelled through the energies of the dark side...

From what Sabé had conveyed, Vader cared about Luke. He genuinely did. He wanted to protect him, to keep him, and to know him as his son. Despite the... less than ideal circumstances he himself had wrought.

But he'd cared about Padmé, too.

Ahsoka blinked. Shook herself, and smiled down at Luke when he stopped outside of a door to cast her a quizzical look.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

He was so small. Even Padmé hadn't been that small, when she'd known her! Anakin certainly hadn't!

"I'm fine, S—" She stopped before she could say it. Sure, he was Skyguy's son, but he didn't know that, and that probably wasn't the way to tell him. "I'm fine. Is this the training room?" She glanced up and down the corridor; it was nicely carpeted and decorated, as most of the things in the Emperor's wing of the Palace seemed to be, but gaping spots on the walls where artwork had once been told her that apparently Anakin had started remodelling here as well.

Luke nodded, and hit the release button for the door. Ahsoka stepped in—

And sucked in a breath.

It was a large room—one of the training rooms from when this had been the Jedi Temple, in fact, she was pretty sure, and stars that hurt, walking up the steps she'd walked away down had hurt, and seeing her home twisted and warped like this hurt even more. It had a high ceiling, with a mezzanine level that overlooked the central floor; there were mats already out, a rack of lightsabers and other weapons on the far wall, a skylight shining down above them...

And the whole place stank of darkness.

She shuddered at the feeling—it was dense with the dark side, here. It had been bad enough sensing what Anakin's bright light had been corrupted into, but this... this was years of it, all piled on top of itself time and time again, years of rage and pain and anger fuelling brutal strokes, years of...

She glanced at Luke. He was still smiling politely, but he was stiff, and his hands were frozen on his legs.

Years, she thought, of terrible, horrible training.

"This is nice," she said, and the lie was obvious in her voice. Luke shifted uncomfortably—until she clapped him on the shoulder. "But I feel like it's not what we want. Is there a garden around here?"

Luke's shoulders sagged, and his smile became something a little more genuine.

"Yes," he said. "There is."

It was a large garden. In fact, if Ahsoka wasn't wrong, it used to be the Room of a Thousand Fountains, which sat oddly with her but she said nothing of it. It had been expanded, more exotic plants added, but the skylight still shone down on it, fountains and artificial streams still tinkled, and the place was filled with light and breezes.

It was... probably the most pleasant place she'd seen since arriving, if she was honest.

"How much time do you spend here?" she asked him. She could... sense him here, more than anyone else, more than the choking darkness that still dwelled, months after Palpatine's death.

Luke blushed. "Not so much as I used to," he confessed.

"Why not? It's lovely."

He shrugged. "At first, I didn't want Vader knowing about it."

Ahsoka tried not to wince. Oh, how badly had Anakin messed up, how badly had he hurt Padmé's son, this was so much worse than she'd expected...

"And then recently, I haven't needed to," Luke admitted.

Ahsoka... let out a breath, at that.

Smiled.

"Alright," she said, pointing to a small lawn, where they could seat themselves on the grass. "Let's sit down, and get meditating. I'll teach you how to defend your mind."

Luke learned well. She was careful, and they were painstaking when it came to learning each other's boundaries, how comfortable he was with using the Force in various capacities, and he was a very good student. Attentive, curious—he even interrupted her to ask questions, sometimes, which, from what she'd heard Sabé, was a very good thing.

It meant he trusted her.

But... the whole experience, and also just being here, at the heart of the Sith Empire, training the Emperor to be something like a Jedi... it had really driven home what Obi-Wan had asked of her.

She knew that Obi-Wan wanted to train Luke—when Sabé had first contacted Bail and he'd contacted them both, they'd agreed that they would do it together. Their very different approaches to teaching and to the Force would work well in finding a balance, they'd thought, and it would be good to be able to see—and confront—Anakin together.

But then Sabé had made it clear: Obi-Wan was not to come. Under no circumstances should he be the one to come.

And their plan was shot, but Obi-Wan still wanted to meet Luke. And Ahsoka needed him to.

She had no idea what she was doing.

This was Anakin's son—Anakin and Padmé's son! He was so sweet, and worked so hard, and deserved so much; she had never taught anyone before, and she had no idea what she was doing. She wanted Obi-Wan here, so at least she knew she wasn't failing massively, but Vader... wouldn't stand for it. Even if Luke needed to meet him.

Ahsoka was no Jedi. She'd made that choice, and then the Order had fallen, so she never would be again. She needed Obi-Wan—if only to at least have had some opinion on the situation.

And, she thought, judging by the thick darkness... Anakin might need Obi-Wan as well.

There was no way she'd be able to smuggle Luke out of the Palace. Not if she wanted to keep her head. But maybe...

Maybe there was a way to smuggle Obi-Wan in.

It was the third day of their training session in the gardens that Ahsoka introduced him to the strange man. They had been meant to teach him to shield his mind and slowly use the Force to levitate small objects—meditation was not a skill of his, but he found he enjoyed it a lot, particularly moving meditation—and she'd even started teaching him the forms, giving him one of her own lightsabers.

Now, though... there was a man in the garden. One he didn't recognise.

The man just smiled kindly at him. "Call me Ben."

Luke just blinked.

There were no guards who watched them when he learned—Vader had somehow clocked that neither Luke nor Ahsoka would appreciate their presence while he was trying to concentrate, and simply had them ringing around the very edges of the garden instead. And Ahsoka was clearly trusted not to hurt him—after much, much, much arguing between Nova and Vader—so it shouldn't be an issue.

This man shouldn't be an issue.

Luke eyed him suspiciously anyway.

They sat in a loose ring on the patch of grass they always did, under the climbing trellises and trees. Even after he introduced himself—and with Luke tied so tightly into the Force, it was easy to tell that that was not a lie, but not wholly true either—he was suspicious.

But he closed his eyes and continued meditating anyway. "I'm Luke."

"I know." Ben smiled even more warmly. Luke didn't trust it—not in the way he'd immediately trusted Ahsoka. "Ahsoka asked me here just to talk to you, and observe some of your lessons, to ensure she was teaching well."

"She's teaching really well." Luke glanced at her, surprised. "Why would she need you?"

Ahsoka laughed softly. Ben said, "She is doing very well, I agree. But she cares that she's doing it the best she can, so here I am."

"I..." He bit his lip. "I guess that makes sense."

"Do you not want me here?"

"I don't know you."

Ben bowed his head. "Then that is an understandable sentiment. I hope to earn your trust."

Luke... relaxed. Despite himself.

But...

"You're still not telling me the whole truth," he observed. "Tell it to me."

Ben raised his eyebrows, and exchanged a glance with Ahsoka. She laughed at him; his face collapsed into a huff of amusement and he said, "Very well. My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, though I do prefer to be called Ben."

Wait.

Obi—

Obi-Wan—

Obi-Wan Kenobi!?

"Are you my father?" Luke burst out.

Ben froze.

Stared at him for a second.

Then he laughed. "Your father?"

"Yes," Luke said. It... came out as whinier than he intended. "My birth father, that is, Vader and Nova won't tell me who he was—is—but I know you were close to my mother, and—"

"Ah. I understand." Ben shifted his hands off his knees to place them in his lap. "I knew Padmé, yes. We both did." He gestured between himself and Ahsoka, and Luke stared, a thousand questions bubbling up for them both— "But no. I am not your father. I was never involved with her like that."

"Only with Satine," Ahsoka murmured.

Ben gave a melancholy smile. "Only with Satine," he confirmed. Whatever that meant.

Luke said, "Oh."

He'd...

He blinked away tears. He'd been so sure. He'd been so sure, and now...

Now he was back to square one.

"So," he asked anyway, desperate for any clues, "do you know who—"

"Now," Ben said quickly; Luke narrowed his eyes at the suspicious interruption, "I apologise for so rudely interrupting all your attempts at meditation with my presence like this. But could you demonstrate to me what Ahsoka has already—"

There was an explosion in the Force.

Luke flinched bodily. Ahsoka and Ben took a moment longer to register what was happening, but even they couldn't miss it as those tight tendrils of darkness flooded the garden—his sanctuary, where he'd never wanted them—and in stormed Vader. He glanced at Luke briefly, then glared at Ahsoka, and then to Ben—

"Obi-Wan," he hissed.

Ben—Obi-Wan?—lifted his chin. "Hello, Darth," he greeted politely.

"You—"

"If you're going to have a fight," Ahsoka interrupted, tension lining her voice, "then can you leave the garden? This is meant to be a peaceful place."

Luke let out a breath. He loved Ahsoka so much.

Vader did not share the sentiment. "You," he boomed, his finger coming out to jab forcefully in her direction, "you let him in here."

"I did," she snapped. "Out of the garden. Now."

Luke winced and watched as they filed out, one at a time. That did not mean he didn't sense it when they finally reached a suitable room and exploded again; he stopped meditating, withdrew from the Force, so that he didn't sense it in more detail than he had to.

But that also meant that when it came, he didn't sense the acute flare of danger.

"How dare you come here!" Vader roared. The conference room Ahsoka had ushered them into was empty, and good riddance; his rage shattered the holoprojector, sending splinters of glass flying all over the room. "You destroyed everything else, Kenobi, and now you want to—"

"Protect my late friend's son from the Sith Lord who tormented him for fourteen years?" Obi-Wan said coolly. None of the glass hit him; he guided it away from himself with ease. "Of course. Padmé would have—"

"Don't you dare mention her to me! Not when you stole our son and let him grow up under— under—"

For the first time, Obi-Wan looked pained. "I thought that Luke was safe on Tatooine," he said harshly. "I left for one week to run an errand, and when I came back he was gone and his aunt and uncle were dead."

"You failed to protect him once. Why should you have the right to try again?"

"You had fourteen years to protect him, and you did nothing but hurt him. Why should you have the right to try again?"

"You—"

"You two are just shouting at each other at each other like children." Ahsoka crossed her arms, cocking her head belligerently. "Is this going to help anything?"

Very, very slowly, Vader turned to face her.

"I trusted you with my son," he said, voice deadly quiet, "and you brought him in."

"Luke thought that Obi-Wan was his father," Ahsoka shot back. "He's now been cured of that idea, and isn't that something you should thank Obi-Wan for?"

Vader spluttered.

Marched away, reaching for his lightsaber—do not impale them do no impale them Luke will not forgive you if you hurt Ahsoka—then moving his hand away, to clench it into a fist.

"I have informed him of the ridiculousness of that idea before."

"But he certainly didn't believe you."

"Why did you let him in here?" Vader demanded, glaring at Obi-Wan again. "You knew that I did not want him here. You knew that it would not be well-received."

Ahsoka shrugged. "I needed him. I'm no Jedi. I'm not the best teacher. I needed help."

"You do not need help. You never have. And from what I have heard from Luke, you have been doing especially well. The fact that you are no Jedi is an advantage." Another glare at Obi-Wan.

Ahsoka... paused at that. Looked at him. Smiled a little.

"I should kill you," Vader told Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka's smile dropped, "for what you did to Luke—to Padmé."

"It was not I who did anything to Padmé—"

"But I have no wish to do anything that could possibly distress Luke," he snarled. "So you will leave this palace. Leave us here, never bother us again, and perhaps I will not chop off all of your limbs like you did to me."

"Wait." Ahsoka looked alarmed. "Obi-Wan, you did what—"

Vader pointed a finger at the door. "Get. Out."

And then the Force crashed around them.

Warning.

A warning, a warning, a warning, a warning, a warning—

And the fury—the fear—that gripped Vader was worse than he'd felt when he sensed Luke's devastation earlier. Worse than when he'd sensed Obi-Wan, in that garden.

"Luke..." Ahsoka said. "He's alone in the—"

Vader was already running.

Whoever they were, there were so many of them.

They were back in a flash, Vader's lightsaber already lit and carving through assailants the moment he stormed out the door, the others right on his heels.

Just like old times, he thought bitterly.

Kenobi wasted time removing his robe as he always did, but then he threw it at the nearest attacker and blinded them. In their confusion, Vader swung his lightsaber down.

Then all that remained was the robe.

Kenobi nodded at him. Vader ignored him.

In the corner of the room, Luke screamed.

His heart jack hammered when he heard it, turning away from Kenobi—the man had wasted time tossing off his robe, as he always did, and now the attacker they'd tried to tackle together had dodged out of the way—to sprint over to his son.

Luke was dodging between trees, clutching his arm tightly; was it injured? Had he wrenched it? Had they caught hold of him and then—

The garden was flooded with enemies. How had so many people got in here by surprise? And how had they come so close as—

"Get to Luke," Ahsoka shouted at him, running over to where three troopers were grappling with a— was that an Inquisitor? Vader had known they'd vanished after Palpatine's death, but he'd never thought—

—of course he should have thought—

Several Noghri guards had dived in and backed up with Luke into a corner, their grey faces twisted in snarls as they whirled and dived around the approaching Inquisitors, meeting their saber strikes unflinchingly. Luke was pale, increasingly so; when he lifted his gaze to clap his eyes on Vader, his fear suddenly crashed through the Force, like an avalanche or a sonic boom. Vader strode forwards faster, and then...

Luke screamed as an Inquisitor slipped over the roof to drop into the corner of the garden, right behind Luke, landing on feet as soft as a tooka's and—

The lightsaber at Luke's throat was red, and Vader saw red.

He marched forwards. The Inquisitor's helmet hissed open, to reveal a grinning Mirialan woman with a handful of freckles on her face, crooning, "Not any closer, Lord Vader, we—"

But her saber was not too close to Luke's throat. They couldn't risk damaging the Emperor's future vessel, their future master. So Vader seized the Force, wrapped it around them both, and snapped her neck.

She collapsed to the floor with only a grunt of pain. Luke jerked viscerally away at the crack, nearly impaling himself on that blasted lightsaber; he collapsed to his knees, shaking.

Then he reached to pick up that lightsaber, even as it trembled in his grip, his pale eyes alight and brilliant amidst the slaughter. Vader was only distantly aware of Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, the troopers and the Noghri shouting to each other. They were irrelevant.

All that mattered was the way Luke tried to rise to his feet, and nearly collapsed. He thumbed the activation button; it burst to life, like a spurt of blood.

When he glared at the attackers, whose bodies were now invading his garden and polluting it, lying across the ground like fertiliser, Vader was... unsettled to see that sort of anger in his eyes.

"Majesty," Vader said, calmly but firmly, "we need to get you to a safe house.

That gaze snapped to him. "A safe house? They're invading—"

"Yes. They have the—" There was no time for this. The Force thrummed warnings constantly; Vader lunged forwards and grabbed Luke by the arm, his biceps so small and fragile under Vader's durasteel grip, and dragged him out of there, locking to door to the garden behind him. It wouldn't stop them, not an Inquisitor, but—

"They have invaded your palace, Majesty," he spat, dragging Luke along the corridor at a breakneck speed, his own thoughts whirling even faster. "They wish you harm, and they wish everyone else harm as well. They will be dealt with, but the most pertinent thing to do now is to get you to the bunker where we can wait out the attack."

"I need to f—"

"You are not trained, little angel, and you are the most important person here." Vader dragged him around a corner and finally Luke stopped fighting him, started matching his pace and his steps. He knew where the bunker was, after all. "You must stay safe. I cannot lose you."

He tried to amend, "We cannot lose you," but Luke had already heard it.

So the boy just blinked at that confession, then they were in front of the vast doors and Vader was flinging them open with the Force. When he glanced back, some of Luke's—well, his, 501st—red guards had followed them; one of them entered first, while the other watched their backs as they followed. "You—"

"Kenobi and Ahsoka are more than capable of handling it," Vader said. His voice was a fraying thread; he had never been more grateful for the vocoder. "We will stay here until they report to us—through the Force; we cannot trust communications right now—that all is clear. The Inquisitors can fake a comm message, but not a Force signature."

"We?" Luke said, with something like... Vader didn't know what it was, awe or apprehension or anger. "You're—" The door slammed shut and locked firmly, with Vader decidedly still inside the bunker.

He glanced around. It was bright in here—the lights flickered on once the door closed—with several safes' worth of supplies, emergency weapons, utilities... There was one chair, for the Emperor to sit in. Vader guided him over to it.

"Of course I will stay, little angel," he said. "I trust my men. But I could not bear to lose you. I am needed here more than I am needed out there." He added, "The Noghri will do their jobs, and they will do them well."

Luke took a deep breath. "Okay," he said. "Okay, thank you."

He suddenly reached up and seized Vader's gloved hand in both of his, eyes wide. "Thank you."

Vader unclasped their hands awkwardly. "It is nothing," he tried to say, but when Luke looked away, tears filling his eyes as he examined the rest of the small room... Vader had to admit.

Knowing that his son was grateful he was there... that was not nothing.

That was everything.

The armoured door of the bunker sealed shut with an ominous thud, and then there was only Vader's breathing breaking the silence.

Luke was alone with the man.

It was like his worst nightmares, he registered dimly. But this time it was real.

Luke found his own breath quickening.

"Luke?" Vader asked immediately, stepping forwards. Luke cringed back into his seat, panicking. "Luke, little angel, are you—"

"This is all my worst nightmare," he said breathlessly. "This— being trapped in a room with you—"

Vader seemed to deflate at that, shrinking back into himself. "I... understand, Majesty, I—"

"—but it's not the worst anymore," he babbled on. "He's going to take my body. He's going to take my body and crush my soul, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Luke—"

Luke met his gaze, sucking deep, desperate breaths in and out of his lungs like a panicked bird, staring. Vader reached for his hands and took them gently; when Luke squeezed them as hard as he could, hard enough to crush and splinter, he suspected that Vader's durasteel fingers felt nothing.

"I will protect you," Vader promised.

"And what if you fail?" Luke snapped. "What if they strike while you're not there? I'm too weak to protect myself, I'm nothing, he'll just take what he wants and—"

"Luke," Vader said. "Even if I am not there, you are not weak. You will not give into him—I know that much. You are so strong, little angel."

"I'm a terrible emperor and a terrible Force-wielder. I'm not strong in any way, shape or form. I—"

"You are strong. You are bold and brave and brilliant—you always have been. I... resented you for it, when you were younger," Vader's vocoder stuttered as he tried to get the words out, and Luke was just as shocked at that, "but that was petty and weak on my part, especially when I took those frustrations out on you. You are strong—in the Force, stronger than even your father was, so, so strong... but in other ways as well. Your kindness, your love, your compassion. Your friends, Organa and Veers, know it. Sabé knows it. I know it. You are so brave, and you have been dealt such a bad hand, and you have dealt with it better than anyone else ever could."

Luke looked up at him, wide-eyed. He was too surprised to panic, now, at hearing that.

Vader leaned in slightly. Funnily enough, it came off as reassuring and not just... leering or intimidating, with his black death mask.

"You are strong, Majesty," he promised. "Ahsoka has told me as much—you are diligent, and focused, and your progress in these mere few days is stunning. Sabé as well tells me of your skill and sensitivity when conducting those meetings with those senators. Even the disgusting ones." He let a part of his distaste for them seep into his voice; were he any less frightened, Luke would have giggled, but instead the corners of his mouth just tilted upwards.

"You should not write yourself off," Vader continued, softer; his vocoder didn't pick up the softness but the Force, and therefore Luke, did. "You are a phenomenal human being. And while I would like nothing more than for you to be safe, to stay in the Palace away from all these dangers, and while I will try to keep you from these dangers until my last dying breath, I know that you are capable of handling them yourself.

"You are capable and clever enough to find a way, little angel. So while your fear is justified here, you need not dwell on it. Trust yourself, and the Force, that your destiny contains a happier path than the one you have already walked." He placed a hesitant hand on Luke's shoulder; Luke leaned into it, and sensed his relief. "And trust that your mother would be so, so proud of you."

A hitch in his breathing. "Trust that..." he said. "Trust that both your parents are proud of you. Immensely. Wherever they are."

Luke blinked back tears. It failed; they flooded his cheeks and he gasped, staring at the dark lord through swimming sight. He sobbed.

"Can—" He stopped, then swallowed. "Can you tell me about them? Her," he amended hastily, not wanting to cause an argument again, not wanting to be reminded just how many secrets that even Vader, when he was trying to be as sweet and supportive as a Sith Lord could possibly be, was hiding from him— "Can you tell me about her? I've heard things from Nova, but—"

"But you wish for a different perspective?" Vader guessed. Luke nodded shyly. "Of course, little angel. She..."

There was a pause. Luke, despite his tears, despite the emotion he could sense from Vader—and strange, that was, that he could sense something from Vader so very, very strongly, that there was some bond between them that had forged from care and dedication and whispered promises after years of estrangement—that reminded him of tears... he thought Vader might have been smiling.

"Padmé," he said, taking a moment to revel in just saying her name, "was... the first person I called an angel. You... remind me of her greatly, in that respect, little one. I first met her when I was nine years old, when she was being accompanied by Jedi—that... that was how I became a Jedi, in fact. She was kind to me, perhaps one of the kindest people I'd ever met, and then I offered her help and her Jedi guard recognised me as Force-sensitive. But she was the most important thing that came out of that encounter."

Luke blinked. It... it was fascinating, really, how Vader refused to talk about himself, but the more Luke's mother was referenced... he put pieces of his own backstory into that story as well.

"I didn't see her for a few years after that, but I still thought about her. She was the Queen of Naboo, as you know, until she was eighteen, and she became the most popular monarch they'd had in modern history. The Naboo even tried to amend their constitution so that she could serve longer, but she refused, and stepped down. She went on to serve as a senator—"

"Wait." Luke frowned. "She— she was offered the chance to become an autocratic leader of a planet, she was that popular, but she refused? She believed in democracy that much?"

"She..." Vader sounded like he was getting out the words through gritted teeth, but he evidently knew that what he didn't say, Sabé would. "...did. Yes."

Luke bowed his head. "I'm an emperor," he said quietly. "She—"

"Little angel," Vader said. "She wanted what was best for the galaxy. That was all she ever wanted. In the time that she was eighteen, what was best for Naboo was democracy. In this uncertain time, as well as in the wake of the failures of the Republic, the galaxy was and is still in need of a firm hand. She was... reluctant to accept it, at first, and ultimately died her untimely death before she came to, but I know that you will do just as well."

Luke didn't look up. Vader apparently felt the need to reiterate: "I know you will do what is best for the galaxy, just as she did. You have her heart."

"Will I?" Luke asked. "I don't even know what's best for the galaxy. I don't even know what's best for me."

"Well, do you believe in the Empire?" Vader pointed out, like there was no question to it at all.

But Luke hesitated.

"I was never taught anything different," he said. He could almost see Vader narrowing his eyes behind that mask at the noncommittal answer. He could sense the guards shift around him. "But from what I can tell... it hurts a lot of people. I don't know if I believe in it at all."

Vader stared.

"You..." he began. Rage crashed into his voice, then evaporated like morning mist. Luke supposed he appreciated the effort? "You have been spending time with Sabé's friends, the Organas, I see."

Luke frowned. "A little bit. Why?"

"Nothing, little angel." Vader's teeth were definitely gritted there. "Senator Organa was close friends with your mother."

Luke perked up. "He—"

"I will not disapprove of this... dalliance. But I would suggest you speak in more depth to General Veers, when he teaches you to work with the blaster. He may provide you with an alternate view on the galaxy and the Empire's place in it."

Luke frowned. "You mean the only view I've ever been taught? That it brings stability and security after the chaos of the Republic? I know that view. It's all I know."

"Then why doubt it?"

Luke grimaced. "Why doubt my father?" he shot back, and Vader winced in understanding.

"I do not know what to tell you, little angel," Vader said at last. "I believe in the Empire. I know that Lady Sabé does not. Whether you do or not is something only you can decide. You are the Emperor."

"What if I don't want to be?"

Vader didn't say anything for a long time in response to that admission. Finally, he just said, "You are the Emperor, Majesty. You choose where to go from here."

"And what if I choose wrong?"

"You will not. Your mother never did, and you are too much like her."

And from the way Vader said that, there was nothing more to it.

Luke hesitated.

He wanted to ask.

He needed to ask, but…

But what?

Vader was ere with him.

He asked.

"Suppose..."

He paused and licked his lips, for they seemed very dry all of a sudden.

"Suppose you had known about me. From the beginning. About my mother I mean. Would... would things have been different?" He raised a hand when Vader strode towards him, the feelings overwhelming him. "I know you loved her. But would you... would you have loved me?"

Vader was silent for a moment after he asked, which set Luke's heart hammering—sent him swallowing, regretting even asking, shifting as far away from the man as he could without vacating the throne. No, kark that—he'd started learning swear words from Crown of Stars—he threw himself out of the chair and paced, hands twitching, ignoring the looks the guards were giving him—

Vader had loved his mother, that was true. But he'd hated his father. He would probably have hated Luke, as evidence that Padmé had loved someone else, as everything he'd never had, and it was beyond the realm of acceptable or wise to just... ask the man to lie to him so that the little emperor would stop fretting—

"Little angel." Vader's voice halted him in his tracks. "Of course I would have."

Luke blinked. Then he turned and stared.

Vader took a tentative step forward. Then another one, then another one. Until he was less than a metre away, Luke had to tilt his head back to look him in the mask, and he placed his heavy hand on his bony shoulder.

"I..." Vader struggled for a moment, before he said, "I do love you, little angel."

Luke blinked again. Tears welled and broke like waves over his cheeks, and before he knew it his face was soaked.

But Vader's hand was an anchor holding him steady.

"More than anything else in this galaxy," Vader promised, and more tears came when he felt the truth of it in the Force—felt the vastness of the truth of it, like a bottomless well, like the ferocity of a thousand suns that burned with truth and affection and— "I love you."

Luke stared at him.

Stared some more.

Then without so much as thinking, he threw himself forwards and smushed his face against Vader's armour.

Vader jerked back for a moment, but Luke just held on tighter, and then he made a burst of noise that neither Luke nor his vocoder could interpret, and—

He bent over, wrapping his arms around Luke's torso and hugged him back.

Vader crouched to his knees so he could get a better angle, so Luke was about half a head taller than him, and hugged him tighter than Luke had hugged his bantha toy the day Nova had left. Luke slotted his face into the crook of his neck.

"There do not exist words," Vader murmured, "to express the regret and agony I feel, at knowing that I have hurt you, my—" He swallowed. "You are brave, and strong, and brilliant. I said it moments ago, I will say it forever: Your parents would be so proud of you." His breathing hitched. "I... am so, so proud of you.

"I know you are afraid, little angel. I am too. The thought of losing you, is... abhorrent. I could not live with myself if I let you get hurt again." He pulled back from the hug just enough that they could look each other in the eye and a gentle hand came up to wipe away another tear from Luke's cheek. Luke just stared at him, his mask a black blur, eyes glistening and glowing. "So I will not let it happen. Sabé loves you just as much as I do, and neither will she. Ahsoka has barely met you, but already she would lay down her life for you."

Luke snorted wetly. "She told you that?"

"She did not have to. She was my padawan, when I was still a Jedi. I know her well."

A thousand more questions bubbled up onto Luke's lips but he just stared, and Vader stared back.

"Destiny has not been kind to you so far," Vader admitted. "And neither have I. But never doubt that you are loved, little angel."

Luke nodded.

"And," Vader added fiercely, "never doubt that you are loveable."

Luke burst into sobs.

Vader just held him for an age, occasionally murmuring soothing words, occasionally moving his hard, heavy hands up and down Luke's back like Nova did when she held him.

"The commotion outside has died down," he said at last. There was a flicker of light in the Force, then— "Ahsoka has contacted me. She reports that all attackers have been neutralised and captured. It is safe, Majesty."

He pushed Luke away from him lightly, and put him back to stand firmly on his feet. "You are safe."

"For now."

"Yes," Vader agreed. "For now. Tomorrow, you will be even stronger than you already are, and therefore even safer. And the same goes for every day after that."

He tilted his helmet towards the door. "Would you like to return to your rooms, now?"

"Yes." Luke sniffled. "I... thank you, Lord—" He took a deep breath, and smiled a broad, watery smile up at him, his chest full to bursting with... some feeling he couldn't quite name.

It was good, though. It was bright, and soft, and full of warmth.

"Thank you, Vader," he whispered. Vader said nothing—just reached for the thin jacket Luke had been wearing over his plain, dull training clothes, and handed it to him to dry his face with, humming when Luke looked presentable again.

Nova and Ahsoka descended on him the moment he left the bunker, and he let them fuss. His head throbbed from... all of this, but... he found a smile gracing his lips nonetheless.

Attacks had become commonplace. Nothing illustrated that more than the fact that Vader was away again, shoring up the defences again, and the scene of Luke curled up in his room being comforted was a familiar one.

Luke curled into himself even further, clutching his stuffed animal. Nova draped a blanket over his shoulders and, with a gentle hand, began to stroke his hair.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice as quiet as the rain that pattered against his window. He shifted his head on his pillow to glance at her, her warm eyes glowing in the yellow lamplight. "You feel feverish."

"I'm fine," he croaked. "This was just all..." He frowned.

"Stressful?" she suggested softly. "Scary?"

"Confusing," he whispered back. She... frowned, and hesitated, but nodded.

"I understand. Do you think you want to continue Jedi training?"

Luke hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. I... I like Ahsoka. She protected me."

"She did."

"What's Vader going to do with Ben?"

Nova... hesitated. Sighed gently, and grimaced. "I don't know, little emperor," she said, and Luke was suddenly struck vividly by how similar that term of affection was to little angel. "But Ben protected you too. From what I saw—"

"You were there?" Luke asked. "You— you were—"

"I was fighting, yes." Her lips curled upwards in a slight smile; she patted her waist, where he knew she kept her slim blaster, primed and ready. Some fancy pants from Naboo, Luke remembered Veers had said. He smiled at the thought. "My job is to look after you, Luke, and that includes shooting any attempted kidnappers straight through the skull."

He flinched at the brutal imagery but also took a sort of savage pleasure from it. "You could've been hurt."

"And you could've been taken. That was more important to me."

Luke bit his lip. "Vader..." he tried. "Vader said that he had faith that I could defend myself, if I needed to—that destiny would end up being on my side."

"I agree with him. You could. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to do everything in my power to stop you from having to."

Luke blinked. He took her hand gently, when she finally lowered it from his head, and stared right into her eyes. Nova looked almost exactly like his mother, he remembered—she'd been one of her handmaidens. Would she have done this, sat here and comforted him, had she lived?

All he had were crumbs of her. He would never know her in person. But he thought he knew the answer to that—and the answer warmed his heart.

Luke lowered his chin. "I..." He trailed off, but when Nova arched one delicate eyebrow he found the courage to finish, "I thought he might've been being... overdramatic."

"Vader? Always. Doesn't mean it's not true."

Luke huffed. "Over... optimistic."

"Vader?" Nova teased again. "Never. I don't think optimism is in that man's nature—not unless it's coupled with denial. He knows what he's talking about, and he doesn't lie. He doesn't need to."

Luke smiled a little, then, and sank back against his pillows. Nova pulled the duvet out from under him then tucked it sharply up to his chin, the way she hadn't since he was little. "Sleep well, little emperor," she said softly, then stood from her perch on his bed. He snuggled into his bed and reached for his tooka. And his nexu. And his bantha. They were crushed against his side like lumpy pillows, but they helped him sleep better than anything.

She flicked off the lamps and he was plunged into darkness. Only a sliver of gold came through from under the door; when she opened it—it was a hinge door, not an automatic one, in the old-time grandeur the whole quarters were done up in—more spilled in. He saw the grey, scaled faces of his Noghri guards standing sentinel beyond it, and then...

"A moment, please," Vader said softly, slipping past Nova to enter. Luke... smiled up at him, unabashedly if not necessarily broadly, and he thought he heard that infamous breathing hitch.

"A few more gifts, little angel," Vader said. His vocoder was not designed to be soft but once again, somehow, it was—Luke bowed his head, tucking his chin against his chest peacefully, lowering his gaze to see...

"No ribbon and note this time, Vader?" he teased, and Vader huffed.

"I dared to hope that... we may be beyond that, Majesty."

"We are." Luke reached for the two stuffed animals Vader was offering and clasped them in his hands. Both pale against the darkness, one was a bipedal... lizard-like thing with curved horns, and the other looked like a furry snowman. "I don't know those animals," he admitted.

"A tauntaun and a wampa. They are commonly found on the ice planet Hoth—they feature in a children's holonet show, I'm told."

"Who told you that?"

Vader shifted where he stood. "A shop assistant."

"You go to the shops yourself?"

"Not always. Not at first. But I did this time."

Luke didn't know whether to laugh at the image of that poor assistant's face, or beam at the thoughtfulness. He settled for both.

Then he sat up, his other toys shifting at his back, and wrapped his arms around Vader's torso.

He'd hugged the dark lord a lot in the last few hours. Strangely, he didn't think Vader minded.

"Thank you," he said earnestly. "I won't let you down."

"What?" Vader's vocoder spat out static. "Why would you think you would, little angel?"

"Just. In general. You... you said you were proud of me, earlier." He looked up at him, eyes shining. "I won't let you down."

Vader returned the embrace then, for a moment, before carefully guiding him to lie back down on the bed. Luke wasn't sure if he was imagining the stab of concern he sensed when Vader brushed the Force over his mind.

"Believe me, Luke. You never could."

"My official diagnosis?"

The doctor let the door slide shut. The view of the feverish, too-pale and only fitfully sleeping child Emperor vanished.

"He's a young man who has been through a series of traumatic events."

Vader flinched.

He'd summoned this doctor to tell it to him straight, but… it was still difficult to hear.

"He's worked himself into a fever. What he needs now is a fever reducer, fluids, and plenty of rest." The doctor's significant glance at Vader was enough to remind him that he'd chosen the man for his dedication to his practice, not politics. "And reduced stress moving forward. Good day, Lord Vader."

Vader watched him turn around and exit Luke's quarters, then glanced back towards Luke's closed door. He'd known that Luke... didn't seem well, despite his apparent peace and joy at what Vader had told him, and he wasn't necessarily surprised at the doctor's proclamation, but...

Hmph.

It was hard not to feel singled out by it.

"I know how we should proceed," Sabé said from her perch on the sofa, one knee thrown regally over the other, her burgundy and gold dress falling in waves around them.

"Let him rest?" Vader drawled. Sabé's gaze bore a hole into him.

"Yes," she said. "And let him relax."

"He should be more relaxed from now on. I reassured him that I would allow no one to kill him. I reassured him that I would not kill him."

"You have done that before."

"Yes, but..." Vader trailed off, gaze inexorably drawn back towards the door, and the child emperor sleeping fitfully behind it. "He believes it, now. At last."

"He would have believed it a lot sooner had you told him the truth, Anakin."

Vader clenched his fists. "He— he would have rejected me."

"And now?" Sabé's intensity was far too much like... hers. "And now, when he trusts you, when he knows that you love him? Why not tell him now?"

Vader swallowed.

Why not tell him now? Why not tell him in the bunker, that afternoon? It was the perfect moment. It would have assuaged Luke's fears with ease. It would have added extra weight to his claim and really driven it home.

But he had not told him.

Luke's experiences of fathers were far from pleasant. He... he deserved better—far better—than the realisation that his birth father, the mysterious man he was turning to now, away from Palpatine, was also one of those men who had made his childhood a living hell.

He deserved a better father than Vader.

So Vader would be Luke's protector. He would be his guardian. He would be anything the boy wanted him to be.

And he knew full well that more than anything, the space to imagine his true father as some hero was what Luke needed—not the crushing truth that both of his fathers had been monsters.

"It would not help him," was all he said aloud, pretty damn cryptically, but he could tell that she didn't buy it for a second. Instead of waiting for her to say as much, he just snapped: "So? Was that all you had to your master plan?"

"Of course not." Sabé folded her hands in her lap. "I want to take him to Naboo."

Vader blinked.

"I told you," he said heatedly, "you are not taking my son away from—"

"From whom, Lord Vader?" She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. "From you?"

"...from the Empire," he said weakly. She rolled her eyes.

"I do not mean in the sense that I want to take him away from the Empire, and being Emperor altogether," she said. "Though I do want that, and I maintain that that is what would be best for him. I simply think he should be allowed to go on holiday."

Vader stared.

"Holiday..." He shook his head. "Holiday?"

"I am sure it is an alien a concept to you as rain was when you first left Tatooine," Sabé drawled, and Vader flinched. He remembered that moment, that first trip to Naboo when they were desperately trying to save the planet. He remembered standing in the woods under a smattering of rain and seeing how the handmaidens had cooed over his delight. "So I will put it in a more Sith-like matter. Let Luke go on a retreat. To rejuvenate his... his enjoyment of life, his love for life, in the wake of this highly stressful situation he's been in for the last weeks, months..." She fixed him with a look. "Years.

"The Naberries have left Varykino in my care since Padmé passed; I can take Luke there—you had to serve as Padmé's bodyguard there, you know it's easily defendable—and he can enjoy himself there. He can relax, and act like the kid he deserves to be."

"No," Vader said immediately. "I will not allow Luke to be on a different planet to me—not at this time. You are a fool for even thinking it."

"No. I was thinking you would come with us. Don't you want to show your son where you got married?"

Vader's breathing hitched.

"You—" He balled his hands into fists. Because that... that was unquestionably worse. "You wish for me to revisit that place?"

Without her? was the unspoken question.

Sabé was unflinching. "Yes."

Vader growled, low and long in his throat. Then he paced.

"No. I cannot allow this."

"It's what would be best for Luke," she snapped. "Are you too blinded by your own emotions towards everything you used to love to see that?"

Vader said nothing.

"Don't you want to see your son happy?"

"Of course I do," he snapped. "But nor do I want to see my son kidnapped."

"And not do you want to revisit memories you have spent so long repressing."

"You presume too much."

"I think I presume the precise amount." She stood. "Come with me."

Vader stared at her as he strode into Luke's room, leaving the door open behind her. The Noghri twitched at her entrance, but didn't stop her.

"Come on, Vader," she said. "Don't be shy."

He growled again, but followed, skimming Luke's mind with the Force; he was still asleep. He wouldn't wake just by them entering.

Sabé gestured at his sleeping face. The way he clutched his new wampa toy tightly to his chest, curving around it like a snail shell. There was a small stress furrow between his brows; even in his sleep, he knew he was hunted.

"Don't you want to see him happy?" Sabé murmured again. "He'll be far, far happier on Naboo than he ever was on Coruscant—and you know it, Anakin."

Heart clenching in his chest, Vader turned away.

She sighed. "You," she declared, "are an idiot."

Vader stayed staring away. He couldn't look at Luke. He couldn't look at Sabé.

"Are you truly that weak that you'll deny your son his happiness just so you don't have to remember your wife? Because I know full well that's what this is about. And I know that it's useless, because you think about her every blasted time you look at him anyway!"

She was right.

Vader hated it. Hated it with every fibre of his being. Even thinking about that planet hurt—travelling there for Luke's tour of the Empire had been agonising, but at least he'd made sure that they never spent too much time there. With Luke at Varykino, of all places...

...Luke would finally be happy.

He would be happy, there.

The Force had a cruel sense of humour, he thought.

"Very well," he said, turning and striding for the door. "Make the arrangements. We will leave before the end of the week."

"Where are you going?"

He hesitated at the door. "To talk to Kenobi."

Obi-Wan was meditating with Ahsoka in the garden, clearly trying to find some peace after the violence of the earlier attack. Vader did not bother to knock, or announce his presence; the Force did that perfectly well for him.

That didn't mean that Obi-Wan bothered to acknowledge him, however. Vader strode right over to them, interrupting their little circle, and Obi-Wan didn't even open his eyes as he said, "From what Ahsoka has told me, this garden is important to Luke's spiritual and mental wellbeing. If you are intending to kill me, as much as I'd appreciate my last view being something of this beauty, please give me the opportunity to move elsewhere so as not to sully this place for him."

"I am not going to kill you," Vader ground out.

Obi-Wan frowned. He did open his eyes, then, to give him a sharp look. "You are not? How unexpected."

"On both our parts," Vader drawled. "But you protected my son."

"Your son who thought he was my son."

Vader ignored him—ignored the pointed question disguised as a barb. "I am aware that you only did it because you wish to use his power, to use him to restart the Jedi and turn him against the Empire."

"I protected him because he is a person and he is worth protecting, Darth."

"But you did protect him. And I do not think he would be happy to learn you were dead."

"Ah. Not going to risk your monopoly over him on my account?"

Vader growled, "Leave, Kenobi. Leave, and find other Force-sensitives to restart your precious order. I know they are still out there, and with the Inquisitors focused on capturing Luke for Palpatine, they are no longer being hunted. Get out of my sight, and I will allow you to conduct your operations in peace."

Obi-Wan stared. "You..." He blinked. "You destroyed the Jedi Order. You are willing to let me bring it back?"

"I am not. I dislike the idea immensely. But as long as you stay far away from my son, I consider it a small price to pay."

Obi-Wan pinched his lips. Swallowed.

"And what if Luke wants to become a Jedi, one day?" Ahsoka asked. He'd almost forgotten she was there. The three of them, together again. "Does your newfound peace extend to that?"

Vader snorted. "Are you teaching him to be a Jedi?"

"No. I'm teaching him the Force."

"Good. Then he will not be blinded by their dogmatic ideals and will not want to indoctrinate himself into them." Obi-Wan gave him a look. Vader glared right back. "The Jedi are weak. I would not be allowing this if I thought you had a chance of succeeding, or of becoming a plausible threat."

"The Jedi stood for ten thousand years."

"And they fell in three." Not true, but... well.

Obi-Wan just sighed. He knew that sigh; he could practically hear the Anakin that would have ordinarily followed.

But he didn't say Anakin. He just said, "I cut off all your remaining limbs and left you to burn to death on Mustafar. And you are going to let me go without a fuss?"

"Yes," Vader ground out.

"Simply because of Luke?"

He hated this man. He despised him with every fibre of his being— "Yes."

"This is not a ploy to find and exterminate the Jedi for real. This is not a change of heart towards the Jedi you slaughtered. This is just because Luke would be upset if he learned that you had killed me?"

"Yes. Now get out of this palace before I regret it."

Obi-Wan smiled, but dutifully rose to his feet. "You are no Sith, Darth," he said, and practically waltzed out of the garden.

Ahsoka smiled. "What?" he growled.

"Nothing," she said, and closed her eyes. He sensed her sink back into the folds of the Force. "Nothing at all. How is Luke?"

"Asleep. The doctor has diagnosed him as feverish with extreme stress."

"I can imagine. This is your solution?"

"No."

She opened her eyes again, and those bright blue irises peered up at him, far too much like Luke's. "So what is your solution?"

He gritted his teeth.

"We are going to Naboo. You will be accompanying us."

Ahsoka snorted, and it made him want to stab something.

Chapter Text

Green and blue with splashes of purples was all Luke could see, stretching on into what seemed like forever.

The shuttle—a non-descript, non-official transport—swooped in towards Theed but Luke did not shift his gaze off from the direction of the lake country, staring, his nose plastered to the viewport in the passengers' section. Green, and blue, and the colour that was, somehow, a peace and a joy...

Somehow, for a reason he could not quite place, he felt at peace... at home. And he wanted to ask why, but did not quite know how.

Beside him, Nova smiled.

"I've been here before," Luke murmured. "I know that, we visited only a few weeks ago, but..."

She squeezed his shoulder. "But now you get to officially stay here? And see the place?"

His face broke into a soft smile, like dawn over one of the hills. "Yes," he breathed.

They stood there for a moment more, watching the way the light fractured through the atmosphere, whiter and cleaner than it ever was on Coruscant. Theed glittered in its domed blue glory up ahead of them, as they swept past waterfall after waterfall in a full loop of its splendour, the royal palace seated atop it like the crown. Luke looked on in awe.

"Come on," Nova said eventually, tugging him away. "Vader wants to debrief you on what the schedule is."

The schedule. Already, he could feel his headache returning, his sour mood creeping back up on him. This was a holiday, yes, but it was not one like those in the novels he'd read as a child, it could not be normal. Nothing he ever participated in, ever, could be normal.

Vader was standing on the other side of the shuttle, practically in a corner, pointedly not looking out of any of the windows. When Nova and Luke approached, though, he looked over them both, and... something in his sense softened.

"Majesty," he said. "We are descending into Theed. You will meet with the Queen and explain to her the reason for your visit here—the holiday home we will be spending time at is... significant, and was given to your mother's family and Sabé as a gift upon her death, but it remains caught up in palace politics. It is vital that we at least establish what we are doing here before we use it. The Queen is—"

"Queen Dalné, fourteen," Luke interrupted. "I know. I already met her." Besides, of course he knew who the monarch on Palpatine's—and his mother's—home planet was. "The same age as me."

Vader observed him for a moment. "She is running a planet, Majesty, not an Empire."

Luke shrugged. "At least she's running it. No matter how hard I try, there only seems to be one kind of running that I'm doing." A pointed look out the window—back at the Star Destroyer that had dropped them off, the spot it had been before it vanished.

Vader made a sound that might've been a sigh. "This is not running, little angel, this—" He broke off when he realised Luke wasn't about to listen anyway.

"She will meet you in the throne room. Expect to receive the pleasantries and airs expected of you as a visiting dignitary, particularly one to whom she has sworn her loyalty. However, the meeting with her and her council should be brief, and then we will be on our way."

"And then where are we going?" Luke asked.

"Varykino," Nova said, and she... she was smiling. "It was— or rather, it is a holiday home out in the lake country. It was owned by the government, for years and years, and Naboo's most favoured artisans and politicians visited, but your mother spent enough of her life there that when she died, there were discussions about turning it into a museum to her. They did not, eventually, but the house was given to the Naberrie family as a token of thanks for her dedicated service anyway; they use it regularly."

Luke blinked. "You mean... still?"

Nova frowned. "What do you mean?"

His heart was pounding in his chest. "They still use it? My mother still has living relatives, who use the place regularly?"

He saw the moment that realisation dawned, then, and her smile only broadened. Vader stiffened as he realised too.

"Yes," Nova said with relish. "Padmé had a sister—Sola. She, her two daughters, and her and Padmé's parents are still alive, though Ruwee is getting on in years."

Luke... not quite gasped, but gasped at the knowledge, his smile broadening. A relieved huff or sigh, perhaps, but he whispered, "I... I have living relatives?"

He did not miss the pointed look that Nova gave Vader, but she slipped an arm around his shoulder and squeezed gently, meeting his gaze. "

"Yes," she uttered. "You do."

Luke blinked, suddenly realising... everything he'd never asked before, never had reason to ask before. "How? Why wasn't I sent to them when she died? W—" He swallowed. "Was I sent to them, but Palpatine..."

Again, Nova and Vader exchanged a look.

"Obi-Wan took you to Tatooine, where your father's step family lived," she said quietly. Vader... jerked, but didn't refute it, and Luke almost didn't notice; he was too busy staring wide-eyed up at her, his gaze starry and shocked. "He thought you'd be safe from Palpatine there." She pinched her lips. "He was wrong."

Luke's shoulders sagged. "I see."

Nova tried to smile. "But hey! We can introduce you to your mother's family on this trip, if we get the time!"

"We cannot," Vader said, like it was a decree from the Force itself. "The Emperor's presence here is meant to be kept as much of a secret as possible, which will inevitably be met with limited success, but pulling the Naberries into such a difficult situation will only endanger them."

"Oh."

Vader looked at Luke. "I... am sure you will be able to meet with them anyway, another time. But for the duration of this holiday—"

"Which will be about a month," Nova offered—or rather, interjected.

"—you cannot."

Luke sighed.

"Alright," he said, and he just knew that Vader was wincing at his tone. "Let's meet the Queen."

Meeting Dalné was a less than ideal experience.

As he stood opposite her, he tried to imagine what this had to look like for the adults surrounding them, and he found he disliked the resemblance between the two of them immensely:

Two child rulers shaking hands, dressed up in expensive regalia to give this little farce the expected air of dignity.

Queen Dalné smiled politely, and he smiled politely back; for a moment, he had to wish that he had the same ceremonial makeup as her, to better hide his awkwardness. This... was not what he'd wanted, when Vader had first proposed a retreat. A holiday.

A place to find out more about his mother.

He supposed that she was here, in these walls—she had been queen once, just as Dalné was now, and he had to wonder if the regal name Dalné had been picked to honour Padmé Amidala, the way Nova had called herself Sabé from the moment she served her. There had been several stained glass windows that they'd walked past to get here, that Vader had stiffened and avoided looking at with all his might, but Luke couldn't help but stare.

His mother had been serene.

His mother had been stately.

His mother had been... stunning.

But it also all seemed just superficial.

The place was beautiful. If he'd grown up here, the way his mother and possibly his father had no doubt intended, perhaps he would view it in a far more flattering light. Perhaps he would see the history in the grandeur, the respect for beloved figures, the masks that hid the subtle currents of deception enhancing the beauty in a way that was honest about the reverse that lay beneath.

But the splendour... the politics... the two-faced whispering and judgement raining down on him from every portrait and window...

It reminded him that Palpatine had come from this planet as well.

"Your Majesty," Queen Dalné greeted, her smile passive and reserved. He found nothing to relate to in it. "You honour us with your visit to Naboo—again, so soon after your official tour. As the homeworld of your late, beloved father"—there was a shrewd look in her eye and suddenly everything clicked into place; he knew exactly how he was going to play this, and find the warm presence of his mother that he'd been searching for so fiercely—"or rather, your adoptive father, we welcome you will open arms and the highest regards."

Her gaze tracked down his outfit: a simple dark red robe, embroidered in gold and black with fleur de lis patterning in the Naboo fashion, to pay homage. He could almost sense her distaste for the token, shallow respect of what was clearly a rich culture he had not been raised in, but now... now he knew exactly what game Nova had meant for him to play, when she dressed him in this.

You are an Imperial, raised by a shameful son of our planet, and you are not even of our blood, the Queen had implied. Why are you here?

Luke raised his eyes to the murals of Naboo's historical monarchs, painted on the ceilings and high walls of the throne room. He sought his mother's image, in red and gold, and found his strength.

"Thank you for allowing me to stay, Your Majesty," he said in return. He made sure to put emphasis on the title, to try and show that with equal titles, equal ages... they were equal, in a way. "And thank you for allowing me to use the lake house of Varykino for this retreat; it honours me more than I can say."

There, he saw it, even through the mask of the makeup: a muscle twitched in her jaw.

"I could hardly refuse," she said, and there was anger in her voice. Defensiveness at the perceived forcefulness. The slightest glare at Nova—for what? For working with the Empire? Or for willingly handing over Amidala's sanctuary, as it had come to be known, on top of that?

He bowed his head. "I..." He paused, and began again. "As I am sure you are aware, it recently came to light, for myself and for the galaxy, that my father was not the father I was born to, biologically." He looked her dead in the eye. "Even as I wish for nothing but to honour my father and his legacy, I firmly believe that his mercy in raising me, someone who would've been a war orphan, should be continued and expanded upon—his vision should be altered and improved, to fit a changing galaxy. I know that I come from a family who had very different ideas to my father, but his cooperation with my birth mother saw wonderful results during the age of the Republic, and I hope that by coming here to better connect with the mother I never knew, I can better marry these two ideals to become a better ruler, as well as finding peace in myself and my heritage."

Uncertain, or not. Correct, or not. Clever, or not.

If Palpatine had taught Luke to be one thing, it was a damn good speaker.

Dalné's face was creased ever so slightly in confusion, her makeup smoothing it to indifference, but the Force did not lie and Luke could sense her irritation. What was he playing at? Why was he here? What was he planning?

Luke said, "Hearing from Lady Sabé"—he gestured to her; they studied her, and clocked with certainty that that was Amidala's closest handmaiden from during her reign and service—"that my birth mother was none other than the woman I had always idolised, Padmé Amidala... it meant so much to me. And I may never get to speak to her in person, but I will cherish any part of her I can find, and do my best to follow her vision for a galactic government as I continue my rule."

He bowed, and allowed himself to smile only the slightest bit, eyes closed, at the stunned silence in the throne room. Dalné's advisors stared.

"So thank you for allowing Sabé to host me there, while I try to... try to reconcile my identity." He let himself stumble slightly, show a hint of vulnerability, make him relatable. He'd just told them in as many words that Palpatine had taken Amidala's child from what should've been his home with her relatives and raised him for his own. Right now, they would not be seeing the youthful wisdom they so valued in their teenage rulers. They would be seeing a lost boy—a lost son.

They would be seeing the way the robes swallowed him whole… robes which were identical in colour and pattern to the regal dress she was so often depicting as wearing. A clear nod—a sign of respect..

Dalné... smiled, a little. "Well, then, I must welcome you home, Your Majesty," she said. "And we pray that you will find the understanding you seek. Varykino—and the lake country as a whole—is known to be excellent for that."

He bowed his head again. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he replied, and took that as his cue to leave.

He did not stick around to hear the Queen demand to speak to Nova, to hear her point of view on everything that had happened, all of it—and therefore he did not hear the way Nova asked if she could contact the Naberries for her, to pass on a message.

Within the hour, he was in a speeder and on the way to Varykino, and this time... the splendour Naboo had to offer felt a lot less like his father, and much more like his mother, instead.

The house... was utterly stunning. Luke gawked at it, doing his best to ignore the dark lord—he hung over him like an overgrown mynock, though he seemed as lost in thought as Luke was, staring out at the countryside with an almost wistful sense in the Force—and just... enjoyed it.

Nova had already slipped into the large, classical house with its pillars and winding staircase up to the massive rooms, and the colour scheme and the architecture... but Luke stayed leaning against the balcony at the top of the stairs, and watched the sun set over the lake as Ahsoka came up from the speeder, their luggage hovering behind her with ease.

The house was stunning. The lake was stunning. Luke paused to let it... sink in, and was glad when Vader wandered away from him to let him do it; his clear distaste for being there somewhat soured the evening mists. But... it was beautiful.

The house was built in the particularly Naboo fashion, its floors layered and intricate and sweeping in shades of blue and white like something out of a fairy tale. Every balcony burst with flowers, be they ryoo or candlewicks or irises, and the wide, winding staircases even had large pots of small trees tucked into their corners, hanging baskets swinging overhead. The marble of the elegant railing was cool against his forearms as he stared down, left and right, at the open, airy rooms, the lake that spread below him...

It was bluer than anything he'd ever seen. The green hills around it, dotted with shaaks in the distance, rolled like the folds of some of Nova's richer dresses, and he found his gaze hooking on a stretch of beach near where they'd arrived by boat. The last time he'd visited a beach had been when Tagge had had to bring the Dauntless to Scarif, and Luke had had a blissful two hours to enjoy himself there...

Now he had a month.

It was warm here, even in the golden light of the setting sun, but a breeze was cool and whispering. It tugged at his red robes, rifled through his hair; he found himself wondering why the Naboo chose red as their symbolic governmental colour, or why his mother had chosen it, when so much else on this planet was the peaceful blues and greens...

He was going to stay here. For a month.

This was a piece of her—a piece of his history, buried deep inside his blood and his bones. He was going to stay here, Ahsoka was going to train him, and he was going to connect with the Force, and her, and...

...and if the Force, and Vader, willed it, he might get to meet his family as well.

He found himself smiling—found the view blurring and fracturing and bleeding before his eyes, as his gaze swam with tears he did not shed. He just glanced down at the very real railing, at the ryoo flowers in the pot that brushed his ankle, at the embroidery he wore that was identical to her.

Then he started back down the stairs.

Slowly, at first. Then he broke out into a run, faster, taking them two then three at a time in great bounds, his legs short enough that he leapt and seemed to fly with every stride. He passed Ahsoka, skidding neatly under her levitated luggage; he could hear Nova's laughter on the wind; he could sense Vader's intense, worried gaze on him as he went down, and down, and down, until he hit the bottom.

Vader would squawk about security and schedules. As out of character as it was for him, it was all he'd done since they'd arrived. But while the house didn't look easily defendable, Luke knew it must be, through holocams and shields and guard nooks hidden where the beauty could easily disguise them—and Vader would know that better than anyone.

So Vader did not stop him as Luke spun in the waning light of the sun, his robes swirling around his shins; lifted them up, kicked off his shoes, and waded into the lake.

His laughter resonated over the water.

"Every time I think you've reached the height of your foolishness," Sabé said behind him as he watched Luke laugh, making ripples in the lake, "you outdo yourself."

He turned to her and glared. He was already grumpy at being here, Luke's joy aside, if she truly wanted to start being obnoxious—

She laughed in his face. "You love him," she said. "You're happy that he's happy. Go down there and tell him random facts you know about the lake and the plants and animals inside it. Show him the places you explored whenever you spent time here. Enjoy his joy. He's your son."

"Everything I know about this place," Vader growled, "came from Padmé."

"It did. And so did Luke." She shrugged, and wandered over to where Ahsoka was dividing the luggage into carriers for whose bedroom it was meant to go to. "You know, she was a wonderful woman, and a wonderful wife. One day, perhaps those memories of her could be something you cherish—and something you will relish sharing with your son."

Vader... could not sigh. But he sighed anyway, watching Luke tilt his golden head back and laugh, the rays of the setting sun limning his angelic face in light.

"Don't be a shadow on his time here."

Vader swallowed.

And then he started down the steps.

He went... slower than Luke had. Glancing around, savouring every part of the place that he could—he could not smell, could not see the colours, but his memories did the work for him. Let his heart swell with the power of it all.

By the time he stood on the water's edge and made a wry comment, his son whirling to face him, he was smiling broadly.

They settled in quickly, and the next morning saw Luke getting to sleep in, until he was woken by the creep of noonday sun through his window. He ate with Sabé on one of the balconies, Vader off… somewhere else… and then sat under a tree in the garden with Ahsoka for their training that afternoon, feeling the cool air kiss his cheek.

It became a rhythm, over several days. They would sit and meditate; they would practise katas; they would… enjoy the training process, and work hard. Luke felt himself relaxing, here.

One day, a week after he'd arrived on Naboo and two weeks since he'd met her, she'd left him alone to meditate in that position for a while, and though he tried to focus… something worked at his mind.

"Ahsoka," he said softly to himself after a while, breaking the silence. "Can you... Can you tell me more about Anakin Skywalker? Please? I know it's rude to talk about him behind his back, but... I'm so curious!"

He sat under the tree and— no, he stood up and paced. Ahsoka was probably still nearby, watching, and she was probably laughing at him right now, but...

"Ahsoka," he tried again, feeling the words around his mouth. Despite their two weeks of training, they still hadn't quite established the best methods of communication yet, he still hadn't quite got into her rhythm; he'd messed up several times in their levitation lessons, but she hadn't reacted to his failure anywhere near the way he'd expected her to, and he didn't know how she'd react to him slacking off instead of meditating either... "I— I want to know more about Vader's backstory, I feel like there's so much he's not telling me, and—"

"Ask him yourself, then."

Luke yelped, spinning around.

Ahsoka stood by the water's edge, her shoes kicked off at the shoreline and the water lapping around her ankles; despite the fact that this large tree they'd taken to meditating in the shade of grew right next to the lake, its thick, winding roots worn smooth by years of visitors using them as a ladder or series of steps to get down to the water, he hadn't spotted her hanging around.

He glowered. "How— how long—"

"Long enough to know you've not been meditating at all," she said cheerfully. He flushed.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let myself get distracted, I promise—"

"Don't promise me anything. We're all mortal. We'll drift and find other things more interesting, sometimes, and you're allowed to make mistakes."

Luke blinked.

She just smiled. "Now, what was it you wanted to ask me?"

A little emboldened by her lack of ire with him, he pushed, "Could... could you tell me about him? He said you were his padawan, when he was a Jedi."

"I was." The water lapped against the sides of the lake; for a moment, it was the only sound. Before Ahsoka sighed. "I can tell you stories about the great Anakin Skywalker, if you want. I can regale you with how we broke through the Separatists air forces to liberate Ryloth, how we saved Christophsis, how here, on this very planet, Anakin saved both me and Padmé from an insane scientist trying to bring back the Blue Shadow Virus and found a cure for it before we died."

Luke's eyes blew wide. Now that was a story he wanted to hear—

"But it won't answer your questions," she said, "because I know you're not asking for stories."

"Yes I am," Luke whined. "I am asking for stories. I don't know anything about him; maybe, hearing a little bit, will help."

"You don't want stories. You want understanding, but don't know the right questions to ask, yet."

Luke huffed out a breath. "Then how do I find the right questions to ask?"

"Meditating and asking the Force for guidance is known to work."

After a moment, he realised she was teasing. He scowled playfully.

"But I will tell you," she went on, turning her gaze up towards the house—there was a shadow on one of the balconies, keeping an eye on them; Ahsoka waved at him and Luke snorted, "that this place is important to him. You know he cared about Padmé. He spent time here. I'm sure that... with some investigation..." She winked. "You could uncover something."

Luke frowned. "Like what?"

"I don't know. You'll have to find out. Now, take off your shoes and come into the water with me?"

"Why?"

She grinned. "You're questioning everything. That's good. And the answer is because it's hot today, and you look red in the face—and humans aren't meant to be red in the face—and I want to show you how to physically impose the Force on natural substances, like water." She waved her arm, and a wave rippled away from her, collapsing back into the lake.

He scrambled down the tree roots and pulled off his shoes, lying them neatly next to hers, and waded in.

"You know," Ahsoka asked, before he started to raise his hands and try it himself, "you could ask Vader these questions himself. I'm sure he won't mind."

"Really?" His doubt was evident in his tone.

"Really. He hates it here—reminds him too much of Padmé. But he stays anyway."

"Why does he stay?" Luke spread his arms, closed his eyes, and let the Force trickle into him. "He doesn't have to. And I never got the impression that he didn't like it here—he's always seems... not happy, but content, when I see him."

"That's because of you, little one," she said. "That's because he loves you. He likes knowing you're happy."

Luke... smiled. "I know," he said.

Then he said, "You knew my mother too, didn't you?"

"I did," she confirmed.

"Can— can you tell me about her, at least?"

"Are you trying to get out of lessons?"

"Maybe." He grinned cheekily.

Ahsoka laughed. "Alright. Well, I suppose as good as any is the time I had visions she was going to be assassinated while she was giving a speech about refugees on Alderaan, and I joined her on the trip, and she beat me thoroughly at holochess..."

Luke followed Ahsoka's advice. He went snooping.

And he found images of his mother.

In all fairness, they weren't particularly hard to find. Nova had pointed him in the direction of an old, unused cupboard which the Naberries had apparently turned into some sort of shrine to Padmé, or a place to keep all their memories of her in one place.

It... was painful. He'd known who Senator Amidala was long before he'd known she was his mother. Palpatine had had a portrait of her hanging in the Palace somewhere, for goodness' sake, though Luke now suspected that that may have been to torment Vader just as much as it was to hold her up as a martyr for the Empire. Ever since he'd learned, walking to and fro underneath that portrait had meant something else—an indefinable feeling, a pressure, but also a sort of quiet faith in himself and in Nova.

And now he'd found a collection of dusty holos of her. He'd taken them from the cupboard to view them in the light, and for the ones taken at Varykino, he'd viewed them where they'd been taken. Here, by the balcony that overlooked the lake, in an off-the-shoulder dress all colours of the rainbow; here, by the main dining room, in a black dress; here, out in the meadows, her hair in buns like Leia's and gold lacing detailing every part of her bodice.

Then he stumbled upon a holo with another man in it, and Luke's heart stopped.

Could... could this be his father?

Could it be, that after all this secrecy, all this hiding the truth from him, Luke could have just stumbled onto a holo that showed him?

If— if it was his father, and Luke didn't want to get his hopes up, he... he could see some family resemblance, he supposed. His face was much stronger than Luke's, he was much taller, and the holo wasn't detailed enough to make out his eyes...

But then, when he went searching for more holos with the man in, he... stumbled upon a video.

And his heart stopped. He barely breathed before he started playing it.

It was taken somewhere in the meadows. The man was approaching a shaak, larger and bouncier than him in every sense of the word, his hands out and an intensely wary expression on his face. But when he tossed a look back at Luke—at the person taking the holo—his grin was wicked.

"Watch me, Padmé," he said brightly. His accent was from the Outer Rim, Luke noted. It— it could be his father, Nova had said that he had had relatives on Tatooine, and you couldn't get more Outer Rim than that— "I'm gonna do this successfully this time."

The person taking the holo—Padmé; Luke's mother—laughed. "And you're sure we won't get crushed-Anakin again?"

Luke stilled.

Anakin—it had to be Anakin, right? They weren't talking about... crushing a person who wasn't there, right?—laughed, and flashed another charming smile right back at her. The eager-to-please sense in his expression... Luke was familiar with that. He wasn't familiar with the sheer adoration in the look that he was giving Padmé.

"Have a little faith," Anakin—Vader—said, and then he jumped.

The shaak bucked him off and Padmé dissolved into peals of laughter as he grunted, trying to run away, and then the holo stopped.

Luke stared. It had frozen on Vader's face.

That was not the face of a tormentor. Of a murderer. Of a Sith. He was only a few years older than Luke—still a teenager, possibly.

That was Vader.

That was Vader.

And he looked really familiar...

Luke shut off the holo, clenching it so tightly in his fist that he feared crushing it. That innocent question he'd posed so long ago—what's a threesome?—and the implications of it baffled him.

Luke's father, whoever he was, was not... anywhere, in any of these photos. It was only Anakin—only Vader. Was that why he'd been so hurt when it had been Luke's father that Padmé had ended up loving, so long ago? Was that why Vader had become so bitter about it? All that love and adoration, twisted into jealousy—jealousy and festering emotions that had never been resolved, because Luke's mother had died, and Luke's father...

What had happened to him?

All the Jedi were gone. They were dead. And Luke was all too familiar with Vader's anger, his vendettas; he'd seen it against Ben. Had he hunted down Luke's father purposely, the dark side corrupting his emotions into something vicious and vengeful, and cut him down? He would not put that past him.

Luke bowed his head. He knew Vader wouldn't hurt him. Just as he wouldn't hurt Padmé—not when he'd loved her that much.

But that was all he knew.

That was all he knew about anything.

For a moment he thought about Crown of Stars, and the complex, dramatic relationships there—about affairs, and those threesomes whose theory had been thoroughly debunked, and betrayal. But if Luke was secretly Vader's child, not Padmé's husband's, then Vader would have told him by now. There was no reason for him not to have told him, the moment Luke woke up in that medbay; Vader was inclined to harsh truths and disinclined to political lies. Besides, they had been on good terms for a while by now, so... Surely he would have told him...

But he had not.

So it must not be true.

And if he wasn't telling Luke what had really happened... it must have been ugly.

Luke gritted his teeth, swallowed, and put the holo in his pocket. He had a lot to think about.

"That's quite the collection of stuffed animals," Ahsoka noted shortly after walking in.

Luke couldn't help but beam as he responded. "Vader's been helping me add to it."

Ahsoka glanced around Luke's chosen bedroom, the windows wide open to let the sunlight, the wind and even some of the climbing vines in. There was a porg perched on the windowsill. She lowered her gaze, and saw a long, stuffed colo claw fish lying to the side of the rug, winding along to where a bantha was perched at its head, at the base of the bed. There was also a nexu, a reek, a tauntaun, a wampa, a... Ahsoka gave up.

"He... gave these to you?" she asked. That sounded like something Anakin would do. She could picture him in the shop, Padmé hovering over his shoulder and rolling her eyes affectionately, as he frantically tried to decide between two toys and ended up choosing both, lest his little angel not like the one he chose.

Luke smiled broadly. How...? How did he not realise who Vader truly was to him? Was the concept of a father being evil truly so ingrained in his mind that the kinder Vader was to him, the less it was likely that it was him?

But Ahsoka found herself smiling back at Luke, in response. He was a sweet kid. He deserved so much more than this, and Vader—Anakin—knew it. Perhaps that was why he was striving so hard for the boy to at least be happy, even if he couldn't have the true happiness he deserved, and why he was willing to suffer the memories of Varykino to see it happen.

"Have you named them?" she asked instead of voicing any of her thoughts, reluctantly softening when she saw the way Luke cradled his nerf to his chest, tightly, and smiled down at it. The nerf had a colourful scarf around its neck.

He frowned. "No. I'm not a kid."

Ahsoka didn't know what to say to that. So she pointedly did not look at the masses of toys, and said nothing.

"...alright," Luke admitted. "I have named them."

She smiled.

"The nerf is called..." Luke paused, and bit his lip.

"What?" Ahsoka asked, leaning in.

"The nerf is called Anakin," he admitted.

She... didn't laugh. Laughing was too harsh or loud a sound for the word to fit; it was a release of breath, a huff with humour involved, and Luke scowled.

"I know, I know, it's stupid—"

"On the contrary, little one. It's very sweet. Does Vader know?"

He buried his face in the nerf's—in Anakin's—soft fur, but Ahsoka could still see the tops of his cheekbones, and they were red and rosy. "No."

"Are you going to tell him?"

Luke glanced at Anakin-the-nerf. "No."

"Are you sure?" Ahsoka didn't know what Vader had against his past name, why he was so adamant no one use or know it, but she was fairly sure he'd be far from upset to learn that his son had decided, at some point, to name one of his beloved toys—a source of comfort—after him.

Luke tilted his head like a confused akk pup, glanced between her and Anakin-the-nerf, and said, "...maybe."

She just smiled at that. "I think he'd be happy to know it." A Sith would find the concept abhorrent, she knew—but the fact they were here, and the fact that Luke had these toys at all, proved that Vader was no true Sith. "But it's your toy. It's your choice."

Luke nodded. Then his lips quirked up. "Did you just come in here to ask about my toys?"

"No," she said, easily falling back into the reason she was here. "I wanted to ask how you'd feel about working on your mental shielding, now that you've got a decent handle on meditation and levitation. I promise I'll be gentle, but it's a big step, and no one will blame you if you don't want to take it."

Luke stared at her. "I... I'll do it."

"Don't just say that because you don't want to disappoint me."

"It's not—" He bit his tongue.

Ahsoka said, "Vader would be more disappointed if you dedicated yourself to something that hurt you than if you chose not to learn mental shielding. And you know that Sabé is the same."

Luke swallowed.

"I still want to learn," he said firmly. "I promise it's not because I don't want to disappoint anyone. It's because I trust you, and I want to get stronger."

"You are already very strong."

"And there's no harm in getting stronger."

Ahsoka smiled, and ruffled his hair. "You will tell me if I make you uncomfortable?"

"Yes."

"You promise?" She held out her hand.

He raised his eyebrows and took it guilelessly, if confused. "I promise."

She shook it firmly, then tapped him lightly on the chin. He grinned.

But when she turned to go, he said, "What do you know about my family?"

She froze.

"What do you mean?" she asked carefully, turning around again in one fluid motion and crossing her arms. He looked sheepish.

"Anything about them, really," he said. "About my mother's relatives, about my father's relatives on Tatooine, about..." He bit his lip. "About my birth father."

Ahsoka said, "I know Padmé's relatives live on Naboo. I'm fairly sure that Sabé's been arranging a way for them to come here to meet you, and convincing Vader to agree." She winked. "But you didn't hear that from me."

His eyes blew wide. She scampered out the door before he could ask anything else, hoping that was a sufficient distraction.

It was not a sufficient distraction.

The moment she vanish down the corridor, Luke swept the bantha off of his bed with a muted cry, clutching at Anakin.

Why did nobody want to tell him the truth?

He could sense Ahsoka's retreating presence down the hall, so he had no qualms about shoving his face into Anakin-the-nerf's fur and letting out another muffled noise, frustration welling up inside him and bursting forth like the waterfalls of Theed. He—

He knew Ahsoka knew something. He'd been raised a politician. Of course he knew when people were trying to avoid awkward questions. He knew that she knew, and as excited as he was at the prospect of meeting his mother's family, freezing, ironclad fear also seized him at the thought, and... and he didn't want to get his hopes up. He didn't want to hope, only for them to reject their hated emperor, only for Vader to decide they were too much of a risk, only for—

He screamed again.

Vader must have killed his father. Or... something terrible went down between them, because it was clear that Vader had loved Padmé and would never wish to hurt her, but he'd only spoken of Luke's father in scornful, hateful tones, and he had led the Purges...

He forgot the precise time, but he thought he might be able to remember Vader telling him that his father had not died in the Purges. Had died before the Purges.

But that did not mean that Vader hadn't killed him.

He scowled, and clutched Anakin-the-nerf tightly, suddenly wishing that he hadn't named him on that whim just after Vader had told him his real name, suddenly wishing for any other toy. He trusted Vader, he l— liked Vader, he didn't want to doubt Vader at all, but...

He didn't know what to think.

So he dropped the nerf toy and made to pick up his bantha from where he'd knocked it to the floor. That, he knew, had come his mother—and it had been given to him by Nova. He could trust that.

But looking at the other toys, given to him in the facsimile of fatherhood by the man who probably killed his father...

He wished it was guilt or shame he was feeling, at the relationship he and Vader had started to cultivate. He wished he was that good, that strong.

But Luke felt nothing but intense longing.

Vader was hurting.

Sunset was burning upon the surface on the lake all around the house. Seeing his son lean on the balustrade brought back too many wistful memories. It hurt.

It hurt, and Vader had been in pain from the moment they set foot on this planet, but Luke was here and Luke soothed it.

"I can't understand it," the boy said quietly, fidgeting. "All the pieces are there, but they don't fit together. I know you knew my mother... intimately. That you loved her, even. If your angry heart is capable of love."

Vader turned his helmet to face him, a little shocked—and hurt. That… What was that supposed to mean?

He'd thought that he and Luke had—

"But even so, why swear your loyalty to the flesh and blood of your rival?" Luke's voice cracked. "Of the man my mother loved and married, the man you killed?"

Vader stiffened where he stood, gaze latching on the tree that Ahsoka and Luke so often meditated under. He was suddenly hyperaware of Luke's gaze on him.

"You—" He paused. Closed his mouth, opened it again. "Little angel, you think..." He tried to dissect what Luke had said in his mind, but it made no sense.

Then he just said it: "You think I killed your father?"

"He was a Jedi, wasn't he?" Luke asked dully. He sounded... resigned to it, and Vader hated it; he'd grown to enjoy Luke's outbursts, his passion, his enthusiasm. Where had his fight gone? "You killed the Jedi."

"I told you that he died before the Purges began."

"You did." Luke nodded. "But you also told me he was worthless. Never deserved anything he had. You hated him."

Vader... didn't know how to respond to that.

Because it was true. He did hate Anakin Skywalker—hated him with every fibre of his being. He was a fool, a weakling, a disgrace to the power he wielded and the blessings he'd been given.

Vader was a disgrace to it all.

But that was not what Luke thought he meant when he said that.

So... how could he fix this, without...?

"Luke," he said, "little angel, I—"

"Don't call me that," Luke snapped suddenly, and there was the fight Vader had missed, but he had not missed the sudden spark of hatred that came with it. "You— you are not my father, you killed my father, you don't get to act all— all parental— you—"

"Luke—" Vader tried to put a hand on his shoulder; the boy shook it off.

"No!" Luke took a step back. "I know you hated him. I know you did. I— I found a recording of you and my mother, in this house. I know you loved her, you've told me that already but it's clear from that that you loved her yourself, possessively, or something like that, and— how did you react when she chose my father over you? Why support me, when I'm his son, and you hated him so much?"

"Majesty—"

"I know I'm Padmé Amidala's son," he hissed. "That's exactly it. I am a reminder of what you didn't have. Why are you so insistent on supporting me?

"Because—"

"You killed my— you killed Palpatine, my adoptive father. If you killed my birth father—and if you didn't, then I don't know what you did, but clearly it's suspicious and shady enough that you don't want me to know about it at all—then why—"

"Why what?"

"Why!?" Luke shouted, finally. A he swung his arms, he knocked a plant pot over; it went careening down the steps, dirt sluicing out. "Why—why are you supporting me? Why do you try so hard to be gentle and protective? Why do Nova and Ahsoka trust you? Why are you doing this?"

Vader said nothing.

"And why won't you just tell me the truth!?"

Vader stood there.

Then he tried again, "Little angel..."

"I looked for him here, you know?" Luke said, sweeping his arm around again. He missed the other urn, thankfully. "I— my mother's presence is here in full, but every time I look for him, it's just you. I want to know who my family was, Lord Vader, I want to erase Palpatine forever. But you won't tell me anything!"

Vader made his decision.

He took several breaths with his respirator, bracing himself. Oxygen flooded through him; he lowered his head, to look Luke in the eye, and took the boy's wrists firmly but gently in his hands.

"You don't trust me?" he asked.

Luke stared, anguished. "I do," he said, voice pained. "But everything I know tells me not to. Everything I've ever learned tells me that you're not trustworthy."

Vader took three more breaths. One... Two...

"You killed my adoptive father. You probably killed my real father, and now everywhere I look for him, you're there, blocking me or flooding the role, and I can't make space for him, but it was his family who took me in and you're killing his memory and—"

"Luke." Vader let go of his wrists to rest his hands on his shoulders. Luke shook him off.

"You can't kill him again—"

"Luke," Vader said, and thought about Sabé's constant insistences. Thought about Padmé. Thought about Luke staring up at him with baleful eyes, begging for scraps of knowledge of his mother.

Luke deserved to know.

Even if Vader did not deserve him at all.

"Your father is not dead," he said finally. "And I certainly did not kill him."

Luke's mouth dropped open. Vader swallowed, and tried not to look at him. He couldn't back out now—if he did, he'd have just dug himself an even deeper hole.

If he did, he'd be a coward, and Luke would be right to despise him.

Luke deserved to know.

Luke deserved to know.

"Little angel," he said. "I am your father."

Luke stared at Vader, numb, incredulous, rooted to the spot. It was preposterous... and yet it made all too much sense. The pieces were falling into place, the light was shed on clues that had seemed so mysterious before…

He wanted to scream. Years of hurt came back to the surface as every memory shifted and changed around this new information, but he couldn't breathe; it was fitting, he supposed.

"I..." he tried to say, floundering like a fish. "What?"

"I am Anakin Skywalker," Vader boomed. It was loud, it was inexorable, and it was so, so confusing.

"Yeah, you said that, but—"

"I met Padmé Amidala on Tatooine. I married her ten years later, here on Naboo. I had a child with her three years later. You are my son."

Luke stared.

"What?" he whispered. "Why?"

Vader... was brought up short by that.

"Why?" he echoed. "Why did I marry her? Why did we have a child? It was an accident, but the moment I found out your mother was pregnant, it was the happiest moment of my—"

"Why," Luke said heatedly, "didn't you tell me?"

Vader jerked back as if he'd been struck. Luke could feel his gaze roaming over him intently. "Luke..." he said. "I... I did not want to hurt you. I had already hurt you so much."

"You didn't want to hurt me?" Luke repeated, perplexed and— and baffled. Not quite hurt, or maybe a little hurt, but— "Didn't you want—"

"I have wanted to tell you," Vader said, "from the moment I found out. I thought that you... would react to it badly at first."

"And you thought I'd react better to being forced to trust someone who'd threatened to kill me before, but now suddenly wanted to protect me!?"

"I thought—" Vader's breathing stuttered. "I thought you deserved better than just another Sith Lord for a father. I failed as a father, for fourteen years. I was not fit to be one."

Luke stared. "You were worried I would reject you."

Vader... froze. His hand stilled in mid-air.

But then, with a slowness that betrayed the effort admitting this vulnerability cost him, he nodded.

"You cannot tell me you would not have."

Luke swallowed. "No. I would have." Then, in a motion that surprised even himself, he took Vader's hand. "But I won't now, and I wouldn't have for quite a while now. Why didn't you tell me after— after the bunker? After the toys? After we arrived here? You must have known that I'd be looking for you, as well as for Mother."

It was the first time he'd called Padmé that out loud—and acknowledged Vader as his father out loud.

Vader had not usurped Luke's father's place. Vader... was meant to be in that place, in his heart.

Luke's longing turned to relief.

"You were the one in the holo," he said softly. He'd already known that, but... "And you're my father."

He'd known that Vader had loved his mother. It had been the whole reason, he'd thought, for all of this.

But having seen how much—remembering what Vader had said about how Luke had been wanted...

Luke threw himself forwards and Vader barely caught him.

The height difference was enough that with Luke's arms around Vader's neck, Vader's arms firmly around Luke's waist, his feet were left to dangle in mid-air; Vader held his weight, here on the balcony over the long drop to the lake. It was alright. He knew his father wouldn't drop him.

"You're my father," he whispered. "You're alive."

"Barely, little angel," Vader said back, as quietly as his vocoder would allow him to. "Until you arrived."

Luke let out a sob and buried his face in Vader's armoured shoulder.

"I named my nerf toy after you, you know?" he said. "The first one you gave me. After you told me your name was Anakin, I named it Anakin."

Vader's immaculate breathing hitched, his arms constricting around Luke.

"If you'd known that, would you have told me sooner?"

Vader let out a breath, a burst of static, then set Luke down on the balustrade—sitting on the railing. Luke balanced himself carefully, but there was no need; Vader's hand was still firm on his shoulder, the Force wrapped around him. He would not fall.

Vader would never let him fall.

And this way, they could look each other in the eye.

"No," Vader admitted. "Because I am a coward."

Luke snorted. "Yeah," he said, blinking tears out of his eyes and loading his tone with the utmost affection, "you are. Does Nova know?"

"She has known since Captain Vassic tried to kidnap you. But she was... insistent that I tell you myself, would not allow for my weakness, and continuously nagged me to get on with it."

Luke smiled even more broadly. "I love Nova."

"Your mother did too. I can see why, though it irritates me at the moment."

Luke laughed.

"So... my father is Anakin Skywalker?" he asked. "You— you're my father?"

"Yes, Luke."

"So my name is..." He scrunched his brows. "Luke Skywalker? Luke Naberrie? Luke Naberrie-Skywalker?" Each name settled in his chest, like an old key turning in a lock. Luke Palpatine had never sounded so bitter.

"Whichever you choose."

Luke stared at Vader open-mouthed, and felt... something strong, immensely tender, well up in that bond between them—a bond that grew so strong it felt like it was abhorrent it had ever been weak at all. Vader brought the gentlest of hands up to cradle the side of Luke's face.

"When your mother told me she was pregnant," he said. "It was the happiest moment of my life."

Luke beamed. It seemed to take Vader's breath away.

"I..." he said, wobbly, "I have so many regrets—"

"I know you do," Luke interrupted. "But..." He closed his eyes, and tasted salt at the corner of his lips when his tears spilled into the crook of his smile. "I'm so glad you told me."

"I am sorry I did not do it sooner."

"Stop apologising. Don't make this a sad moment." He took a deep breath, and opened his eyes again. "You gave me toys to cheer me up and make me feel less alone. You watched over me when I was sick. You protected me time and time again from people who would hurt me. And... in the bunker..."

"I told you, Luke. Your parents would be proud of you." He said a little wryly. "Your parents… are proud of you."

Luke's breath hitched.

"I love you. None of what I do is any achievement. It is the baseline for what you deserve, and what I want you to have."

Luke said, "I… love you too… Father," and... bestowing the title onto someone else just felt so right. Palpatine had never been a father. Vader was a far better one than he'd ever been.

They had their scars. They had their traumas. Luke knew, with an aching certainty, that he would never be comfortable around Vader's lightsaber, or training in any way with the man, or numerous other things. But he loved him nonetheless.

And the way Vader collapsed into a fussing, bashful, awkward man rather than a Sith Lord the moment Luke said Father only consolidated that.

"Woah."

Ahsoka's eyes went wide in wonder as she watched Luke in deep meditation. Items floating around him as he was so deep in the Force his abilities outstretched his body. Vader in that moment had entered the room from the other side, pausing to take it in as well.

She smiled slightly to herself, watching the way Luke mindfully kept a hold of the datachips; the slight furrow of concentration in his brow; the way his signature pulsed and flared with every tug of wind that tried to pull the items out of his orbit. Even the sudden intrusion of Vader's harsh breathing, echoing through the arched pillars of the lake house to where Luke was seated on the patio in the back, couldn't break him from his spell. The Force had him in its grip; it wasn't letting its child go.

She'd been wary, when she started training him, that she wouldn't be able to teach someone of this sort of power. All too well she remembered Anakin during the Clone Wars, pulling off feats no one could imagine until they'd seen them, his power bright and sparking and untamed. It had been exciting to be around him, never sure what he was going to light up next, and she'd felt her own sense of the world expand vastly under his tutelage.

She'd never thought that one day, she would be training his son.

Especially not when the dark pillar of fire that his Force presence had become was hanging over her shoulder, watching.

She glanced at the chrono—Luke had been at this for two hours now, sitting still and sinking into the Force so easily it almost alarmed her, wondering how often Palpatine had forced him to sit still and be silent, how often he'd been forced to instinctively draw on his power to keep him alive and well. This was highly impressive, and Luke had been at it long enough; it was already clear that his connection was deep, true and abiding. It was time for lightsaber training.

So, heedless of the slight jolt Vader made towards her, as if he was trying to stop her from interrupting his son's peace, she stood up and walked forwards to place a hand on his shoulder.

She didn't bother calling his name verbally; there was a good chance he wouldn't hear her. Younglings were never quite skilled in balancing a deep submersion into the Force with paying attention to their mortal senses.

Instead, she just reached for the core of his presence, bright enough that it was almost painful for her to look at; she wondered how in the stars Vader managed it. Perhaps he enjoyed the pain, so long as he knew it was his son he was regarding.

Luke didn't come, at first. Ahsoka frowned, huffed; Obi-Wan would've known what to do, here. He'd trained Anakin, the Chosen One himself—he'd have known how to deal with this sort of power.

Or perhaps the fact that Obi-Wan had trained Anakin was precisely why Vader didn't want him training Luke.

She latched onto Luke's presence again, tighter, and tugged more fiercely. Come back, she broadcast, though they didn't truly have a master-apprentice bond to draw on, yet. It still did the job.

Luke came back, surfacing towards the material world the way he'd swum for the light dancing of the surface of the lake when they went diving that morning. He opened his eyes, flexed his hands and smiled faintly at her, letting the items hovering around him—a vase of flowers, a belt, a hat, datachips, even a footstool—sink to the ground gently.

It was then that Ahsoka realised Vader had vanished from the doorway.

"How did I do?" he asked.

She pursed her lips, though her smile didn't fade; it was an odd expression to wear. "It wasn't a task that can be measured in successes or failures..." she said carefully. "It's a spiritual thing, a repetitive thing, impossible to do wrong or right."

Luke nodded, though she could tell he didn't understand. Not really. The concept of failure was hammered too hard into him.

"But you did very, very well," she admitted softly. "You... you are very naturally skilled at all of this. I don't know what I was expecting when I came here, but it wasn't you. You're amazing." She reached out to touch his face; slowly, at first, then when he didn't flinch back she brushed her thumb against his cheek. "The only other Force wielder I've seen with your sort of skill and power was..."

She trailed off after a moment, not sure if she should say that.

But Luke seemed to pick up on her thoughts anyway, and his eyes lit up. "My father?" He cut his gaze to the doorway where Vader had stood—perhaps he had known he was there, then, and they'd connected in the Force in a deeper way than Ahsoka would ever understand—and his akk pup eyes lost a hint of their excitement when he saw it was empty.

Ahsoka nodded. "Yes. Your father. You've got exactly the same sort of power he had."

"That's..." Luke blinked. "Impossible. I'm—"

"Extremely powerful, and skilled. I couldn't ask for a better student." She ruffled his hair. "Now, you've been at this for hours, so I suggest we take a break now—and then I'll see you for lightsaber practise by the lake this evening?"

"Are you going to throw me in the water again?"

"Of course I am."

He huffed, and she laughed—but she didn't miss the way his gaze cut to the door again.

"Go find your father," she told him. "He was in here lurking earlier. He's probably got even more praises to sing than I have."

Luke nodded, and left to follow him. Ahsoka sat back on the patio, watching the sun creep towards the horizon, and smiled to herself.

Luke was doing so well.

Luke was powerful, beyond anything Vader could have imagined for his little angel, if he had the ability the sheer power of it would have knocked the air out of his lungs. If he was a different man, he would go to his son and be delighted and so proud of him, but, he could not, he had to protect his little angel. No matter how much it hurt—and watching Luke use his powers, without his father's help, hurt more than Vader thought it would.

Padmé would be so proud of him, he thought as he walked away from where he could hear Luke and Ahsoka conversing. She would adore their son, so much; if she were alive to see him, she would be so, so proud of him. Vader certainly was—he'd learned so much so quickly, things that his father had taught him only to fear...

He couldn't stand there and watch Luke learn. As brilliant as he was. He should be the person training his son—but he would never be that person, and he knew it.

He'd blown it.

He made for the quarters he'd been assigned for this trip. There was work to do, there was always work to do; things to sign and reports to read. He should go and be driven to distraction by those, instead of tormenting himself with glimpses of his son. The boy had accepted him as a father, had been happy to be told the truth; Vader should not ask for more. He did not deserve more.

He was halfway up one of the sweeping marble staircases when he heard the running footsteps, sensed that supernova coming closer. He turned, the breeze tugging at his cape, to see Luke stand at the bottom and look up.

The sunlight streamed through the window, pocked with shadows where the flowers on the windowsill blocked it, and shone on his face, patterning it in dark and light spots. He beamed when he saw Vader, and Vader tried not to instinctively beam back at the sight of it, but it was... a hesitant smile. Luke was always shy, was still shy to call him Father, though he was growing more accustomed to it, but this... felt different.

Vader paused, meeting the boy's gaze silently. "Luke?" he asked. Something was wrong. "Are you not with Ahsoka?"

Luke seemed to shake himself off, then. "No. The lesson's finished, I..." He swallowed. "I wanted to talk to you?"

His voice was quiet, but it still traversed the large space between them. Vader frowned and tilted his head, making a gesture with his hand for Luke to join him.

Luke blinked, then smiled, jogging up to meet him there. He settled into a position at Vader's side—grabbing at the edge of his cape to steady himself in a way that made Vader's heart melt—and walked with him for a few steps before he spoke.

"Father," he said then, and Vader smiled dizzily under his mask, but Luke couldn't see that; he was still working his fingers, nervous. "I... Ahsoka said I was... extremely powerful."

"You are," Vader said. He let the simple pride swell in his voice; Luke flushed red, looking pleased at it. "You are my son." It was always so liberating to get to say it out loud.

"Yes. I am. And Ahsoka said I would be as powerful as you, someday?" Luke looked, if possible, even more hesitant.

Vader was not hesitant at all. "Or more so. You underestimate yourself."

"Right. But... I..." Luke swallowed.

They reached the top of the stairs and Vader reached out his palm, letting his son place his hand in his before he closed his fingers and pulled him towards the nearest sitting room. It was beautifully bedecked, as everything in this lake house was, and he ushered Luke into one of the fine armchairs before taking up his stance by the window.

"Something troubles you," he observed softly.

Luke nodded. "If... Palpatine..." Vader tensed at the mere mention of his name; Luke closed his mouth and tried again. "If he does succeed, if he—"

"Do not even entertain such an idea," Vader snapped. His voice was cruel, he was being cruel, but the very idea of that made him cruel— "That will not happen. I refuse."

Luke, to his credit, didn't flinch. He just stared, doggedly, at Vader. "If it does," he insisted, "which is a possibility, I... I want you to promise me something, Father."

The boy was far too clever. He knew that the moment he called Vader Father, he would be willing to do anything for him.

He did not like its implications here.

"If it does happen," Luke said in a shaky voice. "If it happens—and I know you won't let it, but... I want you to promise me that you won't let him win."

Vader blinked. "Of course. I will never let him win, I will find a way to save you—"

"No." The quiet resignation in Luke's voice shattered him. "Palpatine was a monster, who abused every piece of power he ever got his hands on. If he seizes control of me... gets access to my power... I want you to promise that you'll end it. I might not be there to be saved—and if that's the case, then I want you to kill him, kill me, before he can hurt anyone else with my power."

Vader stared.

"No," he said flatly. "I will not, little angel."

Luke pressed his lips into a thin line. "Father," he pleaded, "you have to—"

"I most certainly do not," Vader snapped. "I understand that you have not been raised with an adequate opinion of your own self-worth, that you have no idea how important you are. You have no idea how important you are. I will not allow anyone to harm you, and I will never hurt you again. I swear it."

"But—"

"If it does happen," Vader continued hotly, "if the absolute worst, most unlikely outcome happens, and you appear to be gone, and there is no hope—I will make hope. If he has crushed your soul, I will rebuild it piece by piece. If you are gone, I will find you. I will not allow Palpatine to use your power, or your body, to hurt anyone, least of all you; I will keep him contained, and I will find a way to save you, Luke. No matter what."

"And if you can't?"

"I will perform miracles to save you, my son. Nothing will stop me."

Despite the intensity of the situation, he saw Luke smile faintly at the word, and he said it again through their bond: my son, my son, my son.

Luke smiled wider.

"That's not what's best for the galaxy," he said, still—oddly enough—smiling.

"I do not care about the galaxy," Vader shot back. "I care about you. You are worth the galaxy."

When Luke tilted his head down, and lifted his hand to his face to wipe away tears, Vader counted it as a success.

But he wasn't finished yet.

He strode forwards, until he was standing right in front of Luke, then knelt to him so they were on eye level, and dipped his head, deep enough that it couldn't be interpreted as anything but a bow. When Luke held out a hand, he gripped it tightly.

"I will not allow you to be lost, little angel," he swore. "Whatever I have to do to protect you, I will do it. Whatever I need to sacrifice to save you, I will do so gladly. You are everything to me, the heart of my galaxy..." He reached up to cradle Luke's cheek in his palm, wipe away a tear; his poor, weak heart stuttered at the way Luke leaned into the touch. "I love you, Luke."

Luke blinked slowly, glistening eyes fixed to Vader's, and smiled.

"I love you too, Father," he uttered, and Vader noticed that the tension Luke had been carrying in his shoulders was now gone.

Another for you, little angel. Rest well.

The note was attached to a stuffed shaak toy, and Luke hugged it to his chest with a smile, burying his face in the fur.

He couldn't understand it, but Vader knew how to make him happy. That speech earlier… playing with his fork with him at dinner… giving him gifts, constantly…

But something was wrong.

The toy was making his skin burn. Alarmed, Luke dropped it, but now his head was pounding... He looked up, desperately trying to focus on anything...

Even as the room spun, he realized he was not alone.

He sucked in a breath and staggered towards the bed, bracing his hands on it. The stuffed shaak thumped against the carpet and he watched the way the lights glinted in its glass eyes, his own shocked face reflecting back at him and a shadow behind. Its design was pink and green, clashing violently; it struck him, suddenly, that he already had a shaak. His eyes sought it out, wildly, in the pile above the headboard by the best, the colours beginning to crash together in his vision. There it was; it was blue.

This one...

Why... Vader had never...

He was racked by a sudden shudder, then, and cried out as he lashed out at the toy with his leg. He missed, so he lashed out again, and again, until it thumped away, those eyes still staring at him accusingly. A sob caught in his throat.

His limbs trembled. His skin burned.

And then he heard that person in the corner of the room approach.

"Vader tried so hard," they said, smiling. "But he is not the powerhouse he thinks he is."

The footsteps, slow and heavy and calculated, paused by the shaak. Luke blinked, trying to see the figure, but they were all in black and unnaturally skinny, eyes blurring with tears and tiredness and the effects of the toxins. They crouched down to pick up the nerf, then continued towards him, and crouched in front of him. Somewhere in the darkness, he saw white teeth bared in a smile.

The shaak was shoved in his face. "Come now, prince," the voice mocked. "Don't you want to cuddle this toy too? You're a child. Vader bribes you with toys and you comply. Why not accept my gift as well?"

His words were slurring together in Luke's ears. Luke's eyes were sliding shut, and his arms trembled too much for him to reach up to push the toy away. It burned where it shoved against his neck.

"I..." He tried to step forwards then, square his shoulders, but he stumbled back instead and his back slammed into the wall. He sobbed.

"Father," he whispered, "Father!"

Father! he shouted out through the Force, though his connection to it was... was... Father...

"You'll be with your father soon, little prince," the intruder said, and Luke flinched at that nickname. "Have no fear of that. He's most eager to see you again."

Luke raised his eyes to look the intruder in the eye. Those eyes were gold, he realised, and the Force... he could sense...

He lashed out, trying to shove him back, emphasising the motion with a smack of his hand—but the intruder caught his wrist. Clutched it so tightly Luke cried out.

"That's enough of that," he whispered. "I think you should sleep now. Wouldn't want you to fight—wouldn't want you to get damaged."

Luke bucked and bellowed. He tried to get away. But whatever drug had been on that toy, it worked... too...

The last thing he saw was that grinning face, staring down at him.

Chapter Text

"Luke?"

Vader reached out his senses, but felt nothing—he frowned, coming up the stairs, calling as gently as he could as he went. "Luke…?"

No reply.

His harsh baritone voice echoed off the elegant walls, mocking him.

He kept climbing, then walked along the landing to Luke's chosen room, heedless of the stunning view out the wide windows of nighttime Naboo giving way to the dawn. He knocked on Luke's door… but there was nothing.

No reply.

No flicker of acknowledgement in the Force.

So, loathe as he was to enter his son's sanctum without his permission, he opened the door to see—

Empty.

The room was empty.

The bed was messy, the thick fluffy carpet was rubbed in ways that looked like there'd been a lot of struggling motion, and…

There was a tiny, unfamiliar toy on the floor.

Vader picked up the toy, fear trickling in his chest as the pieces slowly fell together in his mind.

Luke was nowhere to be found.

And his son—his son—was no longer afraid of him; it made no sense for him to run away. Right?

He— he would not have run away, surely?

He knew he would not have.

So that meant…

They had taken him.

The possibility struck a death knell in his chest—whose, he could not have dead—and he wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to deny it, but—

It was the only explanation.

He barely noticed as the toy tore itself apart and littered the scuffed-up carpet like ashes. Panic flooded him.

Luke was gone.

There was a rumbling noise, a tearing, and feathers burst around the room, spinning in dizzying patterns, as the bed and mattress exploded under his rage. The shower of white flickered, eddied with the currents of the Force, but then—

The leather of his gloves creaked with how hard he clenched his fists but no. He reined himself in. This was Luke's bedroom, the one he'd chosen, full of his beloved toys—the ones which didn't stink of poison and subterfuge. He would not destroy it. He would not destroy it.

Not when everything else was already destroyed.

Luke was gone.

He marched out of there, a whirlwind in flesh and metal, a single, driving arrow. He pawed at the bond they'd only just started to develop but it was weak; nothing could get through. It was stretched thin and distant, so taut it tugged on his heart painfully, and he wanted to roar.

He did.

His anguish echoed around the lake house, the birds who'd been singing with the morning mists startled out of their perches. Luke had gone to bed happy last night, after Vader had reassured him that he would always be safe with him; he had been content. But when Vader had gone to find him that morning, when he hadn't turned up for training...

He was gone.

He conducted a more thorough search, but all was clear: The room was empty. Luke's Noghri guards were found unconscious outside, and when Vader examined their mind, they were... they bore the marks of a skilled, brutal mental invasion. Force-sensitive, then.

They bore the marks of an attack by an Inquisitor.

Of course the remaining Inquisitors were with Palpatine; they knew that already. Of course he hadn't stopped sending people after Luke.

Of course Naboo, with the lower security than on Coruscant, despite the utmost secrecy with which they'd conducted their visit, was not as safe for him.

And now he was gone.

Sabé... Sabé had insisted they come here. Sabé had put Luke at risk, despite his objections, despite his points about the danger, she had put Luke in the line of fire—

And Luke had been so, so happy because of it.

Vader deflated, then roared again, something collapsing in his chest. Because he knew that he was so selfish that if he could turn back time, if he could stop them from ever coming to Naboo, kept Luke cooped up in the Palace... he wouldn't have.

Luke had been so happy here—Vader had been so happy here.

Luke had accepted him as a father here.

Luke, Vader vowed to himself, would not see his end this way.

"Sabé!" he bellowed, and some of the Noghri guards who were still on duty sprang to attention at the razor edge in his voice. He could sense their minds, on the floors below, and resisted the urge to unleash his wrath on them; they had been meant to protect Luke. They had been meant to keep this from happening.

They had failed.

Sabé came rushing up the stairs to this floor, emerging onto the landing—this delicate, elegant, airy landing, with the flowers trembling in their vases and the thin patterned rug rippling underfoot as he desperately tried to suppress his fury—with a look in her eye. "What is it? Ahsoka says that Luke was late—"

"Luke," Vader growled, "is gone."

Sabé froze.

"What?" she uttered. She looked like she'd had the world ripped out from under her; like she was floating, dead in space, with no gravity well to anchor her.

"I found... a toy, in his room. Its fur was poisoned. I have never seen that toy before. And his Noghri guards were attacked and disabled."

Sabé put a hand over her mouth. She swallowed, and said, thickly, "And... Luke...?"

"Not a trace."

She sucked in a sharp breath, gaze catching on the corridor towards Luke's room. She started towards it—

"Do not. It is not in any state that will be beneficial to our enquiries."

She glanced back at him knowingly—sympathetically—like she knew exactly what that meant.

"Someone should tell Ahsoka," she said distantly, but she narrowed her eyes; he could already see the cogs working in her brain, her hands starting to twitch as she made gestures with the lilt of her thought, ideas starting to spark.

"Someone," Vader said, "should find Luke."

A ship had gone by in the night. Quiet as a whisper, it had deposited someone, then it had returned to pick someone—multiple people—up, and vanished. Sabé contacted the government in Theed with the utmost secrecy to find if they had any records where such a ship could have come from or gone. Ahsoka meditated and searched the Force for answers, leading search parties all over the place, contacting contacts all around this area of space.

Vader paced and panicked.

"Where would Palpatine have a base?" Sabé drilled him at one point. "Are there any planets or stations you know of that he would have turned to, that would have supported him over you? Any bases?"

"If there were," Vader snapped, "then keeping them secret from me would be precisely the point. The apprentice is always fated to rise up against the master; he would have been prepared, so he could outwit me."

"Which he might have done now. With Luke."

"He has not!" he roared.

Ahsoka cut in, "What about places strong with the dark side? Do you know of those?"

Vader paused. "What?"

"Places strong with the dark side. Like... Malachor, or somewhere where the energies are at their most intense. He would be at his strongest there, and most likely to come back."

And then Vader froze.

He knew.

Where would Palpatine go to be resurrected? What place, what planet, would be ideal for that; what building could have been designed to channel the dark side so perfectly?

He had spent his time hoping for resurrection, once.

He had built a castle on a planet he thought would have made it possible.

He had failed. But that place had remained his base—his base, under the careful watch of the Emperor's red guards and Vaneé, the Emperor's servant-spy—until...

Until Palpatine had died.

Until he'd had to stay with Luke.

And in his absence... had Palpatine...?

Of course he had.

"I received an intruder alert at my castle on Mustafar several months ago," Vader said. He had not thought it out of the ordinary. "The security alarms had been triggered. I assumed it was the native Mustafarians launching another assault—it is not uncommon for them to do that—and dismissed it." He gritted his teeth. "The castle was... built to channel the dark side energies on the planet, particularly to bridge the gap between the living and the dead. I can imagine he encouraged it to be built this way with this purpose in mind; he... had already kidnapped Luke, when I was trying."

"Who were you trying to resurrect?" Ahsoka asked warily, but Sabé just gave him a disgusted look.

Vader did not look away. "I believe they have taken him there."

There was no argument from the women. He clenched his fists.

He had lost everything on Mustafar. His health. His brother. His wife.

Now, he vowed, he would not lose his son, too.

Luke woke up to a mild but persistent headache. He groaned and shifted; maybe it'd pass soon.

His head pounded with every motion; he grimaced even more fiercely, and found himself eternally grateful that wherever he was, it was dark. He opened his eyes...

...it was only dark.

He closed them again.

The headache pounded some more, but with every deep breath he took, every flood of oxygen into his lungs, it abated like it was the dancer in some elaborate routine he didn't know the steps to, drifting away. When he opened his eyes again, and took in the shape of the darkness—there was a dark white ceiling above him, knotted and rough—he remembered.

The shaak toy.

The intruder.

Father, he thought, where was—

"No need to sit up and panic," said a strangely mechanical voice. Luke panicked—sat up so fast his headache returned with a vengeance. He grunted, in pain, and that voice just chuckled.

The lights flicked on. He moaned, pain stabbing through his head again, and was almost grateful when a tall shadow came to block it out.

Not so much when they gripped his face and turned it up so he had to look at them.

"Such a pretty face," they marvelled—crooned, even. A shudder ran up Luke's spine. Their position in front of the light, the glare around them, made it difficult for Luke's dazed eyes to pick out many details, but they were in a dark suit. A dark helmet.

A dark, circular lightsaber bounced at their hip.

"And such power," they continued vaguely, the hand on his chin fluttering to rest against his cheek. Luke glared, and wrenched away, his head exploding as he did. "It is not difficult to know why he wanted you, and only you."

Luke tried not to show his terror. He was— they were— they were going to—

Vader had said— Vader had promised—

Vader.

"Where am I?" Luke demanded, reaching for the Force—reaching, to try and gain any sense of him. He felt only darkness... and a cloying darkness in particular that made him nauseated just from the memory of it.

He couldn't see it, but he felt like—from the tilt of their helmet—this person smiled. "You're with us."

Us.

"Where's my father!?" he demanded further, heartbeat quickening even more. He— he knew exactly what this was, he was fairly sure he knew how this would go, and no, no he couldn't, he wouldn't—

"Waiting for you, little prince."

Luke shuddered so violently he wanted to throw up.

"Do you still have a headache?" The person tutted, a touch threateningly. "Poor dear. I have something for that."

They stepped away and came back a moment later with a small glass bottle, shining like a small star in the light. The liquid inside was silvery. Luke swallowed, and sealed his lips shut.

They laid it against them anyway. "Drink. It will make you feel better."

Luke pursed his lips even tighter.

He expected the Inquisitor—for he was certain that was what this was—would grab him by the shoulder then, and shake him for his defiance, but they did nothing of the sort. Just pushed it against his lips harder.

"Drink. You must be the pinnacle of health today, of all days."

Luke turned his nose up and glared.

Get away from me, he tried to project through the Force, without opening his mouth. Judging by the amusement he sensed a moment later, he at least got that message across.

The Inquisitor just sighed. "If you want to do this the hard way, little prince... as you wish."

And then they pinched Luke's nose between two gloved fingers. Fiercely—it hurt. His eyes blew wide.

He clenched his jaw. Sucked an experimental breath through his nose but nothing came through. He tried to stay calm, tried to hold his breath, tried to calm his racing heart—

He kept glaring but the Inquisitor just tilted their head mockingly, observing him—

His lungs were burning—

He gasped for air, as quick as a ship at lightspeed, slammed his mouth shut—

But the Inquisitor tossed that silvery liquid to the back of his throat anyway. Luke gagged, bending over ready to spit it out, but a strong hand grasped his jaw and held it closed with a grip he couldn't break.

He was forced to swallow.

Finally, the Inquisitor released him. Luke was fuming, but they just said, "There you go. Isn't the headache gone now?"

It was ebbing away, but Luke didn't want to admit that. He kept his mulish silence.

The Inquisitor didn't seem to care. "Good. Now, come. You're awake, and we want to get this over with as soon as possible, don't we?"

"Where is Lord Vader?" Luke snapped. "Where am I?"

"Lord Vader is far from you, little prince, have no fear. Your father will protect you, as he always has." Luke shivered to hear that. "Come along now. He's been eager to meet you."

Luke gritted his teeth. "No."

"No?" the Inquisitor growled. They stalked forwards for a moment, hand raised; Luke flinched in anticipation but stood his ground, knowing exactly what sort of corporal punishment was coming—

Then they paused. Lowered their hand begrudgingly.

That scared Luke more than the hit would've. He knew exactly why they didn't want him damaged.

"Come," they insisted, reaching to wrap a hand around his wrist—but no, even that was too much of a risk, apparently. They glared at him, then Luke felt a harsh tug through the Force.

Luke shoved back. He was the powerful one here. He—

He was the one who sent this Inquisitor flying across the room to collide with the opposite wall. They fell to land on their feet with a snarl.

"So afraid, you little brat," they snapped. "Bruises aren't ideal, but neither is resistance, and it seems we'll have plenty of that. So you"—they stormed forwards and did, actually, seize him and drag him by the wrist this time, yanking both his hands behind his back and summoning a pair of binders by the door to snap around them and hold them steady—"are coming with me."

Luke fought and struggled the whole way there, flinging things at the Inquisitor with the Force, unlocking his binders over and over, spitting and spluttering insults—but he was fourteen years old, and small for his age, and this Inquisitor was strong. They would drag Luke there like a sack if they needed to, and they did, when he just tried to outright refuse walking.

Unfortunately for Luke, it was a short walk from the nice, comfortable cell he'd been kept in to the turbolift where three other Inquisitors joined them, boxing Luke in. The place stank of the dark side and he shuddered, there, among their presences and... this planet's presence. It felt familiar in a way, but in an awful, painful way—

It reminded him of his father, though he could not say how.

It was when the turbolift came to a halt at the very top of the tower they were in, and the Inquisitors wrestled him out to along a walkway, he glanced out the window and his stomach flopped.

Lava flows, volcanoes, ashy skies so thick with clouds they blocked out the sun...

Mustafar.

They were on Mustafar.

Why? Why were they on Mustafar? This was Vader's sanctuary, this was—

A place he hadn't returned to since he'd killed Palpatine.

A place strong with the dark side—built for the dark side, its shape... channelling the energies to be stronger, more intense, more easily wielded...

No.

It made sense, of course. That was why Palpatine's acolytes had set up shop here. In Vader's own sanctum, which had never been his at all, spied on by the Emperor with every red guard and every servant, assured that, distracted by the new emperor as he was, Vader would not be returning in a hurry.

Here they were.

Here Luke would die.

They pulled him up several more stairs, down several more passages. And then they reached a circular room that was clearly the pinnacle of this great monstrosity, this monument to the darkness... an empty, circular room, with arches all around the outside that opened it to the elements, blue shields shimmering around to protect from lava splashing.

And in the centre, there was a circular altar.

Usually, Luke would expect... a crystal ball. A body. Some sort of charm, though the japor snippet still at his neck seemed to grow heavier with the thought. He didn't know.

But it was none of those things.

It was a large pile of... black dust. Ashes. Soot.

Luke had a bad feeling about this.

"What—" he tried to ask, before the Inquisitors shoved him into the room and the hum of a containment field hissed into place behind him.

When he turned back to look, their faces shimmered with blue.

"What now?" he demanded. "What is going on? Where am I?" He knew exactly where he was, that was the problem—

"You are fulfilling your destiny."

No.

No, no, no—it couldn't be. It... Luke knew that voice, knew every cadence, every disapproving sigh, every snarl. He'd hoped he would never hear it again.

"Lord Vader has kept you from the truth, kept you as his own puppet, for too long. Now, we embrace what I have foreseen."

But he could hear it. That was not a lie. This was not an illusion.

And when he turned around, despite how awful it made him feel, like he was betraying someone by saying it, the word that jumped to his mouth was, "Father."

He saw nothing. Just the altar, just the empty room and himself, but the voice came like a grating along his spine.

"Yes, my son." It slithered into his ear like a worm, latching onto his mind, taking him back— "Death did not defeat me, and nor did Lord Vader. I am here, to protect you from him, as I always promised I would. He will hurt you no more."

Hearing the voice activated the same fight or flight instinct he knew so well, and the lie and the emotions transmitted to support it had flown before he even gave it a thought, responding to what Palpatine had said.

"Good," he got out through a choked throat, voice trembling, "I— I hate him. I want him dead as much as you do."

His brain whirled a mile a minute as his gaze lashed around to behold the room, because... there was nothing here.

No Emperor. No bodies.

And yet that voice still said, "I am certain of that, my son. You always were sensible in that way."

Luke unlocked his binders with the Force, freeing his hands and letting the cuffs clatter to the floor.

Nothing here... except...

While he watched, a stiff breeze blew through the room, disturbing the pile of ashes in the middle of it—no. That wasn't a breeze; breezes weren't laden with dark intent, they didn't crackle with the dark side and they didn't radiate malice in the way that this did. He didn't know what this was, but it wasn't a breeze, and he realised that even before...

It whipped the ashes into a frenzy, scattering them around the room; Luke coughed, fiercely, and spat; his saliva flecked the obsidian floor. The ashes swept back into the middle, into a pile, and then...

They moved.

"What?" Luke asked. It seemed to be his favourite word, today. "What is this?"

No answer came; he could see for himself. See for himself as the ashes rose to a pillar just above his head, then collapsed in on themselves to form a different shape, a more humanoid shape, a...

Luke stared into the ashes to see Palpatine's face staring back.

He screamed.

Backpedalled, running for the way he'd come in to collide with the shield, getting shocked all the way through and tossed back to collapse onto the floor. Palpatine followed him, his incorporeal form just... hovering as Luke stayed there on his backside, frozen, staring in terror and confusion, at— at—

"Impossible," he breathed.

"All is possible, my son," Palpatine said, smiling, "through the Force."

"You— you're alive?"

"No." His voice, not... disembodied anymore, but still separate, ringing around the room as a thing individual of the ashes, rang out with disdain. "I am dead. But my research and my studies have allowed me to linger, and soon they will allow me to return." He reached out: a crooked, ashy finger solidified to tap Luke's chin; Luke sneezed. Palpatine drew back, as if offended that he'd dared to disturb the drama of the moment. "But to do so, I need your help, child."

"No!" Luke scrambled to his feet; he clenched his fists, shaking. He tried to reach for the Force but it was far away, here, drenched in darkness, and it skittered out of his control. Peace was not something he could find. "No, I know what you mean by that—"

"What do you think I mean by that?" Palpatine sounded genuinely concerned—in a kindly manner, the way he'd always pretended to be, always taken pleasure in misleading him with, and then punishing him, crushing his hopes, the way he wanted to—

"You're going to crush my soul and take my body and my power for your own! I won't let you!" He scowled at him. "No, Father, you are dead and I am glad of it."

Palpatine's expression soured for a heartbeat, but then it was gone again and he continued, "Oh, I had no idea you hated me so fiercely, my son. Whatever I did to warrant such behaviour, I am sure—"

"I am sure," Luke gritted out, "that you enjoyed doing it. I won't let you do it anymore."

"Luke. You do not understand." His voice was back to chiding now, and Luke hated it. "I would not be crushing your soul, or whatever nonsense Lord Vader has fed you. Of course he would want to turn you against me; do you not see? I will do nothing of the sort."

"I don't believe you."

"Did you research this yourself? Or did Lord Vader generously offer to research it for you?"

Luke froze. How— Vader had, and Luke trusted him, but how could he explain—

Palpatine noticed his conflict. "Luke. I do not want to see you hurt. I have loathed the idea of leaving you alone in the galaxy, at his whim, to be paraded around like a puppet. This 'possession' you seem so afraid of... it will not be permanent. You will be in no danger. But it will enable me to return to life, so that I may return as Emperor and protect you from him—"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Luke. You say that." Palpatine smiled, and then... ash flew from the right side of his body to the left side, solidifying his left arm to the point that he could physically brush a lock of hair back from Luke's face. It was the most affection he'd shown him in years, and it took everything in Luke not to scream. "But...

"Whatever Lord Vader is doing, you may think you can handle it. But he will not stop. And when it gets too much for you to bear, you will not be able to escape. If you run, he will follow wherever you go, he will hunt you down. No matter how far you go, or where you end up, he will find you, and you will not enjoy it when he does. He will linger over you, a shadow, for the rest of your life without my help."

Luke wanted to laugh in his face.

He wanted to. He knew Vader, knew his father would protect him. He had no fear of that.

But one thing stood out to him—

He will not stop.

Palpatine wouldn't stop.

He will linger over you, a shadow, for you rest of your life.

Death had not stopped him. He and his acolytes would just keep coming for Luke, keep coming, and nowhere Luke ran or hid could stop them. He would spend the rest of his life in constant terror of the man who'd made it a living hell.

There was only one way out of this, he realised, staring into Palpatine's face. His two eyes glowed like embers in the ashes—as yellow as ever.

And Luke realised:

There was only one way he would ever escape the monster that was his father.

"Father..." he said, staring. Let the weight of... all of this... crash down on him as he sagged, tears springing to his eyes, his voice ragged. "I..."

"Shhh..." Palpatine soothed. He stepped forwards, ash... encircling Luke in the parody of a hug, holding him, constricting him tightly enough that it was possessive. Luke wanted to shout, wanted to cough up the ashes from his stinging throat and weep the ashes from his stinging eyes, wanted to run away, wanted—

He wanted Vader.

"Shhh... my son..." Palpatine soothed. "All will be made right."

Luke just closed his eyes.

He was doing such a stupid thing.

This was such a stupid decision.

He might never see Vader and Nova again.

But there was nothing else he could do.

Palpatine said, "Do not think of Lord Vader. He is nothing. I am your father." A hitch in Luke's breathing, and Palpatine tsked. "Don't you want to make your father proud? I am proud of you now, Luke."

Luke swallowed tightly. Fourteen years of longing, of being eager-to-please, of hope, ignited in his chest.

"Yes," he said hoarsely, and it was true. "I want to make my father proud."

"Then, my dear son..." The voice whispered against his mind, this time, and Luke's shields shivered at the touch. "Let me in."

A heartbeat.

A heartbeat of indecision. Of doubt. Of fear.

Then he dropped his mental shields, and the darkness rushed in to devour him whole.

They arrived on Mustafar too late.

Too late, they shot past the guards in their Naboo cruiser, and the backup forces Vader had ordered from the 501st from Coruscant were too late in arriving to help them through.

He was too slow storming the castle, carving his way through the locked doors and the disabled turbolifts and then the side passages, and every Inquisitor who foolishly threw themselves in his way. Ahsoka finished the vermin where he did not, and the troopers, the Noghri, Sabé… they fought too.

They were not enough.

Vader was too late.

He could sense Luke's presence above him—muted with the darkness that this place held, but alive—so he kept going, kept fighting, but the dread weighed his heart down like an anchor.

He was too late.

He kept going. He had one destination, now that he'd cleared the bulk of the castle: the two-pronged tower at the top.

There was suspiciously little resistance while he forged up there. He used the side staircase for this, not the turbolift, but still he encountered no Inquisitors, no red guards. They were occupied with Sabé's explosives and Ahsoka's twin ivory blades, it seemed.

Here, there were only dusty obsidian walls and silence.

He disliked this immensely. Lit his lightsaber before he even entered into the walkway at the top, the steady thrum soothing to his ears; if something happened, he could handle it.

If something happened, he could handle it.

He forged onwards, sweeping the area with his senses—and there. There was Luke's Force signature, still with that horrid darkness—

He knew the room Luke would be in. The observatory, of sorts, or just the top of the tower. He did not stop, did not falter as he strode for it, threw the doors open with a clang, and—

If he could have sighed, it would have been loaded with relief.

"Luke?" he'd asked, and watched as the boy turned from his kneeling position next to the altar. His shoulders were shuddering—had he been crying? Vader strode forwards to hold him, to comfort him, to help him—

Luke moved away.

His back was still to him. Vader paused, observing his silhouette against the bright, bubbling lava in the distance, the thick amber clouds in the sky. It all seared his eyes, but then…

Luke turned around and met his gaze, head tilted curiously.

The sickly gold shine of his irises seared even more.

He stared at those eyes in horror, as his eternal momentum, his drive, everything in him… was brought to an unnatural, painful stop.

Luke's soft features contorted in a cruel smile. Luke's voice uttered an awful laugh he knew all too well.

"Thank you for preserving my heir, Lord Vader," he said, and Vader shuddered. "I knew I could count on you."

Vader stared and felt the floor vanish beneath his feet.

He had tried so hard, he had got so far, but now…

His son was gone.

Luke's—Palpatine's—smile widened, and he laughed again, sending chills down his spine.

"I admit," he said in Luke's sweet voice, but the inflections were all wrong, the accent and shape of the words alien to him, "that there were times I had doubted you. Oh, Lord Vader is a Sith Lord. The boy should only be viewed as a threat to the throne, by him, regardless of which DNA was mixed and which woman bore him. The boy is merely a potential apprentice, and a weak one, who would never—"

"Luke," Vader gritted out, "is stronger than you will ever know."

"Oh, on the contrary, Lord Vader." Palpatine smiled, and stretched out his hands, Luke's hands, flexing them with naked enjoyment. Rolled his shoulders. Bringing his hands up to touch his face, running them through his hair. "I know exactly how powerful this boy is. Untrained, perhaps, but his raw power..." He breathed in, deeply, and Vader felt that dark stench in the Force writhe, tapping into a well of power it should not have access to. "Exquisite. I know better than anyone how strong your son is."

"Leave, my old master." Vader took his lit lightsaber and pointed it at him. "Or you will regret it."

"Oh, I don't think I will. Are you really going to cut down your beloved son? Your dear Luke, who you spent fourteen years cutting down already?"

Vader looked away.

"I thought so." Palpatine laughed, lowly, and in Luke's voice is sounded so wrong.

He finished, "You have lost already if you wish to fight me now."

Vader knew it.

He knew that, if nothing else: he would not hurt Luke.

He had failed Luke. In the worst way possible, more than he could ever say or atone for, he had failed his son. He had made him suffer. He had lied to him—made empty promises. He had failed to protect him.

And now he looked at the son who was not his son, and he had never hated himself more.

Please, he whispered to no one in particular. Please, there must be a way...

He had promised to protect Luke.

Luke had not believed him. He had forced him to promise... to promise that he—

No.

Vader had refused, then and now, to ever let Luke go. To ever eliminate him, Palpatine or no Palpatine. He— he would find a way to reverse this, he would let the galaxy burn, he—

Palpatine was still... feeling around his new body. His hands travelled from his hair to his face, to his arms, running up and down them, to his neck—

To the japor snippet still looped around there.

Palpatine patted it for a moment, confused—then he smiled broadly and dropped his hands.

"Ah," he said. "So you found that in my collections, did you? Padmé's lucky charm, recovered from her grave." He examined it, then Luke's own body, then mused— "Are you sure it was good luck it brings the wearer after all, Lord Vader?"

He lifted his right hand. Vader flinched as the japor snippet spun in the air, tore itself from around Luke's neck to hover above his palm.

"You should be proud of your son, for this," Palpatine told him. "Because of him, I will live forever. His name will grace history books for eons to come."

"I would rather," Vader growled, "my son got to live at all."

Palpatine laughed again. Higher pitched, this time; mocking.

He clenched his right fist, and the japor buckled.

Crumbled into ashes and dust.

Vader watched its splinters fall to the floor and all he could think was:

Padmé.

Padmé, I'm sorry.

He'd failed her. He'd killed her. But she had reached back from death to give birth to the greatest gift in the galaxy, the most wonderful creature who could ever exist. And Vader had continued to fail consistently for fourteen years, and then he'd vowed to make it right, to make everything right, to make Luke happy and safe in the way his dead mother had not been, in the end, to give him the galaxy, and...

If only he hadn't been so stubborn.

If only he had told Luke the truth earlier, so that his boy would not have been forced to rely on parental affection from Palpatine to overcome.

If only he had let a Jedi train Luke earlier, so that his boy could have fought him off with ease.

If only he had let Sabé take Luke to Naboo after all—let her take him far away from the court and the crown and the cutthroats, so that this horrible life had not haunted him further.

Vader was not the father he had fancied himself to be. He had told himself, over and over, that Luke's comfort was worth sacrificing for his safety; that Vader was the only one who could care for him, who could keep him safe; that Luke could rely on him, should stop fearing him, because he would keep him safe.

He'd been wrong.

He could not keep Luke safe.

He could not be Luke's distant but loyal protector.

What good was a protector who did not protect?

All he could be...

He swallowed. Looking into Luke's yellow eyes, his face, the way Palpatine watched him like an amused hawk, twitching in anticipation for Vader's first move... all he knew was that he'd failed at what he had tried to be.

He'd failed.

All illusions were stripped away. He was not almighty. He was not invincible. He was a pathetic man whose only reason for living had just been wrenched away.

He could not pretend to be strong; he was not.

All he could be was who he was:

A father.

Luke's father.

If his voice cracked when he spoke, the vocoder did not pick up on it.

"Luke," he intoned. "Luke, I know that you are in there."

If the master could not successfully fight and destroy the soul of the body they were inhabiting, the apprentice would live on untouched, that long dead Sith in the holocron had said.

You could defeat him, Vader had told Luke. You are strong enough.

"I know that he does not have the strength to have defeated you so thoroughly."

Unless Luke submitted to it. Unless Palpatine promised him something you could not give. Unless...

No.

Vader knew his son.

Vader trusted his son. And he had faith in him.

"Luke," he whispered. "Come back to me."

Palpatine's smile had frozen on Luke's face.

There was... something building, in the Force. Luke's head jerked to the right, wiggling, like he had a crick in his neck or a worm in his ear. Vader watched with a frown.

Then Palpatine snapped his gaze back up again and snarled, something without words, something horrible.

Something was happening. Something was happening—

Palpatine lashed a hand up and a sheet of blue lightning lanced from Luke's fingertips, leaving the skin charred and burnt. Vader deflected it on his lightsaber with ease, pacing closer now, in a circuitous route; around the circular room, the obsidian tiles on the floor, the lava fields of Mustafar heaving below...

"Luke?" he asked again.

Palpatine growled again. Out of nowhere, a saber flew into his grip; he lit it, left forwards in that spinning jump he favoured so much, and their battle commenced.

The throne room was silent except for the steady hiss of Vader's respirator and the panting of the Emperor beneath him.

Even though Palpatine was defenceless and still twitching from the aftershocks of redirected Sith lightning, there was a malicious, triumphant light in his eyes as he looked up at Vader and smiled through his cracked, bloodstained teeth, seemingly uncaring of the red lightsaber beneath his chin.

"The whelp, Luke," he spat with glee. "Do you know his true parentage?"

Lightning lashed the windows outside but Luke was transfixed. He couldn't move his eyes, couldn't help but stare, as Palpatine had, as this memory had originally proceeded, as Vader just held the Emperor at saber tip and snarled, "I care nothing for the brat. He is dead."

"Dead?" Luke clucked with a tongue that was not his own, that was pitted with sores and felt clunky in his own mouth. Everything ached, everything stung, and the faint tremors and bright light of that saber in his face branded his retinas, leaving half of his vision shrouded in its afterimage. "What a pity. Padmé would be so disappointed."

If Luke could have, he would've gasped—because it didn't take a genius to figure out where he was now, what was happening, why this was the very last human memory Palpatine had had, or what—

What this moment had meant for Vader.

"You dare," he roared, and it boomed so loudly it hurt Luke's ears, "speak her name!?"

Palpatine smiled a fierce smile, one that was more of lips peeled back from his teeth than an actual expression of joy. Even if there was joy, here—a brutal, savage, sadistic joy, from tormenting this man just before he killed him, because he knew something this man didn't, and dear Lord Vader would play right into his plans whether he liked it or not because he was predictable like that—

"You may have seen to it that Prince Luke is dead," he hissed. There was blood in his mouth, on his lips; he could taste it. He knew that that whelp was not dead. Of course he wasn't. That would interfere with Palpatine's plans.

And even if he was dead.

Even if Palpatine's plans had all unravelled before his eyes.

Even if he was dead at Vader's hands…

There was no reason he couldn't make his old apprentice suffer for daring to uproot fourteen years of Palpatine's careful conditioning and lay waste to his ambition.

He continued. "But did you truly think that boy is my son?"

"His adoption was declared loud and clear to the galaxy at the time, my master. You mocked me with it."

Palpatine laughed. It hurt, and that would have ordinarily given him strength.

"Indeed," he whispered. "But before I adopted him, and made him into everything I needed him to be, do you know what his name was? Do you know which pathetic farmers I ripped him out of the arms of, having their homestead burned for good measure? Do you know which beloved queen and senator gave birth to him, tried to save him, while my empire rose from the ashes of the failed Republic?"

Vader, Luke realised, had stopped breathing.

"That boy's name was Luke Skywalker," he said, and Luke wanted to scream. Wanted to vomit at the thrill Palpatine got from saying that, the utter joy and pleasure at the way Vader reared back, the laugh he unleashed as that lightsaber finally swung down to sever head from neck and then there was only darkness, though the laughter still rang in Luke's ears, the darkness closing in around him like a vice, choking the life out of him, his breaths coming short and quick.

Where was he?

This— this wasn't the mindscape he had imagined this battle would have to take place in, the place he was open his eyes to.

There was only darkness, and another putrid memory coming up, as his father—as Palpatine—expanded his presence to seize control of Luke's body and squash him to a pulp, engulfing him in his horridness, and—

This was what he had let in.

It was awful, and terrible, and cruel. It was the worst thing he'd ever experienced. It made him want to just crawl into a hole and hug his knees and cry, and maybe die quietly, painlessly, rather than a slow, agonising fight—

This was what he had let in.

This was what had been hunting him for months now. Stalked his nightmares, sent agent after agent to capture him, all for this express purpose.

Luke could not stand against this sort of darkness. He was going to die here.

But no.

No.

He closed his eyes—or… whatever the equivalent was, in this mental realm where the physical held no sway—and took a deep breath. He felt tears leak out from under his eyelids, but no.

He would not give up here.

This was not where his story ended.

He had invited Palpatine into his mind and his heart so that he could crush him there, permanently, once and for all. That Sith holocron had said that the stronger soul would win. Ahsoka had said that Luke was strong—Vader had said that Luke was stronger than Palpatine.

Vader had said that this was something Luke was capable of doing.

Luke was not weak. He would not curl up and die here. He would not let his father continue to terrorise the galaxy the way he'd terrorised him for fourteen years.

Luke... placed his incorporeal hands near his incorporeal feet. Pushed against nonexistent ground to look around his nonexistent surroundings. This was his mind. There was nothing here because he made it so. He could change that.

He could change everything.

He was Luke Skywalker, and he was done being afraid.

This ended now.

He hadn't known cold or dark like this before, but it felt like it would swallow him whole. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't see. All he could do was try desperately to regain control and not give in to his fear.

So he just took several more deep breaths, against the weight that tried to stop him. In, deeply; out, deeply. He imagined he was by the lakes of Naboo; at Varykino, beneath his tree, meditating. When he opened his eyes again, a wind stirred his hair and birds chirped in the branches above him.

Ahsoka was nowhere to be seen, but that was alright. He had company.

There was a storm out on the lake.

It was a thick, knotted black cloud, swirling and expanding with every moment. It grew and heaved and crackled with lightning, like something out of a holofilm about old time sea ships, the sound it gave off akin to nothing more than an ear-splitting howl, something that built more pressure, generated more static in the air, than the storm itself ever could.

Luke stared at it.

How was he supposed to beat that?

That wasn't a person! That was— that was a physical manifestation of everything evil in the galaxy. That was a representation of every wicked feeling every being on every star had ever experienced. That was a villain out of a children's story.

That was not Palpatine. That was not a person. That was his ghost, corrupted and chained and claimed by the dark side he'd wielded for so long.

How was he supposed to beat that?

Luke, he heard. He snapped his head up. Luke, I know you are in there.

He sucked in a breath. Clean, fresh countryside air rushed through him, clearing his head.

That was his father speaking.

From... somewhere. Somehow, Luke still had control of his ears. Enough control to hear. Enough control to... feel... someone reaching out to him.

The tips of his fingers stung and tingled and scorched. He wondered why.

Luke.

The words reverberated down to his bones, enchanting the heavy summer day with wonder, with heaviness, with weight. With a sense of purpose, and urgency, and—

Pleading.

Love.

Devotion.

Come back to me.

He swallowed.

"I'll come back to you," he whispered.

Palpatine was still over the lake, growing and growing and growing. He was about to engulf Luke's precious haven—tendrils of his presence were snaking towards the beautiful, beautiful house, and wherever they touched the stonework blackened with soot and ash, the stones crumbling, the climbing vines and potted plants shrivelling where they stood.

No.

That was Luke's sanctuary.

That was his chosen home.

That was his strongest connection to his mother—

The next time a tendril lashed out, it burned with a light so bright it would've hurt to look at if Luke had physical eyes to see with. As it was, he stared into the glow—if lights made a noise this one would be shouting words to a crescendo no one understood—and stared back at the storm, which— who—

Who was staring right back at him.

He had been noticed, growing his little corner of existence into something strong enough to stand his ground on.

"You," hissed a voice that was older than time itself; the voice of the dark side, of sentient suffering. "You are still fighting."

"You're not someone I'll risk not fighting against."

The storm roared and shot towards him, but Luke was strong. Luke was powerful. He—

He was knocked off his feet.

The darkness rushed over him, glittering in its depths, like the remnants of all the stars it had consumed, and into him, a press a thousand times harsher than the time he and Ahsoka had been swimming in the lake and the waves had slammed him back onto the beach, a thousand times more intense than the time Vader had nearly carved him to pieces. He couldn't breathe, the Lake Country had vanished into twisting shades of violet and indigo chaos around him, and he couldn't breathe—

He opened his eyes and stared through red-tinted vision to look a wrinkled, hooded white face in the eye. When he clenched his fists, they were prosthetics; when he breathed, the harsh sound of a respirator scraped at his ears.

Palpatine laughed.

No. This was Luke's mind. Luke's world. He clenched his fists tighter and leather gloves gave way to durasteel, then the flesh again and the biting pinprick of his nails against his palms sharpened the reality around him into something he could recognise—the room of that Star Destroyer where he had stayed on the tour of the Empire. The large, uniform rooms, that Nova had nonetheless bedecked in blues, greens and golds to make him feel far more at home there, the brightly embroidered cushions plopped on Imperial grey sofas.

The shadow was lingering behind the door to the corridor, he knew—the door Vader had always come through. Luke could feel its malignance, see it oozing underneath the door cracks.

But it could not enter.

Luke pushed at the door with his mind and it could not enter. This was a hollow Luke had scraped out within his existence that Palpatine's power could not breach; Luke was resisting, and it was working.

Luke could not resist a storm. A storm would've hammered down the door and blown them all to pieces. Nature was unstoppable—but then, the dark side was not nature. It was just power.

The dark side was the opposite of nature.

It was not inevitable.

It was not eternal.

It was not right.

The door rattled where it was, but stayed firmly closed.

He walked straight for it.

Luke... please, little angel, if you can hear me...

"I hear you," he said firmly. Limbs trembling, heart racing, fingers spasming with a feeling her couldn't name. "I HEAR YOU!"

He hit the button and opened the door.

There was a vortex behind it, glittering still, grinning even without a mouth. He was afraid. He was afraid. But he made sure not to flinch as he stared it down.

"You are not a shadow," he said. "Stop pretending to be one, and fight me like a man."

"I am more than a man," it hissed back. "I am something you will never understand."

"You are a man," Luke reiterated stubbornly. He'd been wrong.

Palpatine was not all the evil in the galaxy combined; the mere thought of defeating that gave him a headache that pounded like his blood through his veins, like his father's respirator, and the pain fed the nexus of the dark side before him.

Palpatine was not a force of nature.

He was not inevitable. He was wicked, and fed off hatred and suffering, like every Sith Lord throughout history had, perpetuating the awful misery from whence they came and triumphed. Luke had suffered under him. The galaxy had suffered under him.

But he was just a man.

No matter how long his shadow had been, no matter how dark. No matter how hopeless Luke had been under him; no matter how much he and the galaxy had put his image up on a pedestal; no matter how afraid of him Luke had been, always, for as long as he could remember.

He was just a man. He was, in fact, a dead man.

And Luke was more powerful than him.

"I will be a god—"

"You are a man. You are nothing." Luke smiled, and... walked towards Palpatine. Reached deep inside him the way Ahsoka had taught him and felt for the light, holding it in his hands before him like a shield. The shadow—manifesting into a humanoid shape more and more with every moment—scrambled to get away. "And you are about to be defeated by a boy."

The vortex consumed their surroundings. Luke was standing on nothing, in the middle of nothing but chaos, dark and depressing thoughts pressing at him from all angles—

And then he blinked, seized hold of himself and they shifted, and the violent dark hues manifested into far more familiar ground.

His quarters in the Imperial Palace.

He had never thought about it before, really. But these had not been his prince's quarters, nor had they been Palpatine's. Vader had had them prepared in a hurry from the moment he'd learned the truth, and their luxury was far beyond what Luke was accustomed to—fine sofas, fine rugs, fine tables. The art was tasteful, and Luke had been able to change it as he chose; the bathroom was so large for a small boy it was almost ridiculous; the study and library and bedroom and eating area and everywhere else in those quarters had been exquisitely seen to. And it had all been changed at his will when he'd awoken and started living in them, a real person with preferences and idiosyncrasies and opinions. Vader had put so much love into his care before they even knew each other, and...

And Luke took strength from it now.

Palpatine was standing in the middle of it all—Palpatine, not a storm. Not a torrent of power. Not an unbeatable shadow.

Amidst the bright colours and large displays of affection, he and his black robes looked very, very small.

When Luke looked at the table next to the sofa—the sofa Nova had cuddled next to him on, the sofa he'd fallen asleep on Vader on, the sofa he, Zev and Leia had watched Crown of Stars on—there was a lightsaber on it.

It was not a lightsaber he recognised.

That didn't matter.

"You've reached the end, Father," he spat, standing up straight. For the first time in his life, he felt tall.

Palpatine tried to regain his composure. "Have I?" he sneered.

Luke lifted his chin, eyed the lightsaber, and smiled.

"You have."

"Luke. Listen to me."

Their sabers clashed together; Vader twisted his blade and they screeched and whined but Palpatine's grip was tight and it did not fly away as intended. The boy dodged to the side, small and nibmle as ever, and Vader turned to track his motions—

"I too, used to want him to be proud of me. And then I just wanted him to make amends."

The words spilled out before he could even really process them, heartbreak a punch and a stab in his chest. Seeing Luke's yellow eyes stare at him like that; the way Palpatine smiled with Luke's lips, Luke's dimple pocking a face that had been stolen; his expert handling of that lightsaber, and the lightning that lanced from the fingertips—

"Luke," he reiterated, sidestepping to avoid the next slash as Palpatine drove forwards in his favourite corkscrew, strange and off-balance in Luke's lanky teenage body— "Luke, I know that you— you always longed for someone's approval, but know that you have it. He is not the person you need to satisfy. He is not the person you should want to be proud of you. You are worthy of being proud of yourself."

Palpatine just laughed. It was high-pitched, light-hearted, the way Luke's laughter was; Palpatine giggled, and Vader shivered.

"Luke is gone, Vader. Are you going to stand there and talk to the dead whole time?"

He lashed forwards, the crimson blade a blur in his hands and Vader parried left, right, forwards. Luke was small and had no strength to press against him with so Vader pressed forwards himself, using all his considerable weight to shove him back, to slash forwards—

"Are you going to talk to Padmé as well?"

Vader stumbled but carried the slash through—and that slash was brutal.

Luke was not an excellent duellist.

But Palpatine was, so he ducked back at the perfect moment to avoid being gutted from the nave to the chops.

Vader lowered his saber in shock.

He— if Palpatine hadn't, he would have—

Luke's hands came up again and blasted lightning at him, the skin of his fingertips blistering, the nails cracking. Vader did not raise his sword in enough time to stop it, was thrown back, electrified...

The Force billowed around him and cushioned his landing. He dared not lie on his back for more than a moment before he was up again, on his feet, diving out of the way as a small, ferocious head came barrelling straight for him.

Parry, block, deflect. Stab, parry, slash—

And again, only Palpatine's quick movement kept Luke alive.

"Good. You understand that your son is gone." Palpatine stalked around the room, on the other side of the altar, grinning all the way. The tip of his saber scorched ovals in the obsidian flooring. "You are not holding back. Good, good—it would have been disappointing if, in this rematch of our final duel, you were not genuinely trying to kill me—"

He leapt forwards, taking the whole room in one bound and their sabers crashed high, left, low. Vader spun his and forced Palpatine back, who danced with feet lighter than what he'd had in years.

He was right.

Vader— Vader, if he kept going like this, could kill Luke.

He remembered their training session together, how he'd lost control; remembered Luke's terrified face; remembered... remembered cursing himself, swearing never to hurt him again—

"You failed your mother," Palpatine said. More lightning; Vader deflected it, this time, letting the respirator pump oxygen into his lungs, letting his mind whir. "You failed your wife. And now—"

A flurry of blows; quick, sharp, vibrations humming through air charged with static.

"You have failed your son."

Yes, Vader thought. He was failing his son.

Luke was still in there.

Luke was still in there.

If— if Vader struck him down— if he killed his son before he could ever have the chance to fight this wicked man off and triumph—

He would never forgive himself.

That could not happen.

That would not happen.

"Luke. My son," he rasped, standing to his full height and towering over Palpatine, over Luke over everything; he was the father, and he would protect his son— "I know you can do this. I know you are in there. I know you are strong enough to beat him."

Palpatine just watched him with amused eyes...

Then he twitched.

Moved his head like it was ringing, like he had something in his ear.

He snarled. Vader smiled.

"I have faith in you, Luke," he said. "I love you. You do not need him; he has always needed you, and in the worst way possible. I know you are good enough, have always been good enough, yourself. I know you can do this, I know Sabé and Ahsoka will want you back, so please..."

He lifted his lightsaber hilt, and tossed it. It bounced once, twice, against the shields, then rolled into the corridor and out of sight.

"Come back to us."

Palpatine flinched. Took a step back, and spat, "Your son is gone."

But he buckled over, blinked fiercely, and his eyes flashed blue.

Vader covered the distance between them in three short strides, seizing Luke's hands and pinning them to his sides, gently but firmly. Palpatine bucked, but the saber rolled out of his grip and clattered across the floor, and his grip on his wrists was too tight, he couldn't summon—

"My son is," Vader said, "is right here."

The lightsaber flew to Luke's outstretched hand and he seized it, shifting his grip, ready.

"You do not scare me. I am Emperor and you are in my head." Luke activated the weapon and shifted into his battle stance, his jaw set and his mind made up. "I have had enough of fear for a lifetime, and I do not fear you."

The shadow—Palpatine; Sidious—just hissed, "Then you are a fool—"

He lashed out with one tendril, the glittering darkness coalescing into something far, far too solid, to catch him across the chest and fling him, but Luke slashed down. The blade that had erupted from the hilt was blue, warm and solid—the shape of the hilt in his hands was oddly familiar but he couldn't have said where from, whether it was a dream or a fancy or fate—and the cerulean light scoured away the darkness.

Palpatine screamed.

It was a terrible sound. Awful, screeching, the sort that could shatter eardrums and shatter worlds and still send a shockwave that would be felt by everyone in the galaxy. It was like he'd tapped into some spider's web and a raindrop had hit a strand in the distance, sending deep, deep reverberations through his being.

Luke grinned grimly, and pushed himself to his full height.

There was a beam of red, now, he saw—it was a lightsaber but not, and shot towards him like a blaster bolt. He ducked and rolled as it slashed through the air, remembering what Ahsoka had taught him—spun the saber in his hand into reverse grip and slashed the beam out of balance.

You are as flimsy as a stick, he thought, and neatly sliced it in two. And you snap like summer twigs.

When he looked back at the figure-storm, those twin sun eyes were glaring at him.

"You are nothing," he spat at them. "I am Luke Skywalker. I am in control here. You spent far too many years in that position already."

"I will spend a thousand more!"

Luke gritted his teeth. "No. You're going to die properly this time."

He did not wait for Palpatine to attack. Though he could clearly see the attack coming, he did not wait for it. He was done living in a galaxy under this man's rules, his whims, his actions.

Instead, he darted forwards, fierce and free, and slashed right through his torso of his own accord.

Palpatine screamed again. Luke willed him to be silent, and he was silenced.

He hacked into him again. And again. And again, and again, and again—

Until the shadows dissipated.

Until he could breathe again.

He took up straight. He... he was no longer into his quarters at the Palace. He was in a room of light, a tower. Someone whispered, I knew there was still good in him…

Everything was bright white, then everything was turning gold, then red. He slid his eyes shut and it grew even redder, and redder even more, the veins and arteries and flesh of his eyelids picked out in harsh chiaroscuro against the light. He didn't know when he stopped clutching the lightsaber, but suddenly he had; it was gone, and his fingers were empty.

His fingers hurt.

He opened his eyes again and collapsed to his knees.

They hit hard, cold obsidian. He blinked, everything fading into focus, and there was the altar, there were the arches and the shields and the lava fields.

There was his father, gripping his wrists tightly.

He turned his head up to look Vader in the eyes, his mouth falling open in a faint oh. He blinked. His lungs felt like they were on fire. His fingers were torched and burned.

"I did it," he realised slowly, blinking more quickly now. "I did it. Father—" He sucked in a breath and stared. From this close, he could see his father's eyes behind the mask, and they... were not the bright gold of the Sith he had been expecting.

A laugh bubbled up in his throat, as inevitable as water boiling over, and it spilled everywhere, ringing in the dull chambers like a victory bell playing wildly and joyfully and—

His father sagged in relief at the sound.

There were arms around Luke. Luke leaned into them, let them crush him against Vader's chest, and half-smiled, half-sobbed.

"I did it..."

"You did," Vader said, though he sounded very distant, very stunned. "You did, Luke, you brilliant—"

He pulled back to cup Luke's cheek in one massive hand; Luke tried to rise with him, grabbing onto his arm and elbow to hold him steady. "You— my son, I—"

Luke's knees buckled.

Vader caught him before he hit the ground. Hoisted him up into his arms, holding him close and precious, murmuring proud words, sweet words, endless proclamations of love and worth and longing...

Luke drifted off to the sound of them, the memory of Palpatine's rancid scream very far away.

When Luke collapsed, Vader thought it was the worst.

Fear speared him. He couldn't breathe, for all that his respirator struggled to force it; he rushed forward, seizing Palpatine's red lightsaber from Luke's grip and tossing it—it sailed out of the arches, down, down, down, to hiss and sizzle in the lava below.

He grasped Luke's shoulders, turning his chin up—and Luke opened his eyes.

They were bluer than the Lake Country, with twice as much water; tears toppled down his cheeks.

He had done it, Vader realized in shock. He'd done it.

Palpatine was gone.

Luke focused on him with difficulty, clearly exhausted, but relieved.

"I did it," he gasped out. "I— I did it, Father."

Father.

Before Vader knew what he was doing he had moved forward and seized his son in a tight embrace.

"I did it," Luke breathed again against his chest. The words were a prayer and he had waited far too long to say them.

"You did." Vader could still barely breathe, the way relief was crushing his chest like he crushed throats; he crushed Luke against him just as fiercely. His son was there. He wasn't— he wasn't possessed, he wasn't wielding a red lightsaber, his eyes were blue. Emotions were sparking and shattering in his chest, tumbling across his tongue faster than he could move it— "You— did it, Luke, you brilliant—"

He needed to see his face again. He needed to be sure. He pulled back, every inch of lost contact feeling like a tear, so he could rove his gaze over his face, take in the darkening blond hair, the pale, clear eyes, the tears tracking down his cheeks and dripping and burrowing in the cleft of his chin. A hand came up to press against Luke's tiny cheek in his palm and wipe away some of those tears, to still assure himself that Luke was there, he was real, he was safe...

"You—" He didn't know what to say. His emotions and thoughts were still crashing and colliding like stars in a supernova, giving off colours so bright they hurt to behold, and his mortal voice was not equipped to deal with such ferocity. "You— my son, I—"

Luke collapsed.

Terror engulfed the colours in darkness. He was moving before his mind gave permission, one hand seizing Luke's limp shoulder and the other going under his legs to bring him up, closer to Vader, cradled beside his heart. He didn't know what he said as Luke drifted off to sleep, the words leapt from him unbidden, but he sensed peace before he sensed full slumber.

Luke would be alright.

Luke was alright.

He carried him gently down the long, long flights of stairs, to the antechamber they'd entered by, next to where they'd left the ship. Sabé was pacing. Ahsoka was perched on the edge of the landing ramp, her lightsaber unlit in her hands. The moment the door whooshed open they tensed, but then—

They stared at him, at the great looming figure with the greatest treasure in his arms, and sighed.

"Luke," Sabé breathed, and ran forwards. "He's— he's—?"

"He will be fine," Vader said, softer than he'd known he could, and watched her press her hand to her mouth and try not to let the tears fall.

Chapter Text

Luke woke to the sound of soft voices in his room.

When he opened his eyes, he saw three blurry blobs: two pale, one dark. His eyes cleared, and there…

Vader rumbled something, possibly a gentle greeting, but he didn't process it; his eyes were fixed on the other two blobs, on—

"Zev?" he croaked; for a moment, he wondered why his throat was so dry, then realised he couldn't remember the last time he drank something. The journey back from Mustafar had been... disjointed, lost to a haze of unconsciousness and tenderness, drifting to and fro. He remembered his father's warm chest, the cape wrapped around him, the harsh angles of the shuttle above him... "Leia?"

"I'm here, Luke," Leia said at the same time as Zev said, "Yeah."

"What—" He blinked, and the tears at the corners of his eyes leaked out, staining the side of his face and his pillow with heat. He pushed himself upright, relieved that his surroundings no longer seemed to be spinning—that whole experience had exhausted him. "What are you doing here?"

You came.

He'd sat up too fast: his vision clouded with dark blotches. Leia's hand caught on his shoulder, steadying him, as she strode away from Vader's side to pull out a chair next to his bed.

His bed.

He was in his room, back at the Palace—he recognised his duvet, now, and the door, and the way the light streamed in through the window. When he stared up at the ceiling, he saw that someone—probably Nova, based on her handwriting—had painted little warm messages on it, alongside illustrations of stars and blue lightsabers and flowers and suns. It cheered him up, just looking at it.

There was a bantha in his face.

He jerked back in shock, and Zev yelped, dropping it onto his chest. Luke understood what was going on a second later and grabbed his bantha toy, clutching it right to his chest and hugging it tightly. He... grinned at Zev, wide, and saw his… friend… flush and grin back.

There was movement out of the corner of his eye, and Vader pushed the colo claw fish toy towards Leia. She snaked it around Luke's neck like a scarf; Luke laughed, leaning into it, and into her hand.

"We're here, idiot," Leia said, crossing one leg over the other in the chair and giving him a look, "because we were worried about you. You were gone on Naboo for weeks, and I missed you, and then you come back earlier than we expected you too but you were still unconscious! For days! I don't care what anyone says, I was going to make sure you were alright!"

Luke stared at her, then at Zev. Zev said, "I wanted to be here for you."

Luke's eyes unleashed a fresh flood of tears, and he thought he'd self-combust from the heat in his cheeks.

He clutched his bantha even closer to him. Vader handed Zev another toy—the nerf. Zev passed it on to him, and Luke felt that this conveyor belt would probably go on forever until his friends left and his father stopped hovering, but he just cuddled the nerf to his chest as well and murmured, "Hello, Anakin."

Vader jerked—Luke could sense the complicated knot of emotions in his chest whose string that Luke had just yanked on.

He smiled at him. "Hello, Father." The words were gentle, reverent. "Thank you, for—" He choked up for a moment. "—everything."

"Vader," called Nova's voice before Vader could react, from outside the room. Luke peered towards the door; he could just see her and Ahsoka beyond it. "Come out, won't you? We need your help with something."

That was a lie. Luke could tell; his father could certainly tell as well. But he saw the way Luke was looking at Nova and Ahsoka, the way he was looking around at all of them...

All of them there.

They... they were all there.

They'd come to watch over him, and make sure he was alright.

He turned his gaze to Leia, to Zev, to his caretakers... and then he couldn't see any more, because everything was light fracturing in silver, his eyes veiled in tears.

They'd come for him.

They loved him.

For fourteen years, no one had come for Luke. But now... everyone had.

Vader saw him crying and their bond was promptly engulfed in affection, adoration, an attempt to cheer him up. There was so much love there that Luke only cried harder.

"Vader," Nova said again. "Come on."

Vader backed away, at a look from her, as Luke crumpled over and sobbed, Leia hastening to hug him and Zev clutching his hand tightly, so tightly. His stuffed animals pushed against his chest with the motion, like they were hugging him as well.

"Luke?" Leia asked urgently. "Luke, are you— does it hurt—"

"No," he gasped. "No, it's—"

He laughed.

He'd laughed before. Nervously, in front of Palpatine and his advisers. With amusement, when Vader or Nova or Ahsoka said something wry. With hysteria, when he was stressed.

But this was probably the happiest laugh he'd ever unleashed.

"I—" He swallowed. Hiccupped. He clung onto Leia and Zev the way the sky and the hills clung together on Naboo's horizon. "I love you."

Zev tensed.

Luke was still laughing and still crying. "I love you all."

Leia said, earnestly, a broad smile splitting her face, "We love you too."

"I know!" he said, and a fresh batch of tears came barrelling out.

"Good," Leia said, and Zev leaned forwards to hug him as well, so there were the three of them, one on either side of the bed and of Luke, arms and bodies tangled in something that felt warm and safe and right. Luke felt like he could melt into that embrace and just... belong.

"Nova told us what happened between... Well, you and your— and Palpatine's ghost. Your... father," Zev said slowly once the moment had passed, glancing at the door to where Vader had gone, "was pacing for hours when you returned, and didn't want to let us in to begin with, but Nova brought him round. Said it would do you good."

"It has," Luke sniffled.

"Luke, those are tears in your eyes."

"Yes, but they're happy tears." He wiped at his eyes with the base of his hand, still clutching Anakin the nerf with his fingers. "They're— I didn't know that was a thing, but it must be."

"It is," Leia said, "but—"

Whatever she was going to say, she didn't say it.

Instead, they were silent for a moment. Then she said, "I don't understand this... Force stuff that went on. What happened?"

"Neither do I," Luke admitted. But that was alright. He didn't understand, but he wasn't in danger for it.

She pouted. "So you're not going to explain it?"

"No."

"But—!" She leaned in. "That's a Jedi out there, right? You're being trained as a Jedi!"

"She's not a Jedi. She left the Jedi Order."

Zev said, "What's the difference?"

"I... don't know."

"What—"

The questions came more and more after that, constant, and Luke answered them as best he could: what Naboo was like, what Jedi training was like, whether he'd want to go back. He could sense his father hovering, Nova listening in outside to check that he wasn't being exhausted, but this helped him. This... They cared about his opinion, wanted to know about his life.

They were his friends.

"Training to be a Jedi sounds cooler than training to be a politician," Leia said.

Zev laughed. "But you're going to that fancy school for that, aren't you? Training to be a politician is gonna be great for you."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Not the way Jedi training would be. And you're one to talk, you're coming to that school with me, for something boring. What was it you were going to study, mechanics?"

"Engineering," he corrected.

Luke said tentatively, "You're going to school? I thought you had private tutors, Leia—and you went to that fancy place in Imperial City, Zev—"

"Yeah." Zev scratched the back of his neck. "Leia's doing a year on another planet—"

"As a princess, it's my duty to understand other cultures as well as my own," Leia explained, somewhat haughtily. "My father gave me the choice of several planets that have traditionally allied with Alderaan, like Arkanis or Birren, and I'm to spend a year living and learning there, so that I might better negotiate and ally with them when the time comes for my tenure as queen."

"That... makes sense." Kriff, would Luke have to do that, as Emperor? Leave everything he'd ever known to go to a different planet for a whole year, so he could know it better? Months ago, he'd have loved the idea—but now, leaving Ahsoka and Nova and Vader behind seemed...

Well. He wasn't a fan of the idea.

"Yeah," Zev said. "And... well, it's a good school she's going to. I'm going with her, instead of to the Imperial Academy." He looked at Luke hopefully. "You should—" He flushed. "You should ask your father if you can come. It'll be fun, the three of us."

"It would," Luke agreed, but his heart was racing. Vader would never agree to that. He knew that with more surety than he knew anything. After that attack of Palpatine's, Vader was never letting him out of his sight again.

He wouldn't be able to go with his friends, and spent time there.

But they wanted him to go.

He was wanted.

They... they'd definitely come back to visit, he thought.

So he grinned. "I'm happy for you," he said. "Though I thought you were interested in going to a military academy, Zev?"

"Her Stuck-Up Highness's pacifist ways rubbed off on me," he grumbled.

"Ha!"

"And I was only really interested in the military because of my father, anyway," he said, turning a smile on Luke. "And we shouldn't let who our fathers were affect what positions we hold."

For one long moment, the words struck a chord in Luke's chest.

Then he smiled back.

"No," he agreed. "No, we shouldn't."

Nova came in to usher them out again later, so that Luke could rest properly—she shot him a look that declared he'd better rest properly, or else—and when he slept, there was a smile on his face.

It was several days after he'd first awoken, but still during Luke's obliged bedrest period after the mental strain of defeating a dead emperor, when Ahsoka came to visit. He grinned broadly at her.

"You know, he... he still won't tell me anything," he said to her awkwardly. Vader had visited several times while Luke was bedridden, but he was as reluctant to talk as ever, no matter how many curious questions Luke flooded him with. "My father. About who he was. You...would you be able to...?"

His voice trailed off uncertainly. But Ahsoka smiled.

"Of course," she said. "What do you wanna know?"

He paused, before he could even formulate a question, then said, "The good."

He knew so much bad. He knew some of the good now, too, at the heart of it.

But if his father had once been the heroic Anakin Skywalker, he wanted to hear the good.

She smiled. "He was a brilliant master," she said. "He was nice, patient—alright," she wrinkled her nose at his sceptical look, while Luke laughed, and she tapped her knee, "he wasn't extremely patient. But he made sure to teach me everything he knew, he supported me always, and one time when I was captured by Trandoshans... I survived because of his training. When I left the Jedi Order, I survived because of his training. And even when I didn't need him, anymore, he was still there for me."

Luke stared at her. She wasn't looking at him, anymore; she was looking at something in the distance, in the distant past.

"He was always passionate. And his relationship with Padmé... he was always far more intense about her than anyone else I'd seen him with; I probably should've guessed about the two of them earlier. But he cared deeply about his friends—the clones, Rex, Cody... He was a great warrior, famous the holonet over, but that was what surprised people: how kind he was. He looked out for us until the end."

Luke didn't think he was ready to ask what had happened in the end, because, "His relationship with Ben...?"

Ahsoka smiled. "They were both like fathers to me. Or uncles. Or bickering older brothers—the Jedi didn't need specific terms for that sort of mentor figure, so I can't pin it down for you, I'm afraid. But it was a vital one. I loved them and they loved me, and they loved each other greatly. They looked out for each other. They were the team."

She didn't volunteer what had happened.

Luke didn't ask.

Instead, he dug deeper—

"I heard he was from Tatooine?" He'd heard that he was from Tatooine, too, according to Nova. He was from Tatooine, had been raised there for a few months by— "That... that he had a stepbrother there?"

Ahsoka pinched her lips. "Old sins cast long shadows," she murmured. "I don't know the details of what it was like for him, living on Tatooine."

"He met my mother there."

"And Obi-Wan. They knew what his early life was like, but I didn't meet him until ten years later."

Luke frowned, hugging his bantha tighter to him—he wondered, now that he thought about it, whether there was a reason that Nova had given him a bantha for Tatooine, and a shaak for Naboo. "So I'll have to ask Father himself about that?" He... already knew that he likely wouldn't get answers, there.

Ahsoka tilted her head. "You could," she admitted. "Or you could ask someone else about your father. It never hurts to get a more even view of a person."

Luke frowned. "Who should I ask? Ben's gone."

Ahsoka just pulled out a comlink. "He doesn't have to be here to answer a few questions, does he?"

Luke's face split in a smile, and he laughed lightly. "No," he supposed, "no, he doesn't."

Ahsoka punched in a frequency and then it answered almost immediately, Ben's blue head and shoulders projected just above Ahsoka's palm.

"Ahsoka," Ben said, warmly but stiffly. "Has Vader changed his mind? What's the situation—"

Ahsoka just handed the comlink to Luke, who met Ben's eye.

"—oh."

"I... wanted to ask." Luke gnawed on his bottom lip. "You knew my father for years, ever since he lived on Tatooine. I wanted to ask you about his life on Tatooine, or what you know about it—is it a sensitive subject? I... I really want to know, I grew up on Tatooine for a while, but he's never answered any questions before, and I don't want to upset him." And he wanted to know! His father would forgive him that, right?

Ben relaxed. "Ah, I understand. That is fair enough, little one." He folded his hands in his lap. "I didn't see Anakin on Tatooine. I was travelling with your mother when we had to land there for emergency repairs and she, my master—Qui-Gon Jinn—and a Gungan who was travelling with us all went out to investigate the area. When they returned, it was with a nine-year-old boy whose strength in the Force was overwhelming. He was the kindest boy I had ever met—until I met you, of course," he added generously, and Luke flushed, "—and when Qui-Gon regrettably died, I took it upon myself to train him.

"But Anakin's childhood was... difficult. He and his mother were sold to Gardulla the Hutt, then she lost them to a Toydarian named Watto, and then Qui-Gon managed to free him but not his mother, and the separation haunts him to this day, I have no doubt. He—"

"Wait," Luke said. "Sold?"

Ben nodded. "They were not kind masters."

Master.

Sold.

Luke... Luke knew what that meant.

But how? How had his father, who'd willingly served Palpatine, who was the most powerful person in the galaxy—

"You mean," Luke said, "he was a slave?

Ben nodded. "Yes. That was what he was born into, and what the Jedi freed him from."

His father had been a slave.

His father had been a slave.

...and he'd still supported the Empire?

Their slavery practices?

He'd— he'd still supported—

Palpatine.

Anakin Skywalker was a slave.

He thought about the way that his father had treated his father. That Vader had knelt, every time... called someone master... swallowed his own objections to do as ordered...

Luke was shaking, slightly. His— his father hadn't been free. Ever. For years.

He'd served the last Emperor with everything he had, before he killed him. And now he was serving Luke. He didn't always follow Luke's orders, but he'd sworn himself to him totally.

Totally.

Was— was Luke—

Luke didn't want that responsibility!

He didn't want his father to accidentally lapse into that mindset. He didn't want to lapse into that mindset, because the associations—

He didn't want this.

"Do not worry, Luke," Ben said, seeing his expression. "Your father is now... a free man. The dark side is arguably a kind of slavery, but—"

Luke blanched.

That made it worse.

"...I see this conversation is not productive," Ben said softly. "Very well. Is there anything else I can tell you? Any other questions I can ask? I may leave, if you no longer want to speak with me."

"No, don't go."

Luke swallowed.

"I have more questions."

Ben nodded, and waited patiently.

He groped around for questions before he grabbed one and flung it. "Were you at my parents' wedding? What was it like—"

It was worth a shot. Padmé... Padmé had been friends with Ben, right? Surely she'd have—

"I'm afraid not, Luke," Ben said. "The only people invited to your parents' wedding were the droids and the man who officiated it."

Luke blinked. "Why?"

"It was a secret wedding."

Luke... thought he might have guessed that, or heard about it, from the way everyone was so cagey about it, but— "Why? All they were doing was getting married."

"Jedi weren't allowed to be married."

"But they were allowed to leave the order, weren't they? Jedi weren't allowed to be married or have attachments because the idea was that they were dedicated to the Force, not to a person, Ahsoka said." Ben nodded, and Ahsoka smiled at Luke proudly. "So if Father decided he loved my mother enough to have a child with her... why didn't he leave? He wouldn't have had time to be a Jedi and a father anyway." Palpatine had always said that—an emperor was too busy for a son, but it was a necessity to have one. So Luke had been raised by servants and doted on with cruelty. "Unless he wanted to hire servants to look after me...?"

"No," Ahsoka said hurriedly. "He'd have wanted to do it himself, with help from Padmé's handmaidens."

Luke nodded. That... that was the impression he'd got.

That was what he'd expect, if his father had been a former slave.

Warmth, not distance.

That worked out, didn't it?

"He stayed because..." Ahsoka trailed off. "I don't know. Because—"

"I imagine he would have left, had the situation been any other," Ben said. "But... he didn't want to stop being a Jedi. He had earned his rank as knight, and his place, and I doubt he wanted to give it up; he always did want more than he could have, and he took it, without... without thinking too hard about the consequences."

"No," Ahsoka said.

Ben looked at her in surprise. She continued, "Anakin wanted to leave the order. I know that—he told me, when I was leaving, that he understood exactly how I was feeling. And seeing him interact with Padmé... did always show me that he had people, a life, outside of the order. There was something selfish to it, I agree, but he didn't just stay out of selfishness. He was dedicated to it. He believed in it.

"It's... easy to overlook," Ahsoka continued, glancing at the door—Vader wasn't anywhere near them, Luke could sense. He was handling military matters on the upper floors. "He is selfish—he was selfish. And he loves the people he deems his, far, far more than ideals. But he is also bound to his duty, and dedicates everything he has to it, the way Padmé did, the way Padmé found a kindred spirit in him. They both knew the scandal that would come of their relationship if they made it public, and they both chose to keep working to resolve the war in the only way they could. And they made a difference, because of that... even if it doomed them."

Ahsoka shrugged. "Anakin—Vader—is loyal. Beyond anything. If he's loyal to you, he'll follow you anywhere—he certainly followed me wherever I went, and Padmé especially—but if you break that trust..."

Luke remembered the vision he'd seen of Palpatine's murder, that lightning struck night. He wondered what, exactly, had been the breaking point to get Vader to turn on his master, why he had started planning a coup against the man he'd sworn allegiance to as his galaxy crumbled around him. He wondered if Vader would ever tell him. He wondered if Vader would ever turn on him.

He shook his head. He wouldn't.

He knew that.

But... loyalty couldn't be broken if you didn't approach it as loyalty.

Luke wanted a father. He didn't want a loyal minder who was there to serve and atone.

"Oh," Luke said, and said nothing more.

Even after the doctors—and Vader—cleared him from bedrest, not all the symptoms vanished.

Nightmares were still frequent.

Luke awoke with a loud gasp. His heart pounded in his ears. His hands shot out in the dark reaching, grasping for— nothing.

There was nothing but sheets. He fisted his hands in him until his knuckled went white.

His eyes burned.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

He knotted his hands even tighter; at first he suppressed a scream, then he unleashed it, rolling over to press it right into his pillow, close and hot and soggy with saliva and tears. His throat was raw.

He heard the scuttling and rasping breathing as his Noghri guards rushed in—only to be brought up short by the sight of their little emperor tossing over and over, sobbing, shoulders shaking fiercely. They froze in the doorway.

It wasn't that they hadn't seen him crying before. He'd cried a lot, when Abrak'haim—the taller guard could sense, spearheading the squad that fanned out in his room to goggle—had first started guarding him. But they hadn't been ordered to interfere then and they didn't know how to interfere now, their weapons useless against dreams.

Someone—a female Noghri, Ulk'harim—came over to rest a bony hand on his head. He only cried harder, and that hand shifted to squeeze his shoulder. Her voice was low and rough, speaking in a language he didn't understand, but found vaguely soothing anyway.

Then he thought about the nightmare, and started crying all over again.

That— that crushing feeling, all around him, and the innate desire to possess, to control, to hate and dominate—

Palpatine's laughter at the back of his mind.

His darkness, billowing, everywhere, touching and corrupting and Luke just wanting to shrivel up and die, the power overwhelming, all that was beautiful and sweet and beloved tainted under his influence—

The absolute need to control.

That was what scared Luke the most.

That was the man who had raised him.

That... that was the man his father had served.

Luke could still feel his clawed fingers on his shoulders, whispering words he couldn't make out but he knew the meaning of intimately, that he was Emperor because of Palpatine's machinations, that he'd soon learn that control was the only way he could truly be strong—

No. No, no, no—

Ulk'harim dropped her hand from his shoulder as she could hear and Luke could sense Vader barrelling along the corridor. Quickly, Luke heard him too: the rapid rasp of his respirator and his thundering steps, the way the door to Luke's quarters groaned and splintered as he shoved it open and the bang as the door to his bedroom hit the wall in its forceful rebound. Luke flinched, but met his father's eyes desperately, and suddenly there were no Noghri around as Vader fell to his knees beside the bed and engulfed Luke in his arms.

Luke shivered and shuddered there, his terror screaming out into the Force like a klaxon, as tears flooded from his eyes onto Vader's shoulder. He sat up further, pressed himself more against him—heat always fled from Vader's suit like a radiator, and he clung to it in the absence of his covers as much as he could—then Vader pulled him out of bed altogether so Luke was cradled in his lap tightly, burying his eyes in the folds of the cape.

"I— I— I—"

"Shhh, Luke." Vader was heavy-handed in the way he patted his back, crushing his shoulder, but it was a grounding sort of discomfort, something familiar to him, not in the least because of the fear and desperation and affection that leaked across between them. "Luke, it's... it's alright, you are safe, you are safe here—"

"No," Luke cried. That was the problem, wasn't it? "He's here."

Vader stopped rubbing his back. "What?"

"He's here," Luke sobbed. "He's everywhere."

"Luke... Palpatine is dead." Vader squeezed his shoulder tightly. "He is dead and gone. You crushed him. You defeated him. You are safe from him, there is nothing to fear, little angel—"

"There is everything to fear, so long as I'm here!" I have had enough of fear for a lifetime, Luke had said. It was true. He didn't fear Palpatine's spectre—but... he did fear his legacy, and would until the day he died, and he was sick of it. "He's everywhere, this is his empire—"

"This is your empire."

"And he built it! I don't want anything to do with him! I don't want to be the Emperor he taught me to be!"

"He did not teach you to be Emperor at all," Vader growled. "He taught you to be a vessel, and you were too clever to learn the lesson."

"But he is the reason I am here." Luke didn't even know what he was asking for. He didn't know what he was screaming. He just knew that... that... that this palace, this planet, this galaxy, was tainted. "He— he is why I am where I am, and I don't want to be here!"

Vader... retracted his hand, briefly, at that, but when Luke sobbed harder at the loss of the contact, he came back, his massive hand gently cupping the back of Luke's hand to hold it against his chest.

"You..." His vocoder faltered. "You do not want to be here?"

"This place is hell." Ozzel, Erialus, all of the senators and Moffs and officers who stared and judged. All of the senators and Rebels who stared and assessed. All the efforts he'd made, in vain, because he was a fourteen-year-old boy emperor and Palpatine's legacy was too large for him to dismantle alone. "And I don't— I don't want you—"

"You... do not want..."

"I don't want you to serve me."

Vader froze. "What?" When Luke just sniffled, he continued, "Have I... displeased you, little angel? I— I know that—"

"No," Luke spat. "Ahsoka— Ahsoka and Ben told me—" He swallowed. "That you were a slave."

Vader froze. Anger—not directed at him, but he flinched at it nonetheless—built and shook. "I was, my son," he said carefully. "Why—"

"Palpatine treated you like one. You're my father, I—" He hiccupped. "I— I don't want to—"

"Luke." Vader, ever so softly, brushed sweat-soaked hair back from his face and said his name like a prayer. "You will not. I assure you. I... I serve you because I love you, not because I feel obliged, or because it is my duty—"

"I don't want you to serve me. I want my father, not obedience—"

"Has anything I have done for you ever resembled obedience?" Vader parried, not without amusement. "I informed you it was not my strong suit, long ago."

Luke laughed, then hiccupped again. "No. No, I guess—" He took a deep breath. "If... if you promise that... it's not—"

"It is not, Luke. Believe me," and there was a hint of bitterness under the love, there, "I am intimately aware of the difference."

"Alright." Luke reached up to wipe away a tear. "I believe you."

"Good." Vader's thumb brushed Luke's cheek and Luke leaned into it, more tears welling.

Then he whispered, "But I don't want to be that person to anyone."

"You will not be. You are good. You are so much like your mother."

"I don't want to bind anyone with duty. Or servitude. I don't want to be served by anyone."

"You are like your mother," Vader repeated, soothingly, moving his other arm around Luke's shoulders to hold him better. "People serve you because they love you. Because you can change things, so no one will serve an unkind master. Your reign as Emperor will be a grand one, and people will be honoured to serve you, their duty will be a privilege—"

"I don't want to be bound by duty, either."

Vader paused.

"I'm fourteen. I—" His eyes filled with tears again, until the view of the buttons on Vader's chest plate was just a swamp of red and silver. "I can't be that person. I— I want to be normal." He thought, for a moment, of Zev and Leia going to school together, and his heart ached with longing.

Vader continued doggedly, "Do not underestimate yourself. Your mother was Queen of Naboo at fourteen, and she could certainly have handled being Empress. You will be able to handle it, far better than many other candidates—"

"She had a choice," Luke insisted.

Vader paused again.

"I don't want anything Palpatine set me up for," Luke said. His mouth was trembling so much now it was hard to speak. "I don't want this, and I don't have the choice. Father, I don't want this. I'm scared."

"Luke..." Vader brushed away his tears. "Of course you have the choice."

"Alright," Luke breathed. "Then I choose to abdicate."

Vader froze.

"You..." His respirator let out a breath that ruffled Luke's hairs. "You cannot, little angel, the Empire needs you, your duty—" He cut himself off.

Luke fixed him with a look. "Then I don't have a choice, do I?"

Vader whispered, "I need you."

Luke didn't know how to argue with that without hurting him.

Luke didn't want to hurt him.

"You... this nightmare has left you rattled," Vader resolved. "I don't know what Palpatine told you, so I cannot combat it, but know this, Luke—you are nothing like him."

Luke knew that, now. And he knew his fears about his father were unfounded, now.

But... his fears about the Empire itself...

"Nothing," Vader reiterated sternly when Luke didn't reply. He stood, abruptly, lifting Luke in his arms, close to his chest, and Luke didn't resist. He leaned against his father until he was lowered back into bed, the duvet pulled right up to his chin. "You will be great, my son. I swear this to you. You already are great, and good, and..." He rested a hand on the top of his head. "I am so proud of you."

Luke mustered up a smile before he closed his eyes.

Despite the fact that his father sat with him for a little while after that, he did not find sleep for an age.

Sabé's advice was not nearly as useful as Vader had been hoping for.

"You have to do what is best for him," she snarled, "not you!"

It was downright ridiculous.

"If you really love him, then you'd care for his well-being instead of selfishly keeping him here!"

It was blasphemous.

"What," he snarled right back, "are you suggesting?"

"Exactly what I have been suggesting since Luke called me back to look after him," she said, her chin held high. She even stood up, scraping her chair back from behind her desk and glared at him, lips pursed. She was at least a head shorter than him and she was terrifying.

"Exactly," she continued, voice trembling with rage—no, not rage. With passion. "What I have been wanting to do with Luke for years. Exactly what Padmé wanted for him! To take him to Naboo, and let him be happy!"

Vader blinked. "He is not going to Naboo, he wants to go with—"

"That academy Leia and Zev will be attending is in Theed," Sabé informed him. "Leia chose to study Naboo as one of Alderaan's most beloved allies because of the friendship between her father and Luke's mother, in fact. Luke could go with them—enjoy his time with his friends and make new friends—and stay with Padmé's family, as you know he wanted to. Queen Dalné has already told them what Luke told her during his most recent visit; they want to meet their nephew, grandson and cousin."

Padmé's family.

Of course.

Vader said, "You did not tell them of Luke's existence before?"

"Tell them what? That their nephew was secretly alive, but he'd been kidnapped, raised and abused by a madman and there was no way of retrieving him?" Sabé folded her arms. "I'm not in the interest of ruining people's lives like that. I wasn't going to tell them until I could give them hope. But they know now, and they want to meet him. When we got back from Mustafar I was fielding a thousand messages from them."

"They do not deserve him."

"And you do?" Her voice was scornful.

Vader said quietly, "No one does."

"We're in agreement there," she scoffed. "But… Luke deserves to be happy, don't you think?"

Vader clenched his fists. "He needs to be safe."

"He can be safe away from you, Anakin."

"Do not call me—"

"Don't distract from the issue. Palpatine is dead. His supporters are crushed—you found their base on Mustafar, and you found their communications, and I'm sure that you will spend the next weeks or months or years or however long it takes hunting them and crushing them to dust.

"But until then, so long as Luke remains on Coruscant, they know where he is. He is no safer with bodyguards here than he would be with bodyguards on Naboo." She watched him with sharp eyes. "And on Naboo, he would be happy."

Vader bowed his head. He couldn't deny that.

"I…" he said, swallowing the words before they came.

"You want him near you," Sabé said. "I know. I do too. I love that boy—I love him more than anything, and I will miss him more than anything."

She paused, then said softly:

"I missed him so much it hurt, all the years I was away."

Then her voice hardened again. "But this isn't about you, and it isn't about me."

She blinked—Vader was startled to see that her brown eyes were glistening; even before his shocked gaze, a tear ran down her face and she went to wipe it away.

"This is about Luke," she said, her voice cracking.

He folded his arms. "Luke is the Emperor. It is his birth right."

"His birth right is killing him. Luke is more important than your delusions."

"I am willing to accept that he may go away for a while. That could do him good—the trip to Naboo was excellent for him, until he was kidnapped. But his foolish wish to stop being Emperor is ridiculous, and we would have to be present for any leave he would take."

"You're needed here, aren't you?" She gave him a pointed look, leaning forward to plant her hands on her desk. "You need to obliterate the rest of Palpatine's supporters—Luke killed him for good, but they are still out there. And someone will need to guide the Senate in the absence of an emperor."

"You would seize power?"

"I became the handmaiden to a queen and served her loyally from the age of fourteen until this very moment," Sabé said. "Power has never been my aim. You know this, Anakin. And you know that this is not about politics."

No.

He knew that.

"Anakin," Sabé said. "Vader. This is for Luke."

Vader clenched his fists tighter.

Closed his eyes.

Luke's terrified face flashed to mind.

No. He couldn't let Luke go. Naboo was in the Mid Rim, parsecs away from Coruscant. He would not let his son leave him alone here—he needed to protect him.

Luke was all he had.

The only person he cared about. Padmé's son, who deserved the galaxy and would be given the galaxy. Luke was his son, and he would not be parted from him the way—

The way he'd been parted from his mother.

He thought of her, then.

Gentle hands on his head, a soft voice, calling to him across the sandy streets... He thought of her fear every time he'd go podracing, he thought of her acute attention when patching up every scratch and bruise, he thought about how she'd put herself between him and Watto's beatings, always, his steadfast protector in that most miserable of lives.

He thought about how, when Qui-Gon had come to free him, she hadn't hesitated, hadn't held on to him. She'd let him make the choice she must have known he would make—had watched her only source of happiness vanish in the distant hope that out there, he would be free.

Anakin hadn't understood it at the time. Not truly. He'd barely understood it years later.

But, thinking of Luke, thinking of Naboo, and Sabé, and Padmé... he understood it now.

Luke had been so happy on Naboo. He would be so happy on Naboo.

Above everything—above the Empire, above the Force, above himself—Vader wanted Luke to be happy.

And that meant, he realised, throat choked up and suddenly grateful that he could no longer cry, he had to let Luke go.

"I see," he said finally. His mother's voice rang in his ears, though he could not have repeated the words—there was so much she had taught him, so much he had forgotten…

…so much he could still learn.

He needed to let Luke go.

No matter how much it hurt.

No matter how much he loved him.

No matter how much he wanted him to stay.

This was what would be best for Luke.

What he wanted didn't matter.

"Luke will go to Naboo," he said, choking on the words as he said them. "He… he should be happy. I want him to be happy."

Sabé smiled, her eyes still sparkling with tears. "Me too."

"I will ask him about being Emperor," he continued. "I… I want him to have the galaxy, the way I wanted Padmé to have it—"

"The way neither of them ever wanted it."

"—but I understand if he will not accept it." Because he knew, with certainty, that if Anakin had returned to tell Shmi that he was not happy with the Jedi, then she would have fought the suns to find a better place for him. Whether she'd thought it was the perfect life for him, a life of glory and prestige and power that he would never have otherwise had… she would have done it.

Ani, I wanna have our baby back home on Naboo…

Vader turned away.

"Thank you, Anakin," Sabé said to his back. He didn't acknowledge him.

"You will have to be appointed as Regent in his place," he said dully. "If anyone is to respect your authority."

"I know."

He didn't have anything more to say to that.

"Rule well," were his parting words. "Make a better galaxy for Luke to live in."

And though he left before he could see it, Sabé bowed her head and wept, smiling more broadly than she had since before her lady had died, because—

At last.

At long last.

Padmé's son was coming home.

"I will," she promised.

Luke let out a relieved breath as Vader burst through the door.

It was a nightmare. Another one. His eyes flew open and latched onto his father the moment they did, his gaze beseeching, already pushing back the covers and grasping for Anakin the nerf, for his other toys, one hand out for Vader—

Vader was next to him in a heartbeat. "Luke?"

"He's still there," Luke sobbed. He took several deep, rasping breaths, holding his toys very, very tightly, and tried to banish everything. He could sense cold, but that was his father; that was not Palpatine. The darkness that pressed in around him was familiar, but it would not hurt him, it would not hurt him—

He took another heaving breath. "I hate it."

"I know, my son." Vader knelt beside him, and clasped Luke's hand between both of his; within his massive durasteel palms, Luke's tiny hand hung limp and pale. Vader squeezed it with fingers that had crushed the throats and hearts and souls of a thousand men, his gentleness painstaking. "You…"

Luke frowned, leaning in; Vader seemed conflicted about something, seemed ready to speak… but speak he did not. So Luke closed his eyes again.

"I hate this planet," he whispered. "I've always hated it. I hate this palace—even the quarters you made for me, and I know they're lovely, I know you made them because you love me, Father, but they are here, and they are— they—"

"Luke."

"My friends are leaving," Luke burst out. He hadn't realised how much the idea that they were leaving had upset him; not because he didn't think they deserved to be happy, not because he wanted them to stay, not because he feared they would forget about him while they were gone.

But because he was realising:

If the people he loved left… what was there for him here?

There was Nova, and Vader, and Ahsoka… but they were older than him, they were other, and—

"I know, Luke, I—"

"Palpatine is gone, and he was wrong about so many things, but he was right in that I cannot rule this Empire. Not well."

"You could, you are smart enough—"

"Not because I'm not enough," Luke said. "Because I can't give enough. Because I don't want to."

Vader paused.

Luke gripped his hand. "Father," he begged. "I want to go. Somewhere. I do not want to be Emperor anymore. I do not want to stay here. I do not want to lead the Empire that Palpatine used to cause so much suffering."

Vader hesitated, for a moment. There is no one better to rule than you, he wanted to say; it was still something he believed wholeheartedly. Padmé and Luke deserved the world.

But his conversation with Sabé rang in his ears.

Make a better galaxy for Luke to live in.

All those years ago, he had not wanted to give Padmé the Empire because she craved power, or even just because she was the best person for the job. He had done it because he trusted no one else to create a galaxy where their family could be happy—a galaxy for the two of them, and the precious, precious son nestled below her heart.

What was the point, if forcing that son to carry on his mother's role would only cause him suffering?

Sabé would do what Padmé would have done. He knew that. He trusted her.

And…

And he trusted that she loved his son just as much as he did.

"Father," Luke said again, more fiercely this time: "I will not lead Palpatine's Empire. I refuse to."

There was silence for a long, long moment.

"Little angel," Vader said finally. Luke blinked up at him. "I… I have something to tell you."

Luke's mouth puckered into a frown, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "What is it?"

"I was speaking to Sabé, this afternoon. After… about your nightmare from last night, as well. She…"

He trailed off again. Luke frowned, his own tears and fears forgotten momentarily as he reached out to Vader—and sensed pain.

He flinched back.

Pain.

Resolve.

Love, boundless and pure.

"The school your friends will be going to is in Theed," Vader continued. "And Sabé has informed me that— that your mother's relatives, the Naberries, would very much like to meet you. For… for you to stay with them."

Luke gaped at him.

"For how long?" he asked suspiciously. He— he wanted to leap for joy, he wanted to crawl out of bed and hug his father, he wanted to beam brighter than Coruscant Prime. But he could sense his father's misery, and he did not want to hurt him.

"Sabé contacted them this evening," Vader said. "They are willing to house you… permanently." The word stuck in his vocoder as if in protest.

But when it escaped, it struck Luke in the chest like a gong.

Permanently.

Permanently.

"I would move there?" he asked. He tried, he really tried, but he couldn't keep the smile off his face, then. To visit Naboo… to visit Theed, properly, without diplomatic obligations… to visit his family…

He had been happier in those few weeks on Naboo than he ever had in his entire life.

Vader nodded. "You would," he said.

Luke did crawl out of bed, then; he didn't feel like he could properly grasp the situation when he was about to fall asleep again. He perched on his knees on top of the covers, frowning fiercely at Vader, and was amused by the confusion Vader felt at the frown.

"I can't be Emperor from Naboo," he pointed out shrewdly. "I can't mingle with court and be diplomatic and make major decisions. If you still want me to rule—"

"I do still want you to rule, little angel. But I want you to be happy. As it becomes increasingly clear that they are mutually exclusive, I know which one I value more."

Luke looked at him like he'd never looked at him before.

"You'll rule in my stead?" he asked, trying not to show his scepticism and dislike of that idea. Vader… was Vader.

"Sabé will, have no fear." Vader sounded more amused at the insult than offended. "She will be your Regent."

"Regent? Am I expected to return one day?"

Vader said, "Spend some time on Naboo before you officially make your decision, Majesty. I… if you wish to abdicate altogether, no one will stop you—"

"I wish to abdicate altogether."

"—but you must understand that you cannot return once you have abdicated. So all I ask is that you spend your time on Naboo thinking it over, and decide from there—I do not want you to make a choice without knowing exactly what choice you are making. I… Sabé and I have agreed that I will visit you in a year to hear your decision. If you wish to return, you can; if not… alternative methods of government can be arranged, whether you wish to be involved or not."

"You'll visit me in a year?" Luke asked. "You mean—you're not coming with me?"

Vader paused.

Tilted his head towards him slowly.

From this angle, in this dim light of his room, Luke could only dimly see the irises behind his eye plates. But he could see them all the same.

Strange: they looked like they might be blue.

"No, Luke," Vader said. "I will not be."

Luke blinked.

Then—

"What!?" He threw himself forward and glared, scrambling to stand up and pace. "What? You're not coming!? Why not!?" He sucked in a breath. "And— if Nova is Regent, then—"

"She will not be accompanying you either, no. She… will take you as far as Theed, and introduce you to your aunt and uncle, but that will be it."

"I can't—" Luke gaped at him. "I don't want to leave you!"

"I know." Vader's voice was heady with emotion as he stood himself, and walked to the other side of the room, his hands laced together behind his back. "I— I do not want you to go, which is why I fought this so hard. But you must go, if you are to be happy, and— and I—"

He let his respirator breath for him for several long cycles.

"And I am needed here," he said. "Palpatine's supporters are not yet fully routed. I am needed to obliterate them completely, so that you can be safe. Even if you were to stay on Coruscant, I would have to leave you."

Luke said, "Oh."

Vader turned back around again. "I will miss you, my son," he said thickly. "So— very, very much. But I believe… I believe that this is what is best."

"Oh."

Luke didn't know what to say.

It was three am. Vader had broken this news to him when it was three am, when he'd woken from a nightmare, and Luke did not know how to deal with the galaxy.

"I believe that your friends will be starting school in two weeks," Vader said. "If— in order for you to be properly integrated and enrolled by then, you will have to have met your family by then. Sabé… recommends that you leave in a week."

"I understand."

"We were meant to tell you this tomorrow morning."

Luke said thickly, "You mean today?"

Vader snorted. "Yes. I mean today." Then he tilted his head, and came back over; he took Luke's hand ever so gently and guided him back into bed. "Sleep, Luke. You will need it, and I will have a great deal of explaining to do to Sabé when you awaken."

"Yeah, you will." But he consented to let himself be tucked in bed. It was warm here, now, and the shadows no longer seemed quite so deep.

Before Vader left, he paused. "You will be happy on Naboo," he promised.

"I will be happy without you?" Luke shot back.

Vader gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Indeed," he said. His Force presence roiled; Luke was struck by the sudden realisation that that was the cold in the Palace, that was a part of the memories chasing him every night…

…that dark, seething presence was, of course, why he had had no joyful childhood.

He could sense Vader's regret, thick and thunderous.

"You will certainly be happier without me."

Luke wanted to object. Wanted to object, because he loved his father, they had come so far—

But there were parsecs left to go.

And this journey, he suspected, they would have to take apart.

If only so they were in better positions to understand and love each other when their paths once again converged.

Vader turned to go.

"I love you, Father," he called to his retreating back.

The reply was a gentle as a downy wing.

And I love you, little angel.

"I don't want to go."

Luke sobbed into Vader's shoulder, and he sounded, so broken, solost.

Vader wanted to kill Palpatine all over again.

"No— no, I do, but—"

"You do not want to leave me," Vader finished, and clutched his son tighter. It was for the best, he reminded himself.

This was for the best.

"Luke," he said as Luke buried his face against his chest plate, so hard Vader was worried the plasteel would bruise his forehead. The sofa in Luke's quarters was not meant to hold Vader's weight, let alone his weight plus all of the suitcases Luke had packed for his journey tomorrow, but it held fast, thankfully, and Vader just clutched Luke tighter.

"Luke, I…" His voice cracked, even, then. "I am going to miss you too."

He couldn't lie. Even to make it easier. This hurt, and it hurt ten times more with every heaving sob that came out of his son's mouth.

"I don't want to go," Luke said again, but Vader knew he was lying: Luke very much wanted to go, he hated the situation he was in and he loved Naboo…

…but he also loved Vader.

"Ahsoka will still be with you," Vader reminded him gently. They were— stars, Luke, Sabé and Ahsoka would be leaving Coruscant tomorrow for the trip to Naboo, that— that was—

He wasn't ready for this.

He wasn't ready to let go of his little angel.

But he hadn't been ready to let go of his mother. Of Ahsoka, when he'd watched her walk away down the steps of the Jedi Temple.

He would never have been ready to let go of Padmé.

Sometimes destiny had other plans, it seemed. It always had others plans for Vader. All he could hope was that as little as those plans had favoured him… they would still favour his son.

"But you won't," Luke said, his voice muffled.

"No," Vader agreed. "I will not."

Luke shook his head. "I can't do it, Father. I just can't do it."

Vader wanted to scream. He wanted to sob, to collapse on the spot and hold Luke so tightly he became a part of him, went right back into his heart where he belonged, his chest aching…

But he knew what he had to say.

He knew what he had to do.

He'd had the greatest of role models, after all.

"Be brave, Luke," he choked out. "You… you have to be brave." He cupped Luke's cheek in his hand, until Luke raised his glistening eyes to meet Vader's. "And don't look back."

You can't stop the change, any more than you can stop the suns from setting…

Vader shook his head. "Don't look back."

"But if I don't, will I see you again?"

What does your heart tell you? his mother had asked him. This time, he didn't even need to think about it. He knew what it told him.

Vader was free—at last, in the way Shmi had always wanted for him, he was free.

So it was nothing but ease for him to say: "Wild purrgils could not hope to keep me away."

Luke smiled and closed his eyes, a tear slipping down his cheek. "I love you, Father."

"I love you, little angel." Vader could hardly breathe. "Think of me when you look at the stars."

"I'll think of you a lot more than that," Luke promised. "And in the future…"

"In the future," Vader said, "I will be there." It was not a promise: it was a statement of fact.

He was free to live, to love, and he knew what his heart told him.

Luke smiled. "Alright. I— I can face it."

"I am glad. But you have not gone yet." Vader stood from where he was sitting, to reach deep inside his cloak and draw something from his belt. "First, I have something for you."

Luke sat up, tears drying on his cheeks, looking curious… then awed, as his gaze fell on what was in Vader's hand.

Vader had never thought he'd see this lightsaber again.

But Obi-Wan had taken it from Mustafar. Ahsoka had been given it by him. And then she had given it to Vader.

"For Luke," she'd said. "When he's ready. I think you should be the one to make the gift."

She was right.

And Luke was ready.

"This was my lightsaber, when I was a Jedi," Vader told his stunned son, handing it over carefully. "I… built it after the Clone Wars erupted, to protect your mother—and, though I did not yet know it, you."

There was more pain than that attached to it, he knew.

More pain, more suffering—Master Skywalker, there are too many of them, what are we going to do—

But Luke did not need to know that.

He lit the lightsaber, and the blade bathed his beautiful face in blue.

The saber was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen. It sang in his mind and filled his heart with a familiar, loving warmth.

He could do this, he realised. As— as terrifying as the prospect of leaving was. As much as he was afraid. He could do this. He was strong enough. His family was with him.

And they always would be.

He deactivated it, feeling a little thrill of recognition when he glanced at the hilt. This… this had been in his mindscape, he remembered, when he'd fought Palpatine. This was the blade his spirit had conjured up to fight back the apparition of his kidnapper, his father—the blade of his real father, burning bright and true.

He blinked fiercely—only then did he realise how his vision had blurred.

He looked up at his father. "Thank you," he said softly. "I… I'll take good care of it, I'll cherish it, I—"

"There is no need," Vader said, his hand closing around Luke's on the hilt. "Lightsabers are lost. Jedi will tell you that this lightsaber is your life; it is only your life so long as it serves to protect that life, and keep you alive. If you destroy it…" He was smiling wryly, Luke got the feeling. "…it will be nothing new.

"Do not cherish this because it was mine, or because it is a gift," he said sternly. "Cherish it because it will protect you, enable you to protect yourself—and because if it does its job, I will get to see you again."

Luke nodded, wiping away his tears. Vader smiled so gently his heart might break.

"Come," he said. "The sun is setting. Would you like to watch it?"

Watch his last sunset on Coruscant, before he left for Naboo. Sit beside his father and enjoy the feelings of the millions of citizens under his feet, zipping around him in their speeders, the starscrapers brushing the last rays of sunlight like tentative fingers.

"Yes," he said simply. "I'd love to."

And as they sat together watching Coruscant Prime paint the starscrapers pink, Vader couldn't help but think that this was the last night he would ever spend with Luke. He knew it was not true... and yet...

He looked at Luke, leaning on his shoulder.

"This is our last night together," he said gently—almost in awe. "Is there any last thing I can do for you? Anything I can tell or show you?"

He did not blame Ahsoka and Obi-Wan for having told Luke about his past. Luke… deserved to know.

But he wished he had been able to tell him himself.

Luke hesitated.

He tried, "Anything?"

Apprehension stirred in his gut, but Vader said, "Anything."

"You… don't have to do this. Not if you don't want to. But…" He glanced at Vader, shyness and painful hope in his gaze. "Can I see your face?"

Vader froze.

Luke… Luke wanted to…

"You do not want to see me without this mask, little angel," he intoned. "It is not a pleasant sight."

"But it's you," was all Luke said.

"I do not want to frighten you."

"And your armour doesn't?" Luke bowed his head. "I understand if you don't want to. I don't want to pressure you into it."

"No, I—" He did want to.

He… For the first time, he realised that he had faith in his son's love for him. He… After everything, if his son were to despise and scorn and hate him… it would not be for his scarred visage.

"Yes," he said finally, so quietly and carefully that his vocoder barely picked up on it. But Luke picked up on it. "I would like you to see me."

Luke smiled.

Vader led him back to his quarters—to that strange, egg-like chamber that always sat in the corner of them—and Luke tried to calm the trembling in his hands. He… he was nervous, he realised. Why?

This was his father.

But the egg did seem intimidating as it cracked open, spilling harsh white light out of it and revealing a large black chair in the centre. Vader handed Luke an oxygen mask without a word, then they stepped in, and it closed again with a low, ominous, hiss…

Luke's palms were sweating. He glanced around, frowning, as he affixed the mask to his face—he almost squealed in shock when he saw the contraption that descended from above. Vader pushed him lightly out of the way with the Force, towards the outer edges, and Luke could only watch half in morbid curiosity, half in horror, as it… latched onto Vader's mask, there were unsettling clicking sounds and more hissing, and then…

Then it lifted away.

And Luke stared.

He'd… known that Vader had to be very, very injured. He'd known that he was in a life support suit for a reason, his health severely diminished, unable to breathe alone. Palpatine had surely designed Vader's suit to be terrifying, certainly, and intimidating and nightmarish and dark, but… Vader wore it for a reason.

Luke stared at the face underneath it.

It was… pasty. He was bald as the egg his chamber resembled, with pink, pocked scars indenting his skull all the way up, like the skin had bubbled and boiled away until dead. He seemed to have far more wrinkles than a man of his age should, his mouth permanently tugged down in a twisted frown…

Until he glanced up at Luke and Luke smiled broadly.

When he saw that smile, Vader smiled back: an awkward, hesitant up-twist of his lips, sweet in its tentativeness.

And Luke kept smiling because… Vader's eyes.

There were as blue as the deepest lakes on Naboo. As the sky that overarched them, clear and glassy and calm. He had Luke's eyes.

Or rather, Luke had his.

"Hello," Luke whispered, "Father."

He stepped forwards, his oxygen mask awkward against his face, and Luke pressed a hand to Vader's cheek, careful of what looked to be raw, open sores still carved into his skin.

Vader teared up.

Alarmed, Luke drew his hand back—but Vader reached up to hold his hand there, and leaned into it. His eyes weren't quite shedding tears—Luke took a moment to wonder if they could—but they were misted over and gleaming, certainly waterier than before.

"Hello," Vader rasped, "little angel."

His voice was so, so different without the vocoder.

"Luke," he tried out, as if he was tasting the sound of it.

It was weak. It was wheezing. Luke could tell that his vocal cords had clearly been ravaged by whatever had happened, but hearing his father's voice… Hearing the reverence, the tenderness, the emotion…

"My son," Vader whispered, and blinked.

Luke leaned forward and pressed his forehead against his. "Father."

His gaze roved over his face, taking in the details: the scar over his right eyebrow, the shape of his chin—it was cleft, like Luke's!—and the way his lips formed the words.

"Not much of a father," Vader huffed. Self-loathing roiled in the Force.

"No. How dare you." Luke brushed his thumb over Vader's cheek. "Look at you."

"There is a reason I have no mirrors in my hyperbaric chamber, Luke," Vader said, gesturing around vaguely. He ripped his gloves off his hands, revealing hard, gleaming durasteel. "I am aware I resemble a monster—that I am a monster."

Luke didn't refute any of that. Not because it was true—because he knew it wouldn't change anything.

"You're my father," he insisted instead. And he slipped the oxygen mask off for a few precious moments, and took Vader's hands in his own, kissing each of the knuckles, grasping them gently. Then he lifted his head and kissed the scar at Vader's crown, then the one over his right eyes, then another one that snaked around the back of his ear. Finally, he replaced the mask and rested his cheek against Vader's again, wrapping his arms around his torso.

He said in his ear, "I love you. If you want to be a monster…" Vader might not be able to cry, but the thin film of tears over his eyes was wetting Luke's cheek. "…then you'll have to try harder, because I'm not intimidated by the act."

Vader closed his eyes; his eyelashes brushed Luke's cheek gently.

"Little angel…" he said. "I do not deserve you."

"Perhaps not," Luke agreed. "But you have me anyway. Whether I'm parsecs away on Naboo…" He rested his hand on Vader's chest, careful not to push against any buttons. "…or right here."

Vader held Luke so tightly he half-feared he'd be crushed.

They stayed like that for many hours, Luke leaning against his father, sitting in his lap, and Vader basking in every moment of Luke's presence that he could. But it came to an end, as all things must; Vader carried a dozing Luke to his room and tucked him in bed, then woke him the next morning; and then he watched him descend the steps of the Palace. He tried not to think about the last time he'd watched someone descend those steps against the backdrop of a sky full of colours—but Luke was not Ahsoka, and this was not sunset. It was sunrise.

Luke descended slowly, one hand in Ahsoka's, one hand in Sabé's. Until he reached the bottom, where he let go, so he could wave goodbye one last time. It was that moment that seemed to freeze and stretch into eternity: Luke's hair glinting in the golden light, his face wide in a smile, hand blurred in motion.

And then Vader blinked, and his son was gone.

It had been a year, but it felt like so much longer.

Naboo soared underneath Vader's ship and butterflies soared in his stomach. He could sense Luke far below but he dared not reach out—how was he? How had he settled in? Did—

Did he even still want to see Vader?

What if Luke hated him? What if Luke had finally realised what a monster he was, and rejected him?

Still, Vader had to see him. He had waited too long. He landed the ship outside Varykino and trod the familiar paths into the familiar grounds. Light sparked behind him in the Force, he turned…

He couldn't believe his eyes.

Luke stood against the backdrop of the lake, clad in blue shorts and a loose t-shirt, his hair long, braided on one side, and soaked through as he carried a bucket full of water in his left hand.

"Father!"

The bucket hit the ground, the water spilled everywhere, and then Luke was a gold and blue blur that collided with his chest, arms wrapping around him tightly. Glistening drops of water clung to Vader's plasteel carapace.

Luke looked up at him, wearing the most brilliant smile on his face, his cheeks rosy and face tanned. Of course: the school year had been over for several weeks by now, though the work of the Empire had not been, and Luke had spent a lot of time out here on the Lake Country with his… friends. The Naberries had been most accommodating for him.

Now… Vader just stared.

That was his son.

His son.

He looked so, so happy.

He pulled back after a moment, sheepishly and nervously glancing at the fine drops of water dusted across Vader's machinery, stumbling a few steps away. His smile faltered into something more awkward, if no less genuine, and he gestured towards the manor.

Vader was suddenly reluctant to enter.

He was aware that the Naberries were inside, were all staying there for the holiday while Vader dropped by to see Luke, and Vader found himself reluctant to go closer. This was Luke's happy family tree, the perfect life he'd built for himself, that he deserved. Vader should not step in to ruin it.

But his son was now two steps away from him and had scooted to a halt, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Vader took a moment to study him in even more detail: he was taller, broader—Jedi training with Ahsoka was paying off—and lines around his eyes betrayed an abundance of the broad, bright grins he was currently bestowing on Vader like they were suns and stars to give away.

"Luke," Vader said, and held out his arms; when Luke leapt forward to hug him again he received the hug with an oomph, his heart nearly full to bursting. Vader leant down to hold him as tightly and as gently as he could, careful with his own strength, careful with his boy.

He'd seen him in holo calls and messages, he'd heard about his progress through Ahsoka and through Sabé, who'd been updated through Sola. He'd been sent a holo, which he kept in one of the compartments on his belt, of Luke after Sola had dragged him to the hairdresser's in Theed to get him a haircut that looked less severe, more like a teenage boy. He'd been sent another holo of Luke after his first day of school, with Leia and Zev dropping by to visit and staying for dinner, with Luke in his uniform in front of a plate full of potatoes, leaning in to hear something she was saying, his eyes fixed on Zev in a way that made Vader both fiercely protective and nostalgic at once. He kept that one on his desk.

But it wasn't the same. Luke's Force presence had blossomed, so lovely and unapologetic and true, and he basked in the feeling of it, the way it opened at his touch like a flower to daylight. Luke laced their fingers together.

"Come on," he said, still smiling that dizzying smile. "Nova came early, to help me prepare those rooms for you again—you know, the ones you had last time? With the view of the lake?—and Aunt Sola even bought an extra big chair for you so you can sit at dinner, I—"

He realised he was babbling, then, and tried to calm himself—stopped himself from skipping, as well. He'd been skipping.

"You know that I officially decided to abdicate," he said. "You won't be changing my mind. I have abdicated, Sabé is going to be crowned Empress—"

"I would not dream of stopping it, little angel." The nickname caught in his throat, after so long.

Luke relaxed. "I missed you," he told him candidly. "It hasn't been the same."

Vader squeezed his hand gently.

"No," he agreed. "It has not."

"Can you come inside?" Luke asked. Vader looked up at the building—the manor where he'd told his son the truth for the first time, the house where he'd married Padmé. The place that had been so much happiness, for so long, even when he was so miserable that the memory of that happiness only hurt more.

There would be Sabé, and Ahsoka, and the Naberries inside that building. It would be awkward—it would be beyond awkward; he needed to discuss the details of the resignation, of Sabé's coronation, all the politics Luke had tried so hard to avoid—but…

Luke would also be inside that building.

And so would Padmé.

He squeezed Luke's hand tightly as they bounded up the stairs and walked through the doors. The entrance chamber was as beautiful and arching as ever, the breeze stirring through the air to tug at his cape and shift Luke's hair, the sunlight gleaming in the glasswork. There were several people sitting and standing around in the downstairs living room when he first got in there: two young women perhaps five or ten years older than Luke, who looked so much like Padmé Vader had to glance away; an aging couple, who he'd met before, and were all but glaring at him, the man trying to disguise tears of sorrow and anger; and a woman only a few years older than her sister, who also looked far too much like her sister, and whose expression was not angry but… fierce. When she beheld Vader's mask, and also the hand which clasped his son's so tightly, it was positively ferocious.

Her gaze softened when it landed on Luke, though. Good, then, that she was so protective of him. Luke deserved as many protectors—

No.

Luke deserved as many parent figures as he could have.

They were not his protectors. Or his enforcers, or attack dogs, or advisors. Luke was no longer an Emperor—he was just a boy, just a son, and he was a part of a family that had grown into more than the lonely, abused child he'd been could've ever imagined.

Vader had grown into a man he could never have imagined, either.

"Grandmother, Grandfather, Ryoo, Pooja… Aunt Sola…" Luke bit his lip, then revealed his teeth in a gleaming smile. "This is my father."

The Naberries' eyes moved, cuttingly, to Vader, but all he had space for in his mind was Luke's words.

As Luke wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him forward, into the sitting room proper, that was all he thought.

He was Luke's father.

And…

And he realised, he understood now, that that was all he ever needed to be.