Chapter Text
There’s a room where the light won’t find you
Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down
When they do I’ll be right behind you
So glad we’ve almost made it
So sad they had to fade it
Everybody wants to rule the world
I can’t stand this indecision
Married with a lack of vision
Everybody wants to rule the—
Say that you’ll never, never, never, never need it
One headline, why believe it?
Everybody wants to rule the world
All for freedom and for pleasure
Nothing ever lasts forever
Everybody wants to rule the world
- - -
It smells like home.
Like campfire and burnt metal, like the scent of sticking your hand in molten sand. It smells like freshly baked ahrisa and the earthy fragrance of japor.
The binary sunset casts a beautiful orange glow across the sand, illuminating the stones, and Luke sighs, holding back tears.
“I’m sorry… Uncle Owen. I’m sorry, Aunt Beru. I should’ve made time to come and see you earlier.”
He kneels down, sand getting in his black robes.
He sets the dried flowers between the headstones, making sure to take care when setting the blue-milk cheese on Aunt Beru’s. Luke’s flimsy attempt was lumpy and misshapen. Aunt Beru probably would have laughed at his attempt, before kissing him on the forehead and showing him how to do it right. But his terrible cheese probably still tasted good.
“I can’t believe I was so selfish I’d never come to see you,” Luke mutters, straightening the flowers he had brought. “To tell you the truth, I was scared. I hated thinking about the fact that you both had died for something completely out of your control. I missed you so much, every day… it felt easier to mourn from far away. But I realize that wasn’t fair, because what will you take to the Beyond? I never brought anything for you. And for that… and everything else… I’m sorry.”
He hesitates. “My father is gone,” he says quietly. “And you were right… I’m too much like him. The good and the bad… We were the same. I know I must’ve been… a terrible, terrible handful to raise, considering the type of man I grew into, so I need to tell you… thanks. Thank you for loving me like your own son. Thank you for caring for me. I love you both so, so much, and I hope there’s gallons and gallons of water to drink, whenever you may be.”
Smiling, he stands, wiping his tears. “I’m sorry. And thank you. May the Force be with You.”
Reaching into his robes, he hesitates. He doesn’t know for sure if this is what he would have wanted, but…
The ashes had been spread on Naboo, in some field with flowers.
But as he stares down at the lightsaber in his hand, so familiar and so foreign, he thinks that maybe his Father would want a part of him on Tatooine, too.
“I love you, Father,” says Luke, and he digs a hole in the sand, placing the cool metal hilt within. He raises his hand, burying it further into the ground. “And I’m sorry.”
He sits there for a long time. Long enough that his scalp begins to get a sunburn, but he doesn’t care. He sits there, looking at the dried flowers and the disturbed sand.
He makes sure to stop in the shade of the mesa, leaving an uncarved snippet of japor on the grave with no name.
-
“There’s a theory among Sith Scholars,” Plagueis begins, “that the name a Darth Lord obtains through the Force will be his eventual downfall.”
Luke stares at him, hardly caring. “I didn’t open your holocron to listen to you talk at me.”
“No, no, of course not,” Plagueis smiles from behind that heavy hood. “But I figured it might be worth mentioning to you…
“My Apprentice, Darth Sidious, met his downfall with his sadism, his Insidious approach to his apprentices. He treated you all with callous disregard, and that was his fatal mistake.
“His first apprentice, a Sith Lord named Maul, was little more than an animal. Maul’s downfall was his relentless anger and ill-thought plans… all he did was Mangle things, like a loth wolf.
“Sidious’s second apprentice was a man named Tyranus, and his weakness was his Tyranny, stoking your Father’s anger. He was a cruel, oppressive man, and your Father killed him.
“Speaking of your Father, his weakness was You. Vader, meaning Father in some ancient language. His fatherhood was his downfall.
“Do you agree with this theory? Would you say that your weakness was your Lysan, a word meaning Light? Was your weakness your Light?”
Luke bristles, but the anger didn’t feel the same as it had before Anakin died. “And what was your weakness, then? The Plague that was your hubris?”
Plagueis smiles. “Luke Skywalker, I loathe you. You are a failure of a Sith, a colossal waste of time, and a disgrace to our history. And yet, I almost can’t even fault you for it.”
Luke laughs. “I’m honored,” he drawls. “Do you have anything you want to say before I lock you away again?”
“The Dark Side will never leave you. You will be marked forever, Darth Lysan. That’s all I wanted to say.”
“That’s all?”
“You summoned me to speak to me for a reason, didn’t you?” Plagueis shakes his head. “What was that reason?”
“I wanted to tell you goodbye. And I also wanted to tell you: fuck you,” says Luke, sneering. “I can’t kill you, not like Palpatine, no matter how much I’d like to. But I figured you deserved a proper goodbye before nobody speaks to you ever again.”
“You may think that,” Plagueis says ominously.
Luke doesn’t take the bait. “Goodbye, Darth Plagueis.”
“Goodbye, Luke Skywalker.”
-
The crystal is warm beneath his hands, and Luke can feel the life pulsing within it; he stares at the deep red glow it casts, and sighs.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “You’ve been through so much… just like me, haven’t you? Who had you before that Inquisitor? What color did you used to be?” He doesn’t expect a response, but he does caress the smooth side with his bare thumb. “I’m sorry I added onto your struggles. And I’m sorry your twin—” he stops himself as he says it, thinking of brown eyes and intricate hairstyles. He exhales. “I’m sorry your twin isn’t here with you.”
He grasps the crystal in his hand, and it doesn’t dig into his flesh. He covers his bare palm with his robotic hand. “My hands have caused so much suffering,” he says, “even to you, and I regret it all so much.”
Amends, he allows himself to think, feeding a tendril of the Force into the crystal. You deserve so much better. I can help you, if you just accept it. I’ll drain away all of that hatred I forced you to keep. You can let go.
He closes his eyes. He doesn’t push with the Force. He lets it hang there, rushing a bit like a stream. Easy to get caught up in the current, but only if you step in it. He doesn’t want to push anyone anymore.
His hands feel warm, like he was holding them in front of a campfire, and it’s a comforting feeling. He smiles, keeping his eyes closed and hands clasped together.
When he opens his eyes after the warmth dies down, he looks down at his hands.
The crystal isn’t white. It’s not red, either. It’s a mix in between, a warm, light pink color. Luke smiles.
“Everyone needs time to heal,” Luke murmurs, picking up the crystal. “Maybe you’ll never be white again. Maybe my horrible hatred has stained you. But that’s okay. Our scars are a part of us… and they always will be. It might fade with time, but maybe not. Maybe you’ll always have it.”
To Luke, it feels like a step. He is no Sith, but he isn’t a Jedi either, and for now, and maybe forever, he’s okay with that.
The crystal slots into place in his lightsaber, and when he presses the button, a beautiful pink beam meets him. He thinks about the scars all over his body and the breathing mask he has to wear, and it all seems to make sense.
We are one and the same.
-
The Senate Floor is slightly chilly, and Luke clears his throat. “Dignitaries, I am so pleased to see so many of you return to Coruscant for this session. I won’t speak for very long, because I am sure you are all incredibly busy on your homeworlds.
“With the death of his Majesty, Emperor Palpatine, I find that changes must be made within the power structure of the Empire. I believe that all planets are entitled to a seat on the Senate and—”
He is cut off with an explosion of noise.
“What about the Moffs, your Majesty?” Some brave Pantoran says, her pink hair shining in the light.
“They will continue their duties overseeing their sector, but nothing more; I worry that they become too spread thin trying to keep everyone’s best interest in mind, which is where you come in, Senators, should you choose to return. If any Moff has a problem with it, he can come see me and we can…” his lip curls. “Talk it out.” Have a meeting with his lightsaber, maybe. Damn Moffs.
“Emperor Lysan! What about systems whose previous Senators have retired or passed away?” The Ryloth delegate asks.
“I suggest an election, decided by the ruling parties of the system, to be held at your earliest convenience.”
“What about the—!”
“Further questions can be directed to my advisors, and I will answer them as soon as I am able.”
“Your Majesty, please!” The Pantoran shouts again. “Does this suggest a return to diplomacy?”
Luke thought of brown hair and heavy, Nubian makeup, wishing all at once that she was here to discuss it. And she reminded him of another brown haired Senator, with elaborate hairstyles and a blaster in hand.
“Yes,” says Luke simply, “Emperor Palpatine and Darth Vader are no more. The galaxy shouldn’t be living in fear anymore. But it’s one step at a time. The Republic was a sad, broken organization, but every system needs their voice heard. I think the Senate is the best way to do that. Thank you. That’s all.”
He thinks hard. No, that wasn’t all. He feels scared when he imagines what he will say next.
“I also offer a full pardon to Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan—” the chamber erupts with shouts, but he doesn’t stop. “—General Han Solo, General Lando Calrissian, Admiral Gial Ackbar of Mon Cala, Generals Crix Madine, Carlist Rieekan, Hera Syndulla and affiliated parties.”
“Your Majesty—!” He hears over the din, but he turns and exits the Senate Chamber, heart pounding.
-
Princess Leia stares at the recording on the datapad in front of her and she frowns.
His eyes are blue. Blue blue blue blue…
She replays the video.
Hesitantly, Luke stands up straighter. “I also offer a full pardon to Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan, General Han Solo, General Lando Calrissian—”
Who are you? Darth Lysan? Luke Skywalker?
“Hey,” Han places his hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t flinch. “They’ve got a hand for you, whenever you’re ready.”
Leia frowns. She keeps her eyes on her brother, darting down to his robotic hand.
“I don’t need it,” Leia says, surprising even herself.
“Excuse me?” Han questions.
“I don’t need a new hand,” Leia says again, and she replays the recording.
“I also offer a full pardon to Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan…”
“Why not?” Han asks, and he rubs her shoulder.
“I accept what I’ve gone through. I’m at peace with my suffering.”
She plays the video again. “I also offer a full pardon…”
“But you don’t have to suffer anymore,” Han sounds confused when he says it. “Your life will be much easier with it.”
Leia shakes her head. “I don’t feel the need,” she whispers. “Maybe I just want to be different. Maybe I just don’t want to be like them… but to me,” she sighs, “I accept what has happened. I have no planet, no parents, no brother… no hand. And even though it makes me sad, I accept it. I understand it.”
She reaches her good hand into her pocket and pulls out a short lightsaber hilt. She admires it for a moment.
“That’s the one that did it, isn’t it?” Han asks.
“Yes,” says Leia. “And… I can feel it.” The hatred emitting from the blade makes her head hurt.
“Do you want me to take it?” Han wonders. “I can find some place to get rid of it.”
“No,” she says, clenching it a little tighter. “It’s mine, now.”
She replays the video again. Luke hesitates, blue eyes shining. “I also…”
She doesn’t hear Han leave, but she’s sure he said something.
Instead, she stares at the lightsaber a moment longer, before she raises her hand. She feels the Force come to her call, and it feels like home.
The lightsaber shakes in the air, and clumsily falls apart. Leia frowns. She doesn’t want to ruin it, because Luke made it. But she realizes she probably wouldn’t know how to fix it, anyways.
Instead, she grabs the crimson crystal out of the air, letting the rest clatter to the floor.
It’s warm to the touch, and it almost feels like it’s alive; almost like she can feel it breathe below her hand and feel its heart beating.
Obviously, it’s just a crystal… right?
But she still frowns. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry for what he did to you. You didn’t deserve it.”
It pulses in what might be agreement, or might be disregard. Or probably a coincidence.
She clasps it in her hand, almost squeezing. She feels a shock below her palm, and she gasps, but doesn’t let go. “I miss him,” she says, squeezing a little tighter, and she might be crying. She thinks of his nervous blue eyes on that video and sobs. “I’m sorry, Luke.”
When she finally gets up, she puts the crystal on the table.
She stares at it. It’s not red anymore. Instead, it’s a light shade of baby pink.
-
Emperor Lysan is the Emperor of the Galaxy in name, but in practice, he’s mostly a recluse. The News Agencies crane to get a look at him, the people beg for him to speak; he doesn’t.
He lets the Senate run the Galaxy. The newly elected Chancellor Chuchi is kind and honest in the way she rules, and she petitions to speak to the Emperor often… but he usually doesn’t respond.
Princess Leia becomes a voice of reason. She doesn’t run a Rebellion so much as a political party; her campaign doesn’t have a seat in the Senate, but she is a symbol. She and her pink lightsaber are a trademark of peace and equity.
Twin lightsabers connect twin humans across the galaxy… even on opposite sides.
There is no Jedi, and there is no Sith. There is no Republic, and there is no Empire. There’s only grey, a mix in between.
It’s not perfect. It’s not even good. But it’s a step. And sometimes, that’s all you can do: take a step.