Since this is the last part, I'm putting my comments in the beginning.

That's right, people. This is the very last part. :) To everyone who put this on their favs list, thank you. I am extremely flattered.

I don't think there's much more I can say except thank you. Thank you for reading, thank you for all the wonderful comments . . . and please don't kill me when you reach the end of this.

Anyone who has questions they want answered (those in the chapter 7 reviews pretty much get answered in this), just leave your email with the review and ask me to contact you. I'll happy to do so and answer any questions. Since I am not posting another part, I can't just post the answers here. :)

Again, thanks to everyone for reading. Feedback is my lifeblood, I swear. Oh, and if you're sad that this fic is ending . . . you can always read my others. ;)  grins

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Luke had walked out of Kyalla's bridge mere minutes before. Kyalla tried to focus both on Luke and her command but it wasn't easy to split her attention that way. She sat down on the hard command chair, her feet planted flat on the floor. She tensely watched a flickering blue screen that was slanted for her to see more easily. It stood in place of a normal viewing screen.

She saw the gap in the Empire's defense spread. When she saw nothing else, for a long, nervous moment, she feared the worst. Then Bail Organa's small yacht appeared and slipped through with the grace of an experienced pilot.

It had succeeded. Luke was gone, beyond reach – to rescue Obi-Wan. She let out a shaky breath.

"General?"

Kyalla raised her head. Standing before her and slightly to her right was the commander, whose name she still did not know. He stared at her with intense dark eyes.

Resisting the urge to lick her lips in nervousness that she didn't know the source of, she spoke. "Yes?"

The commander's eyes flicked from the view screen that showed the battle, and then back to Kyalla. His lean body was tense and his eyes suspicious. "General, half of the Star Destroyers are retreating to regroup."

Kyalla looked at the display. Half of the wedge of Star Destroyers were indeed retreating, to reorganize and get back into a state where they would be less vulnerable. The half retreating was the half that had so closely witnessed the destruction of one Destroyer and the near destruction of another. Their actions clearly came out of cautiousness as those in charge, however stupid they were, were beginning to realize how carefully the battle had been planned.

As had been anticipated.

The commander shifted on his feet. "Well? Are we going to do something or just let them go so they can attack us again?"

"We are waiting, Commander . . . ?" Kyalla raised an eyebrow, trailing off with a gesture for him to continue.

"Commander Delthane," he said stiffly, eyes narrowing, the darkly tanned skin around his eyes getting tiny lines. Perhaps he thought she was trying to shift his attention. He had no doubt been assigned as her watchdog – and sadly whoever had done it was not privy to the entire plan. That anonymous person's interference would make her job more difficult, since she did need her commander to deal with the more minutiae details.

Kyalla nodded. "Commander Delthane. You see, even this was planned in advance. We've quite outdone ourselves this time." She gave him a hard look, while keeping half her focus on the battle. Waiting for the right time. "I know that you are supposed to watch me, for signs of whatever, perhaps for some political reason that I am not aware of." She lifted and hand waved it in dismissal of that. "But whoever told you to be suspicious of me did not know the whole plan and you're getting worked up about nothing."

Delthane's eyes widened and he looked at her in surprise. "Politics –"

"Does that surprise you, that the Rebellion has politics? It shouldn't. Yes, we have it to a much lesser degree than the Empire or most other organizations but it still exists," Kyalla said. "And we use politics as a weapon and a tool as much as the Empire does. Why do you think we are attacking the way we are? We know that we cannot take Coruscant; there are too many loyalists, not to mention the Emperor is still in residence. But if we can humiliate the Empire on their home ground, we can do it anywhere – and that will only lend credence to our cause, Commander."

Delthane's mouth opened, then closed. He clasped his hands together in front of him. He glanced again at the display, and then turned back towards her. "And so what now?"

Kyalla gazed at the display. It was very abstract, of course – they weren't seeing it like one would when simply gazing out a view port. Signs designated ships and debris, colors stood for damage. It was a colorful display of war.

Four of the Star Destroyers, on the side the Independence sat, had retreated back towards Coruscant. They had formed a rough semi circle. The Star Destroyer that the Independence had damaged was a ravaged hulk, left to die. For the most part, only the solid structure remained.

As Kyalla watched, tiny blips lit up on all ten Star Destroyers left. "Inform Admiral Ackbar that the mines are ready."

An officer nodded and obeyed. She listened for a few seconds, then looked up, meeting Kyalla's calm gaze. "Sir, you've been ordered to take control of this part of the fleet."

"What? Why?" Kyalla asked, leaning forward in her chair, deeply startled.

"He's busy, sir. The other Star Destroyer's aren't quite acting as planned, he says," the officer replied.

Kyalla sat very still for a moment, taking this in. Then her head snapped up, determination making her aristocratic features harsh. "Okay, people. I want the ships under my command to go for the retreating group of Destroyers. Tell them to let off a few kilometers away."

Orders were quickly given and obeyed. Kyalla turned her head back to the commander. "Get the snub fighters in position to attack the other Star Destroyer's left flank."

"That's still guarded by the four Destroyers," Delthane reminded her.

"Not for long."

Delthane nodded, quickly controlling any doubts he might have had. He turned away from her and began issuing orders to get all the squadrons organized – no easy task. Small and maneuverable, it was difficult to control large groups of snub fighters with any great precision. Often the squadron leaders were too used to independence to cede control easily.

Kyalla focused on the large ships, taking note of the time. Timing was crucial at this point.

The tiny blips on the Star Destroyers became more insistent. Then they abruptly became flat and steady – and then disappeared.

Huge gouts of brilliant red appeared on the display, showing severe damage to the Star Destroyers. The tiny blips had been mines, sent out in the first stages of battle. Smaller than most missiles, they received little attention, especially since they appeared to have no charge. But they were quite capable of destruction – they had simply been in passive mode.

"Order the ships to attack," Kyalla snapped, expression intent and fierce in the glow of the display.

Battleships, X-wings, and small corvettes swooped in at the small group of Star Destroyers. They skimmed along the surface of the Destroyers, while frantic Imperials aimed turbolasers. X-wings evaded most everything with ease, too small and quick to be found and pinpointed by those targeting them. The corvettes faired less well, bigger than the X-wings but not big enough to have heavy armor as the two battleships did. The battleships took heavy hits but only shuddered under the weight.

The Star Destroyers suffered major damage. They were still dangerous though, with their weapons functioning and all but one still having its sublight engines. Yet the massive flames that leapt off the sides of the ships – quickly vanishing in the heat of space – gave hope.

In the meantime, Kyalla took note of what had kept Admiral Ackbar so busy that he had left a good portion of the fight to her. The other half of the wedge had been attacked in a manner similar to what Kyalla had done, using the mines to set the officers on the ships off balance, and in many cases taking out shields. Corvettes the Rebellion had taken and used as their own attacked the smaller ships, such as heavily armed monitors and smaller gunboats. TIE's and X-wings clashed everywhere. Y-wings, mostly finished with their job, came out of the Death Star's half finished structure. They began picking up injured Rebels and helping damaged ships.

Yet it had not been easy. Ackbar's forces showed signs of heavy damage. Some ships were simply gone, off the display entirely. There wasn't enough left of the ships for them to register on sensors. Strangely, most of the Rebellion's forces were on the left flank and middle of the place the wedge of Star Destroyer's had formerly been. That was not supposed to be the case but it could be corrected. It simply meant that the Rebellion's forces were more concentrated than they should be; that gave the Imperial ships more of a chance to protect each other. The plan had been to completely force the Imperial forces away from each other, so they could not come to each others aid.

"Sir, the Empire is calling nearby systems for reinforcements," a voice called out, afraid but desperately trying not to show it in the manner of the younger officers.

Kyalla looked up. "What are they getting in response?"

The officer looked shocked. "Sir, nearly all are refusing or saying they are incapable, stating sabotage."

Kyalla couldn't help but smugly smile. That had been her little addition to the plan, getting Rebel cells to take out as many military targets as they could in a concentrated effort in a limited timetable. Delthane noticed the look on her face and gave her an odd glance. Elated by success, Kyalla ignored it.

A smile still on her face, she looked again at the slanted display before her. The formerly intimidating and invulnerable wedge of ships was gone. Star Destroyers were scattered in Coruscant's orbit. Numerous other, smaller ships of the Empire were completely gone or extremely damaged by the innocent looking mines. Monitors, frigates, and cruisers lay askew in pieces.

"Look at that."

"What?" Delthane asked. He stepped over to her and looked over her shoulder. Kyalla jumped, not realizing she had spoken out loud.

She pointed at the display. "Two Star Destroyers, the more damaged ones but still functional, are heading away – I think they're going to try and swing around Coruscant's orbit to attack us from another direction, while effecting repairs."

"That makes sense to do, on their part," Delthane admitted.

Kyalla looked away to a communication officer. "Tell Ackbar I'm recommending that some cruisers are sent after them."

The officer nodded. Kyalla's lower lip twitched and she looked at Delthane. "And so the battle diverges from the plan," she said simply.

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To Master Yoda, the Force was a multidimensional thing. It was like a river, flowing forward into the future, with eddies and currents, floods and rapids. Yet, it was also a lake, peaceful and still, the knowledge of the universe within its depths. Such was the Force, in his mind's eye: the reality of the Force overlaid with physical reality.

In that physical reality there were people, their bodies a mere echo of their true essence within the Force.

To most people, battle was chaos. A thousand people doing a thousand different things, with victory merely a good combination of individual decisions. Plans did not help because they did not hold. Master Yoda, however, saw things entirely differently, and that was what made him an effective leader. He saw individual and group efforts as not separate, but merely parts of the same whole.

The shuttle's engines ran with a soft hum, sitting in the shuttle bay of the Death Star. The small Jedi Master paused reflectively, knowing the Force had called him from the fight, to here. He ignored the stark gray, troop shuttle he was in and sought the future.

Master Yoda reached out with the Force as easily as breathing. Easier. For nearly nine hundred years it had been there for him, through his training, varied conflicts and his time on the Jedi Council. It did not fail him now. He reached out and gently touched the minds of the Jedi Knights under his command, spread within the battlemoon. They answered his call with silent attention, separating their focus.

The message that Yoda sent was like a gentle, gradual realization. He did not speak; he experienced it and sent it, and they knew.

He saw a trail leading to the horizon. The trail was rocky and dangerous, rife with danger. Yet there were placid spots, gentle plains that soothed the mind's eye – and there were yet other parts, where the trail led to raging rivers that flowed down with startling speed.

It was a vision of the future. The rocky areas were uncertain, dangerous in that uncertainty. The plains spoke of one path, certain and steady. The raging waters were times of desperation and need.

The Force raged like a river. Distantly, the Force giving him cues and flashes of insight that he used with sure skill, Yoda could see what was happening in the battle between the Empire and the Rebellion. The fight was coming to a climax, a thousand decisions leading towards only two ends. Defeat and victory. And Yoda knew that they, those sabotaging the Death Star from the inside, had little time. Less than expected – for the future went ahead against their will, rushing towards a critical point.

They had to leave the Death Star, and quickly. But they could not fail in their mission, either, for it was essential.

The Jedi knew as Yoda knew and they responded with a gentle acquiescence and heightened speed. More than three-dozen Knights were on the Death Star; they knew their job and they would do it well. There were not many Jedi left, only a few hundred, but they had learned the lesson of war well. Through the Force and his own instinct Yoda knew that whatever the outcome, the Jedi would survive this battle, even if they did not live for long after that because of the sheer importance of this battle – and the importance of those within it. Such a thought – that the Jedi might die – gave the wizened Jedi Master sadness; in some sense, the Jedi were his legacy. Many of them he had trained when they knew nothing yet of evil or the galaxy. He had treasured their innocence and now he treasured them.

Yoda sighed deeply as he felt the massive disturbance in the Force.

The Emperor was dead.

The future did not lighten. The critical point was still coming, Palpatine's death merely a chapter in the story, important but not the most crucial. His death had been likely from the beginning of the battle; Yoda did not know why this was the case but that mattered little. It had happened, a stepping-stone to another vital point.

He could sense the clash of the Rebellion and the Empire. It, too, was reaching a critical stage – and it was all connected to one person, to one event. He could sense the wakes of ships as they moved in the battle of ships, the determination of those leading it. He could sense death and life; the sorrow of a comrade lost and the joy of a comrade saved.

Master Yoda opened his eyes, a few seconds having passed. A young Jedi Padawan knelt before him in a meditation pose, his braid hanging raggedly over one ear. He focused on the Jedi Master with worried intensity.

Yoda's ears twitched and lowered, his eyes narrowing and his expression intense. "Strong, young Skywalker must be," he muttered, tapping his stick on the deck of the shuttle.

The Jedi apprentice cocked his head, his brown eyes puzzled. "Master?"

Yoda raised his stick and tapped the youngster with it on the side of his head. "Go, you will, and prepare the ships for departure. Leave very soon, we must."

The Knights had left to sabotage the Death Star, spreading on the huge ship. Most had left their Padawans – those that had Padawans – with the ships, in case they needed to leave quickly. The strike teams that had gone with the Jedi had done similarly.

The Padawan nodded and left the shuttle.

The young Padawan had been puzzled when Master Yoda had returned halfway through the mission, to an old and gray troop transport. The wizened Jedi Master had ignored that and settled down, waiting for long minutes, obeying the will of the Force and being still. He had meditated, the Force with him and in him. He had seen and known. Light and darkness waged for supremacy. He sent the Padawan out, even as he could still see what the Force had shown him in his mind's eye.

The future reached for the horizon.

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It was a titanic struggle, epic in proportions. The battle lines had been drawn, and now there was only a fierce struggle. Battle was a strange thing, intricate and simple at the same time. Most battle plans could be defined simply, easily – but execution of such was much harder. Every group was made of individuals, and individuals reacted unpredictably. And for every reaction, a tiny thing was changed. Then thousands of individuals were involved, each making crucial – yet small – decisions every second. Then all of these decisions interacted with each other.

Such philosophy was fascinating, Kyalla admitted to herself, but when you lived through war – battle –  it was, simply put, a bloody mess.

She watched the battle unfold, giving orders here and there – but now it was simply up to the individuals, and how well they could cooperate with each other. She stared into the display of the battle like it was her life; which it may indeed have been, but it was most certainly the life of others.

Six cruisers, some of Mon Calamari make and some of Imperial design – now used for the Rebellion – went after the two Imperial Star Destroyers that were running from the battle to swing around the planet, to attack again from a better position, as well as to make repairs. The cruisers came close to the damaged vessels, harrying them with little attacks and deceptive maneuvers. Limping, one of the Star Destroyers seemed to partially lose navigation control after one such attack.

And quite suddenly, something happened. No one could quite say what it was, or the reason for it; but suddenly the Imperials were losing their cohesiveness, their ability to function like merely parts of one whole. TIE fighter squadrons lost formation, weapons officers seemed to develop reflex problems, and the giant Star Destroyers moved clumsily around each other.

It was puzzling.

But the Rebel Fleet wasn't arguing. Taking advantage of the sudden lapse, they stepped up their offense. A cruiser, following the limping Star Destroyer that had lost navigation control, went ahead on its own as its companions left to pursue the other Star Destroyer.

"What are they doing?" Kyalla demanded, leaning forward, hands on the chair's arms, body tense. Why was the one cruiser following the one Star Destroyer? What was the leader of that battle group thinking? "Ask the battle group commander what's going on."

An officer obeyed her order. She turned, facing Kyalla, pale face shocked. "Sir, all he'll say is that they're making a noble sacrifice."

Slowly, dangerously, Kyalla said, "What?"

Commander Delthane interrupted her rising fury. "General – look," he said simply, pointing at the display of the battle.

Kyalla looked. At first, she saw only what she had seen before. A lone cruiser going after a larger vessel that far outmatched it, even damaged. A suicidal run. But then her mind took in the other facts the display showed, and it came together.

"By the Force," was all Kyalla could manage.

"Yes," Commander Delthane murmured, very faintly and with shock and awe coloring his tone.

The Star Destroyer was now in a lower orbit than the other one. Its orbit was slowly decaying, although at the rate it was going it would still take years to fall to Coruscant. The cruiser followed it closely, on its tail.

Coruscant had four moons. They all had names similar to the planet they orbited, and were fairly unremarkable, all save one. Hesperidium, a small moon, was in a lower orbit. It was just outside the shields that covered Coruscant, protecting the planet from being conquered. But the most remarkable thing about Hesperidium was the fact that it had a base on it, a base that held the military minds of the Empire. It would be close to any battle, yet near to safety – the shields. And any commanding officers aboard it would not be in danger in a fight, since they would not be one of the ships engaged in combat – yet they would still be able to communicate with their fleets.

The lone cruiser crept up along the Star Destroyer's side. Too late, the captain of the Star Destroyer realized what was going to happen. The cruiser suddenly put on its sublight engines to the maximum, and rammed the Star Destroyer in the side. The cruiser didn't explode, but its internal frame seemed to collapse with the hit. Fire erupted on the Star Destroyer's side as the cruiser drove into it mercilessly.

The Star Destroyer's orbit, already unstable, changed.

It no longer had navigational control.

Hesperidium's massive complex glittered in the light, with Coruscant's star shining down it brightly. The Star Destroyer's massive size blotted out the light shining down on the moon for a mere instant.

Then it impacted. The Star Destroyer, its orbit changed, hit the moon head on. There was a huge explosion as air was released from ruptured buildings, the air itself catching on fire, spreading in a wild design. Then it faded, to be replaced by the starkness of chunks of moon slowly spreading out from the once whole moon. Nearly a third of the moon was shattered.

Silently, Kyalla offered a prayer and thanks to the crew of that cruiser. She saw Delthane's lips moving silently. She cleared her throat.

"Well," she said simply, in control as a leader should be, "this changes things."

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Obi-Wan staggered away from the throne room. His body, worn from torture and malnutrition, literally shook and ached. His mind felt strangely detached, a sign of extreme exhaustion, both mentally and emotionally. His face was wet with tears, now slowly drying. The floor beneath him felt cold but he didn't care. The euphoria was fading, to be replaced with a dead, almost unnatural calm.

He could still feel Luke. In fact, the young man was quickly approaching. He could feel Luke's exhaustion as well, but it was much less than his own. Obi-Wan had never channeled such power – he had never possessed such power, and his mind and body were not made to use it. Luke was in better shape for that very reason. Obi-Wan could also feel the young man's worry for him.

Obi-Wan looked around the destroyed throne room and wondered what to do. Finally, he searched the walls and found a door. He didn't want to go through the lift – it would lead him to where he came from, the Royal Guards. He wondered when they find out, if they didn't now already. Had anyone else seen the lightning? How far had it spread?

The Jedi didn't have the strength to shake his head, so he simply sighed.

Finally, he found a door. He opened it, slapping his hand to the control panel. When it opened obediently he felt a flicker of relief, brief because of his exhaustion. Hands shaking, he leaned against the wall and moved out into a hall with white walls and floors, all shiny and clean. Mostly likely it led to private areas that Palpatine used, such as conference rooms or such things. Possibly private quarters. He couldn't imagine what else.

In only pants and filthy with his own blood and sweat, he felt strangely out of place in the immaculate corridor. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall, resting against the coolness of it. He wanted to sink to the floor and never get up.

Footfalls, quickly approaching, made his eyes snap open. He looked forward, alert. The hall diverged into two corridors, at right angles. An officer, dressed in the normal tan color, stepped around the corner. He was young, face distressed and confused.

Brown eyes blinked, surprised, meeting blue ones that had only tiredness and wariness.

The young man opened his mouth and closed it. Obi-Wan noted absently he was a lieutenant. Then the young man spoke. "Something is wrong," he said simply, expression distressed, looking vulnerable in the way the young manage so easily.

Obi-Wan blinked, his mind taking seconds longer than it should have to realize just what was wrong. Palpatine had been a control freak – every part of an Imperial's life was organized and regulated. Not only that, but Palpatine used his formidable Force powers to keep control of his subordinates. His close ones especially, except for a select few that he left alone to get an uninfluenced opinion. Even with his army as a whole, he influenced them. He was not afraid to use power and he knew how to use it well; he used it on his army to keep them cohesive, functioning as one unit. The loss of Palpatine's influence would be devastating to people that had had little independent thought for years. Obi-Wan had no idea how the Sith had done it, but the Jedi had known for a long time of what the Sith had done.  The Jedi, of course, would never do the same – that would be wrong, and lead to the dark side.

Obi-Wan licked his dry lips, thinking. Evidently, the young man had been so thoroughly controlled that he was virtually incapable of any independent thought. Could that be used to his advantage?

He gathered as much of the Force he could muster. A silent presence that was like a shadow in his mind gently lent him strength when he reached for it. Not having the energy to send his thanks to Luke, he reminded himself to do it later.

"Palpatine is dead," Obi-Wan stated bluntly.

The young officer almost fainted. His face paled and shock overrode every thought.

Quickly, Obi-Wan brought the Force to bear, the words coming instinctively – or perhaps from the Force. "You will tell everyone you know that Palpatine is dead," he murmured, weakly waving his hand. For a second he wondered if this was ethical, doing this to someone already weakened from such repeated use of mind control, then dismissed the thought.

The officer nodded. "I will tell everyone I know that the Emperor is dead," he stated in an odd tone that all people used when being manipulated. They also always repeated the word spoken to them, merely exchanging pronouns.

It was close enough. "Now . . . go," Obi-Wan managed, waving his hand again and taking precious strength from Luke. The officer nodded, and soon Obi-Wan heard footsteps slowly fading from his hearing.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and slid to the floor, his back to the wall. He was so tired. Luke touched his mind, telling him that he was landing, after having some difficulty with TIE fighters close to Coruscant. Worried, Obi-Wan wondered how he would land – but that thought, too, was answered. Palpatine wanted Luke, so there would surely be standing orders to let him land if he identified himself. Then, a gentle question inserted into Obi-Wan's mind: can you make it to the landing pad? And almost as an afterthought, Luke sent his feelings that the sooner they were out of there the better.

A smile touching Obi-Wan's lips, he sent in response: You'll be punished for doing something so foolish as coming here. Later. There was also a gentle affirmation of Luke's question: he would try.

He got an answering wave of amusement from his apprentice at his sending. Breathing deeply and mentally fortifying himself, Obi-Wan slid up the wall, pushing with his legs. He opened his eyes, wincing at the brightness of white walls.

Slowly, he began, once again, to stagger down the corridor, trusting the Force to guide him safely to the landing pad.

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Of the twelve Star Destroyers, only five were still functional. One Star Destroyer had crashed into a moon, another had been brought down on the other side of Coruscant by a battle group, and the other five had been brought down by careful, genius tactics by an inferior force. Admiral Ackbar and his advisors had proved their worth.

The battle was going amazingly well.

Yet the Rebellion still had losses. Their forces had only been three-quarters that of the Empire's to begin with and that difference had only become more distinct as the battle continued. Cruisers, corvettes, and even entire battle groups had been lost – but for the most part, the battle was a success. And Kyalla wondered just how far they would go in taking advantage of it.

"Status?" Kyalla called, her voice controlled, cool and clipped. She sat in her command chair with her legs crossed, a deliberate degree of casualness in her posture. It was an image of confidence and its effect on her officers was clear in the clear tones of their reports and straightened spines or upright ears. Seeing her confidence, they dwelled on their successes rather than the failures – or the deaths.

"Most of our battle group is gone, sir," a young woman called out at the communications console. "Only two heavy battleships are left and one X-Wing squadron."

Kyalla let out a breath in a barely heard hiss. She opened her mouth to speak, to give an order.

"Sir!" a young man called out, from behind her at another station. "Sir, this is – this is unbelievable!" Half turning in her seat, Kyalla looked back, mind racing. Commander Delthane walked over the young man, looking over his shoulder.

When the commander didn't move to give Kyalla a report as he should have, she barked, "Commander!"

He turned to her. His eyes were huge and his mouth was open in as much an expression of complete surprise as she had ever seen. Then, quickly, some amount of control returned. But the dazed look didn't quite fade from his eyes. "Its – its being reported that the Emperor is dead." He swallowed. "The citizens of Coruscant are rioting and the Imperials are trying to put them down. Statues are being torn, monuments shattered – everyone is rejoicing!" he said, so overcome that he didn't even bother to say 'sir'.

Kyalla stared at him. Her heart had fallen to her stomach but at the same time her mind rejoiced. But was it true? She hardly dared believe it. The old monster had been around for a long time. "Can that be confirmed?"

"I don't know," he replied, shaking his head.

"Deal with it, then," she snapped. She looked around the command area, her eyes searching every spot of the circular room, meeting the still stunned eyes of her officers. "Get to work," she said calmly. "We can't just stop – the battle is still going, whether or not the Emperor is dead." The words came serenely, but her thoughts whirled chaotically in her mind at the idea of Palpatine being dead.

She sat back in her seat, the movement the same as before but somehow lacking the casualness of earlier.

"Sir!" Commander Delthane called. His hand was on the console and his expression strangely exultant.

Kyalla leapt off her seat almost before he had spoken. She joined him at the station with the young man. Across his screen was reports sent by Rebel agents working in the Empire and trusted civilians, high in rank and influence. The media was also broadcasting the news of the Emperor's death. They did so with stunned expressions – or the alien equivalent. Scanning the information quickly, she noted that it was still unknown how he had died or how the knowledge had spread, though it had evidently come through Imperial hands to civilians at some point.

"Does Admiral Ackbar know?" Kyalla asked, frantically trying to remember if he had anyone scanning Coruscant on his bridge: the main bridge.

"I – I don't know," the officer replied unsteadily, looking between his two superiors uneasily.

"Well, tell him!" Commander Delthane snapped, his hand still braced against the console. The officer quickly nodded and began to obey. Satisfied, the commander straightened and looked at Kyalla.

She pressed her lips, trying to regain her cool calm of before. Or at least some kind of façade of it. She breathed deeply and straightened her tunic and before Delthane could say anything, she returned to her post. Her eyes scanned the display before her.

"Do you think they know?" Kyalla mused.

"Of the Emperor's death?" Delthane replied. "If they do . . . their tactics will change," he commented, licking his lips. Then he suddenly added, "I have a sister on Coruscant."

Kyalla glanced at him. Ah, yes. The riots. It was possible, no doubt, that his sister was involved, whether willingly or unwillingly. "I'm sure she's fine," Kyalla told him in a distracted tone, not even reprimanding him for bringing a personal subject up.

What if Obi-Wan is involved? she thought worriedly. No. Don't do this to yourself. Don't think of him.

"Sir?" the communications officer called out. "We've been ordered to press the attack."

Kyalla nodded. "And nothing about the Emperor? Did they say anything?"

"No, sir."

She nodded again, sighing and shifting her posture slightly. "Well then," she muttered. She put her hands on the arms of the chair she sat on and leaned forward. She soon gave orders for the few undamaged ships under her command to begin attacking the Imperial Fleet, her mind rapidly trying to come up with plan.

The display showed that the wedge shape of the Star Destroyers was no longer intact. Half of the wedge was nearly gone, and the other half was damaged. No one was coming out of this battle unscathed, whatever the ultimate outcome, Kyalla thought.

As she watched, something happened. The Rebellion was facing the Imperial Fleet diagonally, directly facing the Death Star, which was off to the port side of the fleet. That was where its forces were mostly concentrated and it stood between the Rebel Fleet and Coruscant. But as she watched, the damaged Destroyers, currently at a disadvantage by having to remain in one place, began to retreat.

But not to Coruscant and the safety of her shields.

Kyalla quickly reassessed what was going to happen.

By leaving Coruscant's orbit, the Imperial Fleet was really not taking a huge risk. Coruscant possessed heavy shields. Nothing short of internal sabotage could get through them. That thought buzzed around her head for a moment, but she quickly repressed it. The Imperial's plan was evident – but that did nothing to help her decide what to do. Though it was not ultimately her decision, but that of Admiral Ackbar's, and whomever opinions he trusted. What the Empire hoped to accomplish was to lure the Rebel Fleet close to Coruscant with the idea of the Rebellion capturing the crown jewel of the Empire. They wanted to get the Rebel Fleet where they had once been and then smash the Rebels against the massive shields.

It would leave the Death Star with less protection but evidently the military leaders had decided it was worth the risk.

"Sir?" a voice spoke out. "Admiral Ackbar has decided to take advantage of the Imperial fleet's moving. We're taking its place."

Kyalla nodded slowly. Commander Delthane shot her a helpless look and she knew he felt as useless as she did. They both let go of that feeling, though, and helped where they could, organizing battle groups and suggesting solutions for navigational and engineering problems. Anything they could do they did. Kyalla distantly noted tiny shuttles leaving the Death Star.

As the Rebel Fleet slipped into the position the Imperial Fleet had once been in, Kyalla and Delthane were deeply immersed in their work. Political divisions and mistrust was set aside as they worked together. They were both common-sense kind of people.

"By the Force!" an officer yelped.

"What?" Kyalla said, snapping to attention and rising from her seat. She looked at the display, but it showed only what she expected.

"It's not there," Delthane said, shooting a glance at her. He had moved to the station of the officer that had abruptly called out. Kyalla briskly walked over and stared into the station's display. It showed Coruscant in all her glory, a silver globe set in nothingness.

Without any shields.

Massive riots and independent action by Rebel agents had caused utter chaos on the planet's surface. As freedom fell into sight, Imperial grunts and officers abandoned their posts. The Emperor was dead and nothing was the same as before – nothing could ever be the same, and many people were embracing that thought whole-heartedly.

The massive shield generators, marked with the Empire's crest, had been on the last strongholds to fall. Anything remotely Imperial had been destroyed on the planet – mostly by Rebels and non-humans, both subjugated for so long. Many others simply ran and didn't help either side, not willing to lose their lives for what could be a coup for the Rebellion or merely a disaster that was soon controlled by the Empire.

Kyalla stared into the small, flat display for a long moment. Then she looked up to meet Commander Delthane's eyes. All around the room, officers stared at the information scrolling across their screens.

Events were colliding. Each event caused a thousand more. Everything was just happening.

Suddenly and without warning, a message came blaring all over the Independence. "Brace for impact! Repeat! Brace for impact!"

Kyalla grabbed the chair the officer sat on and Delthane gripped the console. They both tensed and relaxed, waiting to be thrown and trying to keep a good firm grip on something solid. Neither of them questioned the order. Obeying such an order like bracing for impact was something so drilled into them they obeyed without thinking.

The Independence shuddered. Those in seats managed to keep in them, for the most part, but Kyalla was thrown across the room as inertial dampeners struggled to compensate for abrupt movement of the ship. She landed halfway across from where she had been. Delthane ended up hitting her command chair with a harsh sounding whack.

Delthane didn't move, perhaps unconscious, but Kyalla slowly rose to her knees, gripping a rail so hard her knuckles were white. Some of her hair had been thrown loose from its clasp, to float freely around her face. She puffed out air, trying to move it. Blood trickled down the side of her face and her nose.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded hoarsely. Getting slowly to one knee, a painful process even with the help of the rail, she stumbled over to her chair, grasping the back of it both hands.

She squinted and looked over it to her personal display.

The Death Star had exploded.

She hadn't realized she had spoken aloud until the cheering started. It was ragged and sparse, the cry of the exhausted, but it was heartfelt. Kyalla didn't have the energy to join.

But she did smile – faintly, weakly, but sincerely.

Slowly, she sank again to her knees, resting her hand against the back of her chair. Time seemed to pass as she watched the officers try to organize themselves and treat injuries, while still keeping track of the battle. The shaking of the ship had been from the fragments of the Death Star hitting the Independence. It was a wonder they had gotten such a timely warning at all, considering how quickly those fragments must have moved through space. Unless the strike teams warned them . . .

Someone knelt by her. "Sir?" The voice came faintly, distant sounding and murky, like it was being spoken underwater. She had closed her eyes and the back of the chair felt hard. She wanted her bed.

Then someone else spoke: "They're retreating! Force – they're leaving the system all together!"

Yes, Kyalla thought, dazed. The Emperor was dead; their superweapon was lost and Coruscant overrun by rebels and rioters. It made perfect sense the way they were acting. Also, Imperial commanders were known for the fact that many were not the best of military leaders. Coruscant itself would not be very difficult to conquer, since they didn't have the problem of the shields – there would still be stormtroopers and such to deal with, but that could be handled by . . .

And she passed out.

**********************************************************************

Physically and mentally drained, Obi-Wan staggered down the long, wide hallways of the palace. He took no notice of the elegantly carved wood decorations, the spotless, white floor or even the unusual emptiness of the halls themselves. Most of the residents of the palace had scattered. Obi-Wan sensed not only growing panic, but also joy. The knowledge that the Emperor was dead was slowly spreading.

As exhausted as he was, Obi-Wan felt almost happy. One thought continued to drum through his head, the only thing important. Luke was all right; Palpatine would not get him. Would never even get the opportunity to try to turn him.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and finally gave up trying to force strength into his body. He leaned against the wall with his shoulder and slowly sank down to his knees. The wall was cool and soothing against his head and the floor hard against his knees, making him keep awake. His head hung with pain from the torture.

But all that was dismissed as inconsequential at the sound of harsh, heavy breathing.

*********************************************************************

The landing pad was a flat, raised section of the Imperial Palace. The dark gray material was scorched and worn from countless landings. Few ships were parked on it, most having left Coruscant space or joining the battle above. All of this made it easy for Luke to land, as well as the fact that he was allowed to land without being challenged, per the Emperor's orders. It was rather disturbing that he hadn't had to talk to anyone to land, though.

The Dreamer settled down on the landing pad with all the skill Luke possessed, though in truth his attention was not focused on that. As soon as he knew he was landed, he switched the engine to standby – so they could make a quick escape – and virtually ran out of the cockpit, nearly tripping over the hatchway.

Obi-Wan's strong Force presence was slowly growing weaker. He was not in danger of dying but it was clear he did not have the strength to make it to the landing pad. His mind was barely in contact with Luke's anymore. Luke would have to go after him.

It didn't matter to him. He would go after Obi-Wan and carry him back to the ship if he had to. Obi-Wan was alive – and that knowledge was enough to make Luke forget the battle being waged. The self-control he had been taught all of his life and the fear he felt now raged within him. It was a battle between what he knew was right – and the darkness he knew was within.

Before leaving, he quickly put on a belt and holster. He put his lightsaber in one hand and kept a blaster ready in the holster. He didn't know if he would need it, but it never hurt to be cautious.

When he left the Dreamer, his heart suddenly began to pound. He suddenly realized that he was in the Imperial Palace, which was the very heart of the enemy. Palpatine was dead, but his many servants were not. And while the Emperor had not been loved, there were those that were loyal to him and would no doubt not be pleased about his death.

Luke reached out to the Force to keep his presence unnoticeable. It was difficult; somehow, linking with Obi-Wan so strongly had made his connection with the Force – fuzzy. It no longer quite fit, and he suspected it would probably feel strange for some time. He didn't know if it was his bond with Obi-Wan directly or just how he had channeled his power to his Master, but it was clear that such an action was not normal and was affecting him oddly.

Guards were taken out with the ease of long experience. All those years of covert operations with his Master were paying off; he took each of them out quickly and silently. He kept close to the walls, looking around corners before moving with trained caution and yet also moving at a fast speed, trusting the Force to warn him of any great amount of danger.

He took in the way the palace looked absentmindedly. It was very stark, though beautiful in its own way; Palpatine had spared no expense. Most everything was hard lines of black and white, with some arches that were simple and undecorated. It was also very empty, and Luke wondered why, his breath quickening as vague fears rose. It only took glancing at a public viewscreen – used by Palpatine to talk directly to his staff – to get the answer, however: Coruscant's civilians were rioting.

Luke only glanced at it, being more concerned with other matters, but he saw massive towers and statues built in honor of Palpatine being torn down with heavy, industrial vehicles being used by private citizens. Stormtroopers were retaliating violently, killing tens of thousands by simply randomly firing into any large crowd. People were partying literally to death as stormtroopers attacked anyone in joy.

He turned away and kept running, forcing away lingering shock and disgust, so he could focus on what was going to happen. What he knew had to happen.

His breath halted and his body abruptly tensed. His fists clenched and his back arched, his hands going to his head in reactive shock at the unexpected emotions. It was not quite like being told; more like a simple knowing, as if he were experiencing it without thought.

Obi-Wan was frightened. Mixed in with the fear – drowning it out – was apprehension and a desperate worry for Luke. And a strange kind of resignation.

Breathing deeply and reaching out, he heard Obi-Wan tell him to go and leave without him.

No. Desperate, child-like. Luke shook his head, mentally defying his Master's orders.

Luke . . . my child. Dark, persuasive – knowing.

Luke stopped in his tracks. He took a few stumbling steps to the wall of the long hallway he was in, braced himself against it, and vomited. Feeling weak and shaky, he wiped his mouth and turned away, drawing on the Force once again as his stomach clenched.

The Force was there, as it would always be – and that gave him some comfort.

He gritted his teeth and his jaw became firm. His body was no longer tense but disciplined and controlled, bent to the will of his mind. He would not be swayed by his father's presence. No matter how much it sickened him.

He moved through hallways without stopping, no longer looking to see if there were Imperial Guards present. His focus was ahead. One Imperial looked at him and shouted. The Imperial grabbed his blaster and started shooting. Some of the shots missed by mere millimeters, but Luke took no notice. And suddenly the Imperial was flung away, smashing into a pillar more than ten meters away and doing so with such force a distinct cracking sound was heard.

Luke stepped around a corner.

The scene was unreal. Obi-Wan knelt on the hard, white floor. He was pale and blood spattered, thin and shaking. His face, though, was eerily calm with no expression showing. His blue eyes seemed shockingly so against the starkness of the white floor and Darth Vader. He looked at Luke and then closed his eyes, whispering something that went unheard.

Luke wondered if it was prayer.

Darth Vader stood to the side and slightly behind Obi-Wan. His lightsaber, glowing blood red, was inches from Obi-Wan's neck. He held it steadily. Obi-Wan continued to silently whisper words.

Luke stared at the armored monstrosity that was his father. He spoke softly, but his words carried easily the five meters that separated father and son. "Hello, Father."

Vader seemed to sigh, and there were the faintest stirrings of dark pleasure in the Force. "My son," he said simply. "You have come." His black cloak lifted slightly at a small movement. His great size was very visible against Luke's slender form.

Luke looked down for a moment, taking a calm, even breath. He met the dark hallows of Vader's eyes. "For him," he said softly. Not you, was silently added. He kept himself standing tall and firm, even as Vader simply became quietly trustworthy in his manner. But some dark intent, felt through the Force, warned of the falseness of it.

"He does not deserve such devotion," Vader said, softly – persuasively. His voice, normally so mechanical and harsh, was merely deep and strangely soothing. And for a moment, Luke trembled.

Then the young Jedi cocked his head. His breathing paused and he stilled for a moment, so completely it was as if he was not alive. "Does he not?" he asked softly – truly a question, and not a denial. But there was no anger in his words, either.

Vader said nothing. But Luke could feel his intense focus and a growing anger. Anger at what? Luke did not understand – but the Force whispered to him that he would. And he closed his eyes in the horror of it. Obi-Wan's whispered words came back to him and he realized it was a prayer of sorts; he repeated the Jedi Code again and again.

The Force was still, waiting. Waiting for them to act – waiting for the future to be decided. And for a long moment, Luke hated that the Force demanded this of him.

Vader seemed to feel it. He shifted on his feet and, if he could be said to smile, he smiled. "Tell me, my son – what would you do if I killed our old Master?" He was ignoring Obi-Wan now, focusing completely on Luke.

Deflecting, Luke responded, "He is still my Master, if no longer yours." He's changing tactics, Luke thought.

Vader stepped forward. The red blade was kept close to Obi-Wan's throat, though. Obi-Wan was watching now, gaze steady and calm. His arms were loose at his sides as he knelt with dignity rarely seen in life. His eyes flicked from Vader to Luke, a gentle sadness settling in his eyes.

Watching as the future was decided in small, wincing steps.

"You would be angry," Vader said, his voice like the faint rumble of thunder. Dark and mysterious. "Angry at me – or the Force, perhaps? For letting me kill him?" He laughed, a harsh mechanical sound. "After all, it made me as I am." Darkly ironic, and Obi-Wan flinched, a barely perceptible act.

Luke made a short noise, not quite a laugh. He blinked rapidly for a moment and a tear slipped down his cheek. His fists clenched and he had to consciously move to relax them. "And what does that make me?" he whispered, turning and looking not at Vader, but at the man he had always considered to like a father.

Obi-Wan shook his head, the movement barely perceptible. His eyes shone with compassion.

"You are my son," Vader said slowly, musingly, simply ignoring the subtle interaction between Obi-Wan and Luke. "My mother's death made me strong – Kenobi's will make you strong."

Luke shook his head, quickly and with horror in his eyes as realization struck of what Vader intended. His eyes widened as he turned to face his father. "No!" His hand reached for his lightsaber and found it. The heavy weight of the cylinder was a comfort and his grip tightened on it. He looked from Vader's red blade to the dark armor that concealed the Sith's face.

"You shall be strong, and you will rule the universe at my side – as your power killed Palpatine, it will now serve me." It was stated in a matter of fact tone, confident and laced with the knowledge of victory. He had found Luke's weakness: Obi-Wan. His love for Obi-Wan drove him in many ways, and now Luke was finding out that such emotion could be used to turn him.

Luke panted and his icy blue eyes, shining with emotion, met Obi-Wan's stormy gaze. For a long breathless moment, Luke could see nothing but those eyes, which now showed both sadness and desperate determination.

Forgive me. Obi-Wan mouthed the words, speaking to Luke and not saying anything at all.

Obi-Wan planted one foot on the floor and he dove forward, using his foot to propel him directly into the path of the red blade at his throat. His eyes focused on the red lightsaber as he no longer met Luke's gaze – Coward, Luke thought angrily with horrified fear, as the moment extending for an eternity.

Obi-Wan would rather die by his own hand then let Vader kill him – and let Luke's wrath turn on the Sith he fought. One could not seek vengeance on the dead and Luke would not turn. Luke knew that that was all that was important to Obi-Wan – he knew Luke would grieve for his death, but to have Luke still in the light was more important.

Luke screamed as the blade seemed to close in on Obi-Wan's throat. He reached out with the Force in an instinctive move, holding out his hand and using the Force to take hold of both Obi-Wan and the lightsaber that threatened to behead him. He shoved Obi-Wan one way and the blade another.

Vader growled with rage as his lightsaber was knocked aside; but he kept his grip on it and the blade was quickly brought under control again. Turning, he brought his lightsaber over his head and began to swing downwards. Obi-Wan, lying sprawled on the floor, looked up helplessly. His body was no longer capable of the simple act of dodging. He had not the strength.

But Luke, moving with Force-enhanced speed, got to him before the red blade did, the green of his blade meeting Vader's red with a clash. Hissing in fury, Vader whirled and swung at Luke with a vicious, precise blow, which he barely blocked. The force of the blow was so strong that he nearly dropped his lightsaber. Only instinct and determination let him keep his hold on it.

"I won't let you kill him," Luke stated, breathing hard. He struggled against his anger for his father. You weren't supposed to be evil, his soul cried. His pain fueled his fury.

Obi-Wan, weak from all his experiences, could do nothing but watch as he tried to struggle to sitting. The anguish in his eyes at the knowledge of his helplessness was clear and Luke distantly noted it with sorrow, his eyes still focused on his father.

"Stupid child," Vader hissed menacingly. "Why do you persist in this?"

"Because I must," Luke said simply, blocking another blow. Vader growled and struck again, cutting low and trying to get Luke's leg. With inhuman quickness, the young Jed leaped back.

Vader did not pursue, simply holding his blade in front of him. He still had the advantage of being closer to Obi-Wan, but he made no move to take the opportunity. "You were never his, and always mine," Vader said.

Luke shook his head, breathing hard in a way that hinted of panic. "No."

"Yes, my son. I raised you, took care of you – until that bastard stole you from me. Do you remember that, my young apprentice? Being taught by me?"

"I was never trained by you."

"Ah, but you were. You are my son. I took you into my home. I cared for you. I trained you, my apprentice, in the ways of the dark. And you were an able student," Vader said.

Voice unsteady now, Luke spoke. "You're lying."

"I am not." The Sith paused. Then he switched off his lightsaber. Luke twitched warily in reaction, but Vader merely gestured with the shut down weapon to Obi-Wan, who was lying on the floor panting heavily. "Ask him."

Obi-Wan spoke. "Luke, I'm sorry." His breathing became shallower, as the dark side seemed to leech at his presence. Vader stared at his old Master with the same attention Luke was giving him.

"What? Force, no . . ." Luke shut off his lightsaber as well. One hand went to his mouth. It was shaking from shock. He shivered as the new knowledge sank into his heart. He had been an apprentice of evil – was he still? "Is there no end to the lies?"

"Luke, please," Obi-Wan whispered hoarsely. "I took you as a child, I admit that. The Force guided me to do it, but it was not only that. I felt such light in you, such potential for it. Oh Luke, you were never meant for the dark. That is why I found you." He paused.

"And even now," Vader interrupted, "he tries to excuse his actions."

Luke glanced from his father to his Master; his eyes burned with unshed tears. Yet he refused to cry. He would show nothing for those that lied to him and tried to abuse him. Obi-Wan took him as a child against his will, and his own father cared for him only to use his power.

Obi-Wan's words came softly, smooth and inevitable as the current of a river. "It is your choice, Luke. Your path has always been your choice." Then the weakened, pained Jedi closed his eyes.

Luke could feel his life-force fading.

He looked again at his father, eyes harshly demanding and his voice rough. "And what of my sister, Father? What was her choice?"

Vader said nothing for a long moment. "Her way was to cede to yours, my son. So that you might grow beyond what would have been otherwise. She would have held you back," he said simply.

"She was your daughter," Luke whispered, tears finally falling.

"Yes." No denial. "She was my daughter – and you were my son, more important to me than she could ever be." Again, that persuasive voice that promised it was right. "I love you, my son."

Luke's gaze snapped up at that. "Do you?"

And as before, the Sith held out a hand. It would be easy to take it – to refuse to make the decisions anymore. For that was the life a Jedi, to always choose the light. And the life of a Sith was to follow the lust for power that the dark side gave. A thing that would control every aspect of his life, his mind, and his soul.

Within the Force, he saw the two paths he could choose to take. In one, he saw adventure and much change, in his life and others. He saw a universe irrevocably changed and redrawn. In the other, he saw his life in darkness, saw that his father would not change and could not love him, that last part of light within him dying at the death of Leia. Luke could sense the hate he would feel along that path, where he chose his father – the depression, the despair. The universe crumbled and became chaos as things changed to a way imitating his life. One step changing all the universe.

He chose light.

Vader felt it. He felt the abrupt change in the Force as Luke's decision was made. Ripples were thrown off from their presence in the Force. And the Force itself was no longer still – the step had been made. And now, once again, a thousand thoughts and decisions would shape the future.

The Sith snarled with rage. His red blade ignited with a snap-hiss and time seemed to slow. Taking two bold steps forward, he raised the blade over Obi-Wan, who stared up at him as if mesmerized. The Sith's cloak swirled behind him in slow motion. Luke instantly took action, running forward and throwing himself in front of his Master, getting so close to Vader he could smell the singe of the air from the Sith's red blade. He brought his own blade up to block the blow, a green that shone brilliantly against the color of blood.

Time seemed to return to normal and suddenly everything seemed starkly real, overwhelming in its intensity. Luke took a step forward, striking at Vader's neck, then his waist and his shoulder. The quick, precise strikes forced Vader back. The Sith did not have Luke's flexibility, and needed more room to maneuver.

Vader quickly regained the initiative, making violent blows with his considerable power behind them. Luke didn't let himself fall back, though. He responded just as aggressively, blocking the blows and using them to spin into offensive maneuvers.

Not even a meter apart, father and son exchanged precise, violent blows, their feet planted in the ground, neither willing to give way.

Growing frustrated, Vader reached out to the dark side, creating ripples that Luke could feel. Wary as to what the Sith planned, Luke did not only keep his attention on the physical attacks, but on the mental ones as well.

Vader used the dark side nearly flawlessly, using all his skill to slither along Luke's mental shields. He sought weaknesses that could be taken advantage of, since all it took was a mere slip on the young Jedi's part and it would be over.

Yet, Luke was not so easily caught off guard this time, having been warned by his other fight with Vader. He had learned much from that fight. His Master had always encouraged him to find a lesson in everything, and he had.

His attempt to surprise his son having failed, Vader sought another distraction. You will die for choosing the wrong path.

It is not the wrong path, Luke replied. I have darkness within me, as each being does – but I will not let it defeat me, as it did you. I will not choose your path, Father – for it was always a choice, and I have made mine.

Their harsh breathing was the only sound in room, aside from the harsh buzzing of lightsabers hitting one another.

So be it, Vader's mental voice said, steely and as cold as ice.

I choose my path gladly, Luke said, a mental whisper that was clearly heard.

Vader snarled, his sense in the Force twisting with rage. His rage strengthened him, and his attacks on Luke become ten times stronger than before, as he fed his anger to the Force and in return it fed him more power.

The Sith cut at Luke's head repeatedly, each blow being blocked. Luke's face was shiny with sweat and his clothes were soaked with it, but his blows and blocks came with the same speed and force. Vader struck at his shoulders next, then quickly at his legs. Luke was forced to leap away. As if waiting for that moment, Vader turned so he would be facing Luke diagonally.

Then, with a flurry of attacks, Vader forced Luke to face him, and then made him back away. Luke desperately tried to keep up with the frenzied strikes but Vader was very skilled, and knew just where and how to keep Luke off-balance. He seemed to know each move Luke would make before he did it and in a moment of stunned realization, Luke knew why.

The same Master had trained them.

No sooner had this thought hit than something Luke would have sworn impossible happened. The dark side swirled around the room in storm as Luke had to leap away to keep himself from being cut in half by a vicious, unexpected cut to his side.

Vader stepped forward. But he didn't step to Luke, who stood at his right – but ahead, to where Obi-Wan lay. The older Jedi's eyes fluttered open and looked into the nearly featureless mask of Vader.

Would you kill your own father, my son? Softly reassuring, but also faintly challenging.

Luke sobbed aloud at his father's unprotected back.

Vader never hesitated to move. He swept downward with his blade, also stabbing forward. Vicious glee was transmitted through the Force, a dark satisfaction that was overwhelmingly strong. Evil.

Luke's soul and mind were in pain. He shuddered both physically and mentally as a horrible decision faced him. His lightsaber wavered and then was lowered as tears leaked from his eyes, marking his face and scarring his soul.

I'm sorry!

And Luke stepped forward and severed his father in half.

The upper part of Vader's body fell at Obi-Wan's feet. The older Jedi flinched back, more surprise in his eyes than horror. The other part of the body fell back. The red blade skittered across the floor, away from Obi-Wan.

There was the distinct noise of a lightsaber being shut off. Then a dull clank as it was dropped.

Luke's face was wet with tears. His body trembled from emotional and physical shock. The sweat on his body chilled him and his soul felt hollow. He took a few stumbling steps to Obi-Wan's side.

The stormy eyes looked into his. Nothing but love shone in them, unconditional and complete. Obi-Wan let his lips curve into a trembling smile and one hand twitched, restlessly trying to reach out.

Luke fell to his knees, helpless sobs wracking his body. "Master," he whispered, his voice breaking. He put on arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders and grabbed him by the waist with his other, lifting the older Jedi into his lap while channeling what very few remains there were of his strength. It was enough. Obi-Wan smiled, again.

"Shh." And Obi-Wan's hand reached up and touched Luke's cheek, wiping the tears away. He blinked and sighed faintly, his eyes gentle.

Tentatively, Luke held him tighter. Obi-Wan, with his little strength borrowed from Luke, hugged him back as well as he could. Luke lowered his head, so it was under Obi-Wan's, and Obi-Wan's hand came around Luke's neck to rest at his nape.

"Hush, child," Obi-Wan whispered. "It will be all right."

**********************************************************************

Epilogue

Obi-Wan breathed in the cool, spring air of Alderaan, trying to quell his nervousness. He stood in an old garden with crumbling, stone walls and terraces, with vines overflowing. Huge trees with drooping branches surrounded him, the shadow of their leaves creating a speckled ground of moss. The garden grew in every shade of green, with brightly colored flowers and leaves dappling the entire area. A faint breeze stirred the beautiful garden, and someone cleared his throat.

Obi-Wan turned his head slightly to meet Luke's gaze. Luke stood with the rest of the guests, who stood in a square with a clear line down the middle. The young man wore Jedi tunics and a brown robe that was a touch too long. He looked very much like the Jedi Knight he was.

Luke winked at Obi-Wan and gave a reassuring pulse of the Force. Obi-Wan let it sink in and gave his former apprentice a grateful smile.

Mace watched the interaction with a slight, amused smile. Obi-Wan found himself half-surprised by that, since the Jedi Order still did not approve of such strong emotional attachments as Obi-Wan had with Kyalla. But as the years had passed with him having no contact with the Order, Obi-Wan's feelings had changed. It wasn't emotions that were dangerous, he believed, as much as what one did with them. Over the years as Obi-Wan gradually lost contact with the Jedi, the Council had simply grown to accept that he would not be the Jedi he once was. And so Mace, gently conceding to this, smiled.

Obi-Wan eyes flickered over the rest of the guests. All were close friends, including his Mon Calamari friend Bant, who was a Jedi Knight, and Bail Organa, who had been a faithful friend through the years. Others included the entire Jedi Council, including Yoda who stood in the front with a half amused and half chastising look on his wizened face. But even he watched the proceedings with happiness. In all, there were perhaps two dozen people present.

After looking around for a bit, Obi-Wan let his gaze settle on Luke again, and also on the person next to him. The young man was no longer looking at him, and looked to be quietly speaking with Bant, standing next to him. She wore simple Jedi robes – but, conceding to the occasion, wore a string of shells around her neck. Their friendship, broken by the argument about Luke, had begun to heal and he was content to see that she was here and even talking with his former apprentice.

Obi-Wan searched the young man's face, and saw what he expected to see: happiness, at least mostly. Sometimes, when Luke didn't know he was looking, he would see a shadow in Luke's eyes, a testament to all that he had gone through. A new wariness with his old Master. It gave Obi-Wan a feeling of sadness, but he also had a sense of hope. Their relationship would never be the same; but perhaps it could heal, and grow into something stronger, if changed.

And much had changed. The Empire was not defeated but the biggest step had been made. Once the Imperial forces had left Coruscant's system, the Rebellion had settled in and taken inventory of the loss of lives and injuries. Kyalla had needed only a short dunk in a bacta tank and Obi-Wan had simply put himself in healing trance for several days.

Obi-Wan didn't doubt the Empire would go back, one day, to reclaim Coruscant, but for now that didn't matter. He breathed in the cool air and turned, his collar suddenly tight and he knew before the rest of the guests did – except perhaps the Council – that she was coming.

Shunning tradition, Kyalla walked out in uniform, from behind a stone wall– but it was no normal uniform. It had no rank on it and was most certainly was not of regulation. It was made of the purest white, the material shining and iridescent. It fit her body perfectly, molding to her curves. It was remarkably feminine for a military uniform. Her hair flowed over her shoulders in curls, instead of the normal, simple braid she wore. A tropical white flower was entwined with hair, setting off the pure, shiny blackness of it, and the white uniform made her dusky skin seem like gold.

She was the singular most beautiful sight Obi-Wan had ever seen, and he likened her presence to the beauty of the Force itself.

He, like her, was dressed in uniform – foregoing the normal Jedi wear, for in this he was not a Jedi, but a man. Whereas her uniform was white, his was of the spotless black and made of a similar material. His ginger hair, sprinkled now with gray, had been brushed until it shone and every line of his face showed his happiness; the gauntness of his own experiences lost in the light that suffused him.

She stepped down the makeshift aisle, by herself, and he couldn't tear his eyes away.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity – if a happy eternity – she stepped up to him, rising to the large, weather roughened flat stone he stood upon. He held out his hand and she took it, giving him a small smile, her eyes sparkling.

As one, they turned to their left, where Bail Organa stood. He wore royal blue robes that were fitting for the occasion. In one hand he held a beautiful flower and in the other a large diamond of a beautiful cut.

He smiled at them both. It would be a simple ceremony, lasting only a few short sentences. He waited for a moment, then spoke, raising the flower. "This represents the beauty of this union," he said simply. Then he raised the other hand, with the diamond. "And this represents the union itself – both it's lifelong beauty and solidarity."

Obi-Wan shot Kyalla a look of both excitement and love. She looked at him in return with her eyes shining and her lower lip barely trembling.

"Obi-Wan," Bail said softly, turning his attention Obi-Wan.

He didn't look away from Kyalla, but he heard the words. He was nervous, but at the same time he felt exhilarated.

"Do you take this woman, Kyalla Lyhar, as your wife?"

"Yes, I do," Obi-Wan said softly, squeezing Kyalla's hand, which he still held. She squeezed back.

"And Kyalla, do you take this man, Obi-Wan Kenobi, as your husband?"

"I do," Kyalla whispered, smiling and tears falling down her face at last. Obi-Wan reached with his hand and gently wiped them away.

"Then it is complete," Bail said simply, and lowered his hands.

Never letting go of Kyalla's hand, Obi-Wan stepped forward even as she did, and they kissed, mouths warm and trembling. Kyalla let go of Obi-Wan's hand and it rose to his face to gently meet his cheek, and only then did Obi-Wan realize he, too, was crying. His hand at her waist tightened its grip and his other hand, now free, went to her hair, holding her close to him.

Dimly, in the background, he heard clapping and wild catcalls. And everything was the background now – Luke, the Jedi, the Rebellion and ever-present threat of the Empire. His arms were full of Kyalla and that was all that mattered.

Live in the moment.

It was not only our freedom we fought for, but for living itself.

- Jedi Master Luke Skywalker.