Here it is, the last chapter! Please do know that this is a tragedy, and that heavy warnings for major character death still apply. Take care!

Leia absently stared at the flames, letting their brightness burn her eyes without caring. Their dance was entrancing, far easier to focus on than the yawning gap in her chest, the emptiness inside her. She stood alone. Chewbacca and Lando were looking at her in concern, she could see their gaze from the corner of her eyes, but she had rejected their attempts at comfort.

She knew if she fell in their arms, she wouldn't rise again, and she couldn't afford to crumble yet.

Wedge and Crix had performed a few Corellian rites, the ceremony kept extremely simple. Leia didn't know the traditions of Han's homeworld, didn't know what gods he'd believed in, although Chewie had reassured her he wasn't a man of faith. She hoped it was true and not just another part of the façade he presented to the world, the slipping image of a ruthless mercenary that she had, in retrospect, taken much too long to see through.

They had wasted so much time. Leia knew too well the mercilessness of war, the way it destroyed good people in a matter of seconds, the way it kept you on the edge and took soldiers in a blaze. Her job was to foresee such things, to dispatch men on a map and see them fall. She knew.

And still she'd hesitated, resisted her feelings, fallen in the comfort provided by Han's presence and forgotten that all she had could be taken away from her in an instant.

(But how could she have expected that?)

(Luke's crazy gaze and dishevelled hair, the harshness of his voice, the bright red of his blade –)

She couldn't give up. So much was at stake.

She thought back about their earlier strategy briefing, now nearly a week ago. The attack was planned for tomorrow. They couldn't afford to wait any longer.

"The construction site is above the forest moon of Endor, in the Moddell sector. It is protected by a shield generator set on the moon itself; we will need a strike team and a team of pilots to destroy it. If the rumours are true and Skywalker is truly in charge of its defence, we are going to need you, Leia, to distract him. With your Jedi powers, you are the only one who will be able to hold your own against him."

Leia stared at the schematics in front of her, trying not to let despair overwhelm her as she thought of the last time they had led an assault on a superweapon. The last one had taken nearly twenty years to be built; this one, only three, unless they had already started building it before that; in any case, it meant they had the plans and the resources necessary for it. Luke was no longer even here to make the lucky shot...

How many such monsters would they have to shoot down before they had complete victory?

"We shouldn't destroy it," she surprised herself by saying. "We should capture it."

There were some shouts of surprise among the members of High Command, exclamations of indignation or incomprehension.

"This is already the second one they're building," she continued. "How many more until they learn their lesson? How many more casualties shall we still bear? If we take the monstrosity for us, it will give us leverage. They won't be able to dismiss us."

Mon Mothma was frowning.

"And you would advocate using it against them?"

A flash of anger surged through Leia, hot and acid in the pit of her guts.

"Of course not. It would work more than well enough as an intimidation weapon."

The words tasted like ash in her mouth, Tarkin's smug smile, harsh cheekbones and hateful eyes floating in front of her like a wraith. But underneath that ash were incandescent embers, hardened remains of charred coals only waiting to be set ablaze again.

Let them get a taste of their own medicine. Let them be cornered the same way they sought to corner them. The fire burnt, devoured, and Leia thirsted for justice.

"It could work," Madine said, slowly. His brow was furrowed. "We'll have to rethink the strategy, but I think that's time we can afford to take. Having that kind of weapon at our disposal... it could possibly give us the advantage we've been lacking for so long."

When the vote was called for, most of High Command accepted the idea.

Han would have agreed with her. He was a practical man; life on the streets had taught him that survival sometimes required uncomfortable sacrifices. She wished he were by her side, confirming that this was the right decision.

But would she have brought it up at all if he'd been with her? He had a tendency to soothe the hard edges of her emotions, to let her feel safe enough to mellow down and remember there were still good things in life. With him she could breathe, she could break down, she could be human.

Now she just felt tired and numb. She wanted revenge. She wanted justice. She wanted peace.

She wanted him.

His absence was like someone had torn her right arm away from her, or her heart, perhaps, for it seemed like she had lost her capacity to feel, too. The wound burnt as much as it felt hollow.

Tomorrow, they would fight. She could still feel that restless energy under the surface, that sense of injustice and rage that made her swear to lay down her life to take down the Empire, if that was what it took. The incredible focus that overtook her in battle would be there for her, there was no doubt about it. Instinct would take over, a desire to live, to win.

Tomorrow, she would fight.

But tonight was for Han, for the grief, for the pain and the regret, for everything they could have shared. It was for all they had that was now lost, and all they never would have. It was for the crushing weight inside her chest, for the immeasurable anguish of knowing she would never see the love in his smile again, never feel the safety of his arms around her, never hear his warm voice that seemed to enfold her whole, the drawl of his accent thanks to which everything seemed a little lighter.

She thought of all that, and allowed herself to open herself to it in a way she hadn't done since the Death Star and Alderaan, in a way she had only started to rediscover with him.

She stared into the fire through the blur of her tears and let the hot, salted water flow down her cheeks unimpeded, each drop a silent token of her love.

.

"Luke."

He didn't look up from where he was sitting, legs crossed on his bed, bent over the lightsabre he held loosely in his lap. The room felt silent without Threepio's anxious chatter or Artoo's concerned bleeps. But Luke didn't miss them. He couldn't. How could he?

He'd done what was necessary. Nothing more. There would be no one to listen to their conversations now, no one to betray their plans of treason.

"I have received word of the Emperor. You are to be stationed on the Death Star to protect it; word has reached the Alliance you will be charged of its defence."

He looked up. Vader stood at the entrance and hovered there like a wraith, uncertain and hesitant in a way Luke had never seen him. The sound of his breath filled the room as it long had Luke's nightmares, but it didn't frighten him as much as it used to. It was already nicer than the noise of his thoughts.

Luke nodded, but his heart wasn't in it. He felt nothing but emptiness, indifferent even to the news his father was imparting to him.

"Will I? Is he going to give me such a responsibility even after I attacked him?"

"I do not believe so. There will be no real responsibility, only an apparent one. The plan is to draw your sister in. He believes she will seek you out to confront you."

Again Luke merely nodded, then looked down at his lightsabre again. The metallic hilt was heavy in his grasp, cold and deadly. He couldn't help picturing the blood red blade in front of him, the scarlet light branded on his retina; it felt fitting, now.

"She will not," he said.

Why should she? She knew what he had become. She had seen his betrayal; no doubt she must be angry at him for killing Han. Leia wouldn't forgive him, shouldn't forgive him. Luke wished she would run and forget all about him. It was all he deserved, and the only way she would get out of the curse of their family.

"Nevertheless, that is what he has planned," Vader replied. "The Death Star was designed as a trap for the Rebellion. He will use it, and you, to bait her to the dark side; the annihilation of the Rebellion he will treat as a spectacle to get a rise out of her. He went so far as to order refreshments of Alderaani wine to further her humiliation."

After a breath in and a breath out, Vader spoke again.

"I intend to use the occasion to poison the Emperor's drink."

Luke looked up, both eyebrows risen. Bile burnt in the back of his throat, rage sizzling in his stomach, and he clenched the hilt of his lightsabre in both firsts as a harsh laugh escaped him.

"Is it that simple? When the Rebellion tried that again and again to no effect? All the assassination attempts we've made failed. How is this going to be any different?"

"None of your assassins had the Force," Vader replied. "And you will be there. Your fight with your sister will distract him if you put on enough of a show. He will not expect it."

Luke gritted his teeth. Again he was a tool, again a means to an end and nothing more. He shouldn't expect anything less from his father, and yet his chest hurt as if it had been pierced with a vibroblade.

"It will not work," he whispered. It rung in the Force with all the certainty he hadn't realised he held.

A wave of great fatigue washed over him, and he looked at the lightsabre he was holding once more. Its weight burnt in his hand, and he found his gaze locked on the activation button.

Then a shadow was above him, a hand on his; he had a moment of panic before realising his father wasn't doing anything threatening. With a gentleness Luke had never witnessed in him before, he knelt near where Luke was sitting then pried his fingers open, took his lightsabre and set it next to him, his hand never leaving his son's.

"Then leave. I will cover for your escape."

Luke's head shot up, his gaze seeking Vader's impenetrable mask, astounded by his father's words, by the enormity of what he was offering.

"You would... you would let me go? Just like that, after the lengths you've gone through to capture me?"

Vader remained silent for a moment. His mask was tilted down, his thumb stroking the back of Luke's hand. Luke didn't dare move, afraid of breaking the moment, bewildered by this uncharacteristic behaviour.

"The Emperor ordered me to destroy you, were you to fail in killing your sister," he said, so low Luke barely heard him. "I... do not wish for you to die."

A chill ran through Luke's spine. Suddenly the world felt too small and the air too stale; he couldn't breathe, he needed to fly far away from there.

It was either Leia or him. One of them would have to die, unless the Emperor died first. He looked at his weapon again, taken by a fierce desire to use it, be it on himself or on Palpatine, to take Vader up on his order and leave, go in exile far away from any who had known him, so they wouldn't be hunted down with him; anything to evade this bleak fate, anything to protect Leia.

But Vader still had his hand on his own, the cold leather of the glove on his skin grounding him and preventing him from taking any rash action.

And Luke realised what would happen, were he to flee. Palpatine would be infuriated. He would know the culprit, would summarily execute Vader – or worse, force him to turn his daughter before disposing of him. That wasn't something Luke wanted to risk.

He wanted to think it was just because of Leia. He forced himself to believe he would kill Vader as soon as they managed to take down Palpatine, as he knew he should. But sitting here, with his father closer to him than he had ever been and imparting such a simple gesture of tenderness to him, the thought made his throat close up.

The only chance they had was this desperate plan, this rash attempt born of despair and of time running out.

"No, we'll do it," he said.

The Force was agitated, rumbling. All Luke saw before him was a dark chasm of nothingness, a wide gap swallowing everything.

There was no way out of this.

"Are you certain?" Vader asked, raising his eyes at him. The softness in his voice made Luke's heart ache. "If you saw the future, had a premonition of your demise..."

He hesitated, gently squeezed Luke's hand.

"... I do not want to lose you."

Luke swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Nothing like that," he whispered, looking at his father. Vader's mask still looked like the face of death, his artificial breath was wheezing like a dying man's rasp; and yet, in the quiet, his towering and unshakeable presence had become a comfort. "Just something of a bad feeling. We're going to make it."

He had to believe it. He wanted to believe it, that there could still be salvation for him, for them.

"We're going to make it," he repeated.

.

The first part of the plan happened without a hitch. The codes they had stolen worked, the shuttle went through the controls and landed in the Death Star's hangar without any problem.

It had turned out the original plan only needed a few adjustments for it to work with the new goal. The strike team on the forest moon was still going to deactivate the shield generator; the fleet was waiting for their word to swarm the unprotected Death Star with as many soldiers as they could.

As for Leia's small team, their role was the most dangerous, but crucial nonetheless. Disguised as Imperial soldiers, they were to infiltrate the Death Star unknown to their enemies, and deactivate the superlaser and the inner shields in order to make the invasion easier. It was a perilous and difficult mission. Leia's own, however, was even more so, in a way: distract Luke and Vader from the operation.

She sat in the passenger hold as they made their descent, meditating, trying to release the whirlwind of emotions raging in her. She wished she'd had more time, more training. She knew she was still at the very beginning of her journey in the Force, that she only had the barest rudiments of lightsabre technique. Against either Sith, she was no match, never mind both of them.

Thinking of Luke as one of them still left a bad taste in her mouth. She wasn't looking forward to facing him; the thought of fighting him, of what she would have probably to do, tied knots in her guts.

But she would do what she must. He'd killed Han; he was her enemy. Her friend, her brother, would never once even have envisioned doing such a thing. Luke was gone, though she couldn't understand what made him change so much in so little time.

She wished she could believe he had somehow broken under Vader's torture, that pain and pressure had moulded him into something different against his will. Some well-intentioned comrades had offered that explanation, and a part of her envied their naivety. It would be so much easier to think that, to separate the Luke she knew from from the creature he'd become, the haggard and cold man that had faced her on the Star Destroyer.

But she knew better than anyone that no amount of torture could have forced him to truly change sides, to kill someone he once knew as one of his closest friends. He had chosen this, although Leia couldn't fathom why, couldn't imagine what had driven him to it. And her choice, too, was made, as it had been for years.

She deeply regretted where that had led them, but she wouldn't hesitate.

At last the shuttle touched the deck. The sound sublight reactors decreased then stopped, and Leia came out of her meditation. She stood and stretched, her legs a little stiff after the long journey. When the mission officer came to fetch her, she was ready to go.

They exited the shuttle in complete indifference from the troops working there. All of them wore Imperial uniforms, some the olive of the higher officers, some the black of Navy low-ranking soldiers, some Stormtrooper armour. They'd been lucky to acquire the clothes around the same time as they'd commandeered the shuttle Corinthium, as well as Tydirium that would bring the strike team down on the forest moon.

They walked down the corridors towards the machinery room, which was situated at the core of the station, when a wave in the Force made Leia freeze. She reached out, tried to sense more.

"This is where I leave you," she whispered to the mission leader.

She gave Leia a nod, then kept walking towards their goal. Leia turned around and started in the opposite direction.

Vader and Luke were here, as she had expected, as she had known. She'd felt them ever since approaching the station, but now their presences were clearer to her budding Force abilities. She followed them, feeling like a fish swimming into a net.

The station felt strangely silent, with only her footsteps resounding around her, except from when the occasional soldiers came across her with a busy look on their face. She could hear her breath in the naked space, hurried and shallow; she reached out in the Force, tried to steady herself. Her cap covered her eyes and impassive face from those around her. Her fingers were twitching under the effort she was making not to reach to her lightsabre, carefully tucked into her utility belt.

Her step faltered when she arrived in front of a lift surrounded by red guards, and she frowned. She had seen these uniforms often enough on Coruscant, in the Senate and the Palace. That was the Imperial Guard; and if they were here, that meant...

A shiver ran down her spine as she realised she might have gravely underestimated the situation.

But there was no turning back now.

The guards raised their pikes to forbid her entrance, but a simple mind trick allowed her to slip past them without raising any alarms. She entered the lift; apprehension rose in her guts as it started moving upwards, taking her to an unknown destination.

The first thing that struck her when the doors opened was the utter darkness of the place. She blinked once, twice, but she still couldn't see a thing. Was she walking into a trap? If it weren't for the presences she felt in the Force, strong, cold and suffocating, she would have wondered if she wasn't at the wrong place.

But she could feel Luke and Vader in the room. There was but one way to go. She took a deep breath in and exited the lift.

She took a few careful steps forward before her eyes started to adapt to the obscurity. She could now distinguish immense round windows on both sides of the room; through them came the light of the stars and of Endor's sun reflecting on the moon, but there were no lamps or other artificial sources.

There, on the dais on top of the stairs, stood Luke and Vader, on either side of some kind of chair. She climbed slowly, tense, finally allowing herself to take her lightsabre in her hand.

"Welcome, young Skywalker," a drawling and guttural voice rose as she reached the top. "I have been expecting you."

Her blood froze in her veins. The presence of the guards outside had revealed the Emperor's presence to her; she could see him now, his hood covering his face, buried in the shadows of his throne. That he knew she was Luke's sister, however, surprised her.

Yet more evidence that Luke's betrayal was true, then, if there hadn't been enough of it already. It made her feel vulnerable to know he'd tell them something so personal, something that was supposed to stay a secret between him and her.

Her last hope died at the same time she realised she'd held it. So this was it. She came prepared, she knew what probably needed to be done; being in the moment, having more certainty than ever that she would have to do it, however, still broke a part of her heart.

"I am no Skywalker," she enunciated, clear and loud, like she spoke in the Senate before it was dissolved. So much time had passed since then. "My name is Leia of the House Organa of Alderaan."

She purposely didn't look at Luke as she renounced him thus, keeping her eyes on the Emperor's withered shape instead. She didn't want to see his reaction, uncertain whether she would prefer to see hurt or stone-cold indifference on his face.

It didn't matter. He'd chosen his side.

The Emperor, as for him, only scoffed.

"The Imperial uniform suits you well," he said, a sickening smile on his lips.

It took all of Leia's self-control not to snarl at him. She opened her arm, clicked the activation button, and listened to the snap-hiss of her blade surging.

"My, look at this," Palpatine whispered, not looking worried in the least. "A Jedi's blade. Will you strike me in attack, then? Kill a defenceless old man?"

"You are far from defenceless," she retorted. "I will only do what is needed to liberate the galaxy."

She should strike, not make conversation with him. It looked so simple. Just bring down the blade on him.

But that was just the thing. It was too easy. She knew about this man, knew how he had single-handedly brought a Republic to its knees, orchestrated a war from both sides and destroyed an entire religious order. She didn't want to play into his hand... but as she hesitated, she realised she didn't have enough clues what his game was to avoid doing so.

She took a step back and turned off her lightsabre.

"You have grown in the Force. A true Jedi," the Emperor said. She wasn't sure if he was saying it honestly or mocking her. "Just like your brother used to be."

Leia glanced at Luke. An undecipherable expression passed on his face, and she looked away.

So that was what he was aiming for. He wanted to turn her the same as Luke. Well, he was in for a surprise. The Alliance was her life's work, she wouldn't abandon it as easily as her brother had.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. My dedication to the Alliance and to my Jedi training is unshakeable," she said, the last sentence pointedly aimed at Luke, every bit as gracious as when someone complimented her on a speech in the Senate.

She wasn't sure why the situation kept making her think about her time in that mockery of a democratic institution. The setting certainly couldn't have been more different, dark as it was, with a solid deck under her feet instead of thousands of pods. Maybe it was the mask she was putting on, the pretence while trying to determine her enemy's strategy and figure out how to counter them, the way she felt scrutinised and watched for the smallest sign of weakness.

She was in their lair, stood one against three. She had to be very careful if she wanted to come out of it victorious.

"Ah... you say that now. I know for a fact people's beliefs are rarely as deep as they like to think," the Emperor answered with a smile. Leia had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "But please tell me what you have been up to in the last few years, my dear, while we wait for your friends to arrive."

Leia froze.

"What friends?" Her face remained mostly blank, but her heartbeat was picking up. "I don't know what you're talking about."

What did he know? What did he expect? Her mind was running, trying to think up ways to warn their troops away in case he knew, to prevent the massacre that was sure to happen –

The Emperor laughed.

"No?" he asked quietly, leaning forward in his chair. "Then you don't know of the imminent Rebel attack against this station, nor of the strike team that is about to try and deactivate the shield generator?"

He knew. Leia quickly averted her eyes, afraid he was going to see something in her. She had time to see the way his grin was widening, an infuriating and alarming sight.

"Oh, but I'm afraid it was I who allowed that information to reach you. I know about the Rebel plot... your friends are about to fall into a trap," he said, his tone sickeningly sweet. "My best troops await them on the Endor moon. I am afraid the shield will be completely operational when your fleet arrive..."

No. No. That couldn't be. Leia had to fight a burst of anger. She clenched her lightsabre tighter in her fist.

She shouldn't allow him to reach her like this. Chances were it was exactly what he wanted. But the thought of their plan failing, of everything being for naught and the Death Star remaining in Imperial hands, ready for them to terrorise and annihilate who knew how many planets and populations...

It made her sick.

"Come and see," the Emperor continued, gesturing towards the wide round window behind his throne. "From here you will witness the final defeat of your Rebellion. You are familiar with such shows, I believe."

Leia gritted her teeth, but was unable to help taking a step towards the window, mesmerised. She tried not to think of the last time she had stood on the bridge of such a powerful weapon. Please let them have deactivated the superlaser. Please let that have been successful. Somehow, being able to see made her feel even more helpless... and yet she couldn't turn her eyes away.

She stared at the moon under them, so green and lush. An explosion was playing on the back of her eyelids, superposing itself on what she was truly seeing. Was that going to be the fate of that moon?

Was she going to have to watch once more, unable to do anything, knowing it was at least in part her fault?

"The Rebellion will never die," she said. "As long as your rule of terror continues, there will be people to rise against it. We may lay down our lives but the fight will not be truly over until you fall."

She was shaking, she realised. She glared at the gleeful Emperor, her weapon heavy in her hand.

"Oh, it is you who will fall," he replied. "I have foreseen it."

Right. That was what he was trying to do. Leia closed her eyes, took a deep breath.

She had a goal, and she shouldn't forget it. Distraction. This was what she came here to do; they had done a good job preventing it, considering she was the one being distracted at the moment. She couldn't draw their attention away from the battle while they were watching it happen.

It was a calculated decision to unsheathe her lightsabre and bring it down on the Emperor's head in one single, swift movement, even though she knew she would never be allowed even to touch him. Indeed, instead of the dictator's head, her blade met another, bright red beam of light.

She looked up into Luke's unreadable gaze, and her stomach fell all over again.

He was her enemy now.

Luke disengaged his blade out of the lock and struck again. Leia met him blow for blow, surprised by how good it felt to strike at him. But he was still better than her, and she was forced to retreat until she was stumbling backwards on the stairs, nearly losing her balance.

Instead of pressing his advantage, he gave her time to recover.

"You've become really good," he said with a small smile, blowing a lock of hair out of his face. The sight made Leia's heart clench in her chest. It was so familiar, so Luke.

It belonged to a man she no longer knew.

"Why?" she demanded, cold and regal, refusing to let herself get drawn in.

Immediately, he closed up.

"You wouldn't understand." His voice was impersonal, guarded. "Perhaps one day you will."

Before she could insist, the Emperor's sinister laugh resounded behind them.

"You won't turn him back to your pitiful cause," he mocked. "He is mine now... as you very well know."

A pang hit Leia's chest once more. He was right. He was most probably right, although she couldn't understand any of it. She knew what she had to do.

Luke had killed Han. He'd betrayed them, betrayed her, in all the most harsh and cruel ways. She could still see him that day, that terrible red blade entering Han's shoulder, that mad glint in his eye.

But the flash of pain that had just crossed Luke's face for a fraction of a second, the utter agony that had him avert his eyes from her and hunch his shoulders, made her hesitate. Made her hope.

Maybe he wasn't unreachable after all. It was a risk, a big risk, but Leia didn't have much left to lose. Perhaps she could at least gain understanding of what made him do everything he did, even if she could never have him back.

She turned off her lightsabre.

"I don't want to fight you, Luke," she tried, carefully. "I don't think you want that either."

He gritted his teeth.

"You have no idea what I want," he ground out, his tone stained, forced.

"Oh?" She raised her eyebrows. "So this is truly what you desire? More misery? More blood being spilled? More deaths? Is that what you have grown to crave?"

"I did what I had to. I don't regret it."

His eyes, though, told a different story. They fled from hers, looked everywhere around without settling; the few times she managed to cross his gaze, she saw the agony in it. He didn't want to be here any more than she did. Of that she was certain.

But he had betrayed them. All his actions indicated he had fully and consciously turned their back on them, even though his behaviour made that hard to remember.

She had no idea what side of him to believe.

"Then go on, kill me," she spat. "Run me through with your fancy Sith blade like you did Han."

Luke made no move to attack. He closed his eyes, turned his head away from her. She stepped forward, opened her arms, twisted the knife even though her weapon was aimed away from him.

"What are you waiting for? Go ahead, complete your betrayal, if that's the path you've chosen! You know I will never join the Empire. I will not turn my back on everything I ever believed in. So stop the pretence and do it."

Luke stepped back, and Leia was surprised at the savage satisfaction she felt seeing the hurt look on his face.

"I didn't want to," he finally let out, his voice strangled, as if he'd tried to hold the words back. "I had no choice."

"There's always a choice," she said, her words dripping with venom, covered in all the rage, the grief, the incomprehension she felt, and yet so cold, like a thousand poisoned darts aimed at his heart. She wanted him to hurt, to suffer even a fraction of what she had. "I didn't have a choice either when they tortured me, when they destroyed my home before my eyes, when I saw you slaughter the man I loved. And yet here I am, still a Rebel, still determined to make things right, a better Jedi than you ever were –"

He roared, struck at her once again. Taken aback, she could only bring her blade up to parry, stepping backwards to keep her balance.

Determined not to let herself be bested like that, she renewed her efforts, struck at him with all the strength she could muster. She pushed and pushed, slowly regaining the advantage and cornering him against the stairs. It was clear he was holding back, trying not to hurt her. And yet he still acted as if he didn't care, as if the dark side had totally swallowed him.

Leia herself was no longer sure whether she wanted him back, or dead. The thought terrified her.

He struck, she parried, she flicked her wrist, and to her surprise his weapon flew away from him as he tumbled down the stairs.

Behind her, the Emperor cackled.

"Good, good! Go on, take your revenge!"

Leia didn't pay attention to him. This wasn't about revenge, this was about justice, about vanquishing the Empire and liberating the galaxy. She didn't care much to correct his assumption.

She was more concerned about the fact Luke wasn't getting back up.

For a second, she forgot everything he'd done, all the hurt and betrayal his actions had caused her, as worry flooded her. A staircase fall could be very benign just as well as it could break someone's neck... She ran down, knelt next to him.

Hearing her come closer, Luke rolled on his back with a groan. He put his arms alongside his body, palms upwards. Vulnerable.

"Do what you must, Leia. I'm sure you'll be stronger than me."

He was all right. He hadn't overly hurt himself; at least not that Leia could see. Her emotions were raging in her chest, from concern to anger to heartbreak.

"What do you mean?"

He bit his lip, looked away from her.

"You're right," he whispered. "There's always a choice, and I've made all the wrong ones... It stops now."

She changed her grip on her lightsabre, not certain what he meant. Luke sat up, took her wrist in his hand.

"Help me," he said, a mere breath, but his eyes spoke louder than his words, pleading and desperate.

Leia was reeling. Once again she felt on the edge of a precipice, not knowing what to believe.

"Help you do what?"

He stared at her, an expression she couldn't read in his eyes. There was a touch on her mind; she jumped.

Take out the Emperor.

It was Luke's voice, Leia knew it. But he hadn't spoken aloud... was it the Force? For a second, Leia was reminded of the desperate escape from Bespin, the cry for help she'd heard, so similar to the one Luke was addressing her now...

Twins.

She had been too late then, but maybe she needn't be now.

"How?"

Vader and I have a plan set up to kill the Emperor. You and I just need to distract him by fighting.

That was... Uncertainty clung at Leia again. Luke saying Vader and I, hinting at them plotting together didn't sit well with her, and it struck her once more that she had no idea on which side he was.

However, fighting, distracting the Emperor... that was something she could do, something she had come to do. If Luke and Vader's plan – the words gave her the shivers, the implication that Luke should get in league with that monstrous man – worked, that would mean she and the Alliance wouldn't have to worry about him again...

But how could she be sure it wasn't a trap?

She was rising to her feet, Luke still looking at her in expectancy, when the Emperor's voice reached them again.

"You fought well," he said, a falsely sweet smile on his lips that was starting to grate on Leia's nerves. He held a metal goblet in hand, and she was immediately wary again, wondering what he had in mind.

"Here, dear girl, come rest a moment and have a celebratory drink. The Rebellion has just launched their attack... it is only a question of time now. Come and see."

Leia knew he was only saying that to rile her again. She knew he had probably seen her calming down when she went to Luke and wanted to change that. But the fear in her guts, the memory of that wide viewport, the image of that planet – no, moon – there just in front of their eyes...

"I have waited for that moment for so long," he continued, and Leia's blood boiled. "I think now is the perfect time to open one of the last bottles of Aldera cépage I still had in my cellar, in remembrance for an occurrence much similar to this one, wouldn't you agree?"

She shouldn't get angry. She shouldn't get swept in the past, she knew better. But the thought of him taking a sip of a drink that was getting rarer and rarer by his fault, enjoying a delicacy his own actions had caused to disappear, a beverage the colour of the blood he'd spilt...

She couldn't help it. She walked to him and ripped the goblet from his hand. It went flying across the room, its deep red spreading all over the durasteel deck. Next to her, Luke let out a strangled gasp.

As for the Emperor, he only laughed.

"Oh, my dear, there is no need to be so upset." Then he opened his hand, and to Leia's horror, the goblet came back right into it. He was one of them too. That, somehow, explained a lot. "This particular wine is no longer made, as you know; it is a shame to waste it..."

She was seething. She needed to calm down. Memories of grand and boring dinners on her homeworld, of her parents' careless smiles during festivities, of a few rash and inebriated nights...

He had no right. He had no right.

"Come now. I am sure the familiar taste will soothe you," he had the gall to say, rising to the back of the room. In the darkness, Leia hadn't seen the table set there; Vader, whose presence she had completely forgotten, stood next to it as a wraith in the shadows.

"You too, Luke. There is no reason we cannot make this into a family event."

You are not my family. My family is dead because of you, Leia wanted to scream. She bit her tongue in order not to say anything.

The Emperor held out two cups to them, then took his own. Leia stared at the scarlet liquid. It was exactly the colour and the scent she remembered; not too different from any other wine, if she was being honest. She wanted to drink, wanted to taste one of her favourite beverages again; out of all of the people present in this room, none deserved this more than she did. But doing so in this context, on the Emperor's command, felt like a betrayal. She felt like a pawn, like a mouse trapped under the watchful gaze of three hungry predators.

Only then did she notice the very real, very fraught tension reigning around her. Pushing her inner conflict at the back of her mind, she took a better glance at the three Sith.

None of them had raised their drink to their lips yet. From the bond she shared with Luke, she felt expectation, uncertainty. He observed the three of them, his eyes doing quick back-and-forth between them. The Emperor's eyes, however, were set straight on Leia.

Then something seemed to shift. Leia thought she caught a spark reflecting itself off Vader's helmet, a glimpse of a nod from the mask; Luke's expression changed, and he took the goblet to his mouth.

Leia stared at her own cup. Vader and I have a plan set up to kill the Emperor. If it was what she thought it was, it wasn't a very good plan; it was risky, and they weren't being very discrete. Especially since Luke was drinking, and Palpatine was still looking at her in expectancy.

Slowly, she rose her drink to her lips, taking care to only pretend to sip. It seemed to satisfy him, however, for he did exactly the same.

"Such a delight," he said after seemingly taking two large mouthfuls. "Exactly how I remembered it, wouldn't you agree?"

The flash of anger in Leia didn't last more than a few seconds this time, and she nodded absently. The true stakes of the game seemed very far away from the wine's origin now.

A few moments passed, time suspended as nothing happened.

"Now," the Emperor finally said, putting the goblet back on the table. "Let us speak seriously. The Rebellion is lost; tonight will mark the end of it. But there is no need for that to be the end for you. Join us, Leia. Your brother saw reason; there is no reason you cannot do the same. Wouldn't you like to have a family again?"

Everything in Leia rebelled at that idea.

"You killed my family," she seethed. "I want nothing to do with you and your Empire."

"Oh, don't you now," the Emperor said. He was still smiling, but his voice had grown colder, less mocking. "Then you leave me no choice. I grow tired of this."

He went to sit back in his throne.

"Luke, kill her."

Leia didn't need their bond in the Force to feel Luke freeze, horror seizing him. She stiffened as well, taking her lightsabre in her hand once more.

This was it. There was no escape now.

She had expected it, but still she couldn't help the hurt as Luke offered no answer but a single nod, before silently unsheathing his own weapon and walking towards her.

Please go along with it.

But go along with what? Nothing had ever felt realer. She didn't know what he planned. They had to fight, and someone would not make it out of this. This was something she was somehow certain of.

Luke's cautious and inquisitive gaze, however, comforted her somewhat as they circled around each other, trying to figure out what the other had in mind.

He threw himself at her in a way that lacked heat, his movements formal, predictable. Leia met them with ease, exchanged blows in a way that felt more like sparring than the actual duelling they had done before. Still, nothing she could do gained her the advantage; he remained on top, just good enough that Leia could not be overpowered, yet never giving her any true opening.

As the fight progressed, he seemed to tense. He gritted his teeth, his jaw tightened, sweat appeared on his brow, and he kept throwing glances at the Emperor. Testing the whole bond thing out, Leia reached out with a wordless question; immediately Luke's eyes came back to her.

He's supposed to die. I don't get why he doesn't die.

He slashed at her side, then up at her head. She parried, stuck their blades in a lock.

Poison?

Luke didn't quite nod, but she felt his confirmation through the Force. He slashed twice again, forcing her to take a couple steps back. His arms shook under the strain, his entire face tense.

A pang in her guts surprised Leia, a horrible idea striking her, so sudden she nearly failed to parry his blow.

Luke, she projected, a bit too urgently maybe. Luke, did you drink the wine?

She hoped he hadn't. He'd known the plan when she hadn't, and even she hadn't dared.

The Emperor would have felt it if I hadn't. Father said it was fine, he replied, and she knitted her brow in confusion. Wasn't Anakin Skywalker –

Searing pain pierced her abdomen and made her vision white out. With a gasp, she fell to her knees, fumbling to put a hand where a second ago there was a bright red blade.

.

Luke let out a scream of denial as he hastened to pull his blade back, emotion so potent even Vader's heart missed a beat.

In his throne, Sidious pulled his hand back. It had been such a simple matter, just pushing Luke's blade a little bit to the left as Leia was distracted, let it impale her stomach and rise towards her chest before either of them could do anything about it. Vader rushed next to them, stopping before he reached them. Luke had thrown away his weapon and sunk next to his sister, reaching to see the wound before she pushed his hand away.

"No, no, Leia," Luke whimpered. "I'm sorry, I – I don't know what happened, I didn't – Let me, let me see the damage..."

This time, Leia relented, closing her eyes with a sigh, her shoulder falling against Luke's chest as he embraced her and brought a shaking hand to her abdomen.

In the silence, Vader could make out a whispered curse which sent despair coursing through his veins. He yearned to get closer, to take a look at the injury itself, to be in his daughter's presence before it took her from him...

But he had wronged her too much. Her reaction to Luke, Luke's reaction when he had first brought him to Imperial Centre before they had managed to find common ground at last, the wall there still seemed to be between them even now, had made him realise his presence wouldn't be welcome by either of them, as much as it pained him.

"Was it... was it how it happened? With Han?" Leia asked. Her breath was too quick, her presence in the Force quickly diminishing.

Luke nodded. He let out the tiny sound of an unsteady breath; he was crying, Vader realised.

"It was an accident," he answered her, murmuring on the same tone. "I needed you to leave... I never meant – it was never meant to – to – Leia, please..."

She laid her head against his chest, and he held her tighter, whispering things Vader supposed were only for her to hear.

He looked at the Emperor, who was watching them with glee he didn't even try to repress, an eager glint in his eye Vader didn't care for.

Another few seconds, or minutes perhaps, and the effects should start to appear. It was but a question of time; Vader knew he had put the poison in his cup. The first drink being spilt had been unfortunate, but there had been enough toxin for a sufficient quantity to be left in the bottom of the goblet.

Leia raised a hand to cup Luke's cheek; the young man took it in his own and kissed her palm, such devastation in his gaze pain bloomed in Vader's chest. His son's helpless anguish bled through the Force, feelings Vader knew all too well; for a moment he was projected in the nightmares of the past, in a primitive tent in the middle of a hostile desert, watching a woman he loved die without being able to do anything about it.

As he had known it would, Leia's hand ended up slipping from Luke. She sagged in his embrace, and Luke held her tighter, burying his face in her hair and whispering her name between his tears.

The Emperor rose, came closer to Luke. Vader forced himself to remain still instead of holding him back, of keeping him away from his children –

"You have done well, young Skywalker," his cloying voice broke the silence. Luke's breath hitched, and he swallowed back his next sob, as if he'd only just remembered the Emperor's presence.

Palpatine came closer, set a hand on Luke's shoulder, but Luke rejected him, jumping to his feet.

"You pushed me," he snarled. "I wouldn't have – she wouldn't be – you pushed my blade so she'd fall on it!"

He went to strike him with bare hands, his anger preventing him from thinking further; but the Emperor caught his hand without a problem. Luke swayed.

"I didn't do anything of the sort," the Emperor said, very calmly. "You killed her. It was your blow that ended her life, your blade that impaled –"

"I loved her!" Luke shouted. "She was my sister – I could be forty thousand times her brother, and –"

"And yet, in your anger and turmoil, you killed her," the Emperor said, mock-pity in his tone that made Vader's skin crawl.

Luke gripped the Emperor's robe with a pitiful, anguished, hoarse whimper, all the fight leaving his frame as his shoulders sagged and his head sank down. Despite his own grief, Vader couldn't help the intense worry that crept through him at seeing him in this state. Was it only sorrow that induced Luke's weakness? Was he playing some trick? It wasn't like him, to wear his heart on his sleeve like this...

Sidious raised a hand to pat Luke's head, but the boy tore himself from him in a violent gesture. He staggered a couple steps away, then his knees gave way from under him, so quickly Vader only had time to rush forward to catch him. Luke swallowed, grasped at his arms with a durasteel grip.

"What... what's happening to me?" he asked. "This is more than just grief."

He certainly didn't look well, Vader noticed, ice falling down his guts the more he watched him. He was slouching, his breath slightly too quick and too ragged, the air travelling in and out of his lungs making too wet a noise.

"Poison, methinks," the Emperor remarked, and Vader felt as if his entrails had been ripped out. No. Please no. "Lord Vader, what have I seen you put into the boy's drink earlier?"

"What?" Luke weakly said.

His eyes were pleading, begging him to tell him it wasn't true. There was such hurt and betrayal infusing this single syllable Vader wanted nothing more than to deny it, to reassure him. But his brain was frozen, catching up with Luke's terrible appearance and the likely reason for it. But it was impossible... he'd been careful, Luke couldn't have drunk from Palpatine's lethal cup, he would have noticed –

"How cruel of you," Palpatine said. "If you wanted to get rid of a talented rival, running him through with your lightsabre would have been more than enough. But to condemn him to such a slow and painful death... feeling the life trickle away from him, unable to do anything, doomed to his ineluctable fate..."

"No!" Vader roared, bringing Luke closer to him as the boy's breath hitched. "No – Luke – Luke..."

His son swallowed, licked his lips. The rest of Vader's words caught in his throat.

This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening.

"He must have switched the cups," he whispered in growing despair, holding Luke tighter as the full impact of what he'd unknowingly done dawned on him. "My son... my only son..."

Luke's eyes were scrunched closed in suffering, the poison slowly but surely spreading across his veins with every beat of his heart.

"He played us all like fools, didn't he?" he finally uttered, deafly, with difficulty, as if he had to fight for every word to get out. "That murderous, karking serpent!"

On the last word he jumped at the Emperor's neck, seizing him by the throat as he impaled him on a bright blue blade, which seemed to have been Leia's. Taken by surprise, Sidious couldn't even gasp; his lips grew blue, his skin puffed.

"That's for my sister," he hissed. Sidious's eyes flashed, but he couldn't say anything. "Your rule of death and pain is over."

At last his eyes rolled in his sockets, a rictus on his face. Luke wildly threw the body away, appalled. He took a step back, swayed, lifted a hand to his forehead. A breath later, he collapsed, his legs no longer supporting him.

Vader rushed forward and only just had time to catch him; Luke stumbled against him, his breath wheezing, grasping at his tabards for support. Vader knelt on the deck, repositioning him in his arms and nestling him on his lap to make him as comfortable as he could. Without thinking, he brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. Luke's unfocused eyes came to rest on him.

"I should have done that weeks ago," he whispered. "If I had known it'd be so easy..."

Vader looked at him in disbelief. Easy, he called it – when it had cost so much...

"It might not have been, hadn't you taken him by surprise," he replied, electing not to give voice to the raging emotions clogging his chest.

Luke nodded, huffed a smile, then winced. Vader held him tighter, alarmed, trying to think of anything to ease his pain.

"Even in the end, he got the right end of the deal. This hurts like crazy," he said, his light-hearted huff somewhat spoilt by the strained tone of his voice and the tension in his whole body. Vader's heart missed a beat, sorrow washing over him once more.

"Hold on, Luke," he said, barely knowing what he was saying. "I will bring you to a medic, they will have an antidote, they –"

He cut himself off, unable to go on, the weight on his chest too heavy. There wouldn't be any antidote. He'd chosen the poison too carefully, in order to evade Sidious's endless tricks and be certain he would succumb. He'd privileged surety over speed; the drug took some time to make itself known, but once the symptoms became apparent, it was lethal, without any chance of recovery.

Luke was condemned, all by his father's hand.

Something painful twisted in his chest when Luke uttered a weak cough, grasping him with white knuckles. Blood trickled on his armour.

"There's no time," he whispered. "Father – you have to escape the station before the Alliance destroys it, it could happen any moment now –"

"No," Vader snarled. The thought of leaving Luke here to die, in the dark, afraid and alone as the end came upon him...

He was dying, and Vader couldn't save him. There was nothing he could do. The fact struck him once more, the realisation more painful than even the fires of Mustafar.

"I will not leave you," he said, frantic. Luke couldn't die, couldn't leave him, not when everyone else he cared about already had. "I already had to see your sister die, I will not lose you as well."

Visions floated in front of his eyes, of Luke's lifeless body, of a double funeral, of a dark throne room and Rebels and utter loneliness, and Vader couldn't bear it. Frantically, he reached out in the room, called to his hand the first lightsabre that would answer and put it against his chest. With a cry, Luke grasped at his arm, at his hand, did his best to prevent him from taking action.

"No – no, don't – by the Force – Father, please!"

The weapon was ripped from his hand, clattering a bit further in the room, leaving Luke panting, groaning, looking at Vader with wide and fearful eyes.

Something unravelled in Vader. With a howl, he brought Luke closer to him, crushing him against his chest and wishing that small act could prevent their separation. Even through his garments of leather and metal, he could feel the warmth Luke's body still possessed, burning bright in its last throes of life before it cooled off forever.

"I'm sorry," Luke whispered in his embrace, and Vader's heart broke a little bit more, even though he hadn't thought it possible. "I wish I could go on... we could fly away from here... be a family..." He struggled and fought to speak, swallowing, gulping as much air as he could with each breath. His fingers were tracing a pattern on Vader's chest plate; bursting with emotion, he took Luke's hand in his own and laced their fingers together.

"But you need to – s-step in – as Emperor... talk with the Alliance – there's been enough war – ah!"

His eyes squeezed shut, and he curled into Vader's arms as a convulsion shook him. Vader hushed him through it, still clutching his hand in his own while running the other in his hair.

"I will," he whispered. "You will survive, you will live, you will be there to see it –"

The words got stuck in his throat as Luke's body finally granted him some respite, his muscles slackening as he difficultly panted for air, sweat drenching his hair. He looked so pitifully small and pale, engulfed in the black of his clothes and Vader's armour.

"P-promise..."

"Yes. I promise you, my son," Vader answered, a bit too quickly, as if having Luke stop speaking could somehow slow down the deadly process.

Luke nodded, looking a little more serene as he vainly tried to catch his breath. Sorrow pierced Vader's chest like a thousand needles. His thumb stroked Luke's hand – the real, flesh one, the one he hadn't destroyed.

"Don't leave me," he begged. "Luke..."

Luke looked at him, managed to dredge up a tiny and weak smile.

"'S all right," he slurred. "'M glad you're here... I –"

Another spasm interrupted him and he hissed in pain. Vader held him close, an arm around his shoulders, the other cupping his face and caressing his cheek, cradling him like the infant he never had the occasion to care for. He wished he could take off his mask, kiss his forehead and cheeks with senseless comforting whispers...

If only he'd never poured the poison into the Emperor's cup. If only he'd watching from closer, if only he'd told Luke not to drink, stepped in and snatched it from his hand... In this moment, he wished for nothing more than to have drunk it in his place. Being burnt alive again would be less painful than this helplessness, than being forced to see his son agonise from the very poison he'd given him, and stand unable to do a single thing against it.

Luke's breath was growing more laboured by the second, the only sounds coming from him grunts and moans as he fought against slowly approaching death. Vader could only hold him as he curled up and sobbed in silent agony, his hold on his father's chestplate loosening as his energy slowly left him.

It happened quietly, little by little; Vader couldn't have pinpointed the exact moment. His features relaxed, his muscles sagged in Vader's embrace. The rise and fall of his chest diminished, slowed down, then finally fell still. Lifeless.

And Vader couldn't prevent it.

He rocked him in his arms for a long time, holding him close and not paying any attention to the noise coming closer, not paying attention to anything except the devastating grief threatening to engulf him.

Luke was gone. It seemed too horrible to be true, even with his body motionless in his arms, even with his unresponsive flesh weighing on him, his light forever disappeared from the Force.

He didn't move when the doors slid open, Rebel soldiers swarming the room, astonished by what they found here. A man stepped forward, gasping in surprise and dismal at the morbid view; Vader rose his eyes and recognised Calrissian, the traitorous ruler of Bespin.

"What happened here?" he asked, incredulous.

His eyes set on Leia's body, on Luke's still resting in Vader's arms, and grief clouded his eyes.

Now was the time to heed the promise he made his son. No matter how hard, no matter how much he wanted to lie there and join him in eternal peace.

He owed it to him.

Ignoring the stunned whispers, Vader reverently set Luke's body on the ground, crossing his hands on his chest as he bid him a final goodbye. Then he rose up and addressed the Rebels in the room.

"I am Anakin Skywalker, Emperor of this galaxy," he uttered with a stentorian voice, in fear that anything less would cause him to break down in misery.

The visions came back, flashing so quickly he barely even saw them, half intuition of the Force, half logical deduction. There would be a long and exhausting recounting of everything that happened, then a no less long and exhausting negotiation of the terms of peace. Maybe he would be put on trial, although he doubted it after declaring himself Emperor. There would be officers, Moffs and councillors to keep in line; there would be laws to pass, legislation to discuss.

There would be no shortage of hard and thankless work to distract him from crushing grief and absolute loneliness. But perhaps that was all that he deserved. He could take solace, in any case, in the fact that he would be working for something better, to create the world his children had fought for and sacrificed themselves to make.

Even if they were no longer here to see it.

"And I wish to enter in negotiations with the Rebel Alliance to restore the peace."