Beru Whitesun had only ever been as far as Anchorhead, but she believed she had seen her fair share of the galaxy's inhabitants - at least a sampling, anyway. Though never once stepping foot in a cantina (at least not with the purpose of procuring a drink), she still frequented the markets the planet had to offer from time to time. Anchorhead, Mos Eisley, Mos Espa - they all looked the same: pale domed roofs, rough walls, and tattered tents, but it was the people that were always different, hailing from all over the galaxy.

Beru was sure that she had seen every type of sentient creature, even ones that required wetsuits to stay alive on Tatooine's arid and unforgiving surface. Spacers rarely ever settled here, though more than plenty came to trade, make themselves scarce from Imperial Space to avoid a warrant for a time, scavenge the sands for some promise of treasure, or work for the infamous crime lord, Jabba the Hutt.

Beru may not have gone very far, but she was certain nothing could surprise her anymore... until she met her.

Tatooine may have been a rough-and-tumble, simple sort of place, but there was never a shortage of attractive females. Like many natives, Beru chose practical clothing over the more elaborate, having never worn any color other than some shade of blue or brown. But she was the daughter of a farmer, the would-be wife of a farmer, and a farmer herself. It was expected of her, and anyone else who hailed from Tatooine. Other women, regardless of race, frequented the markets wearing everything from all matter of gowns to the most resilient military gear, but there was something particularly entrancing about the woman who accompanied the Jedi that came to the Lars homestead asking for his mother.

Her cloak was drawn, but her eyes were warm. The fabric pulled over hair was a shimmering blue, so vivid that it almost looked as if it moved in the sunlight, like waves after a storm at sea – or so Beru imagined. And the woman was very much the same.

The man who came, the son of Shmi Skywalker, was an angry and aggressive one, though he was none too disagreeable at face value. He was polite and he spoke well, if not curtly. Anakin was his name. He did what was expected of him, and he was the perfect guest, aside from his probing questions and quiet rage. He was thankful for their help and for the accommodations they provided him and his companion, but Beru knew that there was something wrong. When he returned with Cliegg's wife, limp in his arms, the melancholy he wore as a shroud suddenly made sense. And though she was apprehensive of the anger that came along with it, she understood it. She knew.

But Padmé was always so calm, so understanding. Beru could see it in her eyes.

She was only Owen's girlfriend back then, helping out on the farm because Shmi had been gone for months, but the moment the Jedi returned with what had once been his mother's body, Beru knew this would become her home. She loved Owen, she did, but the way the future solidified before her eyes jarred her, suddenly an obligation made apparent than a future made real with a proposal of marriage, the offering of a ring on bended knee. Whatever Owen's plans were, she had a feeling Cliegg would prompt him to hurry them up, to ask Beru to marry him before the season was out. She always had a feeling she would marry Owen, she loved him. But suddenly everything felt as if it were on a schedule, and life felt very, very short. She was still young and had yet to travel. Maybe she never would.

Beru held her tongue, thinking of Shmi and the life she had as a slave before she married (or even the life she had after), the young man standing before her as he held the lifeless body of the mother he had only longed to find again, and the conflicted gaze of the woman at his side, worried and unsure but somehow calm and steadying as the sun grew hot against their backs while Shmi's body was laid to rest on the farmstead.

She made herself useful while they waited and all during Shmi's funeral. Padmé not nearly as awkward as Beru perhaps felt around her. She caught herself eyeing Padmé, watching her in her peripheral vision - admiring the natural waves of her dark hair, the way she stood so poised even as she offered to help prepare the food and clean the dishes. Before Beru could say anything, Padmé was smiling and removing her cloak so her sleeves wouldn't get mussed. Her smile was small, but poignant, and the motion of it met her deep brown eyes. She bit her lip and the smile vanished as she looked to the empty doorway, undoubtedly thinking of Anakin.

But Padmé's turmoil passed and she asked Beru where she was from, what her childhood was like, if there were any holos she was watching or listening to lately and what it was she did when she wasn't farming. Every word that poured out of her mouth sounded so genuine, and though it was small talk Beru knew that Padmé hung on her every word, knowing exactly when to chime in and add an anecdote of her own. Perhaps she was just that well-versed in conversation, or perhaps she was just… a nice person. A sweet, humble, and generous person.

As much as Beru admired the way Padmé held herself, the way she did her hair, and the fact that she was soon to be leaving this place to help those in need, Beru did not envy her for accompanying the man called Skywalker. Beru had hardly spoken to the young man in his time here, and she could tell that Padmé cared for him very much, but there was something about him that unnerved her, but also made her… sad? She couldn't pinpoint the feeling, especially since it was soon eclipsed by their leaving and the relief that came when Owen went back to treating her as he always had, much less an extra farm hand and more of a girlfriend.

In the months and years to follow, Beru thought of Padmé here and there - the quiet yet deliberate way she spoke, the twinkling metal she wore in her hair, and the strong softness she had about her, a pliable sort of defiance that adapted yet retained its shape - but she had not thought of her in a long while when she first laid eyes on Luke.

Unlike any child Beru had ever met, Luke was quiet. When the man called Obi-Wan placed him in her arms, he was fast asleep. Even as Tatooine's twin suns set on the farmstead and the air around them grew cold, Luke didn't stir. Instead, he stilled, nestling against Beru as if he knew he was safe and was content to be so. But she could not help but think of Padmé and what might have happened to her, what made it so she could not be the one to nurse her sweet son into this world.

Beru looked back over her shoulder, Luke a warm weight in her arms, but the Jedi who brought him was already a shadow on the horizon, fast dissolving with the coming darkness. She would see him about town in the years to come, sometimes at Mos Eisley, sometimes at the smaller stations scattered over the landscape. Their eyes would meet and Beru would always smile, forever the friendly neighbor. Now known as Old Ben, the man would nod, his blue eyes always twinkling as he turned away, looking older every time. He knew Luke was safe, that Luke was loved, but Beru always bubbled with questions. She knew what befell the boy's father, but what of his mother? What of Padmé?

She was always too afraid to ask.

There was a sadness about them, both Ben and Luke. Whenever Beru would run into the man, she noticed he was cordial, always polite to those around him but otherwise kept to himself, and in his solitude she felt… loneliness, and perhaps not the pitiful kind, but instead the sort that was chosen. As if in penance. And in Luke, she saw it in moments where he thought no one was looking. Sure, he'd voice his grievances with Owen over dinner, oft forgotten and forgiven come morning, but Beru watched him stand out on the dunes as she washed up after dinner every night. His father had done the same when he visited, and she saw flashes of the same sort of anger and aggravation in him from time to time, but before it could consume him Luke would always afford himself a breath and make himself calm again. He always spoke softly, and even when he was angry his voice would not waver above a meager whine. He may have looked like his father, but he took after his mother, and it was Padmé that Luke reminded her of most.

When Luke tugged at his sleeve, Owen almost didn't have to look to know what he wanted, where his young nephew wanted his attention drawn.

His blue eyes were wide, his teeth clenched in a grin as he struggled to form words, but Owen knew. He glanced skyward and saw the flurry of ships, not knowing exactly which one caught Luke's eye but knowing enough that it may well have been all of them.

He brought Luke out to the market when he could to toughen him up, to expose him to the rough of the world and galaxy beyond, and so that he could revel in the sort of people that came through here. Sure, Owen had hoped that Luke might want to stay and mind the farm as he had when his father passed on, and Luke had become more than just his nephew - Owen saw him as his own son. But he knew that Luke would probably leave one day, if the old man allowed it.

He'd feel it in his chest first, the aching realization that Luke was not more like him, but not that it made Owen feel any different about the boy. Instead, he ached that there was too much of that warrior in him, the man that came from the stars and mourned the death of his mother in their very courtyard. The man who saw the galaxy but had also torn it asunder. Anakin didn't look much different than Luke did now, age forgiving. Even at eight, Luke already resembled the young man that his father was when Owen met him. They had the same blonde hair, the same blue eyes, but there was still something… different, about them both.

Owen looked at Luke, his eyes crinkling when their gazes met.

"Which one would you pick right now, if you had to choose?" he asked.

Luke scoured the sky and thought for a moment, his usual quiet contemplation overcoming him.

And it was in moments like these that Owen had hope. Hope that Luke would be different, that Luke would be smart, that Luke would take more after his mother.

"That one," he said definitively, pointing at a refurbished ARC-170.

"Looking to see some action?" Owen asked, tentative, his heart sinking to see that Luke pointed out a starfighter among the other more practical vessels that took to the air. But Luke shook his head.

"Maybe, but they're also equipped for longer, deep-space missions," he mused, coloring Owen impressed. The boy knew his ships, and his answer was a sensible one, especially for kid itching to see the galaxy one day, the very galaxy his father ruled with an iron fist and Owen wanted to keep him safe from. Perhaps that was why Luke chose a ship that could also hold itself in a fight. He may have been young, but he knew it was smart to protect himself. Luke may not have been too familiar with the Empire itself, but Tatooine could be unforgiving on its own.

"Deep-space missions, huh?" Owen probed, smiling, " What kind of missions we talkin' about?"

"I don't know," Luke said, kicking the sand, "Diplomatic missions. Ones where you help people, or find people that need helping."

Owen smiled.

"Diplomatic missions," he echoed calmly, thinking of Padmé and her serene smile, her soothing words, practiced and perfect. "Dip-lo-matic."

He looked down at Luke, his smile still strong, and Luke smiled back at him in his usual, soft way. His eyes glinted sapphire in the bright glow of Tatooine's suns, one eye squinting more than the other as he returned the gesture. Owen squeezed Luke's hand for a moment, and continued on his way, writing this moment into memory, hoping the years would remain long until Luke was old enough to leave this place and make his own destiny.

In the crowd, Owen thought he saw someone familiar - hooded and cloaked, but smiling. It was fleeting. Before he could register it, the man was gone, but Owen knew. Ben was watching. He tugged Luke close, but the boy just smiled at him all the more. Better enjoy it while it lasts.

"But why would Imperial Troopers want to slaughter Jawas?" Luke asked, helpless. "If they traced the robots back here, they may have learned who they had sold them to. And that would lead them back-"

Obi-Wan watched him as the realization dawned on his young face, his thoughtfulness turning quickly to panic.

"Home."

It was only years later that Obi-Wan learned of what Anakin did to the Tusken village, of the rage that ensnared him in the wake of his mother's death. And now he waited, at the foot of the sandcrawler, piling the tiny bodies, fearing very much the same.

When Luke returned, Obi-Wan saw the same anger, the same unknowable sadness he had come to know of his Padawan. But when Luke spoke, he spoke with the evenness of Padmé, the quiet calm of his mother.

"I want to come with you to Alderaan," Luke said, his voice gentle despite the roiling despair behind his eyes, "There's nothing for me here now."

He looked to the horizon, blinking the tears away.

"I want to learn the ways of the Force and become a Jedi like my father," Luke said, meeting Obi-Wan's eyes again, his gaze sure and strong.

"I cannot teach him," the creature had said mournfully into the corner of his hut, bowing his head as he spoke to what appeared to be nobody. "The boy has no patience."

His voice, his mannerisms, everything about the stout green alien Luke met in the middle of the swamp changed within the span of a moment, and it was when Luke heard Ben's voice that the realization dawned on him.

"He will learn patience," Ben said, his voice disembodied yet somehow everywhere at once. At this, the creature grunted, unsure.

"Much anger in him," he said, his face stern and serious now as he turned to face Luke again. "Like his father."

As if Luke had not heard that his entire life, and he honestly wondered if it was really such a bad thing after all. After joining Leia and the Rebels, he saw what angry people could do - how they could make a difference, how they could change things. But he knew there were other kinds of anger, too, and part of him wanted to deny that he felt any part of that anger, the kind that was not only brought on by fear but reveled in it, inspiring it in others until they bent to your will - like the Empire.

"Was I any different when you taught me?" Ben said. Luke spun around Yoda's small hut, the space unforgiving, searching for the source of Ben's voice.

Beru had always chalked up Luke's impatience with his still being a child, and though Luke did not appreciate being called such any longer, he had to admit, he was still only roughly twenty and he was thankful for Ben's insistence that any youngling would have been the same.

The old alien grunted again, moving with pained effort, as he watched Luke and regarded Ben's words.

"He is not ready."

"Yoda," Luke said disbelieving, his own stupidity making him both brash and even more impatient. All the time I'd wasted, I could have already started training-

"I am ready! I- Ben! I could be a Jedi, Ben, tell him I'm rea-"

A swift smack to the head was enough to harm his hubris, and Luke's face grew red as Yoda looked at him, incredulous.

"Ready, are you?! What know you of ready, hm? For eight-hundred years have I trained Jedi," he said, pacing his cabin, keeping a mind to avoid Luke's cramped limbs, "My own counsel will I keep on who is to be trained. A Jedi must have the deepest commitment, the most serious mind."

Luke nodded solemnly, feeling like a damn schoolboy again, shot down yet again by Uncle Owen asking about his Academy admittance or whether he could go off with his friends. Even now, Luke wondered if he would ever be ready.

"This one a long time have I watched. All his life has he looked away… to the future, to the horizon! Never his mind on where he was. Hmm? What- he- was doing!"

Yoda poked the air with his cane for emphasis and harrumphed.

"Hm, adventure. Hah! Excitement, heh!"

Luke could almost roll his eyes, but coming from someone other than Owen, Luke knew the creature was right and perhaps Owen had been right all along.

"A Jedi craves not these things. You-" he paused, turning to Luke again, "Are reckless."

"So was I, if you remember," Ben insisted. Luke couldn't tell if Ben had any right to vouch for him or if he had a motive to, but the sentiment was appreciated as Luke's embarrassment rose in him and turned to defiance.

"He is too old! Yes, too old to begin the training," Yoda continued.

"But I've learned so much," Luke pleaded, thinking of his brief moments with Ben and even the fleeting feeling he got when he picked up his father's sword, his family legacy held firmly in his hands, ready for the taking.

Yoda considered him, looking none too happy though still not as angry and firm as he did moments ago. He resigned, his shoulders slumping as he sighed.

"Will he finish what he begins?" Yoda asked, cocking his head, awaiting Ben's response, not Luke's.

"I won't fail you," Luke affirmed, saying it as much for himself as he did for the thought of his father and what he might have become had he not been struck down by Vader all those years ago.

Yoda turned to him slowly, his eyes heavy and lidded, his expression serious.

"I'm not afraid," Luke said again, feeling it in every bone in his body. He had already lost everything, what was he to fear from Vader? If Owen and Beru could face them, even if they didn't meet him on the other side, then Luke could, too.

"Good," Yoda said, to his surprise. "You will be."

Yoda nodded, the hair on the back of Luke's neck standing on end.

"You will be."

"Nothing more will I teach you today," Yoda half sighed, half grunted as he shifted his weight on Luke's back, the humidity of the Dagobah swamp finally settling in now that they'd rested. "Clear your mind of questions."

Luke had trained for hours and only now was he really feeling the weight of it. Once he tuned into the Force, it was like being plugged into a battery. He felt more awake, more alive, and everything seemed so much sharper. Now that he allowed himself to breath, he felt heavy again, and his muscles ached as Yoda climbed back down to firm ground.

Yoda rested on a damp, fallen log as Luke retrieved his things, already thinking of dinner as unappetizing as it was. His stomach growled, but then his skin grew cold, the air around him changing from the thick, humid heaviness to something far thinner and almost… sinister.

"Something's not right here," he said, cocking his head as he shouldered his jacket on, "I feel… cold."

It felt odd to say, especially since Dagobah was anything but cold. The air felt different, and even the smells surrounding this corner of the swamp were off and almost alien.

"That place," Yoda said, pointing towards a dip in the ground just beyond where Luke stood, "Is strong with the dark side of the Force."

He looked down, avoiding eye contact, falling into a halfhearted contemplation.

"A domain of evil it is," he continued, looking to Luke again, curious, "In you must go."

This was sudden. Had Yoda chosen they rest here? Was this a test?

"What's in there?"

Yoda looked down again, thinking.

"Only what you take with you."

Luke realized he had been standing with his utility belt in his hands. He looked down and fastened it, but Yoda stilled him, speaking again.

"Your weapons," he called back, "You will not need them."

Luke watched him but could not shake the unnaturalness that he felt, the unevenness of the ground and the unusual feeling that permeated from the shadowy spanse of swamp beyond. Yoda turned away and Luke fastened his belt in place, ignoring the old Jedi's advice.

R2 bleeped worriedly after him, but Luke did not pause. He pressed further, finding the lip of a cave and peering in. Creatures scuttled about, though none were different than the ones he'd seen settling in the underbrush outside of Yoda's hut.

It felt like the edge of a dream. It was foreboding but somehow familiar, his senses prickling in anticipation of danger but something inside him kept urging him onward, like the draw of a siren's call.

The cave seemed void of life, but full of sound. Animal howls echoed from the deep recesses of the cave, multiplying as they traveled, and then a mechanical wrenching tore through the air, as if someone or something were ripping through the hull of a starfighter. Luke paused, listening, finding himself on the precipice of a shadowed cavern beyond. And then - a splash, something heavy, something big. Luke squinted into the distance but saw nothing, and then-

Darth Vader emerged from the shadows, his saber drawn.

Everything slowed, as they did in nightmares, his limbs moving as if treading through deep water.

He edged the switch of his lightsaber until its sapphire shaft emerged in the darkness to meet Vader's red, and in the din their blades met.

Luke felt somehow removed, like a bystander watching on as his own hands guided the blade to meet Vader's, blocking every attack - and then, his hands slowed and Luke swung high, straight for the monster's head. A flash of light and a flurry of sparks.

Vader's helmet flew through the air and landed with a thick thud at Luke's feet. Another flash and the mask burst into flames, embers licking the metal away to reveal the face beneath… and it was his own.

No, not like this, a voice said, and with a blink the vision was gone, the cave empty. And in the wake of it all, Luke should have felt afraid, but instead all he felt was empty, an uncertain sadness creeping under his skin he could not grasp nor explain, to himself let alone Yoda.

There is another way.

The voice was unfamiliar, yet somehow a part of him, as if it had always been there.

Luke steadied himself as he exited the cave, wracking his brain for a memory, a glimmer of a thought. The voice wasn't Beru's, but somehow it felt similar, protective. Perhaps it was something inside him he didn't have a name for yet, perhaps it was the Force.

Vader's blade raged red hot, held mere inches from Luke's face on the bridge of what must have been the very center of the gas planet's mining facility. He could feel the saber's heat, its threatening closeness to his throat, as he gasped for breath.

"You are beaten," Vader threatened, his voice a deep, metallic thrum, "It is useless to resist. Don't let yourself be destroyed as Obi-Wan did!"

Luke hazarded a glance up as he scooted back, avoiding the hot edge of the blade as Vader inched closer. Was that… advice he was giving him? The nerve, the gall of this man… Luke burst in anger, thinking of Ben as he dissolved into nothing in the docking port of the Death Star. The weight of Luke's blue saber clashing with Vader's granted him room to move again, inching towards the railing of the platform. But Vader kept advancing, and Luke couldn't help but think of the vapors as they rose from old Ben's robes as a scream wrenched its way out of his throat of its own volition.

It was like the vision, the dream, whatever it was he saw on Dagobah, only now everything was faster, realer, and heavier and Luke felt each and every swing he threw into Vader, managing to slice into the thing's shoulder as he scurried to another vantage point - or so he hoped.

Vader let out a howl but took no time to strike again, dissecting a power conduit in two as he thrashed towards Luke who realized too late that he was edging closer and closer to nowhere.

Just as the fathomless abyss materialized in his periphery, a searing pain ripped through Luke's right hand as his saber was wrenched from him, Vader's saber slicing through skin and bone as if it were nothing. He almost didn't hear his own screams until he raked in a breath, clutching a support beam to keep himself from falling.

"There is no escape," Vader said, lowering his sword but letting it thrum threateningly close. "Don't make me destroy you."

Make you?

Luke edged backward, knowing he had nowhere else to go, but hoping against hope that Vader would not follow.

"Luke, you do not yet know your importance," he said, his voice taking on an authoritative tone not unlike Uncle Owen's come harvest season, and part of Luke wished more than anything that he was by his uncle's side, braving Tatooine's twin suns and damning their crop yield knowing it would mean another year before he could leave for the Academy.

"You've only begun to discover your power. Join me, and I will complete your training."

Luke looked at him, tempted for almost a moment. Luke had learned more than he felt he had on Yoda's backwater planet in the weeks he'd spent there, but only at the mercy of Vader's blade and on the pain of his own death. He didn't know much, but he knew this was not the way of the Jedi, this was not what his father would have done.

"With our powers combined, we could end this destructive conflict and bring order to the galaxy."

Order, but that didn't necessarily mean peace, did it? That was something Leia always said, especially after mourning the lives of soldiers lost and wondering if this was all worth it, always coming to the conclusion that it eventually would be. He thought of her and her stern expressions, her soft smiles kept hidden and the cold heart she kept tucked away when doling out orders. If Luke was going to follow anyone's lead, it was hers. He watched Vader as he approached the railing, extending his hand in mock truce.

"I'll never join you!"

"If you only knew the power of the dark side!" Vader exclaimed, reveling in the thought as he clasped his hand, forming a defiant fist in the empty air.

Luke inched closer to the precipice, toeing the line of nothing, looking to Vader as his hand fell at his side, his tone growing more contemplative as he watched from the verge.

"Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father?" he asked, though it was more of a contemplative statement. My father? What do you know of my father?

"He told me enough!" Luke growled, "He told me you killed him."

"No," Vader thundered, and Luke could almost hear the eery, all-knowing smile in his voice. "I am your father."

Luke's body went cold, and he felt as if he were in the cave again, the air thick and almost too difficult to breath, the world slowing as reality edged into a nightmarish landscape both familiar and foreign. He shook his head, thinking of all the times Owen, Ben, and even now Yoda said he was too much like his father. No, not like this.

"That's not true," Luke uttered, his voice a ragged imitation of itself, "That's impossible."

"Search your feelings," Vader implored, "You know it to be true!"

Luke didn't have to. Even though he didn't want to believe it, the very moment the modulated words escaped Vader's helmet, Luke knew. It settled over him like a dread, the truth taking hold of him, its tendrils reaching into his memory at every mention of his father, every story Luke treasured like a relic and wanted to know every detail to, anything he could latch onto. And now it all felt hollow, his whole life a lie.

"No!" Luke heard himself cry, the rage now boiling beneath his skin - the lies, the loss, everything. "NO!"

Luke had mourned his father despite never knowing him, yet now he wasn't sure he wanted to, ashamed of his grief, angry that he spent so many years wishing he could be as great a pilot, as great a man. But it all made sense now - the strange feeling that filled his gut when he raised his blaster at Vader's towering form as it stood over Ben, the TIE that dogged him on the final stretch of the Death Star, and the strange sinking feeling he felt even after the battle was won. Something wasn't right, and Luke had known it all along.

"Luke, you can destroy the Emperor. He has foreseen this. It is your destiny."

Destiny.

Suddenly, the pain dissolved, anguish making way for something else, something bittersweet and almost strange - a terror in Vader's voice, not betrayed by his tenor but in the way the Force shifted around them as he spoke. Was Vader just saving his own skin? Or was he really trying to… help?

There is another way.

"Join me and we will rule the galaxy as father and son!"

Something in Luke ached at the sound of it, father and son. A family, together again. He imagined Han and Chewie shooting the breeze in the belly of the Falcon, fighting over a game of Sabaac after getting out of yet another scrape. He thought of Leia poring over maps and data, occasionally indulging Luke in stories of Alderaan and the people there, what her father had done to build the Rebellion and what her parents had been like growing up. He thought of his aunt and uncle, seated to a meal come sundown and how they would watch the light fade beneath the horizon before burrowing in their beds until morning. That's what Luke thought of when he imagined a family. A calm coexistence, a quiet comfort. Not this, never this.

There is another way. The same voice spoke to him, the one from the caves. It resonated within him, with the Force, and he wondered if Vader could feel it, too.

Luke looked down into the perilous chasm beneath him, his uninjured arm fast losing its strength.

Vader's hand remained extended in invitation even as Luke shook his head slowly, the life and energy draining from him as he clung to the support beam. There was no way out.

He'd come here with the intention of facing Vader, of defeating him, but it was different now. There was something else in him, something he couldn't explain, and something in the Force told him to let go, you'll be safe.

Luke closed his eyes, and for a moment, warmth flooded him. When he opened his eyes again, Vader was waiting.

"Come with me," he pleaded, his hand reaching, as if to safety, and maybe it was, "It is the only way."

No. There is another.

Luke smirked at Vader and released all tension from his body, trusting entirely in the Force, and fell.

When Luke came to, there were miles and miles of cloudy sky beneath him, plush and pink.

His vision had yet to fully return, his mind numb and racing, but he held on to the feeling that gave him the strength to fall and the first thing he thought of was "Leia."

He said her name, though he didn't know why. Something inside him told him to reach out to her, call for her if he could, and he was somehow assured that she'd come.

In what felt like no time, the Falcon pulled into view, and Luke fell into a man's strange but warm and welcoming arms, waiting for him. He was safe now. He looked up, as if Vader were still standing over him, and in a way he was, though separated by multitudes of metal and sky.

Even as the distance between them grew, they were tethered now, forever connected.

"Luke," Vader called out, his words resonating in his mind.

"Father," he replied quickly, almost as eagerly as he did in dreams when instead of Owen it was his own father that had come home to greet him.

"Son, come with me."

Luke knew he didn't want to, and knew that he couldn't, and yet he could sense the yearning in Vader's call and knew it was not false. To whatever end Vader wanted to use him - for power, to overcome the Emperor - Luke knew that he was just as blindsided by this discovery as he was, that Luke was not the only one to learn this truth instead of held its secret all these years.

"Ben," he implored, wishing he could conjure the old man's voice as it had appeared in Yoda's hut, "Why didn't you tell me?"

The Force grew warm again, and despite Vader's coldness, his metallic inhumanness, Luke felt the man beneath the mask. He sensed him - the man he was, the man he could have been, the man he almost was.

Luke couldn't lay still any longer. Draping the shabby fleece over his shoulders, he slumped his way to the cockpit, still feeling unsteady but safer now that he saw Leia.

Vader called to him again, but Luke didn't answer. He could only wonder. Arms and fleece wrapped around himself, sitting there in the cockpit, Luke felt more at home than he did back with Vader. And yet, somehow, he knew it was all connected. His father, his friends at his side, and the voice speaking inside him, steadying him, keeping him calm despite all this chaos.

If there is another way, Father, I will find it.

Han was missing, and if his visions were correct, then their journey was far from over. Luke looked to Leia, and was thankful she was here at least. She locked eyes with him for a moment, as a sign of comfort, but quickly took to the co-pilot's controls, her usual tenacity coming over her in an instant, like the mask she wore for the rest of the world.

Vader's my father, he thought, yet there was something he could not quite place. Had the man changed that much? He figured as much, the most obvious point being that he seemed much less a man and more machine. But still, his uncle, old Ben, and Yoda had spoken of Luke as if he were not just a spitting image of his father but his father incarnate. And yet he could not feel farther from him. Leia, on the other hand, was far more like Vader than he ever was. She was quick to anger and always on edge, but there was a softness to her too, something Vader didn't have, though Luke sensed it was there, hidden. A quality Luke had in spades and was often made fun of, at least back at home.

So where did the comparison come from? Was he like his father at all? Or just a version of him? And that voice. Was it the Force? Or was it something else?

In a way, Endor was a bit like Tatooine - full of life during the day, and inhabited by ghosts come nightfall. The forest was dark, and anything but still. Even if they could not be seen, the forests' wildlife could still be heard in a multitude of echoes. Yet despite the nightsong, Luke could both sense and hear Leia approach him in the darkness.

"Luke, what's wrong?" she asked, knowing him all too well.

Nothing was wrong, in fact, too many things made sense if anything, and they all swam about his head in a jumble.

Instead of answering her question, he turned to face her, asking a question of his own.

"Leia, do you remember your mother?" he asked eagerly, taking a seat on the bridge as she approached, her face afluster.

My mother? she did not say, but the look on her face may as well have asked.

"Your real mother?" Luke pressed, recalling a conversation he had with Leia about her parents years ago, about how she knew she was adopted at a young age.

"Just a little bit," she answered, almost too quickly, "She died when I was very young."

Luke knew there was more. He knew she was paraphrasing, but that wasn't exactly what he wanted to know. At least, not yet.

"What do you remember?"

He felt like a child again, asking Beru about his father, about how good of a pilot he was or if she remembered what sort of ship he flew.

"Just images, really," Leia paused, gesturing vaguely, "Feelings."

Feelings, Luke thought. So she has it, too.

"Tell me," he implored, innocently.

Leia shrugged, unsure of Luke's game here but resigning anyway. She sighed.

"She was… very beautiful. Kind, but… sad," she said finally, looking at Luke again, unsure.

Kind. The word resonated, simple as it was. And Luke felt the sadness Leia spoke of, in her voice and in his chest. He felt it each time he thought of Vader, and each time he felt the Force speaking to him, as if personally.

"Why are you asking me this?" Leia asked in a huff, almost annoyed but patient, still. She remembered her mother yes, but the thought pained her, and Luke hadn't pressed the matter the first time she mentioned that Bail and Breha were not her birth parents and was almost relieved he had not questioned then who her real parents had been. Even now, Luke saw how she was like his father, their father - their anger and passion often melding into one - and now Luke had something else to go on, he knew where part of him belonged.

"I have no memory of my mother," he said, wistful, thinking of the soft voice inside him, steadying his hand, "I never knew her."

But she's been with me all along.

Luke set flame to his father's remains and knew that history was repeating itself. He may not have been a formal Master, but his father had taught him so much. And Vader, still Anakin, had watched as the flames licked away at his would-be Master as well, so long ago.

Luke closed his eyes, the melancholy rising in his chest as he breathed in the heady smell of the redwood burning, his father's metal hull twisting and dissolving as his spirit was finally freed. Anakin had been a slave his whole life - first, to the Hutts, and then the Toydarian junker. The Jedi Code betrayed him, robbed him of his mother, and allowed for Darth Sidious to hook and ensnare him, to convince him that the power he bestowed alone could save the ones he loved, even if all Sidious ever cared for was himself. But only Luke knew this story now, while the rest of the galaxy jubilated as the Empire fell around them. Luke wanted to celebrate, but first, he would mourn - truly mourn the father he wished he had known, now.

Back at the camp, Han, Leia, Lando, Chewie, Wedge and the others were all smiles. Music played, fireworks bloomed in the forest sky beyond, and he could feel the relief of the galaxy through the Force around them and in the warm embrace of his friends. And through the Force, he also felt something else, much like a hand at his shoulder, a quiet comfort in the midst of the revelry.

At the edge of it all, a glittering mass caught Luke's eye. Ben and Yoda materialized, watching on with just as much relief as those living, their smiles wide and their energy strong. Luke smiled back at them, finally allowing himself a breath. He almost said something, a well deserved thank you, but a third figure appeared before the words made it passed his lips.

A young man smiled at him, almost a mirror image of Luke when he left Tatooine, and he knew then, that his father was free.

Thank you.

But the thanks was not singular, it was in unison, his father and … someone else.

A hand at his shoulder brought him back to reality, and Luke turned to see Leia beaming at him. He'd finally come home.

He looked at Ben, Yoda, and his father as he once was one last time before joining in the celebration. Leia led him to the others with a guiding hand, always his anchor, just as she'd been all this time, even if he didn't know it then. Then.

In the crowd, Luke sought out R2, his sapphire hull aflame in the firelight, but the droid noticed him and bleeped as if in consternation.

"It's nothing, R2," Luke pleaded, despite the well of emotion flooding him in the aftermath, "Everything's fine now. We've won."

Luke tried to convince himself that this was all he'd ever wanted, all he'd ever asked for, even if he had lost so much along the way. Despite it all, he'd found his family, and Luke had almost given up hope before R2 came along.

Hope.

Goosebumps spread over his skin as he kneeled before R2, the realization finally hitting him.

"You knew all along, didn't you?" Luke said affectionately, "You knew this whole time!"

Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope.

Those were the first words Luke ever heard his sister say, and it was only now he realized that R2 had been looking for her yet somehow managed to find him instead. If Luke had learned anything, it was that there was no such thing as coincidences, there was only the Force.

Luke smiled, but in response R2 only bleeped solemnly.

"What is it, buddy?"

In the midst of all the celebration, R2 switched gears and rolled away, waiting for Luke to follow. The others were too busy drinking, too busy eating, too busy retelling what just happened in happy disbelief, to notice a droid acting somber.

Curious, Luke followed. Once safe inside an empty room, Luke sat cross-legged as R2 played a message.

"General Kenobi, years ago you served my father in the Clone Wars…" a miniature Leia in blue began, and Luke smiled.

"So this is where it all started, huh?" he said, patting R2 like a pet, but the droid shrugged beneath his hand and the message paused as he went further back into his memory.

In the depths of space, a freshly painted R2 repaired a starship slick with chrome, his mechanical arm good as new. When the job was done, he wheeled himself back indoors, safe again within the hull of the ship.

"You're so young," Luke chided, amused, "R2, why are you showing me this?"

He laughed lightly, though the weight of everything that had happened was still so near. R2 bleeped again, as if impatient, and then the face of a young man, auburn-haired with a braid at the back of his head appeared in the image. Luke balked.

"Is that-?" he could barely form words for the pleasant surprise that took hold of him as he watched, "Is that Ben?"

The auburn-haired man smiled at the droid before scuttling along down a pristine hallway, an officer at his side.

"Well, I'll be."

Watching on, the droid and the officer came upon a room where five women waited, one in a large headdress and four in garments the color of sunrise.

"An extremely well put-together little droid, your Highness," a voice said, undoubtedly the officer's, "Without a doubt, it saved the ship, as well as our lives."

The woman in the center spoke, the feathers of her headdress ruffling with the movement.

"It is commendable," she said, her voice young but even and well-manicured, "What is it's number?"

R2 responded seriously, or at least as ever seriously as Luke heard him.

"R2-D2, your Highness," the officer translated.

"Thank you, R2-D2," the woman said, but it was one of the orange-clad women on her left that truly smiled, and Luke watched her, as if spying someone familiar. But before he could look further, before he could place her face, the image was gone, soon replaced by another.

A young boy smiled at R2, some years ago, a laugh erupting from his throat. Without asking, Luke knew this was his father, once, when he was still known as Anakin. But despite his smile and his curious stare, there was a sadness behind his eyes that Luke recognized, a familiar longing in his youthful face. There was no sound to this recording, but in a moment's breath, a woman appeared, one of the hooded girls from the scene before. Her yellow and orange garment framed her young face, dark-haired, brown-eyed - She looks like Leia, Luke thought, and then… he knew.

This was his mother.

She placed a blanket over the child's arms as his big blue eyes looked up at her wonderingly. Their expressions were pained, wondering, and even though the woman's eyes were rife with worry, she cared more for the boy before her, more concerned that he be made to feel safe.

Luke did not know how he knew this. This recording bore no sound, no affirmation. But he felt it.

The boy placed a carved necklace in her palm, and Luke knew it instantly as a Japor snippet, a charm carved from the solitary tree that grew in the deserts of Tatooine, its bark and trunk dry and twisted as it grew towards the twin suns in the sky. For good luck.

Luke did not realize that his hand was clutching his chest, reaching for a necklace that was not there, as if the charm had been passed to him before his mother disappeared, before she was gone to him forever.

But she's not gone, Luke thought. She's always been here.

R2 continued playing his message, and a hand weighed on Luke's shoulder, only this time it was real.

"Her name was Padmé," Leia said softly into the dark. She lowered herself to the floor at Luke's side, and leaned in to speak gently into his ear, "Padmé Amidala."

And in the din of the room, despite the celebratory rabble outside, Luke and Leia sat side by side and watched on as their parents fought battles, also side by side, so many years ago.

It was one thing to see the Jedi in action, to see thousands of sabers alight and at the ready, but it was another thing entirely to see your parents meet and fall in love, and watch it all crumble as the galaxy fell to ruin around them.

Leia rested her head on Luke's shoulder, his head meeting hers halfway. And suddenly, Luke felt whole now. With his sister at his side, his father at peace, and his mother with him, always.

Notes: This is a long awaited companion fic to A Heavy Inheritance. I will never exhaust my feelings for the Skywalkers, it seems.