Chapter Text
LUKE
On the floor of the Emperor’s throne room, Luke Skywalker writhed in agony.
The Emperor’s Sith-yellow eyes were filled with savage amusement as the lightning arced outward from his withered fingers.
Darth Vader stood by his Master’s side, watching. Silently. A stoic witness to the suffering of his child, just as he had been to the destruction of Alderaan.
Luke called out to his father, begging for his help.
The Emperor gloated over Luke’s weakness, secure in the knowledge that the boy’s pleas would be ignored.
But then something came hurtling through the air, unnoticed by the suffering boy or the gleeful old man. The lightsaber that Luke had discarded after cutting off Vader’s mechanical hand.
With a thought, the Dark Lord activated it, and the green blade drove cleanly through his Master’s neck.
The Emperor’s head rolled down the steps, his yellow teeth still bared in a hideous grin. His headless corpse pitched forward to follow it.
For a time, there was silence.
At first, Luke’s only coherent thought was that the pain had stopped. Then he caught sight of the Emperor’s severed head.
Vader reached out his left hand and the head began to levitate. “The old man liked to hear himself speak,” said Vader. “Something that he and Obi-Wan had in common.”
“Father...” said Luke, pushing himself to his feet. He knew that he should be feeling triumphant, even hopeful. But he could sense that something was amiss.
Vader directed the head to the edge of the platform, letting it just...dangle there. It was an almost comical sight. “I must apologize for the theatrics that took place in leading you here,” he continued. “I could shield my thoughts from him easily, but not my actions or words—not with him so near. It was vital that he believed me to be his loyal slave.”
“I see,” said Luke, letting his roiling emotions burn out into the Force, as Yoda had taught him.
“You were quite right that overconfidence was his weakness. All is as I have foreseen it.” Finally, the head dropped. There was an audible sizzle of energy as it hit the reactor below. “And he has outlived his usefulness to me.”
Luke took a deep breath. “Everything you said may have been an act, but I was being sincere.” He looked at the Sith Lord, letting his conviction seep into the Force. “I know there is still good in you, Father.”
Vader made a sound that must have been a sigh. “You are still very young, my son, and Obi-Wan has filled your head with nonsense.” The lightsaber that Vader had lost during their duel flew into his hand, and he clipped it to his side. “The Dark Side is not evil. It is simply truth—and the truth is often ugly.”
Luke wanted to contradict him, but suspected it would fall on deaf ears. His eyes were drawn to the transparisteel of the viewport, and the battle beyond it—now raging in full force.
Vader must have noticed, because he said, “I installed a secondary deflector shield around this station’s reactor, with a local generator, and I have another legion on the way. Your comrades are fighting a battle already lost.”
Luke couldn’t fight off the flood of sudden despair, though he didn’t allow it to change his composure. “So this really is the end,” he said.
“Yes,” said Vader, walking up the stairs. “But the nature of that end will depend on you.”
“What do you mean?”
Vader moved to the former Emperor’s throne, running his remaining hand over one of its armrests. “I’m willing to let them live—as prisoners—as a gesture of goodwill to you. Provided that they surrender.”
“There’s more than that,” Luke stated, certain of it.
Vader sat in the throne, removing his helmet with a hiss of releasing pressure. Luke was almost impressed by how he managed this with only one hand.
The face revealed within was a handsome middle-aged man with short, light brown hair—his skin unblemished by anything but the slight lines of his age. His eyes, though? They were the same unnerving, red-rimmed gold that the Emperor’s had been.
Vader reached for the control panel on the front of his suit, pressing a button. The omnipresent sound of his respirator stopped.
Vader smirked. “You must remain by my side without resistance, and convince your sister to do the same.”
Luke wasn’t sure if he could believe what he was hearing. “And the Death Star?”
“Will be dismantled. I have no use for such a technological terror.” The smirk on Vader’s face widened. “The resources will be repurposed for the sake of expanding my fleet.”
Luke’s summoned his lightsaber to his hand, gazing down at it. “And if I don’t come without resistance?”
Vader’s smirk fell away, replaced with an incongruously soft expression. “I won’t harm you, or your sister. But I will exterminate your comrades. Including that smuggler scum and his pet Wookiee.”
Luke clenched his hand around the lightsaber. It was his mechanical one, covered in a black glove. “You’ve already harmed us.”
Vader’s eyes drifted to the hand in question. “Your sister…is Princess Leia?”
Hesitating for a moment, but realizing that deception was futile, Luke nodded.
A conflicted expression passed over Vader’s face. “Yes, I have harmed you. But no more. I give you my word on that.”
Luke understood that Vader meant only physical harm, though his promise was sincere. Everything Vader said was sincere; Luke could sense it clearly.
And what he couldn’t sense was a way out of this. Vader had cut off all exits. For now, the only options were two different kinds of surrender: the easy way, or the hard way.
“I won’t turn to the Dark Side,” Luke stated plainly.
Vader smiled. It looked almost…sad. “Yes, that much is clear. My condition is that you stay, not that you turn.”
Luke remembered how Vader had taunted him about turning Leia in his place. That was probably his plan, now.
He took in a deep breath. Released it. He acknowledged the roiling in the pit of his stomach—acknowledged the cause. And then he let it go. “If you allow my comm frequency through the shields, I’ll tell them to stand down. I can only hope they listen.”
They were beaten, for now. Luke would accept that. But he was a Jedi, like his father before him, and he still trusted in the Force. Trusted in Leia, with her implacable will, to resist the Dark Side.
This wasn’t truly the end.
Vader smiled. A large, sincere smile which even reached his sickly golden eyes. “Very good, my son.”
VADER
Four standard weeks later.
Darth Vader, the true Emperor of the Galaxy, stood on the bridge of the Executor, looking out the viewport with his hands clasped behind his back.
He could see his own reflection in the transparisteel before him: dashing in a crisp black suit, with a full head of sandy hair. His face, handsome and unscarred, though showing signs of his middle age. The culmination of years of procedures, both medical and cosmetic.
A vanity, perhaps. But not one that Vader had indulged in for his own sake. The suit had served his purposes well, granting him greater strength and endurance, and freeing him from the need for surgeries that would require extended convalescence. It had, moreover, communicated his role very effectively. That he was there to be obeyed—not admired.
But the future required a dashing appearance of him. And so he had made the sacrifice.
Sidious, who had allowed Vader to improve his suit from the very beginning, had thought nothing of it. The few times that Sidious had asked after Vader’s activities, Vader had simply said that he was making himself stronger. And the arrogant old man had been pleased with that answer, thinking Vader shared Sidious’ mystical ambitions and wished to advance them more efficiently. Since the effort had never interfered with Vader’s duties, Sidious never had cause to think of it further.
“Your Highness,” said an officer from behind him. Not Piett. “We scoured the Malachor system as you commanded, but Ahsoka Tano was nowhere to be found.”
Through the Force, Vader could sense the officer’s terror in bringing him this news of failure.
“Very well,” Vader said, waving his hand. “Dismissed.”
The officer scampered off, his relief palpable.
Luckily for the officer, Vader didn’t feel the same gnawing urgency with this search as he had with Luke’s. Because this time, he knew the outcome already.
Ahsoka would come to him, one way or another. He had learned that eight years ago, when he had faced her on Malachor.
He had been just moments away from striking the killing blow. Ahsoka, formidable but outmatched, had resorted to a desperate maneuver: plunging her lightsabers down into the stone roof of the temple. It had left her wide open—and Vader had seized that opening. But just before his lightsaber could meet her vulnerable body, Ahsoka had vanished.
And as Vader had plunged downward with the crumbling roof, he’d had his first vision in years.
A Coruscant apartment, flooded with sunlight. Ahsoka, standing before him, her smile warm and affectionate.
“You’re stuck with me, remember?”
And with those words, she cupped his cheek and kissed him.
The memory of that vision—that promise—had grown no less vivid with time. Even now, he could still feel the echo of her fingers against his cheek; her lips, warm and soft against his own.
It hadn’t been a lie, like the hallucinations induced by his kyber crystal when he’d bled it. It had been the truth. He knew this was the future, as surely as he knew his own power.
And thus, he had no reason to be frustrated. His visions had always come true, and this time would be no different.
Realizing that he had unconsciously put his fingers to his lips during the memory of that phantom kiss, Vader let them drop back to his side.
Ahsoka was back from her...excursion. He’d sensed her presence returning not long before the Rebels had tried to destroy the second iteration of the Death Star.
Reaching out, he touched the transparisteel of the viewport with a gloved hand, looking to the stars beyond it. A smirk curled at the corners of his lips.
If he could not find her, he would simply make her come to him.
The holographic display of the Malachor system floated before Vader in the Executor’s strategy room, but he wasn’t really looking at it. More than anything, it served as a point of focus while Vader contemplated his strategy for drawing Ahsoka out.
Bespin had been an abject failure. Luke’s existence had been…unforeseen. The outcome, uncertain. And Vader had fallen into old habits. In his clumsy haste to secure Luke, he had overextended.
The bait had brought Luke to him, as he’d known it would, but at too high a cost. Even now, after Luke had sought Vader out of his own volition, torturing the smuggler remained a sore spot between them. More so than even the loss of Luke’s hand in the resulting confrontation.
Vader could not allow his impatience to cloud his judgment. Not this time.
Admiral Piett entered the strategy room, coming to stand beside Vader.
“Your Highness, inquiries regarding the Tano fugitive remain…unproductive.” Piett held his body still with impeccable discipline, despite the fear he exuded into the Force. “Shall we put out a bounty? Expand the search grid to Wild Space?”
Vader considered for a moment, then replied, “No, Admiral. She is a survivor of Order 66, and has perfected evading our methods.”
But Ahsoka had not been alone during their reunion on Malachor. “Her last known associates were the rebel cell from Lothal,” Vader said, as the pieces started to slot into place in his mind.
Admittedly, Caleb Dume had also been a survivor of Order 66, but his demise proved that he was far less adept than Ahsoka. As though it was ever in doubt. Beyond him, Cham Syndulla’s daughter was imprisoned on Narkina 2, and the Lasat was deployed to Kessel. Both captured during the battle over Endor. Dume’s so-called apprentice, meanwhile, was missing in action. That left only…
“There was a Mandalorian with them. A girl with the clan name “Wren”, I believe. I want a full dossier.”
It was a weak lead, admittedly. But Vader had a hunch that it would be fruitful. The girl had not been at Endor; the likely reason was the unrest on Mandalore. If she had survived the recent purge—or evaded it entirely—she would prove to be of much use.
Vader stood in the center of the Executor’s new training room, installed for the benefit of his new apprentice, wearing dark training robes that would not have looked out of place in the old Jedi Temple. His eyes were closed, hands clasped behind his back. The stillness gave him an opportunity to think.
The dossier on Sabine Wren had proven his hunch correct: the girl was alive, and intelligence suggested she was somewhere on Lothal. An unwise location, given the strategic importance of that particular planet—but not surprising. The dossier had also revealed that Wren’s entire clan had perished in the purge, in addition to all of Wren’s known rebel associates being imprisoned, missing, or dead.
Grief had a tendency to make people reckless and sentimental. Sabine Wren had returned to Lothal like an injured beast returning to its den.
Ahsoka, of course, would not be so reckless. She was certainly hiding on some backwater planet of no note whatsoever. But given Ahsoka’s likely disorientation—and her own tendency towards sentiment—it was probable that she and Wren remained in contact.
Yes, they were. Vader could feel the truth of it in the Force.
There was a hiss as the door to the training room slid open. Vader opened his eyes. His apprentice, dressed in cream-colored training robes and her hair in a pinned-up braid, approached him at last.
“You’re late, my apprentice,” Vader said to her. Sternly, but without heat.
“My apologies,” Leia said. The words were utterly formal and lacked even an inkling of sincerity.
Vader smirked at her. “Who are you addressing, Leia?”
Mouth tightening in distaste, Leia said, “My apologies, Master.”
The two of them locked eyes for a moment, Leia’s gaze full of barely-restrained defiance. And yet, he knew she would continue to cooperate.
It was the one good thing to come out of her feelings for that smuggler.
Vader unclasped his hands, letting them fall to his sides. “Today, we will work on your lightsaber forms. Have you been practicing, like I instructed?”
Leia unclipped the lightsaber at her belt. “Yes, Master.”
“Assume Form V,” Vader instructed.
Leia activated the lightsaber, assuming the ready pose to start her katas. The hilt was modeled after his own, but the blade remained blue—the kyber within still unbled. That part would come only after Leia had embraced the Dark Side.
But she wouldn’t be able to do that, presently. Not while she still subconsciously blocked out the Force.
Vader was determined to break her of that habit.
Leia started her first kata, the blue blade thrumming through the stillness of the training room as Leia worked through the swings and blocks of Djem So. Her movements were stiff. Mechanical. Technically proficient, indicating she had indeed practiced, but lacking finesse.
Casually, Vader began, “I discovered something very interesting recently.”
Leia continued as if he wasn’t speaking at all, sweat starting to bead on her forehead from the physical exertion.
Vader smirked. “The Nikto syndicates have assigned you a title of sorts. Were you aware?”
“I wasn’t, Master,” Leia replied, a little breathlessly.
Smirk widening, Vader spoke the words that he knew would finally break that cool facade. “They call you ‘Huttslayer’.”
The response was almost instantaneous. Leia froze mid-swing, her eyes widening in muted shock. All the confirmation Vader needed.
He walked closer to her, clasping his hands behind his back once again, and leaned down to better look her in those dark, wary eyes. “So you really did kill Jabba the Hutt. Most impressive, my young apprentice.”
Leia’s outward demeanor was calm once again, but her agitation radiated through the Force. Coolly, she said, “I just saw an opportunity and took it.”
Vader was about to correct her on the omission of the correct form of address, when Leia preempted him. Mouth tightening ever-so-slightly, she added, “Master.”
Straightening, Vader responded with the stern command: “Resume your stance.”
Leia did, starting another series of katas. Vader observed with his arms crossed over his chest.
Still too stiff.
Once she had worked her way through about four of these unsatisfactory displays, Vader spoke again. “How, precisely, did you kill him?”
Leia swung her blade left. “I strangled him with the chain he’d used to tether me to his throne.”
Rage surged through him at the image this answer conjured in his mind. He’d dealt with Jabba personally in the past, so he knew that Leia was omitting the true scope of the degradation. That Hutt scum had treated Vader’s daughter like the lowest kind of slave.
He pushed the rage aside. The Hutt was dead, courtesy of Leia herself. There was nothing to be done about it now.
Leia had taken her revenge, as was her due. And the chain had little to do with it.
Oh, Leia had certainly found it conceptually useful in channeling her power. But even a tall, muscular being with half a meter on Leia, and weighing double, would find it challenging to strangle a full-grown Hutt to death.
“An unlikely feat of strength, for a girl of your stature,” Vader noted.
Leia made an upward swing and replied, “Adrenaline works wonders, Master.”
Vader almost snorted. Adrenaline? Surely even she could see the absurdity of that excuse.
But her denials would soon be revealed for the self-deceptions that they were. “I want you to focus on how you felt at that moment. How satisfying it was, to finally destroy the one who had put you in chains.”
Leia swung right, then left. Her movements just as artless as before.
Malicious compliance. That was her game.
“Do not try to deceive me, Leia,” Vader said. “When I give you an instruction, follow it.”
Leia paused mid-kata, her hands tightening around the hilt of her saber. Then, she started from the beginning again, her movements becoming more fluid as her face twisted with growing aggression.
At last, she was touching the Force. Vader could feel it. Feel her senses expanding...and finding him.
A test was in order. Leia was so immersed in her katas—in the triumph of her revenge—that she didn’t notice Vader activating his own lightsaber. Didn’t notice the grin spreading across his face.
He lunged at her, a thrill jolting through him when Leia successfully blocked the incoming blow with a snarl. Their sabers buzzed at the point where they met, red on blue.
Vader pulled back, still grinning, heart racing. “You sensed my attack coming.”
His elation was short-lived, however. Leia’s face crumpled, her rage fizzling away.
“No…” she whispered, deactivating the lightsaber. And he could see the strength draining from her, her arms slumping to her sides. The lightsaber tumbled from her hand to clatter against the white tiles.
Sadness poured out into the Force, with Leia as its epicenter, and Leia did something that Vader had never seen her do before. Not when he’d interrogated her, nor even when she’d witnessed Alderaan’s destruction.
She started to cry. The kind of silent, helpless tears of somebody who was trying very hard not to cry, but failing.
It did not suit her at all.
Vader sheathed his own lightsaber, fighting to keep Leia’s sadness from overwhelming him. He had felt it in the past, of course. But…he had not known, then, who she really was. And he hadn’t known her—at least, not beyond her privilege, entitlement, and insolence.
Continuing training when Leia was like this would be…counterproductive.
Vader approached her, resisting the impulse to pull her into an embrace that he knew she would resent. Instead, he put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. “That is enough for today,” he said, tone just as gentle. “You did well, Leia.”