Chapter Text
It was late and pitch dark by the time Luke finally returned to the retreat. In his arms, clutched tightly to his chest, he carried a carved Jedi urn from the storehouse. It was impossible to believe this container of ashes was all he had now. He half expected to find his father waiting for him at the retreat, wanting to know where he'd been and why he hadn't told him he'd be late home.
The hours after his father's death had passed in an odd blur that he couldn't fully remember. He vaguely recalled wrapping up what remained of his father in a shroud, and then carrying it back up another tunnel that led out into a cave along the beach. While the sun had set, he had given his father the traditional funeral ceremony of a Jedi. Strangely, he hadn't been able to shed a single tear—he just felt weary and numb.
Two of the royal guards had appeared while he was transferring the last of the ashes. Luke barely remembered the conversation, but he did know he told them the Emperor was dead, as was his father. They could do whatever they wanted with that information. There was nothing he cared less about right now than what became of the Empire.
His plan was to leave the planet as soon as possible, before the forensic investigation crews began arriving, but on the way back to the retreat, a low whimper of an animal in distress had caused him to turn on his lightsaber. Two glowing eyes were illuminated in the long grass. It was Fode. The young gargoyle was standing protectively over Beed, who was still and unmoving.
The last thing he could do for Fode was to give his father a proper burial, which he'd accomplished with Artoo's assistance. The droid had come down from the retreat as soon as he'd seen him on the beach, beeping happily until he'd scanned the contents of the urn. Then Luke had dropped to one knee and wrapped his arms around the gargoyle, as Fode pushed his head into his chest one last time. Then, finally, tears had fallen.
Now it was just him and Artoo and the X-Wing. The droid whistled a question as Luke packed the urn into the cargo hold, trying to secure it between the survival rations. After looking at it for a moment, he decided he would rather have it in the cockpit.
"I don't know, Artoo," Luke said. "I'd like to take him to rest with my mother, on Naboo. But I can't face that yet. I can't face anyone. I don't want to feel anyone celebrating this." He covered his face, leaning against the side of the X-Wing, while Artoo beeped softly.
"You're right," he said, straightening up. "Mustafar it is."
The Executor was still in orbit, and they hailed as soon as Luke was in range. He switched off the comlink and jumped to hyperspace. Let them sort out the mess. Every last reserve of strength he had was used up, but even as his eyes closed and he sunk back against the seat, sleep evaded him. Memories of those last few moments together. Questions about what he could have done differently. If only he'd known.
Sometime later, his eyes opened again, and it seemed sleep had come after all. The X-Wing was sitting in the hangar on Mustafar, and the engine cooling sequence was still running.
"Thanks, Artoo," Luke said, rubbing his eyes. "I guess I dozed off for a while there."
If only this entire day had been a dream.
When he climbed down the ladder, urn nestled tightly in the crook of his arm, the sound of footsteps approaching caused Luke to sigh. Vaneé. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear his thoughts on how the Sith tradition must carry on.
But he simply nodded when he saw the urn, and his tone was gentle. "I'm so sorry."
"He sacrificed himself to save me," Luke said, unable to stop his voice breaking on the words. "He made his own plan, and … if only I'd known, I could have saved him!"
"Shh, now," Vaneé said, reaching out to briefly hold him by the shoulders. "You would have done everything you could. He knew that. What of the Emperor?"
"Dead. He electrocuted himself and fell into a pit of starving crabs," Luke said.
"Oh, dear."
Vaneé didn't sound particularly upset about that news.
Luke shrugged. "I left the royal guards to figure that out. I … I just needed to be alone. My friends will be celebrating when the news gets out, and I can't face that right now."
"Of course. I will put up the shield to discourage any unwelcome intrusions."
"I don't expect you to stay here," Luke said, glancing at Artoo as the droid used his rockets to reach the floor. "You should go back to Naboo. You've earned a long, peaceful retirement."
"No, I still have a duty here," Vaneé said firmly. "Your father did leave instructions in the event of this outcome. He also left a message for you."
Luke nodded, while also knowing he couldn't face any messages telling him he shouldn't feel bad about killing him, as had been his father's original plan. He definitely couldn't face any talk telling him to honor his memory by becoming the greatest Sith Lord the galaxy had ever seen. Right now, he just wanted to hold on to their last good moments together.
"I'll look into it later," Luke mumbled.
"Of course. You must rest."
He was right. Crawling into bed and remaining there did seem like the only thing to do, at the same time as he dreaded the thought of being alone in the dark with his memories. But what else was a person supposed to do after suffering the loss of a parent? Just carry on like his life hadn't been shattered? Like a part of him hadn't died as well? Like he wasn't feeling a gaping wound in his heart that he didn't know would ever heal?
He reached up to wipe his cheek, unaware when the tears had started falling. Vanée patted his arm.
"Your father suffered a lot in his life. He was tormented with regrets, and he desperately missed your mother. You were the only thing that truly brought him joy. It's only natural to grieve, but find solace in the fact that at last he is at peace, resting in the Force."
The words were kindly meant, but Luke only felt his grief deepen as he turned to leave the hangar. His father may have suffered, but he also caused so much pain for so many people. Could resting at peace in the Force truly be the destiny of someone who had embraced the Dark Side for so many years? Or was his father now only tormented further in death, forever existing as a spirit in a dark place of despair? Or did only total oblivion await?
And if that was the case, what hope was there for them ever being reunited?
Grief was a strange thing. There were days when the only good moments had been those first few upon waking, before the memories returned and the deep feeling of sadness. Then there were other days when he'd almost begun to feel normal again, and the enjoyment of simple activities returned, like a morning glass of milk and getting worn out with a strenuous exercise session.
It helped that he managed to keep himself busy, sorting through some of his father's possessions, packed away in storage crates he'd never been allowed to touch before. Most of it was hoarded spare parts, but occasionally they'd be a hidden treasure. Like old droid and starfighter maintenance manuals from the Clone Wars, which brought back happy memories of long hours spent working on restoration projects with his father.
Vaneé would occasionally try to interest him in practical tasks, like contacting his father's lawyer on Coruscant and getting access to his will. Or even responding to the steady stream of ISB agents attempting to contact him. But even thinking about all that meant having to make decisions about what was next for his own life, and it all felt too overwhelming. There was nothing he wanted to do more right now than remain in a place where he still felt some sense of closeness to his father, even if it was only an echo.
Part of him was aware he was maybe getting a little too comfortable here, hidden away from everyone and everything. But another part argued that he'd never been allowed to have the time and space to grieve properly before. Not when his mother had died, leaving an imprint of loss on his mind that was too newly formed to even comprehend it. Not when his aunt and uncle had been brutally murdered. Not the day he'd first truly understood what the Emperor had done to his father. Not the day Alderaan had been destroyed, and he'd lost Ben and Captain Jarnet. After all that, he'd earned the right to this.
And he had to admit, this place was actually starting to grow on him. He'd always merely tolerated it when he was younger because it meant spending uninterrupted time with his father. But there was something appealing about having a place to get away from it all and meditate in peace.
One morning, a month after his father's death, he made the decision to start sorting through the library. The plan was to expand the engineering and piloting section, and destroy all the Sith holocrons to make room. The trick was to do it without Vaneé catching on, because he'd argue they were priceless research artifacts required for historical study, never mind that they could only be activated by using the Dark Side.
But as had often been the case when he'd made up his mind to complete a particular task, Luke found himself distracted by other unexpected discoveries. Vaneé had given him all the master codes, and when he opened the library holocron vault, it turned out his father had kept more than holocrons locked away. There were ancient texts too, slowly decaying with age. The biggest one was simply called 'The Science of Death and the Force'.
A quick skim of the titles of the others showed a similar theme. He had found evidence before that his father had once made attempts to somehow restore his mother to life, a fact that had disturbed him deeply at the time. But now he understood. He stared at the cover of the book about the science of death, and then dragged it out of the shelf.
But as he carried it down to the reading couches as the far end of the library, the Force hummed in an unusual way, and Luke caught a transparent-blue shimmer in his peripheral vision, accompanied by the strong feeling that he wasn't alone. He could only groan. He'd been waiting for this. Obi-Wan, come to lecture him about following his destiny and to urge him to return to complete his training with Master Yoda.
"Go away," Luke said, turning away from the couches. "Go and find a fuel stop refresher and leave me alone."
"Is that any way to talk to your father, young one?"
Luke dropped the book in shock and slowly turned around. His father ... his father. He stared back at the transparent form sitting on the couch, not knowing whether to believe it. This father wasn't the one he'd said goodbye to on Lygun, but instead the unmasked Jedi version he'd met in the Force vision after he'd destroyed the Death Star. But unlike that weary and scarred Jedi, this one looked ... ageless. He had a boyish grin, though, which was vaguely familiar. He was smiling at Luke now, enjoying his confusion.
Luke then tried something he hadn't done in weeks, stretching out nervously along their bond, not knowing how this apparition would register on his Force sense. Immediately, he was overcome by a sense of familiarity. The presence filled every longing in his soul, and made him feel joyful, despite the tears which had begun to run down his face. This was how he recognized his father ... not by his Sith mask, or by his pre-injury appearance, but by his presence. And this presence was far stronger than he had ever felt it when he was alive.
"You liar," he managed to choke out, despite the emotion. "You said you'd never come back as a ghost."
"I had a change of heart," he said, shrugging in a self-deprecating manner.
Luke crossed the distance between them, before he'd even known he was moving. He sat beside his father and stretched out a hand, experimenting. As he suspected, his hand passed straight through the apparition. Luke turned away, feeling angry.
"Why didn't you come earlier? Don't you know how much I've missed you?"
"You had to grieve, Son. You could not reach an acceptance if I had troubled you too soon."
"It's no trouble. How can you say that?"
"You may change your mind when I start lecturing you about following your destiny and thinking about your responsibilities."
Luke groaned, burying his head in his hands.
"But first, I can sense you have some questions for me."
He did. And so many, he didn't know where to start. There were some that already had been answered, merely by his father's appearance. But then there was the one that had been keeping him awake in the early hours of the morning. The one he'd asked himself over and over again.
"Why didn't you tell me what you were planning? I … I could have helped. I could have found a better way."
"I know." He placed his hand over his, where it rested on the couch. "I know you would have done everything you could. But my path is not yours, and this was something I had to do. Because of my choices, so many have suffered. I can't change what I've done, but I could at last end the Sith reign and bring balance back to the Force."
"But I wasn't ready. I didn't want this. I didn't want you … to die." His voice broke on the word, and he looked away.
The feeling of reassurance flowed back along their link, and his father's tone was gentle.
"I haven't died, Son. Not how you perceive it. I have never felt more alive. There is no death. There is only the Force."
Luke shook his head, hardly able to believe his father was quoting the Jedi code. "You broke away from the Dark Side, didn't you?" he asked, snapping his head back to look at him. "You feel so different. And I don't just mean that you're a ghost. You felt different on Lygun, too."
His father nodded. "I had to choose between serving the Dark Side forever, or truly being your father. I used to foolishly imagine I could do both. That I had no choice but to do both."
"Obi-Wan and Yoda believed it was impossible for anyone to return from the Dark Side. I'm glad they were wrong."
"I thought the same way. Now I wonder how I resisted your influence for so long."
"What do you mean? I did nothing. You didn't let me do anything."
"The Dark Side feeds on both body and soul. Once you have given yourself over to it entirely, there is no longer any of you left. There is only the Dark Side."
"Like the Emperor?"
"Yes. Like the Emperor. But when I made the mistake of becoming his apprentice, there was one small part of myself, the part that loved your mother, that not even the Dark Side could completely destroy. That was what kept me from being consumed, throughout all those long years at the Emperor's side. When you came into my life, you made it stronger."
"But I was just a kid then."
"You were a blessing I didn't deserve. You made me feel something which drove the Dark Side away like a flame drives away the darkness."
"What was that?"
"Love, of course. I loved you. I loved you from the first moment I recognised who you were."
"You never told me," Luke said, almost speechless with surprise.
His father sighed. "A Sith Lord couldn't admit to feeling love. Even when it was so strong, it had to be constantly kept in check."
"I think I always knew anyway. Deep down."
"I hope you did. That wouldn't make up for all the ways I hurt you, but at least it would be something."
"So," Luke said, smirking, "I think I'm beginning to understand. All those times you grounded me ... that was the Dark Side, right?"
"No, that was me."
"That time you forced me to go to the dentist?!"
"Me, most definitely."
"When you threw away my biology project?"
"A genuine accident. And I thought you said you had forgiven me for that."
Luke shrugged. Then, he spoke his next thought before he lost his nerve and didn't say it. "What about when you tortured my friends to lure me out of Jedi training?"
The sensation of his father's regret and pain was enough to make Luke wish he hadn't brought it up.
"The Dark Side can never be an excuse. I'm sorry, Luke. I want you to tell your friends and your sister I deeply regret it."
"I forgive you," Luke said, quickly.
"It's typical of your nature that you ask me about a time I hurt your friends, and not the many times I hurt you. You deserved so much better than a father who tried to convince you to turn to the Dark Side and serve the Emperor."
"You were never convincing," Luke said, smiling. "Besides … if it wasn't for your constant example of what choices not to make, who knows where I might have ended up."
"Padmé said the same thing."
Luke sat up straighter. "You've … you're with my mother?"
He nodded, eyes shining. "She has been watching us for a long time. She sends you all her love."
"Why can't she appear like this as well?" Luke asked, longing to see his mother.
"This is only possible between two Jedi."
Two Jedi. This was going to take some getting used to.
"I'm not a Jedi yet," Luke said. "I'm still learning."
"You've learned everything you need," his father said, reaching up to rest his hand on his shoulder. "I'm so proud of you in so many ways. You will make a great teacher."
"I don't know if I'm ready to leave yet," Luke said, looking around. "I do miss my sister and all my friends. But the Rebellion won't want to see me. Neither will the Empire."
"Yes, about that," his father said, sounding a little remorseful.
Luke raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"There's something I should tell you. But perhaps I'll just leave it to your visitors. You should have listened to the message I left you."
"Visitors? What visitors? I told Vaneé I don't want to see anyone."
"They'll be showing up soon. Just hear them out, okay?"
"I'm not ready to leave," Luke repeated.
"Yes, you are. I don't even know when you decided you liked Mustafar. Last I knew, you were calling it the evil volcano lair behind my back."
"It was about the same time you died."
His father's expression was filled with compassion. "I know you've been hurting. But time is running out and you cannot fight your destiny."
Luke buried his head in his hands. "Not that word!"
"Yes, your destiny. You have an immense task ahead of you. The Jedi Order must rise again, and a free government restored."
"I can't do all that alone," Luke pleaded.
"And no one would ask you to, Son. There are so many people waiting to be inspired by you. And you have a sister—the most amazing, wonderful sister who has so many questions of her own that you need to answer."
Luke nodded, feeling a new pain as he imagined how Leia must have been feeling. Not only her, but Han and Chewie as well. It was time to leave. He had a family who needed him. But he looked back at his father, not wanting to let him go, in case he never appeared again.
"This won't be the last time we talk like this, will it?"
The feeling of connection along their bond only increased. "I will never leave you. I promise. From now until you join us here in the Force, I will always be there when you need me. But for now, I'll let you go downstairs and greet your guests." His father's blue form had begun to fade. "Just don't let the power go to your head."
"What?" Luke asked, confused. "I don't understand. Father!"
"You'll understand soon enough. By the way ..." his father stopped fading for a second. "I liked it when you called me 'Dad'."
He grinned at Luke and disappeared.
Voices led Luke to the main comms room, where Vaneé was in a somewhat tense discussion with a hologram of an Imperial shuttle pilot. Artoo was plugged into the main weapon's array, clearly about to open fire at Vaneé's order.
"It's all right, Vaneé," Luke said. "Let them land."
"Are you sure?" Vaneé said, muting the comlink. "Scans reveal five passengers, not including the pilots."
"I have a feeling I should talk to them," Luke said, shrugging. He smiled then. "Besides … we can't stay here forever, right?"
Vaneé smiled back, looking relieved. "Very well, Master Luke. I'll direct them to the visitor's landing pad."
"Come on, Artoo," Luke said, gesturing to his droid. "Let's see who's come to visit."
Threepio? Artoo enquired, as he rolled after him.
"Sorry, buddy, I wish it was our friends." He reached out to place a hand on the droid's dome. "You've been missing him, huh?"
Artoo whistled in agreement.
His father always used to make guests wait in the main entrance hall, where they'd stare around in growing fear and anxiety as the lava bubbled away far below. Those days were gone. Luke couldn't imagine having the patience to make guests wait, even if this place had somewhere nicer than a creepy pit of lava. When he reached the entrance to the landing pad, the ramp was already lowered, and he watched with caution as a couple of royal guards walked down and stood to one side. He could only guess which power hungry Grand Moff had declared themselves Emperor.
But the actual person who was first down the ramp caused his face to light up and Artoo to whistle with surprise.
"Lev?! What in the … " He rushed forward to embrace his friend, hardly able to believe it.
"Hello, Luke," he said quietly. "It's good to see you."
"I didn't even know if you were still alive," Luke said, shifting back. "Things have been so crazy and … Admiral Piett!"
The admiral of the Executor was close behind his friend, looking somewhat bemused by his overly familiar greeting with the lieutenant.
"So you're assigned to the Executor now?" Luke said, looking between Lev and the admiral.
"On temporary assignment as of yesterday," Lev said, his gaze shifting to Artoo and then back to Luke. "Are you well? I'm so sorry about your father. I was told you hadn't been in communication with anyone."
"It hasn't been easy," Luke said, looking down. "I've needed some time, but—" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a third person coming down the boarding ramp. The royal guard immediately straightened, and Luke had to groan when he saw who it was. The Imperial Grand Vizier, Mas Amedda.
"That was a good trick, sending them out first," Luke said, gesturing at Admiral Piett and Lev.
"Yes, I thought it might improve your mood," he said, in his familiar smug tone. He gazed around at the dull sky with a vague expression of disgust, before returning his gaze to Luke. "We need to talk, young Skywalker."
"Shouldn't you be on Coruscant, refereeing the death match between the Grand Moffs over who gets to be the next Emperor?" Luke suggested.
"There's no death match. At least, not yet."
"The Emperor's passing has not been formally announced," Admiral Piett added.
"What? It's been a month!" Luke said.
"These things must be handled with the utmost care," Mas Amedda said. "And the successor to the Imperial throne is clear. Your father and I drew up the legal documents years ago."
That was a relief. Knowing his father, he'd have at least selected someone with a few functioning brain cells. They probably needed him to go through the legalities of declaring his father officially dead, so the succession process could begin.
"So who is our newest tyrant overlord?" Luke asked.
Mas Amedda glanced at Lev, who was looking strangely nervous, and then back at Luke.
"You."
Artoo screeched in protest before Luke had even registered the news.
Epilogue
Leia had to smile at the sight of Han and Chewie in the senate pod reserved for VIP friends and family. Both of them looked decidedly out of place. Threepio, meanwhile, was in his element, and kept blocking Chewbacca's view as he walked forward to argue with Artoo over whether their current location provided the most ideal line of sight for Emperor Skywalker's first speech.
More than half the boxes were empty—either they hadn't been able to send representatives in time for this hastily prepared occasion, or they wanted no part of what they perceived to be more of the same fascist leadership. But Leia had a feeling all that was about to change with this speech.
"Can someone please explain this to me properly?" Han said, as Leia slipped into the seat beside him. "How did the kid get to be the new Emperor? They must be out of their minds! He can barely take care of himself, never mind the galaxy."
"Well," Leia said, "let's just say he had some powerful friends in high places."
"I just wish his highness would hurry up," Han grumbled. "We've been sitting here for half an hour and they're not serving alcohol. And I thought politics looked boring on the outside."
"Quiet, Han," Leia said, reaching down to gently squeeze his hand. "I just helped him with a few last minute changes. These things are complicated." She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "Besides, something tells me you might have to get used to this whole political lark."
Han smiled at that and leaned over to return the kiss.
"Captain Solo, Princess Leia," Threepio said, sounding flustered. Everyone had begun to applaud. "Master Luke is about to make his speech!"
Both of them leaned forward for a better view.
"Give 'em hell, kid," Han said, quietly.
Luke's voice sounded over the speakers. "Greetings, fellow citizens of the galaxy—"
Artoo whistled at the sound of Luke's voice. He was too short to see him.
"Quiet, you irritating little—"
"Shut up, Threepio! I'm trying to hear the kid!"
"Quiet, Han!" Leia said.
Chewie roared.
"— twenty years ago, liberty died in this chamber. The years since have brought war and untold suffering to every corner of the galaxy. Today, I stand before you to declare a new era is upon us. My first act as Emperor is to declare this Empire dead and buried. In its place, I will oversee the creation of a new democratic Republic—"
Luke's next words were drowned out by cheers and applause from the gathered representatives. Outside, applause could be heard from the massive crowd of citizens gathered in the square outside.
"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Han said. "The kid's been given just about everything a person could be given, and he's just going to throw it all away!"
"You never change, Han, you never change," Leia sighed.
"—as of now, the Galactic Senate has been reinstated. It is reconvening for its first official meeting tomorrow morning—"
Han pulled Leia into an embrace. "I can think of one senator who might be otherwise occupied," he said, playfully. "Sorry, Luke."
"—and finally, to ensure this galaxy is never again enslaved in darkness and despair, a new order of Jedi Knights will be created, dedicated to guarding peace and justice in the galaxy."
Another round of cheers erupted from the crowds, this one far louder and longer than before.
"Oh, this is wonderful!" Threepio said. "This is the happiest day I can remember in a long time!"
"I know what you mean, Threepio," Leia said, resting happily in Han's arms.
When the speech came to an end, Leia stood up and beckoned for the others to follow her. A contingent of the royal guard escorted them down to the Emperor's private office on the lowest level, and they arrived in time to meet Luke just as he stepped out of his own box.
Leia hugged him, warmly.
"So, how did I do?" he asked, turning to smile at Han and Chewie.
"It was all right, kid," Han said, shrugging. "But I don't know why you want to give up all this power. Think about the good you could do—this galaxy needs a strong leader. The new senate will devolve into corruption within weeks."
"You know, Han," Luke said. "My father used to say the same thing about authoritarian rule."
Han's eyes widened. "On second thoughts, kid, you did the right thing. Congratulations."
Chewie roared in agreement, pulling Luke into his own hug.
"Arg! Chewie!" Luke complained.
Chewie let him go and rubbed his hair, playfully.
"They tell me I have to sign some things," Luke said, brushing the fur off his clothes. "And I promised I'd talk with the Moffs. But I'll meet you all back at the palace tonight, and we can start making plans."
Two official looking people had begun to herd Luke away.
"Order some champagne!" Han called after him.
"Why?" Luke said, he paused for a moment, causing the advisors to complain in annoyance. "Wait, don't tell me. You two are engaged?"
"How did you know?" Han turned to Leia. "How did he know? Did you tell him? It was a surprise!"
Leia shrugged. "He's a Jedi, Han. You can't keep things from a Jedi."
"Congratulations!" Luke called, now almost out of sight. "I can't wait to be an uncle!"
Leia would have done anything for a holocamera, to take a picture of Han's face.
"Did he just say uncle?"
Leia nodded, smiling. "Come on, Han. We need to have a talk."
Anakin had watched from a distance as his children and their friends had celebrated long into the night. They had much to celebrate—the end of the war, the promise of a new era of peace, and a bright future ahead. Finally, at two in the morning, Luke had turned in for the night. Instead of sleeping in the larger guest rooms in the palace towers, he had returned to his old room, the one he had slept in while he'd been growing up here. It was difficult for Anakin to be here—this was a place he had frequented as Vader, and the memories were still in the back of his mind. But the need to watch over his son had been too strong. Still, he did have company.
"You know, Obi-Wan," Anakin said. "There is something I don't think I'm ever going to understand."
Obi-Wan looked at Luke's sleeping form, and then back at Anakin. "And what is that, my old padawan?"
"How he managed to grow into someone so warm, so loving, so good-natured, when all he had was me as an example."
"You were a wonderful father," Obi-Wan said.
"No I wasn't. I wasn't there for him enough. I was cold, unfeeling, and—"
"—and you loved him," Obi-Wan said. "All parents have their faults, Anakin."
Anakin turned to Obi-Wan, incredulous. "You consider being a Sith Lord a fault?"
"Some more than others," Obi-Wan admitted. "But as long as there is love, you cannot give your child a greater gift." He reached out to touch Anakin's arm, sharing some of his own love for the Jedi he had raised. "Come on, now. Luke is an adult ... I'm sure he can sleep through the night without his father standing over him."
"I will come. I just want to stay here ... for a little while longer."
"Very well," Obi-Wan replied, disappearing back into the Force.
Anakin shifted closer to his son, just close enough to see him, without alerting him to his presence. "You always manage to look so innocent when you're asleep," he said softly. "Probably because you are," he added, as an afterthought.
Luke stirred slightly and rolled over. Anakin drew back, deciding it was time to leave. He had been here too long already. He shook his head slightly, in disbelief. Redeemed by his son. Who would have known? Saved from a fate he couldn't even begin to contemplate, all because of love.
"Goodnight, Son," Anakin said, and followed Obi-Wan back into the realm of the Force.
Luke opened his eyes, slightly, staring at the place his father had been standing. "Night, Dad," he called.