Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Dusk had sent shadows skittering across the cool sandstone bench on his father's balcony. He scarcely came out here nowadays, finding the knowledge of the day he had become Luke Organa more and more troublesome. He often stared up at the balcony from the outside of the palace, his eyes trailing back to the rounded architecture like a magnet. Of course he was snapped out of it quickly, and then chided for his short attention span. If Luke had been considered an avid daydreamer before, his newfound knowledge of the Force had placed him soundly in what some less professional men would call "loony."

"What are you working on?"

His father looked up. Since the accident (as it was officially recognized as), he had gained peppery gray hairs across both sides of his head. His eyes looked constantly swollen and droopy, and when he spoke his voice was reedy and dissonant. It seemed to be a pain to speak at all.

Bail Organa smiled up at Luke wryly. Despite everything, the glimmer of light never left his eye, and he was never short of smiles.

"Look for yourself."

Luke sat down hesitantly. He was in his night dress, his robe fluttering in the evening breeze. He took the datapad carefully in his hands. For a moment he didn't really see the screen, but his own reflection. Since his encounter with Vader, his face had grown rather thin and sallow, and his hair was growing gradually in uneven wisps. In this ghostly mirror of him, he looked skeletal and distant like a holo of a starving child.

Then he actually saw what his father had been looking at.

Luke's fingers tightened against the datapad, and he hunched over in shock, drawing the screen closer to his face.

"I won?" he whispered. He dropped the datapad into his lap and looked up at his father in disbelief. "I won the seat?"

"Congratulations, Senator Organa," Bail said as gently as his broken voice could manage, smoothing the short strands of blonde hair from his forehead gently. "You've done it."

Luke swallowed hard. This was what he had wanted, and yet the knot in his stomach had not disappeared. After Bail Organa had suffered that terrible accident and very suddenly had to withdraw himself from the Senate, there was a panic about who would fill it. Luke, who everyone knew had been eyeing the seat since he could walk, was considered too young to be a viable candidate. An interim senator had been sent in Bail's stead, so Alderaan remained represented, if only just for show. Luke knew Bail Antilles, and had sat in on his lectures on galactic law enough times that he had not worried much about the appointment. He had been the senator of Alderaan before Bail Organa, and so many had assumed he would just keep the seat.

Raymus Antilles, Bail's younger brother, had confided in Luke that his brother felt he was too old to, as the good captain had put it, put up with Palpatine's bullshit.

Luke rubbed his forehead dazedly. This felt like a dream. Perhaps not a particularly good one, either. He felt a bit nauseous.

"I'm going to be the senator of Alderaan," he said absently. "Do you suppose I'll see Vader much, on Imperial Center?"

It was always touchy when Vader's name arose. The moment it fell to the air, both Luke and Bail would stiffen regardless of who said it. They would sit silently, the word mulling between them and turning the very oxygen they breathed sour. There was no taking it back, it seemed.

"Unfortunately," Bail murmured, "that is part of the job description."

Luke glanced at his father sadly. "Papa," he said, taking Bail's hand. "I won't tell him. You know I won't."

"No," Bail sighed. "No, I know you won't. I suppose that makes me more worried."

"He's not my dad," Luke said firmly, squeezing his father's hand. "You are. Vader has done nothing to prove to me he is worth knowing, so why should I put in the effort?"

Bail glanced down at him, his dark eyes amused and unconvinced. "That sounds," he said, his voice a small rasp, "incredibly like a lie, my son."

Luke flushed, and he set the datapad aside sheepishly. "What do you mean?" he asked defensively. "That's not a lie."

"It's not a truth, either."

Luke sighed, and he shook his head. "I don't want him to know, papa," Luke told Bail curtly. "What if he tells the Emperor? I'll be taken away for sure. No way. It's safer if I just keep him on a hook and let him think he has some other child lost in the galaxy, waiting oh so desperately for their long lost father to return to them."

Night was upon them. Alderaan's own species of cricket, a loud and raucous creature that whined all night, began to cry. The only light was the light of the datapad between them, an ominous glow of bare technology humming synthetically, and the light of the stars that winked above them so surely.

Bail drew his thumb over Luke's knuckles gingerly. "Would it be easier not knowing?" he asked.

Luke looked at him sharply. He drew his hand away and scowled at the stone beneath his feet. "Of course not," he sighed. "Are you joking? I needed this. Knowing about the Force— even just knowing a little bit of where I came from has helped me so much. Even if I have trouble reconciling Vader with my own feelings."

"I understand."

"Do you?"

They sat in silence. Luke had turned his eyes pointedly toward his father's face. He loved Bail Organa. He loved Bail Organa more than he thought a living being could love anything or anyone. But Luke could not help this surge of bitterness that ran through him like a sword, and the words fell from his lips unbidden. Bail did not look taken aback, nor did he seem saddened. He simply sat, unsurprised, and closed his eyes.

Luke exhaled sharply through his nose, and he stood sharply. He pulled his robe tighter around himself, a chill shuddering through him.

"Right," he muttered. "Goodnight, papa."

Bail did not respond. He did not look at Luke as he stalked off toward his bedroom.

Was it right? Could he hope to find the good in a man that he knew— he knew— was the closest thing to evil incarnate the galaxy had ever seen. The atrocities done by Vader's hand was enough to keep a million children up at night. And that man was Luke's father.

That thought plagued him like a bad dream.

His father. How on earth had that happened?

He didn't ask Bail for any details. He didn't want to know how it had happened, not really. He was a curious soul, but certainly not that curious. Did Vader even deserve that much? Luke had given him more than enough by simply fancying the idea of being able to speak to him one day about their relationship. Even then, Luke felt sick when he thought about it.

It wasn't fair. He thought he was good and humble and compassionate, but Vader threw him for a loop. How was he supposed to be anything when he didn't even know how to feel like a person anymore?

He never told anyone how he really felt about it. Mostly because he couldn't, but also because he wasn't even sure if he fully understood it. He felt like he was stewing in his own fear and anxiety, and it was going to make his skin slough off his bones from the pressure. What a slow and painful death this was.

Lying awake, as he tended to for hours on end these days, he imagined it all different. What if his mother had survived his birth? Would he even know his father— Bail, that is— at all? His mother, Breha? It made his stomach turn uncomfortably.

When sleep came, it rushed him like a tidal wave. It took over him, forcing him to succumb to a blanket of uncertainty.

A dream came upon him steadily, and he found himself perched upon a branch of a tree on a popular path of one of the mountains surrounding Aldera. Below him was a boy about his age, his features dark and strong. Warm brown skin glowed faintly in the shivering morning light, and his shaggy black hair seemed to absorb the sun.

"Ezra," Luke gasped eagerly. The boy, who he had only met once, was a bit silly and hot-headed, but just as well he was so sincere and friendly that it was hard not to like him. It helped that Luke knew he was Force sensitive, and had spent the better part of his mission with the boy trying to keep his cool and not tell Ezra everything.

Ezra Bridger stood below him. He was holding something in his hands.

"Hey!" Luke swung himself down from his tree, bouncing eagerly toward Ezra's side. "Ezra, what are you doing here?"

Ezra turned his face very slowly to look at him. Luke froze, blinking vacantly into Ezra's tear streaked face. There was a strange, ominous red glow that framed his chin and lips. The sun was torn from the sky, ripped away by some phantom hand, and suddenly it was night, and the woods creaked eerily around him, crickets crying with the fervor of dying men, and the only light was the blood red object in Ezra's hands.

Luke, a stranger to the Force, knew only instinct.

He whirled Ezra around and snatched the odd triangular artifact from his hand, and he hurled it as far as he could. Ezra cried out, his voice catching in his throat, and he reached for it hopelessly. Luke grabbed the boy's face in his hands and forced him to look into his face.

"That thing was evil," Luke said. "I know it! It won't help you!"

"How do you know," Ezra Bridger whispered ruefully, peeling Luke's hands from his cheeks, "what will help me? What is evil? You are the spawn of Darth Vader."

Luke gaped at him. Ezra scrubbed his face in his hands, and he moaned. The forest was inked over, and walls began to form where trees had once been. Luke shrunk back uncertainly.

"Ezra…" Luke reached forward for Ezra's hand. "We should go."

His fingers fell through Ezra's flesh.

Ezra Bridger had disappeared.

Luke felt the crushing darkness, and he was frozen in shock as it seemed to drown him. He could not make peace with it. It was cold and writhing, swallowing him up and reaching down his throat and filling him with icy despair. It jerked him around like a rag doll, throwing him from the ceiling to the floor and heckling him with lies that he could not sift through, that he could not even quite understand.

He was cold, and the air was filtered through a red screen. He was dazed. A girl stood before him— a woman— she looked at him— could it be—?

Fulcrum?

"I was beginning to believe I knew who you were," she said, the distance between him and her an astonishing stretch and yet too close entirely, "behind that mask. But that's impossible. My master could never be as vile as you."

No. Ahsoka. That was her name. Ahsoka Tano. She stood with the surety of someone who had lived through millennia, and could chart the stars blind. Something in him was churning. How ugly and pitiable that part was.

Pride. Anguish. Regret.

It all stirred inside him like a simmering stew, blurring together and becoming one white hot pang of pure rage.

There she was. What a fragile thing she'd been. What an ironclad thing she'd become.

He was sick on the sentimentalities of a forgotten beast.

Let her burn.

And just then, Luke found himself cast afloat, the shackles of the rage and regret and raw disgust falling away from his heart, and he rolled in the current of red and purple light, words falling away from his ears and gurgling like rushing water. He was an observer here, in this world projected beyond his eyes, and he saw Ezra Bridger had materialized again behind Darth Vader. The boy was so small and feeble on the floor, his warm brown skin blanched in this terrible pulsating light.

Vader was speaking, his low tone even and hardly betraying whatever turmoil Luke had felt within him.

"I destroyed him."

So sure! Luke was floating, hardly conscious of himself at all, and even he could taste the lie in it all.

Ahsoka's expression was as somber as an ancient city crumbling to dust. She was far enough away that the details of her face were not so easy to read, but the resignation was there, and the determination that followed was written upon stone.

Her eyes flashed open.

"Then I will avenge his death," she said gravely.

Vader stood in the gasping light that seemed to battle with the choking, writhing darkness that had spit Luke here.

"Revenge is not the Jedi way."

Ahsoka's eyes were set forward and blazing fiercely in the shifting light. There was something here between them, the sadness growing and the rage intensifying, as though a wound had opened and all the things left to fester in time had spilled out between them.

"I am no Jedi," she said. She unhooked a pair of lightsabers from her hips, and they hissed together as the white blades lit up the dark in a humming haze.

Suddenly she was springing forward, her step light and her body a blur, and her white sabers clashed hard with the blood red blade that Vader held tightly in his fists. The crash seemed to rock the entire structure, the floor quaking, and the hum of lightsabers became like a thunderclap.

Luke woke in a state of shock, inhaling great gulps of air and seizing his chest. He curled up against his bedsheets, his knees tucked to his chin as he blinked tears from his eyes.

That had been horrible.

That had been—

Had that been real?

Luke felt his chest rise and fall heavily, sweat causing his white nightshirt to stick uncomfortably to his chest. He rubbed his forehead, and that was sweaty too. Small wisps of hair stuck to his skin. And his skin was crawling. Everything in him felt leaden and loose, like spare coins rolling around in his stomach. His fingers shook as he dragged them down his face and shuddered.

Real. That had been real.

He felt it. In his heart. In his skin. How true and raw and vicious that had all been. He felt displaced, like a message torn out of a broken bottle, crumpled up, and stuffed back in. He saw his own hands, starkly white in the darkness of his bedroom, and for a minute or so he did not recognize them as his own. Was he even in his own body? It didn't feel like it.

It took him so long to even crawl out of bed, he forgot how to move his legs and fell flat on his face. He did not move, and in fact let the cool wooden floor brand his cheek. Maybe his soul would spill out of his body and he could escape into the floorboards.

How had that been real?

When he finally pushed himself upright, he felt a bit better, and also a bit like vomiting. He didn't. He dragged himself to his window and rested his forehead against the glass. The sky was dark and the city was silent. Nothing but the mountain's silhouettes greeted him.

He stared in silence, a silence that gnawed at his brain and laughed beneath his skin. It was horrifying. All of it. What had happened? Why had Ahsoka spoken to Vader like that? Why did Vader feel that way?

Why did Luke know what Vader was feeling, anyway?

He made his decision. He made it fast.

Luke stripped his nightclothes off and kicked them aside, digging through his wardrobe and snatching a loose gray woolen sweater that buttoned at his neck. He left the wide collar loose as he tugged on a pair of durable trousers and sturdy leather boots. Next he grabbed a rucksack from beneath his bed and dumped spare clothing into it. A change in undergarments, a plain white travelling cloak, black pants, a loose cotton shirt. Nothing particularly notable. He shrugged on a brown leather jacket, Corellian cut. He dared not look in the mirror, as his reflection often frightened him these days, but he figured he looked less like a prince than a stable boy.

The note he left was frenzied and half-illegible. He did not read over it, too scared he might rip up the flimsi and lose his nerve. He left it on the corner of his bed and threw his bag over his shoulder, the dregs of his shock still glazing his mind.

He had the choice now of going to the kitchen before the shipyard. A quick glance at the chrono told him that it was early enough that the cooks and servants would be awake and preparing breakfast. Best not, then.

The morning was cool and the palace guards were sparse. He passed by the few that remained easily, slipping into a shuttle and making a dash for the console. It was slower and a little less aesthetically pleasing than a yacht, but it'd attract less attention. Once he had the engine roaring, he eased the ship off the platform and ignored the shouts of the guards as he took off.

Somewhere between punching in the coordinates he knew only by some sheer luck of his father being incapacitated and unable to immerse himself fully in the ongoing attempt to unite the various Rebel cells across the galaxy and diving into hyperspace did Luke Organa realize what he was doing.

He had run away.

For the first time in his life, he had gone against all reason and given in to his impulses. He'd stolen a shuttle. He'd absconded without telling anyone, without even a real explanation. The note he had left had been so brief and disorienting, and when he thought over the words he had used, he almost panicked and turned back. What would his father think? His mother? How disappointed would they be?

But he was already on this path. He could not go back until he felt that he had made something right. Of course, he had no clue what that meant. How could he make anything right? He didn't even know what he was looking for.

Hours in hyperspace should have been enough to clear his head, but it only made him feel more lost and afraid. What was happening to him?

Of course he was bored and half mad with the thought of his dream playing over and over in his head. Whether it was real or not seemed irrelevant at this point. He felt in his heart that there had been some truth to it, and that was all that mattered.

About halfway through his journey, something crashed at the back of the ship. Luke had nodded off at the yoke, the luminescent rings of hyperspace lulling him into a blissfully dreamless sleep, and he jerked awake with a shout.

"What…?" He stumbled to his feet, digging the heel of his palm into one eye and looking around the cockpit aimlessly. He wandered deeper into the shuttle, which was rather small to begin with, and he paused at the spilled rations box in the middle of the corridor. He blinked at it. Then he noted a small compartment beside it. He pressed the button on the wall, and the small door slid open.

A series of wild beeps made him gasp, and a small astromech droid quickly rolled right out. Luke fell onto his butt rather unceremoniously.

"Mother of—!" Luke winced, and he kicked the little astromech lightly as it whirred. "What are you doing? Aren't you Captain Antilles's droid?"

It beeped in affirmation. Luke stared at it blankly.

"Then why are you here?" he asked very slowly. "How did you even get on my ship?"

It hummed a few odd boops and beeps, and Luke sighed, pushing himself upright and shaking his head. "Whatever," he muttered. "R2-D2, right? I guess it can't hurt to have a droid around. Just don't go telling my father about what I'm doing here, kay? It's a secret."

Luke picked himself up and gathered the ration bars from the floor hastily. These would last him the whole journey, right?

R2-D2 beeped harshly at him when he returned to the cockpit. The little droid rolled in after him, bumping the back of his chair and demanding to know where they were going.

"Are you always this nosy?" Luke twisted in his seat to quirk a brow at the droid. "Odd little thing, aren't you? Well, if you've got to know, we're going to a little planet called Atollon. It's in the Outer Rim, which is why it's taking so long for us to get there."

R2-D2's beeps were slow and haughty in his reply, which was essentially that he had never heard of this planet and that they should go somewhere else.

"You're not even supposed to be here," Luke pointed out. "You don't get a say in anything."

A light, playful array of beeps reminded Luke that this ship was stolen.

"I know that," Luke hissed, turning his face forward and gripping the yoke. "I'm going to give it back! I just couldn't use my personal ship for this. I needed something totally nondescript."

R2-D2's reply was inquisitive, his beeps coming out quick and curious. Luke's binary was rusty, so he couldn't quite follow his question exactly, but he got the gist.

"Because the last thing I need is someone looking at me and seeing Prince Organa, newly elected senator of Alderaan," Luke sighed. "Just— trust me, okay? It's better if I look like a common trader or smuggler. Hell, I'll take thief or pirate if I've got to. Anything is better than prince right now. Prince just screams a bounty waiting to be cashed in, and I don't have time for that."

R2-D2 moved closer. His beeps were vaguely wonderstruck.

"Yes," Luke said. "I'm Alderaan's new senator. Do you find that hard to believe?"

R2-D2 rocked back and chortled.

Luke rested his cheek in his hand and raised his eyebrows vacantly at the blue veins of hyperspace. "Yeah," he muttered. "Me too."

The rest of the ride was rather silent. Artoo would make a comment now and again, but otherwise Luke was left to the weight of his thoughts. He hoped that maybe Ezra Bridger and his master might provide some answers.

When the ship exited hyperspace, the on-planet communications team immediately contacted him.

"This is Luke Organa of Alderaan," he said, setting a hand on the top of R2-D2's dome. "Requesting to land."

His request was granted. He made it to the surface without much fuss.

"Right," Luke said, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I suppose we better not keep them waiting."

As Luke descended the exit ramp with R2-D2 in tow, there were quite a few bystanders simply observing him. He paid them no mind. He was quite used to being stared at.

He paused as a Twi'lek woman approached him, her green lekku swinging as she marched forward. He smiled warmly at the woman.

"Hello, Captain Syndulla," he greeted, trying not to look too sheepish. "It's nice to see you again."

Hera Syndulla was a beautiful woman, with a smooth heart-shaped green face and bold green eyes that glowed with the fire of ten suns. She was wearing, as usual, a pilot's orange overalls modified so it was lightly armored. Her goggles rested on top of her pale headwrap, and her lekku swung as she moved her head.

"Luke," Hera said, her expression twisted in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

He glanced behind her, his eyes grazing over Sabine Wren's colorful Mandalorian helmet and Zeb's stark purple face. He grimaced.

"It's a little… hard to explain," he said.

"Why don't we go inside," Hera suggested. "I imagine you have a lot to say."

"I guess so…" He bit his lip and looked around the shipyard. "Are Kanan and Ezra around? I would really like to speak to them about this."

Hera looked down at him quizzically. "They're on a mission at the moment," she said. "I'm not sure what their presence would do, though, since they don't handle much information in regards to the Rebellion."

Luke, who had been following her toward the base's entrance, stopped very suddenly. All three crewmen of the Ghost paused to look back at him.

"I'm not here about the Rebellion, Captain Syndulla," he said.

Her brow furrowed. She turned around very slowly, and she lowered her chin. "Okay," she said. "I'm not sure I follow. Luke, does your father know you're here?"

Luke smiled back at her. He found himself washing away his uncertainty and throwing on his politician's mask. "Captain Syndulla," he said, "I know this sounds strange, but it will make sense once I speak to Kanan and Ezra. Do you know when they'll be back?"

Hera pursed her lips. She sighed and whirled around. "No," she said tersely. "They left with an agent of your father's yesterday, and it's difficult to tell how long their missions will be. You met them before, so I'm sure you can understand."

"I… well, yes…" Luke and Artoo moved into the base, and he looked around in wonder. He'd never been on an actual Rebel base before. It was exciting. "Did you say an agent of my father?"

Artoo beeped beside him, and Luke jumped. He'd nearly forgotten the little droid was there.

"Yes, I remember you," Sabine said with a small laugh. She patted Artoo's dome as she pulled her helmet from her head and shook out her short blue hair. Luke smiled at her. She frowned back at him, looking puzzled. "This droid is yours?"

"No." Luke bit his lip. "He's actually Captain Antilles's droid— um, one of my father's men. I don't know why, but the little guy followed me onto my ship."

"Droids," Zeb muttered.

Hera waited patiently for this to conclude before she replied to Luke.

"I'm not sure how much information your father has disclosed to you," she said cautiously.

"More than I'd like," Luke said cheerfully.

They all looked at him vacantly. The vacancy melted to surprise, curiosity, and discomfort respectively.

"That was a joke," he said quickly. "I like knowing stuff about the Rebellion. It's just that some things are… a bit more than I think I can stomach sometimes. If you get what I mean?"

Hera's big, bright green eyes melted in sympathy. She sighed, and she nodded gravely. "Yes," she said. "I understand. I don't know exactly what he's told you, but I'm sure it's a lot to take in."

Luke nodded. He was thinking about Vader, even though he knew he shouldn't be, and it made him feel sick.

"Kanan and Ezra went on a mission with Fulcrum. Your father's Fulcrum, to be precise."

A chill ran down his spine. He felt it like a bolt of lightning striking through his heart, and he looked at Hera very sharply.

"Ahsoka Tano?" he whispered.

Hera peered at him. She squinted, and said warily, "Yes?"

Luke pressed his hand to his forehead. His heartbeat had accelerated astronomically, and the events of his dream came flooding back. He had felt sick before, but now he felt actually nauseated. There were stars at the corners of his eyes, and his breath came up short.

"Is he gonna puke?" Zeb whispered to Sabine. She elbowed him harshly.

"Luke?" Hera took his shoulders and pressed her warm fingers to his forehead gingerly. "Hey, look at me. Do you need to sit down?"

He nodded. Fiercely.

Hera led him to a seat near the holoprojector, and he sat down heavily. He held his face in his hands.

"I've known Fulcrum for a while, Luke," Hera told him as she rubbed his back soothingly. "She's a fierce and trustworthy ally."

Luke spoke with his face in his hands, and a finality to his tone that did not feel like it fit in his mouth.

"She will die."

Hera's hand froze against his spine, and he felt her stiffen. He felt the whole room go still. He dragged his hands down his face, and he looked up at Hera. She had a sweet face, smooth and loving in a way that reminded him of his mother. She looked down at him in shock, her fingers drifting away from him like he was an animal she had not quite realized was poisonous.

"What the hell?" Zeb asked, his voice raising. "Are you out of your mind, kid?"

"Zeb," Hera said quietly.

"Zeb's right, Hera!" Sabine looked angry. She shot Luke an irritated look, and she shook her head. "We're worried enough as is, and then this kid comes along and starts spouting some bantha shit, and you think we should what? Listen?"

"I'm sorry, Luke," Hera breathed, looking down at him sympathetically. "I don't know what to say, but I need you to sit tight, okay? I have to go make some calls."

"To my father," Luke said.

Hera's eyes flew toward in incredulously. Luke did not look at her. He did not look at anyone. There was bile in his mouth, and he felt cold.

"That's fine," he said. "He should know I got here safely. Though I wouldn't mention to him that you think I'm crazy. He won't like that."

Hera's expression softened a great deal. "I don't think you're crazy, Luke," she said.

He looked up at her. He wrung his hands in his lap, and he smiled tightly. "That makes one of us," he murmured. His face felt hot. He blinked, and reached for his cheek. When he glanced down at his fingertips, he saw that they were wet. He quickly scrubbed at his cheek and eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Sabine," Hera said sharply, "stay with him. Don't let him out of your sight."

"Noted," Sabine said. She put her hands on her hips and glanced down at him. "You want a tissue?"

"Please," he murmured.

"Zeb, get him a tissue."

Zeb glared at her, but he went without complaint.

Sabine leaned back against the round holoprojector, studying him with sharp, wry eyes. They were reminiscent of Raanwood nuts, a native to Alderaan that were large and oblong. She set her helmet aside and took a good look at him.

"You know," she said, "for what it's worth, I get it."

Luke stared at her.

She sighed, and looked up at the ceiling. She shrugged. "You know, the overbearing parent, the need to get away. You can say if you ran. It's not like you're the first person to ever run away from home."

"It's not like that," he murmured.

Sabine quirked an eyebrow. "Sure," she said, her voice barely containing her biting sarcasm. "Okay."

"Really." Luke sighed and rubbed his face. "I don't know how to explain it. If I did I'd have done it by now, and maybe you'd understand. Does this happen to them?"

Sabine tilted her head. "Who?"

"Ezra and Kanan."

She blinked. "Does what, exactly?" She folded her arms across her chest and grimaced. "I'm not really sure what you're talking about."

He sighed deeply and slumped in his chair. Should he just come out and say that he had the Force? Would that be easier? But his father had told him that no one could know. He assumed these people were included, no matter how much he wanted to trust them.

Luke had a feeling he'd stop caring in an hour or two.

Zeb returned with tissues, and Luke took them gratefully. Once he mopped up his face he apologized profusely.

"I don't know why I said it," he whispered. "I don't know. It's not like I meant to scare you, or anything."

"Sure, kid," Zeb said, exchanging a glance with Sabine. "You know, we all have bad days."

Luke chewed on the inside of his cheek. He stared at his hands, and he wanted to laugh.

"I've been having a bad year," he muttered.

Sabine smirked. "Haven't we all," she said dryly.

Hera returned with a man Luke thought he might vaguely recognize. He was elderly, with a bald head and a snowy white beard. He did a double take when he looked at Luke, his mouth disappearing into his beard as he frowned.

"Luke," Hera said, kneeling down before him and taking his hands. "Your father said you didn't tell him you were coming here. He said you left a note, but didn't explain why. Can you tell me now?"

He swallowed hard and looked away from her eyes. They were so big and earnest that it made him sad. He felt the sorrow in them before the sorrow had even arrived.

"To speak with Kanan and Ezra," Luke said.

"But why?" Hera shook her head. "They're… well, they're not usually who people come to see. I know you were on a mission with them before, but—"

Luke looked up. He felt something, like the snapping of a viol string, and he inhaled sharply. Pain was dancing all around them, and he breathed it in. He choked on it.

He looked into Hera's eyes and he squeezed her hands.

"Go," he whispered.

Her brow furrowed uncertainly, and her eyes flickered over his face as though she might be able to read him. And then someone shouted, "They're back!"

Hera jumped to her feet. She whirled around, her eyes trailing from Sabine, to Zeb, to the new man that Luke didn't know. They all shared similar expressions of hope and fear. Then Hera looked down at Luke, who shrunk in his seat.

"Stay here," Hera ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," he murmured.

So Luke sat, sick and dazed, while the room emptied out. He thought about his father, who had almost certainly sent someone to retrieve him the moment Hera had called him, and he thought of his dream. That dream that was real, that dream that was too terrible to bear. What had happened? Why was Ezra even there?

He remembered that choking feeling, that odd sensation of not quite being in Vader's skin, but touching his emotions in a way that worried him. Had that really been what Vader had been feeling? How could Luke even know that?

It made no sense.

He took a deep breath. He'd just come right out and tell Kanan and Ezra about his dream. He didn't know what he'd say to Ahsoka.

His own voice flooded into his mind, haunting him like a steady refrain.

She will die.

Luke swallowed hard.

He leapt to his feet as the group of them shuffled in, Sabine marching in first with a face like wax as she pushed aside anything immediately in the way. Zeb was next, his hand on the shoulder of the man he did not know, who had his head bowed and his mouth hidden behind white knuckles. Then came Hera, supporting Kanan by the arm. Luke watched in mute horror as the man held out his fingers to the air, his eyes bound tightly with a white linen cloth.

"Someone get a medic!" Hera cried.

Luke shrugged off his jacket and threw it aside. He pushed the chair he had been sitting in forward, and Hera helped Kanan down into it.

"Let me help," Luke gasped, rolling up his sleeves. Hera shot him a cold, frantic look. Luke looked her in the eye, and he set his jaw. "Captain, I have extensive medical training. I served as a volunteer nurse for nearly a year while studying diplomacy on war torn planets."

Hera looked away, and she exhaled sharply. "Fine," she said. She had Kanan's face in her hands. He had reached up and grasped one slender green hand, laying her palm flat against his cheek and leaning into it.

"Who is that?" he asked. His voice sounded oddly level for a man who seemed so severely injured.

"It's Prince Luke, Kanan."

Luke turned suddenly, jumping at the sound of Ezra's small, weak voice. The boy he had befriended not a few months earlier seemed so different now. He stood slumped, his air of arrogance and boyish charm gone like a candle blown out. He looked weary and wan, his brown face drained of color and streaked with sweat and dirt.

The last time they'd met, Ezra had been sad, certainly. Luke had sat and comforted him as he mourned the loss of his parents. But this was so much different. In a way, when Ezra had grieved for his mother and father, he had been expecting it. Whatever had happened here, though? It had positively wrecked him.

"Luke Organa?" This time Kanan's voice sounded faint. "What's he doing here?"

"It doesn't matter, love," Hera said tenderly, her thumb stroking his cheek absently. "Let's see what we can do about your eyes."

"You can't save them, Hera."

She didn't flinch, but Ezra did. He shrunk back and turned away, holding his stomach like he might be sick.

"Let me see," Luke said.

Hera glanced at him. She bit her lip and backed away from Kanan. He did not let go of her hand, however, so she simply stood a yard apart from him, their fingers locked together tightly.

Luke gingerly removed the bandage that had been applied around his head, biting the inside of his cheek as he peeled it back from a glistening red and black wound. Kanan exhaled through his teeth, and he turned away sharply when the bandage was finally removed. The flesh was mottled and ruined, half raw and gleaming and half burnt and charred. His eyelashes had been singed off, and he kept his eyes closed to spare Luke whatever horror his eyeballs had endured.

"Well," Luke said, "you still have eyelids."

"Oh, wonderful," Kanan breathed. "Good to know."

"Artoo, can you grab my bag? I have medical supplies in there."

Artoo beeped in a satisfactory manner, obliging as Luke lifted Kanan's chin and tilted his head from side to side.

"May I ask what happened?"

Kanan half snorted. He winced, and gritted his teeth in pain. "Ah…" He grimaced. "A mission gone wrong. Nothing to worry about, your highness."

"Kanan," Luke said gently. "First of all, it's just Luke. I'm nothing special, especially not here. Second of all, I know what lightsaber burns look like."

They all seemed to bristle at that. Hera squeezed Kanan's hand while Kanan's mouth dropped open, and his brow furrowed tightly.

"You do?" Ezra croaked in disbelief.

Luke released Kanan's chin and tugged his sleeves up sharply above his elbow, rolling them up to his bicep. Ezra blinked and leaned closer, as did Hera and Sabine. If possible, Ezra grew paler, and he looked up into Luke's eyes with a sudden vivid horror.

"How…?"

"There are so many," Hera said in a breathless voice, her eyes darting from arm to arm. She pulled Luke closer and pushed his sleeve up farther, her expression twisting in disgust as more scars were revealed. "Who did this to you?"

"What?" Kanan asked sharply. He sounded irritated. "What is it?"

Luke took Kanan's hand and placed it on his forearm. His fingers were callused, and they brushed the raised, fleshy white scar uncertainly. He went rigid in shock.

"I don't know the woman's name," he admitted. "She was an Inquisitor. I think she went by the Seventh Sister, or something like that. I don't know."

"Inquisitor," Kanan repeated quietly at the same time that Ezra gasped, "Seventh Sister?"

Luke took his bag from Artoo and began rummaging through it. He found his medkit, and he popped it open. After disinfecting his hands, he went to work.

"I'm guessing you had a nasty run in with her too?" Luke began brushing dead, burned skin from around the edges of the wound. The skin was so far gone that Kanan did not seem to feel it.

"You could say that," he said dryly.

"She's dead, if it makes you feel any better," Ezra said darkly.

Luke paused. He glanced back at him with a frown. "It doesn't," he said. Ezra merely shrugged. So Luke went back to working on the burn. "This will heal. You'll have a scar, and I can't say much for your vision, but it will heal."

Kanan swallowed hard, and he nodded. Luke removed the last of the dead skin, and he began to apply some bacta. Kanan hissed at first, but soon relaxed and let Luke's nimble fingers smooth the salve over his raw eyes.

"Why would an Inquisitor torture a prince?" Kanan asked suddenly. "Were you ransomed, or something?"

Luke laughed. It was a hollow sound in this somber room. "I was stolen from Naboo by Darth Vader," Luke said absently, "a little under a year ago."

"What?" Ezra asked flatly.

Kanan sat up. He caught Luke's wrist, and he opened his eyes. They were reddened, shot with blood and could barely move. And yet he stared at Luke, and his grip tightened.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Luke stared back at him. He smiled faintly, and he patted Kanan's hand. "I think you know," he said. "I think you feel what he felt."

"What?" Ezra repeated, this time very sharply. He looked around him hopelessly, confusion dragging on his cheeks. "What feeling? I don't…"

"Reach out with the Force, Ezra," Kanan murmured.

Ezra grimaced. He did not seem to like that idea much at the moment. But he did as he was told obediently, and he reached out in the Force. His touch was feather light and curious, nudging Luke like the head of a lothcat.

In his mind, the mountains stood. He had not let them down, and had been strengthening them since the fateful encounter with Vader.

He let the mountains sink into the ground. Just this once.

Ezra's eyes snapped open, and he took a large step back. His expression was at the same time fearful and delighted.

"Why didn't you say?" he gasped, dragging his hands through his hair fitfully. "Before? Why didn't you tell us?"

"I'm not supposed to tell anyone," he said simply. He went back to applying the salve. "It's not a part of myself I particularly embrace."

"What's happening?" Sabine asked bleakly, her one eyebrow arching high above the other.

Hera was frowning. She peered at Luke, and she drew her arms across her chest.

"So that's why," she muttered.

"Um…" Sabine waved her hands expectantly. "Hello? Anyone wanna fill me in?"

"Luke is Force sensitive," Kanan told her. "He's very strong with the Force. I'm surprised I didn't feel it the first time. Have you been shielding? Who taught you?"

Luke paused. An echo of Vader's voice rattled in his skull. Who taught you? He exhaled very shakily, and he decided all the truths he had kept from Vader, except perhaps the most incriminating one, he would tell them.

"Ahsoka Tano," he said.

No one spoke. No one even moved. Kanan tensed up and Ezra made a sound that was so close to a whimper that it broke Luke's heart.

He saw the dream. He knew.

"You don't have to say anything," he told Kanan gently. "I know. She fought Vader. Nobody fights Vader."

"She did," Ezra whispered.

Luke turned to look at him. He offered a sympathetic smile, and he knew it seemed hollow.

"How did you know?" Kanan asked, cocking his head. "Were you Ahsoka's apprentice? She never said… I mean, I guess it makes sense that she had one, but you and Ezra are so close in age, she might've…"

"No." Luke shook his head gravely. "I was never her apprentice. I didn't even know her real name until recently. She was my bodyguard when I was younger, and I suppose she taught me how to shield without letting me know about the Force. I had no idea I even had it until Vader took me to Mustafar."

"He did what?" Kanan hissed. This wasn't a pained hiss, but an angry hiss. Luke put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't," he gasped. "Please. It's fine. I'm okay."

"How the hell did you get away?" Kanan shook his head. "How are you not being hunted down?"

Luke smiled faintly. "That's a long story," he said sheepishly. "But basically my father found out I was, you know, imprisoned on Mustafar, and he came to get me. Of course that went terribly, and Vader nearly killed him. I can't explain why he let me go. I guess I just appealed to the human side of him."

"There is no human side of Vader," Ezra said in a very low, very fierce tone.

Luke said nothing. He had finished applying the salve, and was digging around for a clean white linen bandage.

"Your father…" Hera pressed her lips together, and she looked at him as though she was seeing him for the first time. "Luke, your father's injury… that was Vader?"

He nodded. When he remembered Kanan could not see him, he said, "Yes. Vader choked him with the Force."

"And… you've replaced him as Alderaan's senator?"

He turned to look at her. He bowed his head and took a deep breath. "I know my first impression probably inspires little confidence," he admitted, "but this is a job I was born to do. If nothing else, I can rile things up in the senate while my father is now free to pledge himself one hundred percent to the Rebellion."

"No, Luke, I understand." She shared a look with Kanan, something bold and oddly intimate as he met her gaze despite not seeing her face. "The Force isn't an easy thing to make sense of, and you… never had anyone explain it to you, right?"

"No." Luke applied the bandages very gingerly. "Just Vader."

Ezra sucked in a breath, and he shook his head ruefully. "We should fix that," he muttered. "Kanan—?"

"I can't teach Luke, Ezra," Kanan said. "I can barely teach you. You know how little I got to learn from my master."

"But there's no one else!" Ezra cried. "I mean, if Ahsoka—" He choked on his words, and Luke whirled around at the sound of his broken sob. Hera was at his side in a moment, snatching him into her arms and pressing his face to her chest. Ezra shuddered, muffling his tears into Hera's collarbone and curling into her embrace.

Luke knelt in silence, feeling a sense of guilt and dismay at the realization that he was intruding. What was worse, he could not find it in him to mourn Ahsoka. His heart hurt at the thought of her, but there was no grief welling inside him. The absence of it was almost worse.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

Kanan turned his head, as though leaning closer to hear what Luke had said. He inhaled very sharply, and he shrugged. "There's nothing you could have done," he said.

"I thought I was warning you," Luke said. "I thought… I saw it, you know. I saw Vader and Ahsoka and Ezra. In a dream."

"A vision," Kanan corrected.

Luke blinked. He lowered his head and pressed his lips together thinly. "I suppose so," he said faintly.

"What did you see," Kanan said, leaning forward and lifting his chin, "exactly?"

Luke tried to recall the specifics. It was all very dim now. Hera was retreated with Ezra, stroking his dark hair gingerly as they headed back toward the shipyard. He watched them go, unwilling to look away, and wished he knew Ezra better so he could hug him and promise him a brighter tomorrow. It was unusual, being helpless to comfort. Usually Luke found himself in the position where he couldn't help but be the shoulder others cried on.

"It was dark," Luke said slowly. "I think… there was some weird noise, like wires sparking on the fritz, and everything was bathed in a purple light. Ahsoka and Vader were just looking at each other. They talked."

"They talked?" Kanan's mouth twisted, and he sounded incredulous. "I'll bite. Do you remember what they talked about?"

"Her master."

Kanan exhaled through his nose. "Vader killed Master Skywalker," he muttered. "That makes sense."

Luke didn't know what to say. It had sounded like that, hadn't it? That must have been it.

"Maybe," he said. "She did say she would avenge him, so I guess… yeah. That makes sense."

Kanan sat with his hands clenched in his lap. He seemed puzzled, as though what Luke was saying made sense but didn't quite add up. Luke understood. He felt like he had missed something in his vision, or like something had been kept from him deliberately.

"If Ahsoka went out fighting the man who killed Skywalker," said the unknown man, who had crept up behind Luke quite suddenly, "then I know she's at peace."

Luke turned to look at the man. He was aged and a bit heavy set, his leathery skin lined and weathered. His beard was snowy and coarse, like freshly sheered wool. Luke smiled at him.

"Did she speak of her master often?" he asked.

The man blinked at him. He cocked his head, and his lip quirked. "No," he admitted. "But I knew the pair of them, back during the Clone Wars. Served under them for the long haul, though I was only with Ahsoka when the Order came down."

"You fought in the Clone Wars?" Luke asked in awe.

"Buddy," Sabine said, smirking at him. "He's a clone."

Luke's mouth fell open. He gaped at the man, who seemed both pleased by his awe and reluctant to accept it.

"You're Senator Organa's son, then?" The man seemed to be sizing Luke up, his dark eyes lingering on the flaxen paleness of his fringe.

"You knew him?"

The man nodded. "A fine man," he said firmly. "Brave and considerate— treated us all like men, not clones. I respect Bail Organa more than most."

Luke smiled. "I'm adopted," he confessed. The remaining members of Phoenix Squadron all peered at him in great interest, except for Kanan who did not have that ability. "I get that look a lot. You're trying to figure out how some scrawny, sickly looking little boy came from Bail Organa. That's fair. I'm an orphan from the Clone Wars. My birth parents…" Luke trailed off, the sound of Vader's rattling breath and the image of the elegant, stolid Queen Amidala swirling in his mind. He found it odd, being speechless. He stood in the somber silence, and he reflected on how miserable they all were.

"I'm Rex," the clone said, stepping forward and offering his hand. When Luke got closer to his face, he saw his eyes were dim and bloodshot. "You don't have to explain anymore, your highness. I figure I lived enough of that horror to know where that story ends."

Luke peered up at his face, and he thought bitterly, No, I don't think you do.

"I think it goes without me saying, but…" He glanced around the room, and he smiled sheepishly. "My ability with the Force— it's a secret. The only people in the galaxy who know are my mother, father, and Vader. I'd like to keep it that way."

"Why exactly has Vader kept this a secret?" Sabine asked, her eyes narrowed. "It doesn't sound much like him."

"I'd like to know that too," Kanan said. He sat, his head bowed, and Luke gazed at him sadly. His voice was getting thinner as time went on. Perhaps the pain was beginning to get to him. "What did you do to get him to leave you alone?"

Luke pressed his lips together, trying to think of a sufficient lie. It didn't work. There were no good lies.

"Vader is human," Luke said, "just like everyone else. He wants things, just like everyone else. I just happened to figure out what he wants. Believe it or not, Vader doesn't tell the Emperor everything."

Kanan scoffed. "Yeah, okay…" He pushed a few loose strands of hair from his forehead and smoothed it back. "I take it you're not going to tell us what that is? Even if it might help the Rebellion?"

"It won't," Luke said.

"You're blackmailing Vader, kid," Zeb pointed out. "How could it not help?"

"It's not like that," he sighed, shrinking a bit at the implication. "It's not blackmail, it's just… it…"

They all stared at him.

For a moment, he truly considered telling them the truth.

But he knew that would be a disaster.

"Vader was someone different," Luke said, looking down at his hands. "Before. The suit isn't just to scare people. He needs it to survive. My father knew who he was before the suit. Before he was Vader."

"What?" Kanan leaned forward. "He wasn't always Vader?"

"Then who was he?" Sabine asked warily.

Luke could only shrug. "I don't know," he admitted. "I never asked for his name."

"Why the hell…?" Sabine breathed, shooting him a disbelieving glance.

"Because he had me tortured," Luke replied mechanically. "Because I can feel him in the Force, and that scares me. I don't want to know him, Sabine. I don't want anything to do with him."

Kanan sighed. He stood up very shakily, and he clasped his hand on Luke's shoulder.

"After Malachor," he said, "I can't blame you. Vader isn't the type of guy you want to mess with. How good are your shields?"

"Good enough to fool you," Luke pointed out.

Kanan snorted. He rapped the side of Luke's head, perhaps meaning to rub his hair, and he said, "Not good enough to fool Vader, then."

"Well…"

"Come meditate with me," Kanan said, squeezing Luke's shoulder. "You need it."

Luke heard the unsaid we in that 'you.' He decided not to comment, and instead took Kanan's arm and asked him where he'd like to go.

Artoo ended up following them onto a freighter called the Ghost, which Luke was somewhat familiar with.

"You should rest," Luke said as Kanan's hand glided along the walls of his bedroom on the Ghost. It was sparsely decorated, gray tones melding together without embellishment, and two empty bunks that hardly looked slept in. Luke helped him onto the lowest one, which did not even have a blanket. Did this man even sleep in here?

"I will." Kanan exhaled. He rubbed his bandage, and Luke caught his hand sharply.

"Don't do that. It will agitate the wound."

"Karabast," Kanan said under his breath. He leaned back, and then leaned forward. He felt along the air for a moment until he found Luke's face. His callused fingers slid down Luke's nose. "Visions are tricky things. It's hard to sort out the meaning of them, and it is dangerous to act upon them. What has acting upon your vision done for you?"

"Nothing," Luke said as Kanan dropped his hand into his lap. "It came to me too late. I couldn't warn you."

Kanan was silent. He sat, and he lifted his chin. He lowered himself onto the floor cautiously, and folding his legs beneath him. Luke mimed his actions, though he felt a bit silly doing it. Like he was a pretender.

"Was Vader the one who did this?" Luke asked after a few minutes. He knew they were supposed to be meditating, and he knew he was capable of it— Ahsoka had taught him to meditate years ago. But this seemed important.

Kanan lowered his head. "No," he said. "It was another Darksider. A former Sith called Maul."

"Maul," Luke repeated very slowly, his brow raising in alarm. "How subtle."

The corner of Kanan's lip quirked up, and he shrugged. "Dark Lords. They're not exactly known for humility."

"And…" Luke swallowed. He peered at Kanan's face closely. "I'm sorry for prying, but… Ahsoka's really gone?"

Kanan sighed. He slumped forward and he shook his head. "The Sith Temple we were in on Malachor blew up, Luke," Kanan said. "I didn't see what happened— you know, obviously— but Ezra said when he tried to go in after her she pushed him out. She sacrificed herself to try and keep Vader in that Temple when it blew up."

In his heart, he felt Kanan's words were true. But somehow he remained unconvinced that he had come here for no reason. He was so lost, and imagining that all of this had been for nothing disheartened him to the point that he might burst into tears. How could the Force be so cruel? Luke was not a Jedi. Luke did not even want to be a Jedi. Why had he come here?

Malachor. Malachor… What in the stars was on Malachor?

"You should rest," Luke said suddenly. He stood, and he helped Kanan stand as well. "I'll let you rest. I think I've bothered you enough."

"I asked you here, Luke."

Luke chewed on the inside of his cheek nervously. "Still," he muttered. "I… I'm not a Jedi. I never will be."

"Well…" Kanan sighed, and he rubbed his head. "That's probably true. There's no one left to teach you."

"Even if there was, who's to say I'd even want that?" Luke shook his head. "If that life was my fate, wouldn't the Force have spared Ahsoka? Or delivered me somewhere other than to the Queen of Alderaan? I don't think…" Luke took a deep breath. Every word he spoke weighed upon him, and he grew tired of speaking. "Am I even in the right place?"

"The Force isn't always clear," Kanan told him. "It's mysterious and finicky. The best answer isn't always the one you'll like."

"No," Luke murmured. "I suppose not."

As Luke was leaving, he bumped into Hera. She looked down at him, her green eyes big and alarmed, as though she had forgotten his existence. He smiled sheepishly.

"Want to switch?" he offered.

"Yes," she breathed, taking his shoulder and squeezing it tight. "Ezra is in his room. He said he wanted to sleep, but…"

"I got it." Luke nodded sharply. "Kanan's… better than you'd expect. He was just giving me all sorts of advice about the Force."

Hera smiled thinly. Her pretty face was worn and tired, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. "Yes," she said. "He'll do that when he's stressed. I think it calms him down."

"It's just made me more confused," Luke admitted.

Hera patted his shoulder and passed him briskly. "Don't overthink it."

After she entered Kanan's room, Luke stood for a few moments and mulled over everything. He felt dejected and unsure. What did it all mean?

As Luke wandered around the Ghost, he became increasingly aware of how vital this ship was to its crew's existence. This was their home. He brushed past murals, pausing to take in Sabine Wren's sweeping artistry, and he thumbed various objects that were lying around— spare bits of blasters fashioned into game pieces, painted Trooper helmets discarded in the corner or on top of a radiator. Luke picked one up and tried it on for size. It was heavy and difficult to see out of.

"You look like a bobble head."

Luke whirled around, prying the helmet from his head and shoving it back into its place blindly. Ezra was leaning in the doorway, watching Luke with red rimmed, swollen eyes.

"Sorry," he said, brushing his hand against his cheek and rubbing it nervously.

Ezra stared at him. His dark face was smooth and handsome, free of blemishes aside from the scars on his cheek, which were several shades darker than his usual complexion. Luke found that fascinating. All his scars were blindingly white against his already milky skin, while Ezra's seemed to burn darker on his healthy brown face.

Luke decided to keep talking, his nervousness a pit that turned over in his stomach.

"What happened… it's terrible." Luke watched Ezra's bright blue eyes dart away sharply. He took a step forward and offered out his hands. "It's terrible, but you know… you know it's not your fault, right, Ezra?"

Ezra scoffed, and he dropped down into a booth that curved around a table. "You don't know that," he said gravely. "You don't know what happened."

Luke blinked. He shook his head. "I don't know the details," he said, "but I think I've got a pretty good idea."

Ezra's lips twisted wryly, like Luke had said some sort of joke and only he found it funny. "Oh really," he drawled, laying his cheek in his hand and looking at Luke with tired eyes. "Enlighten me. How did it go?"

Luke inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling with a heavy rhythm. He liked Ezra. He was funny and honest, with a sort of debonair cockiness of a smuggler or a thief. Luke liked that. Ezra Bridger was such a refreshing change of pace compared to the stuffy diplomats-in-training and Senator's sons that he usually surrounded himself with. Even when he was being a little arrogant, it seemed like Ezra had his heart in the right place, and that alone was enough to put Luke on his side. Ezra was a good person, who wanted to do good things, and it pained Luke deeply that Ezra was hurting so badly.

"I don't know why you went to Malachor," Luke said slowly. "I don't know exactly what transpired. But you were outmatched. A former Sith blinded Kanan, while you were left to fight Darth Vader. You can't put that on yourself. What happened to Kanan, what happened to Ahsoka—"

"Maul tricked me," Ezra cut in flatly. "He convinced me he was on my side, and then tried to kill Kanan. Vader— I don't even know what happened there. I couldn't fight him, I couldn't even begin to fight him. I wasn't good enough. I wasn't strong enough."

"Of course you weren't!" Luke looked down at Ezra, who shrunk back at the sound of Luke's raised voice and looked down at his hands. "Are you kidding? Did you really expect to face down Darth Vader and hold your own? Ezra, you're just an apprentice. Literally the entire Jedi Order was taken down by Vader. I've never seen the footage, but my father told me stories about it— how he killed the younglings, and then the archivists, and then the knights, and then the Masters left in the temple. And those he didn't kill were shot to death by Clones, or carted off to prisons because they couldn't fight him. It's a miracle Ahsoka fended him off long enough for you to escape."

"Maybe if Kanan hadn't been alone with Maul, he and Ahsoka could have fought Vader together!" Ezra winced, hearing his own voice crack miserably, and shrinking at the sound. "It is my fault. You can't say it isn't, because I know it is. If it weren't for my stupid, naïve, blind trust of Maul, Kanan would be fine. Ahsoka would be fine."

"You don't know that."

"And you do?" Ezra snapped. He stood up, and he shook his head. "You weren't there! You don't know! You don't know how weak I was, how stupid I was— I was useless!"

"No," Luke said firmly, "you weren't. You survived. You're here. The Jedi live on, because you will keep learning from Kanan, and you will become a knight. For Kanan. For the Rebellion. For you."

Ezra stood, his mouth parted and his fingers slackening against the table as Luke's words sunk in. Perhaps he had forgotten how desperately the galaxy needed the Jedi. Perhaps he'd been so wrapped up in his own pain that he'd failed to see the bigger picture. Luke didn't blame him. It had taken him weeks of wallowing and burying himself in work after his father had been injured to recognize that the world kept on going, with or without him.

"You think?" Ezra asked weakly.

Luke tilted his head. "Think what?"

Ezra's brow furrowed, and he bowed his chin toward his chest. "That I'll be a knight, like Kanan. I'm so bad at this, it… it feels like I'm never going to get there."

Luke couldn't help but laugh. He rounded the table and took Ezra's shoulder. He pulled him into a tight hug, his hand winding behind his neck and disappearing beneath his feathery black hair. Ezra was stiff at first, his whole body rigid and bent against Luke's arms, but then he seemed to melt with the resignation of a shell-shocked veteran, and he relaxed. He lowered his face into Luke's shoulder and took a deep, shuddering breath. Luke held him tight, and remembered something his father had told him about hugs. Squeeze the sadness out, he'd said, resting his cheek against Luke's hair as Luke held him tight and sobbed into his chest. Luke couldn't remember what he'd been crying about. I've got you, Luke. Just hold onto me.

"One day," Luke said softly, rubbing slow circles into Ezra's back, "when I'm King of Alderaan, and you're a Jedi Knight, and there is no more Empire, and there is no more suffering— I want you to look back. I want you to remember this. How you feel right now? It will pass. All things do. What matters is that you learn from it, and that you grow. So when we're old and there are no more battles left to fight, you can look at what you've overcome, and you can be proud."

Ezra exhaled shakily, a sound like a sob but much softer. He pulled away, his shoulders at his ears and his head in Luke's hands, and he wiped his eyes hastily.

"It will pass?" He looked up at Luke with glistening eyes, and his quivering lips turned upwards in a weak smirk. "Really? That's what you're gonna give me?"

"It's the truth," Luke said firmly.

"Man…" Ezra chuckled, and it was a hollow sound. For a moment he rested his forehead against Luke's. "Sounds like a whole lot of Bantha shit to me, but… thanks."

Luke closed his eyes, and he smiled. He could feel Ezra in the Force. Wasn't that strange? Feeling someone else, like the small wave of warmth trickling from a candle's flame. He was shielding, out of fear and grief. Could Ezra feel Luke too?

Ezra took a step back. Luke's fingers slipped from the back of his neck, and he stepped back too. Ezra wiped his eyes again, and he looked down at his feet.

"You talked to Kanan before," he murmured. "Is he… is he mad at me?"

Luke tried to recall if he had discussed this with Kanan, but he couldn't. All things considering, though, Kanan had been entirely too calm. So Luke shook his head.

"I really don't think so," he said. "I think, most of all, he's trying to cope. I would be patient with him. When my dad realized he wouldn't be able to go back to the Senate, he was pretty despondent. For weeks. And that was over a temporary neck injury."

Ezra grimaced. He nodded slowly, not looking fully convinced, and settled down back into his seat. "You're free to stay here for the night," he offered, not looking up. "I'm not sure how much sleep I'm gonna get, if I'm honest, so you can have my bunk."

"I'm not putting you out of a bed, Ezra," Luke sighed.

"I don't mind. Really."

"No way."

Ezra frowned, but he shrugged as if to say, "Your loss."

"I'm not too keen on sleeping either," Luke admitted. He thought about the vision he'd had, and how he had felt what Vader had felt. If he could avoid that, he'd be thankful.

Ezra sat down and rested his chin in his hands. He tilted his head at Luke. "Bad dreams?"

Luke smiled. "Something like that," he said.

"Bad visions, then." Ezra sighed, and he closed his eyes. "Yeah. Been there. Sometimes… sometimes it's better, I think, to just ignore them."

"If I ignored mine, I wouldn't be here," Luke pointed out.

Ezra grinned toothily, and he leaned back in his seat. "Exactly," he said. "You wouldn't be here, dealing with this disaster."

"Disaster meaning you," Luke said dryly, "or the situation as a whole?"

"Hey!"

Luke grinned, and after a few moments Ezra grinned as well. Luke sat down beside him, and they continued to talk. They talked well into the night. Sabine and Zeb passed through, throwing curious glances their way but saying nothing. Hera never appeared, and Luke assumed she was staying with Kanan for the night.

Ezra's eyebrows shot up at the suggestion. They had been talking for a few hours now, and Luke had abandoned his shoes and had his feet up on the seat, one knee tucked beneath his chin. Artoo was arguing with Chopper in the corner of the room.

"They never sleep in the same room," Ezra said. "I mean, I personally have nothing wrong with it. They think they're real slick, trying to keep things professional and not get mushy over each other any chance they get. But you know. Like, you know. You saw them together."

"Oh yes," Luke said. "I know."

Ezra's chin fell into his arms, and he stared at the door that led to the bunks. He seemed pensive and unsure. "They should sleep in the same room," Ezra muttered. "They must want to. Do you think they hold back for our sakes? I'm not gonna judge them. I mean, I'd tease Kanan about it, y'know, sure. I gotta. It's my job as his padawan. But they deserve to be happy."

"Tell him that," Luke said.

Ezra scoffed, and he buried his mouth in his arms. "Seriously? No way." He lowered his forehead, and his words became muffled. "Kanan and I don't talk about stuff like that."

"Girls?"

"Well— yeah, I guess. I mean, he'll tease me, I'll tease him back, but never anything serious. I can't just…" Ezra groaned. "Hera's the boss. She's our captain. I can't."

Luke itched to ask about Ezra's own love life, but he decided against it.

"You know," Ezra said, his voice low and slow, like distant rain, "you should think about training."

Luke smiled and looked down at his hands. "I don't know," he admitted. "I'm a politician. I have to worry about an entire planet."

"All the more reason." Ezra turned his cheek and glanced at Luke through a thick curtain of hair. "You don't have to be a Jedi. Just learn how to control the Force a little better."

Luke's lips pressed against his knee. His teeth bit into them, and he found he couldn't meet Ezra's eye. Was there any harm, really, in learning more about the Force? Luke certainly wasn't a Jedi. He couldn't be a Jedi. He didn't want to be a Jedi.

Right?

Ezra remained like that, his head in his arms. After a few minutes of silence, Luke leaned into the table and pressed his cheek to his forearm. His forehead brushed the cool checkered enamel on the table.

"Ezra?"

He spoke softly. His voice still echoed eerily off the durasteel walls and floor, the empty room yawning wide in the shadows.

Ezra's face was obscured by the thick, dark locks of hair that framed his jaw and chin. Luke could not see his eyes, and his shoulders were slackened.

I could sleep, he thought. I could dream. There's nothing wrong with dreaming.

Luke stood up. His legs and back ached from sitting in one place for so long. After stuffing his feet into his boots, he walked the stretch of the room and pressed his hand to Artoo's dome. The droid lit up, and before he could beep, Luke pressed his finger to his mouth and gestured for him to follow.

The base was dark and cold when he slipped down the exit ramp of the Ghost. Atollon's dust skittered into the durasteel landing pads and slipped between his feet.

"I want you to plot a course to Malachor," Luke told Artoo as he led the droid back to his ship. "Keep the engines hot, okay? I just need to grab a few things."

Artoo beeped a hasty reply, excitement shivering in his little metal body. Luke smiled at the droid fondly. He'd worked with service droids before, but when he flew he never took one with him. It seemed rather pointless, as he was never allowed to go farther than Alderaan's system by himself.

Luke went back to the base, gathering up his leather jacket from the chair he'd sat in and his rucksack from the floor. He stuffed the medkit back into it and latched it shut.

"Sometimes I gotta wonder about teenagers," said a disinterested voice from just behind him, "are you all crazy, or just plain stupid?"

Luke turned slowly, bowing his head so Kanan couldn't see the guilty look that crossed his face. Then Luke remembered that Kanan was blind, and he felt even guiltier.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I should have waited till morning. To say goodbye."

"I don't care about that." Kanan stepped forward. His fingers were outstretched in the air, the darkness pooling around his feet as they slid uncertainly across the floor. "I heard what you told your droid. Malachor. Really?"

Luke exhaled shakily. He gripped the straps of his rucksack, a cold sweat breaking across his forehead. He studied Kanan for a moment before finding his voice.

"You going to try and stop me?"

Kanan's long fingers found the holoprojector, gripping its metal face and leaning heavily against it. His head shifted to and fro, trying in vain to find the source of Luke's voice. His nose was always directed a meter off from where Luke stood.

"I'd like to." Kanan's knuckles were white, even in the chilly darkness. "You've got some raw potential, kid. When you pull that shield down, you're like a beacon in the Force. That place is made to corrupt that light and turn it into something sinister."

"I'm not going there to learn anything," Luke said. He shrunk under Kanan's words, which were half a praise and half a rebuke. "I'm not a Jedi. I'm not like you."

"That makes it even more dangerous," Kanan said sharply. "Do you have any idea? No, you couldn't know. You've lived your life pretty damn well, a prince in a palace, a senator's son. You could Fall in a second if the circumstances were right."

"That's not true!" Luke was truly, deeply offended now. "If I was even remotely tempted by that dark part of the Force, I would be with Vader right now! Not here!"

"I'm not saying you want to, I'm saying you might not have a choice." Kanan lifted his head, and Luke's felt a pang of fear flow through him as the blind man looked right at him.

"I'm not afraid," Luke said.

"That's a lie," Kanan replied. "You're afraid right now."

Luke shivered. He never got used to the idea that the Force could read a lie. It reminded him too much of Vader, and he didn't want to think about it.

"Fine," Luke said. He marched forward and raised his head high. "I'm scared. I'm terrified! I don't know what I'm doing, or why I'm doing it, but I'm going to Malachor and getting Ahsoka's body, and nobody— not the Jedi, not the Sith, not the mountains, not the sea, and certainly not you can stop me!"

Kanan caught Luke's arm, and Luke whirled to face him. This man stood sturdy, a rock in the desert, an island in the ocean, and he turned his face to peer blindly into Luke's.

His cold, callused hands reached out, and touched Luke's forehead. They grazed through his cropped, bristly hair.

"May the Force be with you," Kanan said gently, "Luke Organa."

Luke stared up at him. He might have gaped or smiled or blushed, but now such things felt pointless. So Luke touched Kanan's hand, a small token of appreciation for a blind man, and he stepped back.

"Thank you," he said. "You as well."

Kanan's lips turned up in a slight smirk. He let Luke go, and Luke turned away. He jogged from the base to the shipyard and up his own ramp, barely taking a breath to digest the conversation he had just head.

"Artoo," Luke said, throwing his rucksack aside and dropping into the pilot's chair. "Let's go."