The Hands of Fate

The Deadliest Dance

Luke slept soundly on the makeshift bed just above the metal floor, a wool blanket wrapped tight around his bare chest. The mixture of warm, damp air bled into freezing alloy, causing quite an uncomfortable stir for anyone unable to shut out such irritating conditions. However, his mind was racing with thoughts and feelings that left him restless – truths that had been whispered carefully to him by his father.

There was a mother. Well, of course, that was only natural but he never learned much about the woman. Owen and Beru would only tell him about his father, and even then, very little. Now, however, he learned that his mother was someone of great importance. She was a figure whose face he could recall, vague images of her passed around in documents and stories woven around the Rebellion. Luke didn't share this with Vader but Amidala was idolized for her staunch fight against tyranny and injustice.

Though his eyes were closed, he could very distinctly see that face. The smile immortalized by those he had befriended, offering support to any and all that needed her guidance. Maybe, he thought, she always trying to smile back at him. There was a resemblance in that smile, particularly from his younger days, where had had this enormously toothy grin. That was her son – that was his mother.

His mother was a great leader, royalty at a time, a senator, and one of the co-founders of the Rebel Alliance. To think, Luke Skywalker, bullied farmboy was the son of two of the most important people in the galaxy.. it simultaneously gave him a great sense of importance and a grave realization of how important he suddenly had become overnight. Would she be proud of him? Her boy, unknowingly following her same path, fighting for good? There was another fight the two probably shared. Through the memory of her, perhaps there was a chance of reminding Darth Vader of his humanity. Perhaps, with enough poking and prodding, his physical self and her spiritual reminder could peel off his shell and reveal the remains of Anakin Skywalker underneath.

Who was Anakin?

That was a question that Luke thought of frequently. He wondered how much of Vader was totally his father, and how much of his father was Darth Vader. They were the same – true – and he would be delusional to think otherwise. But surely not all parts of his father were so corruptible. Something had to be salvageable, something that he could reach and revive.

If there was one thing Luke was sure of, it was a sense that his father truly did love him. The way that Vader spoke about his mother, too, made him think he felt the same way for her. Darth Vader was not a total monster – he still felt love, he still cared. It just buried so deep.

"Mother," Luke whimpered out from his sleep. "I think we can save him."

The fledgling Jedi turned around as his eyes slid open, staring back into the dark shadows of the room. The room appeared a bit darker than it normally had, though the young Skywalker assumed this was just the effects of night. He needn't worry – after all, his father slept not that much further away than himself, in a separate chamber, where his suit would be de and depressurized, providing him with the necessary facilities to remain living. Luke hated that his father had to go through that. It was a stark reminder of the torment his father endured – and it stung whenever he reminded himself that he may never see the true face of his father.

But there was still hope, there was still –

Just then, a sudden movement appeared from the corner of his eye. Skywalker suddenly sensed life enter the room, more than just his own, and it didn't feel the most warm. He sat up from his spot and peered around, clipping his lightsaber back to his belt. Little sounds flickered in and out of the room, like rodents scavenging and planning to seize their meal. Something was different about the room; or, perhaps, someone?