Last chapter!

"Luke!"

There was still a faint ache in his chest—a scar that would never go away—but Leia clearly didn't care about that. She flung herself at him, throwing her arms round his neck; he hugged her back tightly and buried his face in her shoulder.

"Hey," she said, voice trembling. "I— I missed you."

"I missed you too," Luke choked out. He hadn't realised how affected he was until he realised the fabric of her shirt was wet under his face. He was crying.

He didn't bother to hide the tears when they pulled back, still clutching each other's forearms like they'd never let go. His eyes roved across her face.

"You look tanned," he noted. It made sense: she'd actually been allowed to go onto the decks of the ships she'd been on.

"And you look pale," she countered, frowning. She reached up to catch his chin, turning his face left and right.

He smiled. "Being shut in a room below decks twenty three hours a day tends to do that to you."

Her face hardened, and her hand fell away. She glanced down at his chest, then her own—some of the blood still soaking his clothes had rubbed off onto her. "I'm going to kill him."

"Don't." He caught her wrist as it fell, rubbing small, soothing circles on the back of her hand. He still needed the physical contact, if only to reassure himself she was there. She was real. He'd made it out. "He saved my life."

Leia rolled her eyes, but didn't pull away from the contact. He got the feeling she needed it as much as he did.

"Mother saved your life," she corrected. "He did nothing but decide not to stand in her way."

Luke dropped the subject. They'd have plenty of time to worry about it later.

Because coming up behind Leia was the woman who'd healed him.

Amidala looked strikingly human in that moment—Padmé Naberrie, he supposed. She smiled hesitantly as she approached.

Leia looked up at her, and gently tugged her hand from Luke's.

She walked away towards Han as Padmé approached.

"Luke," she said, and put a hand on his cheek.

"Mother," he said back, voice hoarse. He leaned into the touch. This was her. This was the woman he'd been writing to for so long, and every part of him that wasn't human was affirming it.

This was the Goddess of the Sea.

This was his mother.

He lunged forward to hug her. She jerked back with a startled laugh, but wrapped her arms around him just as tightly.

"You're here," she whispered. Another laugh—almost deliriously joyful. "You're here."

He squeezed her tighter.

"We're all here."

At her words, he opened his eyes. He was slightly taller than his mother, so he could see over her shoulder with relative ease—see his father standing on the other side of the deck, hands bound in rope before him, guards on either side. He was watching them with an expression Luke couldn't read.

"There's still good in him," he told Padmé.

"I know," she replied. Her breath rushed against his ear. "Why do you think I kept calling him Anakin?"

Luke's eyes blurred with tears. They slid out, down his cheeks, and he could see Vader's expression shift infinitesimally at the sight of them. His eyes flitted over the two of them: they rested first on Luke, then on the back of Padmé's head. . . then they slid over to Leia.

The expression shifted again, and Luke didn't think he'd ever seen something more mournful.

"Hey, kid! Don't I get a hug as well?"

That startled a wet laugh out of his throat. He stepped back from his mother, who rested a hand on his shoulder as he did.

The he threw himself at Han as well, who barely caught him in time.

He was pretty much shaking constantly by now—with laughter, with adrenaline, with relief—and he only laughed harder when he felt another pair of arms snake round his torso, and Chewie was in on the group hug, then Leia was back as well.

Luke closed his eyes and sank into the hug. The last few minutes had been hugs all around, but after all this time. . . he needed it.

He really, really needed it.

He was a little embarrassed to find himself tearing up again, but not too embarrassed.

These were his friends.

And he'd thought he'd never see them again.

So he'd take this moment, and the next, and the next. He'd take as many moments as he could get.

Anakin's voice was quiet, wry, and the most self-deprecating thing she'd ever heard. "Twins?"

"Yes," Padmé replied gently. She'd been standing facing the only window in the captain's quarters, watching Luke, Leia and Han chat on the deck outside, for a good while; now, she turned to face him.

He sat in one of the chairs at the table, his hands still bound and his sword belt still empty. She carefully took the other seat at the table, and faced him head on.

"It was a difficult birth," she continued. "If I'd still had my powers, I likely could have done it more quickly and painlessly on a different plane to this, but as it was nearly I and the children died."

Anakin flinched.

Instinctively, her hand darted out to cover his on the table.

"But we didn't," she reassured. "We're alive. We're here." She sat back. "Which brings us to this situation."

"It does." Anakin was silent for a moment, before asking, "What happened to those of my men who survived? Captain Piett?"

"All the survivors are currently being held in our brig. And according to Luke, they're in much better conditions than the prisoners you kept were in."

He flinched again. She sighed—as vindictive as she felt, there was no point in antagonising him.

"So now we discuss the terms of surrender."

"Yes. We do."

She folded her fingers in front of her. "Our terms are these," she said. "You know your navy is helpless. Even now, my handmaidens and I are running ships aground all over the continent. You don't control the seas anymore. Your rule is over." She took a breath. "But that leaves a power vacuum, and a power vacuum leads to more war. More infighting. No one wants that."

Anakin drawled, "And what, exactly, do you want me to do to stop it?"

"You're Palpatine's official heir," she replied, raising her eyebrows ever so slightly. "I know politics isn't your strong point, Ani—" He started at the name, and so did she; she hadn't meant to use it. "—but you need to take the throne in order dissolve the Empire gradually and peacefully. Without it, we might have another war on our hands."

He tried to challenge, "And if I don't? If I go back there and declare war, boost navy spending, and—"

"Have all of it be for nothing when it's destroyed?" Padmé's tone was almost patronising. "Don't play political games, Anakin—we both know you're not good at them. These are terms of surrender. And knowing you, you wouldn't have surrendered if there was anything left for you to do."

Anakin's mouth worked, hard. Finally, he said, "I can't go back and destroy all of my mentor's legacy."

Padmé sighed. "You know he was just using you, Anakin—"

"He saved me from the Jedi attack that you instigated—"

"He wanted to wipe out the Jedi!" Her voice was a shout—she doubted he'd realised how painful it had always been for her. The Jedi were her people, and they had been destroyed.

She didn't think she'd realised it herself.

She took a deep breath. "They were a threat to him; look how easily the Empire's kept control without them! He wanted me out of the way so he got you to steal my power; he wanted the Jedi gone, so he used them attacking you as the excuse to vilify and exterminate them. And then he wanted an adept commander in charge of his naval forces," she finished, "so he used pretty lies to convince you that the Empire you built was just." She shook her head. "He was using you, the whole time. You have to see it."

"He wouldn't have been able to vilify the Jedi if they hadn't attacked me!" he retorted, though anyone could tell his argument was flimsy at best. "If you hadn't told them—"

"I didn't, Anakin." The words were a hiss. "I went to Obi-Wan for help, since you were so reluctant to provide it. I didn't tell him anything, but he inferred enough. I never thought they would attack you, but they were my Jedi. What you did was heresy."

He had nothing to say to that. She closed her eyes for a few moments, let herself breathe.

When her heart rate had steadied, she opened them again. "But that's not what we're here to discuss."

She sat up to look him dead in the eye. "The terms of surrender are these. You will go to Coruscant. You will dissolve the Empire. And then each of the countries who are or will later choose to be allied with the Naboo and the Rebellion will pardon you for your war crimes."

"Even Alderaan?" Anakin had to say. Their daughter, he suspected, would not be happy about that.

Padmé's throat twitched. "Even Alderaan," she conceded. "It's the most bloodless solution. Your ship and crew will be returned to you for the voyage, unharmed. So long as you comply. You will be the ruler of the Coruscanti people, unless you choose to appoint someone else, and you will be responsible for leading them into the future."

But at appoint someone else, Anakin's gaze had slid over her shoulder—to the window, and the children beyond it.

He asked quietly, "Will Luke be accompanying me to Coruscant?"

There was raw, desperate hope in his voice—and as little as Anakin had done to deserve such a thing, Padmé found herself hoping he would. He clearly loved his father; that love was clearly reciprocated.

"If he so chooses," she said delicately, and watched the hope in Anakin's face shift to understanding. Neither of them would tell Luke where to go, or what to do; he was a child of the sea. He would choose his own path. "But that is not a condition of your agreement."

"I know." Anakin's gaze slid to the table, where he inspected the grains of wood as if they had the right answer he so desperately sought written into them. "I accept."

A little taken aback, Padmé asked, "You do?"

"I do."

She nodded, bowing her head. . . and then, unable to contain it, she smiled.

Anakin held out his bound wrists; reaching for the knife at her hip, she cut the rope loose. It fell away easily, and he rubbed the skin where it had chafed.

Looking away from her, he asked carefully, "Will you be coming with me?"

She knew what he was asking. Can you forgive me?

Is there anything left between us worth saving?

She said, equally carefully, "I have a lot of organisational matters to take care of with the Rebellion." His face fell, then she added, "For now."

He nodded solemnly, though she thought she saw a glimmer of hope pass across his face.

Not now. Not now, but maybe someday.

It had started to rain outside. The children seemed to be levitating raindrops at each other. Han was collateral damage.

Anakin stood up. He made a short bow that threw her back years. That had been the customary way for the Jedi to greet her forever—she hadn't seen it since they fell.

"It's been a pleasure, my lady," he said, then he left the room.

Luke and Leia didn't retreat when the rain came on, so neither did Han; they all sat on deck together and talked, the way they hadn't before Luke had been captured, when they hadn't understood how much they meant to each other. They sat there, soaked wet with the raindrops, until Leia took it upon herself to show Luke how to exert some measure of control over the water.

After that, it derailed quickly until both of them were soaked through—Han far worse for wear than anyone else.

Luke held out his hand to summon a raindrop to it. It wobbled slightly, then formed a rough sphere. He splayed his fingers wide and wove it between them, so fast it became a blur of blue and grey.

He almost dropped it when the rhythmic clacking of a wooden leg against the deck approached at his back, and his father said, "Could we talk?"

Luke took the moment to safely secure his raindrop over his palm before looking up. Han looked wary, Leia outright glaring—but beyond a sad, wistful look at his daughter, Vader's attention was fixed on Luke.

"Sure," Luke said, because there wasn't much else to say. He nodded reassuringly at Han and Leia, who shot Vader one last threatening look before wandering off.

Vader—Anakin?—gently lowered himself to sit on the deck next to Luke, his wooden leg stuck straight out in front of him. Luke threw a glance at his metal right hand—it hung limp off his wrist, like a puppet with its strings cut. Had the enchantment been broken along with the japor snippet?

His father met his gaze; Luke realised he was staring and looked away. He held his hand up to animate the raindrop again. Watching it zip between his fingers was soothing, and not just because moving it cost enough concentration that he almost forgot who he was sitting with.

"Your mother and I have come to an accord," Anakin said finally. "I will go back to Coruscant to formally dissolve the Empire and decide who will lead the country into the future. In return, my life will be spared."

"She was gonna kill you?" Luke found that hard to believe, for some reason.

Anakin's lips twisted. "It was implied."

A short silence fell. Luke broke it with, "So. . . what does that have to do with me?"

"I was wanting to ask," Anakin said carefully, "if you would come with me."

Luke frowned. He wanted to take this in good faith, but. . . "As your son, or as someone you can force onto the throne?"

"As my son," his father replied heatedly. "I. . . understand, if you don't want to be the heir anymore. The Empire has fallen. There's nothing to be heir of."

"I didn't want to be heir in the first place."

"I know. And I want you there as my son, not a successor. I," he choked up, "care about you."

The raindrop between his fingers had long since dropped to the deck. His hand drifted to his chest, when his shirt was still stiff with blood. The scar underneath the fabric burned with remembered pain.

His father had shot him.

His father had saved him.

"So?" Anakin's voice was painfully close to hope. "Will you come?" He rushed to add— "Of course, if you need more time to think about it I can—"

"No." Luke shook his head, and Anakin stilled.

"No?"

"No, I don't need more time to think about it. And no," his chest became tight, "I won't go with you to Coruscant."

All the strength seemed to drain out of his father. He went pale, eyes downcast. "Alright. I'll—"

"I was talking to Leia," Luke barrelled on, because he hadn't articulated that well, and his father wasn't understanding him— "She wants to teach me how to use my powers, and we want to re-establish the Jedi. We want to heal the sea from everything you and the Emperor did to it."

Anakin flinched, but he listened closely. "And?"

"And I won't go with you, because I can't do that from Coruscant," Luke said. "Once you're done, in a few years, you can come live with us. You were a Jedi; you can help us.

"And," he paused as he said, almost shyly, "maybe, in the meantime. . . we could write to each other? I've spent my life writing to my mother. I— I want to spend some time getting to know my father like that as well."

A faint smile was starting to spread across Anakin's face. Luke knew he understood what he meant. He would not embrace him—he couldn't. Not when the memories were so fresh and recent.

Vader had killed the only guardians he'd ever known. He'd killed one of the best friends he'd ever known. He'd murdered a mentor who just wanted to guide him, caused the death of a woman who'd just wanted to rescue him, and threatened a town that had just wanted to help him. He could forgive the scar on his chest, but not the body count left in his father's wake.

At least, not yet.

He would not embrace him. But nor would he turn his back.

Instead, he reached out his hand.

The rain was everywhere now. It sluiced through his hair, down his back, off his palm.

It had been raining when he'd left Tatooine, he remembered. It never rained on Tatooine.

The ship's sails were soaked, more grey than white, the dark brown of the yards all the richer for it. And there, lined up like scarlet beads on a string. . .

Starbirds. Dozens of them, all peering down at them.

One had a blue chest; another three looked so oddly familiar that it took him a moment to place them. The two he'd seen when he first left his home—Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru, he remembered thinking—and the one from when he'd left Alderaan. Ben. Then a fourth, white familiar white marking across her head and neck. Ahsoka.

They burst into song when they saw him looking. It lit up the dark grey sky like a second sunrise.

"You would?" Anakin asked.

Luke smiled. "You saved my life. At least, you helped. And you're cooperating now."

"I thought—" He choked on the words. "I thought you said one good thing wasn't enough for redemption."

He had said that.

But was it just one thing? He'd tried to show Ahsoka mercy. He had shown Bespin mercy. Over and over, there had been the signs of lingering goodness in his father, and Luke had dared to hope.

"It's not enough for redemption," he admitted. "But this isn't redemption. Redemption is what comes next." He took a deep breath. "This is forgiveness."

Anakin smiled; the birdsong swelled.

And there, standing in the sunlit rain, under the ovation of everyone who'd come before him, Anakin Skywalker took his son's hand.

Thank you all for reading!