It was always a very near thing when the twins fought. They never knew who was going to emerge victorious. No one did.

Leia was fueled by passion, driving forward with furious, relentless athleticism, whereas Luke hardly seemed to move at all, and yet somehow his lightsaber was always right where it needed to be to block Leia's strikes.

"I…have…you…!" Leia cried as her ruby blade swung and spun and came to a stop less than a millimeter from Luke's throat. The red light was reflected in her eyes as she bared her teeth in victory.

"Are you certain?" Luke asked, voice mild.

"What are you…?" Leia began with a snarl.

Luke looked down. Leia followed his gaze. The ice blue tip of his lightsaber blade was pointed at her belly, hovering directly above her spleen. If she struck his head off, his last act would be to impale her, and the twins would die as they had been born—together.

Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi began to clap.

They'd made a mistake when they'd given the infant Leia to Bail Organa. This was easy to see on hindsight. Bail was planetary royalty and a politician—a Senator for goodness' sake! His social and professional circles had overlapped with Anakin's even before the Clone Wars; why had they thought this would change with the rise of the Empire?

So it had only been a matter of time. And when Vader had met Leia, she had been at Bail's side, and Bail had been unable to fully conceal his fear. That fear had made Vader suspicious. He'd studied Leia closely, and in an instant he'd both sensed her potential and recognized his former wife in the girl.

No need to ask…and he hadn't. He'd simply taken Leia away to begin her training. She'd been eleven years old at the time, rebellious and headstrong and eager to cut what she'd perceived to be her adoptive parents' overly tight apron strings. Unsurprisingly, she'd taken to Sith training like a nerf herd to verdant pasture.

The coded message from Bail to Obi-Wan's hermitage on Tatooine had been quick, but convincing Owen and Beru Lars to allow Obi-Wan to begin training Luke as a Jedi had most definitely not been, and he'd barely even begun when the galaxy was shaken by the news: Darth Vader, the Emperor's mysterious enforcer and second-in-command, had betrayed the Emperor, slain him, and ascended the throne.

There'd been a further announcement, which, in the furor, got rather less coverage: Princess Leia had been named as Vader's one true heir.

"Excellent work, both of you. I declare this duel a draw. Now, sheath your blades and step back from each other."

A pause. Would they agree to disengage? Obi-Wan held his breath. Then, as if of a single mind, the twins both obeyed Obi-Wan's command in perfect unison. Obi-Wan exhaled.

If they felt his tension, they ignored it. Leia, as was her custom, stuck her tongue out at Luke. Luke, as was his custom, did not rise to the taunt; he simply smiled and bowed respectfully at his sister before following Obi-Wan out of the training salle.

They would be training separately for the rest of the afternoon—Luke with Obi-Wan and Leia with Vader. Obi-Wan didn't know what sorts of things Vader taught Leia, and he did not ask. It was better.

"I'm sorry I lost, Master," Luke said, downcast, as he sat down on the floor across from Obi-Wan. Being upset about the defeat was unbecoming, but Luke was young still, after all, and disappointment was natural.

Obi-Wan rested a hand on Luke's shoulder affectionately. "The past is past. Let it go."

He took his own advice, as best he could. Once, he and Vader had fought to the death; had it not been for Luke and his sincere love for his family, they would doubtless have done so again. But Luke had sensed the truth of his blood and staunchly refused to take up arms against his father or his sister. Instead, he had gone to them in peace, offering his love and loyalty. Yet he'd also refused to turn to the dark side. This would have meant Luke's death. To save Luke's life, Obi-Wan had surrendered himself and suggested a compromise.

The big surprise was that Vader agreed. Perhaps it was the excuse he'd needed to be merciful.

No, Obi-Wan did not know what Vader taught Leia. For Luke, however, the day would end with empty meditation.

"Breathe. Just breathe," Obi-Wan instructed.

This exercise was especially challenging in the Imperial Palace, with courtiers milling about within its walls and Coruscant's ecumenopolis surrounding them on all sides, but it was how Obi-Wan had learned to mediate as Qui-Gon's apprentice…back when the Imperial Palace had been the Jedi Temple.

He'd come full circle, he knew—in more ways than one.

They'd been lovers in secret before Anakin's fall, and now, at the end, they were lovers once more. Training the twins had brought them back together.

It wasn't the same, of course. So much had changed; it hurt to remember how much. But then, who would expect any relationship to remain exactly the same? Not Obi-Wan. The future was always in motion, and there were still blessings to be discovered in what did remain.

After the day's business was concluded and the twins had retired for the night, Vader joined Obi-Wan in his room.

Obi-Wan was already tucked into bed. An old man's prerogative! He did not bother to open his eyes. "How did it go? Well?" he asked.

"No," Vader replied shortly. "The senators—they're argumentative, unruly, infuriating. I don't know why I let you convince me to allow the Senate to convene under my rule."

"They represent the interests of their people, and different people sometimes have different interests," Obi-Wan reminded him. "The trick is to find points of agreement and compromise. That's what the floor debates are for."

"Pure dictatorship would be less of a headache."

"Your headache will be worth it; just you wait and see. Give them a voice in government, and they will give you their loyalty in return." Obi-Wan opened his eyes and beckoned Vader nearer.

Vader sighed and laid down on the bed beside Obi-Wan. He did not seem inclined to argue further. Obi-Wan pulled him into a tender embrace. They could never again make love; the injuries inflicted upon Vader by the fires of Mustafar had rendered such shared carnal intimacies impossible. But they did hold one another close, Vader's life support suit notwithstanding, and Obi-Wan gazed deeply into the ruby lenses of Vader's mask as his lips brushed the sharp edges of Vader's mouth grille. They breathed together, Obi-Wan inhaling Vader's exhalations into his own lungs, until sleep took them.

The balance they had achieved between them was precarious, but it was balance. It was real.

One step at a time. Vader had his family; Obi-Wan had his hopes; and in the meantime, they both had love. This love, abiding and soul-deep—it was real as well.

END