Summary: The shuttle lands on Endor, and Leia runs to meet Luke only to find him carrying the last person she ever wanted to see again: Darth Vader. Convinced Luke has been manipulated, she nearly fires before learning the impossible truth.
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The shuttle touched down , its wings folding upward like a bird settling into a nest. The heavy ramp began to lower, grinding against the forest dirt.
"Luke?" I called out, my voice lost in the hiss of the engines.
A wave of relief flooded through me. But the relief was instantly stomped out by a cold dread. Something was horribly wrong.
Luke wasn't walking; he was staggering. His movements were slow and uneven. He was bent carrying something massive and dark over his shoulder. I couldn't quite make out the shape. I squinted, stepping closer.
My hand moved entirely on instinct, a soldier's reflex. My blaster was out of its holster and gripped tightly in both hands before my mind could even process the threat.
No, no, no. It’s a trick.
The figure draped across Luke’s shoulders was a silhouette straight from my worst nightmares. Darth Vader.
Had the monster somehow manipulated Luke? Had he twisted my brother's mind in those final moments, forcing him to bring the Empire's executioner right into the heart of our rebellion? Was Luke already gone?
"Luke!" I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat.
I raised the weapon, leveling the sight directly at the chest plate of the monster who had held me captive on the Death Star, who had forced me to watch Alderaan's destruction, who had tortured Han. I was prepared to pull the trigger, even if the bolt went through the monster and hit my own brother. I couldn't let Vader take him. I couldn't let Vader take the galaxy again.
Luke's head snapped up. His eyes, sunken and ringed with dark circles, locked onto mine.
The desperation in his voice made me freeze.
I stared at him. What was he doing? Why was he protecting Vader?
Luke staggered forward another step, the sheer weight of the armored giant forcing him to gasp for air. "He's dead," he panted, his voice cracking.
I blinked, the world tilting slightly on its axis. "What?"
"He's dead. Don't shoot."
Dead. The word echoed my mind, refusing to make sense. I lowered the blaster a fraction of an inch and really looked.
The black armor was scorched and cracked. One mechanical arm hung limply, wires sparking in the Endor night. There was no rhythmic mechanical breathing.
The adrenaline drained from my system all at once, leaving my hands shaking so violently the blaster threatened to slip from my fingers. Luke took one more step toward me, and then, his strength gave out. His knees buckled.
I ran toward him, throwing my arms around him and catching him under his shoulders before he hit the ground. The sudden, dead weight of both him and the armor nearly pulled me down into the ground with them.
"What happened?" I asked, my voice a frantic whisper as I cupped his face. He was deathly pale. His breathing was shallow. He looked like he had gone through hell, and barely crawled back.
Luke didn't look at me. His gaze drifted toward the mask of the corpse beside us.
"He saved me," Luke whispered.
I stared at him, the forest around us suddenly falling silent. For a moment, I genuinely believed the trauma had broken his mind. "What?"
"The Emperor is dead," Luke said, his eyes unfocused, staring into the past. "I felt the dark... it was everywhere, Leia. He was going to kill me. And Father... Father stopped him."
Father. The word hit me harder than any physical blow. It was a word I had spent my entire life associating with Bail Organa, a man of honor, kindness, and love. Hearing Luke apply it to the mass murderer lying in the dirt made my stomach violently churn.
Luke looked down at the black armor, his hand resting gently against the scorched chest plate. "I couldn't leave him there."
A mixture of anger and grief flared up in my chest. I wanted to scream. I wanted to push the corpse away, to tell Luke that this monster deserved to burn with the rest of his Empire. I was furious that even in death, Darth Vader was occupying the heart and mind of my brother.
But then I looked at Luke’s face. I saw the grief in his eyes. And I realized how close I had come to losing him. If Vader hadn't stepped in... Luke would be gone.
Somehow, the survival of the person I loved most in the galaxy had been bought with the life of the man I hated most.
I didn't know what to do with that. The hypocrisy of it threatened to tear me in two.
Luke swallowed painfully, a tear cutting a clean path through the dirt on his cheek. "I'm going to bury him."
I stiffened, looking at him in utter disbelief. "What?"
"A Jedi burial," he said, his voice trembling. "I have to, Leia. I have to do it tonight."
He tried to push himself up, using the ramp for leverage, but his muscles locked up and he nearly collapsed right back over the body. He let out a ragged, frustrated sob, his forehead resting against the cold metal of the ramp.
"I can't do it alone," he whispered.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The thought of putting my hands on that armor, of feeling the cold metal made me feel sick.
"Luke..." My voice cracked, betraying the thick lump of tears in my throat. "I don't think I can do that. You know what he... what he did to me. What he did to the galaxy."
Luke’s expression fell he looked at me, not as a Jedi Knight, but as a brother pleading with his sister.
I closed my eyes, a tear escaping and running down my cheek. Why was he asking this of me? After everything?
But as I looked at him, I realized it wasn't about Vader. It was never about Vader. It was about Luke.
Slowly, I knelt back down beside him.
"Is this what you need?" I asked, struggling to find the words. "Will it give you closure?"
For a long moment, he said nothing. He just looked at the mask, seeing the man underneath that I never would. Then, he nodded.
"Yes," his voice broke, a ragged sob slipping out. "Yes, it will."
I knew, with absolute certainty, that I could never forgive Darth Vader. I didn't know if I ever would find peace with the blood that ran through my veins. But I loved Luke. And right now, my brother needed me to help him bury his father.
"I'm doing this for you," I said, the words coming out sharper, colder than I intended. "Not for him. Never for him."
A fresh tear slid down Luke's cheek, but a small weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. "Thank you."
Then together we reached down and lifted the body.
