Archive of Our Own ^beta

Through meditation other times you will see, other places, the past, the future, what was, what might have been, what yet may be

The log crackled as it split, shooting a random flurry of orange embers into the night sky. They flared briefly before dying. “Like stars,” he murmured, the warning embedded in his brain. Patience. Even stars burn out, my impulsive Padawan.

A trill of laughter answered him. “They remind me that on summer nights my sister and I would run out here to catch fireflies. We’d put them in a jar and carry them around like lanterns until they escaped and flew away.”

He studied Padmé’s profile. It was etched golden from the glow of the fire. He wished she hadn’t donned a cloak. He wished she was chilled so he could put his arm around her shoulders and pull her close to warm her. “I’ve never seen a firefly.”

“You haven’t? But you travel to so many places.”

He shrugged. “We mostly end up indoors. That’s where negotiations take place.” He shifted minutely closer to her. Behind them, lamps in the windows lit pathways across the grass. He wondered if her parents were watching.

You’re the first boyfriend my sister’s ever brought home

He’s not my boyfriend

Anakin ducked his head and sent her a sweet smile. Even in the darkness, he could see her cheeks flush pink like unfurling rose petals. “When I was a child, there were so many stars I was certain some would fall because the night sky wasn’t big enough to hold them all. I wanted to catch them and keep them so I would always have starlight. My mother let me put kitchen pots on our stoop, and in the morning I would check but they were always empty. She said shooting stars traveled endlessly through the galaxy and never fell, but I knew I could catch some. I even accused my friend Kitster of stealing my starlight from the pots. Mom taught me then– gently, as was her way– that anyone who would steal someone else’s starlight must need it very badly.”

Padmé was listening, unlike Master Obi-Wan who had laughed at the notion that stars could be captured. Obi-Wan knew nothing of mothers or homes or a child’s imagination.

“But she told me that if I ever find my starlight– my very own personal starlight– I must never let anyone take it because it’s a piece of my soul.”

Padmé’s voice was small and soft. “That’s beautiful, Ani.” They quieted, watching sparks fly eagerly into whatever oblivion awaited them. Her fingers curled on the bench near his hand but didn’t touch him. “Did you ever find your starlight?”

He stared at her from under his lashes, his mouth curving. “Yes, I have.”

She bit her lip and paused before standing. “We should go inside. It’s getting cold. Will you see to the fire?”

“Yes, m’lady,” he teased and bowed, making her laugh again, just a little.

Through meditation other times you will see, other places, the past, the future, what was, what might have been, what yet may be

He hated that Jedi teachings lingered inside him, creepIng to the surface, unbidden, unwanted, and too frequent of late. The Jedi were traitors, destroyed forever. Their words should disappear too.

Perhaps they would die with him. Once Darth Vader was gone, there would be no one left to remember, no Jedi Masters to corrupt young minds. The Sacred Texts had vanished, maybe burned, maybe buried. Maybe simply crumbled into dust.

But sometimes the despised memories were turbulent waves crashing in his head. Like now, when he was at his most vulnerable, floating in the tank of soothing bacta, struggling to maintain his rage in spite of the physical relief the treatment offered, crying and screaming his fury at the loss of his starlight—

never let anyone take it because it’s part of your soul

He shrieked Padmé’s name, silently, without lungs to draw in the power to expel his pain into the galaxy, or banish his memories as Jedi dogma should be exterminated, or clear his mind of everything but the Darkness because that was all he had left.

There was nothing. No one. No soul. No starlight. Only darkness.

Through meditation other times you will see, other places, the past, the future, what was, what might have been, what yet may be

He looked at the boy who looked at him. Sunlight haloed familiar structures towering in the distance, floating above the sweep of the clear, deep lake that had brought such joy to Padmé. He remembered the surprising clarity of the water when he trailed his fingers through it as the boat rocked them. When she looked away, he licked his hand, and the water tasted sweeter than wine.

The boy said nothing. Perhaps he wasn't there. Perhaps he was out of his time. Maybe they both were. Vader wondered if this was him in the Past, though he’d never sat alone, quietly, beside this shore. He’d never strayed far from her side when they’d been here.

The boy was looking through him. The boy didn’t see him. Not the Present then. Not the Past, surely not a possible Future. A thought danced through his head like an ember, insinuating that it was a vision of his life that might have been.

Unlikely. And yet….

He was suddenly, uncontrollably, incensed. He hated that boy. Whoever he was, he was an imposter. His existence was a lie. He wanted to choke the life out of him if he was alive. He reached out his hand and closed his fist around–

He had no fist. He was drowning in bacta.

Through meditation other times you will see, other places, the past, the future, what was, what might have been, what yet may be

He’d called them starflowers. Padmé hadn’t corrected him, so they were always starflowers to him. Except at her funeral procession when those images had turned the sweet memory of starflowers into tears that cascaded down her gown and ripped apart the last remnant of his dead heart.

The boy was here again, a young man sitting on the ground like a child, reaching out in protest as Vader deliberately crushed a tiny blossom under his boot. But the hand withdrew, dismay left unuttered.

“Huh. Looks like you found me.” Luke grimaced. “Took you long enough.”

It felt strange to smile, but he did. Padmé’s son sounded like him in his youth. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

“Maybe you should stop chasing me.” Luke acknowledged his smile though he couldn’t possibly see it behind the mask. 

“Maybe you should stop running away.”

Luke threaded his fingers through the grass, absently, considering. “Maybe.” He plucked a starflower and held it to his nose. “Do you know what these are called?”

“Tears of the Broken Hearted.”

“That sounds like a bad song title.” Padmé’s son frowned. “I thought they’d be something else. Something that wasn’t sad.”

He did what he was unable to do in the waking world: he folded his artificial legs and artificial body and sat in the grass. He couldn’t feel it, but he knew it must be cold and damp. Luke couldn’t possibly be comfortable. “Why are you here?”

“No clue. I was meditating.” Luke looked around. “I’ve seen this place before, but I don’t know its name.”

Vader sighed. “Naboo. The home of your mother’s people is across the lake.”

“Really? Then I wonder why I’m here with your lordship instead of over there?”

“You must have wished to see me.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “Well, I don’t know why I would. What do we have to talk abou– Look! Is that a firefly?” He smiled excitedly, Padmé’s joyful smile when he came to her. Anakin caught his breath while Vader choked at the sight. The boy held out his hand. A small flying insect landed on his forefinger, its wings raising as it winked yellow. “I’ve never seen one before!”

Bemused, he watched more appear, landing on Luke. Landing on him, on his black boots and padded knees. Unafraid. “Neither have I.” He imagined Padmé running through the trees, fireflies flitting around her bound hair, unraveling it while she laughed. “You can keep them in a jar and carry them around with you. Like starlight.”

“But they’d die.” Luke turned his hand and welcomed more fireflies into his palm. “Aunt Beru told me a story about a child who tried to catch falling stars to keep in a jar. She said– Hey!” Eyes as clear as the lake focused on him. “I thought she was talking about the little one who died. Grandma Shmi’s baby.”

Grandma Shmi’s baby. He'd assumed the small grave near the homestead had been Beru’s child. He'd been too grief-stricken and angry to care enough to ask. He’d never imagined that, briefly, he might have had a little brother or sister. He didn’t want to think about it. Them.

Luke studied him openly, in the earnest way of Padmé. “But maybe it was you in the story?”

“It was. Did she tell you what my mother said about catching stars?”

“Grandma Shmi?” Luke shook his head. “No.”

“She said if I ever found my own starlight I must never let anyone take it because it was part of my soul.”

A shaft of sun speared through the thick forest and set Luke’s hair on fire. “Did you?”

“Find it? Yes. Lose it? Yes.”

“Someone took it, you mean.” Luke studied the fireflies and turned his hand over, squinting closely like he wanted to take them apart to see how they worked. “So someone stole part of your soul?”

“All of it.” He didn’t like this. His anger was rising again, and he tried to control it by standing and clenching his fists. He didn’t want to leave this place yet. This person. This last fractured bit of his starlight.

From nowhere Luke conjured a jar. He blinked, allowing a single tear to slip down his cheek. It fell into the glass. Fireflies swarmed to surround it, their wings buzzing. “Maybe this will help.” The tear grew into a starflower, and the fireflies dove after it, morphing into fragments of sharp-edged starshine.

His son’s pale hand brushed his glove as he offered the gift. Vader stiffened. “I don’t want this.” But he was compelled to touch. Blood splashed inside the jar, claret wine cascading over the rim. Fireflies struggled and drowned in the gore, screaming like the ghosts of lost children. 

Luke flinched.

Vader pushed it away, repulsed. The jar fell to the ground and shattered, stardust raining around them, magical pearls latching onto branches, adorning trees with jeweled lusters from Padmé’s ivory veil.

He braced himself for condemnation.

“Not so easy to lose your soul, I guess,” Luke noted mildly, studying the gems. “Maybe you should hang on to it. You never know when you might find a use for it.”

“You worry about your own soul,” he snapped without considering his words.

“I can worry for both of us.” The boy half-smiled. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time to stop running.”

Through meditation other times you will see, other places, the past, the future, what was, what might have been, what yet may be

His torso shuddered as steel grips began to raise his dripping remains from the tank. He was disoriented, lost in a strange place that was neither here nor there. He was nowhere with something he needed to say, and he tried calling out.

You are everything I wanted to be, my son. Everything I almost was.

It was too late to say that to their child. Unless Luke was still dreaming on Naboo, listening for him.

Maybe it’s time to stop running away.

But why, when there was nothing to run toward?

His limbs were reattached, his helmet cut off the universe, he was encased again in his black tomb. Anger returned with it. He was too late, he was always too late. He raged, he seethed, he despaired. Anguish and hatred sustained him. Darth Vader couldn’t live without them.

Through meditation other times you will see, other places, the past, the future, what was, what might have been, what yet may be

Behind his artificial eyelids, Anakin watched his lost soul reach into a blackened night sky, through a forest rich with trees, toward a single ray of starlight that shone so bright even Darth Vader could see it.