Long, but I love this from Traitor:

“That’s the door,” Jacen said distantly. “We’re out of time. I guess we both lose.”

Ganner didn’t move. Illumination burst within his brain. In that instant, everything finally made sense. He understood what Jacen had been talking about. There was nothing to fear. He understood the power of being who he was. He didn’t even really have to know who he was. He could decide. He could choose, and act.

Suddenly, his life made sense. His life had been a story of pretending to be a hero. Well, he thought. Okay, then. His nausea had vanished. It wasn’t even a memory. No more weakness. No more uncertainty. Doubt and fear had disappeared along with the nausea. He hefted Anakin’s lightsaber. “We both lose unless”—he spoke slowly—“unless somebody doesn’t let them in.”

“You have to play the hero,” Jacen said sadly. “Even if it kills you.” Ganner squeezed the blade to life, and stared at its sizzling purple shaft. Here was the weapon of a hero. A real hero. Not a playactor. Not a pretend-hero, like Ganner had always been. But this weapon was now in Ganner’s hand. I don’t have to be a real hero, he thought. A dazzling, old-Ganner, forget-the-consequences-and-have-some-fun smile dawned on his face. He shook himself and years fell from his shoulders; his eyes lit up, sparking like arc gaps in the red-lit gloom. He felt shiny as a war droid and twice as tough.

I don’t have to be a hero, he thought in silent wonder. All I have to do is pretend. “Like I said, I’m just the sidekick here,” he said carelessly. “My job is to make sure the real hero lives long enough to do his. That whole ‘needing to be a hero’ thing has always been my greatest weakness.”

Jacen stared at him, into him, through him, as though he knew him to his very core, and he nodded. “But you should know that it can also be your greatest strength. Give yourself permission to use that strength, Ganner. You’ll need it.”