Luke stood before the Rebel jury, silent. He wouldn't let them frighten him. How disappointed would his father be if he let them do that? He stood a little taller, carefully peeking out under his hood.
"Remove your hood, Sith," commanded the judge.
Luke shook his head slowly.
"Speak."
Again, Luke shook his head.
"You have to communicate with us if you want a fair trial."
Luke closed his eyes quietly. Then he opened them again, held his chained hands up where the jury could see them, and quickly signed, "You won't be fair even if I can."
The judge huffed. "What was that?"
One of the jury piped up, "Sign language."
"Well, what did he say?"
Again, Luke tipped his head up so that he could see the Rebels surrounding him. The one who had spoken had a triumphant expression, which quickly faded as he realized that he was now expected to understand Luke's signing.
"I… uh, I have no idea. There was an F in there."
Luke rolled his eyes. No wonder the rebels weren't in charge of the galaxy. They couldn't even communicate with him!
The judge spoke to the man who'd recognized the sign language. "Find someone who can understand him, please."
Luke made a mental note that they were kinder to one another than Imperials were.
One of Luke's guards walked up and took his arm. Luke considered struggling, but decided against it. Moments later, he was glad he hadn't fought. The woman had simply pushed him into a chair. He sat still, silent, trying to seem frightening in some small way. By now, his father would have the entire room shaking in fear.
But Luke was not his father. He lived quietly in his father's shadow, learning when Vader felt like teaching, and sitting by noiselessly when he didn't.
Instead of trying to be imposing, Luke relaxed back in the chair, to show, at least, that he wasn't frightened of them. He knew they were all staring at him, and hoped that his face was properly hidden. He debated with himself about making sure his hood was far enough forward, but decided that he'd really rather not show them his hands either.
After several long minutes, the man came back into the room. Luke looked up slowly. The man walked forward, thrust a datapad into Luke's hands, and regained his place in the stands.
Luke looked down at the pad. A little light flickered, telling him that the whole court could see what he typed in. He decided that the screen must be behind him, and considered turning to check. But, no, Father would tell him that it didn't matter as long as they could understand his words.
"Why won't you remove your hood?" Asked the judge.
Luke typed furiously, "I'd just rather not. Can you accept that?"
"And why won't you speak?"
Rather annoyed, Luke typed back, "Nosy, aren't we?"
"I have to gain all the information I can. What species are you, anyway?"
Luke sighed. "Human."
He sensed the judge's thoughts, sensed they were shared by many of the court. He's stunted. There's something wrong with him. He's dumb and deformed.
Luke considered correcting them, but thought better of it. Father would say that as long as he retained his dignity it didn't matter.
"What do you have to say about the lives you've ended today?" The judge asked.
Luke looked down at the datapad and thought hard. He wanted to apologise. He always did. He hadn't hated the people who'd died. But, again, Father would say that it was unimportant. "I only kill when there's no other choice."
"Do you know what we fight for, Sith?"
"I know what you think you fight for." Luke typed quickly. "I don't think you could run the galaxy properly, though."
He could sense the man's anger. Hidden in the folds of his hood, he smiled slightly. This was more like it. Fear would have been better, but at least this showed that he could influence the Rebel.
"Do you have any defence at all?"
"No."
"Then I'm afraid that you will be executed. Please stand. Your guard will lead you."
Luke looked down at the little pad in his hands. "You don't really care."
The judge didn't answer, so Luke stood up. He felt his guard's hand on his shoulder. A small, dark corner of his heart cried out for his father. He didn't particularly want to die. He would rather go home to his father. He wanted to say goodbye, at least.
But Father would be disappointed in him even just for feeling that way. If he said anything out loud, Father would be disgraced. So he just followed quietly.
He hoped he was appearing uncaring. He hoped they didn't know that, hidden in his long sleeves, his hands were shaking. He was going to die. He would never see his father again. There would be no more training sessions. No more battles fought side by side. No more lessons in strategy.
He pushed the thoughts aside again, made his hands still, and walked along silently. He realized he was slumped a little bit. He straightened his spine and walked more quickly, making sure his steps were even. He would be brave. His father would hear that he had died bravely, wouldn't he? The rebels would tell him, wouldn't they?
Suddenly, a little worm of apprehension found its way into his heart. What if his father didn't know what had happened to him? What if the Rebels were too cowardly to tell him what had happened? What if Father wasted his time searching the galaxy for his lost son?
Luke told himself that his father would know that he'd died. He promised himself that his father would know.
Suddenly, he was jerked to a stop. The woman holding his arm let go slowly. He looked up to see that he had barely been taken anywhere, just across the little room. Standing before him was a young man. Luke guessed that he was about twenty. He held a blaster and wore a large smirk on his face.
Luke stood and waited. He wondered absently what dying would feel like. Would the Rebel be kind enough to shoot him in the heart or head so that it was almost instantaneous, or would he want to watch Luke suffer and give him a more painful mortal wound? Luke wondered what his father would think if he were in this situation. His father would have been able to save himself, Luke decided.
Why hasn't he shot yet? Luke thought, slightly irritated. What's he waiting for? Does he think I'm going to beg for mercy?
"Why don't you take off your hood, Sith? Or are you scared to see your death?"
Luke signed rapidly, and was surprised to see the man nodding, as though in understanding.
"Well then, why not take off your hood? We'll all see your face sooner or later anyway." The man taunted.
Luke looked at him calculatingly, and slowly reached up. The man grinned as Luke started to take his hood off. Luke was cautious, pulling it back very slowly until a bit of his hair poked out. Then he decided to bite the bullet and pull it off. He flicked it back as quickly as he could and stared defiantly at the man with the blaster.
The man froze with the blaster pointed straight at Luke's skull, his mouth agape.
Luke waited impatiently. The man was going to be kind enough to shoot him in the head. It wouldn't hurt. What would his father think if he saw him now? Father had told him not to remove his hood. But, Father wouldn't mind. Would he? No. He was kinder than that. He would allow Luke a moment to feel the sunlight on his face once before he died.
"Well? Aren't you going to shoot?" He asked finally.
The man gaped some more.
Luke sighed. So much for it being fast. Excruciating pain as he died would be better than this terrible anticipation.
The man started to stammer. "H-h-h-how old a-are y-you?"
Luke frowned slightly, "Eleven."
His age had never mattered to anyone before. Then again, now that he thought about it, only his father knew. And he supposed it had mattered to his father. Until he was seven. Then his father had started taking him everywhere with him. Now he looked past the barrel of the blaster into the man's face, and it occurred to him that he had never found anyone his age in the battlefields. He remembered how his tutor had scowled when Luke had had to miss a lesson so that he could be off fighting beside his Father.
"Waste of a perfectly good mind," the man had snarled.
At the time, Luke had looked at him strangely and picked up his pack to join his father, but now he wondered what the man had meant.
Wasn't it normal for a child to be working with their parents when they turned seven? It didn't seem strange to Luke. It wasn't like his father had kicked him out onto the streets when he turned ten as he'd heard of some parents doing.
"Eleven?" The man asked incredulously, and Luke was glad to hear he'd stopped stuttering.
"Yes, eleven. Now can you please get this over with?"
The blaster lowered, and Luke's eyes followed it to the ground.
"I'm not gonna kill a kid."
Luke looked up at the man, "I'm not a kid! I've done as much as you have!"
The man stared. "I'm not gonna kill you, Kid."
A part of Luke wanted very much to stomp his foot and scream that he wasn't a child, but he realized how childish the impulse was. Instead, he did what his father would have done. He tried to understand the situation.
"If you don't kill me, what will you do with me?" he asked, turning to face the judge.
That man was staring down at him too. Then he gasped a couple of times and regained his composure.
"Y-you shall have to stay with someone."
All the Rebels in the stands drew back. Luke looked around quietly. He wanted his father. What would happen to him? Would anyone take him in? What if no one wanted to? What if, worse, they just wanted his father's gratitude? He wanted to do something to calm himself, maybe wrap his arms around himself, or cry for his father, or something. But his father wouldn't want that. Instead, he blinked hard, squeezing his eyelids tightly together.
He was horrified to feel a single tear trickle out. He wanted to swipe it away, but he didn't want them to know how scared he was. Suddenly, he felt something on his arm. He turned and saw the man with the blaster. He had one hand around Luke's arm. Standing next to him, Luke suddenly felt very small. He did feel like a child. He really wanted his father.
"I'll take him."
Luke felt a swell of gratitude. He wanted to hug this man. But his father wouldn't want him to do that. Besides, the man had been just about to kill him.
The judge nodded slowly, fingering Luke's lightsaber. It suddenly occurred to Luke how strange it was not to have it at his belt.
Trying not to sound nervous, Luke piped up, "Can I have that back?"
"No. No weapons."
"Then just take the power cell out! I got it from my father…" Luke tried to tell himself he was only speaking so pathetically to gain their sympathy, but deep down he knew it wasn't true. This was a strange, new, hostile world, and he wanted some tiny relic from home.
The judge took it out, and tossed it down towards Luke, who caught it.
Then the man took him by the arm and led him out of the court. Luke walked along beside him in a daze. He saw people staring at his face, and pulled his hood back up. He tried to regain his composure. Again he straightened his back and walked faster.
The man led him into a small room and pushed him down on the bed.
"Take your hood off."
Luke paused.
"Oh, go on. I've seen your face already." The man sounded exasperated.
Luke reached up with trembling hands and took his hood off. The man was looking at him kindly. He instantly wanted to cover his face again. For as long as he could remember, only his father had seen his face.
"What's your name?" He asked slowly.
"I'm Han."
"Are you always the executioner?"
Han shook his head. "Nah, he was busy. I got called in 'cause I have good aim."
Luke nodded slowly.
"You feel okay, Kid?"
Luke shook his head, "Not really."
"Have a lie down. I have to see about getting us somewhere that you can have a bed too." Han tucked back the blankets on his bed and ushered Luke to curl up under them.
Luke did as he was told.
Han patted his head and walked to a desk. He sat down and started calling one of the other Rebels, making arrangements for a new room. Luke tried to stay awake, to collect any potentially useful information. Soon, however, he slipped under the blanket of unconsciousness.
When Luke awoke, he and Han weren't alone. There was also a large, furry creature. Luke stared at it, bristling with nervousness.
Han turned to see him, "It's okay, Kid. This is my co-pilot, Chewbacca."
Luke relaxed a bit. He sat up.
"So, what are we going to do with you?" Han asked, looking at the small boy.
Luke shrugged. He wasn't used to being asked what he wanted to do.
"Why don't we go find something for you to do?" Han asked. "Play with some of the other kids or something?"
Something about the idea made Luke quake. He didn't want to leave this new place, this new protected bubble. "I'd rather get to know you first."
Han nodded, "Good idea, Kid. I don't even know your name."
"Luke."
Han held out his hand, mock-formal, "Good to meet you, Luke."
The corners of Luke's mouth twitched slightly, but he didn't smile. Instead, he shook Han's hand very formally before releasing. Then he sat back and looked at Chewbacca. He didn't know what to think of the furry, humanoid alien. His father had told him that all aliens were the enemies of the Empire, of course, but this one didn't seem to be a danger to society.
"So," Han started in, "Why do you wear a hood?"
Luke fingered his loose hood silently for a few moments, "Father told me to."
Han frowned, "What kind of parent would tell their kid to hide their face?"
"He said no one would take me seriously if they could see my face."
"Well, you are an ugly little blighter." Han teased.
Luke had never been teased in his life. Hearing his new friend say something so cold, so malicious, he turned away, not wanting Han to see his tears.
Han's smile dropped, "Hey, Kid, it's okay! I was just kidding!"
Luke felt tears racing down his cheeks.
Han grabbed the boy's shoulders, turning the child back to himself. Flustered, he stared at the tears on the boy's face. He was saved from trying to figure out what to do with the sobbing eleven-year-old Sith by Chewbacca, who stepped forward and took Luke in his huge, furry arms. Luke shook violently as he tried to hold back sobs.
Chewbacca had knelt on the floor to take the boy, and he cradled the child close, brushing away tears with one large, warm paw. He groaned something at the child, who let out cascades of further tears.
Han reached out and started stroking the frightened child's hair. Finally, Luke was able to calm down enough to hiccup back the last of his tears.
"Y-you didn't mean it?" He asked Han.
"'Course I didn't mean it! I wouldn't say something like that to you." Han soothed.
"I'm s-sorry, Han. I- it's just-well-No one's ever been kidding with me before. I thought you meant it."
Han stroked the boy's back again, "Of course I didn't mean it. Would you like to get some fresh air, Kid?"
"Mhmm."
"Why don't you go wash your face then. I'll take you out and we can do some target practice."
"I thought I wasn't allowed to have a weapon."
"Ah, we won't use blasters or anything like that. We have an ancient archery set outside. We found it when we moved into this base. They don't really count them as weapons. Probably 'cause Chewie here is the only one who can use them with any kind of accuracy."
Luke nodded, wiping the last of his tears away.
"Go wash your face, kid. Then we can go."
Luke nodded again. He stood up and allowed Han to lead him to the fresher and start wiping the tear tracks from his face.
Chewbacca stood in the doorway of the room, watching the proceedings passively. Luke looked up at him.
"Thank you, Chewbacca." He said quietly.
Chewie gave a soft howl.
"He says you can call him 'Chewie' instead. And he calls you 'cub'" Han translated promptly.
Again, there was a little tug at the sides of Luke's mouth. He had never had a nickname before. But only his father really spoke to him, and Father always called him 'son' or 'child' or 'boy', when he was angry. He rather liked being called something else.
Han wiped the last tear residue from Luke's face and led him out of the quarters he shared with Chewbacca. Luke quickly flipped his hood back up. He felt Han sigh, and pulled it forwards a bit more so that he had to tip his head back to see more than his feet.
Chewbacca moaned something, and Han nodded. Seeing Luke looking at him in confusion, Han explained, "He said he's going to pack up our things and bring them down so that we won't have to get them when they have our new space ready.
"I'm sorry." Luke said softly, turning to face his boots again.
"For what?"
"I'm a big hassle for you. You were all settled in there, and then you took me in and now you have to move."
Han shrugged, "Yeah, well, the walls aren't soundproof, and the guy next door snores."
For a third time, Luke felt the gentle tugging. He felt the budding smile start to win over everything his father had taught him. He bit it back. It had no place in his mind.
Han had noticed, though. "Why don't you smile?"
"Father said…" Luke started, but he was cut off by Han.
"Father said not to smile? Look at me, Kid. The way you explain it, it makes it sound an awful lot like your old man's just trying to keep you from being happy. I bet if I asked you why you don't talk you'd say-"
"That my father told me not to? Because he did."
"He didn't give you reasons for any of that, did he?"
"Yeah, he did actually. He told me people wouldn't take me seriously." Luke retorted. He didn't like the way Han spoke about his father.
"And why would you want to always be taken seriously? Don't you want to be able to joke around when you hang out with your friends?"
Luke looked at his black boots, "I've never had a friend before. That I can remember. Closest I've ever had is my troops."
"Troops!" Han exclaimed, "You're only eleven and you're commanding troops?"
Luke looked at his hands and murmured, "Since I was seven."
"Seven!" Han yelped, "Look at me, Kid. You're dad's trying to steal your childhood. What did you do before you were seven?"
Luke was rather frightened of Han now, seeing this anger in him, "I-I trained with my father!"
Han made a visible effort to control himself. "Be glad you got away from him. He didn't want what was best for you."
Luke tried to see that. He tried thinking that his father didn't have his best interests at heart, but in his heart he felt otherwise. He could still see his father's mask in his mind. He thought of his father's fury whenever anything put Luke in danger. When that thing was Luke, he scolded the child mercilessly, but when it was anything else, he destroyed whatever it was. Vader had always protected Luke, and the child knew it, but he didn't know how to make Han see.
"I love him."
Han nodded slowly, "Of course you do."
They walked in uncomfortable silence for a while. Then Han led Luke outside, and showed him the weapons. Luke selected a red bow, and several arrows. Han grabbed a greyish bow for himself, and another few arrows. Then he led Luke onto a shooting range, which was empty.
"Most of them have given up," Han explained.
Luke nodded silently.
Han showed Luke how to thread the arrow onto the bow, pull back and fire. The arrow he'd shot flew past the target.
Luke picked up his own bow and shot at the targets. It landed on the target, but not in the center. Luke sighed. It wasn't good enough. His father would be ashamed. He'd taught Luke to be good at everything he did, but Luke hadn't managed to hit the target. He picked up another arrow and allowed the disappointment his father would feel to run through him. As he rarely did, he felt the Dark Side's power course through him.
He was about to shoot again when he thought about just how very rarely he was able to draw on the Dark Side. How he was a Sith who used the Light whenever possible. His father didn't know. He would never see his father again, and his father didn't even know that Luke was hopeless at being a Sith. Father would never know.
Why was he so useless at it? Why did he have to feel his father's emotions to at all? Was something wrong with him?
He suddenly realized he was crying, tears tracing little tracks on his cheeks.
Father would be so angry! Luke had cried in front of Han twice today! There had to be something wrong with him. That would explain it. It must. He hid his tears from Han and drew on the Light.
Then he took one of his arrows. He put it to the string of the bow, pulled back and fired. The arrow sailed through the air and landed with a soft thwok in the middle of the target. Luke allowed himself a slight smile before reaching for the next arrow.
But his mind was racing. He was no Sith. He was hopeless. He could only draw on the Light, which his father called weak and pathetic. But he'd hidden that from his father. That had to count for something. Right?
Han had been watching the boy closely. He gaped.
"How did you do that?" He asked in amazement.
Luke let fly the next arrow, landing with a satisfying thud right beside the other arrow. Then he turned to Han. "Just like you showed me." He said quietly. Then he reached and took the next arrow. Again he pulled the bowstring back and released the arrow.
"And you're not ecstatic? You've done better than any of the rest of us! Even Chewie wasn't that good at first!"
"It's nothing important. I can just hit a stupid target nailed to a tree." Luke said. But inside, he felt a swell of pride. Han thought he was good. Han said he was the best at archery in the whole Alliance.
And he was good. That was nothing to be ashamed of, was it? He decided to see just how good he was. Choosing a single dot where someone else, presumably Chewie, had managed to hit the target. He drew on the Force again and shot. It sailed through the air and landed in the tiny hole. Again, he allowed himself a small smile.
He took the next arrow. He would erase his previous failure. Lining himself up carefully, he pulled the arrow back and let fly. It split the first arrow right down the middle, and both arrows fell off the board.
He felt a smile tugging at his cheeks, wanting to be a grin, wanting more. But Father always said that Luke looked too childish; too, what was the word? Innocent. Too innocent.
"You're kidding me, right? Most kids'd be dancing around screaming that they'd beaten everyone! Even the most modest would want to tell people about it!"
Again, Luke felt the quiet swell. But he didn't answer except to smile.
Han made a few more attempts before Luke started yawning hugely. Han took the boy's arm and walked him to their new quarters, where Chewie already waited with his and Han's bags.
Luke listened silently as Han left his new room. He looked around at the bare walls. There was a bed, a small dresser, a couple of chairs. It looked so much like his room back home. But it wasn't. Home had memories. This place… this place had nothing. He stood up and opened one of the drawers in his dresser. Folded neatly inside were several rebel uniforms. He wondered where they'd gotten child-sized uniforms before remembering that many aliens were more his height. He closed the drawer and walked back to his bed.
He lay down on the soft, beige blankets. Silently, he tucked his arms around himself and started to cry. What would his father think of him now? He'd accepted that he would be living with the Alliance for the rest of his life. He'd been proud of himself for topping them at some silly game. And tomorrow, he would put on a rebel uniform so that his Imperial one could be washed.
A knock came suddenly at the door.
Luke didn't answer. His father never knocked. He always came in, no matter what. He looked at the door and tried to imagine his father bursting through the door. He couldn't. He'd forgotten how his father's cape was attached around his shoulders. He closed his eyes again and tried to remember, the sobs coming harder, and more frequently.
The door opened. Han walked in and blinked at Luke's small form, snuggled on the bed.
"Are you all right, Kid?"
Luke moaned pathetically.
"It's all gonna be all right." Han promised. "What's wrong?"
"I w-want my f-father." Luke moaned.
"I know, Kid. I'm sorry."
"I've n-never been away from him o-overnight."
Han stared. "Never?"
"Not since I was tiny."
He'd taken a little kid away from his daddy for the first time in his life. Luke sniffled again. "What do you mean, not since you were tiny?"
"I lived with my aunt and uncle until I was about two." Luke explained. "Then my father found me. Well, his troops did. I d-don't even remember them."
"All these tears for a guy who doesn't even let you show your face in public?" Han asked, stroking the child's tears away.
Luke looked at Han sadly for a moment before shaking his head. "I always cry myself to sleep."
"Always? That's not healthy."
Luke sniffled. "I figure it can only be an improvement on the alternative."
"And what's the alternative?"
"I could love the pain I've caused during the day, like the Emperor. Or I could not care, like Father. And I-I do kind of know that father doesn't treat me right. I mean, when I was tiny, I remember wanting attention, and him not being willing to give it to me. Then I'd go to bed, and I'd cry for my aunt. I don't even remember her. I just know her name from all the times I've cried it."
Han wrapped his arm around the child's body, "What's her name?"
"Aunt Beru. I don't even know her last name. Father wouldn't let me within ten miles of any information about them."
"Beru?"
Luke sniffed again, and nodded, "Yeah. Beru."
"You think you'd recognise her last name if I said it? 'Cause there's a Beru around here who lost her nephew about nine years ago."
Luke looked up at Han, his face hopeful, "Really?"
"Yeah, should I call her?"
"Yes please!" Luke exclaimed.
"Don't get your hopes up, Kid. I could be totally wrong."
Luke nodded, but his excitement was still bubbling. He might finally meet the person he'd cried for as a little kid!
Han left the room, and returned a few minutes later with a kind looking woman with short, light brown hair.
She knelt on the floor before Luke. Luke bit back a sob. He didn't recognise her. He'd always thought he would recognise his aunt if he were to meet her again. But the woman kneeling at his feet was a stranger.
"Luke Skywalker?" That was his name. His full name, which he almost never heard.
Luke blinked back hopeful tears and nodded.
"Do you remember me?"
Slowly, Luke shook his head.
"I'm your aunt."
"I know."
"Are you all right, Luke?"
"I don't remember the last time I spent a night away from my father. I'm kind of homesick." He admitted.
"It'll get better."
"Thanks." He didn't feel particularly comforted, but it seemed like the right way to answer.
She stood up, and sat on the bed next to him. Han quietly sidled out, unnoticed. She ran her hands through his blonde hair.
"Has Daddy been treating you well, Luke?"
Luke shrugged.
"You really miss him?"
"Yes."
"Do you want to go back to him?"
"In some ways. But I kind of love it here too." Frankly, Luke's emotions were confusing him. He wanted his father desperately, but he didn't want to leave Han, Chewie, and this woman who might be his aunt behind.
"Well, if you have the opportunity to go back to him, I doubt you'll have to make the choice."
Beru pulled back the covers and carefully slipped Luke under them. Luke sighed tiredly and closed his blue eyes.
She stayed with him, stroking his back and speaking gently to him until he was asleep, and had been for quite some time.
Then she stood, and left the room.