A/N: I always liked that scene in ANH when Luke goes outside to watch the sunset – it must have been beautiful there…
Disclaimer: not mine. But still I share.
Once upon a Time, on the outskirts of a Town that resembled an Ulcer on the fair (he, he) face of a backwater Planet, there lived this Boy who sometimes went outside to dream away.
And he wanted to Grow Up, and Be Brave, and See the Stars. He even memorized all of the Constellations he saw, so that when the Time came, he'd be of some use to his Co-Pilot. He didn't really care about being stuck with the guns while others enjoyed themselves in the Cockpit.
The Boy had a good head for Electronics of any kind; he tried to program a Womprat once, just for the kicks of it. He succeeded, and had to fly a Fighter through the Beggar's Canyon to hunt the creature down, because his Uncle preached to him about Biohazards and Responsibility. (He also grumbled for ages about flowers for some weirdo by the name of All-Gear-None, whom the Boy wasn't acquainted with, but deduced that he must have suffered from a severe case of split personality. The Uncle didn't quite refute the hypothesis.)
His Uncle was a strange man indeed. He owned a moisture farm - a quixotic enterprise to pursue if you're a native of Tatooine – and yet he never ever watched the Sky at night, probably didn't know what hidden treasures waited for someone if they just looked. He used to say that two Suns were more than enough (and sometimes, when the Boy wasn't there, he said "two Suns in the Family" for some unfathomable reason).
There was also an Aunt, who loved the Boy dearly, and wished him only The Best, but still didn't allow him to enter the Imperial College. He could have got a decent Job, maybe even become a Captain of a Ship and earn his keep and respect, but she took this odd notion of Biohazards and Responsibility just this bit too close to her Heart, and grounded him. He forgave her. She let him visit the Old Hermit who lived at the edge of the Desert and argued with the Sandpeople about their traditional land use, his sanity, his ancestors, and just what he thought he was doing on a monthly basis.
The Hermit was quite fond of the Boy; he urged him to study and improve himself. He put a particular emphasis on physical training, as if the Boy didn't get his fair share at his Uncle's farm. (The Hermit himself was essentially jobless, but some people just can't stop lecturing.) There were times when he was difficult to understand, like when he muttered under his breath about someone who would be his Death and would it be a better idea if he kept the Girl, but otherwise he was harmless. The Sandpeople used his Cabin for target practise, and he never complained; he simply painted a white vaguely humanoid silhouette on his front door, and persuaded them to not take aim at it. That way his guests had at least a chance of escape before the Desert-Dwellers switched to hand-to-hand combat. (And they switch to hand-to-hand combat faster than you could say "Jedi". Just – trust me on this one.)
The Sandpeople knew the Beauty of the Stars.
Oh, they weren't aware of the Celestial Mechanics or the Hyperspace Paradoxes. They were primitive tribes that came and went seemingly at their leisure, Ruled by the Desert alone. They wronged, and avenged, and drank their enemies' blood to honour them (recycling, recycling), and never washed themselves, and – knew – the – Beauty – of – the – Stars –
And sometimes, the Boy felt as if they all shared a History.