"Luke?" Beru Lars ducked into the garage to see her nephew crouched in the dirt, his forehead furrowed in concentration as he attached a wing to his model X-wing fighter. "What are you doing?"
His head darted up. "Huh? Oh, I'm…I was just…I've finished my chores, Aunt Beru. I'm sorry!"
"Don't worry, Luke," she said as she ruffled his hair affectionately. "It's your birthday. You're entitled to a little free time. Just don't let your uncle see." She had meant it to be a joke, but Luke nodded solemnly. Sometimes that boy could be so serious! With a brief sigh, she pulled small package out of her pocket. "This came for you. Is it from a friend in town?"
Luke took the package from her and studied it intently. "No. No, I don't think so."
"Why don't you open it?"
Slowly, as if he were mired in a dream, Luke shook his head. "I'll read it in my room," he said quietly and walked away, leaving his model strewn around the garage. Beru shook her head as she began to pick up the pieces.
"That boy," she mused. It was so rare for him to ever be content with the here and now. He was a dreamer, just like his father had been.
Luke sat cross-legged on his bed and turned the envelope over in his hands. His name and address had been printed on the front in a spindly hand, but there was no return address. Realizing he'd been holding his breath, he took a moment to relax before opening it. Inside was an obviously old letter, and a datacard. He inserted the card into his datapad and read the message that scrolled through.
Luke
I wish you a very happy birthday, my boy. As you grow older, you will, I'm sure, think of your father quite often. There's not much I can tell you of him now, but I'm sure he would have wanted you to have this.
A friend
A friend? A friend who knew his father? Without giving that question another thought, Luke tore open the letter. This one was written in bold, firm handwriting, although it had started to fade with age.
Ami,
I miss you so much it hurts. I know it's cliched, but it's true. Obi Wan says that love is a light side emotion, but I can't believe something light could cause so much pain. I spend every waking hour counting the seconds until I can hold you again, until our son is born and I can hold you both. Have you decided on a name yet? I've been turning the name 'Luke' or possibly 'Lucas' over in my head. It means 'child of light', but interestingly enough, can also mean 'prince of darkness'. Our child will be a child of light, though. I can sense it. He will be like a beacon in the darkness descending on our universe.
Sometimes, Ami, I feel like this descending darkness will consume me, will consume all of us. You must promise me, my love, if it does, you won't look back. Take our child and run. Know that I always love you, and that I love our son even without having seen him. If I never see him, I will still love him more than I ever thought possible. And I will always be with you both, I swear, and both of you will always hold a place in my heart. I hope I haven't frightened you. I'm sorry.
I hate not being with you, not being able to protect you and Luke (can we name him Luke? Do you like it? It feels very right to me). I'm sure you're in no danger, but I'd feel better if I could see that for myself. But I'll be home soon, Ami, and we'll pick our life together back up again. And when Luke is born, I'll stay home with the two of you and we'll have our entire life together. I'm going to be a father, Ami! It's still hard to believe. I can see him in my head now—sun-bleached hair and tan skin from too much time outside. Blue eyes, like mine, but a small child, like you—oh, I know what you're thinking, and yes, you are tiny. And I'll train him as he grows and he'll help me bring justice to the galaxy. And you and I will never be parted again (I'm dreaming again—can you tell?). Soon as I get home, Ami. Soon as I get home, things will be better. I won't be so afraid of losing you, or of losing myself. We'll all be safe again. Give your belly a rub for me, to let the baby know I love him. I love you more than life, Ami, more than death, more than even the Force itself. You are my life. What more can I say?
I love you,
Ani
A tear rolled slowly down the bridge of Luke's nose and splashed onto the paper. He hurriedly wiped it away and stared, his eyes unfocused, at the paper in front of him. His father loved him! It said so in the letter, in the letter where he'd chosen Luke's name. He didn't understand all of it—the language was big and flowery—but he understood the feelings. His father was a good man, a loving man, who served the people even if it had taken him from his wife. His mother! And it said his father would always be with him, and that he'd always hold a place in his father's heart. And he would bring justice to the galaxy one day, just like his father wanted him to. He would be a hero! He would make his father proud when he grew up. When he was like his father.
Luke folded the letter again slowly, running his fingers over each crease. Even slower, he held the paper up to his face and inhaled its dull, clean scent. With a smile, he tucked it under his mattress, lay down, closed his eyes, and began to dream of the battles he would win one day.
Obi Wan Kenobi turned away from his window with a satisfied smile. The seed was planted. If the boy had merely loved his father before, he idolized him now. The Jedi hero, slaughtered before he'd even seen his son. Luke would have to be heartless to not want to avenge that. And if, one day, the truth were discovered, the image of the past would be too brilliant for him to equate it with the present. Of that, he was certain.