Chapter Four

The kitchens were hot and smoke filled. The Zygerrians seemed to like meat cooked over a flame and the heat of it made Luke sure that he could see heat lines, something he only kinda remembered from his time on Tatooine. Slaves worked the spits and the fires, burns cascading up their arms and faces from the sizzling fat that spat back at them.

He was quick and nimble and that served Luke well. He watched closely as they showed him how to place dishes down so that the meal made sense and how to fix small problems that might occur. The squeeze of a certain fruit or a flick of salt that he was to carry on him at all times.

They made the food spicy and they gave the slaves gruel. One of the Zygerrian chefs, a make called Bogdan gleefully boasted that it was always easy to tell which slaves stole food from what came out of them the next day.

There were whispers that the last time it had happened, the slave had been roasted on the fire and served up as meat for the others.

Luke was certain it wasn't a joke. Across from him, an old Twi'Lek male dipped his head and stared at nothing as he stoked the fire, radiating sorrow.

At night, when the kitchens had been cleared down and mostly emptied (there were always some in there to wait in case any of the head Zygerrians wanted anything), they were lead to the cellars underneath where it was freezing at night. More often than not, at least two people were sick from the sudden temperature change, especially at the beginning.

Vomiting was a waste of water though, everyone knew that.

It unnerved him how much came back to him. Tattoine survival lessons, even if they had been brief or mainly given to him via lectures from Uncle Owen. His own memories of time being shipped around from crew to crew and needing to be useful and find a way of being liked.

It was early when he was yanked up from the stone floor, feet skidding frantically as he blinked sleepily up at the Zygerrian female who studied him in the dim light.

"How has he been?" she asked.

Luke blinked and then squinted, trying to work out if it was the same female that had sent him to the kitchens days ago.

"He'll do," Fyodor said reluctantly. The Zygerrian looked almost a little peeved at the situation. "Boy learns quick. And he's quiet."

Luke glanced back at the female. As if sensing him, she turned her gaze back to him and they stared at each other.

Then she hit him.

He couldn't really move his head with the blow given that she was holding him by the scruff of the neck. Her clawed fingers almost cupped one side of his jaw and she didn't let him dodge or go with the blow. Pain erupted and he heard the sickening noise of flesh meeting flesh and his bone.

"Do not stare at your betters," she scolded. Then huffed. "He will not look as pretty now."

When Luke snuck a peek, Fyodor looked as bemused as he felt. "Perhaps we should limit blows to places where it will not affect the aesthetics."

The Zyggerian female hummed at that. "Come," she said, finally letting him go.

Luke scampered behind her, taking care not to tread on any of the people that were pretending to still be sleeping. Then they exited the cellars and went up a winding staircase that made the female swear under her breath.

They exited through a hidden door, one that blended perfectly with the square patterned design that seemed to run through the palace up above. Then Luke was in a long open hallway with great columns and golden everything, accented with blue.

The floor was smooth under his bare feet and at times became mosaics that probably depicted some scene from Zygerrian history which Luke would have stopped to peer at but kinda guessed wouldn't be wise. Their pace was brisk and the female was in a terrible mood.

She took him to a smaller door that was hidden about two minutes away. Inside, Luke blinked at the bath tub that sat in the centre, filled with water that looked like it had already been used.

"Strip," the female ordered. "You cannot go like that before the heads and the Queen."

Shrugging, Luke stripped off the ragged shirt and trousers that they had given him and hopped into the cold bath. Shivering a little, he took the thick, clay like soap that was handed to him and did the best he could. There was a moment of panic when someone dipped his head under, but then they started to scrub at his hair too.

Within ten minutes, he was out again, dressed in clear, simple clothes and having his hair rubbed dry.

"It is bruising," Fyodor complained as he turned Luke's face to the light. He at least was slightly careful to not press on the most painful parts. "You think it is broken, boy?"

Luke shook his head. Fyodor didn't look convinced, but left it alone.

"Does it still smell?" the female asked.

A cloud of perfume was aimed at him, and Luke coughed and spluttered.

"You will follow the slaves today and mimic them. Watch them. Be as their slave," the female instructed. "The Queen likes to see humans serve her and those around her. You can do well at this."

Luke nodded, glancing around the room as she stepped away. There was a small rectangular window above him, but nothing useful.

A quick rap around his head refocused his attention, and he turned obediently.

He was led back through the huge hall and he risked a glance at the open end, but all he could see was the horizon and some ships taking off like dots moving across his vision. The palace had to be high up but at least he could see where ships were.

And now, he was going back to the kriffin' kitchens.

xxx

On this side of the kitchen was odd. They did a weird practise with kitchen masters and Luke felt that the female was watching him like he was prey.

He did as he was told.

Then, he was loaded up with dishes and following a Togruta woman. The plates were uncomfortably warm, but he had a feeling that any protests or attempt to relieve the burning pressure wouldn't be greeted well.

"Are we serving the Queen?" he whispered.

The female ahead of them heard and barked out a laugh. "You have not earned that honour yet. You serve her head of the families." She looked back at him. "You may be in her presence though as we go through. Do not look at her."

Yeah, he'd kinda learned that lesson.

It felt like an endless amount of steps to get to the top of the palace. And then the double doors, engraved with gold and rubies, opened.

They were in a sort of antechamber that led to a huge room beyond columns and veiled drapes. Beyond, Luke could see shadowed figures and he guessed that the Queen was being entertained in some way.

A table was being set up and Luke let the bowls be taken from him, trying not to sigh in relief.

"Come," the Togurta summoned him. "You will need to learn where it all goes."

And there was a lot to learn. Strange dishes and configurations. Wine and glasses and it all had to gleam.

Luke nearly jumped when the Zygerrians came through the veil, or rather one was pulled back like a curtain. He shot a panicked look around and then followed suit when the other slaves stepped back.

There were six of them all together and, beyond, the Queen sat at her own table with what Luke guessed were her favourites. There were two guards on either side of her.

Someone pinched his side. "Stop staring," the Togruta hissed in Luke's ear.

He nodded and dipped his head down low, hating how it pressed the collar to his skin and made him bare his nape. There was another tremor within him, but these were getting less and less.

The three other slaves around the table were attentive, pouring wine and accepting dishes from those who ran them up. And, as the wine flowed, the Zygerrians started to get a little freer with their paws, absently stroking a bare thigh or their arms disappearing under fabric.

Luke honestly didn't know what to think of it except that something felt wrong and uncomfortable.

After they had eaten, the men returned to the main room for further entertainment and the veils fell again, but this time some of the slave girls went with them. Luke sort of assumed that would be it, except, one by one, the guards came in to pick at the leavings.

The first guard was a Zygerrian himself, huge and muscled and miserable. He snapped at everyone and tore into the meat in a way that was kinda gross. The wine had been removed, but his eyes scanned each glass as if he were a dying man on Tatooine looking for water.

When he left, the Togruta relaxed, just a little, and started to clear a few more bits away. Sometimes, she'd glance at the veil with worry and at the shapes moving on the other side, but wouldn't let Luke spend too much time working out what was going on.

The second guard, when he came through much later was…human? And-

Luke froze.

His breath hurt and he felt horribly aware of everything that was happening around him and yet unable to interact with it. His breath was loud (everyone could surely hear how he was almost gasping over and over again) and he forgot how to move or the rules or-

The slap came out of nowhere and was nothing like before. It was a sharp rap to remind him where he was. "Enough," The Togruta said to him sharply. "Help clean."

Luke nodded and aimed for the part of the table furthest away from the man, ducking his head down to collect the dishes even as he pushed outward with the force.

It was like the man in front of him wasn't there.

"You know who I am?" the…his…the guard asked.

Luke ducked his eyes down, suddenly realising he'd raised them to stare again. Not knowing how to respond (if it was…why…) his thoughts jumbled everywhere and then he nodded.

He glanced again at the metal arm. He knew that arm. Had spent so many lazy mornings after Mom had gone to work just curled up next to that arm as they played a holo game or having that arm swing him up and high as they play wrestled.

Then the guard took the helmet off.

Luke ducked down under the table to start picking up scraps because he-

This wasn't real. This couldn't be real.

His hands trembled as he picked up the food, trying not to burst into tears.

Why hadn't he come home?

Under the table, Luke glared at the booted legs, as if it would help any. Then pushed with the force, determined to get past whatever shields his father was putting up.

There was almost a knocking in his mind and something-

Cuffs? The word and image was being pushed against his mind over and over and it made his head pound. He retched as silently as he could from the force of it all, but…

Luke slowly rose, keeping all that he had gathered and peeked once more.

Now that the mask was off, the collar was more visible. Thicker and more technical than Luke's. But his father looked well-groomed and healthy, unlike the other slaves. And he was being fed food for the heads and the Queen. He was staring at nothing, shovelling a heaped spoonful into his mouth and-

On his wrists there were cuffs.

His father's blue eyes suddenly snapped to his. "Don't let them catch you doing that," he said. Then his eyes darted to Luke's jaw. "Again," he added, shaking his head.

"How long have you been here?"

The question slipped out and Luke nearly bit his tongue off as he asked.

"Six or seven months maybe," his father said, surprising Luke a little that he even answered. "You?"

"A week," Luke whispered. Then laughter drifted over and he looked around, a little surprised to realise he was alone. The Togruta must have gone out into the main room. "Should I go out there?"

"No."

Luke nodded and then looked down again. Then back again, just in case it was a mirage or a sign of Luke going mad.

"Have we met?"

You left me.

You didn't come home.

You should know who I am

Why aren't you saving me?

The noises beyond the veil got louder and Luke stared at it, suddenly feeling as if he had lost the purpose his feet were meant for and was floating or unable to control his movements and he was…

Luke opened his mouth. Then shook his head.

Xxx

Luke stared at the bath water the next morning.

His hair was dark still, thought it wouldn't last long. He thought maybe he was a bit older looking now and he was definitely a little bit taller. And the bruise on his face had swollen his jaw and cheek and splashed vivid purples and greens across his skin.

He wasn't sure that he recognised himself.

"Get moving," the female snapped.

After the bath, he tried to reach out for Leia as he waited for some others to take their turns. She reached back, but was too far away for anything other than the sensation of closeness and comfort. For a moment, he pretended he was at home, whenever Mom had made it that month, and they were curled together as she tried to sing him bedtime songs because Leia was under the impression that no-one could so that as well as she could.

As he did errands, he realised that he was being woken at strange times. The cellar kept everything dark and murky and cold, so maybe he hadn't realised that they took slaves out at different times. Within days, his sleep pattern was a mess and he would lay awake for hours, trying to work it all out in his head.

On the third day, he relented.

When he reached out for Vader, the man responded instantly and the apartment as it usually was appeared, except it looked odd somehow. Like it could collapse away any minute.

"You are reckless and stubborn," Vader snapped at him, voice laced with fury.

"Why don't you know who I am?" Luke yelled back.

"I, am not Anakin Skywalker," Vader snarled. "I am not that weak, pathetic-"

Luke tried to push him away, but he was so scared of being alone that it barely did anything. Instead, he backed up against the wall and slid down, hiding his face in his knees.

"You need to leave him," Vader said after a moment. "And the others. Leave. Before they work out who you are."

"I don't care-"

"You can remove the collar," Vader snapped. "The second they realise who you are, they will bind you as they have him. Leave. Now."

Leave?

"I'm not you," Luke muttered.

The light faded from the apartment and they were back in its ruins. Vader stood, staring down at him and the air almost vibrated.

"This was stupid." Luke looked away and stared at the ragged curtains that flapped pathetically in the breeze.

"Why did you come here?" Vader asked, sounding like he hated the idea that Luke had even bothered.

"I wanted my…" Luke trailed off and hugged his knees tighter. "I don't know what to do," he whispered. Then, looking up as his eyes burned with tears, he stared at the mask. "What will he do if I tell him?"

Vader remained still. "I'd kill them all for daring to touch you."

Luke blinked, not sure what to do with that information. "And him?"

Vader snorted. "It is perhaps one of the only things we would agree upon," he said, his voice almost…softer.

Luke chewed at the inside of his mouth. "What if…what if I let you?"

"I will not risk your mind." Vader turned from him. "You will run and you will find a way to come back one day."

"You want to," Luke whispered. "You want to kill them all. I can feel it."

Vader turned. And for a second, Luke could almost see what Vader could do, had done. The bodies and screams and the power of it all-

"I am not entirely sure you would survive it-"

"I did before-"

"You have no concept of the rage I feel," Vader roared suddenly. "How much it takes to keep you here and from it. My son has been made a slave, my freeborn child, my only living child. Beaten and starved and worked and kept next to the foulest creatures to walk the earth and I cannot do anything." The walls started to shake and then-

Fire.

Luke looked around, not sure what was happening, only that there were screams and it was so hot it would burn and destroy everything.

For a second he saw-

Mom. Heavily pregnant, more than she'd ever been with Leia. And she was shaking her head and crying as a dark figure paced before her.

He pulled himself out of it and lay panting at the dark, cold wall. Alone.