For the worldbuilding starting in this chapter for the rest of the fic, we all have Yelling in Space to thank, I had an absolutely AMAZING conversation with her that really helped this fic, I can't thank her enough for her wonderful ideas :D
Ben made clear signs that he wanted to talk to Luke over the next few weeks, as they headed coreward, but Luke did his utmost to avoid him. What Han had said about Ben being the reason for his aunt and uncle's deaths made him. . . uncomfortable. He could rationalise with himself that it was Vader's fault, all Vader, if he wanted revenge he should look to Vader, but. . . he still couldn't look him in the eye.
It was hard to avoid someone on a ship the size of the Falcon.
Fortunately, Han and Chewie seemed to pick up on the fact that he really didn't want to talk to Ben, and assigned him an endless list of tasks to busy himself with. It turned out that the two of them, despite extensive modifications, had been struggling for a while to keep the Falcon from sinking. It wasn't designed to be crewed by two people. Hell, it wasn't even designed for three.
Hence Luke's massive workload.
He was so exhausted that he tended to hit his bunk in the deckhouse after he was done with the day and pass out. But one night he tossed and turned and couldn't sleep. He just had an ache in his gut, an overwhelming feeling that something wasn't right.
Finally, he decided to have a walk around the deck to assuage his fears. The moonlight and sound of the waves had calmed him the first night; they ought to help now. It was soothing.
Only when he was up and headed for the bow did he realise he wasn't alone. Someone was already there.
It took him moments of squinting at the shadow to work out who it was. Ben. Of course.
A wind stirred slightly, and only then did Ben seem to notice him, turning his head to watch him.
"Hello, Luke."
Luke made to reply, but he didn't know what to say. Then another breeze came, and on it came a sound he never thought he'd hear. He had no idea what it was, but it was deep, mournful, ever so slightly threatening. The hair on the skin of his arms pricked up.
"What was that?" He tried to keep the edge of fear—uncertainty—out of his voice.
"A sea monster. The cirein-cròin, to be precise. They're common in waters nearer to Alderaan."
Ben said it perfectly calmly, but Uncle Owen had had that sort of deadpan voice. It was a good moment before Luke realised he wasn't joking.
"What?" Luke asked. His heart raced. "Sea monsters are real?"
"Of course. Do you think sailors are such superstitious folk for no reason? Plenty of their stories are nonsense, but there's always a grain of truth to legends. The job of a Jedi Knight was to mediate between humans and the creatures of the deep—Amidala and mankind. Before them, attacks weren't uncommon; now, they're incredibly frequent. Since the Jedi fell, there are whole regions only a rare few people's ships can cross because the creatures simply refuse to let them."
Luke had a sudden memory of Camie avidly describing a story about Vader and his supposed magical sea powers. "I don't suppose Vader is one of them?"
"Why do you think the Empire's stranglehold on trade has been so successful? If the only one who can travel traditional trade routes is one of their own, the Empire can force people to go elsewhere—making merchants easier to police. The Jedi were vital to healthy trade."
Luke frowned. "I thought Jedi were warriors of justice. I never heard them as anything else.."
"Common myth and folklore. We were blessed by Amidala herself, Luke. I assure you, we were much more than that."
Luke didn't know what to say to that. He pursed his lips as he leaned against the bow.
That strange, mournful call came again—only now it sounded downright threatening.
He said as much, and Ben frowned. "Yes—we're heading through one of the monster regions now."
Luke's throat was dry. "I don't suppose this is the route you mentioned earlier, the one Han didn't wanna take?" According to Han, ships along there never reached their destination, if they even came back at all. Even if it was faster, he'd said, he didn't have a death wish.
"Yes," Ben said calmly. "I adjusted the course after Captain Solo went to sleep. We should be at Alderaan in two days."
"You did what?" Luke took a step back. "You're going to kill us all for speed?"
"We won't die," Ben insisted. "I am a Jedi. I know these waters, and these creatures know me. They won't attack."
Now that Luke knew what it was, the creature sounded very aggressive indeed—and he had the sudden premonition that it was headed straight for him. "Are you sure? It feels like pretty damn close to attacking to me."
"Then calm it," Ben said. His face was still perfectly straight.
"What? How?"
"Stretch out with your feelings."
"How am I supposed to do that?"
"You are the—" Ben cut himself off very suddenly, and Luke was left to wonder what he'd meant to say. "You and the sea are connected. That includes its creatures. There's a thread between you; follow it, and calm the beast."
"But how are we connect—"
"Just do it, Luke, before it attacks."
That was a good incentive. Luke felt the wind pick up as he squeezed his eyes shut, unconsciously reaching out his hand. With his mind, he imagined the boat—he could feel it rocking underneath him well enough—then the sea he could hear lapping at the sides. And then into the sea, where—perhaps imaginary, perhaps real—fish swam in the depths. A little way out, and there was something bigger, and bigger. It went on and on. . .
When he touched it, it seemed to buck at the contact, something like shock twanging back down the metaphorical thread and into a part of his mind he'd never used before. He harnessed the shock, clamped down on it—don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you, I don't want you to attack us. . .
It's you, he got back, as well as flashes of images and feelings—blue black shadow silver blue black dark black dark her friend child light bright warm—with a sort of clumsiness that spoke of a skill not used in a long time. It's you.
It's me, Luke agreed, not sure what he was agreeing to. Will you attack us?
It's you, the reply came, and then he felt the creature swim away, and the connection was broken.
Luke open his eyes, to realise how heavily he was leaning against the prow. He pushed himself off and his head spun. He would've collapsed were it not for Ben's hand on his shoulder, keeping him upright.
"Well done, Luke," he said. "Now, easy. Using sea magic for the first time always leaves you a little dizzy—you'd better go to bed."
"Sea magic? What—"
"Go, Luke." Ben gave a wry smile. "Before Solo wakes up and thinks you had something to do with the course change."
So Luke staggered away, shelving his questions for another day. They fled his mind the moment his head hit the pillow.
They reached Alderaan two days later, and it was cold.
Logically, Luke knew he came from a very hot, sunny climate, and that sailing for this long would probably get him out of that climate, but still. It was cold.
And were those mountains he could see in the distance? Was that snow on them?
Once they'd docked, Luke just stared. He was vaguely aware of Han jumping to tie the ship up, of Ben wandering off the ship and into the city, of Chewie muttering to himself in Shyriiwook, but he was too busy staring.
Sure, he'd seen Tatooine as they left harbour, seen what it looked like from the sea, with the boats laid out on the horizon like his wooden models on the edge of a blanket, but that wasn't what this was. This was real.
And Alderaan was so much bigger than Tatooine.
The capital city sprawled all along the coast, as far as the eye could see. Every inch of land leading up to those faraway mountains had been built on, wrestled and tamed. Already, he could tell that the bustle of Alderaan's ports was greater than Tatooine's by tenfold; here and now, he was fairly sure he could see more people in one moment than he'd ever seen in his whole eighteen years of life.
And of course, he'd known that Alderaan was much bigger, much colder, much more central to the known world than Tatooine was. He'd known it, but never fully understood it to this moment.
It was breathtaking. It was—
His thoughts were cut off by Han's quiet swearing.
"What?" Luke asked, wandering up to him at the helm. Han was peering down at the docks and scowling.
"See that man? With the fancy wig and long tailcoat? That's an Imperial official." He scowled harder. "The moment he notices us as new arrivals, he's gonna come up and demand we hand over a few credits to dock here."
"So?"
"So," Han dragged out the word, "he's gonna ask for credits we don't have. And he's gonna want us to give him a name—for the ship and the captain."
A name for the ship. Given to an Imperial. Just after they'd escaped pursuit by an Imperial vessel.
He swallowed. "Well, what do you usually do when you dock here?"
"Usually it's not Imperial officials coming to register us," he grumbled. "Alderaanians used to be hard to bribe because the economy was so damn good they didn't need to take bribes, but not anymore. They've been having ongoing food shortages for years. I had an arrangement with the last harbourmaster. He always let me dock here for free, so long as I docked so the Falcon's name was hidden by a jetty or something."
"Then do that."
"I have done that, kid—but what's the use if they're gonna check anyway?"
Luke frowned. "If you like, I could put my name on the list. Technically I'm a part of the crew—" I hope. "—and it's not like Vader or anyone knows my name yet."
"A generous offer, Luke," a crisp voice said. Luke turned—Ben was back, from wherever he'd scurried off to when they'd docked. "However, you no longer need to worry about that, fortunately enough."
Han narrowed his eyes at him. "Yeah? And why not?"
"I said you would be paid when we reached Alderaan." Ben reached for his belt—for a small pouch of money that hadn't been there before. He tossed it to Han. "Here you go."
Han's eyebrows shot up as he opened the pouch and peered inside, at the astronomical number written on the coin he pulled out.
He tucked the pouch away into his pocket. "Nice doing business with you, old man." He jerked his chin to Luke. "Come on, kid—let's go bribe the officer then get some fresh supplies. Chewie'll keep watch." Chewie shouted his assent.
"I've already bribed the official," Ben told them. "You can go straight to the market."
Luke noticed some sort of tension in Ben's face at that, but Han just nodded. He didn't seem like one to turn down a gift.
"Alright then," he said, then sketched a mocking bow. "It's been a pleasure, Kenobi, but after you introduce Luke to this mystery person you keep harping on about, I hope I never see you again."
"Han!"
"What?" He just shrugged. "It's true. You coming?"
Despite himself, a smile crept across Luke's lips. "Yeah," he said. "I'm coming."
Obi-Wan didn't mind bribes. He didn't mind bribing people. But he had something against bribing Imperials.
Just watching the fluffed-up beanpole stalk off with the credits Bail had generously given him put a sour taste in his mouth. But he had to concede, switching his gaze to the boys as they cut through the crowd, that it had been necessary.
If Luke had put his name on the registry. . . If Vader had somehow got ahold of it, found out who Luke was. . .
He shivered, and not just because of the bitter cold. His old friend already terrorised the seas as it was with Padmé locked away from her power. If he found Luke, twisted him to serve the Empire too. . . Well, Luke's natural powers and blessings would be just as effective for evil as they were for good.
Yes, he resolved, the weight in his stomach somehow becoming heavier instead of lighter. It had been necessary.
The world wouldn't survive Vader. Not when he was armed with the son of the sea goddess herself.
The metal sign marking the local blacksmith's shop creaked in the wind; it had caught Luke's attention the moment they strolled into the market, and had held it ever since.
Once, a customer had come out. Just before the door swung shut, he'd caught a glimpse of racks upon racks of good quality swords, glinting in the light. The cutlass at his side grew heavy.
He wanted a new sword—he needed one. Needed one that didn't look Imperial, that he hadn't gained by killing someone. He had the money on him; surely Han would indulge him, just this once?
Most of the more expensive swords on display were flashier, with more pomp and decorum than Luke was looking for. They reminded him of something out of a storybook—traditional Alderaanian knights, perhaps?—or a warrior culture long dead. But they were expensive, and not what he was looking for.
That was fine. It meant the simple ones were cheaper, and he ended up getting a good quality blade for what little money Han had given him.
When he came out, his step was lighter. At least, until he almost walked into someone.
"Hey! Watch where you're going!"
"I'm sorry!"
The person he'd bumped into—a girl about his age, with brown hair in two buns and a flowing dress that put the feathers on a gull's back to shame—blinked at the sincerity. Then she shook her head.
"Sorry I snapped," she apologised herself. "It's just—this market—"
"I'm not used to it either," he confessed. "I'm not from around here; I've never seen this many people in one place."
"Yeah, well, I live here." She snorted as Luke gently manoeuvred them away from the entrance to the blacksmith's, so they weren't blocking the person who tried to get in. "But I don't get out of the house much. It's depressing, seeing how desperate people are, and how few wares they have left to sell."
Luke didn't really have a response to that—although he had to relate to the depressing part; Tatooine had had its fair share of famines too—so he just shrugged. Searching for something to say, he offered lamely, "I'm Luke."
He wasn't expecting the flash of recognition that flitted over her face, nor the way her eyebrows were raised ever so slightly as she offered him her hand. "Leia."
Luke couldn't hide his own recognition as he took her hand and squeezed it gently. The odds of her being called that—and recognising his name—
Leia laughed—that had been exactly what she'd been waiting for.
"I don't suppose you know someone called Padmé Naberrie?" she teased lightly.
A half-smile twisted his lips. "I've had a few letters from her, yeah. My mother."
"Our mother," she corrected. "I've had letters from her too, you know." They surveyed each other for a moment; Luke realised they were still holding hands, but he didn't want to let go. And neither, apparently, did Leia.
There was a warm feeling in his chest. He didn't want it to die.
Leia tilted her head slightly; her words were wistful. "So you're Luke."
"And you're Leia," he countered. He shook his head, slightly bashful. "I've heard so much about you."
"Likewise." There was another pregnant pause, then Leia shook her head as well. "We're twins."
A laugh escaped him at the thought. "Yeah." A heartbeat, then— "We don't look anything alike."
"No," she agreed. "You're much more tanned—where are you even from?"
"Tatooine."
"Ah. So what are you doing here?"
That warm feeling chilled instantly. "I— uh." He swallowed. "My uncle's forge was attacked; my aunt and uncle were killed. I barely escaped."
"Oh." Leia didn't seem to know what to say to that. "I'm sorry. Did you mean to come and find me, or—"
"Oh, no," he laughed. "I had no idea where you were. We just came because we had a run in with Vader at Mindor and needed somewhere to stop for supplies."
Leia's smile dropped instantly. "Vader?" She sounded tense—worried. "He's after you? Why?"
"I don't know," he admitted, letting his shoulders droop. He must have looked even more dejected than he thought, because the alarm in her gaze melted to sympathy. "I just know we barely outran them at Mindor, and only because I had a friend on his ship who cut us loose." He shook his head. "I can't stop thinking about what happened to him."
"I'm sure he's fine," Leia offered, but the words rang hollow. They both knew they weren't true. "I mean—"
"Hey, kid," Han chose that moment to butt in, coming up behind Luke with his arms laden. Luke jumped, quickly whirling to face him. "You got any supplies yet? And who're you?" He squinted at Leia.
She seemed to draw herself up at the tone, looking down her nose at him as best she could when he was at least a foot taller than her.
"Leia Organa," she said, voice clear and frosty. Luke jolted again.
Han was equally surprised. "Organa? As in Governor Organa?"
"He's my uncle, yes," she replied, still in that aloof voice, though some of the ice faded from it as she turned back to Luke. "I'm sure he could provide you housing and employment if you needed it."
"Really?"
"Hey, the kid's already got employment," Han interjected. "It might not make much money at the moment, but the Falcon's the fastest ship in the sea. We'll be making our fortunes any day now."
"You want me to stay with you?" Luke was wide- and starry-eyed at the thought. A job sailing the seas, under the sky. . . That was all he'd ever wanted. "Even after. . ." He glanced at Leia. ". . .everything?"
"We've all got prices on our heads." Han shrugged. "Why not? You're pretty good in a fight. We could use you." He leaned in conspiratorially. "And Chewie kinda likes you."
Luke could feel the grin spreading over his face. "Alright," he said. "Alright."
Han clapped him on the shoulder. "Great, kid. Now go get those supplies. You gotta pull your own weight around here."
"I will," Luke promised, then Han sauntered off with one last lacklustre glare shot at Leia.
Luke swallowed as he turned to his sister. She was watching him carefully. "You're leaving again?"
"I want to sail," he said simply. "And I don't think we'll be leaving for a few days. We could meet up, maybe, in that time? And write to each other after that?"
Leia was still watching him closely—it unnerved him, the way she seemed able to strip anyone down to their core and interpret whatever she saw. But then she smiled. "Alright," she accepted, though the words were still tinged with disappointment. "I get it: you want to sail. Mother mentioned in her letter that you were interested in the sea." She hugged herself, like she was cold, and glanced away—in the direction he knew the sea was in. "I am too."
And they both felt it, then: that pull to the wildness, to the depths, to explore the edges of the world. To taste the wind, grip the rigging, shout to all the skies until they were hoarse in the throat.
But Leia was the governor's adopted niece; Luke was an orphan with some good friends. One of them had privilege. The other had freedom.
"I'll see you at some point before we go," he promised
She lifted her chin, the beginnings of a smirk on her lips. "Swing by the governor's house. I'll let you in. Maybe show you about the town a bit as well?"
"Will do." He held out his hand; she took it, and squeezed tightly. "See you around, little sister."
"I'm older!"
The tough claw of a comm hawk curled round her thumb tightly. The birds were much heavier than most would expect from their size, but she was familiar with them. Working with them was her job here. It didn't surprise her in the least.
They were the most reliable form of messaging in the Empire, of course. The sleek black and white birds could fly much faster than any vessel could sail; if trained right, they could go anywhere in the world, deliver any message.
Imperial spies such as herself made great use of them—especially in urgent situations of highly sensitive information.
This certainly constituted.
She hadn't quite been able to believe her eyes when she saw it. Obi-Wan Kenobi, on Alderaan? One of the most popular trading ports in the Empire? Turning to Bail Organa for help? He was either insane or desperate—or both.
Either way, it was something her Master would love to know about.
So she tied the message to the hawk's leg, then held out her arm for it to take flight.
As it soared away, she felt the tiniest tinge of regret at the betrayal of her old friend. Then she shook it off.
There were bigger things at stake here than one friendship. Geonosis and its rebellion had been pacified; Alderaan was next. One man was inconsequential compared to everything else she was fighting for.
Nevertheless, Ahsoka Tano stood on the beach long until the surf rolled around her ankles and the hawk had disappeared into the sunset.
Obi-Wan was in Bail's manor house, still in the midst of discussing Luke's situation with his old friend, when the attack bells began to ring.
Bail went pale, peering out the window that overlooked the sea, then stopped breathing altogether.
"It's Vader," he confirmed grimly, his voice faint. "He's come for us."
In hindsight, it had been a blessing that Han had docked them in one of the smaller docks to avoid attention, and not the main one. It meant that when Alderaan's system of beacons and bells started sounding danger, they actually had a chance of escape.
"Don't worry about the fancy arrangements, kid, just throw it in the hatch!" Han shouted as Luke took the gangplank at a run—ill-advised, perhaps, but Han knew it was necessary. The boy was afraid. "Then c'mon and help us get outta here." He threw a glance at the horizon—no Imperial vessels in their path. Yet.
"It's just lucky Chewie's already got us ready to sail," he muttered. Only to jerk at Luke's boyish shout.
"What about Ben? We can't leave him! And Leia!"
"Her Highnessness is the governor's niece—"
"So she'll be a target!"
And not one I want on my ship, Han thought, but didn't say. It wouldn't be worth the argument with Luke.
"Alderaan's always been stupid about the Empire, they'll have expected an attack, maybe even got her out," he shouted back. "Now get to the capstan and help Chewie bring up the anchor, we need to—"
"What about Ben?"
"We were planning on ditching that old fossil anyway, this doesn't change anything," he snapped. It was true—and the only reason he'd wanted to keep Luke on was because the kid was good in a fight so if he didn't shut up and get to fighting—
"No! He's in trouble!" Han saw Luke lose his footing as Chewie dumped the anchor on board and the boat lurched away from the harbour—the kid hadn't got his sea legs back yet. But they were on their way now. "Turn the ship around!"
"Shut up, kid, and get the sails down we ain't got any time to waste!" The fore sail was already down, billowing in the wind, but they needed the mizzen sail too if they'd ever hope to outrun the Imperial fleet. Not to mention—
The wheel rattled as it spun; Han grimaced as he caught it, palms stinging. The wind was against them—severely against them—and if they didn't do some real fancy sailing here they wouldn't make it past the horizon.
He almost shouted when Luke's voice sounded again, right next to him—now was not the time. "Turn the ship around!" he insisted, trying to grab for the wheel. Han batted him away easily. Luke scowled. "We have to help—"
"Look, kid," Han growled, shoving his head forward so he towered over him. "Kenobi's a smart man—a pretentious, posh, irritating one, but smart. He'll have hopped on the nearest ship, or hidden in the mountains, or something. And that Princess or whatever she was of yours will have a contingency plan in place. But if we go back, right now, instead of running and lying low in the Outer Rim? We'll all die. Vader will slaughter us. And you'll have killed us all with your stupid brand of heroics."
Luke jerked back as if he'd been hit. Han paid him no mind.
"So get up onto the yards, and bring down the mizzen sail," he ordered, voice hard. He was sick of this kid, sick of wanting to go soft on him, sick of the guilt that sprung up when he didn't. Sick of Chewie's disapproving stares as well. "Or Vader will catch us anyway."
Luke drew in a shaky breath. "Yes, sir," he spat, then scampered off. Han tried to ignore the pang in his chest.
It certainly became easier to do once the mizzen sail was down and they were finally starting to gain some distance on the fleet. Funny, Han had to muse, but didn't consider for very long: The moment Luke had agreed and unfurled the sail, the winds had swept in behind them, carrying them far, far away from the burning port.
Obi-Wan took a deep breath as his hand inched towards his sword. It wasn't the grand, embellished one he'd carried in his days as a Jedi Knight—that was long rusted away, along with his youth and Anakin's soul. He hadn't been any been able to bear looking at sword he'd given Luke or his own, and the fallible metal had paid the price.
This sword was a simple one, bought from Owen's forge before the man had hated him quite so much, and its unfamiliarity in his hand helped, in a way. It lacked the past that all of this was building up to.
Because Bail and Breha had fled the townhouse, likely to their death if Vader had blockaded the city. Young Leia had been sent out in a small sailing vessel to try to get her to safety. Leaving only Obi-Wan in the city.
He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. He could hear Vader coming closer—the uneven gait, the rhythmic clack of the wooden leg Obi-Wan had given him against the ground. He was coming. Destiny was coming. There was no escaping it—or him.
So Obi-Wan lifted his sword, well aware of the Alderaanians peering out of their windows and shutters down on the street below. If this was his last fight, he would fight for them.
And for Luke.
He only hoped Solo had got him out of the port in time.
He allowed himself a moment to mourn the years lost with Luke. The lessons he would never get to teach him, the past he hadn't even begun to explain—and the family he'd never known. But then Vader stalked around the corner, into the deserted street, and Obi-Wan banished all thoughts of Luke from his mind.
This was it. Their final showdown.
But Vader didn't seem interested in killing him just yet. He tensed when he laid eyes on him, a snarl twisting his handsome face, but there was no surprise. And the murder he saw there was. . . contained. Suppressed. Controlled.
For now, at least.
He just loped forward, surprisingly deft and mobile with his wooden leg, and stopped just a little out of range of Obi-Wan's sword.
Then he asked, "Where is he?"
There was a cold, cold pit in Obi-Wan's stomach. "Where is who?" he asked carefully.
Vader's eyes flashed. He lunged forwards, drawing his sword in one motion and levelling it at Obi-Wan's throat. "Where is he."
"I'm afraid," Obi-Wan insisted, eyeing the sword at his throat with distaste, "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."
With a roar, Vader swung again; Obi-Wan parried, and held the blade there.
"Where. Is. My. Son."
It is Luke. How had he found out? The records on Tatooine?
It didn't matter. It didn't matter, because now all Obi-Wan could do was stall. He owed Luke that much—and he owed Padmé even more.
"I'm afraid I don't know who you're talking about," he affected, stepping back as Vader swung again, and again, and again. "Padmé's child survived the birth?"
"Do not say her name!" Vader was less swinging now, and more thrashing; his sword was a blur in his hands, the hits like hammer blows. Nicks were starting to cut into Obi-Wan's blade. "And don't lie!"
The words were almost tearful, Obi-Wan registered. The ripping in his heart distracted him enough that when he hit a rut in the road, he tripped. And he fell.
Vader smacked his sword out of his hand. It clattered away, far out of his reach, and Obi-Wan couldn't summon it back. He was no deity: the only skills he had were those Amidala had chosen to bestow upon him, and nothing more.
"You may have been the greater warrior once, Kenobi," Vader seethed, "but now I am the Master. And you will tell me what I need to know, or die." He raised his sword above his head. "Where is my son? Where is Luke?"
Obi-Wan closed his eyes. He refused to think about the blade that shone in the noonday sun. He refused to think about the way Vader's voice broke on Luke's name. And he certainly refused to think about the pain that had flitted across Vader's face as he made his final threat.
His eyes were still closed when he whispered, "I'll never tell you," and the sword came crashing down.
