Darth Vader and Son
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Their world rightfully belongs to their respective creators. I'm just tinkering with it a little/lot.
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This chapter is based off 2 pages in the book.
Chapter 4: Can We Keep It?
Luke was homesick.
Which was, in Darth Vader's opinion, absolutely ridiculous, for what child could possibly miss a miserable, desolate dustbowl that was scorched by not one, but two suns? Though, perhaps his time as a slave during his juvenile years skewed his opinion. The child that was Anakin, eons ago, had been attached to the place only for his mother throughout his Jedi training years. When his mother was killed (tortured, murdered by beasts for no reason, Vader snarledin his mind, old wounds reopening), all attachments were severed with brutal efficiency. Once he turned to the dark side, he only allowed himself to be consumed in rage at the remnants of the weakling Anakin that he saw embodied in the planet.
It was the discovery of his son, free, safe and alive, that caused his hatred for the planet to subside, if only slightly.
But it still did not mean he couldn't help the harsh dismissal of his son's request to visit his aunt and uncle.
"But da-ad, it's been ages!" Luke protested, tugging at his cape with a pitiful frown. "Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen pro'lly miss me heaps!"
Do not look into his eyes, Darth Vader reminded himself, steeling his resolve. The boy wasn't even directly related to the Lars! He told him as much, citing that as step-brothers, Vader was not related to Owen, and therefore Luke wasn't required to care for them at all. He turned back to his work on revaluating a treaty for loopholes. After a few minutes of unusual silence, he made the mistake of glancing at the boy.
Luke's eyes had filled with sorrowful tears and his lip was quivering. The Force seemed to tremble in sympathy around the boy.
"Does that mean they never loved me?" he sobbed, tears spilling over his reddening cheeks.
The Dark Lord of the Sith cursed the universe.
Which was how Vader ended up agreeing to head a raid to Jabba Desilijic Tiure's palace on Tatooine while his son was escorted by armed guards to the Lars homestead.
Luke felt warm and happy, hugging Aunt Beru around the shoulders as he was settled into her lap. His father's stormtroopers had set up a perimeter outside to give the Lars abode some privacy as well as diligently watching over their charge. Luke had been embarrassed at first to find himself crying into his aunt's apron, but felt much better when he saw that she was too. Uncle Owen, sitting across from him, had even shaken his hand like a grown-up and patted him on the back!
He wished his father was here, though. The man didn't seem to like his aunt and uncle very much.
But he didn't let that bring his mood down, chattering excitedly to his uncle and aunt on his many adventures, some greatly exaggerated in his enthusiasm. They let him speak, one with an indulgent grin and the other with gruff but no less happy smile. In the pauses where he stopped to breathe or drink from a glass of blue milk, they would ask questions. They were mostly on his father, though.
"Does your father feed you well?" Beru asked gently, smoothing his hair that had seemed to stand up on end in response to his excitement. Her strokes with a comb were soothing and familiar. "You've gained some weight, young man!"
Luke beamed, nodding his head frantically and taking a gulp of his glass of blue milk. "There's lots of food on the Exactor and dad lets me have sweets if I'm good, but not that many 'cause he says it'll make my teeth grow funny. But I really missed your giju stew!"
"'Course you did," Uncle Owen declared with pride, clapping the boy on the back in approval, "best giju stew on this side of the galaxy."
Beru blushed, and proceeded as if she hadn't heard anything, "Before you visit next time, send us a message, Luke. I'll make a nice big batch for you to take into space."
Luke agreed wholeheartedly. The day rolled by, with Luke running around the homestead and finding very little had changed, even his emptier room. Aunt Beru looked quite sad when he jumped onto his bed, though, so he quickly lead them around the back to place some flowers over his grandmother's grave. He wondered why his father didn't visit as well.
Later, Owen asked with frowning seriousness, "Your father hasn't tried to teach you anything you don't want to learn, has he?"
Luke was confused, copying his frown as he said, "You mean like the Force? I like the Force!"
"Owen!" Beru chided with a sharp nudge of her elbow. "Let the boy enjoy his time with his father."
Rubbing his side, Owen continued nonetheless, "If you ever feel uncomfortable, hurt or scared, you head on back over here, Luke. Don't care how, hell, steal a starfighter if you gotta. Do you understand me?"
"Yessir!" Luke barked, saluting like the 501st had taught him when replying to that question. He didn't think he'd ever feel that with his father, though, but if it made his uncle happy, he would agree.
Owen nodded in satisfaction, and ruffled the boy's meticulously flattened hair. He pretended to ignore his wife's chilling stare, but winced internally when she pulled out a comb from her pockets again with more force than usual.
"Excuse me, sir, ma'am," a stormtrooper – Russ, if Luke remembered his markings correctly – interrupted, "it is time for Luke to leave."
"Already?" whined Luke as Beru efficiently combed his hair again. "I don't want to."
"Don't worry, Luke," she soothed him, "you'll see us again before you know it."
"Go along to your father," Owen grudgingly agreed. "He probably has something much more exciting for you to look at than this old moisture farm."
Since Luke still looked mutinous, Russ added, "Your father has sent word on our coms that we can meet him at Jabba's Palace."
While Luke was gasping, Owen shot a disapproving glare at the clone. "That's a bit dangerous for a 4-year-old, trooper."
"It's completely deserted, sir," Russ pacified. "They were apparently warned."
"Humph. Imperials. Never getting anything done."
Luke paid no heed to his uncle's displeasure, swiftly kissing Beru on the cheek, hugging Owen's leg, and shooting out the door with a yelled, "Bye Aunt Beru, bye Uncle Owen!"
Russ was left staring at the space the boy had vacated, stunned by his speed.
"You better go after him," sighed Owen to the bemused Russ. "He'll run straight into trouble if you don't, then what'll your boss say?"
Russ knew exactly what Lord Vader would say; he ran out the door with a yelp.
"This is boring," Luke complained after the initial excitement of the palace's lavish interior wore off.
Commander Bow remained in a taciturn silence, keeping vigil over the boy as his fellow stormtroopers accompanied Lord Vader in a last-minute scan of the area upstairs. He knew the importance of the task the Sith Lord had assigned to him, but it still felt like he was just a glorified babysitter. A commander, successor of the famed Commander Appo, reduced to watching over a child in a seedy throne room that once held a notorious Hutt. At least the task was simple enough. One eye on the boy, another eye on the exits, blaster primed and ready, but set to stun just in case. Bow thought he detected movement to the side, near the abandoned food platters, and turned to investigate –
"Gaaah!" Luke suddenly yelled, followed by the sound of a thump.
Whirling around, Commander Bow felt his heart seize and slam into his throat when the boy was nowhere to be found.
"Luke?!" he yelled, swinging his blaster up and scanning the room. "Come on, little guy, don't play any tricks on me!"
There was a pitiful moan. Bow's eyes lit on the partially-opened pit on the floor. Oh no. Oh nononononono – kriff!
The roar of the rancor shook the building.
Lord Vader was going to eviscerate him.
"What."
Commander Bow tried to remain standing straight at attention when Darth Vader loomed over him. The Sith Lord had already dispensed with questioning inflections, stating his words with deathly rage. The clone did not attempt to repeat his explanation like so many incompetent officers before their execution; he knew Lord Vader had listened to every word he'd said. The tightening pressure he felt around his windpipe was not enough to make him choke, but a clear sign of impending death nonetheless.
He'd attempted to call down to the boy once he snapped out of his shock with military efficiency, even leaning into the rancor pit in desperation. He'd seen a limp – not lifeless, please not lifeless – body on the skeleton-ridden floor, but before he could jump down and attempt a swift rescue, the rancor lumbered into view. When he'd been met with a mouthful of teeth, he attempted some blaster shots but ceased when he realised that due to the cavernous nature of the pit, the shots could ricochet into the boy. That would have guaranteed him a much longer death.
He'd retreated on shaking legs, and commed for reinforcement. Perhaps the boy was not eaten just yet? Did rancors like live, struggling prey, in order to play with its food?
Darth Vader had just happened to enter the throne room in the instant that thought entered his mind.
Commander Bow had snapped to attention and explained what happened in quick, to-the-point sentences that he knew the man appreciated. To his pride, his voice only shook slightly. His men surrounded them; if he was to go down, he would do so with dignity. Unreadable behind his mask, Vader turned his head towards the rancor pit. The seasoned troopers surrounding them recognised the concentration in that movement, a sign of his feared and respected supernatural powers in the works. For a moment, no one moved or dared to breathe.
Snap-hiss went his crimson lightsaber.
"You are lucky that he is still alive," Vader addressed Bow, his voice barely controlled as he placed his lightsaber close to the commander's neck. Red filled his stormtrooper helmet's vision. "It is a pity. I was rather fond of you, Commander."
"Yes sir." Bow merely saluted, knowing it was pointless to plead when he had failed so spectacularly. He braced himself.
Before the blade could descend, a little voice echoed out from the pit.
"Oww, my head…" Luke moaned dolefully, unaware that his voice caused all the men to freeze above him. He blinked into consciousness.
And blinked again; he must be dreaming. All he could see were teeth in a large, lumpy face, deeply lined and not at all human. It took a moment, but Luke recognised it from 100,001 Beasts of the Outer Rim Territories: Interactive Hologram Edition his father had given him. A rancor: a giant cari-caniv-orus lizard-mammal. He then noticed that he was held in one of its huge, clawed hands, the flat face right in front of his. Strangely, there was an earring in one of its ears. It didn't look very happy, though.
"Hello!" Luke greeted, smiling brightly.
"Luke," Vader hurriedly sought to assuage his son before he could surely scream in horror, "do not move. Try not to make any sound. I will get you out of there at once."
"Hey dad!" Luke immediately shouted back. "I found a rancor! Can we keep it?"
Malakili, the beast's keeper, had stayed behind as he was unable to part with his beloved rancor. He'd shakily explained to Darth Vader that the rancor, having been isolated for years, probably thought Luke was an infant version of the species, causing it/her to place him on her back in a typical nursing way. Luke rode on the beast's back, unconcerned with his father's and stormtroopers' stares, happily hugging the – was it crooning? – rancor's neck. Malakili then went on to explain that the rancor was a rather maternal creature, though they had been known to eat their young at times.
He let out a nervous laugh.
Vader was not amused.
He'd kept his lightsaber ignited and proceeded to point it at the sweating man.
"Where are its weak points?" Vader demanded.
The keeper let out an incoherent whimper.
"Dad!" Luke yelled, ignoring his father's previous advice to keep quiet in case he aggravated the beast. He hugged the rancor tighter; its long arm came up to pat him rather roughly on the head. "You can't kill her! She's just lonely! Can't we kee–"
"No," Vader dismissed immediately. "Get out of their immediately before it turns on you. A rancor is not a pet. It belongs in a zoo."
"Really?" exclaimed Malakili and Luke together, delighted.
"A nice zoo with lots of food!" Luke continued before Vader could rescind his statement. That was not what he meant. At all.
"…Fine," Vader sighed, already thinking of the paperwork needed.
"And other rancors to play with?"
"Perhaps not."
"Can we visit her?"
"Yes. If you get out of that pit immediately."
"And lots of space to run in?" Malakili interrupted hopefully, caught in the enthusiasm of Luke.
Vader turned to the keeper with a clear glare that made him cower.
With the rancor secure, Malakili far from his sight, and Luke safely within his protection, Darth Vader felt like he could almost relax. He'd sent the stormtroopers, including the humbled Commander Bow, to fetch their shuttle while he waited for Luke to finish rummaging around the throne room.
There was a scuffle, with several goblets being knocked over as Luke suddenly dove into a pile of pillows.
"Dad! Dad!" yelped Luke, causing him to rush over in alarm.
His son was holding a reddish-brown, yellow-eyed, beaked creature. Vader suddenly wished he'd brought the boy a puppy when he'd had the chance.
It blinked blearily at them, belly distended from all the food it had consumed.
"Luke, put down that Kowakian monkey-lizard this instant," Darth Vader snapped with distaste, putting his hands on his hips.
He'd heard of the creature's reputation for malice and cackling; he would not let it near his son within the same planet.
"Can we keep him?" Luke barrelled on, smiling brightly at it.
"What." Darth Vader thought it was time to fulfil his son's need for a pet with a fish, or some other harmless creature.
"It? It?! I am Salacious B. Crumb, you puny snack! Wait until Jabba gets here, he'll eat you up in a single gulp!" the creature snarled in a mixture of Huttese and other languages it had learnt while at Jabba's court.
Luke did not understand the words, but caught enough to exclaim, "Sally! We'll call you Sally!"
"Luke, we're not –" Darth Vader began.
"Sally?! I am Salacious Crumb!" the creature hissed, one clawed hand rising with the intent to strike.
Instantly, Darth Vader seized it with the Force, applying crushing pressure to its wrist. It howled.
"Dad!" Luke reproachfully cried, hugging the shrieking creature to his chest and seemingly oblivious to the ear-splitting noise.
Vader noticed with some satisfaction that the way his son was holding the monkey-lizard caused it to choke around the arm pressing at its throat.
"Guh! Little brat –" Salacious Crumb suddenly paused, beady yellow eyes flicking to the menacing figure of the Sith Lord. Something clicked, and it cackled madly.
Darth Vader narrowed his eyes as the monkey-lizard started rubbing its diseased (most likely) head on his son's chest, long ears twitching. It let out a pathetic whimper and nudged his broken wrist at the thrilled boy's face.
"Dad! It likes me!" Luke giggled. "I think I'll call you Crumbles instead!"
So that's what it was playing at.
"We are not keeping that thing," Darth Vader stated with the firm authority of a father and Sith Lord. "I will not permit it anywhere near my ship. Lock it in the palace and let us leave."
The monkey-lizard wailed, "I'll starve! I'll waste away! C'mon, stupid boy, beg the kriffing sithspawn!"
Darth Vader was about to crush the creature's organs for using such language – Luke's tears be damned – when Luke turned his overly-large, pleading eyes to him.
"No. That is final."
The creature newly dubbed Crumbles was taking shelter from the sun in the skull of a krayt dragon nearby, probably planning something devious. Vader hoped Luke would somehow forget to retrieve the abomination and rid them of its ill temper. They were waiting in the desert, for the shuttle that was arriving to pick them up had gotten sand in its gearbox, Force knows how, and the two suns were sufficiently low enough to not pose the threat of heatstroke.
"Look, Dad!" Luke exclaimed, holding up a ring of glittering metal. "Droids!"
"Mm-hm," Vader hummed distractedly, flipping through an obscure instruction manual on lightsaber techniques as he lounged on an abandoned chair. He'd found the volume in a dusty corner of Jabba's banquet spread, used to level a rickety table. "That's nice, son."
Hmm, that will be useful, Vader thought, dog-earing the page for later. All he needed were some Jedi to practice on.
"Oh thank goodness! Someone's there!"
The Sith froze, halfway through turning a page. He knew that mechanised voice. Slowly, he slid the book down to peer over the top in askance. Luke was digging around the ground, scooping sand away with his hands to reveal…a pair of golden legs? Was the Force determined to give him a heart palpitation today?
"C-3PO?" Vader dared to ask.
"Oh!" came the muffled voice. "Did you hear that, Artoo? Someone knows my designation! Hello up there! Could you please get us out, sir?"
"Boo-beep-boop!" What a landing!
"R2-D2?" Vader exclaimed, book forgotten as he swung himself off the chair to stride closer to his son's excavation efforts.
"Whirr?!" Who's that?!
Even after years, Vader could still recall the droid language he had picked up as a slave child working as a mechanic. He'd built Threepio; he knew every part of the droid inside and out. Those were definitely his feet and shins – and suddenly, a periscope poked out of the sand along with a blue, domed head.
Vader stood still as an obsidian pillar, contemplating the whims of the Force. Surely it was responsible for continuously drawing him back to this godsforsaken planet. First for his son, and then for the droids that had accompanied him through his youth. It was unwise to ignore such overt prompting, but to what end? These constant reminders of his past life… No. Vader flexed his mechanical hand, the one first cut off by Dooku. There was no sense in reconnecting with his weak self. The Force was more likely to be guiding him to what rightfully belonged to him.
A brief wave of anger rushed over him; he harnessed its power and pulled the droids from their confines in a shower of golden sand. Luke cried out in delight as they were settled onto the ground on their sides, rushing over to the confusedly whirling Artoo to help him up. Threepio was left sprawled on his back, exclaiming over the indignity of the situation.
"An astromech!" Luke hugged the little droid, who made a happy little chirping sound. His arms didn't quite fit all the way around; he let go with a huff. "Hello! I'm Luke Skywalker!"
Darth Vader watched in interest as Artoo seemed to perk at the surname, while Threepio remained unaffected. Had his former friend forgotten him – Anakin, Vader made the harsh distinction – completely?
"Veep-voop?!" Artoo exclaimed, body tilting forward. My master Skywalker?!
"Oh don't be ridiculous, Artoo," Threepio dismissed and sat up to address Luke. "Hello, I am C-3PO, human-cyborg relations. I am a protocol droid and fluent in over 6 mil– oh my word! Behind you, young master!"
He'd evidentially caught sight of Darth Vader, then. Artoo let out a low whir of fear.
Luke giggled and tried to calm them with, "That's my dad, Darth Vader. Don't worry; he looks scary but he's really nice."
"Luke," Darth Vader started, feeling vaguely perturbed at a Sith Lord being described as anything akin to nice, but Artoo interrupted.
"Master Anakin?" Artoo whined, rolling awkwardly forward in the sand. A flash of rage, potent and menacing, caused Darth Vader to dismiss whatever remnant feelings he had for the droid to the side.
He pointed a threatening finger at the astromech, intoning with deathly seriousness, "That name holds no meaning for me, droid. You would do well to forget it."
Maybe he was losing his touch; the little droid merely booped in delight, even going as far as to bump into Vader's legs with an Artoo equivalent of a squee. Vader, bewildered and a bit offended, felt his hand wilt back to his side.
Did no one respect the power of the dark side anymore?
"It is you!" Artoo beeped. "Master Anakin Skywalker! Threepio, he rebuilt you!"
"I recall no such thing!" Threepio huffed, though he warily stepped away from the Sith Lord as if in fear of being disassembled.
"Dad! You can understand droids? That's so wizard! What's he saying?" Luke finally piped out, curiosity in the way his head tilted to the side.
Vader decided to answer before Threepio could. "This is R2-D2, Luke. These droids…I was once their owner." A pained pause. "I gave them to your mother."
"Well," Threepio flustered, "it is a pleasure to remake your acquaintances, Master Vader. I assume."
Artoo let out a thoughtful boop-whine. A panel moved on the silver droid's body and a light flickered on. Suddenly, Vader found his body locking and respirator stuttering as a familiar, miniaturised holofigure appeared in the sand. No.
"Is that mum?" Luke exclaimed in innocent awe, reaching towards Artoo's projection as if to reunite with the long-dead figure. "She's pretty!"
The Force help him, Vader almost did so too. It was the worst kind of torture seeing his son kneeling down to the fake figure, a captured memory, one that should have been here in real life. She was in her wedding dress – his angel – the happiest moment of my life, suppressed memories rushing back with painful clarity – Mustafar – Obi-wan, all-consuming rage – Anakin…You're breaking my heart – fireburninglavapain – It seems in your anger you–
The droids and Luke cried out Artoo's holoprojector exploded in a shower of sparks. The little droid shrieked in panic, but was otherwise unharmed.
"Oh no," Luke sighed, "the sand must've got in it!" Artoo whined over Threepio's mutterings of Oh my. "Don't worry, dad'll fix it. He can fix anything, right dad?"
Vader agreed absently, unclenching his fist.
"A mechanic? How convenient," Threepio added happily, "we've been requiring maintenance for several months now. If we could be permitted to accompany you, sirs, we would be most grateful."
Luke then turned wide, sparkling eyes to his father. The Sith Lord was immediately wary. Those eyes had brought him nothing but trouble that day.
"Can we keep them, dad?" Luke pleaded, clutching Artoo to him like he was some kind of oversized toy, much to the astromech's delight. "Please? I'll take care of them and clean them and they won't be any bother!"
Vader sighed, his hand almost reflexively reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose had it not been covered by his mask. Time to try a different approach instead of outright refusing, as that had worked so well thus far. He launched into a lecture on droid maintenance, exaggerating how difficult and time consuming the effort was to keep droids. Attempting to appeal to his son's stubborn sense of right and wrong, he added that they should give them back to their proper owners. Wouldn't they miss the droids? The boy was unfazed, though.
"But you owned them before and we found them, and I don't see anyone looking for them. You saved them from rusting in the sand, so we can keep them!"
Childish logic. How was he supposed to argue against that? Darth Vader was never one for diplomacy. And Luke kept tugging at his cloak.
"…Fine."
Luke crowed in triumph, scuttling over to hug C-3PO and then run circles around the celebrating R2-D2.
Disturbed by the commotion, Crumbles emerged from its lair. A blur of reddish-brown launched itself onto Threepio, and sharp claws and teeth tried to rip out his photoreceptors.
"No! Bad Crumbles!" Luke shouted ineffectively over the droid's shrieking. "Threepio's part of the family now!"
"Beast!" Threepio yelled, flailing as he tried to get the creature off his face. "Help! Master Skywalker! Artoo!"
Seeing Artoo approach with an electric zapper rather too close to his son, Darth Vader decided to intervene. With a grimace, he swatted the lizard-monkey away with the Force. It landed unharmed, but immediately began yowling, rolling to its side in a picture of innocent agony. With a horrified gasp, Luke instantly fussed over the creature, clutching it close to his chest and bemoaning on how mean his father was hitting Crumbles like that. Unseen by the boy, Salacious B. Crumb silently opened its mouth to a cackle at Vader through its fake whimpers.
Vader debated the value of Force-crushing it right there in front of his son.
Between Luke's reassurances, the creature's cries, Artoo's beeping and Threepio's grousing, Vader felt a headache bloom.
He amended his earlier thought.
He still hated Tatooine
AN: According to the wiki, Luke later stated he was regretful for killing the rancor, but it had been too abused to be rehabilitated. 20-ish years before that point, I think it would be a less ferocious, happier little critter. Also, I have made it female now. Evil.
Next Time: A smaller chapter. Features moustaches. Will be posted immediately.
Some Time: Holidays, a visit to the zoo, bed time