Author's note: For this fic, I ended up borrowing an idea from jerseydevious's brilliant fics, "Benediction" and "Justice and Death" over on Archive of Our Own, which I highly recommend reading. I go into more detail in the end notes about what the idea is-I just didn't want to say it up here and give away the end to this fic (though if you are familiar with Jersey's work, you can probably guess what it is!)
Cover image credit: xalala on Tumblr
"Son, how much longer are you going to waste your time on these pointless language lessons?"
Luke resisted the urge to sigh as Vader's holoimage crossed its arms. The comm unit was sitting on Luke's apartment caf table, projecting his father's blue-tinted form amidst stacks of books Luke had recently excavated from an old Jedi temple, along with the flimsiplasts and datapads where he'd been taking notes on the books' contents.
"We've been over this before," Luke said patiently. "I want to learn Low Huttese because it's your native language and Grandmother Shmi's. Which makes it part of my heritage as much as it is yours."
"If you truly wished to honor your paternal heritage, you would allow me to train you in the dark side of the Force."
With a smile, Luke neatly sidestepped that. "It's just six questions. It'll take ten minutes of your time. And then I swear, I'll let you go. I know you're busy."
"Fine," Vader grumbled. "Though I still do not understand your interest in a language that won't open a single door for you—and that might get more than a few doors slammed in your face."
Luke might've retorted that he'd just said why he was interested a handful of sentences ago, but to be honest, he actually wasn't sure why he was still studying Low Huttese either. Several months after the Battle of Endor (and around the time Vader recovered from the Emperor's Force lightning, and got a pardon from the New Republic for his aid in defeating Lord Shadowspawn), Luke decided to learn Low Huttese after an unrelated conversation with Leia about how she took on a slightly different persona when speaking Alderaanian. Believe it or not, Leia said, she was actually softer in her home planet's tongue, tended to sugar coat things more, as Alderaanian was not well-suited to communicating in a direct fashion.
Which got Luke to wondering about how Vader came across in his childhood tongue. Was he also softer? Or less polished (if Low Huttese was anything like High Huttese, that might certainly be the case)? Was he funnier? More open?
Not long after that, Luke had done some research, and found a freed slave in Mos Espa who gave Low Huttese lessons over the holonet, her clientele mostly consisting of people like him: the freeborn children of slaves who never learned their families' language growing up.
But five years (and one war with Thrawn) later, Luke felt like he'd barely gotten past a toddler's understanding of Low Huttese. Its grammar was so different from High Huttese (which he'd learned in grade school) that the words the two languages shared didn't help him at all, and he apparently had no natural talent for picking up new languages now that his brain had lost the linguistic plasticity of youth.
Worst of all, he sometimes worried that his fascination with this language was hurtful to his father. After all, Vader had done so much to rise above the circumstances into which he was born (a little too much, Luke thought, considering those 23 years of galactic domination). And now here Luke was, making a hobby out of learning a tongue that Tatooine's slaves had invented out of necessity, so that they could talk freely without their masters understanding. Luke felt his intent was genuine, but he worried that from Vader's viewpoint, this all might come off as a … privileged affectation. Like those Coruscanti elite who'd taken to dressing in Tatooine-style tunics and cloth-bound boots (a trend that got started because of all those holothrillers about Luke, according to Lando anyway—a revelation that Luke could've done without).
"One minute," Vader said, interrupting Luke's thoughts.
"Pardon?" Luke snapped back to the present.
"You said this would only take ten minutes of my time, yet you have already wasted one minute apparently just listening to me breathe."
"Right. Sorry. Let me just find where I put these questions." Luke sifted through the flimsiplasts and datapads strewn before him, their surfaces catching the sun's light as it slid down between the starscrapers towering outside his window. Finally, he found the datapad where he'd typed up the questions. "Got it." He held it up. "All right, let's see …"
He looked over the questions he'd come up with, refreshing his memory. "So the assignment is simple. I just have to ask you these six questions, and you'll give whatever answer you think of off the top of your head, and that's it. Mola—that's my teacher—she just wants me to get a better feel for how a native speaker would answer questions in a natural conversation. So I'm going to record—"
"Why?" Vader snapped. "You're not planning to show this to anyone, are you?"
"Well, no, it's just for my reference. So I can study it later."
"If you need to study my responses, I advise you to transcribe them and then delete the recording. The last thing I need is for some jumped up slicer to give the holotabloids a video of Darth Vader teaching his son a slave language."
Luke almost said, one, that wasn't going to happen, and two, that his father had nothing to be ashamed of. But he bit his tongue, because that felt presumptuous to assume his father was ashamed and that he didn't have some other reason for not wanting to be seen speaking Low Huttese. Assuming that felt a little too much like projecting. Because growing up on Tatooine with a slave last name, Luke had been, well … he didn't like to say he'd been ashamed. But he hadn't wanted much to do with that part of his family history either. A thought that gave him a pang of guilt now.
"Fair enough," Luke said. "I promise I will write down your responses and delete the recording as soon as we're done."
"Good," Vader said. "Now, you have eight minutes left."
"Oh, one more thing. I wrote these questions myself, so just wanted to let you know in case they're grammatically incorrect and you're wondering why."
"I will be sure to correct any mistakes."
Oh, Luke had no doubt that the Dark Lord would, if his previous attempts to speak Low Huttese with his father were anything to go by.
"So question one," Luke said. He hit the record button on his comm unit.
"Finally."
"Kava jah pagwee bliel?" Luke read off the datapad.
"How much is a ruby bliel," Vader repeated, suddenly serious, his tone that of a diligent student's. "Jah pagwee bliel ta vopa wupiupi."
Luke frowned at the response. The typical word order for Low Huttese was verb-subject-object. The only exception to this was in formal situations—when writing a clan story, for example, or when a spiritual or clan leader was addressing a crowd. In these cases, the word order flipped to subject-verb-object. And Vader had given his answer using that formal sentence construction.
Luke suspected that defeated the whole purpose of this exercise, which was to see what a native speaker sounded like in casual conversation. But on the upside, this was the first time Luke had spoken Low Huttese without Vader a) mercilessly teasing him for his terrible accent or b) nitpicking his grammar and word choices to death, so Luke considered it a win.
"A ruby bliel is ten wupiupi?" Luke translated a bit tentatively.
"Correct."
"Okay then. Great. Moving onto question two. Kava jah gokuntush howseedda?"
"How much is a power converter. Chuba jee reeffee. Poogwalo jeh jai shath impomashya."
"I don't know," Luke translated. "I need more information."
Vader was silent in response, his breathing taking on a slightly more ominous tenor, as if he was challenging Luke to say that answer was insufficient.
"No, no, that was perfect," Luke said, and meant it. "I mean, if we were having a real conversation, that's exactly what you would say."
Looking back at the datapad, he grinned, feeling pleased that so far he'd managed to understand his father's answers without too much difficulty—which was also a first. Maybe learning Low Huttese wasn't a hopeless endeavor after all.
"Third question," Luke said. "Kimtull jah foonlapu do?"
"How many workers do I have?" Vader's respirator emitted a noise that sounded like a snort. "Shath doosma wang joppay binteesaw jeh jah galashee."
Luke had to pause for a moment to crunch through that one. He wasn't familiar with the verb binteesaw, and it was object-focused, too, which was a verb form he struggled with. But he thought he could guess its meaning using the rest of the sentence for context.
"Fewer than when I ruled the galaxy?" he tried.
"Obviously," Vader said, followed again by that challenging silence, but Luke barely noticed. He was so proud of himself. Listening comprehension was his worst area by far, and here he'd figured out three sentences in a row. He had to admit—he'd been dreading completing this homework assignment ever since Mola uttered the words "talk to a native speaker," because the one native speaker he had access to was not exactly a supportive conversation partner. But now, he was surprised to realize he was actually having fun.
"Okay, question four."
"I can only pray that it is more interesting than the questions that preceded it. How in the galaxy did you think these up anyway? They are all positively inane."
Luke just laughed. "Well, Mola's instructions were to come up with two questions for kava, two questions for kimtull, and two questions for gonwa chalouma." He shrugged. "So that's what I did."
Kava, kimtull, gonwa chalouma. The three ways in Low Huttese to ask about quantity. Kava meant "how much?" and referred to prices. Kimtull meant "how many?" and referred to things you could count. While gonwa chalouma also translated to "how many?" or "how much?" but only referred to non-monetary things that you couldn't count. Complicating matters was the fact that the Low Huttese idea of what you could and could not count wasn't always intuitive to a non-native speaker, but Mola assured Luke it would become so the more he was exposed to the language.
Vader suddenly asked, "Kimtull jah lickni bollba binteeteesaw heh Leia jah galashee?"
"How many years until Leia will rule the galaxy?" Luke translated. Then he gave his father a look.
"Ask me the question," Vader said.
"Force, for someone who's worried about slicers getting this recording …" Luke shook his head. "Father, you know it only upsets Leia when you talk about your plans to make her Empress."
"My very existence upsets her. I will not let that stand in the way of what is best for the galaxy. Your sister is the most competent leader I've seen since your late mother. If Leia will not seize the helm, I will put her at it. Peace, freedom, justice, security—they will all flourish under her rule."
"Well, just between you and me," Luke said carefully, trying to think of a way to navigate this topic without getting into an argument. "Leia did mention to me recently that she's thinking of putting her name forward for Chief of State once Mon Mothma steps down. And Leia's very popular, so there's a good chance she'll win the election. And yes, if she gets the position, she will undoubtedly promote peace, freedom …" Luke waved a hand. "Et cetera throughout the galaxy for as long as she's in office."
"Which I will make sure is for the entirety of her lifespan. Or at least until one of her children can take over."
Luke sighed. It made him uncomfortable to let that slide, but he'd found, over the last few years, that it was better to humor the Sith—at least in this regard—than to force him to accept that a Skywalker dynasty would never happen. Luke could feel it in the Force that his father didn't really mean what he said about making Leia Empress—or at least, he didn't mean it in the way he had when he made Luke a similar offer at Bespin. Vader did want to see his children rule. That was true. But not so much that he would ever do anything more than pester them about it. Not so much that he would put them on a throne against their wills.
After the events on the second Death Star, Luke knew his father would never try to force him—or Leia—to do anything against their wills ever again.
"Now," Vader commanded, his voice like rolling thunder. "Ask me the question."
"Fine. Kimtull jah lickni bollba bintee … binteesa?"
"Binteeteesaw."
"Bin-tee-tee-saw," Luke repeated. "Binteeteesaw. Kimtull jah lickni bollba binteeteesaw heh Leia jah galashee."
"Heh Leia ta binteeteesaw jah galashee go wenga lickni," Vader proclaimed, with that damn formal sentence construction.
"Leia will rule the galaxy in one year? I don't think Mon Mothma's stepping down quite that fast."
"If she doesn't, I will make her."
Luke choked a little at that. He grabbed a glass of water off the caf table and took a gulp. "Okay, we're going to come back to that later, and do a little refresher on the terms of your pardon—"
"I do not need a refresher on the terms of my pardon."
"But for now, let's, uh …" Luke brandished the datapad with the questions. "Let's jump this ship into hyperspace, because I'm sure we're already over ten minutes." He chewed on his lip as he contemplated the question list again. "So, we already did two for kimtull, so we just have two more for gonwa chalouma. Unless you have any more suggestions you'd like to submit?"
Luke raised a teasing eyebrow, but apparently, Vader really did have a suggestion.
Drawing his shoulders back and sounding very proud of himself, the Dark Lord immediately said, "Gonwa chaluke jah otchkey jeh?"
The first thought Luke had was that that had something to do with him. Otchkey jeh meant "my son." Oh, great, he thought wryly. Leia had her turn and now it's mine. But in spite of the slight hiccup re: Empress Leia and the possible threats against Mon Mothma, he was still really enjoying this odd talk they were having, so he decided to play along. Vader hadn't said gonwa chalouma, though, he'd said gonwa chaluke, which meant …
"You do not understand," Vader said after a moment passed. Maybe Luke was imagining things, but the man sounded a little crestfallen.
"No, no, I'm sure I know what that means. Just give me a second …"
He racked his brain, trying to remember Mola's teachings. Gonwa cha, he remembered, was actually a prefix of sorts that meant "how" and that could be tacked on to all sorts of different words. Gonwa cha (how) + louma (many) obviously meant "how many?" Gonwa cha + ootgi (far) meant "how far?" Gonwa cha + hotsa (hot) meant "how hot?" And gonwa cha + luke meant … luke meant …
Oh. Luke remembered with a start. How could he forget? It was one of the first and most astonishing discoveries he'd made when he started learning Low Huttese.
That in that language, his name meant "love."
His eyes went wide, and for a moment, all Luke could do was stare down at his datapad. Then slowly he raised his gaze to meet the eye-plates of his father's mask.
He translated his father's proposed question hesitantly, still half-convinced that he had it wrong. "How much … do I love my son?" he asked.
"Correct," Vader said. He shifted his stance a little, as if he was uncomfortable, and in the Force, Luke could swear he felt something like … nervousness coming off the Dark Lord.
Well, maybe the man really was nervous. Ever since the Battle of Endor, his actions had said loud and clear—much more so than his words—that he loved his children fiercely. But he'd never actually said the word love in reference to Luke or Leia.
At least, he'd never said it in Basic.
"Now ask me the question," Vader said brusquely.
Luke swallowed, a little nervous himself. "Gonwa chaluke jah otchkey do?" he asked, careful to translate the "my" at the end of the sentence to "your."
"Lukkali-lukkali jeh jah otchkey jeh, chuba jee reeffee gonwa chalouma."
"I love my son so much, I don't know how much," Luke murmured.
The words, when translated directly into Basic, were as simple and rough as a Tatooinian cloak.
The sentiment as beautiful as rain in the desert.
Luke couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his face. "Lulukkali fai jeedoo," he said, using the Low Huttese pronoun jeedoo, which didn't mean "we" so much as "you and I together." I love you, too.
"Do not show this to anyone!" Vader boomed, pointing his finger at Luke menacingly, but not even that could ruin the moment.
"I know, I know," Luke said, still beaming. "Right after we're done, I'll transcribe your answers and delete the recording."
"Well …" Vader's respirator made a noise that might have been a cough. "Perhaps you could … save a copy of the recording for yourself. Under state-of-the-art encryption of course."
Luke didn't think he could smile any harder. "Thank you. I will. Encrypt it, that is."
They wrapped up shortly after that. Luke asked one more gonwa cha question (how much sleep did you get last night?) to which Vader replied in irritated Low Huttese, "None, because unlike some people, I actually work." Then they squabbled a bit about how Luke was wasting his talents attempting to restore the Jedi Order, and then Vader had to go "lay the foundations for Leia's Empire." Or in other words, he had to prepare for a campaign alongside Ackbar and Bel Iblis to free Ukio from Thrawn's rogue Imperial forces, who were still holding the planet even though the grand admiral was long gone.
After Vader signed off, Luke replayed the recording and began to transcribe the Dark Lord's answers to his questions—he was still supposed to do that as part of the assignment, even though he wasn't deleting the recording anymore. It took him longer than he expected.
Which may or may not have been because he rewatched the part where his father said he loved Luke more than a couple dozen times.
End notes:
- So yes, the idea I took from jerseydevious's fic is that "luke" means "love" in Huttese and "lukkali" is the verb "to love." This idea is just so genius and I totally want it to become canon.
- I got the general idea for Tatooine's slaves speaking a different version of Huttese from a very cool Tumblr post by bcitisthelight titled "So. Where to begin" about the socio-linguistics of Huttese.
- I took a lot of Huttese words from "The Complete Wermo's Guide to Huttese," but I also made up a bunch of my own words.
- All of the grammatical rules discussed in this fic are actually based off of Tagalog, which is my mother's language, and which I suck at speaking (based off true events, this fic is), but which has cool grammar for days.