notes: Here we are at the beginning of Part 2. I hope you all enjoy it, for all its change in pace and tone. (I really, really hope y'all like it... I'm not entirely sure what I think of it? So if you have any comments, I hope you'll let me know (so long as they're constructive and not just something like "It's shit"...lol)).

Again, this didn't go through my second beta. If you think of it, maybe send her some warm vibes or happy thoughts or prayers - whatever floats your boat - as she's been sick and crazy busy and all sorts of things lately. I'm sure she'd appreciate it.

Lastly, for like the fifteenth time, I hope you enjoy!


PART 2: THE CHILD OF THE DESERT

Ante meos oculos praesto est tua semper imago
Et videor vultum mente videre tuum.


CHAPTER 1

Luke Skywalker was a bright and happy boy. He had a laugh like joy itself, a smile that could brighten a room as readily as Tatooine's twin suns, and a kindness that could melt even the hardest heart. He loved, and he loved fiercely and selflessly, until all who met him fell in love with him in return.

His life was hard but good. His aunt and uncle loved him, and though his clothes were shabby and threadbare, they were patched with care and washed regularly. He never went hungry or thirsty, and he always had a roof over his head.

His uncle taught him how to shoot the family's rifle when he was five. He began with a toy rifle with the firing pin removed; Luke carried it around with him everywhere he went, under orders that he was to treat it like a real rifle that could hurt or even kill someone. Then, when he was eight and tall enough to reach the pedals, his uncle taught him how to drive the family's landspeeder..

"He's going to need to know these things to help on the farm," his uncle told his aunt gruffly when she protested, saying he was too young for such things.

"He's just a child," his aunt repeated.

"He's a child with responsibilities," his uncle replied. "We need him, Beru," his uncle said then, softer. "We can't afford a growing boy without another set of hands—and we don't have the money to hire any help."

His aunt relented silently and gracefully, though she began to give Luke time to play in the evenings while she was cooking dinner, rather than having him help as had been her wont.

The dreams began when he was nine.

They began as flashes—flashes of sound, of sight, of emotion. He heard a scream, a name he did not understand buried deep within it. He saw a window shattering and blood dripping from flowers. He felt fear, then anger, then despair.

The next night he dreamed again of the blood on the flowers. It dripped from petal to petal, staining moonlit violet and cerulean with crimson. He could taste the iron of it on the air, and could feel the despair radiating from the image.

He woke with a gasp and a start, and barely made it to the 'fresher before he vomited, the taste of iron still coating his tongue.

"Luke?" his aunt asked, coming into the 'fresher as he finished retching. She tied a knot on the bathrobe she wore over her nightdress, then knelt by his side, smoothing his bangs off of his sweat-soaked forehead. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Luke said, though he sounded miserable. He sat back from the toilet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I just had a nightmare."

His aunt gathered him to her, hugging him tightly and pressing a kiss to the side of his head. "Nightmares aren't real," she reminded him. "There's nothing to fear from them."

Luke nodded against her chest, but he wasn't sure he believed her. It had felt so real—had been real, in the moment he had seen it.

Or so he had thought.

As the fear and despair that had accompanied the dream faded, time distancing him from the horror of it, he began to wonder if he was just being silly. A dream was only a dream, after all, and dreams weren't real, just like his aunt had said.

Just a nightmare, he told himself, getting up to wash his mouth out. Nothing to fear.

But he dreamed of the flowers again the next night—and this time there was pain accompanied with it. It was a deep, aching pain that began in his chest and radiated out into his lungs, his stomach, his fingertips. It felt as if there was a hole carved out of his heart, leaving only empty agony behind.

He woke up crying for the loss of something he could not name.

He dreamed of a white room, and of a sharp man who spoke sharp words. He dreamed of a throne carved out of obsidian, and of a shriveled, old man on it. He dreamed of yellow eyes, and smiles that hid venom.

And then he began to dream of her.

She was short but fierce, making her seem larger than she was. Her hair and eyes were dark but her skin was pale, and she spoke with words that felt like fire. Just standing beside her made Luke feel more alive.

"She's amazing," he told his aunt one morning as she cooked breakfast, after dreaming of the house by the lake and of the girl. They had run through the house playing tag all night.

"And who is this girl?" his aunt asked.

"I don't actually know her name," Luke said slowly. "But she's the most amazing person I've ever met."

"And why is that?" his aunt asked.

"Because...because she's fiery and brave and smart," Luke said. "And she just…" He trailed off, fighting to find the words to describe just who the girl was to him. "It's like...like she makes me full," Luke said at last. "Like when I'm with her, I'm not missing any part of me."

"And are you missing something when you're not with her?" his aunt asked, turning from the stove to pile scrambled synth-eggs on his plate.

"I don't know," Luke said around a mouthful of egg. "I think so."

He learned her name was Leia. However he did not learn why, when she was with him, he felt as if a long-lost part of himself that he hadn't even known existed was filled—why, when he was with her, he was made whole.

He turned ten, and with it came a rifle of his own and the promise to let him drive to Anchorhead by himself to spend time with his friends.

"Just be careful," his aunt fretted, clasping her hands tightly together.

"I will be," Luke promised. He dashed forward to give her a tight hug, and then ran to hop into the driver's seat of the landspeeder.

"Be back in time for dinner," his aunt called to him as he started up the engine.

"I will be!" Luke promised, and took off.

He told Leia about it that night. "It was great," he said, swinging his legs through the air as they sat on the bench by the water's edge. "I got to play with Biggs all afternoon. He even took me up in his skyhopper. We flew through Devil's Canyon—really slow, but we did, and it was amazing."

"Devil's Canyon?" Leia asked.

"It's this canyon a few miles outside of Anchorhead," Luke told her. "It's a death trap, and is the ultimate flying challenge. Someday I'm gonna be good enough to fly it full speed."

"Are you going to be a pilot?" Leia asked.

"Yep," Luke said. "My father worked on a spice freighter. I don't know if I want to do that, exactly, but I know I want to fly—and that I don't want to be a farmer."

Leia laughed at that.

"What do you want to do when you grow up?" Luke asked. He used a toe to draw a line in the sand beneath them.

Leia was silent for a very long time. Then, softly, she said, "I don't know anymore."

"What did you want to do?" Luke asked.

Leia shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh," Luke said. "Okay. Sorry."

A month later, Luke was working in the west field with his uncle, tending to the droids while Uncle Owen worked on tuning up the first row of vaporators, when he had a strange vision. He sensed her before he saw her, running towards him through the vaporators. Then she was before him.

He couldn't see her as if with his eyes—could only see her with some inner sense that whispered, whispered, whispered to him that she was there, standing before him. The sense heightened for a second, and he was struck with the notion that she had touched him.

Her name fell from his lips.

But before he could search harder for her, before he could ask if she was there, Uncle Owen called to him for the tool Luke had been asked to bring. As if startled out of a stupor, the sense of Leia vanished, leaving him very much alone.

That night the nightmares began, even as he continued to dream of the house by the lake and Leia.

He dreamed of a tall man and woman and pain. They had yellow eyes that glinted in the bright lights of a large room, floored with wood and blue mats. They struck him and mocked him, and broke his arm. He screamed, and clutched the arm to his chest even as blood ran down his wrist and dripped from his fingers, the bone jagged through the skin.

He dreamed of them again the next night, only this time there were two humans with the the two yellow-eyed monsters. They grabbed him by the hair and dragged him across the floor, threw him onto the mats. His broken arm hurt like hellfire.

"You know how to make this stop," the human woman said coldly when he begged, pained and pleading, for them to cease. "Just use the Force and we won't hurt you anymore."

"No," Luke said, and the word came from him and not from him—from his mouth but not from his heart. It came from something—someone—else, borne of desperation and need, of a knowledge he did not know. No, he said—they said—united and complete, whole in a way Luke did not understand.

For some reason, his voice sounded like Leia.

He woke from that dream shaking and aching, his head pounding. He was afraid, he realized, sitting up in bed and wrapping his arms around his knees. Afraid for what, he did not know—only that he was terrified of, and for, something he did not understand.

He dreamed of them again, and again, each night for a week. Each time he heard Leia's voice come out of his mouth, and each time he felt, stronger than the night before, that it was Leia who was sharing his body—or him who was sharing hers.

Each time he woke trembling and afraid, and he threw up after the last of the nightmares. They had beaten him—them—almost to unconsciousness, and then had left them lying on the floor in a puddle of their own blood. They had tried to rise, tried to even sit up, but all they managed was grasping at the floor with their good arm and smearing their hand through the blood on the wooden floorboards.

"I'm worried about him," he overheard his aunt say to his uncle the next morning. The two of them were in the kitchen, and Luke was just about to round the corner when he had heard his aunt's soft voice and halted.

"A few nightmares never hurt anyone," his uncle replied.

"But these aren't normal nightmares, Owen," his aunt said. "This is the second one he's thrown up after."

"What do you want to do?" his uncle asked. "Take him to a doctor? We can't afford that, Beru. Besides, what could they do for him?"

"I don't know," his aunt said, frustrated. "Give him something to help him sleep, maybe."

His uncle grunted. Then, after a moment, he said, "If he keeps having them, we'll take him."

"Thank you," his aunt said softly.

Luke entered the kitchen then, smiling and pretending like he hadn't heard their discussion. "Good morning," he said brightly.

His aunt smiled at him, and his uncle's eyes softened.

"Good morning, Luke," his aunt said. "You ready for breakfast?"

"Yep," Luke replied, and sat at the table.

His uncle looked at him for a long moment, standing by the stove with his arms crossed. Luke fought the urge to squirm under the scrutiny, and wondered what it was his uncle was thinking. But then his uncle nodded once, as if coming to some conclusion, and he moved to sit down at the head of the table.

"I need you out helping me in the west field today," his uncle told him.

"Okay," Luke said.

His aunt set a plate of griddlecakes in front of him, and Luke dug in, forgetting, for a moment, his aunt and uncle's conversation, and the way his uncle had looked at him.

They were halfway done with the repairs on a shorted vaporator when their lookout droid, posted on the dunes beyond the fence, squawked an alarm. Uncle Owen grabbed Luke's hand and made a dash for the landspeeder and their rifle. He shoved Luke into the backseat, took up the rifle, and readied for a fight.

A lone figure appeared at the peak of a dune a hundred yards away. He was robed and hooded, though Luke could not make out anything beyond that. He appeared as a dark shadow against the bright blue sky, the sunlight slanting behind him hiding him from closer inspection.

"Peace," he called, as he drew near and saw the rifle aimed at him. "I come as a friend."

"Ben," Uncle Owen growled, and Luke perked up.

He had heard stories of Old Ben from his friends in town—had heard that he was a hermit blessed with the gift of magic, who was a friend of krayts and sarlaacs. Biggs claimed he had once seen Old Ben out in the midst of the desert, a storm of stone and sand whirling around him as if caught in a windless tornado. Windy had told the story many times of how she had once seen a reticent trader sell Old Ben a crystal after Old Ben had merely waved a hand and spoken a soft word.

Luke himself had seen Old Ben four times before, and each time Uncle Owen had sent him away with little more than a greeting and a farewell. "You can't keep me away forever, Owen," Luke remembered him saying the last time. "Luke needs me."

"You have no business here," Uncle Owen had replied. "Not now. Maybe not ever. Let him be an innocent boy, and stay out of his life."

Old Ben had left then, bowing slightly before turning and departing. Luke remembered the bow—remembered thinking how formal and alien it was. No one on Tatooine bowed. No one but Old Ben.

He had almost met him, one day when he was in Anchorhead hanging out with his friends while his uncle bartered for a spare spanner. He had felt eyes on him, and when he had turned he had seen Old Ben watching him from across the road. For a second, Luke thought he was going to come over to him. But then, instead, Old Ben merely bowed slightly, and turned and disappeared into the haze.

Uncle Owen lowered the rifle. "What do you want, Old Ben?" he called.

"To help," Old Ben replied.

He entered the field through the gate and lowered his hood, and for the first time Luke got a good look at Old Ben. Ever before it had been at a distance, or around a corner as he spied on his Uncle and Aunt talking with him. Never before had he seen Old Ben clearly without his hood.

Luke wondered by he was called Old Ben. He looked young enough, with a ginger beard and hair carefully trimmed and brushed. His eyes were a startling blue, and beneath the patched robe he looked strong and fit.

Uncle Owen shifted, lifting the rifle half an inch in warning, and Old Ben halted a dozen steps away.

"How do you think you can help?" Uncle Owen asked across the distance.

"I believe Luke has been having nightmares recently," Old Ben said. "And I suspect he's been having strange visions of a girl."

Luke's blood ran cold. How did Old Ben know? He hadn't told anyone about the day in the east field that he had felt Leia standing beside and before him. And the only people who knew about his nightmare were his aunt and uncle.

"And you can help with that?" Uncle Owen called.

"I believe I can."

Uncle Owen snorted. "We don't need your help, old man," he said.

"I think you do," Old Ben replied. "And I think you know that."

"I don't know anything of the sort," Uncle Owen said. "Now get off my property."

"You can't ignore this," Old Ben said forcefully. "You can't keep pretending that Luke is normal."

Uncle Owen lifted the rifle. "Get. Out."

Old Ben hesitated, then bowed. "Farewell, then," he said. And, turning, he strode away.

Luke climbed out of the landspeeder. "Uncle Owen?" he asked, leaning against the door. "What did he mean by 'pretending that I'm normal'?"

"Nothing," Uncle Owen grunted. "Old Ben is just a crazy old man."

"He didn't seem that old to me," Luke said.

Uncle Owen barked a laugh. "No," he said. "I suppose he's not."

"Then why is he called Old Ben?" Luke asked.

"He just is," Uncle Owen said. "Now let's finish getting that vaporator fixed."

At dinner that night Aunt Beru asked, as usual, "Did anything interesting happen today?"

"Old Ben showed up," Luke said. He had been itching to tell her about it, but it had never seemed like the right moment—until now.

"Old Ben?" Aunt Beru asked, surprised.

Luke nodded. "But Uncle Owen sent him away."

"What did he want?" Aunt Beru asked.

"He said to help," Luke replied.

Aunt Beru frowned and shot a glance to Uncle Owen. "Help with what?"

"It doesn't matter," Uncle Owen said, cutting in. "All he wanted was to meddle."

Aunt Beru's frown deepened. "I see," she said slowly.

Uncle Owen looked like he wanted to say something else. But he glanced at Luke, who was watching him, and held his tongue.

That night, as Aunt Beru was tucking him in, she said, "If Old Ben ever shows up again, I want you to tell me. Okay?"

Luke nodded. "Okay," he said.

Aunt Beru tucked the sheets around him, then leaned over to press a kiss to his forehead. "Sleep well, my little child of the desert," she said with a soft smile.

Luke smiled in return, and snuggled deeper into the sheets. "Good night, Aunt Beru," he said.

"Good night," she echoed, and stood. Turning out the lights she left, closing his door.

Luke rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes.

That night he dreamed of Leia, and of the yellow-eyed monsters. Leia was bright and happy, offering to teach him how to swim. Luke readily accepted; he had always wanted to learn how to swim, impractical though it was on a desert planet.

"I never intended to stay on Tatooine," he told Leia as they waded out into the shallows. "Who knows? Maybe I'll end up on a water planet someday."

In his second dream, the yellow-eyed monsters broke their other arm. "Get up," the man growled, when they sat on the floor and cried in agony. "Get up," he said again when they did not obey.

The yellow-eyed woman stepped forward and grabbed a fistful of their hair, hauling them into the air. They cried harder, and a plea fell from their lips.

"Use the Force," the yellow-eyed man said. "Then we'll stop. We'll even bring you to see Dr. Ammit."

"No," they said, the refusal tasting like ash on their tongue.

Luke woke nauseous and sweating. He scrambled out of bed and dashed for the 'fresher, wrenching open the door and landing on his knees in front of the toilet just in time to throw up his dinner.

Footsteps. Then Aunt Beru was there, kneeling by his side and murmuring soft, soothing words. "It's okay," she promised. "It was just a nightmare."

It's not okay, Luke wanted to cry. Nothing is okay.

But his aunt was right—it was just a nightmare. And nightmares weren't real.

Right?

~oOo~

Aunt Beru brought Luke to a doctor in Mos Eisley the next week. It took the better part of the day to drive there, and when they arrived it was to a white and sterile waiting room that made Luke feel grubby and small. The chairs were metal with thin cushions, and the floor was polished tile. The reception desk was made of gleaming durasteel, with plexiglass windows separating the receptionist from the patients.

"We're here for the 1600 appointment with Doctor Zorak," Aunt Beru said. Luke hovered by her shoulder, uncomfortable and nervous.

"For Luke Skywalker?" the receptionist asked, after typing a few commands into her computer.

"That's right," Aunt Beru said.

The receptionist handed Aunt Beru a pad through the window. "Fill this out, and bring it back when you're done," she said.

Leading the way, Aunt Beru found a seat by the window. Luke sat beside her, squirming on the chair to find the most comfortable spot. Then he peered over his aunt's shoulder to look at what was on the pad. It was nothing interesting—just a lot of questions about his personal information and his past health records.

They had to wait for nearly an hour, even after Aunt Beru had turned in the pad with all of his information filled out.

"We're sorry about the wait," the nurse who collected them said. "Dr. Zorak has been very busy today."

Luke looked around the empty waiting room and doubted that the nurse was telling the truth.

She led them back into a narrow hall that opened out into a large room filled with cubicles and lined with doors. The doors had numbers on them, and blinking lights off to one side: yellow, green, and blue. Luke wondered what they were for.

The nurse weighed Luke, asking him to take off his shoes, and then brought them to one of the rooms lining the wall. As they passed, she depressed one of the lights, which Luke saw now were buttons. The yellow light started blinking.

"I just want to make sure all of your information is correct," the nurse said, perching on a stool and looking down at the pad she produced from a pocket of her lab coat. She then read through all of the information Aunt Beru had just provided. At the end she asked, "I understand that you're here about some nightmares. Is that correct?"

Aunt Beru nodded.

The nurse made a note on the pad, then set it down on the counter, opposite the examination table Luke sat on. Aunt Beru was in a chair in the corner.

"Very good," the nurse said, and stood. "The doctor will be in shortly."

They waited for a quarter of an hour before the door opened and a tall, pale blue Twi'lek entered the room. He was broadly built and had sharply chiseled features, accenting green eyes so light they were almost white. He smiled, showing bright teeth, and offered his hand first to Beru then to Luke.

"My apologies for the wait," he said. "We've been very busy today."

Again, Luke suspected this was a lie. The doctor's words felt slick and sharp beneath his tone, like steel and ice. They made Luke want to shudder.

"So, young Luke," he said, perching on the same stool the nurse had sat on earlier. "What brings you here today?"

"I've been having nightmares," Luke said warily. He glanced at Aunt Beru, desperate for her to look at him. This doctor made him uneasy, and he wanted out. But Aunt Beru did not look at him; her attention remained fixed on the doctor.

"I see," Dr. Zorak said. "And what do you think I can do to help you with those?"

Luke shrugged.

"I was hoping," Aunt Beru said, butting in, "that you might be able to prescribe him something that would help him sleep."

The Twi'lek doctor nodded. "I see," he said again. "Yes, I could do that. But before I do, I want to make sure that it's something that's actually needed." He turned from Aunt Beru to Luke. "Tell me about these nightmares of yours."

Even more wary, Luke began to recount his dreams. He did not, however, tell the doctor about the sense of other that he felt—the sense that he was more than just himself. Instead, he acted as if the dreams, and his reactions to the dreams, were all about him.

"Those sound like some terrible nightmares," Dr. Zorak said when Luke was done talking. "I'm not sure they're bad enough for me to prescribe any medication, however."

"Please," Aunt Beru said, cutting in again. "He's thrown up from them three times now. Surely that's bad enough to warrant some type of sleep aid."

"Three times, hm?"

"Yes," Aunt Beru said, sounding desperate. "You have to help us. Please."

The doctor picked up the pad and typed something into it. "I'm prescribing him Rothadol," he said. "It's a mild sleep aid. It should knock him right now, and should put a block on his dreams." He finished typing and looked up. "You can pick it up on the ground floor of this building—that's where I sent the prescription."

"Thank you," Aunt Beru said, relieved.

Luke was less relieved. He was not entirely sure that he wanted the nightmares to stop—and was certain he didn't want the dreams of Leia to cease. The nightmares, while horrifying and terrifying, felt somehow important, as if he was sharing something necessary with whoever it was with him there—the person who sounded, and felt, like Leia. And the dreams about Leia and the house by the lake were the best part of Luke's day.

Aunt Beru stood, and Luke followed her.

"Thank you for your time," she said, shaking the doctor's hand.

"My pleasure," Dr. Zorak replied with an easy smile.

They paid at the receptionist desk, Aunt Beru handing over a prepaid card that the family used when going into the city. The secretary ran the card, handed it back, and wished them a good day.

Aunt Beru led the way out of the office and into the lift, Luke at her elbow. They rode down in silence, then walked out into the lobby. It was gleaming and white, and made Luke shiver. It reminded him of something, though he could not seem to place his finger on what.

They found the pharmacy. It was sandwiched in the corner of the building, its glass door to the left of the main doors. They walked in to find a long, thin room with a counter along the left-hand wall, doors leading into a back filled with shelves upon shelves of bottles. A bell sat by a computer terminal in the middle of the counter, which Aunt Beru rang.

A woman dressed in a light blue blouse and dark pants, with dark hair and darker skin, covered with a white apron, appeared through the doorway. She smiled at the sight of Luke and his aunt, and came over to the counter.

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

"Doctor Zorak sent a prescription down for my nephew?" Aunt Beru said, somewhat hesitant.

The woman's smile widened. "You must be the Skywalkers. Yes, I have his prescription almost ready."

Aunt Beru ignored the incorrect name and stepped up to the counter. The woman disappeared into the back, only to return a moment later with a bottle in hand. She went over to the computer terminal and punched something in, then announced, "That will be fifty credits."

Aunt Beru swallowed, then handed the money card over. The woman swiped it, then handed it and the bottle of pills over to Aunt Beru. She took them and buried both in the handbag she carried.

"Thank you," she said cordially to the woman.

The woman's smile did not falter. "Have a great day," she said, and watched them leave.

That night, Aunt Beru gave Luke two pills and a glass of water when she came to tuck him in. Luke obediently swallowed the pills and drank the water, then handed the glass back to his aunt.

"Good night, my little child of the desert," his aunt said with a small smile, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Good night," he echoed, and then snuggled down deeper into his bed. His aunt closed the door, and the room fell into darkness.

Luke slept deeply that night—but troubled. He dreamed of Leia, and together they swam in the shallows and bathed in the sunlight on the shore, talking about where they most wanted to visit in the galaxy.

"Anywhere with a lot of water," Luke said. "And a lot of green."

Leia laughed at him, but it was a good-natured, friendly laugh. "That's most places in the galaxy, you know," she said.

"Maybe," Luke said, and laughed at himself as well.

"Where do you want to go?" Luke asked Leia after a long moment of silence.

"Anywhere but where I am," Leia replied.

"And where are you?" Luke asked.

"In a room."

Luke laughed. "I'm in a room too," he said. "I mean what planet are you on?"

"Coruscant," Leia said softly, after another long moment of silence.

Luke gaped. "Imperial Center?" he asked, awed. "Wow," be breathed. "That's so cool."

"Hmm," Leia hummed, and did not reply.

The dream with Leia ended abruptly, however. One moment they were laughing and splashing water at each other, and the next he was wrenched away to a small room with a bed in one corner and a toilet and sink in another. A woman stood above them, hand upraised to slap him again.

"Get up," she growled.

The image of the room jerked, as if a rug had been pulled out from under him. When the world reasserted itself, they were in the familiar room with mats and wood floors and walls. The four men and women he had come to know were crowded around them, tall and imposing and terrifying.

"Please," they begged, curling onto their side. It hurt—a fierce, sharp pain shooting through their ribs and chest. But still they kicked them, hard and harder, until they couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't think.

The scene jerked again. When it settled, they were screaming, holding their arm out in front of them. The bone protruded from their elbow, red and dripping, and blood pooled on the floorboards underfoot.

"Use the Force," the yellow-eyed man said. "Stop us."

Their tormentors closed in. "Use the Force," the blonde-haired woman said. She reached down and grabbed their broken arm, wrenching it. They screamed again, and their vision swam and darkened.

They blinked, and the shadows crawled away from their sight. They were lying in a soft bed, arm in a sling and pillows propping them up. A man with dark hair and bright blue eyes, with a neatly trimmed beard darkening his jaw and a lab coat flowing from his shoulders, settled down onto the bed beside them.

"Oh 851," he murmured. "I do wish you would obey the Inquisitors. You would save yourself so much pain."

"I can't," they said. "If I do, bad things will happen."

They blinked—and they were back in the room they had awoken in, feeling cold and empty and lonely. They lifted their arm and looked at it. The skin was smooth and peerless; there was no scar or sign of trauma. Slowly they ran their fingers over their elbow where the bone had ripped out. Only smooth skin met their fingertips.

Flopping back onto their thin pillow, they stared at the ceiling for a moment. Then they closed their eyes.

Luke woke.

Aunt Beru stood above him looking worried. She was gripping his shoulder, though her hand loosened when she saw him awake. Her mouth moved, and Luke was struck with the notion that she was speaking—but he could not understand the words she was saying.

"No comprondo," he said, the words falling from his lips with the ease of long familiarity.

His aunt looked shocked. "Luke?"

That word, at least, Luke understood.

"?"

"Luke," his aunt said again, and then another string of words that Luke could not understand.

Luke shook his head. "No comprondo," he said again, getting frustrated.

"Luke," his aunt said for a third time—and very suddenly her words made sense, "you're scaring me."

A beat. "I'm sorry, Aunt Beru," he said, confused. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Her shoulders slumped and she looked relieved. "What were you saying just now?"

"What do you mean?" Luke asked.

"The words you were speaking—they weren't Basic. What was it you were saying?"

An electric shock raced down Luke's spine. "What do you mean I wasn't speaking Basic? I was...I was just—"

"It doesn't matter," his aunt said quickly. "You're speaking it now, and everything's just fine. Now get up—it's time for breakfast."

Luke scrambled out of bed and dressed quickly, Aunt Beru disappearing toward the kitchen. He went out when he was ready, hair brushed and teeth cleaned, and sat at the table. Uncle Owen was already there.

"How did you sleep?" he asked, voice as gruff as usual, though Luke couldn't help but notice the softness in his uncle's eyes when he looked his way.

"I had another nightmare," Luke admitted. "It dragged on and on, like I couldn't escape it."

Uncle Owen shared a look with Aunt Beru as she crossed to the table, a large bowl of oatmeal flavored with brown sugar and butter in her hands. She put the bowl down, sat, and then glanced at Uncle Owen again out of the corner of her eye. What message passed between them Luke couldn't say.

They ate in silence broken only by the scrape of chairs on the floor as they shifted, and the sound of chewing. Luke only ate three bites before pushing his bowl away, his stomach twisting unpleasantly.

"Aren't you hungry?" his aunt asked. "You didn't eat much at dinner yesterday either."

Luke shrugged. "I'm okay," he said. "Just not very hungry."

As he was scraping his bowl, Uncle Owen turned to Luke and said, "I want you helping your Aunt in the greenhouse this week."

"Okay," Luke said, nodding.

There was a small greenhouse attached to the house's main courtyard. Green glass stretched over rows of tomatoes, corn, squash, strawberries, blueberries, and green beans. Small sprinklers fed mists of water into the air, humidifying the room and making it possible for the produce to grow.

The day passed in a blur for Luke. He helped his aunt harvest the first batch of bluberries. They ate lunch sitting in the dark soil imported in from offworld—it had cost nearly a fortune to buy enough to plant the greenhouse, but Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru had thought it worth it, if they would be able to grow their own food—talking about simple and unimportant things as they munched their sandwiches.

By bedtime, Luke was exhausted. It felt like he hadn't slept at all the night before—or had slept only one or two hours, like on the nights Uncle Owen woke him up to help with emergency repairs on the vaporators.

He was on his way to his room when he overheard his Aunt and Uncle talking in their room. He knew he shouldn't eavesdrop, and he was about to pass by, when he heard his name. He hesitated, then pressed his ear to the door, crossing his fingers behind his back for luck in not getting caught.

"I don't know what to do," his aunt was saying. "It was even worse this morning. He was speaking in a different language—and when I asked him about it, he couldn't explain it."

"What do you want to do?" Uncle Owen asked, sounding tired.

"I don't know," Aunt Beru replied. "We can take him to another doctor maybe, get a different prescription—"

"You know we can't do that," his uncle said. "We weren't even able to afford the first one, let alone the meds he prescribed."

There was a frustrated silence. "We have to do something, Owen," Aunt Beru said.

"He's just a growing little boy," Uncle Owen said. "Growing little boys have bad dreams."

"But if that was the case, the medicine should have helped him. But it's like it made things worse."

"Give it a few more days," Uncle Owen said. "Maybe it'll take a little while for the medicine to work."

"Maybe," his aunt said. Luke heard footsteps, and his aunt said, "I have to go tuck him in."

Luke bolted away from the door, skidding around the corner and into his own room as he heard his aunt and uncle's door open. He climbed into bed and lay back, drawing the sheet up over him as his aunt walked in.

She smiled. "Ready to sleep?" she asked him, settling down on the edge of the bed.

Luke nodded. "I'm really tired," he admitted.

His aunt leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, then produced the bottle of sleeping pills from a pocket of her apron. "Here," she said, and pressed two of them into his hand.

Luke swallowed the pills, drank the glass of water she handed to him, and smiled up at her.

"Thanks, Aunt Beru," he said, and snuggled down deeper into his bed.

"Good night, my little child of the desert," she said, smoothing the hair off of his forehead. "Sleep well." She rose, turned out the lights, and left.

Luke closed his eyes.

He opened them to bright sunlight and the taste of water, just as he did every night. He turned and found himself standing on the veranda of the house by the lake. Leia was already there, sitting on the railing, perched like a bird about to fly.

"Hey," Luke said, smiling and going to her.

"Hey," she said, and hopped down. "Ready to go for a swim?" she asked. "I think you're ready to make it out to the first island."

"Yeah?" Lue asked.

Leia nodded. "Yeah," she said.

Luke grinned. "Okay. Let's do it."

The swim only took about five minutes, but by the end of it Luke was tired. His arms burned and his legs ached, and he was glad to be able to flop down on the sand of the island's nearest beach and stare up at the sky. It was darkening slowly, the sky fading from purple and pink to deep, velvet blue. The first stars were just beginning to come forth.

"I want to visit them all," Luke said, lifting a hand to point at the first star, glinting brightly high overhead.

Leia laughed. "I'm not sure that's possible," she said.

Luke shrugged and dropped his hand. "I don't care," he said. "I want to try."

They were silent for a long time after that, content to simply lay there and watch the stars come out one by one. Finally, though, Luke breathed, "It's beautiful."

"It is," Leia agreed.

They talked about their homes then, nestled in the stars overhead. Leia told him about Alderaan—about its rugged mountains and its whispering oceans, about the banthas that lived in herds high in the ranges, and about the glittering cities made of stone and glass.

Luke told her about Tatooine: about the sifting dunes of sand, about the sarlaacs hidden underfoot and the krayts screaming in the night, about his house buried underground, about the Tusken Raiders and his friends in Anchorhead.

When Luke woke, groggy and feeling as if a blanket had been thrown over his head. Turning to his nightstand, he checked his chrono: 0347. Still much too early to get up for the day.

Luke flopped back against his pillow and stared up at the ceiling. The last echoes of his and Leia's conversation rang in his ears. There's not much to see, he had told her, when talking about Tatooine. But all the same, as he lay there and thought about her and her bright eyes, her laughter, the way she smiled, he realized he wanted to show her everything about his life: his aunt, his uncle, his friends, even the grueling work of moisture farming.

More than that, he wanted her to be a part of his life. Really, truly a part of his life, not just his dreams.

An imaginary friend can't be part of your life, a voice whispered to him from the darkness.

"She's not just an imaginary friend," Luke said aloud to the night.

She wasn't just an imaginary friend. She felt like so much more than a figment of his imagination. She felt real—as real as Aunt Beru or Uncle Owen, as Biggs or Camie.

She was real—to Luke, at least, even if not to anyone else.

Satisfied with his conclusion, Luke rolled over and closed his eyes again. Slowly at first, then all at once, Luke slid back into sleep.

He dreamed again of the practice court. The yellow-eyed aliens shoved and pushed them, called them names, knocked them to the ground. They dislocated their left shoulder, then their right, and laughed at their screams. Unable to move their arms at will, when the yellow-eyed woman shoved them, they hit the ground face-first. Blood gushed from their nose, coating chin and teeth, before it swelled shut.

Luke woke again to his aunt shaking him. "Luke," she said—and as had happened the day before, Luke heard her speak and saw her mouth moving, but could not understand what it was she said.

"Tia," he said, "Qué dice?"

His aunt began to cry.

"Tia Beru," Luke said, reaching up and grabbing her hand. "No lores. Pora favora. Tia…"

"Luke, I don't understand," his aunt said. "What are you saying?"

"Don't cry, Aunt Beru," Luke said again. "I'm fine."

His aunt sat down on his bed and wrapped him in a tight hug.

"Aunt Beru?" Luke asked. "What's wrong?"

"You were speaking in that other language again," she said, drawing back enough that she could look down at him.

Luke frowned. "I was?" he asked. But then he nodded. "I couldn't understand you again either. It was like what you were saying was gibberish."

His aunt shook her head, but said nothing more. Instead she stood, wiped her tears, and said, "It's time to get up."

Luke readied for the day slowly, thinking. Why did he keep speaking in another language other than Basic? He knew some Huttese, but his aunt would recognize that—she knew more Huttese than him, and in fact was the one teaching him, though it was his friends who taught him how to curse. Even so, he wasn't fluent in Huttese. He wouldn't be able to speak in full sentences, let alone without realizing it.

So what language was he speaking?

And why?

Breakfast was the blueberries they had picked the day before baked into muffins. Luke picked at his and only drank a few sips of his milk. His aunt looked worried and commented, "You haven't eaten hardly anything since the day before yesterday. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," Luke said. "Just kinda tired."

His aunt frowned, but promised him another muffin as a snack later in the morning, while his uncle looked on impassively.

"You still want me in the greenhouse today?" Luke asked, turning to his uncle at the end of breakfast.

Uncle Owen nodded. "And for the rest of the week."

"Okay," Luke said. He liked working in the greenhouse and with the plants there, though he liked working with machines more. Even so, he was happy to oblige his uncle.

He and his aunt were tending to the green beans, weeding thistles out from between the bushes, when there came a chime on the bell at their front door. Aunt Beru straightened, clapping her hands together to rid them of the soil clinging to them—though they remained darkened and streaked with it, her nails rimmed—and told Luke to finish with the row.

Instead of finishing the row as ordered, Luke also dusted off his hands and stood, following his aunt out of the greenhouse and into the courtyard. He looked up the stairs to the shadowed interior of the gatehouse, and as he watched, his aunt opened the front door, allowing a window of light into the dusty air of the dome-roofed little room. The bright mid-morning sunlight illuminated the hooks hung with hats and windbreakers, the small chest for work gloves, and the shelf filled with shoes.

A man's deep voice said, "I'm sorry to intrude, Beru, but I needed to come."

"Owen will pitch a fit if he knows you stopped by the house," Aunt Beru said.

"I know," the man said in reply. "But like I said—I had to come."

"Why have you come?" Aunt Beru asked.

"To help Luke."

"With what?"

"Luke's nightmares."

There was a beat of silence. Then Aunt Beru said, "Come on in."

Aunt Beru and their visitor came down the stairs. Luke was only halfway surprised to see red-haired Old Ben following his aunt, a dusty traveling cloak thrown over his shoulders and a sunburn darkening his face. He smiled when he saw Luke.

"Hello there, Luke," he said, coming over and putting out his hand. "I'm Ben."

"Hi," Luke said, suddenly shy. He shook Ben's hand, then turned and retreated to his aunt's side.

"Go get our guest a glass of water, will you, Luke?" his aunt said as she led the way into the house and to the living room.

"Sure," Luke said, and trotted to the kitchen to do as she asked.

When he returned, it was to find his aunt sitting on the edge of the armchair shoved into the corner, while Ben perched uneasily on the sofa. The vidscreen sat on its shelf in the corner opposite the couch, sandwiched between bookshelves to either side. Pictures hung on the walls—of Luke as an infant and toddler, and two of him at seven when they went to Most Espa for a weekend vacation; of Owen and Beru on their wedding day; of Owen and his father; of Owen, his mother, and his father; and one of Owen's stepmother laughing as Owen's father handed her flowers.

"Here," Luke said shyly, handing Ben the glass of water.

"Thank you, young Luke," he said with a white smile. He had a pretty smile, Luke thought as he hurried to Aunt Beru's side. She hugged him to her as he came to a halt beside the armchair, her arm wrapped around his waist.

"How do you think you can help?" Aunt Beru asked warily, staring at Ben as he took a drink of water.

Ben rested the glass on the top of his right leg, still half-full. "I can make the nightmares he's having stop."

"How do you know about those?" Aunt Beru asked.

"Because I have felt the Force shuddering from the weight of what is happening," Ben said. "And I have felt their connection growing. Granted, I doubt anyone else will have noticed—yet. If I wasn't looking for it, and hadn't shared a bond with his father, I doubt I would have felt it myself. But that won't last forever."

"Connection?" Aunt Beru asked.

Ben hesitated. "The less you know, the better," he said at last.

"I don't understand," Aunt Beru said.

"Good." Ben turned his attention on Luke. "Tell me about the dreams you've been having," he ordered.

Luke glanced up at his aunt, who nodded.

"In them, I'm me—but not me. It's like I'm sharing someone's body, or they're sharing mine. There's this practice room, with wood floors and mats. And there are these two aliens with yellow eyes, and two humans. And they push me down, and punch me, and hurt me." Aunt Beru tightened her arm around him. "And sometimes there's another man too, with dark hair and blue eyes. They call me "851"."

"I see," Ben said, and with his free hand stroked his beard. He was silent a moment, then he nodded and looked at Beru. "Please, Beru," he said, "let me help your nephew. If these dreams are left unchecked, they could put him in danger."

"Because of this...connection you spoke of?" Aunt Beru asked.

"In part, yes. But also because the dreams themselves may begin to...to change him."

"Change him how?"

"Dreams like this can lead to darkness," Ben said. "He could begin to grow unhappy, and even unkind—eventually even cruel. And even if the dreams do not change him, he runs the risk of being discovered." He gave Luke's aunt a significant look, which Luke did not understand.

"How, though?" his aunt asked.

"Because of what is causing the dreams," Ben said. "I dare not go into it—it would put you, and especially Luke, in danger—but just know that the root of these dreams lies in danger. You must allow me to sever the connection that is driving them."

"Do you mean that Leia is real?" Luke blurted. He could not understand what else Ben could mean by "connection" than that Leia was real—and that he was connected to her.

Ben frowned the perfect frown. "Leia?" he asked carefully. "I don't know any Leia."

But Luke knew Ben was lying—could feel it in his bones and in his blood, in the way they burned and whispered. Ben's words felt slick and sharp, too perfectly cut and created to be anything but a lie.

"Then she is real," Luke gasped.

Ben shook his head. "I couldn't say," he said. "Because I don't know who you're talking about."

Again, Luke felt the lie. He gripped his hands together behind him tight enough for his nails to dig crescents into his fingers.

I knew it, he thought. She's real.

His aunt looked from Ben to him, then back again. "Luke is in danger, though?" she asked.

Ben nodded. "He is. Grave danger."

His aunt took a deep breath. "Then do what you must."

Ben slid off of the couch and onto the floor, placing his glass of water on the carpet beside him. Then he patted the floor in front of him, and said, "If you would come sit here, please, Luke?"

Again, Luke glanced at his aunt, who nodded to him. Slowly, warily, he obeyed Ben, and sat down with legs crossed in front of him. Ben smiled, then said, "Don't be afraid, young Luke." Lifting his arms, he put his fore and middle fingers to Luke's temples, pressing lightly. His fingertips were surprisingly cool against Luke's skin.

"Breathe in," he instructed. "Now breathe out, and imagine you are standing out on the dunes at night. The stars are out overhead, and you can see the arm of the galaxy. There is a cold wind, but the sand is warm beneath your feet."

Luke.

The voice was quiet and gentle, a whisper upon the wind. Luke turned, startled, looking for where the sound had come from, doubting even as he moved that it had been real.

"There is a golden cord wrapped around your hands," Ben said. "It glows with a faint light, and as you lift your hands, you realize that it is rooted in your chest."

Luke, heed my voice.

Luke turned again, searching the sky now as well as the land for the source of the voice.

"The cord extends into the sky, and reaches far, far beyond the limits of this world."

You have a long road ahead of you, the voice said.

"Who are you?" Luke called. "What do you want with me?"

"I am there with you," Ben said—but even as he spoke, his voice grew fainter, until it was lost in the rustle of the wind over the sand.

A woman appeared around the edge of a dune. She was dark-haired and dark-eyed, her pale skin silver in the moon- and starlight. She was wearing a homespun dress and shawl, and her feet were bare.

"Oh, my child," she said, coming close—and hers was the voice that had whispered to Luke out of the wind. "You have a long road ahead of you."

"What do you mean?" Luke asked as she came close.

Lifting a hand, she cupped his left cheek and looked long and hard into his eyes. "Yours is a difficult path to walk—but walk it you must, or the galaxy shall fall to ruin."

Luke frowned. "I don't understand."

"Not yet," the woman said. "But you will."

And leaning forward, she pressed a kiss to his forehead.

A series of images flashed through his mind, faster than light: flowers painted with blood; Leia, lying in a bed in the room Luke had seen in his dreams; a dark throne in a dark room hung with scarlet banners; a hulking, black carapace of a man, a mask hiding his face and harsh, mechanical breathing filling the air; a contrary old ship and the silhouettes of two beings: a man and a monster; the control yoke of a ship before him, a panel of lights and switches and buttons arrayed around him; Leia, her head shaved, being dragged between two red-clad guards; a boy with blue-black hair and a tall man standing behind him, tongues of blue flame in their hands; a Togruta, her teeth sharp and her smile sharper; a blue and green planet visible through the ship's viewport, the sight of it almost hidden by a massive, black space station; a city in the clouds; a jungle, then ice and snow and wind, then a forest filled with eyes and teeth.

Luke gasped, and opened his eyes.

"The connection is severed," Ben said, slumping back against the sofa. He gathered himself then and rose. "I thank you for your hospitality, Beru, Luke," he said, bowing slightly. "I fear my time here has run its course, however. I will take my leave."

Aunt Beru rose quickly from where she had been seated by Luke. He couldn't even remember her sitting.

"Thank you," she said, going to Ben's side. She held out a hand, and clasped one of Ben's hands warmly. "I can't tell you how much this means… I mean, we were so worried…"

"Worry no longer," Ben said. "It is taken care of."

Then, just as he had promised, he took his leave.

"Don't tell your uncle about this," Aunt Beru instructed Luke, once they were sure Ben had left. "It would only upset him."

Luke nodded. "Okay," he said, bending down to pick up the glass of water Ben had left behind. He went into the kitchen and dumped it, then put the glass in the washer and followed his aunt back into the greenhouse.

They worked long and hard for the rest of the day, weeding the green beans, strawberries, and squash. Uncle Owen arrived home an hour before sunset, and dinner that night was a quiet affair. Luke ate twice as much as normal, to which Aunt Beru smiled, and he went to bed after washing.

"Good night, my little child of the desert," his aunt murmured, kissing his cheek.

"Good night," Luke said with a yawn. His aunt rose, turned out the light, and was gone. Luke fell asleep quickly, excited to see Leia and to swim with her in the lake.

But he did not dream of her, or the house by the lake, that night—or the next. Or the next.

He would not dream of the house by the lake again.


end notes: So what did you think? Good? Bad? Ugly? Let me know!