Chapter I: Tales from Tatooine

"You shouldn't lie to your mother," said a voice almost as soon as he had closed the door.

Ignoring those words entirely, he practically launched himself at the shining form in the center of his room with an excited cry of "Granddad!" For a moment, he felt the strange sensation of falling through pure energy, and then his grandfather's form solidified beneath him, and he felt two strong arms around his shoulders, holding him close.

"I surprised you, didn't I, Granddad?" he gloated into the spirit's shoulder. It wasn't quite like holding a normal person—more like holding light in solid form. It was very strange, but not at all unpleasant.

"You certainly did," his grandfather was saying. "You'd better be careful, or next time you'll go right through me! And how would we explain that to your Uncle Luke?"

He pulled away from the hug just in time to see the spirit wink at him, and he couldn't help but laugh. His Uncle Luke was the only one who knew that his grandfather visited him on a fairly regular basis. Everyone knew, of course, that the spirit had visited on his eighth birthday last year, but he hadn't quite worked up the courage to tell his mother that it hadn't been the only time. He knew his grandfather disliked keeping this secret—in fact, he seemed to have a great dislike for secrets in general—but the spirit wanted him to be the one to tell. And he would; he just hadn't found the right opportunity yet.

"Happy birthday, squirt," his grandfather said with a mischievous grin, drawing him back to the present.

"Thanks!" he responded brightly. He momentarily considered calling Bail and Breha and telling them right now, if only so they could have a chance to spend time with their grandfather like he did, but he decided against it. It was his birthday: he was allowed to be selfish. "So, Granddad," he asked instead, "can I have a present?"

"I don't know," the spirit said, making a great show of pondering his grandson's request. But it was only a show—they both knew that he could never really refuse his namesake. "I suppose so," he said finally, "but only within reason. Not like last time."

"No, no, it's nothing like that," his grandson giggled, then turned his gaze back to the spirit with a hopeful smile. "This year I'd like a story for my birthday."

His grandfather winced, almost as though he was in pain, and after a long moment mumbled, "I thought your Uncle Luke already told you that story…"

"No, not that story," he said gently, realizing what his grandfather meant. That story had been hard enough for his Uncle Luke to tell… "Just a story. Tell me your favorite story, from when you were a boy."

He had heard, somewhere, that other children's grandparents told them stories, and it had been his secret wish for some time now that his grandfather might do the same for him. At first, he had asked for stories of the past, and instead had learned exactly where his mother had gotten her stubbornness from. His grandfather was as unwilling to share the dark tales of his past as his mother was to hear them. The most he had gotten from the spirit was the cryptic remark that, "When you're older, perhaps I'll tell you, because it's extremely important, and I want you to learn from my mistakes. But you're not old enough to hear yet." He was almost certain that his Uncle Luke knew whatever dark tales his grandfather was referring to, but he was no more open with them than was his father.

Tonight, though, he wasn't interested in history—at least not chiefly. He simply wanted to hear his grandfather tell him a story, like a million other little boys across the galaxy.

But his request was followed by a long silence, and for a moment he didn't think his grandfather would respond. He wondered if he had said something wrong. Those sad blue eyes were very far away, separated from him by a vast distance of two feet and ten thousand lifetimes.

When the spirit did speak, his voice was gentle and so soft he might have mistaken it for a breath of wind. "All right," his grandfather said, "I will tell you the story that I loved best when I was your age. But I must warn you—it is not a happy story in the usual sense of the word. Tales from Tatooine are deeper and darker than most, and the joy in them does not come without pain. But it is a good story."

He nodded, noting the way his grandfather emphasized the word good, as though he meant more by it than simply a well-crafted tale.

"All right then," the spirit said, smiling at him and sitting beside him on the bed. "I'll apologize in advance if I'm not a very good story teller. I've never really tried before. But I'll try to remember the way my mother told it…"

He reached over and squeezed his grandfather's hand, then offered him a dazzling smile. "Don't worry, Granddad, I grew up on Threepio's stories. You can't possibly be worse than that."

His grandfather laughed out loud, a sound that he had loved ever since he first heard it. Privately, he considered it a personal goal to make his grandfather laugh as much as possible. "Watch it there, squirt," the spirit said with a smirk. "I built him, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, so I've heard," he said, affecting a bored air which he knew his grandfather would see through instantly. "So, are you going to tell me a story or not?"

The spirit snorted. "Well, you are demanding tonight, aren't you?" When the boy only nodded happily, he sighed and said, "All right then. This is the story of Talmar, and the little girl who saved him by her song…"