Happy May the Fourth!

This fic was written as a part of the 2020 Star Wars Big Bang, and you can find other entries (including art for this fic!) over on the collection on AO3! Many thanks to treescape for betaing :D

A few things to mention about this fic:

Story-wise, I use Naboo as the adjective form of Naboo, the way Alderaanian is the adjective form of Alderaan, and Luke and Leia are not siblings in this AU.

Writing-wise, this was my first time experimenting with first person present tense in years, and also, both chapters tell the same story, just from different points of view.

Thank you for reading, and May the Fourth be with you!

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Luke

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I tug at the hem of my shirt and try not to look too nervous. As usual, Leia's cackle tells me that my attempt is completely in vain, so I just force my lips into a fond smile, rather than an anxious frown.

"You look great," Leia reminds me—not forcefully but with a weight of command and a laugh that takes any sting or offence out of it. She turns in her seat at the dressing table and her eyes move to meet mine in the mirror.

Despite myself, my forced smile shifts to something a little more genuine. I lift the hairbrush from the dressing table and run it through her hair, still soft and freshly-washed.

She doesn't speak until I start plaiting. "Why are you so nervous?"

I hum to myself, half-pretending I haven't heard her. "What do you mean?"

"Luke. You've been to dozens of these... functions," she wrinkles her nose as she says it, though I know she's always quite enjoyed them, "so I know it's not just that. Something's different about tonight."

"Indeed. The omens this morning were horrendous." Ben's face after we caught a glimpse of that raven and the guts it left spread over the roof of the conservatory still haunts me.

"The omens were bad at my ascension as heir, too, but that went off without a hitch."

"There was an attempted assassination."

"And the event still went off without a hitch. You sorcerers are paranoid."

My lips twist.

She sees it in the mirror and grimaces—goes to tilt her head in an acquiescent shrug, even, before she stops herself so I don't mess up her braids. I huff to myself quietly.

"You know I put total faith in your abilities, Luke," she says earnestly. "And..."

"Me being worried," I finish drolly, completing the last twist, "is making you worried."

Leia breathes out as my hands drop from her hair. "Yes. I mean..." She bites her lip and I glare out of instinct; she catches the look and grins. But her teeth slip off her lip; her nervous tick is no longer as apparent.

"You're supposed to be worried."

"On guard," she corrects. "We do want these peace negotiations to go well."

I grimace. "Palpatine and Vader don't know what peace means."

"Well, we're not going to hand over the sorcerers we're sheltering," Leia pats my arm and rises from the chair, "so you don't have to worry about that."

"I know. But what else—"

"No buts. Alderaan is too valuable a trading partner to risk, and you know we have a history with Naboo. We're in a good position to strike this treaty."

I flinch. "Leia..." I swallow bile. Fire, soot, smoke and collapsing walls and screams and the horrible, haunting melody of a terrified woman's lullaby rising above it all...

In the winds and the rains and the mountain plains...

"I don't think that history will be any help here."

She frowns at me.

"Palpatine, Vader..."

"Are just men," she reminds me.

"Powerful men."

"Luke," she says, "it will be alright. I promise that you—all of you—are safe here."

I say, "That's not what I'm afraid of." Vader doesn't need permission to deal with sorcerers he deems worthy of his time.

Leia swallows. "You know," she says, "if we spin this right—if we get a good enough treaty, that ties their hands enough for Sabé—"

I wince. "Sabé..."

"I know, I know. I'm just saying, that if this goes really well, you could go home."

Blinking tears out of my eyes and clenching my teeth, I shake my head. "I—"

"It's near impossible, I know. But think about it."

She spread her arms, her bejewelled shawl twitching with the movement and catching the candlelight. "How do I look?"

I smile at her wistfully, melancholy forgotten. She wears the same long, white dress style Alderaanian princesses always favour, with the sleeves ending at her elbows, but with a silver lace shawl that twinkles with miniscule blue and white diamonds, and the subtle adornments of blue necklaces and bracelets up her bare forearms. Even her hairnet glitters so. She's a white star.

I say as much.

She smiles.

We turn to head down to the ballroom, knowing they'll be waiting for her.

The corridors of the palace are largely empty at this time, everyone either working at or attending the function, or making themselves scarce in the face of our Imperial guests. It's not exactly like I'm the only Naboo refugee who fled Palpatine's regime to find a home here.

Even empty, the corridors are a public space, so I walk a half-step behind Leia. I'm her royal companion, her shadow; everyone here knows the Alderaanian tradition of childhood companion, advisor, protector, so I have no need to hide. But she is the figurehead, so—similar to how Bail's grey, knight-like robes are a backdrop to Breha's more noticeable outfits—my navy tunic and robes and vanguards are the shadow to Leia's light. I'm there if you look—but only if you look.

We arrive in the small chamber off the side of the main ballroom, where Tuvee waits for Leia. Leia takes her seat, then I catch her eye and she nods. I head back out again.

The moment I step into the ballroom, I know Vader is already here. His... presence, or rather, the presence of his magic, is stifling.

Proximity to dark magic, ever since my mother's death, hurts.

But I'm here for Leia. My job is to keep Leia safe and well. And I don't trust the Naboo Imperials within six feet of Leia.

I reach for the folds of my cloak and draw out the thin stick of willow under there. And then I, subtly, wave it.

I know the spell like I know my mind.

It ripples across the room, that faint imprint of light sailing smooth as glass where it's safe, bunching and tearing around the people who pose a threat. Most of the areas where it bunches are Imperial diplomats whose rigid postures betray them as the elite troopers they actually are, and I flick my eyes over them: enough of a threat to register and catalogue, not enough to be actively wary of.

But one threat tears a hole right through my blanket, full of festering darkness, and I know exactly who it will be that did it before I turn my head.

So I don't.

I loop the ballroom first, confident in my clothing and my gait and the tiny spells I cast to stay hidden. Only once I'm on the other side of the room do I dare to look towards where I know Lord Vader, Dark Lord of Theed, to be.

He's not there.

A hand on my wrist, my shoulder, and it takes everything in me not to lash out and make a scene. I let myself be spun around instead.

"So Alderaan's found another little sorcerer to try to oppose us with," mocks a voice, reverberating oddly. The hand still in a vice-like grip on my arm tightens almost threateningly. "Did you think you could hide from my gaze, little shadow boy?"

I grit my teeth.

Shadow boy. Stay in the background.

Hide from your mother's murderer.

So I don't say anything. I stay with my gaze averted, hoping His Imperial Lordship will get tired of me.

"Are you deaf? Dumb?" The hand on my shoulder moves to take my chin in a jaw crushing grip, but doesn't tilt my head up just yet. I grind my teeth.

"No, my lord," I manage to say through it.

"Alderaanian manners are worth less than they're famed for if you cannot look a man in the eye when you apologise."

I'm Naboo.

But I raise my chin. "Apologies, my lord," I bite out. I jerk back, out of hands that—a moment ago—went slack.

A breath catches behind Vader's armour.

We are at a strange angle to the ballroom here, by the pillars around the edges of the room, which support the ceiling around the large skylight. Candlelight stripes the black metal of Vader's armour, and the gold and silver filigree that picks out swirling patterns from Naboo mythology across his shoulder, his vambraces, his full face helmet and visor.

I bite back my snarl. It is an insult to see a stylised design of Shiraya, Goddess of Justice, my mother's patron goddess, snarling fiercely on this murderer's armour.

I can still feel Vader's gaze on me. He has yet to stay anything, staring.

I worry what he's staring at.

A heartbeat later and I slink away, vanishing into the crowd before he can come to his senses again.

I've finished what I needed to do, anyway.

Leia and the governess, Tuvee, are still waiting when I return. Leia gives me a concerned look. "You look shaken."

I shrug and try to smile. "Vader came up on the test. Nothing unexpected."

Tilting her head, she narrows her eyes at me. "You're sure you're alright?"

No. "Yes, I'm sure." I don't have a choice to be alright or not: this is my role, and I will fulfil it gladly. Keep Leia safe.

Companion. Advisor. Protector.

So I smile at her, bow low at the waist, and offer my hand. "Are you ready to face down the scum of this earth, Your Highness?"

"Luke!" Tuvee smacks the back of my head lightly, but there's humour in her voice. She ruffles my hair a little to get it back to lying... well, as flat as it goes.

Leia laughs, and takes my hand daintily. She has never, ever been dainty, but she's very good at playing princess. "Let's go."

There is no fanfare, no announcement of her entrance like I remember from Naboo's court. Alderaan is less... ostentatious than I'm used to, even after five years here. Alderaanian fashion is more understated in its depiction of wealth and power, like Leia's dress shimmering with tiny jewels, rather than the heavy ornaments I remember having to wear—the heavy ornaments I remember my father squirming under.

I smile despite myself.

So we just enter the ballroom through one door among many and mingle with the crowd instantaneously. I don't follow her, not overtly, but I hover.

Lady Evaan, who I'm pretty sure is planning on stepping down to take the role of Leia's Captain of the Guard soon, makes excellent conversation. She's also a very convenient dance partner: she knows to let me keep an eye on Leia as we dance.

Leia is dancing with a stiff, grey Imperial diplomat who's looking at her a little too fondly. I purse my lips when I see it; Evaan, after I spin her so she can see, narrows her eyes.

"What are the Imperials even looking for with this treaty?" she hisses.

I drawl, "Peace?"

She snorts. "Yeah. The Empire of Naboo, with all its conquered and plundered territories on this continent, wants to make peace with the only kingdom not under its yoke."

"It's a very new empire," I argue, spinning her around again so we're further from Imperial ears. "Ten years of war isn't exactly a stable foundation. They can't afford to alienate a kingdom this powerful. Besides," I add tentatively, repeating what Leia said to me, "Alderaan has a history with Naboo." Leia and I are second cousins once removed, I think.

"We have a history with the monarchy. That monarchy died with Queen Amidala. We have no history with the Empire." Her voice is rising; I give her an urgent look, and she quiets herself.

She gives me a look in return. "You fled Naboo at that time, didn't you?"

I can't answer what she's implicitly asking—no one's meant to know if they don't need to know, Ben says, until... whenever there's a better situation for it to be known in. I don't know.

But I do nod. "That's when I left, yes."

"Why? Palpatine didn't start his usurpation, conquest and reign of terror for a good few months after that, until..."

Until it was clear that the royal family were all dead, Vader had come onto the scene and all the sorcerers not loyal to the regime had been purged.

Until all the sorcerers who didn't submit had been purged.

I shrug. "Ben could tell where the wind was blowing."

The song ends.

I give a short bow and squeeze her hand reassuringly. She plays along—gives me a small, exasperated smile.

But, just before I turn away, she whispers, "I believe you... Your Highness."

I pretend not to hear her.

Leia's partner is chatting her ear off still; he hasn't let go, even has her upper arm in what looks like a bruising grip. I make a beeline for her immediately.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the onyx and gold figure of Vader standing by the pillars, helmet turned purposefully towards me. I ignore him.

The Imperial diplomat turns when I tap him on the shoulder. At first, he scoffs and sneers when he sees me. I know that I don't exactly look like the most intimidating of bodyguards, but I glare at him, lips flattening into a thin line. The music starts again and I hold my hand out to Leia.

His gaze flickers slightly and he goes pale. He lets go of Leia's arm.

He walks away.

Leia rolls her eyes once he's gone and grins at me, shaking the delicate sleeves of her dress to get rid of the wrinkles. "Thanks, Luke, you're a hero."

"What did he want?" My hand is still hovering; she takes it and my other hand rests loosely on her waist.

She rolls her eyes again. "Something inane, a marriage alliance—"

Someone taps me on the shoulder.

We haven't started dancing yet but we still halt abruptly, and I stiffen. I already know who it is.

When we turn, I have to tilt my head right back to look Vader in the eyes.

All that's visible of them beyond the mask are two, unsettlingly bright pricks of gold.

He holds out a gauntleted hand himself, despite the music that's already been playing for a while.

Not to Leia, though.

To me.

I exchange a look with Leia—I can see she's tense, but despite that semi-aggressive... conversation I had with Vader earlier, we really can't afford to offend the Empire.

So I smile awkwardly. Reach out my hand, slowly and tentatively, in the vague hope that I've misread the situation, that it's actually Leia that he wants—

That steel hand closes around my wrist and I'm yanked forward.

Vader's grip is firm, but he seems to be taking care to be gentle. I can't comfortably reach his shoulder so I rest my other hand on his side, the metal chilling to the touch; his other hand goes on my shoulder, uncomfortably close to my neck.

His movements to the music are stilted and his armour clinks awkwardly. I laugh despite myself—Papa used to be a terrible dancer, could only do it in public if Mama was his partner, but Vader makes him look like a prodigy—before I catch myself.

I can't afford to offend.

His grip tightens uncomfortably when I stop myself, but I ignore it. I meet his pin-prick eyes instead.

"My lord," I say tentatively, "why are you dancing with me, and not Leia— Her Highness?"

I don't know how I can tell, but I think he's smiling.

"Princess Leia Organa has other... diplomats to woo." He says the word with disgust. "I am here as a symbol of Naboo's might, not to negotiate."

"The Empire's."

"What?" He's looking at me funny, head tilted slightly.

"The Empire's might?" I say. "Not Naboo's."

He's still looking at me funny. "The Empire is Naboo," he tells me. "That is why I am loyal to it."

"Palpatine's Naboo," I say lightly—anything accusatory might cause an international incident— "not Amidala's?"

"They are the same."

The grips on my shoulder and hand turn bone-crushing and I cry out.

The music stops. People stare.

Vader glares.

The music starts again and we keep moving. I ignore the pain in my hand.

"Apologies," I say. "I was under the impression that Amidala was overthrown so Palpatine could rule. I didn't mean to cause offence."

"You... did not," Vader grinds out. "Though it's a disgrace that a companion to the heir to one of the most influential kingdoms on this continent is so poorly educated about our politics."

Pretty thoroughly educated on it, actually.

"That your accent pins you as of clear Naboo blood makes it even more so."

I don't say anything.

"Amidala—" He, oddly enough, chokes on my mother's name. "—was killed by insurgents. Terrorists. Her... entire family died." There's an old, old agony in his voice, and for the first time I wonder if Vader, the mysterious, murderous knight I've heard so many horror stories about, was someone in the palace I knew.

Someone who loved us.

"The terrorists were executed, and with the royal family dead," again, that grip tightening, "Palpatine, Pad— Amidala's chief advisor, stepped up to be king."

"I see." I swallow. I... have to wonder, then, what Ben has been sheltering me from, hiding me from all these years. Five in the mountains of Naboo, five in the heart of the neighbouring kingdom... what had led him to such extreme aims?

Why, if the problem was that there was no living royal heir, hide the only one left?

"You still," I tell him, "haven't told me why you wanted to dance with me."

He laughs.

It's a... surprisingly pleasant laugh for such a terrifying man, deep and rich. It reverberates through his armour the way his speech does, but nowhere near as unpleasantly.

It's also intimately familiar and I half-close my eyes, trying to remember—blurry images of the palace corridors, Mama's handmaidens, the guards standing in armour at each interval...

"Your spell earlier was very powerful—very well-cast. Why would I not want to speak to such a talented young sorcerer?"

Because you and your King Palpatine killed all the sorcerers who wouldn't practice the dark, twisted methods you do—

"How old are you, if I may ask?"

There's still something wonderfully familiar about him, something I should trust.

"Seventeen," I say automatically.

He smiles broadly. Again, I don't know how I know, but I'm certain of it.

"Most impressive, then. I suppose you have no interest in returning to Theed with me to—"

"I don't feel like getting executed, no."

"You would not be executed, little one—"

Little one.

My eyes blow wide. I stare.

Then the song comes to an end and I shake my head.

I'm being ridiculous.

I step away from him with a tight smile. "It's been lovely speaking to you, Lord Vader."

"Wait, Luke—"

Again, familiarity.

I walk away.

I walk straight to Bail, in fact, who stands next to Leia. They both watch me with identical, worried brown eyes.

Bail pats me on the shoulder when I reach him.

"Leave the function," he murmurs. "Ben is waiting for you in the observatory. The guards can watch Leia for tonight."

I nod, and keep walking. It's not until I reach the double doors that I pause to look back.

Vader has not moved from where I left him, and is staring right at me.

I let the door shut behind me.

It's not a long walk to the observatory, and I take the steps in the tower two at a time. The smooth marble staircase spirals; I'm dizzy by the time I reach the top.

The observatory takes up the entire top floor of the (admittedly not very large) tower. The ceiling is domed glass and as always, I take a moment to watch the stars of the night wheel by in all their unending glory. The bractealis constellation is high in the sky. That's... not a good omen, but it's not a bad one either.

It just indicates change and continuity. Whatever that might mean.

I pick my way round the altar still strewn with blood and guts, the table of Ben's various potions sizzling away, to where Ben stands peering through a massive telescope at the moon.

"Ben?" I ask.

He hums, tilting the telescope down to almost horizontal, fixed on more earthly things.

I look out at the Alderaanian landscape, spread beyond the crystalline dome at the top of the palace. To the south, I can see the rest of Aldera lit up with braziers against the night; to the north and west, the sea rolls endlessly. The brilliant, precise beam of the great lighthouse probes the waves every so often and the light playing off the silver surface is always fascinating to watch.

But Ben's gaze points east, so that's where I look.

We look homeward.

The mountains that mark the border between Alderaan and Naboo are far east, and pockets of villages, lit in the night, adorn their sides like earthbound constellations. I tilt my head and squint to make out the shape of the jagged peaks against the sky, black on the darkest blue, but if I squint hard enough I can see the second tallest peak, Appenza—not in the least because of the faint white spark near its summit. Another observatory like this one, nestled further up than any Imperial scouts ever dared to venture.

My home, for five years after... everything.

"If you look really hard through the telescope," I ask, "can you see Cordé waving at us?"

Ben laughs and finally straightens from whatever he was watching in the mountains. "Unfortunately not."

I smile—then frown. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

He grimaces. "I hear that Vader was at the function today."

"You need to hear? Can't you feel him?" I shudder. "He's still down there—the function hasn't finished yet."

"Then thank you for leaving it to come here. Leia?"

"Also still down there. Politicking. The guards are watching her and when I left, Evaan was this close to throwing down with the nearest Imperial, so she'll help as well."

He barks a laugh. "Then we can be sure the princess is in good hands. I just wanted you away from Vader."

"It's appreciated." I round the table and tug off the robe-like portion of my outfit, slinging it over one of the chairs. I pull my wand out while I'm at it—lay it on the table by the chair, next to a sheaf of papers. "Are you finished with the—"

Then I read what that sheaf of papers say on them.

"I'll put the telescope away, Luke, don't worry about it," Ben says, already placing the cap back over the eyepiece. "Since I don't think it's a good idea to hold an impromptu magic lesson while Vader's in the palace—"

"You? Cancelling training, for any reason whatsoever?" I press my hand to my heart and pretend to look shocked. "How scandalous."

"I know." He chuckles. "But this is necessary. Don't worry," he knocks the back of my head lightly as he walks past; I duck, grinning, "I'll be back to my cruel, hard-working ways tomorrow.

"In the meantime," he tilts his head at the pile of reports, "I thought these might interest you."

I nod and reach for the papers, running my thumb over the symbol stamped at the top: a hawk and a candlewick.

The symbol for the Alderaanian intelligence network.

The title of the report is: The Social, Political, Economic and Military State of Naboo, and the date reads as yesterday.

It sounds dry as the deserts in the far south, but I clutch it like the shaak toy Papa gave me when I was two.

I don't expect hope when I'm reading it, but I hope anyway—and get inevitably disappointed, of course. The situation has hardly got any better, Vader's presence here only proves it, but...

I want to go home so much that it's easy to forget, just long enough to hope.

Home.

I lived in Theed for seven years. I don't even remember masses about it; I've lived away from it for so much longer. But for all the time I spent living in the mountains, I looked down to where I was born; all the time I've lived here, I stare towards the mountain passes.

I want to go home.

But I can't. Not so long as Palpatine holds power.

"Anything promising in there?" Ben asks when I throw the report back down on the table, finished.

I shake my head sadly, and he purses his lips.

"Well," he says, "one can hope."

"Yeah." I push myself to my feet and sweep up my robes again, slinging them over my arm. My wand clatters to the floor and I scoop it up almost without thinking. "Hope is the only thing we can do."

"Luke? Where are you going?"

I pause. Sigh.

"I think I'll just head back to my quarters, Ben. I... I'm tired. Vader was... stressful to deal with." I don't want to go into more detail about our conversation just yet; I should process it first.

He walks over to rest a hand on my shoulder. "I understand. Go to sleep—with any luck, Vader will be gone by the time you wake up."

I laugh. "With any luck."

Then, wand still gripped tightly in my hand, I hurry down the stairs. My footsteps echo loudly, but I don't think anything of it.

Until, that is, I emerge from the stairwell. I turn to walk along the sweeping corridors, pale face reflecting in the windows—

"Halt!"

I tense up instantly; I don't even know why.

But I know exactly why I tense further when I shuffle round, slowly, to see the silver-clad soldiers I was just reading about in that report.

Stormtroopers.

Why are there stormtroopers here?

I turn my head quickly and try to keep walking, but the rush of their clattering footsteps behind me says exactly how well that plan goes.

"I said halt!"

A metal hand clamps down on my shoulder; I spin round, out of their reach, and bring my hand with the wand up. "Don't touch me."

The trooper in front, who grabbed me, stiffens. Then he drawls, "Then obey orders when given them, sir."

"Your orders hold sway over Naboo citizens, not Alderaanians. No one here need answer to you."

"Your accent pins you as a Naboo citizen, sir," he continues to mock. "At least, an ex one before you fled with the rest of the scum sorcerers—"

"We've been ordered to escort you to Lord Vader," his companion interrupts. He is also watching my wand uneasily, but still says, "He promises that you will not be harmed."

I really shouldn't go.

It's a terrible idea.

Ben warned me to stay away from Vader, I really shouldn't go—

But when I reach out with my magic, try to peer into the future... all I sense is joy.

In the immediate future. Surprise, and with it... joy.

Curiosity, I'm told, is a dangerous trait—to myself, and to others.

I sigh and lower my wand.

"Alright," I say. "Lead the way."

They hesitate, still stiff as two staffs... then turn to walk back through the corridors. I follow at a comfortable distance.

We go down the corridor, down a few flights of stairs. We veer pretty close to the ballroom at one point, in fact, and I can hear the music of the minstrels and the music of laughter. If I listen hard, I can hear Leia's laughter in particular.

But we don't enter. We move further down the corridor, to where the smaller meeting rooms are. Sometimes they're used for clandestine purposes, I know—I walked in on a few when I was twelve and new to this sort of thing and never made that mistake again—but this one is actually more comfortable and stately than those ones, with a cabinet to the side of the door, a hat stand in the corner, and a desk in front of the window. Rich velvet drapes are drawn over the glass panes, reddish in the light of the flickering chandelier, and brush the back of a heavy, elegant chair.

Vader sits stiffly in that chair—half wooden as a nutcracker, half slouching. His dark armour looks supremely uncomfortable to be perched in like that.

It's very odd, and that sort of awkwardness among court normalities is... almost familiar—

"You may leave."

I stiffen instinctively at the deep command, half-turning myself, before I catch on and the troopers shut the door behind them with a decisive click.

I listen closely. There's no further snick of the key in the lock, but considering I'm in a relatively small room with the knight of dark magic and murder, it doesn't reassure me.

"You will not be locked in, Luke," Vader says, frustrated, though there's a touch of humour to his voice as well. I narrow my eyes—at the use of my name, and his tone.

"I suppose you don't need locked doors to—"

"Have a civil conversation with my lost prince? Hopefully not. I don't intend to scare you away."

My eyes blow wide. My lost prince reverberates on the air with finality and I take a half-step back, already turning—

"Though it appears I already have."

There's a tight, gauntleted hand around my wrist before I can move any further. I flinch, but he just gently guides me back towards the desk, and the chandelier hanging above it.

"Sit," he coaxes, gesturing to the second chair by the desk, just as large and elegant—though I note, with something that would've been called amusement in any kinder situation, that Vader has taken the cushion off his chair and put it on mine. "I have no intention of hurting you. I mean you no harm. I just want to talk to you, Your Highness."

I flinch at the title. I didn't flinch when Evaan used it, but Vader—

It does not escape him. "Would you prefer 'Luke'?"

I grimace. Swallow. Shake my head.

"Highness it is, then." He reaches for some of the papers on the table, running his gloved fingers over them. "Your Highness, you have been missing for quite some time. We thought you dead."

"Well, I suppose that's the point of keeping it a secret," I bite out. "How did you—"

He snorts. "Give me some credit, Highness. You are a sorcerer. You have a Naboo accent. Your name is Luke. You are seventeen. You look... so different, to ten years ago, obviously, but similar enough that it is—" A pause. "Uncanny. And..."

A moment longer of staring. "Your magic feels much the same as it did back then, too."

"You remember what that feels like, Sith?" The old insult burns my tongue.

His fist clenches. "The dark side of magic is infinitely more powerful than light magic; I am sorry that you and your powers were limited, squandered and squashed for all these years because your kidnappers raised you to think differently."

"Excuse me?" Kidnappers, squandered—

"However," he holds a hand up, "this is not a topic I wish to discuss with you for the moment."

"Then you shouldn't have brought it up—"

"It was not I who brought it up, Highness," he says—through gritted teeth, if I'm not mistaken. "And again: I have no wish to discuss it right now."

He reaches for the papers again and clutches them in his lap. The edges crinkle. "Now, the Prince Consort tells me you've lived here with the Alderaanian court for five years?"

What.

I blink. Bail—

Has Bail sold me out?

I choke on a sob.

Did he invite Vader to do this, hand me over, decide that I was too good a bargaining chip to pass over when Alderaan stands to gain so much from this treaty—

"Calm yourself, Highness," Vader says. "Organa was hardly a willing participant in this."

I wince at that. That's worse—

"That is to say," he hurries to correct, but seems lost for words, "he... did not volunteer this information. He was barely persuaded to part with it."

Shaking my head. "You're... not making this sound any better."

He huffs a sigh. "This is not what I wanted to discuss, Highness. I had meant to ask where you were for the five years immediately after—" Again, that pause. "Immediately after Padmé's death."

...oh.

Padmé's death?

So Vader was one of the sorcerers who knew us well, after all.

"We searched for you incessantly."

I clench my fists. If Vader had known Mama and still bowed to and served that usurper who killed her... That makes it worse.

"Making sure I was dead?" I ask bitterly.

He freezes.

Even through that hellish, disrespectful mask, I can feel him staring.

"What," he hisses, "did you say?"

Repeating it would be a ridiculously bad idea.

I repeat it.

"You and your king overthrew my mother and murdered her," I spit, "so I can only assume you were searching for me to make sure I was dead as well!"

"Who told you that."

"Does it matter?"

"Who told you that—" His fists clench. "That blatant lie."

"How is it a lie!?" I'm shouting now. I don't care. "You killed my mother—"

"I loved your mother."

I blink.

"...what?"

He leans forward, and I'm too scared to meet that distant yellow gaze behind the visor, but too compelled not to. Dark magic roils in the room, yet... none of it comes near me.

I have to wonder at that.

"I loved your mother," he tells me, voice full of passion and grief and rage— "and I loved you."

Metal grinds against metal as he closes his hands into fists on his knees.

"I still do love you."

I shake my head. "I don't remember you, Lord Vader."

Then, inexplicably, he laughs.

He laughs even harder at the sheer confusion that mars my face, then his hand shoots up to ruffle my perfectly combed hair into chaos. I puff a strand out of my face, crossing my arms—

Then freeze.

That... was a painfully familiar gesture.

I stare at him. He laughs again, lowly, and—incredibly—reaches up to remove his helmet.

I stare some more. He sets the helmet down on the desk with a thunk. I don't care.

My eyes trace the curve of his nose, the twist of his lips, the shape of his (yellow, but not always yellow) eyes...

There's the sheen of scar tissue from magically-healed burns there. An ugly scar bisects the right side of his face, a testament to all the battles I'm sure he's been in, both as the usurper king's right hand and—

And as my—

I whisper, "Papa?"

A smile breaks out across his face. I fling myself out of my chair with barely a thought, and then the hard, cold ridges of his armour are digging into me and my face is smushed against his shoulder but—

My father laughs, sounding like a half-sob, and wraps his arms around me too.

"Hello, Luke," he murmurs. "It's been a while."

"Papa..." As loathe as I am to let go, hugging him like this is painful and— and I want to see his face. "What— I thought you were dead!"

He's smiling at me so broadly it twists his scar. It looks painful, but he doesn't seem to care. His hand closes around mine.

"And I thought you were dead, until I sensed and saw you in that ballroom," he says. "Where—" He chokes on the word and places his hand on my cheek, running his thumb along my cheekbone. "Where were you, I—"

"We fled. Into the mountains."

"We figured as much at the time, but Luke—" His voice breaks again; I lean into his hand. "Why didn't you come back?"

"I— I was seven, I couldn't go without them and they didn't want to explain it and scare me—"

"Who is they?" Papa narrows his eyes, and the way they suddenly spark a bright, bright gold frightens me.

"The handmaidens, aunties—Sabé, Cordé, Dormé. And Ben..."

"Ben?" he asks for a moment, puzzled—then remembers whose name I shortened when I was young because I couldn't pronounce it in full. "Obi-Wan?"

"When the attack came Mama told him to protect me and get out of Theed, to get to safety."

"I... understand all of that." He lets out a breath and his hand falls from my face. Before I can protest, he takes my hands in his and holds them just as fiercely. "But why didn't you come back—why did you think I was dead?"

"Because Palpatine announced that everyone in the royal family was dead! Including you!"

"Because you never came back! I thought— I thought you and your mother were both dead, perished in the chaos, and I wanted to die too, I wanted to vanish into obscurity and never look anyone in the eye again after how badly I failed you both, but Palpatine convinced me that your kingdom still needed me! So I put on the damned mask so I didn't have to face anyone, and continued to protect the new king and wage his wars against those who threatened the peace that Padmé fought so hard for..."

A cold, cold stone is growing in my gut. "And conquer and slaughter and oppress," I finish, "to make his empire for him?"

A growl leaps from his throat. "The Empire is—"

"A disgrace to everything Mama stood for." I let go of his hands and step back, away, settling back into my chair with the two cushions. "Helmed by the man who overthrew her—"

"Who told you such lies about him—us?" That storm of dark magic is back, crushing the room in its intensity, and suddenly it's hard to breathe— "Who turned you against your own kingdom? Is this why you never came home, because someone, the Organas—"

"They're not lies!" I shout at him. That storm is painful; memories flash to mind of figures in dark robes and amber eyes glaring at me, wands raised and muttered curses, then Ben crashing onto the scene—

"I know they're not!" I continue. "Sabé showed me the evidence Mama was collecting on Palpatine even before he had her killed, and I was there, in the room"—or cave, whatever—"when she interrogated some of the conspirators to confirm that he ordered it! But when she went back to find someone who would listen, she was chased out by your Inquisitors and their anti-terrorist mandate! Nobody would listen!"

"He was Padmé's most trusted advisor, she would've told me if—"

"She didn't want to tell you until she was absolutely sure, she knew you were close to him—"

"Palpatine is a good man," he hisses at me, shooting to his feet and towering over me. I suddenly feel very, very small in the face of—

Well. In the face of Darth Vader.

I take a deep breath, channel every piece of my mother I have in me, and lift my chin haughtily. "Good men do not order massacres in the name of their own glory," I spit. "And nor are their right-hand men famed for being brutal, murderous monsters—"

A blast flings me backwards. The chair crashes to the floor and I go flying, just as the door bursts open, and then I collide with the carpet hard—

I black out for a few moments. When I pry my eyes open again, there's a figure in homespun robes standing over me, wand pointed at Vader.

A sob racks my chest. Ben.

"Anakin." Ben glances down at me, and I can see the afterimage of shock on his face, but he moves on rapidly to— "What have you done—"

Vader prowls closer, but Ben keeps standing in front of me like a shield. "Obi-Wan. So you stole my son and hid him from me all these years."

"As I heard Luke say, we all thought you were dead, and we all knew he would be in danger from Palpatine if he returned." Ben's voice is forcefully calm, but I can practically hear him screaming in confusion. "Every word of what Luke told you is true."

"Palpatine is a good man," Vader spits. "I trust him, I am loyal to him."

I bite out, "I thought you said you were loyal to Naboo."

He freezes, gaze finding mine. I try to sit up, but the throbbing in my head sends tears down my cheeks and my heartbeat quickens at the heavy press of dark magic, far, far too familiar—

My father tries to say, "They are one and the s—"

"I don't think, Anakin," Ben drawls, "that any man who teaches you a magic and a lifestyle full of such violence that you hurt your son within minutes of reuniting with him is a good man."

"Dark magic—"

"Nearly killed Luke ten years ago when Palpatine sent his sorcerers after him in the coup," Ben says, crouching down beside me. His hand rests on my back, rubbing; I gasp for air. "Please contain it; interacting with it is never a good experience for him."

Papa hesitates, face contorted in an ugly snarl... then his gaze lands on the tears on my face. He nods curtly.

The press of darkness around me recedes and I manage to breathe.

"Th—" I gasp out. "Thank you."

He's watching me carefully. "Anything, Luke."

"Whether you deny it or not, Anakin," Ben tells him, "Luke was right when he said that Palpatine had Padmé killed." Papa clenches his fists. "I have copies of the investigations and the evidence upstairs, if you want to see it. Sabé gathered it all."

Papa grits his teeth.

I say, "Mama trusted Sabé with her life."

"More than that," Ben says. "Padmé trusted Sabé with her son." His lips quirk, a little wryly. "I was just told to tag along."

Finally, Papa relaxes. Minutely. "I do trust Sabé's word. But I want to see this evidence for myself."

Ben smiles, and nods. "Of course. Come with me." He glances at me. "Do you want to stay here?"

I nod silently. Push myself to my feet and stagger into the chair again. It knocks into the table with the force of it; a few papers are sent to the floor.

Papa stands, then half reaches his hand out to me. "Luke..."

"Go look at the papers," I tell him, "then we can talk."

He swallows, and retracts his hand. "Yes, Highness."

That stings a little, but I ignore him. Close my eyes. Cross my legs, up on the chair.

I slip into a healing trance before they even leave the room. The rush of magic through my bloodstream wipes away the lingering stain (and discomfort) of dark magic, and although I'm too out of it to feel or do it consciously, I smile...

"Bractealis."

My eyes slide open to see Papa sitting back in his chair opposite me, face haggard and devastated, watching me and Ben jealously. Ben is standing on my left: a familiar, comfortable presence.

I uncross my legs and put my feet back on the floor. "Did you get the evidence you wanted?" There's a lot more paper on the office table; I recognise Sabé's painstakingly neat handwriting on each sheet.

Papa nods. His lips are wan.

"I understand now," he says. His voice is croaky, like he's been shouting, screaming. Crying. "I believe you. I... know why you never came home."

His voice breaks on the home and I feel compelled to add, "I wanted to."

He nods and swallows tightly.

"So..." I glance up at Ben, who's watching Papa with a melancholy gaze, then avert my eyes. "What now?"

Papa's eyes harden. They're still that unnatural shade of yellow.

"Now," he says, "I begin to make things right."

Then he seizes my arm.

"Papa!"

He's dragged me halfway out the door before the yelp escapes me. Troopers meet him in the corridor and I hear their double take.

"Lord Vader—"

"Out my way," he snaps and they punt backwards like he pulled out one of his spells on them. They stare though. They stare briefly at me, but their helmets all swivel back to Vader as they fall into step behind us—and after a moment, I realise why.

"Papa..." I say. They jerk in shock at that, as well, staring. "Your helmet..."

"I don't care," he says fiercely.

"Then what are you—"

He kicks the doors to the ballroom open and the minstrels' music screeches to a halt. Leia, dancing with her father in the middle of the room, gapes at me; I grimace vehemently. I don't know what this is either!

The minstrels shuffle off their dais when they realise we're approaching. I freeze when all the faces turn towards me but Papa does not stop and his grip turns almost bruising.

He drags me up onto the dais.

"Vader," I hiss, and maybe calling him that isn't helping my case but I won't say Papa in front of Leia before I can explain— "Vader, what are you doing—"

"As a part of the treaty between our two kingdoms," he announces. I cringe. "And in the spirit of the long partnership between them."

"You've learnt public speaking," I mutter. I don't think he hears me.

"We will unite in support of— and support and celebrate—"

I take it back. He has not learnt public speaking.

"—the righting of an old wrong, the return of someone dearly missed. I ask that here, now, you will recognise my son—"

Leia's eyes go wide.

Well, kriff—

"—Prince Luke Naberrie of Naboo."

He lifts my arm. I've given up resisting at this point. Instead, I try to lift my chin, look at least somewhat regal.

I really hope he knows what he's doing.

"And that you support his ascension as king."