NOTE: I've managed to forget about this story for almost a year until a reader reminded me. (Thank you! :) So here's a brief summary.
Luke's drastic actions saved his father's life. After a stay as a prisoner of the Alliance, Palpatine wants him back, and father and son are separated. That's too hard for Luke to bear so (with Vader's influence) he convinces Alliance Command to let him go with Vader because his father Vader will turn.
Adventures ensue on Planet Sith where Anakin is the ruler and Luke is his heir. Planet Sith is an intelligent entity that forms a symbiosis with the Skywalker clan. It has not forgiven Anakin for leaving the planet and unleashing Sith's Darkness, causing him to become Darth Vader. However, while on Sith, he's physically back to being Anakin Skywalker because Sith is a mystical, magical place.
From the day of their birth, every Skywalker has had a Lightshiner to balance their Light/Dark. Luke finally met his companion, Laark Lightshiner, who became his friend and told Luke how important it was that he stay on Sith and not abandon them like his father did.
Luke passes his Trial and bonds deeply with Planet Sith, which causes Anakin some jealousy and resentment. But he overcomes his annoyances because he loves his son (even though he has no idea who Luke's mother was) (no Padmé in this AU).
Luke and Laark returned to the Rebel Alliance base to begin the plot to overthrow Palpatine. However, Luke's friends find that he has changed; he's confident to the point of arrogance, not the sweet boy they remember.
In this chapter, a Sithly Luke oversteps moral boundaries. Han is furious with him and so is Laark. Did Luke go too far or will this be a wake-up for him?
There's a bit of a cliffie, so I PROMISE PROMISE that I won't take another year to update.
# # #
"Your friends are strange," Laark commented as he unpacked his second duffel.
Luke watched silently as Laark filled the single small chest with his own clothes. "Can I have one drawer?" he asked finally.
"I'll unpack for you," his Lightshiner answered evasively. "If you hadn't told me they were friends, I would have thought they didn't like you. Except the Wookiee. I've never met a Wookiee before, but he was quite pleasant. Good manners. Much better than that Solo, though I'd heard that about Corellians, that they're outspoken. I'd call it rude. He certainly didn't like me, did he?"
"Maybe drawing your saber on him had something to do with it." With a yawn, Luke fell back on his bunk. "I'm wiped."
"You need to build up your stamina, lord. And you must not fall asleep in your clothing. Come, sit here."
There was no arguing with Laark. Wearily, Luke obeyed and dragged himself to the single hard chair. "We need another chair if we're sharing this room."
"I'll see to it."
Oh, he didn't doubt that. The quartermaster wouldn't stand a chance when Laark came shopping. They'd only been on base for a few hours and already his room had a second bunk, new linens for both bunks, a full length mirror, and two sets of boot stands. "And maybe another chest," he added hopefully.
"After I find a bigger room. This one is much too small."
"It's fine, Laark. It's standard."
"We're not standard, lord. We deserve better. And we shall have it."
"Yes, Laark."
He watched in the mirror as Laark fumbled through his bag, tossing his clothes on the floor. "Hey, that's my stuff– watch it! You're making a mess!"
"You worry too much, lord."
How many times had he heard that? Luke closed his eyes. After a moment, he felt Laark's hand in his hair, freeing it from his collar. Then a brush pulled through it. He smiled. Such luxury. No one but Laark had ever brushed his hair– then again, he'd never had this much hair. Perhaps it was sheer vanity, but he enjoyed the way he looked now. After a lifetime of being unimportant, it was satisfying to finally be- "Ouch!"
"Sorry, lord. If you combed it more often, you wouldn't have these tangles."
"You comb it," he commanded lazily, feeling very much the royal. Was this how Leia had been raised, her every whim pampered?
"Ouch!" he said again when Laark smacked his shoulder with the hairbrush. "What're you doing?"
"You mind your manners, lord. You're not my master." The brushing resumed.
Luke tilted his head backwards and looked up at the stern face. "Yes, I am. You even call me master."
"A simple turn of phrase, meant to flatter your ego."
"It worked. From now on, I'll be impossible."
"You're already impossible." Laughter danced under the severity. "Put your head down or I'll stop."
"Don't stop." He obeyed, feeling relaxation flood his limbs as the brushing continued. Would his mother have done this? Had she combed his fine hair when he was a baby? If she had, then how could she have left him?
"Hush," Laark said softly. "You don't know what happened. Do not look for pain, lord. It will find you often enough."
Luke looked in the mirror and met the grey eyes. He nodded. Though they were the same age, Laark was very different from him, both in maturity and understanding. Sometimes Laark was childish and petulant; other times, he was as wise as Anakin Skywalker.
"That's because I'm your Lightshiner. I was raised to be wise."
"Evidently you were also raised to eavesdrop on your Skywalker's private thoughts."
"Absolutely," Laark admitted cheerfully. He gathered a handful of hair and brushed it upward. "Now, don't you feel better? There's nothing like a good scalp massage to ease your mind. All those little bristles scratch your brain and get rid of the negative thoughts."
He couldn't help but laugh. "I feel rejuvenated, thank you, my Lightshiner." Then he sobered. "Did Mon Mothma and my father really...?"
"They certainly did." Laark grinned at him in the mirror. "At least, that's what my father says."
Luke groaned. "You don't think she's my mother, do you?"
"Oh, Sith save us! No, no, they were lovers years and years before we were born! What a terrible thought!" Laark gave a mock shiver. "That's almost as bad as me pretending to be a Jedi! Wait until Mari hears!"
"You'll never live down the disgrace," Luke teased. He stood and stretched. "I'm going to find Leia. Wait for me here, and we'll go to dinner together."
"I can't wait. I must see the quartermaster." Laark looked around their room with manifest disapproval. "This is totally unacceptable."
Luke shook his head and departed to search for Leia.
Remember, I can't bond until you do, lord! So get moving!
Stop eavesdropping! I want to talk to Leia privately! He waited until he knew Laark had broken contact, and then considered his Lightshiner. After they destroyed Palpatine, they would go Home and he would be bonded. If he didn't pick someone, his father would. And if his bondmate was not someone he could learn to love, at least he would have Laark's companionship. Between Sith, his father, and Laark, he would never be lonely.
This base was unfamiliar, but he used his Force perception to wind his way through the portable huts and skeleton buildings that were built to be abandoned. It wasn't difficult to locate Leia; her aura was as familiar to him as his own, even with its current dark undertones. Han was with her, his anger making ripples in the Force. He felt a rush of relief that Leia wasn't alone; for reasons he didn't want to examine, he had no desire to be alone with her. He paused in front of a low structure that housed the senior officers of the Alliance. Carefully, he probed Leia's mind, searching for the root of her rage. He found the sensitive, protected area, closed his eyes, and let the memories rush over him.
There was darkness, hiding in the darkness, fear, discovery, capture. His mind brushed past the brief episode of torture at the hands of ignorant soldiers, the imprisonment, then an assault. That was the source of her hatred, her frustration. A youthful Imperial stormtrooper, an impetuous moment, a rash deed that bruised the Princess's pride more than her body.
Luke withdrew his contact, trembling. Her pain didn't break through his shields, not quite; he didn't feel the compassion that he knew he should and tried to despise himself for it. But almost… almost he felt satisfaction that she had finally been humbled.
He bit his lip. A year ago, he would have been devastated. A year ago, he would have been filled with rage. A year ago, he would have tracked down that trooper and killed him. A year ago, he would have felt like Han.
No longer. Sith had given him a different perspective on human suffering and the pitiful wishes of the species. Individual misery and grief was regrettable, but frequently necessary for the greater good of the galaxy. Perhaps Leia could be made to understand that. If she lived through the coming cataclysmic confrontation, they might allow her to participate in the new government. She needed to have a thorough, unbiased perspective on life and its travails. She, as everyone else, would come to understand that Sith was the true god of all the galaxy and Skywalkers were its ambassadors.
He concentrated on Leia and Han. Gently, he reached into Leia's mind and began altering her memory of Darth Vader. For a moment he considered erasing the remembrance of her attack, but that would serve no useful purpose. It was part of her character now and to remove it might have grave consequences.
The act was more difficult than it had been with Chewie; her mind seemed to resist him. A touch of the Force was with her, he realized without surprise, accepting that somehow he had always known. But he was stronger by far, and his will prevailed. He completed the memory eradication and broke the connection, resting for a moment before he confronted Han's mind.
The Force was with Han, too; interesting, but again, not surprising. Among the things he'd learned from Sith was that Force-strong individuals would always be attracted to him. But Han's Force held much Dark potential, and Luke skirted around it carefully. Before long he would be facing the Dark himself, and in his mind he pictured it as a huge black monolith that stretched infinitely into the sky. This feeble Darkness of Han's was unimportant in comparison; still, he didn't want to taint himself further. He found the memory he sought and attempted to erase it, but it evaded him. He concentrated harder, but still he could not smooth it away. In a fit of annoyance, he grabbed it and ripped it out of Han's mind, heedless of the consequences to his friend. Then he felt Han's pain and confusion. Was this what his father meant about destroying his friends? But Han wasn't dead; he'd have a hell of a headache for awhile, that was all.
Luke broke their connection and shrugged. If Han didn't feel better in a few hours, he'd assist. But it was preferable if Solo thought he was merely suffering from an agonizing but normal headache.
It was a relief to know that he'd eliminated the knowledge of his Vader heritage from the Outsiders. With a pleased smile, Luke headed back toward the canteen, calling silently to Laark to meet him. They would both relax tonight. Tomorrow would be the beginning of their work. And the beginning of the end of the Alliance and the Empire.
# # #
"...and after this appalling tasteless dinner, we'll go to the cantina. A very charming lady told me they're having dancing tonight," Laark muttered under his breath, all the while smiling across the table to the senior staff they had joined for the evening meal.
"A very charming lady, hmm?"
"Exceptionally charming."
"What about Mari?"
"Mari's charming! But she's not here," Laark pointed out practically. "Anyway, you're unattached. Maybe you'll meet a babe."
"I don't have much luck with 'babes'." He chuckled quietly.
His Lightshiner looked at him seriously. "I can give you some advice on how you could be luckier."
"How?" Luke asked with a grin, accepting the bait willingly.
Laark leaned against his arm and whispered in his ear: "When we walk into the cantina, don't hold my hand. It's a dead giveaway you're not interested in babes."
"You-! I-! Laark!" Luke whispered heatedly. "I don't– Well, I do, but it doesn't mean-"
"Whatever you say, lord. By the way, it looks like that cute General Madine has the hots for you," Laark whispered airily, ignoring his spluttering protests. "Is he playing footsie under the table?"
"Laark! First it was Mothma, now Madine?"
"You're right." Laark frowned. "There is something wrong when you only attract attention from those old enough to be your parents."
"Great Sith!" Luke clenched his fingers around his knife. "I don't-"
"Lord, you'll hurt yourself!" The teasing was gone, and Laark took hold of the knife and pulled it away. "I didn't mean to upset you. I understand why you grab my hand. You crave physical contact."
Luke groaned. "You're making it worse."
It was Laark's turn to be flustered. "I mean physical contact with me– that is, well, because I'm your Lightshiner! It strengthens our mental bond when our bodies are touching– part of our bodies. I mean, not any particular part, just- Oh, lord! You're so confusing!"
Luke finally gave in to laughter. This was what he'd missed by not having siblings. "No, I'm confused– you're confusing!"
"Hrmph." Laark sniffed. "Go ahead, tease me. You'll pay for it later."
"Believe me, I know. I'll pay for it whether I tease you or not, so I may as well have a little fun at your expense."
"You're brutal." Laark pouted. "I'm certain that your father was never this mean to my father."
"That may be true," Luke admitted, carefully protecting the thought that came to his mind: Anakin, warning him to beware of Laark's ambitions, reminding him that Laark had not been raised as his servant and might have some independent aspirations. "Now behave yourself and eat."
"Very well." Laark raised his voice to join in the general conversation. "So, General Madine, do you come here often?"
Luke choked on the piece of bread he'd just bitten off.
"Oh, dear," his Lightshiner said loudly.
"Pardon?" Crix Madine inquired politely.
Laark patted Luke's back. "Lord Skywalker seems to be choking," he said as he gave the general a dazzling smile. "Are you all right, sir?" he asked Luke solicitously. "Here, have a sip of water."
If you throw that in my lap, I swear I'll-
Lightshiner replaced the glass. "I guess not. Feeling better, sir?"
Madine leaned his elbows on the table. "Just what is your function with 'Lord' Skywalker, Light– uh? Are you his servant?"
"Lightshiner. That is both my name and my function," Laark said brightly. "It's traditional with Sith. We are what we are called and vice versa."
The general leaned back in his chair. "Oh," he said finally, his brows drawing together as he searched for a grain of logic in the answer.
A feeling of inescapable dread came over Luke as he considered what Laark would say next. Whatever it is, say it in your head, not aloud– please!
I was merely going to say that it's lucky for me my name isn't-
I changed my mind, I don't want to hear it!
But it's such a good-
No!
But it's so clever and–
NO! End of discussion.
Bootlicker, Laark said.
Luke sighed.
There was a silence, but Laark being Laark, it didn't last. He looks as though he'd enjoy that. He's probably going to ask if one of my duties is to polish your-
No. Now shut up and I mean it.
Fine. Be that way! I'm going to tell my father that you're mean to me.
Luke giggled, then bit his lip as he realized everyone could hear him. Damn you-
AND you curse at me! My daddy won't like that. He'll tell your daddy. And your daddy will-
"Excuse me," Luke said, horrified to hear his voice break on the last syllable. He coughed to cover his giggling, but he was not quite successful. He rose, and his napkin slid to the floor.
"Whoops." Laark rose with him and bent to retrieve the cloth.
"Sit," Luke commanded, pointing his finger at Laark's chair. "Stay."
Across the table, Mothma made a low sound that he realized was an amused snort.
"Pardon me," Luke squeaked again and left the room as quickly as he could. He barely made it into the hall before he had to clap his hand over his mouth.
He leaned against the door jamb, weak and distracted with laughter, totally unprepared to be grabbed and slammed against the wall. Hands pinned his shoulders, digging into them like claws.
"What the hell did you do to me, you son of a bitch?" Han Solo glared at him, fury radiating from his dark eyes.
"What?"
"Don't play innocent with me, kid. My head feels like it's bleeding! What the hell did you do? If you're fucking around in my mind-"
He was saved from replying by the crash of the canteen door flying open. Laark rushed out, lightsaber flaring and raised to strike. He was followed closely by the alarmed senior staff. Luke used the Force to simultaneously toss Han out of the way of the saber's descent and to deflect Laark's aim. The blade came down through empty space and made a terrific noise as it sliced through the floorboards. He heard exclamations and a few muffled screams as all traffic in the corridor halted.
"Stop!" Luke commanded.
Laark glared at him, then at Solo. "Let me kill him, master," he begged, his voice filled with a frenzied fanaticism. "Let him be the first Outsider to die!"
He realized that Laark was on the verge of inadvertently revealing their plans. Silently, he closed mental fingers around Lightshiner's throat, squeezing until Laark dropped his saber and fell to his knees, gasping for air.
Lord...!
Never disobey me. This is the only warning I will give you. Just before the young man would have fallen unconscious, Luke released his hold and turned his attention to Han.
"Are you all right?" He helped Han rise.
Behind him, he heard Laark give a gasping sob as he struggled to his feet.
"Yeah." Han rubbed the back of his neck. "No. Hell, no! I feel like shit. What did you-?"
"I didn't do anything, Han. Please believe me," Luke lied sincerely. "I'm sorry you have a headache, but it's not my fault. I sense you're very tense. You're probably in pain from muscle strain. I can help alleviate that pain if you wish."
"No, thanks," Han muttered, staring at him. "Just keep away from me."
"Very well. We'll talk again tomorrow. I bid you all good night." Luke nodded to the assembled audience and began to walk down the corridor. Lightshiner, he commanded silently, and obedient footsteps followed him.
He kept his thoughts closed and waited until they arrived in their room before he turned to Laark. "Look at me."
Laark raised his head. Luke didn't need to read his thoughts; the expressions in his eyes were clear: shock, anger, fear, shame. Betrayal.
Luke smiled tightly. "You will not disobey me again," he said quietly. "You are my friend and my servant, and I allow you great freedom. But I do not allow disobedience, and discipline was necessary. Do you understand?"
"Yes, master," Lightshiner replied, a faint quiver in his voice.
"Good. Then we'll get along fine." Luke hugged Laark, ignoring the stiffness he felt. "Now, tell me. Were you successful in finding us a larger room?"
"Tomorrow. We'll get it tomorrow, lord." Laark's face was still pale. "I'll move all our things over there in the morning. I'm sorry I couldn't get it today, lord."
"I think it's a miracle you found a room at all. They're very stingy with them."
Laark wasn't responding to anything he said. Luke steered his Lightshiner to sit in front of the small table and reached for the brush.
"Let's see if we can get all those negative thoughts out of your head." He ran the brush through hair that was much thicker than his. He'd never touched anyone else's hair before, and it was a curious sensation. It made him feel very paternal. He reopened his feelings and allowed Laark to see that his friendship hadn't changed.
The grey eyes watched him in the mirror. Luke smiled slightly. "Your hair is warm," he commented.
"Yours is cool when I start brushing it," Laark replied cautiously.
"Hmm. I wonder why?" He was giving Laark an opening to make a teasing comment, but nothing was forthcoming. He stifled an impatient sigh. "Are you going to stay angry with me forever? I still love you."
"I know." Something flared brightly in Laark's eyes. "And it makes me wonder what you'll do when you get tired of me. Will you leave me behind like your father did with my father?"
Anger blossomed like a fierce flower. Luke put the brush aside carefully, struggling for control. He sensed Laark waiting, wondering if he'd pushed his master too far.
"I hope that won't happen." Luke bent over and peered at himself in the mirror. "Shall we go to the dance? You can give me some more 'babe' lessons."
"Yes, lord," Laark agreed warily. He seemed to force himself out of his guarded attitude. "Maybe you'll get lucky this time."
"Maybe." Luke smiled at his charge. Laark would be all right. It was just another small hurdle in their relationship. Once Laark learned where the line was drawn, they would have no more problems. "Will you learn?" he asked softly.
"Yes, master, I'll learn." Laark's face was drawn and bleak. "I'll learn where the line is, and I'll learn not to cross it. I'll learn to be like my father. I'll learn to keep loving you despite fearing and hating you so much that sometimes I'll go home and throw up. I'll learn how to overlook your lies and your cruelty and how to defend them in the presence of others. I'll learn how to live with the Darkness and how to accept what it does to my family. But there's one thing I don't have to do, master." Laark stared at him unblinkingly. "I don't have to like you."