Stage Fright
First, there was the announcement. There was to be a reward-
"Award," Luke corrected Han. "He said award and not reward."
A celebration, the general continued, and they would receive a valuable object. It would certainly be worth credits, but fashioned into a trinket.
"You're kidding," Han said.
"The medal of bravery," Luke said, awed.
He was awed at himself, the goon, the big hero, and Han snorted. "What about Antilles? What about the Princess? And Chewie? They all took on the Death Star too."
"We were on the Death Star," Luke pointed out. "I think that's why."
Han dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "I'm not doing this."
What a waste of time, he thought. A horrible idea. He didn't need a trinket, or even to hang around and get a handshake. What he needed, fast, was to get the hell out, and far away, and fix his ship and pay his debts and not worry about the dents his reputation would receive for hanging around this racket. He needed to get back to what he was good at. Smuggling. Not rescuing princesses or war causes.
"Han-" Luke grabbed the back of his jacket. "It's no big deal-"
"-is to you."
"-alright, fine; it is. But it's a big deal to them, too. It's a big deal, a huge deal, for the Rebellion. For all the beings that live under the tyranny of the Emp-"
"Been reading the Princess's speech?"
Luke blushed. "I don't think a ceremony is necessary either. But it doesn't symbolize us. It symobizes the war. What's possible. Shows the galaxy what's possible. So I'm going to do it, and I don't want to do it alone. 'Cause that would be egotistical."
Han laughed loudly at Luke. What a chump. But he caved.
Then there was a staging droid.
"You'll wait outside," it explained, rolling on its treads along the huge pieces of stone, "and when these doors open-" it indicated where the Rebels had installed a large reinforced door in the exteror wall of the ancient temple, "you will march this way-"
"I'm not doing this," Han said flatly. He took three steps away from the door. For some reason going through that door reminded him of those steps Luke kept talking about, what the old man taught him on the ship before the Death Star got him, how to enter a larger world. The world was plenty big enough.
Luke turned to Han. "It's how the hall is set up-"
"Follow me, please," the droid intoned.
"Follow yourself, you can of air."
Unperturbed, the droid explained the proceedings, "Princess Leia will be at the other end of the hall."
"It's kriffin' far," Han complained.
"Leia will be waiting for you," Luke said.
"Waiting for you, too." Did the kid think Han was stupid?
"Waiting for us. Think what it'll do to her if you aren't there?"
"Ruin the party?" But he thought of the Princess, all rich and sad and tough and fierce, and pretty, too, and he caved.
Then they said there'd be music and he had to dress up.
"Absolutely not." Han sounded final.
Luke looked between the droid and Han several times. Han could see the wheels turning in his brain, but he wasn't going to let Luke talk him into anything this time.
"Coming up with the idea of a reward was a whole lot easier, wasn't it," he sneered at Luke.
But Luke was looking sadly at the droid. "I don't have anything else to wear. Sorry."
Han blinked at Luke. "That ruins it," he said. It was mean to maintain the momentum, but an out was an out.
The droid looked to overheat. "You don't have military dress?" it said.
"No, we just got here," Luke explained. "Arrived on our own. I'm not even enlisted yet. We-" he included Han by waving his hand between them- "just came to help."
"Well, I came to colle- Never mind," Han said.
The droid spun a circle. "You can't appear dressed like that," it said to Luke, who looked himself over. What was wrong with what he had on? Desert wrappings, loose trousers, a large shapless shirt and poncho. It was sensible. For Tatooine, anyway.
"Now hang on a blasted moment," Han broke in angrily. "No droid is going to make my friend feel ashamed for not having a wardrobe." He gave a sharp nod to Luke, and words came out of his mouth he didn't remember thinking. "I got some things for ya."
"Thanks, Han."
Han kept his face impassive but it was too late to cut his tongue off. He had a terrible feeling he had committed himself to something much more than a stupid awards ceremony. The feeling in his gut was growing uncomfortable. First the kid and a blown up planet, next the Princess freed from execution, then that doomed battle that turned into one of the most surprising victories history would ever witness, and Han had been in the thick of it.
"I'm not just closing my collar, am I?" he said rhetorically.
Luke, farm idiot that he was, suggested, "You could comb your hair."
In the end, Luke looked spiffy in Han's black shirt. Han also let him borrow the brown pants with the yellow bloodstripe. Second order. Han rinsed any Death Star dirt off the blue pants with the red stripe. First order.
As the door opened Han turned pale.
"Stage fright," Luke commented of him. "Wouldn't take you for one to have performance anxiety."
Han wagged a stern finger at him. "Never say that to me again."
The fanfare began, some pompous brassy slow march. The Princess probably made the selection. When she wasn't shooting at stormtroopers or playing spy, she probably spent her downtime planning balls.
Speaking of the Princess, though- Han kept his eyes straight ahead. A young woman stood on a raised stage. Her hair was a rich brown and thick braids streamed down her back elegantly. She waited in a shimmering white dress. She looked nervous and radiant. If that was the Princess, she looked amazing. She looked, too, like she needed someone to stand with her.
Eyes on the Princess, Han was thinking what he could do to slightly ruin the moment for her, add a little levity, a little distraction.
Luke took a breath and sneaked a look at Han quickly. His last as a farmboy.
"I feel like our lives are about to change," he said.
"That's what I'm afraid of," Han answered solemnly.