tatooine slave culture taken from the wonderful Fialleril and dai bendu conlang from the much more impressive than myself authors of Heart Language, both over on ao3

tw: broken bones? not very in detail, but the paragraphs that start with "when Owen gets back to the spare room" and "Anakin hurts."

Listen closely, for I tell you this story so it may save your life.

One day, as Ekkreth was walking along, they heard, in the wind, the sound of many voices lifted in sorrow at once. Both curious and concerned, Ekkreth followed the voices in the air and they led him to the dwelling of the People of the Sand.

"O, Children of the Mother," Ekkreth cried out, "why do you weep so?"

"Sky-walker, Sky-walker," the Children cried, "we are crying because our siblings have been taken by the awful Depur."

Ekkreth was appalled, and they said, "How dare the Depur steal those who are of the sands and skies?"

So Ekkreth vowed to make it right.

"Vendaval!" they cried, "carry me now with haste!"

And Vendaval, the spirit of the wind, took the Sky-Walker in her embrace and spirited them high above the desert. Ekkreth looked through the sky and saw, far in the horizon, the palace of the awful Depur.

"There, Vendaval," they said, "I must go there."

And so, Ekkreth reached the palace of Depur, but the palace had high walls and many guards. It would not be easy to enter, but Ekkreth knew what to do. They took on the form of a wealthy offworlder, dressed in purple silks and gold jewelry.

"Guards," they called, "this palace is grander than any I have seen in my life. You must let me through, so that I may pay my respects to the one who dwells here, for they must be wondrous."

The guards, lulled by Ekkreth's sweet words, opened the gates and let the Sky-walker through. Through the golden halls, he crept, until he reached tall doors behind which Depur sat.

"My Lord," Ekkreth said, "an abode as grand as your I strive to attain. I ask you, Majesty, who are those who built a structure so grand?"

Depur laughed a great laugh and replied, "Why, it is the People of the Desert who I have made to build this home for me."

"I must see them," Ekkreth said, "for I wish to attain some of my own."

And so Depur took Ekkreth to the underbelly of the palace and showed them the People of the Sand. Empty of hope, each Child sat alone with naught but their thoughts to keep them company.

"How do you keep them so?" Ekkreth asked, for they were angry and had never seen any Children of the Mother as quiet as those before them.

"I have broken their spirits," Depur said, "for without each other they will do all that I say."

"Ingenious, my Lord," Ekkreth said, but inside their heart was cold and ached for the People of the Desert.

"Now," Depur said, "you have the knowledge to make a grand home for yourself."

And so Ekkreth left the palace of Depur and cried out to Vendaval. "O, great wind," they said, "I have need of your aid again."

Vendaval heard Ekkreth and carried them to the snowy plains of the poles, long since covered by the storms of Umakkar.

"Umingmak," Ekkreth cried into the wind, "O great Bearded One, I ask of your help!"

And Umingmak, hearing Ekkreth's plea, traveled over the tundra with his herd. "Ekkreth," he said, "what is the meaning of your haste?"

"Great Bearded One," Ekkreth said, "Depur has stolen from their siblings the Children of the Desert."

Umingmak gouged the ground with his great hooves and his herd bellowed with stamps of feet and tossed heads. "How dare he?" Umingmak thundered, "I will show you what you need."

And so Ekkreth learned from Umingmak and returned to the Children of the Desert. "Children of the Mother," they said, "listen carefully, for I bring you the secret of the great Bearded One of the North."

And Ekkreth taught the Children the meaning of endurance. "Have faith, Children," they said, "for you are stronger together. Never let Depur drive a thorn between you, for our community is our survival, and our survival is our strength."

The Children took Ekkreth's words to heart and in the cover of the night, they forged a family not even Depur could break. "Have faith," they said to each other, "for one day, we will all be Sky-walker."

I tell you this story to save your life.

For all of its blistering heat in the day, the desert is cold when the moons replace the suns. Obi-Wan learned this the hard way, during those first freezing nights on Tatooine. Now, though, almost nine years into exile, he likes to think he's an old hand with the desert's whims.

Despite Anakin's hatred of the planet, Tatooine had its merits. It was a good place to hide, for one, and the beautiful double sunsets didn't hurt, either. Obi-Wan is in Anchorhead today, attempting to procure enough food and supplies to last the next few weeks. The streets bustle with people, food, and animals, the sky stretching an endless blue above. Bereft of his robes and his lightsaber, Obi-Wan is just another nobody in the crowd.

He makes his way through the market quickly. Nobody or not, Obi-Wan is anxious about being here一stray Stormtroopers loiter in the streets, eyes peeled for troublemakers. They have likely been demoted recently, and Obi-Wan does not want to make their acquaintance. The fruit in the stalls is faintly mushy and the greens mostly limp, but Obi-Wan will make do. He's had much, much worse, after all.

Food acquired, Obi-Wan nods his thanks at the vendor and turns away. He needs to get feed for the eopie and he's spent far too long here, already. Anchorhead is not a place of merriment, yet there is music in the air. A young lady sits cross-legged in the square, playing some sort of electrical instrument composed of a rectangular box and a long, metal rod. The young lady is changing the pitch of the sound, Obi-Wan notices, by moving her fingers closer to and further away from the rod. Several kids are gathered at her feet, dancing to the lively tune.

Obi-Wan smiles as one of the kids, a young boy with a shock of blonde hair, grabs his friend and twirls with her in a haphazard circle. He turns away and holds the sound of the kids' laughter close as he heads toward home.

The thought makes him pause, for a moment. When had his dilapidated little hovel in the desert become home? It's not, Obi-Wan thinks, because home should be the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. It should be his friends and fellow Jedi, should be Anakin, not—not whatever this is, here, on Tatooine. Home should not be the merciless desert and the emptiness these past nine years have dug out in his chest, but somehow, it is.

Once, Anakin had asked Obi-Wan what he thought he was destined for, and the older Jedi had responded with a smile and "infinite sadness." It had been some part of some conversation Obi-Wan could no longer remember, but his response seemed so true now. At the end of all things, it is just Obi-Wan, the sky, and an endless sea of loss.

The wind whistles as Obi-Wan pulls his speeder up beside the house. He slides off, a tad less graceful every time he does. Wisps of sand lift off the golden dunes as Obi-Wan unloads his supplies from the speeder. There is a sandstorm coming. It'll be a perfect excuse to meditate, as if he doesn't do enough of that, already. As the clouds of sand descend, Obi-Wan places his lightsaber in front of his knees and sinks into the Force.

Owen Lars barely makes it into the house before the sandstorm. He'd been making repairs on a finicky evaporator when the wind had started to pick up, and now he'll have to start all over again.

"Owen," Beru says as he shakes the dust out of his hair, "did you fix it before the storm came in?"

He shucks his outer tunic and leaves it draped over a chair. "No," he says, "came out of nowhere, it did. Did you go to town? Where's Luke?"

Beru picks up his discarded tunic with a shake of her head. "That's too bad," she says, "I'll come out with you later, see if I can help. We could bring Luke. It's high time he started to learn the ins and outs of farming, after all."

Owen snorts. "And here I was thinking you'd never let him out of the house. You didn't answer my question."

"We did go to town," Beru says, "there and back. Didn't spend more than a couple of hours there, don't you worry. Luke's taking a nap, now."

"I always worry when Luke is involved," Owen says, scowling into his mug. "Boy's got too much of his father in him."

Beru rolls her eyes. "We met his father once, Owen. Luke's all Luke."

"No full-blooded Tatooinian—" He's cut off by the tell-tale whine of an engine.

Both Owen and Beru whip their heads toward the window. "Owen—" Beru starts, but a deafening crunch-whoom, audible even over the winds of the storm, stops her in her tracks. Sand obscures the windows, pinging against the transparisteel.

"Owen," Beru says again, "what was that?"

Owen's heart is racing faster than it has any right to be. "I don't know," he says, forcing himself to calm down, "but it doesn't matter. If the crash didn't kill them, then the storm will."

The storm is one of the longer ones Owen's seen. It is more than a day until the winds die down enough for Owen to dare take a peek outside. Luke crowds around his legs as he eases the door open, displacing a mound of sand into the house's entryway.

"Whoops," he says, as Beru makes an upset noise behind him. Luke braves the outside first, tumbling over the piled-up sand.

"Uncle Owen," he calls, "look! There's a ship!"

. . . Fuck. Owen had forgotten about that. The ship is half-buried, nose in the sand and rear up in the air. "Don't go near! It's dangerous—"

Too late. Luke's somehow both all over the ship and had managed to open the side gangplank, as well. "Luke!" Owen snaps, "get back here, you no-good son of a bantha!"

Luke pays him no heed, leaving Owen no choice but to follow him, cursing in Huttese. "Luke, stop!"

Owen steps gingerly into the ship's hold. Stray electricity sparks from broken wiring. There are gauges in the hull from the rough landing and the whole thing smells of ozone and something burning.

"Uncle Owen!"

Owen turns toward Luke's voice. "Kid, where are you?"

"Over here!"

The little gremlin is crouched beside a pile of upturned boxes. "I found somebodies," he whispers as Owen approaches, "look!"

Owen crouches next to Luke. From the shadows of the boxes, pressed against the ship's hull, a pair of terrified eyes look up at him. "Hey, kid," Owen says, trying to sound as nice as possible, "can you come out?"

The kid, a human boy who looks a few years younger than Luke, lets out a pitiful whimper. "Come on, kid," Owen encourages, "we won't hurt you, I promise."

The kid only shakes his head, pressing himself further into his corner. Owen huffs, turning to Luke. "Get your aunt," he says, "I'm gonna see if there's an adult in here."

Owen leans back as Luke scampers off to get Beru. "Stay there," he tells the kid, "don't move."

The door to the cockpit has more or less been jammed halfway closed, and Owen has to wiggle through to get past it. He grunts as he heaves himself into the cockpit, panting, and is welcomed with a fist that he barely dodges.

"Woah!" Owen yelps, "not gonna hurt you!"

"Stay back!"

"You gotcha!"

Owen holds a hand out to his aggressor. "I don't wanna hurt you," he repeats, "but you did just crash land onto my property and you look like you need some help, man."

He's tall, with greying brown-blond hair and a scar over his right eye. There's something familiar about the lines of his face, something that itches as a sand flea might, but the man is also leaning heavily against the wall and looks seconds away from collapsing, so Owen stows it for another time.

"We found your kid outside," he says, "he's okay, he's scared, but we can look at you both—"

The man lurches forward. "There's—" he starts, and then everything happens real fast. There's a snap like one of Luke's toy ships breaking, and the man goes down hard. Owen darts toward him, arms outstretched, but he's too slow to stop the man's head from hitting the floor. "Oh!" he says, "shit!"

Owen rushes to the man's side, not completely sure what to do. The hit seems to have rendered him unconscious, but he's still jerking roughly on the floor. "Um, um," Owen says, "Beru!"

"What?" Beru calls from the hold, "did you find a parent?"

Oh, thank the Maker, Owen thinks. "Yeah," he says, "he's hurt! Bad!"

Beru appears at the doorway of the cockpit. "There are three kids," she says, "I managed to get them into the house with Luke."

"Three—? You know what, that's not important right now. Can you help me with him?"

Beru squeezes herself through the door and to Owen's side. "How bad—"

"What?" Owen says as Beru's finger ghosts over the man's face, "what's wrong?"

"I—I think he's having a seizure, but also—" Beru looks at Owen, her eyes wide, "Owen, I think it's Anakin."

Owen stares at the man. No, he thinks, this mysterious man wasn't Anakin Skywalker, because Anakin Skywalker was dead, the geezer, and had dumped his kid onto Owen and Beru to raise. It was just a coincidence, it had to be.

"Come on," Beru says, snapping Owen out of his stupor, "help me get him inside."

It's nothing short of a miracle they get the man—Owen can't think of him as Anakin, not yet, not with no proof—without hurting him further.

"Careful with his head," Beru says as they slide him out of the cockpit.

Owen grunts, bracing the man's upper body against his chest and trying to ignore the niggling feeling that he is much lighter than he should be.

The trip from the downed ship to the house is much simpler; Owen leaves Beru their extra room with the man as he rushes to get their meager medical supplies. The kids—three of them, like Beru said—are huddled into a corner of the courtyard. Luke is trying to entice them to the kitchen with cups of blue milk. Owen leaves them be, trusting Luke, the ray of sunshine he is, to make sure they're okay for the time being.

When Owen gets back to the spare room, Beru has managed to get the man's boot off and is in the process of hacking through his pants. Owen winces inwardly; the man probably doesn't have extra clothing, and he's much too tall for any of Owen's to fit.

"His leg is broken," Beru says, as if the shape of it didn't give that away, "can you hand me something to use for a splint?"

"Yeah," Owen says. There's a rod of metal he was going to use on the evaporator, but he supposes this was more important. "What can I do?"

Beru pauses in her ministrations. "Do you think it would be good to get him?" she asks quietly, "that old Jedi?"

Owen starts. "Benobi? What do we need him for?"

"He knows Anakin," Beru starts, "maybe he can help—"

"No," Owen snaps, "he told us Anakin was dead. I doubt there's anything he could do that we can't."

Beru is hesitant in her answer, but Owen wouldn't have gotten the crazy old man even if she had insisted. The Jedi had taken quite enough from Owen already, some things he didn't even know he had in the first place, and by Amu, he wouldn't let them take another.

"Alright," she says, tying the bandages of the makeshift cast, "but if he has another seizure—"

"We'll talk about that if he does," Owen says.

Beru frowns, but doesn't say anything. "I'm going to check on the kids," she says, "stay with him?"

"Of course."

Owen sits heavily beside the bed. Shmi had always said the Jedi had taken her son and promised him a family, an education, the whole nine yards—this man looked like he'd been chewed up by a Sarlacc and spat back out for being too stringy. And besides, if Anakin was alive, wouldn't the Jedi have told him where his actual kid was? And why would Benobi be hanging around the desert, then?

Owen sighs, running a hand through his hair. He can hear the kids screaming outside. Maybe he should go help Beru before they run her to the ground. He debates turning away, content to let the mysteries lie for a little while longer, but a soft groan from the man has him turning right back.

". . . Hello? You awake?"

The man groans again, eyes fluttering as he struggles back to consciousness. "Where . . .?"

"Tatooine," Owen says, and boy if that didn't wake the guy up. He flails upright and stumbles unsteadily to his feet faster than Owen can even think about running over to push him back down. "What are you doing?" he snaps, "get back down, you wermo!"

"Where are the kids? It's not safe, I have to—" The man makes eye contact with Owen and cuts off abruptly. "Owen?"

"How do you know my name?!"

"How did I end up here?!"

"Who are you?!"

They stare at each other, chests heaving, before not-Anakin sways dangerously, lilting to the side. Owen rushes forward and forces him back onto the makeshift bed. "Sit," he says, "you're hurt."

The man lets himself be sat back down, looking at Owen with some strange mixture of trepidation and relief. "I didn't think—I never thought I'd see you again."

Owen's breath deserts him with one, sudden whoosh and he sits down hard on the chair next to the bed. "Anakin," he says, because, it's no longer possible to pretend this man wasn't his step-brother, "what happened to you?"

"It's not safe," Anakin says, automatic, like a scratchy recording, "you'll get hurt if I tell you, and I—I can't have that—"

Owen stares at him. "You did just crash a ship into my front yard," he says, "I think I'm owed an explanation, at this point."

His step-brother ignores him. "Where are the kids?"

"Beru's got them," Owen says, "they're perfectly alright. Are they yours?"

Anakin starts. "What? No, of course not! They were in danger and I just—picked them up, I guess."

"What are their names?" Owen asks. The commotion has died down outside, and he assumes Beru has managed to corral the kids into the kitchen for food.

"Mara's the oldest," Anakin says, "she's a little prickly, but really sweet once you get to know her, and then there's Riye, he's Mandalorian-born but got into a bad situation, and then Alli's the baby. She's a Nautolan."

"A what, now?"

Anakin chuckles. "A Nautolan," he repeats, "they're from Glee Anselm, a water world. You've probably never seen one."

"Yeah," Owen says, "you can say that again." The youngest kid is bright blue and white, with some sort of tentacles growing out of her head. She's easily the most exotic thing Owen's ever seen.

"Stay down," he says, "I'll get Beru to get some food and painkillers."

"No," Anakin says, "it's fine, you don't need to—"

"Shush!"

Anakin shuts up. Owen gives him a hard look as he stands up. "Anything I need to know?"

"Nothing animal-based," Anakin says, "and Owen—. Thank you."

Owen smiles. "No need," he says, "you're family. I'll be right back with that food."

Anakin hurts.

There's a fine tremble in his flesh hand—in everywhere, really—from Sidious's lightning. His left leg is broken and at least two of his ribs, he's got a nasty headache, and he really would just like to take a fat nap. But that would be poor form of him, though, because somehow he's landed on Tatooine again. And in his step-brother's front yard, if Owen was to be believed, with the Empire no doubt on his heels. He and the kids need to leave before one of the Inquisitors hunts them down. Right now, though, he can't bring himself to move, so he stays put until Owen comes back with a piece of bread and a glass of water.

"Sorry," Owen says, "we don't have much else without at least a hint of scrabbler in it."

"It's alright," Anakin says, taking the proffered plate, "it's not like you were expecting me or anything."

Owen huffs a laugh and sits down. "Beru says . . ." Owen sighs. "Beru says we should get that old Jedi of yours," he says, "Benobi, or something."

"Benobi . . . ?" Anakin stares at Owen in disbelief. Had Obi-Wan survived the Purges? Could he bring himself to hope? It would mean everything to Anakin to see his old master again, his brother in all but name. "He's here?"

"Yeah," Owen says, "yay high, looks rather sad, a bit scruffy? Can't keep his nose out of other people's business?"

It . . . sounded like Obi-Wan, Anakin had to admit, but Owen had also never met Anakin's Jaieh before. What if it was just someone else who—no, Anakin couldn't take the risk. He didn't think his heart could take it, and he had to think about the kids, first.

"No," he tells Owen, "if there's another Jedi here, then it's best to leave them alone. If we knew about each other, if either one of us were to get captured . . . ."

Owen nods. "Yeah, okay," he says, "the kids wanna see you; I'll bring them in?"

Even with periodic healing trances, it takes nearly three weeks for Anakin to manage any weight on his leg. The kids get a break from running and Anakin gets to know his step-brother's kid, a little boy named Luke about Riye's age. Luke calls him wizard and tells him he wants to be a pilot and reminds Anakin of himself when he was a kid.

"One day," Luke tells him, "I'm gonna fly off this place and I'm gonna see all the stars!"

"Sometimes," Anakin says, ruffling his hair and giving him a sad smile, "boring is good."

It's almost hard to leave the Lars homestead behind, but Anakin knows they have to get moving before the Empire catches up. He needs to get in contact with the Rebellion, needed to, weeks ago, but now, especially, since he's blown his cover in the grandest way possible. And, besides, he can physically see Alli wilting in the double suns. He needs to get her to Glee Anselm, or a cooler world, at least.

So, Anakin chances another week to give his leg a little more time to heal and to get his shit together. He helps Owen get the remaining fuel out of his stolen starfighter and into the beaten-up speeder. The ship is totaled beyond repair, at least in the middle of the Tattoinian desert, so when Anakin and the kids leave, they leave Owen and Beru with a new yard decoration.

Owen gets them to the Anchorhead spaceport before Anakin forces him to turn back.

"I'm probably going to steal something," he tells his step-brother, "you don't need to be mixed up with that."

"You're still hurt," Owen protests, "I shouldn't let you go running around on your own—"

"I have the kids," Anakin says, "and besides—" he shoots Owen a grin— "tonbrei enoah foh midaial ru enoah dai mifoh'al."

Owen has no idea what it means—how could he? Dai Bendu is a dying language, after all—but he acquiesces with a huff of "Jedi nonsense!"

In the end, he and the kids hitch a ride to Mos Eisley, where he breaks into and steals a ride from some poor lady's hanger bay. Anakin has Riye sneak into the garage to leave her a small pile of Imperial credits because he doesn't think his leg can take any more abuse, and only feels a little bad as he limps heavily into the ship with Alli in his arms and Mara at his side. They'll go to Alderaan first, Anakin decides, or maybe Chandrilla, and after that, he'll think about taking Alli to Glee Anselm. As he corrals the kids into the lone bunk and tucks a blanket around the young Nautolan's shoulders, Anakin has to admit the last thing probably wouldn't be happening.

But, well, he thinks, it's the thought that counts, right?

dai bendu:

- jaieh: master

- tonbrei . . . mifoh'al: i am one with the force