Saga Under a Dark Sky: AU, Luke

Surprise! You are getting a bonus post because a) I had a good chunk of time to sit down with this story today, b) this section was unexpectedly easy to edit, and c) this story has completely taken over my brain. Enjoy

Alderaan was only a few hours’ travel from Coruscant through hyperspace. In realspace though, the luminous blue pearl was many hundreds of trillions of kilometers away from the capital, and there was a chasm every bit as vast between the two of them in character and culture. Coruscant had been designated the center of the galaxy, but Alderaan was its heart. A peaceful planet, without weapons, without an army, it was renowned as a center of education and creativity. Alderaan’s citizens had a profound respect for their home and kept the planet alive and thriving. It had gently swaying grasslands and shining crystal seas where Coruscant had sharp transparisteel spires and deep duracrete canyons. What few cities there were also demonstrated the Alderaanians’ love of nature and beauty, built to preserve and complement the world around them.

The Alderaanian palace personified its people’s ethos, as well. Compared to the Imperial Palace, House Anitlles was a charming country home, though it was more than large enough to house the royal family and all their advisors, retainers, and servants. It was far less prominent than its counterpart on Coruscant, located on the outskirts of the capital city, Aldera. Built of white stone shaped into gentle curves, the palace was a cloud that had settled on the rolling plains. Its graceful towers tied the land and sky together as they reached towards their wispy inspirations above. As much of the palace was windows as walls, and the glass gleamed brightly in the prairie sunshine. Often, the windows were open to let in the scent of wildflowers and the whispering breezes known as the Song of Alderaan.

The palace’s tallest tower was almost entirely glass. It commanded an excellent view of the grassland that rolled away to the horizon. Padded window seats lined the tower’s curve so that the Antilles and their guests could enjoy the view comfortably. This tower was Princess Clarys’s favorite spot in the palace, and she could often be found there, reading or studying. Today, though, her datapad lay forgotten on the floor as she gazed out across the plains. The wind rustled through the tall, feathery grasses below her and stirred the gauzy curtains into a cloud around her. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the spring air as the warm breeze caressed her face. Clarys sighed and leaned heavily against the window seat although she was more mentally and emotionally fatigued than physically tired. She had just come from a visit to the Aldera Refugees’ Memorial Hospital, where she carried on the family’s tradition of service to the less fortunate. Lately, some of the things she’d seen and learned there made her glad to retreat to the sanctuary of her tower.

The Refugee’s Memorial Hospital had been founded as a charitable institution before the Clone Wars, when a great rush of beings fled from the secessionist systems. They were often forced to travel as little more than living ballast in converted freighters that were never meant for passengers. They were crowded, squalid ships, and it was only a wonder that more of the refugees hadn’t died or become ill as a result of their conditions. Once they reached the Republic, many planets turned the sick away. Alderaan was one of the few places that were willing to accept the poor, ailing refugees. The number of those who sought help there only increased during the Clone Wars, as soldiers and citizens from war-torn worlds swelled the ranks of patients. After the Wars ended, her father, Viceroy Raymus Antilles, recognized that there was still a need for the hospital and asked the citizens and especially the Great Houses of Alderaan to fund it as a charity.

Clarys’s mother made sure that the family gave of their time as well as their money. She worked at the hospital frequently, performing small tasks or sitting with patients. When Clarys turned six, her mother decided she was old enough to accompany her on her rounds. Clarys had been terrified the first time she’d seen patients suspended in bacta tanks or being prodded by medical druids with long spidery arms, but her mother insisted she continue. “Never forget, we’re not so different from them,” Nola Antilles told her frightened daughter. “We may be more fortunate in many ways, but not better. Our money, our influence, our health-- these obligate us to do what we can for those who have little.”

At first, Clarys only stood by her mother’s side, forcing herself to smile as Nola chatted with patients and their families, so that she wouldn’t shame House Antilles by failing her duty. But as she listened quietly from behind her mother’s skirts, she saw the truth in what her mother had told her. They were all people with their own lives and stories, not just victims of this disease or that misfortune. The man learning to use a cybernetic arm was a starship captain who told Clarys stories of the planets he’d been to. The thin, patchy-furred Bothan had two small children who toddled after Clarys whenever she visited. She became an able helper, doing whatever her mother and the doctors permitted her to. Nola was so pleased with her daughter’s progress that soon she included her on her delegations to bring medical aid to other planets. Clarys came to appreciate her mother’s work as she saw lives mended as well as bodies

A mission to a quake-torn city claimed Nola Antilles’s life five years later, and Clarys felt like her life had been shattered, too. Her father threw himself into his work and his sister, Deara, came to live with Clarys and her brother when he was gone. Aunt Deara disapproved of Clarys visiting the hospital. She sniffed that dealing with all those nasty sick people was no fit occupation for a young princess. She was glad when her father overruled Aunt Deara. Clarys felt that she still had a connection to her mother when she worked at the hospital.

That was where she first encountered the Rebels.

It happened several months earlier. She’d just finished her shift and was entering her day’s activities into her journal when a low, keening moan cut through her thoughts. Clarys looked up, startled. No human was capable of making such a mournful howl, nor, she was sure, were the Mon Calamari, the Sullustan, or the elderly Rodain who were the only non-humans in this wing of the hospital. Though Clarys couldn’t identify the species, she knew from her experience here that whoever was crying out was in deep distress. She dropped her datapad on a nearby table and set off to find out who was in such pain.

Clarys was surprised when she tracked the sound to its source: not one of the patients’ rooms, but a storage room. As she peered into the darkened room, she was even more astonished to discover a pair of large, furry aliens hidden behind several crates of sterile gauze and bacta patches. The larger of the two crouched beside a makeshift pallet, where the smaller one lay moaning in anguish. “Smaller” was a relative term. Both of them measured over two meters and clearly they had been powerfully built at one time. Now they seemed little more than ragged bundles of unkempt hair held together with bandages. It took Clarys a moment to recognize their species. She’d seen holograms of them in the course of her studies, but never met one in person since Wookiees were under martial law.

The larger Wookiee spotted her first and looked up with a howl. He sprang to his feet and towered over Clarys, snarling and growling. She backed up hastily, and felt a bit ashamed when she realized that the Wookiee wasn’t trying to attack her. He was speaking to her in his own language, and from his frantic gestures, she guessed he was pleading for help for his companion, although he seemed only marginally better off than the one laying on the floor. “I…I don’t know if I can help,” Clarys told the Wookiee, unsure if he could understand her any better than she did him, “but I’ll see what I can do.”

She knelt by the pallet to take a closer look at the second Wookiee, whose howls had subsided into an exhausted whimper. He barely seemed to notice as Clarys examined him. Raw blaster burns framed with singed fur crept from his left shoulder down to his elbow. Narrower gashes of scarred flesh crisscrossed his chest and legs. One particularly vicious cut slashed diagonally across his face, swelling his right eye almost shut. Clarys’s hands shook as she unwound the blood-crusted bandages and peeled away bacta patches layered intermittently with a few anesthetic patches, though not nearly enough to deaden the pain his injuries must have caused him. Someone had obviously tried to treat the poor Wookiee, but his wounds exceeded the small measures they’d done for him. He needed so much more than bandages and painkillers. Why then was he laying neglected in a supply room?

Clarys was so intent on cleaning the young Wookiee’s wounds that she didn’t notice that someone else had entered the storage room until the large Wookiee howled again. She glanced over her shoulder, and found Dr. Davon Syrush standing in the doorway. Dr. Syrush oversaw most of the hospital’s humanitarian missions to outlying worlds, and Clarys had worked with him on several occasions. He’d been a field medic during the Clone Wars, and he retained much of the discipline and practicality he’d learned in the military. Now, however, he darted into the supply room looking shocked and almost frightened. It took her a moment to realize that it wasn’t the Wookiees he was regarding so apprehensively; it was her. “Princess Clarys! What are you doing here?”

“I heard his cries and came to help,” Clarys explained with a frown. What was she doing here? The presence of two ragged Wookiees in one of the hospital’s closets didn’t surprise him, but finding the princess with them did? “They’re badly hurt. They need treatment immediately. Why are you hiding them here?”

The doctor winced at her accusation. “You should go, Princess,” he told her. “It would be best for us all if you forget what you saw here.”

“I don’t think I can do that, Dr. Syrush,” Clarys said. “And I’m not leaving until I know what’s going on. Please,” she added, realizing that, given her tone, it sounded as if she was issuing a royal command. She didn’t want it to come to that. Dr. Syrush had been a good friend of her mother’s. She respected his skill and his character. “I just want to be sure they’ll be well taken care of.”

He regarded her solemnly, and his frown reminded Clarys of her father's expression when he was considering some difficult decision for the Senate. It was hard not to shrink from directness of his gaze, but Clarys squared her chin and made herself meet the doctor’s eyes. Finally, Dr. Syrush nodded. “All right, then. I’ll explain while we’re taking care of these two. Would you hand me a box of synthflesh and one of bacta patches?”

“But they need more than just patching together!” Clarys objected. “They need to be a bacta tank. They need….”

Dr. Syrush shook his head and sighed. “Unfortunately, this is the best we can do for them. Hear me out, Princess,” he said as Clarys gasped in protest. “Bacta treatment would be much better from them, but while no one will notice a few missing packs of synthflesh, there’s no way I can camouflage two Wookiees in bacta tanks. Wookiees are subject to martial law. If they’re discovered here, the best they can hope for is to be returned to an Imperial labor camp. More likely, they’ll be executed.”

“Executed?” Clarys echoed, dropping the box of bacta patches she was holding.

“I’m afraid so, Princess,” the doctor answered gravely. “But that’s beginning my explanation at the end. Let me start again. This is Tehuurranti and his son Arruarro.” He gestured first to the large Wookiee and then to the smaller one. Tehuurranti hooted a soft greeting in reply; apparently, he did understand Basic. “Until recently, they were part of a group of Wookiees imprisoned in an Imperial labor camp in the Horuz system, one of the worst in the Empire. The treatment they received there was horrific. They weren’t given enough food and water and were housed in vermin infested barracks. Their overseers thought nothing of using stun whips or even blasters to punish those who didn’t comply with their orders quickly enough. Many of the Wookiees died of injuries their masters inflicted in the name of discipline. Arruarro’s mother was one of them.”

The princess listened with a growing revulsion. What Dr. Syrush was describing was the enslavement of a sentient race. Clarys had known, of course, that the Empire had put the Wookiees’ home world, Kashyyyk, under martial law more than a decade earlier. She knew that planets under martial law weren’t accorded the same amount of freedom as other worlds. She’d had no idea it meant that the Empire could treat that planet as a source of slave labor. Clarys looked down at Arruarro and the scars of the shock whip that tore across his tattered fur. He was lucky not to have died from his wounds like his mother. Or was he? Clarys shut her eyes against the tears that welled up in them. “That’s….” she whispered, searching for a word to describe such an atrocity. She couldn’t find one that conveyed the horror she felt.

Silently, Clarys picked up the bacta patches she’d dropped and offered them to Dr. Syrush. Together they tended to the Wookiees. Dr. Syrush examined Arruarro’s blaster burns and sealed them with synthflesh while Clarys cleaned, patched and bandaged Tehuurranti’s gashes. “How did they ever manage to escape?” she asked as they worked.

“You’ve heard of the Alliance to Restore the Republic?” Dr. Syrush asked without glancing up from his patient His attention was focused on Arruarro, but his voice was tense.

“You mean the Rebels?” She’d heard of them. Who in the galaxy hadn’t? But what she’d heard varied widely by the source. They were freedom fighters; they were traitors. They were misguided idealists, no, crazy fanatics, no, murderous scum. Aunt Deara shook her head over their exploits; such lawlessness, she said, was uncalled for. the Empire had some unjust policies, he said, but violence was no solution. Her brother, Kitt, retorted that the Empire's unjust policies left them very little option. Her father always changed the subject.

“That’s what the Empire calls us, yes,” he answered, and Clarys gaped. Her friend and mentor, the very steady and sensible Dr. Syrush, a Rebel? “There are more of us than you might think,” he said with a smile. “And we’re not all on the lunatic fringe. Some of us do what we can, wherever we can to help those who’ve been hurt by the Empire and try to keep others from being hurt the same way.” He opened another box of synthflesh before continuing. “One of the Alliance’s squadrons infiltrated the Horuz system and took control of the command center. They were able free one unit of Wookiee slaves before the reinforcements could arrive. Many of the slaves had been hurt, but Arruarro was the worst off. He kept his spirit longer than most, and his overseers were determined to beat it out of him. I knew it was dangerous to bring him to the Refugees’ Hospital, but I couldn’t turn him away.” Dr. Syrush finished his ministrations and gave the young Wookiee a final examination before administering a large dose of a potent anesthetic. Almost immediately he gave a grateful sigh and went limp on his pallet. Clarys felt the fist that had been clenched around her heart loosen now that Arruarro’s pain was gone, but she knew that his respite was only temporary. How long could they stay hidden here? Would the little bit of medicine she and Dr. Syrush had scraped together be enough to make a difference?

“Dr. Syrush? Arrurarro and Tehuurranti….they’re not the only ones the Rebels have brought here, are they?”

“No,” he answered. “They’re not.”

“I’ll help you with the others, too. I want to do what I can”

"You’re sure?” Dr. Syrush asked, the weight of a galaxy in his question. “Princess, if the Empire learns you’ve been aiding the Rebels, nothing will protect you. Not your youth, not your title, not your father. Nothing. “

“I’m certain. After all,” Clarys finished softly. “They’re not so very different from us.”

Since that time, Clarys had continued her quiet work for the Rebellion. She treated beings whose livelihoods and lives the Empire shattered, from the malnourished family whose farm had been seized to a cluster of Rebel soldiers badly burnt in a firefight. Gradually, Dr. Syrush introduced her to others in the hospital and in the city of Aldera who shared their sympathies. Then, two weeks ago, he’d asked Clarys to participate in her first real assignment for the Rebel Alliance. Ostensibly, she was going on a mercy mission to an Outer Rim planet called Tatooine. Tatooine was a harsh desert planet and its residents depended on the moisture farms that extracted what humidity was in the atmosphere to provide the water they needed to survive. These moisture farmers lived a precarious existence, always struggling against the inhospitable environment and often against the Tusken Raiders, a fierce nomadic race native to the planet. Recently, the Raiders’ attacks had become more frequent and savage. They had grown bold enough to strike small settlements as well as isolated farmsteads. In response to the rash of attacks, the Refugees’ Hospital was sending medical supplies for the injured settlers and parts for the vaporators that the Tusken Raiders had destroyed.

Aiding the unfortunate moisture farmers was a noble goal, but Clarys’s real reason for going to Tatooine was so important that she had only recently learned what her true mission was. At the Imperial gala, Lord Pavel had given her a datacard that explained what the Alliance was asking of her. In a tiny village on the edge of the Dune Sea lived a man known only as the Anchorhead Prophet. The blind beggar claimed to be able to sense the will of the Force, and though many thought he was simply a crazy old man, others said he had the uncanny gift of knowing the past and the future. The Rebellion’s leaders believed in his powers and, further, believed he could be one the last of the Jedi. Once on Tatooine, Clarys was to rendezvous with the planet’s fledgling Rebel cell, convince the Prophet to lend his support to their cause, and see him safely to the base on the fourth moon of Yavin.

Even for someone who had been born a princess, it seemed quite a task. Clarys had been taught negotiation and diplomacy since she was a small child, and she’d grown up representing her planet to Senators and visiting dignitaries. However, this would be the first time she would truly put her skills to the test. She wouldn’t have her father or brothers to support her, nor could she count on this Prophet’s good will simply because she was Princess Clarys of Alderaan. The prospect of truly employing her training this way both excited and daunted her. She picked up her datapad and, not for the first time that day, accessed the encrypted file that detailed her mission. Clarys had only started to read the briefing when she heard footsteps on the tower stairs and hastily flipped the screen back to her journal.

A moment later, the door swished open and Aunt Deara strode into the room. Kitt trailed behind her, and from the way he frowned at her back, Clarys could tell they’d had one of their frequent disagreements. Whatever it had been about, Deara's opinion must have prevailed, because she was beaming widely at Clarys, as if she’d just been awarded the Aldera University Peace Medallion. “Ah, here you are, Clare!” Aunt Deara exclaimed, joining her at the window seat. “I hope you’re feeling especially charming today. The Lady Vader’s private ship just docked in Aldera and she and the Young Lord Vader are on their way here.”

“Lord and Lady Vader? Here? Whatever for?” she asked, striving to keep a tone of polite curiosity in her voice. It wouldn’t cooperate, rising to a pitch that betrayed an edge of panic.

Kitt turned his frown to her now. Concern and anxiety swirled his dark eyes. “They’re here to see you,” he answered softly.

“What?!” Clarys gasped. Surely they couldn’t know about the Rebels in the Refugees’ Memorial Hosptial. There were only a few of them, and their records had been carefully altered to make them appear as if they were any other patient. Surely they were safe. But then, Clarys had heard stories of Darth Vader learning secrets he had no way of knowing. If his children had inherited his mysterious abilities…. Clarys’s heart hammered and she pushed her datapad behind her. Did she have time to wipe the incriminating files from it before they arrived? Perhaps the Lord and Lady Vader meant to use more direct means to get information from her. The tales of Imperial torture that she’d heard from some of her patients flooded her mind and she felt sick.

Despite her niece's sudden pallor, Deara's smile broadened. “Oh yes. Apparently, we aren’t the only ones who think you’re the most beautiful young woman in the Empire. The Young Lord Vader is much taken with you since he saw you at the Imperial Palace.”

They don’t know! Relief suffused Clarys and she let the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding out with a long sigh, “Oh.” Then, abruptly, the import of Aunt Deara's words sank in. Clarys sat up with a jolt. “WHAT?!?”

Notes: When I researched the Noble Houses of Alderaan, I discovered that Breha Organa, née Antilles, would have been Clarys's aunt. She was Raymus Antilles's sister, and they also had another sister, Deara. Deara was an Imperial spy who nearly outed Leia as Force Sensitive, and was subsequently exiled by Breha. Here, she's more of a social-climber than a spy. She takes over the role of Nevis Antilles, Clarys's oldest brother, from my original story. I thought it was slightly less repugnant to have a social-climbing aunt who wanted to use Clarys to advance her position at court than a brother.

Kitt and his former brother Nevis are named after St. Kitt's and St. Nevis, which are part of a group of islands in the Caribbean known a the Lesser Antilles.

 

"Clare?” Kitt Antilles tapped lightly on his sister’s door. After several minutes of silence, he tapped his fingers against the door’s control panel, afraid that Clarys had locked herself in—not that he would have blamed her if she had. However, the door slid open, and Kitt stepped quietly inside. Clare was sitting at her dressing table, staring past herself in the mirror as if she didn’t quite recognize herself. She almost looked a stranger to Kitt, too. The beautiful, fragile princess who sat in front of him bore little resemblance to his sister, except that she wore Clarys’s favorite dress. Their father had given her the flowing purple gown, saying that it set off her eyes. Now those eyes were full of dread, unnaturally round in her pale face, and the gown's color only emphasized her lifeless complexion. It all gave her a strangely brittle appearance, as if she would fall to pieces at any moment. Kitt laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. She startled, stifling a shriek when she realized that her assailant was only her brother. “Clare, they’re here,” Kitt told her softly. “Are you ready?”

She went a shade paler at his words, but nodded. “I…. yes,” Clare answered in a small voice. She stood, moving awkwardly as a broken droid as she smoothed out her skirt. She glanced in the mirror one last time and gave a low wail, dropping her face into her hands. “No! Kitt, I can’t do this! Why me? I never gave him any reason…. Never even looked at him! Why?”

Kitt pulled his sister close and she buried her head in his shoulder. He half expected her to sob into his shoulder the way she had after Mother died, but she simply clung to him, as if too afraid to even cry. “Shh.” Kitt soothed. He silently cursed his aunt's social-climbing ambitions. When they received the message, Kitt argued against encouraging Vader’s sudden interest in Clare, and tried to persuade Aunt Deara to wait at least until their father returned from his meetings at the Senate. She overruled him, insisting that Lord Vader honored Clare by his attention. Perhaps that was true, but Kitt feared that Deara was too fond of Coruscant society and thought of her position before any supposed honor to her niece. She just hoped to get into the Imperial inner circle by pairing Clarys with the Young Lord Vader, apparently not seeing that she was selling Clare off for her advantage. Kitt often disagreed with his aunt, but he'd had never come closer to hating her. “It’ll be all right, Clare,” he promised. “Do you really think I’d let him lay one finger on you?”

Clarys looked up, the fear he’d seen on her face now absolute terror. “Kitt!” she gasped. “You wouldn’t… You know what they can do!”

“I don’t care,” Kitt said. He’d heard all the stories of the things Darth Vader and his children were capable of. All the more reason why someone had to protect Clare. Aunt Deara had already shown where her interests lay. Kitt clenched his hands at his side. “If they abuse our hospitality, if they hurt you in any way, they will answer to me. I don’t care what they do.”

A strange, far off look came over Clare’s face. “Hospitality….” she repeated faintly, and straightened, running a hand down her skirt again. Some of the color and spirit returned to her face. The trembling of a frightened girl disappeared beneath the poise of a princess. “It’s our duty to welcome them. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

Kitt thought she looked very much like their mother at that moment. “Are you sure? I can plead illness for you, if you want,” he offered, knowing what her answer would be.

“No,” she replied, as Kitt expected, every bit a princess now. “No, it’s our duty to House Antilles, to Alderaan to greet them.” Her royal demeanor cracked for a moment, as Clare reached for her brother’s hand. “Just stay near me, Kitt,” she whispered.

He squeezed her hand in reassurance, then took her arm so he would look like a proper escort and not a protective older brother. Kitt led her from her chamber, down the long corridor to the spiraling staircase that led to the Great Hall, where Deara was waiting on the Lord and Lady Vader. As he descended the stairs, Kitt looked down on his aunt. Somehow, Deara had managed to change into her finest clothing in the short time before their Imperial guests arrived. Though Alderaanian court dress was much simpler than what many cultures considered finery, Deara still seemed like an over-dressed court functionary next to the Lord and Lady in their regal black and silver.

A less frequent visitor to Coruscant than his father and sister, Kitt had seldom seen the Lord and Lady Vader in person, and never up close. His first impression of them was that they taken over the palace without waiting for the previous residents to move out. Lord Vader leaned against the settee where his sister was enthroned, his careless grace projecting the same bored, possessive expression of a well-fed Corellian sand panther. The Lady Vader, however, held herself with the proud bearing of a queen visiting her lesser subjects. She could have been quite lovely, Kitt thought, if not for the shadow of menace behind her beauty. Lady Vader’s black brocade dress was chased with silver embroidery. Her dark hair pulled back into a braided circlet held in place with a silver ornament. If her brother was a cat, she was a hunting hawk, alert to everything around her. She caught sight of Kitt and Clare first, and he felt his sister’s fingers spasm against his arm as the Lady Vader turned her dark eyes upon them. In another woman, those eyes might have been warm. In the Lady Vader they were deep and intense, keener than any raptor’s could ever be.

Deara belatedly followed the path of the Lady Vader’s gaze. “Ah, here they are at last!” she said. “Lord and Lady Vader, my nephew and niece, Prince Cristovar and Princess Clarys Antilles.” She left off fawning over her guests, and hurried to the bottom of the staircase to meet them. Or rather, Kitt thought, to meet Clare. Deara's brightly beaming smile fell only on her. She reached out to Clare, but Kitt steered her away from their aunt's grasp. He would not give Deara the opportunity to hand her over to Lord Vader so easily.

Kitt clasped his sister's hand as they turned to face their unwelcome company. “My Lord and Lady,” Kitt said, echoed by Clare’s murmur. She sank into a deep curtsey that let her escape their gaze for a last few moments. Kitt bowed, too, just far enough to be polite— a bow offered not to a high lord, but someone you grudgingly admitted as an equal.

Lord Vader swept past him, a rustle of shadow as his vine silk cape swirled around Imperial dress blacks. He wore the double-breasted tunic, trousers and knee-high boots of an Imperial officer, but instead of a plain silver belt buckle, his was engraved with the Imperial insignia. There were no rank bars pinned to The Lord Vader's left breast, but no one would ever mistake him for an ordinary soldier. No trooper would have been permitted to keep his hair long enough to pull back in an elegant warrior’s queue. And no officer, no matter how high ranking, would have worn that gleaming silver cylinder at his right hip-- a lightsaber, the symbol of his family’s dark power. Kitt bit back a snarl at Vader’s arrogance. How dared he offer such a blatant insult, not just to Clare or House Antilles, but all of Alderaan, by bringing a weapon into the palace?

Now Vader noticed Kitt, raking a disdainful look towards him as if he had heard that growl of a thought. He considered Kitt for a moment, but dismissed him and turned to Clare with a polished smile. “Princess Clarys, I’m honored to meet you at last,” he said as he captured her hand and pressed it to his lips. Clare’s eyes flew wide in ill-concealed dismay. She flushed and dropped into another awkward curtsey, murmuring a flustered response. Lord Vader’s haughty blue eyes glittered with faint amusement. He glanced past the discomfited princess, favoring Kitt with the lazy smile of a man who got everything he wanted, a smile that laid his claim on Clare.

 

I love your descriptions, especially the way Kitt views Luke and Leia!

Thank you so much for reposting this story, I am truly enjoying it and look forward to every new installment!

 

I like Kitt's protectiveness and determination to safeguard Clare. Clare is strong and yet naturally daunted at the prospect of falling into 'Lord Vader's' clutches.

Struck by the nuances your Leia has that are so vastly opposite to herself in the OT. Just proves that different context and circumstances leads to a completely different contrasting personality.

Appears that Luke is falling in line with Leia's scheme, and I'm looking forward to how that unfolds and also what he demands as a 'payback.'

 

This is a great tale you are telling! Please keep me updated when a new post is made!

 

So far i think this is one of the Best AU beginnings i have come across.

 

I'm also loving the new wrinkles in this AU -- Clarys is a very interesting character, especially when compared and contrasted with another Alderaanian princess we're familiar with. The story of how she became involved with the Rebellion through her charity work at the hospital was an interesting parallel, and it gives her a very sympathetic motivation.

(I also found Luke's hairdo a nice touch -- not a style that I would have thought of, but it sounds very Sith princely. )

 

This is beautiful writing - I loved the descriptions of Alderaan and Luke and Leia as Lord and Lady Vader.

 

Dark Skywalker twins seriously brought the creepy factor! Poor Clarys and Kitt. This isn't going to go well for them.

 

NightWatcher91

Thank you all so much for the compliments!!! I'm glad you are enjoying reading the story as much as I am writing it.

Kahara Luke's new 'do is inspired by Westley as the Dread Pirate Roberts in The Princess Bride. I'm hoping to make some sketches of Dark Luke and Leia, and Princess Clarys, but that's another skill I haven't used in lo these many years.

A shorter post this time; this is the last of my reposted material. From here on out it's all new
-------------
"...And when Ralltiir’s high council accepted Lord Tion’s invitation to parley, his men barricaded them inside the council hall and leveled the building.” Leia finished the tale of the insurrection on Ralltiir. Throughout dinner, she she had "entertained" their hosts with stories of the Rebels’ defeats, told in such a blasé tone that she might have been discussing the latest performance of the Imperial Opera Company. Luke didn't bother to listen. He already knew how Imperial forces crushed their opposition, and it was far more entertaining to watch the Antilles'. Alderaan prided itself on being a peaceful planet; such casual descriptions of war and violence, especially delivered by a young woman, were appalling to them.

Next to him, Princess Clarys shrank into herself a little more with each story. as she listened. She toyed with her food, moving the roast gorak around her plate but eating little. That was probably for the best, Luke thought, since she looked like she was going to be sick at any moment. looking as if she was about to be ill. Across the table, Prince Cristovar scowled and stabbed a kebroot. The energy that drained from his sister seemed to kindle in him. Anger and frustration rolled off him in waves; only his exquisite sense of Alderaanian courtesy kept him in his seat. And Lady Deara… well, Luke had disliked Deara Antilles immediately, and every subsequent moment in her presence confirmed that first opinion.

Luke had seen his share of sycophants at the Imperial Court, but had never learned to stomach the flattery they used to hide their mingled fear and greed. Deara Antilles proved she was one of them was soon as she greeted Luke and Leia, her apologies for the inadequacy of their welcome followed by a tour of the palace that showcased House Antilles’ wealth. As soon as her reluctant charges had joined them, Lady Deara ushered them all of to the dining room, where five places were laid at a table long enough to accommodate a state banquet. The table was quickly laden with such a lavish meal that Luke wondered what promises she had made to the kitchen staff—surely, an Aldereaanian never threatened the help. Through dinner, Deara fingered a heavy gold medallion with the emblem of House Antilles in a way that was too practiced to be a nervous habit. She smiled at Leia's atrocious story as if it was most fascinating thing she'd ever heard. “An…innovative solution,” she offered brightly. “More wine, Lady Vader?” For all her jovial demeanor, Luke noticed that the Lady's hands trembled when she reached for the carafe. She was as disturbed as the Prince and Princess, but she was willing to suppress her morals for the chance to advance at court.

Leia’s good trooper-bad trooper theory seemed to be working admirably on Lady Deara. She checked frequently to see how Princess Clarys and the Young Lord Vader were getting along. Every time she did, Luke saw the hopeful gleam in her eyes reflecting the grand future she envisioned for herself. He had no doubt that Lady Deara would cheerfully hand Clarys over to him at the least suggestion, probably without asking her niece's opinion on the matter…and it was plain how the Princess felt.

On Coruscant, women vied for Luke's attention, and even those who eye afraid hid their fear behind veils of smiles and flirtation. But not Clarys. The Princess was as terrified of him as she was of Leia. She cowered any time he looked her way. When he smiled at her, she blanched; complimenting her made her look like she might faint. Luke toyed with the idea that it might be an interesting challenge to make this cowering child fall in love with him—but why? He suppoesed she was pretty enough, if you liked the wholesome, earnest type, but he preferred women with more spirit-- or any spirit! Clarys might be alarmed by his supposed attraction, but she was safe from any real advances. “Leia, you’re boring our hosts with all this talk of politics,” Luke chided his sister. He turned towards Clarys and smiled. “Perhaps you’d prefer a more pleasant topic, Princess? Such a lovely lady shouldn’t have to concern herself about these kinds of things.”

Prince Cristovar bridled. “My sister is more than just a pretty ornament, Lord Vader. She’s the Princess of Alderaan. Some noble families may believe their daughters are incapable of serious thought, but House Antilles encourages all its members to take an interest in matters of government.” The prince could present a problem, Luke reflected as Cristovar glowered across the table at him. He had almost expected Cristovar to charge in like a mother Wookiee separated from her cub when he’d kissed Princess Clarys's hand in greeting. Would the Prince continue to protect his sister, even if she were exposed as a Rebel? It seemed likely.

“That’s true,” Deara quickly replied. “But, of course, Clarys is more involved on a local scale. She’s carrying on her late mother’s work with the Refugees’ Memorial Hospital, ministering to the Empire’s less fortunate.”

Princess Clarys seemed to blush and pale at the same time as Luke gave her an inquisitive look. “I do a little work at the Hospital, not much really,” she murmured.

“Don’t be so modest Clare!” Deara said. “She’s really very involved. In fact, she’s leading an aid mission to Tatooine next week.”

Tatooine. Something prickled at Luke’s memories. He frowned inwardly; he couldn’t recall ever having visited it. He didn't know why he would have had reason to go to the desert planet. There was nothing there but Hutt lords and sand. Still, if this feeling wasn’t a tremor in the Force, it was a strong nudge. Tatooine—this mission to Tatooine-- was significant. He had to go with her. “That's noble cause,” Luke said, affecting an air of earnest apprehension. “But very dangerous. The Outer Rim is full of smugglers, slavers and all sorts of criminals. Please, Princess Clarys, if you have go to Tatooine, let me provide an escort for you.”

“Oh,” Princess Clarys gasped. “That’s very….kind of you, Lord Vader, but, really not….”

"We insist,” Leia said firmly. “My brother would be most distressed if anything unfortunate happened to you. Besides,” she added with a smile worthy of a nexxu. “It's good for our citizens to remember that the Empire knows everything that happens to them, no matter how far from Coruscant they may be.”

notes: Lord Tion comes for the Star Wars radio play. He was one of Leia's suitors, and he tried to impress her with the same story Dark Leia tells here. You can imagine how well that went over

 

Great chapter! Luke's inner thoughts are fascinating, and I love that he feels a pull towards Tatooine.

 

I also enjoyed Luke's inner musings on Clarys and Cris and Deara. Cris' defense of his sister -- makes me quite relieved for her sake but worried on his behalf. A pull towards Tatooine? Interesting!

 

Well, Sith-Leia is having a grand time. Suspect this is the GFFA equivalent of bringing an air strike down on a knife fight. Interesting to see the reactions of the twins to the Antilles family, and that Clarys's brother is the one who nearly loses his temper there. Anyway, great chapter and I'm very curious to see if the Rebels will be able to divert things a bit or if the whole operation goes crashing down thanks to Luke's hunch.

 

Amazing update! Can't go wrong whenever tatooine is brought up.

 

NightWatcher91

Thanks again for all the comments! Things will get interesting on Tatooine.... But they have to get there first.
-------------
It took three days to prepare for the Princess's mission to Tatooine, and Lady Deara seemed determined to cram as many opportunities to show off for the Lord and Lady Vader as possible into those three days. First came a tour of the capitol city, including an extended stop at the Museum of Modern Experssion to see the famous moss paintings. Luke thought they looked like overgrown mold colonies on the walls; Lady Deara's droning commentary on Alderaan's rich cultural heritage didn't improve his opinion.

The next night featured dinner at Latli's, one of those pretentious gourmet restaurants that existed so the Empire's elite could be seen. Despite, the pretentious atmosphere, Luke had to admit the food was excellent, even better than the palace chef's. However, he would have enjoyed the meal more if every bite or two, one of Lady Deara's cronies hadn't stopped by to say hello, and oh my, Lord and Lady Vader, what are you doing here? Deara, of course, enjoyed telling them at great length, while Princess Clarys squirmed in her seat in a very un-princessly manner. Dinner was followed by a night at Aldera's Royal Opera House. The same nobles they'd just seen at Latli's had to chat them up again before Deara ushered them up to the royal box. Luke had to resort to using the Force to keep himself awake during the tedious three hour performance of "The Herald of the King's Decline," a convoluted tale of political maneuvering which only Leia really seemed to enjoy.

The day before they left for Tatooine, Deara threw a hastily improvised garden party on the palace grounds. Every member of Alderaan's Noble Houses--plus their cousins, second cousins and their second cousin's pittins-- showed up, ostensibly to wish Princess Clarys safe travels but really to see Lady Deara's Imperial guests and gossip behind the ladalum bushes. Deara was happier than a barve in muck to play hostess; the princess was more like a nala frog at a Hutt's banquet. She only appeared after her aunt searched the entire palace twice, and she stood in the receiving line looking like she would rather be in the middle of a sarlaac pit than next to Luke. Clarys slipped away as often as she could. If the princess really had to visit the 'fresher that much, it was time to consult the royal physician. Deara tut-tutted her niece's "shyness," while Prince Cristovar scowled at everyone and snarled at the poor woman who ventured that "your sister and the Lord Vader make a very handsome couple." Between the reluctant princess, her overprotective brother and her social-climbing aunt, Luke felt like he'd been cast as the villain in some ridiculous holo-romance. It only needed some virtuous Rebel to sweep in and rescue the princess from him.

Luke was more than ready to depart the next morning; if he had to continue this farce of a courtship, at least he wouldn't have to deal with Lady Deara and Prince Cristovar any longer. At the docking bay, Captain Jeremoch Colton greeted the Antilles' warmly, Luke and Leia rather less so. The pair of stormtroopers Leia had commandeered from the Imperial garrison on Kuat also waited for them. Colton frowned at the troopers, his Alderaanian sensibilities offended by the prospect of an armed escort.

Their ship, a sleek Corellian Corvette called the Tantive IV, had been fully prepped and was ready to go, but Clarys and Cristovar's farewells dragged on, becoming increasingly maudlin. "You don't have to go, Clare," the Prince said, for the fiftieth time that morning.

"But I do, Kitt. For Alderaan, for those poor moisture farmers, for...." Her teary voice wavered off into a sob. Princess Clarys threw herself at her brother, embracing him like she was never coming back.

"Now, now," Lady Deara simpered, prying Clarys away out of the Prince's arms and pushing her towards Luke. "It will only be a few days, and I'm sure you'll be quite safe with the Lord Vader and his men." Luke refrained from mentioning that, technically, they were Leia's men. Despite three days of bloody war stories and veiled threats, Deara still seemed to regard Leia as a genteel lady.

At the bottom of the gangway, Captain Colton cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Your Majesties, but we really do need to be going," he said. The captain gave Luke a stern look. "Don't worry, Prince Cristovar, I won't let any harm come to your sister." Apparently, he shared the prince's conviction that Lord Vader intended to ravish the Princess once he got her alone on the ship. Luke smiled benignly at Colton. It was really ironic that the Alderaanians dismissed Leia because she was female, but assumed the worst of him. He didn't plan to harm a hair on Clarys's delicate head; he couldn't vouch for his sister.

Colton managed to herd the Princess aboard after a few more teary good-byes. Naturally, once she was on the Tantive IV, Clarys disappeared like pocket hare going to ground. Like the senators' children he used to play hide-and-seek with, she didn't seem to realize Luke had an unfair advantage in this game. Tracking someone by their Force sense was a simple matter, especially if, like Princess Clarys, they were practically broadcasting their emotions to the universe. Luke found her in a cargo hold, behind a stack of crates. "Princess Clarys, what are you doing in here?"

"Oh!" The Princess jumped. She stared at Luke, her eyes darting frantically, seeking escape, but he stood between her and the hold's only entrance. Clarys slipped behind a low row of crates, as if that would protect her, and smiled awkwardly. "I'm, um, just making sure we have all the supplies." She held up her data pad to show the manifest and prove that, yes, she really was doing inventory, not hiding.

Luke crooked an eyebrow at her. "Really? I thought you'd double and triple checked it back at the hospital. Your brother certainly seemed to think that's where you were every time I asked." Embarrassment washed over the Princess, and color flooded her cheeks. At least that was a change from her pallor the last three days, Luke thought wryly-- progress of a sort, he supposed. He tried out his most charming smile, the one always worked on the girls at court. "Do you really intend to hide the whole way to Tatooine? It's going to be a very boring trip if you do."

"Oh, I....," Princess Clarys stammered. Her blush deepened from pink to scarlet, and she took a nervous step backwards. Another crate caught her behind her knees, and she went sprawling to the deck. The Princess tried to get to her feet while she scrambled away from Luke, but only managed to tangle herself in her own skirts and fall back into a miserable heap.

Perhaps he was in a b-grade comedy instead of a holo-romance. Luke stifled a sigh as he extended a hand to the ungainly girl. "Are you all right, Princess?" Clarys took his proffered hand automatically, but once she was on her feet, she dropped it as if being Sith was as contagious as Falsin's rot. "Thank you, Lord Vader," Princess Clarys said faintly, eyes once again on the floor.

Cheap comedy or bad romance, this really was getting tedious; Luke decided to try a new tactic. "Do you play dejarik?"

Her head snapped up and she blinked. "I... What?" Whatever indecent proposition she'd been expecting from him, holo-chess clearly didn't figure into it.

"Dejarik," Luke repeated. "Do you play? I noticed there's a table in the crew's break room."

"Yeees," Clarys said slowly. "A little. I'm not very good, though."

"Let me be the judge of that, Princess. Would you do me the honor of playing a game with me?" He held out his hand again with a gallant bow.

The Princess stood there with a puzzled frown on her pretty features. Luke felt the confusion twisting its way though her thoughts. She suspected there was a trap hidden in his offer, but no matter how she turned it around in her mind, she couldn't find it. "Well, all right," Clarys said at last. Reluctantly, she reached out and took his hand, touching it as gingerly as if he really did have Falsin's rot.

It turned out that the Princess vastly understated her abilities. Unlike most of the girls at the Imperial court, she was a very competent player and took the game seriously. Once they started playing, Princess Clarys became so absorbed in it that she seemed to forget who sat across the holo-table from her. Luke defeated her, of course, but it was a much closer match than he had expected. "Good game," he said as his savrip finished off the Princess's last k'lorr slug. "I thought you said you couldn't play very well."

The game over, Princess Clarys reverted to a shy pittin. She blushed and spread her hands self-deprecatingly. "Kitt almost always wins when we play." Luke raised his estimation of Prince Cristovar a notch. It seemed he had skills besides scowling and hovering over his sister like a mother Wookiee after all.

"You sell yourself short," he told her. "That was the best game I've played in a long time." He'd never understood why women felt the need to hide their accomplishments; certainly Leia had never suffered from that particular feminine affliction. He remembered the time he'd played dejarik with Senator Romodi's youngest daughter. She'd professed not to know what any of the pieces were; later he'd found out she was a ranked player on Coruscant. "Everyone else lets me win because I'm the Lord Vader. Well, except my sister."

"Do you play dejarik with her often?" the Princess ventured. Dejarik, it seemed, was a safe topic of conversation.

"Not anymore!" Luke snorted.

Princess Clarys winced and her face fell. "I'm sorry," she said, shrinking into herself again. "I thought you and Lady Vader were close."

"We are. It's just that Leia's..." He struggled to find the polite way to phrase it. "Very competitive. She has to be the best at everything; she even insists she's the oldest, though neither of us knows who was born first."

"Your parents never told you?" Clarys asked, frowning.

"Yes, well..." Whatever Father knew, he kept to himself. The past wasn't something he discussed. Luke had learned early on that questions about his mother would be met by dark silence. He knew so little about her, it was like she had never existed. Family was infinitely more complicated for a Sith apprentice than a princess. And Luke didn't know why he should explain any of this to her, but he shrugged and answered, "Father wasn't there, and our mother died right after we were born."

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Princess Clarys suddenly reached across the dejarik table and touched his hand. Her wide eyes sparkled with tears, and she looked him in the face for the first time since he'd arrived at the palace. "My mother died five years ago; losing her was terrible. I can't imagine never knowing your mother."

Luke stiffened and felt the currents of anger rising; how dare this pale, fragile little thing pity him, the Lord Vader? Except...what she felt wasn't pity, at least not the kind that scorned its recipient. It was more like...sympathy. Luke tasted the unfamiliar emotion. Had anyone ever felt it for him before? Leia? Not likely, or, at least, not lately. Father? Mara? Probably, but Father was family and Mara had been his friend forever. Clarys Antilles barely knew him and still feared him, yet she was genuinely sorry for his loss. As a Sith, Luke should have derided such sentimentality as more evidence of weakness of inferiors. Instead, he just felt strangely uncomfortable. It was his turn to pull away from her touch.

He busied himself resetting the game board. "You know, you could have beaten me if you used the kintan strider death gambit. Here, let me show you."
-------------------
Notes: lots of tidbits from Wookieepedia this time. Researching Alderaan's Capitol city of Aldera turned up the Museum of Modern Expression, where Luke sees the moss paintings that were mentioned in "Tatooine Ghost," and the gourmet restaurant, Latli's.

Captain Jeremoch Colton is the Captain Colton that C-3P0 mentions as "our last master" in the ANH novel. "Captain Antilles," from ANH is Raymus Antiles, who in this universe gets promoted to viceroy, due to Bail Organa's demise.

The Baldavian pocket hare is a small, shy animal. Like Clare, it's extremely skittish.

Falsin's rot is a parasitic infection of the skin.

Senator Romodi is Hurst Romodi of Matacorn, who also served under Tarkin aboard the Death Star. He seemed like the kind of person who would throw his daughters at the Young Lord Vader.

 

I enjoyed that I liked the details you put in - very nice touches. And the dejarik match and the conversation and sympathy. Clarys is getting very complicated and thoughtful reactions from Luke which is intriguing for him, and she finds herself feeling unexpected sympathy.

 

And the Tantive IV makes an appearance! Yay!

Loved that Leia is the one with the stormtroopers.

 

NightWatcher91

So, after laying dormant for so long, my Muse has apparently kicked into hyperdrive.... Just waiting for the day the fickle thing decides I need a good case of writer's block.
------------------
Their dejarik lessons continued throughout the voyage to Tatooine. Luke studied the Princess even as he taught her new dejarik moves. In some ways, he felt like a xenobiologist on a new planet; Clarys was so different from the girls on Coruscant as to be a different species. Unlike them, Clarys didn't want anything from him beyond their game. He had never met anyone who became less afraid of him as time went by, but since he'd told her about his mother's death, Clarys's image of him as the terrifying Lord Vader had cracked. Luke questioned whether the person beneath it existed except in the Princess's mind, but it made his part in Leia's plans that much easier.

Clarys was a quick study, and the day before they arrived on Tatooine, she successfully executed the kintan strider death gambit he'd taught her. She stared at the board in dismay when she realized she'd beaten the Lord Vader. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she gasped. "I didn't... I really..."

Luke had to laugh at the horrified look on her face. "Do you think I'm giving to smite you just because you won?" Clarys blushed, and he knew he'd hit the mark. "Princess, even Sith realize that someday the student will surpass the master." Of course, Sith also expected the student to kill his master, but it was probably better not to mention that part. "Never apologize for your achievements," Luke told her. "If others can't handle them, it's their problem, not yours."

The following evening, the Tantive landed at the port of Mos Eisley. Captain Colton said that it was one of the largest cities on the planet, but compared to Coruscant, it was a tawdry little backwater settlement. The heat battered Luke as soon as he stepped off the gangway and into the grungy docking bay. Exhaust stains streaked the plaster walls; sand crunched underfoot. And the smell! Docking bay 94 had apparently once been home to a herd of incontinent banthas. Behind him, Leia gave a haughty sniff and covered her nose and mouth with a gloved hand.

Worse than either the heat or the smell was the sudden sense of déjà but that prickled at the back of his mind. Luke didn't have long to contemplate the incessant but frustratingly vague buzz in the Force. Minutes after they debarked, a dark haired man hurried out of one of the docking bay's many alcoves. He was followed by an older man, who, judging by their similar features, was his brother. The older brother sported an impressive mustache, though his hair was thinning and going salt and pepper. His clothes were better cut than his brother's, but they didn't disguise that he was thickset where his younger brother was still lean.

"Welcome, Your Highness, Lord and Lady Vader," the dark haired man said, bowing to them with a nervous smile. "I'm Jula Darklighter, and this is my brother, Huff." Beside him, Huff grumbled a greeting. He bowed, too, but gave Luke and Leia a look like he thought the docking bay's smell emanated from them. Luke recognized it as the expression of one of those indignant beings who held a personal grudge against the Empire. Interesting. Was he one of the Princess's Rebel friends, then?

The Princess smiled warmly as she clasped their hands in turn. "Very pleased to meet you, Master Darklighter," she said. "I was only expecting your brother, but I'm so glad to have the chance to meet you as well."

"Call me Jula, please, Your Highness. And I'm here because I'm afraid there's been a slight change of plans." Darklighter shifted from foot to foot and glanced at his brother. Huff grunted and gestured for him to continue. Luke noted the tension that stretched between them; Jula wasn't pleased with Huff. The phrase "stubborn old nerf" was almost audible in his thoughts. "We received your message that Lord and Lady Vader would be accompanying you, and I know the arrangement was that you were going to stay at Huff's manor, but, well, I'm afraid there won't be room for everyone there." Princess Clarys gave a small "oh!" and Jula held up a hand. "Don't worry, Your Highness, my wife and I run a small hostel on our farm. I know it won't be the kind of accomodations you're used to, but at least you won't have to double up in the children's rooms"

"It sounds...charming," Leia said before Princess Clarys could answer. She gave Huff and Jula another of her nexxu smiles. "I think it's always enlightening to experience the local color of a planet. You never know what kinds of hidden gems you'll discover."

Jula's affable smile faltered a bit. "Well, then, that's settled. Shall we go?"

Huff stepped in and offered his arm to Princess Clarys. "Please come with me, Princess," he said in a gravelly voice that matched his grizzled exterior perfectly. "I think you'll be more comfortable in my speeder. I can take one more; the others will have to ride with Jula." He swept the Princess out of the docking bay, leaving his brother to deal with the bags.

Stepping outside, Luke put up a hand to ward off the piercing brightness of the twin suns. It took his eyes a moment to adjust after being in the dimly lit bay. Sunlight also glared off the grimy adobe buildings that lined the crowded streets, where huge reptilian creatures vied for space with speeders and foot traffic. Drivers yelled insults at the beasts and their handlers, while street vendors hawking everything from droid parts to gorgs on a stick shouted to be heard over the noise of the traffic. The scruffy looking locals eyed the Princess and her retinue with undisguised greed, but stormtroopers' presence kept most of them at bay. Only a trio of stupidly persistent Jawas were bold enough to approach them. They tugged at Clarys's skirts and harangued her in high, rapid voices until the troopers prodded them away with their rifles.

More of the little aliens were clustered around the Darklighter's speeders. Huff angrily shooed them away. "Can't stand those Jawas! Filthy creatures!" he muttered. "They'll take anything that's not bolted down, and some things that are." Huff carefully inspected his speeder, a Mandal Motors LUX that, underneath a coat of road dust, was in pristine condition. He grunted in satisfaction and held open the hatch for Princess Clarys. His jaw tightened when Luke slid in next to her, an expression that was mirrored on Leia's face when she realized that her transport was an old V-35 whose brown paint had been scoured by blowing sand. He threw his sister a smug wave as the LUX sped away.

The speeder zipped smoothly through the desert. Luke stared out the window at the interminable stretch of san, the monotony broken only by a few rocks and a a twisted skeleton that jutted out of the dunes. Overhead, the suns blazed red and gold, painting streaks across the sky in a glorious sunset. He supposed it could have been considered romantic, though he didn't feel inclined to continue the charade with Princess Clarys. Whatever rapport they'd had while playing dejarik, she was uncomfortable being in such close proximity to him, sitting as far away as the speeder's narrow backseat would allow. She chatted away with Huff Darklighter about moisture farmers and Tusken Raiders, and Luke was just as happy to let the two of them talk. The further they went, the louder the buzzing in his head grew. By the time they reached Jula's moisture farmer, it felt like a buzz-droid was trying to drill its way into his skull.

"Are you all right, Lord Vader?" the Princess asked as they climbed out of the speeder.

*Yes, what's the matter with you?* Leia sent the thought as the V-35 pulled up behind them. *You look like something a nerf hocked up.*

"I'm fine," Luke said; to his sister he added. *Don't you feel that?*

*Feel what?*

* It's like.... like I've been here before. Like something terrible happened here.*

*Don't be an idiot,* Leia snapped. *We've never been here before in our lives.*

"Do you want me to show you to your room, Lord Vader?" Jula inquired as he pulled the bags from the speeder's cargo port. "Dinner should be almost ready, but perhaps you'd like some time to freshen up first?"

Luke was about snap that he was just fine, thank you, when suddenly the noises in his head built to a crescendo of clashing lightsabers and high-pitched screams. Fighting the urge to clutch his head in agony, he turned in the direction the sounds seemed to be coming from. In the distance was the dark smudge of a building, like a single thundercloud on the horizon. "What's that?" Luke asked, pointing. He hoped his voice didn't betray the dread he felt looking at it.

"Huh?" Huff grunted, following Luke's gesture. "Eh, that's just the old Lars place."

"It's haunted, you know," came a small voice from behind him. A boy of about seven years old scrambled out of the domed stairwell leading down to the farmstead. He pushed an unruly shock of black hair out of his eyes, staring like he was watching the arqets at the Circus Horrificus. Luke realized with a start that the boy's look of fascination was directed at him.

A woman in blue homespun robes followed him up the stairs, trailed by two tiny girls. One had sandy brown hair braided into a circlet just like the woman's, the other wore her dark hair in a long braid. They both clung to the woman's skirts, staring with eyes round as a Rishii's. The woman stopped with hands on her hips. "Gavin Darklighter, mind your manners and go help your father with those bags!"

"Aww, Mom," Gavin started to protest, but she cut him off. "Scoot!" He sighed gustily, and scuffed his feet in the sand as he picked up Luke's leather satchel, the smallest of the bags.

Jula crossed to the woman and kissed her on the cheek. She murmured something that Luke couldn't catch, and he felt the fear radiating from her-- fear for herself and for her husband, but more than anything for her children. "Sil," he said. "This is Princess Clarys, the Lord and Lady Vader and, er, their men." He indicated the storm troopers uncertainly, and turned to the Princess. "Your Highness, let me introduce my wife, Silya, and our daughters, Rasca and Anya." He crooked an eyebrow at the boy, who was swinging the satchel back and forth. "And you've met our son, Gavin."

Silya tried to curtsy, her efforts hampered by the girls clinging to her. "It's an honor to meet you."

"Charmed," Leia said, raking her eyes over the woman. She gave Silya a tight smile. *That dress! Our maids wouldn't even wear those rags!"

"So very pleased to meet you, Mistress Darklighter," Princess Clarys said, returning her curtsy. "And very nice to meet you, too, Gavin. " He shook her hand perfunctorily, but kept his eyes on Luke, more interested in Sith than princesses. Clarys knelt down and extended a hand to each of the girls. "Hello, Rasca. Hello, Anya." She won shy smiles from them, and beamed up at Jula and Silya. "What beautiful children you have."

"Thank you, Your Highness," Silya answered. "Dinner's almost ready. Huff, are you sure you don't want to stay?"

"Thanks, Sil," he said. "But I've got to get back to Mos Eisley and get the Princess's supplies before it gets dark. Not that I don't trust your captain and crew, Princess, but you never know what kind of scum is hanging around Mos Eisley. Good evening, Your Highness. I'll see you at Tosche Station in the morning." Huff bowed to her. "Lord and Lady," he grunted as an afterthought as he climbed into his speeder.

"Why don't we go inside now?" Jula asked as his brother sped away. He gestured that Princess Clarys should go first, but Leia edged in front and led them down the dim, narrow stairway to the farmstead.


Notes Jula Darklighter bought the Lars moisture farm some time after Luke left Tatooine.

Circus Horrificus was the former employer of Malakili, Jabba's rancor handler.

 

Enjoyed meeting the Darklighter family and the very curious Gavin Intrigued by the sense of being there before Luke had but not his sister. Clarys is all warmth and charming courtesy. Nice contrast there with Leia's condescension. Luke is too busy with his headache LOL apparently to be haughty, or maybe he's just less full of attitude than Leia.

 

This is going in very unpredictable directions. Fantastic!

I like the interactions between Luke and Clarys. His initial speculations about being the villain in a romance story were hilarious. And I liked that there does seem to be some substance to their conversation that comes out through the dejarik games. Leia, meanwhile, is much more eager to be on the hunt for trouble. She wants some Rebel scum to chase and she wants them now. I have a bad feeling the Darklighters may regret having the Vaders around.

The haunted Lars place... very interesting.

 

Loved the return to the homestead - so I guess Luke was on Tatooine as a baby? I'm looking forward to finding out what happened.

 

I'm sorry I fell off the train there. I have been reading over the past few days and am caught up. I'm intrigued by what Luke feels on Tatooine. What went wrong? I can't wait to find out.

 

NightWatcher91
Okay, so my muse sputtered out on me a bit. She apparently has trouble with scenes where people just around and eat

Nyota's Heart, glad you like young Gavin. He's a lot of fun to write, though in an early draft his curiosity very nearly got him killed by Lady Vader and her touchy sense of self-importance.
------------------------------------
The farm wasn't a house in any conventional sense of the word. Instead, the stairway led down to a steep-walled courtyard hewn from the red stone beneath the sand. Recessed doorways were arranged at intervals around the yard, and in the center stood a vaporator, a towering array of machinery and pipes. It was ringed by a garden of succulent plants and cacti, some bearing flowers or spiky red fruit, and the plants were bordered in turn by a crushed stone path worked into a mosaic of strange tribal symbols. Off to the side of the path lay a toy starship; Luke could guess who had abandoned it there so carelessly.

"What an...interesting home you have," Leia commented as she looked around. *If you like living like a pack of scurriers.*

"Very, er, practical," offered Luke. Another wave of déjà vu threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been here before; not here exactly, but somewhere teasingly familiar. "Are all moisture farms built this way?" Perhaps he was only remembering an image from his geography lessons.

"More or less," Jula replied. "Building our houses underground like this helps them stay cool and protects them from sandstorms, too. The Dining room's over that way," he said gesturing to an archway across the courtyard. "Why don't you follow Silya while Gavin and I take your bags to your rooms."

Silya showed them into a low, narrow room chamber with a vaulted ceiling. Like the courtyard, it had been cut directly into the stone, more cave than room. The walls were scrupulously whitewashed, and they reflected the light of the glow panels, saving the little room from feeling too cavernous. A pair of red and ochre tapestries embroidered with some of the same symbols as the path outside added a touch of color. A long metal table nearly filled the room, leaving just enough room on the side for Leia to shoulder her way past to take the seat at the head of the table. She ignored Silya as she pulled out the chair next to her for Princess Clarys. "Why don't you sit here, Your Highness? That way the sun won't be in your eyes."

"Thank you, Mistress Darklighter," Clarys answered. Luke took the place next to her. He saw her eyes dart around the table, counting the place settings. There were only six places laid, fewer than there were people. The Princess's lips curved into a little frown. "Aren't the children eating with us? I don't mind, truly."

"Oh, no, no," Silya said quickly. "They'll be eating in the kitchen with me. If we tried to crowd seven adults and three children in here we'd all be bumping elbows." She smiled, but there was fear in her eyes. Luke could feel her desire to safeguard her son and daughters draped over them like a protective cloak, even if the woman herself had no idea. Silya wanted to shield them, to keep them as far away from Lord and Lady Vader as she possibly could. The next room was still too close, but at least they'd be out from under the Vaders' too-watchful eyes.

Leia sniffed. "Seven adults?" She shot a dismissive look at the troopers, where they stood by the doorway, the taller of the two hunched slightly to fit inside. "No. They won't be eating with us. They'll be outside, standing guard."

"Does that mean I can stay?" Gavin popped in the doorway, bouncing on his toes like a rock hopper; his father followed at a more sedated pace. Gavin pulled out the chair at the foot of the table and sat, grinning eagerly at Luke, who almost felt himself smile back. He remembered pestering the Red Guards when he was about that age, trying to get them to teach him how to use a force pike that was twice as tall as him.

"Please, Lady Vader," Princess Clarys protested as Silya firmly steered her son into the kitchen. "You can't make them stay outside. In this heat, in that armor, they'll collapse of heat stroke!" For a such clever dejarik player, she had remarkably poor strategy, Luke thought. If she and the Darklighters were Rebels, then wouldn't it be to their advantage to have the troopers out of commission? Her foolish compassion apparently overrode her abitilty to think clearly. Still, if Clarys could find sympathy for a Sith, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised she was concerned for the welfare of a couple of stormtroopers.

Jula edged his way past the troopers and took the seat across from Clarys. "It gets much cooler once the suns, start setting, Princess," her assured her. "But still, there's no reason they can't stay. Silya's made plenty of food; it's no bother."

"Yes, come on, Leia. What's the harm?" Leia looked so darkly serious, Luke couldn't resist adding to the fun.

Her face was dark and her mood darker still that these inferiors-- this ignorant bumpkin and brainless chit --- would interfere with her command. Luke overwhelmed by the sense of loathing he felt when Leia thought about Clarys. It wasn't just a general disdain of the Rebels and their attempts to subvert the Empire, but a hot, writhing, personal hatred. He wondered what the poor girl could possibly have done to earn that level of rancor, and he pitied her. When Leia took revenge, the results were seldom pretty. *You're supposed to be on my side,* she snarled at him.

*Me? I'm the good trooper, remember?*

Leia forced on a smile that was as flat and unconvincing as if it had been cut out of plasti-form. "Very well," she said, conceding the honor like a queen. "You may join us, but mind you stay alert."

"Yes, Lady," the troopers answered in near unison, their voices flattened into identical tones by their helmets' vocoders. The taller of the two leaned his rifle behind the chair next to Jula and removed his helmet. Beneath was a young man with dusty brown hair slicked with sweat. His fellow trooper, darker complected and an inch or two shorter, moved to the seat at the of the table that Gavin had just vacated. Both of them looked as if they were just out of the Academy; Luke guessed this was their first assignment away from their garrison.

From behind his mother, Gavin gave a disappointed huff. He muttered something that Luke could just make out as "They're not even as old as Biggs," and Silya's mouth compressed into a tight line. "I'll be right back with some wash cloths so you boys can clean up before dinner," she told them, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Next to him, Luke felt Princess Clarys's hot flush of embarrassment. She'd avoided the troopers throughout the voyage to Tatooine, as frightened of them as she was of Leia. She had probably been expecting the troopers to be a couple of ugly bruisers who delighted in harassing peaceful citizens, not a pair of ordinary young men who looked like they could be her brother's friends. "I'm so sorry," Clarys said, shamefaced. "I just realized I don't even know your names."

"Sergeant Banir, ma'am," said the taller one.

His companion prodded him roughly. "Your majesty," he corrected, sotto vocce. He made an awkward half-bow. "I'm Sergeant Paez, Your Majesty."

Clarys curtsied back to them. "Pleased to meet you, Sergeants. I'm so, so sorry for not getting to know you earlier. Won't you sit down?"

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Sergeant Paez answered, but he remained standing until Leia dismissed them with an impatient flick of her hand. *Lovely,* she commented tartly. *Now that we're all friends...* Displeasure grumbled through her Force sense. She was going to have a few words with the commander of the Kuat garrison. He thought he could insult her by sending a couple of children that not even a cowardly little pittin like Princess would be afraid of for her escort, did he? Leia promised to show him the Lady Vader wasn't one to cross. Luke rolled his eyes at his sister's self-importance. He hoped whatever she did to the commander, she wouldn't shred Banir and Paez's careers for having the bad luck to be assigned to her.

A moment later, Gavin and Silya returned from the kitchen. Gavin carried a tray of wet cloths, which he offered to Banir and Paez. The troopers might not have held any interest for him now, but the rifles propped behind them did. Only a stern glance from Jula kept him from touching one.

Silya carried a steaming platter of meat and vegetables and a bowl of brown spheres. She set the food on the table, ducked back into the kitchen, and returned with a plate of flat bread and a pitcher of thick blue liquid. "Bantha milk," Silya explained as she poured it. "I'm sorry we can't offer you anything stronger, but it's very refreshing. Once she finished serving the beverages, she indicated the thick slices of juicy, pink-brown meat, chunks of fleshy orange vegetables, and doughy brown balls flecked with herbs. "We have roast bantha and hubba gourds, ahrisa and haroun bread." She nudged Gavin back into the next room, leaving Jula to serve the meal.

Luke took a bite of the roast bantha and was surprised how tender and flavorful it was. It tasted slightly gamier than he was used to, but not unpleasantly so. The gourds were sweet and starchy at the same time, a simple counterpoint to the savory richness of the meat. The taste woke an appetite he hadn't realized he had. With any luck, the food would do something to quell the buzzing in his head. More than likely not, though, he reflected gloomily, since the headache seemed to be the Force's way of telling him... something. He wished it would have chosen a less annoying mode of communication. Luke speared another chunk of hubba gourd. "So why does your son think the 'old Lars place' is haunted?"

"Heh, I guess that's probably my fault," Jula said, pushing a ball of ahrisa around with his bread. "When we bought the land, I decided to build a new house instead of moving into the Lars homestead. It didn't seem right after everything that happened there." He glanced up at the Princess and seemed to reconsider what he had been about to say. His gaze slid back down to his plate, and he began slicing the errant piece of ahrisa a into to bits.

Silence stretched across the room. "Which was...." Luke prompted. *You will tell me everything you know.* He pushed the Force command behind his words. The Lars farmstead called to him. He didn't understand why, but he was going to get answers, regardless of the Princess's delicate sensibilities.

Jula chewed his ahrisa slowly, swallowing with an uncomfortable gulp. He made a face as if the ahrisa had too many bitter greens in in it, and said, "It was attacked by Tusken Raiders twice, one of them the worst attack I've heard of in these parts. About twenty years ago, the farm belonged to a man named Cliegg Lars and his family. One morning, his wife, Shmi, was out gathering mushrooms by the vaporators when the Raiders took her. Cliegg and about thirty other farmers rode out to rescue her, but only four came back. Cliegg lost his leg. I don't know how he finally got Shmi out of the Raiders' camp, but it was too late for her. He died, too, not long after that."

"Cliegg's son Owen and his wife Beru took over the farm. They tried for years to start a family, without any luck. Finally, they adopted Owen's nephew. I never saw Owen so happy... And then the Raiders came back." Jula toyed with his fork. He shook his head and said in a voice tight with old pain long buried, "I never saw an attack like that in all the years I've been living out here. Sand People are usually opportunists; they steal parts of vaporators, supplies...even people. But this time, they were just out to destroy-- killed Owen and Beru and burned down the farm. I grew up with Owen and Beru. They were as close to neighbors as we ever had." He stared down at his plate and added in a hoarse whisper. "We never found any trace of the baby...."

The Force nagged at Luke, though what any of this had to do with him was still a mystery. Beside him, Clarys gave a small, choked sob, and her wide eyes glistened with the beginnings of tears. Even Banir and Paez looked grim.

A small voice from the doorway broke through the tension. "Just crazy old Ben."

"Gavin!" Jula stormed up, slapping his palms against the table. "If you're done eating, you can stop eavesdropping on things that don't concern you, and do the dishes." There was a scuffling noise of small feet scurrying away and the door clicked shut. Jula sighed as he sank back into his chair. "I swear that boy's going to land himself in the sarlaac pit one of these days." He met Luke's eyes for a moment, and Luke read the fear that the boy was about half a step away from the sarlaac pit right now.

"Crazy old Ben?" Luke suggested, with a renewed push in the Force. He was surprised when Jula resisted this time, not a challenge for someone strong in the Force, but a definite opposition. Luke swatted down his walls like a child's block fortress. *You WILL tell me what you know!*

Jula gave Clarys an apologetic glance, as Luke's Force command compelled him to continue, "Old Ben was a hermit who lived out in the Jundland Wastes. No one really knows where he came from; he was just there one day. He seemed like a harmless fellow, kept to himself most of the time, except when he came to Anchorhead for supplies. I guess he was headed there the day the day the Tusken Raiders attacked the Lars place and tried to help, but..." Jula shook his head again and spread his hands helplessly. "Huff and I came when we saw the smoke. We found Ben just outside the farmhouse. The Raiders.... They cut off his legs and one of his arms. Left him there to die. He was covered with burns, blind and raving. People said he was lucky to be alive, after all that, but I'm not so sure he was."

Leia had been eating her meal with a measured disinterest throughout Jula's story. Now she put down her knife and fork. "The Sand People sound little better than beasts," she commented. "Perhaps it's time someone exterminated them like the vermin they are."

 

Intense backstory and roiling emotions. I can tell Clarys is very compassionate, which is a strong counter to Leia's callous attitude. Luke seems less hostile but definitely curious.

 

Nice, creepy chapter. Jula's story of what happened to the Lars is utterly lacking in ghosts, but has a haunting, eerie feel about it nevertheless. The attack on Kenobi seems like a clear parallel and I'm pretty sure it wasn't Sand People -- but now I wonder what else we're going to learn. And whether "crazy old Ben" survived long after the fight.