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A soft whimpering at their door and Beru rises to open it.
Owen rolls over; the silhouettes of his wife and nephew in view. She places Luke on the bed, who crawls across it and nests into him.
“You shouldn’t indulge him.” He makes no effort to nudge Luke off.
Exasperated, “Children have nightmares, Owen.”
He can only pray Luke’s nightmares are no different from other children’s.
Neither Owen nor Beru drift back to sleep until Luke’s hiccup-punctured breathing slows and evens.
----------
The brush works through; fine and gentle, though it was not as easy fifty strokes ago. Normally there is more of a struggle, but Leia is not up to fighting strength.
Leia’s cheeks are pale; an aftereffect of the fever which subsided two days earlier. Breha keeps her close and in spite of lost time, it will be a few more days until Leia fully recovers. She has already excused herself from the Alliance tête-à-tête, but she cannot abandon Alderaan much longer.
Perhaps, if Leia feels up to it, they will go and see the new school in the city, to meet the children who are now a little more secure, in spite of the times.
Leia does not fuss when Breha pins the last short braid in place. She kisses her slightly-clammy cheek as reward for her patience.
The garden was a particular point of pride of her mother; Breha sees it is well-tended to. Bail and the others are on the far side when she steps out with Leia on her hip. To spare feelings, Bail moves them indoors.
Breha sets Leia down on the soft ground and sits on a stone bench nearby. Although she cannot be at the education meeting in person, she sends her notes. When she looks up, Leia happily toddles around, looking at the flowers and smiling.
“This,” she thinks. “This is what Bail and I waited so long for.”
She returns to her datapad, but a flower is shoved rather unceremoniously in her face.
“For you!” exclaims Leia.
Breha scoops her daughter up into her arms, work abandoned.
----------
Shmi imparted lovely stories to Beru; familiar and unfamiliar, it did not matter. She was a natural storyteller.
They were meant for Beru’s children; it is only fitting they go to Luke.
Naturally, Luke likes the ones about stars best, and none as much as the legend of the warrior who slew giants. It is custom to follow each evening’s new bedtime story with an encore of Anakin’s tale.
“Did grandmom name my father after him?”
Pulling the blankets a little tighter over him, “I believe so.”
“Was he a warrior too?” His eyes gleam in the half-light, willing it to be true.
“No, he was an ordinary pilot during the wars.”
The lie comes easily. Beru wishes it were true. Luke looks crestfallen, as if he can’t quite bring himself to believe it.
She stops herself in the doorway, looking back at Luke’s clouded face.
“But he loved to fly.”
----------
They look for an excuse to get away from the city, and Leia’s birthday is as good as any.
She runs ahead of them, slipping and sliding through the drifts of snow. Breha loops her arm through Bail’s as they watch their daughter.
“I’m going to have to return to Coruscant eventually. Palpatine is too eager for me to make a mistake and given recent events –”
Bail breaks off and stops walking. He spent weeks trying to convince himself, only to find another excuse to stay. She leans into him.
“I’m grateful you’ve managed to stay a bit longer, but you must go back. It won’t do anyone any good if Palpatine is displeased with us.”
There are tiny crunches as Leia hops towards them.
“Father, can you please pick me up?”
(Still her father’s daughter.)
“Tired already?” Breha teases.
“No, I want to get closer to the snowflakes!”
“Then I have an even better idea,” says Bail.
Leia’s arms stretch as far as they can, sitting securely on Bail’s shoulders.
----------
Luke begs and begs and begs (and begs) until Uncle Owen gives in. They go to Anchorhead to get news, to buy new parts.
Luke carefully stacks the vaporator gears on top of each other; largest on bottom, smallest on top. He’s particularly pleased when he spots the part he noticed broken days before. Uncle Owen listens to a group of travelers (criminals, he and Aunt Beru call them) as the shopkeeper tallies their credit.
Uncle Owen tells Luke he should listen more often, but Luke would rather concentrate on the tower of gears.
“– musta cut a deal with the Hutts –”
There’s a jab at his back. Uncle Owen shoos him along, transaction complete. Luke picks up the gears (they are his responsibility) and steps outside.
“Why would anyone want to help the Hutts? We don’t like them, right?”
Uncle Owen squints down at him; with the expression he and Aunt Beru make a lot.
“No, and we hate the Empire about as much.”
It surprises Luke Uncle Owen sounds so frustrated. Aunt Beru lectures Luke not to use ‘hate’ (“You do not hate your dinner, Luke.”), and Uncle Owen’s distaste is usually directed at unfavorable weather or sand people.
If Uncle Owen hates this Empire, Luke supposes he does too.
“Come on; let’s find something for your aunt’s birthday.”
They go into another shop, much nicer. No sign of farm equipment or speeder parts anywhere. The shopkeeper pulls out a box filled with small things, all prettier than most anything Luke’s seen in his life.
“I like that,” he points to an enameled piece. It curves into elaborate knots; dark, littered with bright spots.
Uncle Owen makes him wait outside as he pays. Luke watches as all types of species rush on with their day. Aunt Beru says Anchorhead used to be much quieter. Uncle Owen says he’s glad it’s not Mos Eisley yet.
Luke wonders where they’ve all been and why they chose to come to Tatooine in first place. No matter how happy his aunt and uncle are farming; there can’t be many in the universe who feel the same.
Uncle Owen taps his shoulder, ending Luke’s first day into town. In the speeder on the way back, Luke asks if he can go again.
“Next time I have need to go, and only if you’ve kept up with your chores.”
After slices of glaze cake, Aunt Beru delights in her gift, tucks it into her bun, and gives both Luke and Uncle Owen ‘thank you’ kisses. Luke is pleased his choice is so well-received, but notices Uncle Owen is hiding something else and becomes too eager to find out what it is.
“This is early, but you’ve been good this year, so your aunt and I thought you should celebrate on the same day as her.”
Luke’s eyes go wide at the model starship that emerges from behind Uncle Owen’s back. He doesn’t know the class of ship, but it is the nicest toy he’s ever had.
“Thank you! Thank you! Can I play with it once I’ve finished putting in the new gears?”
Aunt Beru waves her hand, “Finish those tomorrow.”
Luke scampers out the front door with his gift. It looks impressive against the setting suns; a ship bound for the ends of the universe, Anakin and Luke Skywalker its pilots.
Uncle Owen hovers in the doorway, as always, but Aunt Beru comes out to sit beside him, the hair comb glittering brightly in the dying light.
They can come too, if they like.
----------
Bail pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. Leia still refuses to come out.
He doesn’t remember his sisters giving his parents this much trouble.
Tonight’s dinner is, by all appearances, a state function even the Empire cannot disapprove of. Breha carefully arranges the seating so it looks acceptable to any moff’s eyes, when it is anything but.
It is her night, which leaves Bail with the task of making sure Leia is ready; a model of Alderaanian royalty. It is a task that becomes increasingly difficult by the minute.
Gods, she’s not even a teenager yet.
He raps on the door, “Leia, there isn’t time for this. Put the dress on your mother picked out – it’s only for a few hours.”
“But it’s itchy!”
He sighs, no longer interested in debating the finer points of what Breha wants their daughter to wear. “You’ll find out soon enough that most formal clothing is uncomfortable. You’ll get used to it.”
“No I won’t!” Her declaration is followed by a dangerously long pause and then, “I’m going in my underwear!”
More sternly then he’s ever been with her, “You will do no such thing. Put the dress on now –”
Breha materializes at his side, “What on –”
“She won’t put the damn dress on. She’s threatening to go in her underwear.”
Breha huffs.
Leia, clearly with her ear pressed to the door, “I’ll put it on if I can learn how to shoot a blaster.”
“We already discussed this. It wouldn’t be proper for Alderaan’s princess –”
Breha interrupts, “For goodness sake – Leia, you can have blaster training if you wear the dress and anything else I think you should in the future.”
The door opens seconds later, Leia fully dressed. She skips past them, with a blissfully smug look on her face.
“I don’t –”
“Better get used to it, B. She’ll be doing this in the future too. Besides, it can’t hurt to have her know how to shoot Imperials.”
That is exactly what he worries about.
----------
Uncle Owen teaches Luke how to pilot the speeder, but way later then when Biggs’ parents first handed him the keys.
Luke thinks it annoys Uncle Owen how good he is. He knows it annoys him that he and Biggs race the speeders through Beggar’s Canyon in the early evening.
It’s not like they’re going into the sand people’s territory. It is a technicality, at best, but they can’t get riled up if they haven’t crossed the invisible border.
Laze and Camie watch from the sides.
“It’s only fun watching you beat Darklighter so many times Skywalker,” Camie drawls.
“Well, do you have any suggestions?” Luke snaps back as he hops out of the speeder.
Both Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru tell him he’s a good farmer, but this is the first thing that’s made him feel alive, even if it is just maneuvering tight corners in a canyon.
Camie points to a pack of womp rats in the distance, “Let’s see who can down the most of them.”
They take turns with Laze’s rifle. Biggs gets three before missing. Camie gets two; scares her third shot off. Laze, unsurprisingly, hits none of them. His parents are idiots for giving him a rifle.
It’s been a long time since Aunt Beru’s had fresh meat on the table and the past few harvests have been poor.
Luke squints through the rifle’s sight and exhales.
One. Pulls the trigger – two. Again – three. Again and again – four and five. There’s one more and – six.
Biggs whistles and thumps him on the back, “Okay, okay, we get it! Luke’s the better pilot and shot. Who taught you to shoot like that, because it sure wasn’t your uncle.”
Luke thinks that’s unfair, because Uncle Owen can shoot fine. All it takes is concentration and anyone can zero in on a target.
He can’t explain the piloting, though he thinks it has something to do with it being a machine. If you trust it to respond, it will. It’s the same with the vaporators; knowing when they’re about to give out, and what parts will extend the mechanisms’ lives a little longer.
“Hell, let’s just get the meat before the raiders do,” grunts Laze.
They drag what they can back to their speeders.
“How much is fresh womp rat going for in Anchorhead these days?” asks Biggs.
“You’re better off keeping it for your ma,” advises Camie.
Biggs shakes his head, “Saving up for the Academy fees.”
“Why would you want to rub shoulders with a bunch of Imperial shits?” asks Laze.
“To get out of here,” Luke says out loud before he realizes it.
They look at him wide-eyed. They have all expressed wishes of varying seriousness to leave Tatooine, but it is the first time he says anything.
He can’t explain it, but he can’t be here and it hurts and confuses him.
Luke brings both of his apportioned womp rats back to the farm. They make the best meal Uncle Owen declares he’s had in months.
Cured, the meat will last them some time and the vaporators will make it through this harvest.
----------
Leia is of two minds. The buzz of Aldera suits her (even better, Coruscant), but she thrives in the mountains.
The last of spring floats away on the warm breeze. Sprawled out on the sloping lawn of the Aldes’ estate, Leia props herself up on her elbows and looks out to the distant ranges. There will grass stains to wash out later, but none of her friends worry about their clothes.
She looks back to father and the assembled diplomats and politicians. She is surrounded by their children, all equally entrenched in the secret rebellion. By right, she should be there, alongside father, planning and strategizing.
She is grateful he gives her this respite, but it’s back to work tomorrow. Or maybe this evening.
“What if they come for us? Everyone knows what happens when systems displease the Emperor,” Ashla whispers fearfully.
The others tense. Ulic laughs, doubtful.
“Don’t be horrid,” Leia scolds and leans back down onto the blanket, shading the sun from her eyes.
They return to the palace after dusk. Father flies (“I’m only a senator, after all.”); Leia puts her feet on the dashboard.
He chuckles, “You’d better not act like this when you’re running. Senators can get away with bad behavior, of course, but princesses…”
Still a few years off, Leia both dreads and anticipates it.
“Can’t you just ask Senator Nobis to resign and keep the senior seat yourself?”
“Without your mother, we can’t both be away from home. Let me retire with dignity, please; I’m long overdue.”
Though she doesn’t like to dwell, father is getting old.
“Besides, who will take care of the Alliance?”
“Colton would love to take over,” she quips. “And then promptly destroy any goodwill that’s built up over the past fifteen years.”
Father’s laugh booms and Leia giggles in spite of herself. As much as Colton Alde wanted the Alliance in the first place, he has no flair for diplomacy.
It is hard not to see all of Alderaan as their responsibility and their responsibility alone.
They arrive at the palace and settle in for a quiet night. Leia cannot concentrate on her datapads and constantly looks out the vast window at the city below.
She anticipates Coruscant and hopes it will live up to her childhood memories (none of the bad). But for now, she is happy for Aldera.
She glances over to father. She is happy it is the two of them.
----------
Installing new generators for the cooling tanks requires all three of them. Beru notices Luke’s attention is not there, just as one of the cells slips. She catches it before it hits the ground.
“Your aunt shouldn’t be fixing your mistakes,” chides Owen.
Luke apologizes, but his tone is sullen, which annoys Owen more. He snaps at Luke, who snaps back.
It’s hot and Beru’s had enough.
“Stop it! Both of you! We’re going inside to cool off. At least that will be productive.”
Owen and Luke are embarrassed and retreat into the house. At the sight of their slumped shoulders, Beru unexpectedly smiles. Her husband and nephew are more alike than they admit.
Inside, they sit at the table in silence. Beru reaches for the blue milk; then realizes they all need something a little stiffer today.
Cradling their jawa beers, Beru speaks first, “It’s still a long way off before you submit an application, but we do need you all here, Luke. This harvest means a lot. Your uncle and I aren’t getting any younger, and it’ll be the first time in decades we’ll be able to afford help for the farm.”
She doesn’t want Luke to feel guilty; she wants him to understand. They knew Luke was not to be theirs forever, but she is selfish, all the same.
“And we worry about your plan. Jumping ship from the Academy isn’t going to make the Empire happy.”
Owen speaks up, “We want to hold onto you, while we can.”
Genuinely remorseful and quiet, Luke says, “I know. I’m sorry.”
And the words that so rarely came from Owen, but are felt every day come out, “And we love you.”
Luke nods vigorously to hide his face.
Beru wonders if they should tell Luke that buried in their dresser, is an application for the Academy.
----------
It is official: Leia is busier than he is and for the first time, Bail finds himself waiting for her to finish a meeting.
It is even more of a surprise when Ulic Alde is the sole person to emerge from Leia’s office.
“You held me up for a ‘meeting?’”
Leia scrunches up her nose, “He was relaying who Katei is considering as her successor, nothing else, I promise. That’s definitely over.”
He doesn’t mean to be an over-protective father and Ulic is a nice enough boy, but Leia is a storm unto herself. Bail reconciled with that years earlier.
Reorganizing her desk, “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Me? My dear, you’re the one who arranged this,” Bail laughs.
“Right! Sorry! I’d like you to look over my committee speech, if you don’t mind.”
He reaches across for the datapad she passes him, “You’re a new senator; you’re allowed to make mistakes.”
“I defer to your not-fifty years of experience in the Senate.”
An old joke for an old man.
Wistful, “It ceased being the Senate a long time ago.”
Tartly, “I’m glad you gave me the defective one.”
“You’ll have a proper one soon enough.”
Leia raises her eyebrow, unconvinced. “What makes you say that?”
So young and cynical already; these are trying times. Bail’s hardly what he would call retired, but he has more time to reflect.
Smiling, “Because I trust the people in charge. Come on, let me see the address.”
Despite his daughter’s cynicism, her address is full of verve and passion. It won’t be too long before her speeches are for the Senate Chamber, not conference rooms.
“It’s good. More aggressive than I would have written, but good.”
Affectionately, “You said you trust the people in charge.”
“I do.”
Leia stands. Bail realizes her desk is clear; she must be going to Coruscant sooner than he thought.
“I can’t keep Uncle Raymus waiting too long and I still need to pack. Can’t I stay at your old apartment there for longer than one night?”
Bail lets Leia do many things other parents would not, but extended stays without him on Coruscant are not one of them. He will not go back there until the Empire is done for. He makes that promise to himself; he’s spent too long compromising there for Palpatine.
“No. Go on, you can’t be late. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
She hugs him on her way out, natural and reflexive, “I love you, father.”
“I love you too.”
He remains behind in his old office in silence for a time. He digs out his holo to call Mon Mothma.
He does not leave his work unfinished.