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Coming back was a bad idea, but this part of his life has yet to close.
Old memories are dragged from the recesses of his mind.
Long days in the heat of the suns; fights with his uncle; brushing off his aunt; feelings of being trapped. Love, so much love.
Why did he throw it back in their faces? Why were his last words to them lies and resentment?
Luke stands over the graves of Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. Their headstones were erected beside the worn and weathered stones marking the burial places of Uncle Owen’s pa and ma and of Luke’s grandmom.
His shadow grows as the day starts to wane.
Behind him, Luke can hear activity in the homestead. The sounds are distant and familiar. If he stays here long enough he could probably convince himself he missed it all, when all he really misses are the two people buried beneath the sands.
They were the stones of his life; raising him, protecting him and keeping him grounded.
He looks up from the graves. He should have told someone he was coming.
But it is not the way of homesteaders to turn away weary travelers. This must be how Ben felt, like he was infringing on their hospitality.
Other than their generosity and the workings of the farm, Luke doesn’t know what to expect.
“Luke? Luke Skywalker?”
Silya Darklighter’s stunned recognition warms him more than Luke can say.
If anyone deserved the Lars homestead it was Biggs’ aunt and uncle. Jula and his family were forced to live with Biggs and Huff, his father, after sand people overran their farm.
Luke remembers Uncle Owen grumbling the raiders expanding their territory, Aunt Beru preparing a worrt casserole for the dislocated family, Biggs complaining his little cousins wouldn’t leave him alone.
He’s embraced by the family and they hastily invite him to their table.
Jula and Silya Darklighter are Tatooinian people, born and bred, tough but kindly; their three children, none of them older than ten when Luke left, are in their teens now and growing like rontos. Jula asks for news and about the Alliance. Silya admires how much he’s grown up. The kids excitedly pester him about the action he’s seen.
He answers all of their questions and it almost feels as if he’s home again.
They feed him so much, Luke insists on repaying them by repairing the broken vaporator he noticed on the outskirts of the farm. Jula and Silya accompany him.
Luke reaches up to remove the casing, the work not so long forgotten.
“We didn’t want to say in front of the children, but thank you for sending Biggs’ things home. It was a comfort.”
“You were always a good friend to him.”
He mumbles a quiet, “You’re welcome.” It hadn’t been much; a short note of condolence and a few meaningless trinkets. He wishes it could have been more and that the note hadn’t needed to bear other bad news as well.
“We’re sorry about your aunt and uncle.”
Their heartfelt sympathies prick tears in his eyes.
A callused hand is placed on his shoulder. If he doesn’t turn around, he can pretend it is Uncle Owen.
His hands slow, making every turn of the screws a gentle and deliberate action. Careful and focused – his mind on where he is.
“Thank you.” It is barely a whisper.
They let him finish his work in silence. They take solidarity in their grief; one’s pain no more or less than the others.
Vaporator repaired they return to the house. Silya begs him to stay for supper. Though sorely tempted to hold onto this piece of his life, Luke declines; he must return the fleet and to Master Yoda.
Jula takes him aside as he’s departing.
“The farm is yours.”
Luke shakes his head, “No. It’s yours.” I’m never coming back again.
The farmer knows.
“Take care of yourself, Luke.”
For a brief moment, as he takes the man’s hand, the universe shifts.
It is Biggs, who survived Yavin, saying a last goodbye to this place. It is Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru mourning the loss of their nephew; just as helpless to protect him from the realities of war as they were to protect him from the truth.
He aches for them, fighting back the pain which accompanies heartbreak.
The lowering suns mock him as he sets off into the desert.
His journey began here, the sunset ending his old life. And now, even though the suns are not as low in the sky, it is closing his last day on this planet.
Feet stop in their tracks when they come to the family plot again.
“I’m sorry.”
Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru do not respond. No surreal image to comfort him. No twinge in the Force to tell him they heard.
Wind and sand ripple the bottom of his cloak; Luke pulls it tighter. A distant memory brings him solace.
The stars hanging in the open window, he begs for the story of Anakin one more time. Aunt Beru tells him another; a man with a wheel watching over the galaxy.
More dead than alive as a slave, his grandmom lives in those stories.
Death means nothing to the Force and it was strong with her.
Luke can think of nothing to say to her. It is enough she is free, alive in beautifully-spoken and memorized words; her trials and suffering behind her.
In the old tradition of remembrance, Luke buries his fingers into the sand and takes up a fistful of grain. It slips through the cracks and falls onto the headstones in cascades. After some has been scattered on each of the graves, Luke brushes the last of the sand from his hands.
This part of his life finally closes.
He is a lone figure in the desert with an impossible task ahead of him.