Chapter Text
Luke rolled his neck out, sighing when the vertebrae popped. He blinked up at Biggs, his guard lounging against the wall with pike languidly in hand. Luke tapped his foot on the flagstones, and Biggs scowled.
“You know that sound drives me insane.”
Luke smirked, keeping his foot hovering over the flagstones as Biggs stared at him with narrowed eyes. He slowly brought his boot down until it hit the floor with a dull thunk, and Biggs grunted.
“You know, Your Highness, I could tell your grandfather about how you’re desperately in need of something to keep you busy, if you really want me to.”
Luke paled, and he stood abruptly from the low divan he had been sprawled across.
“You wouldn’t.” At his stammering, Biggs smiled, straightening up, his plate mail clinking softly at the motion.
“I could. If you keep being a brat, I absolutely could.”
Luke dared to smile slightly at Biggs’s teasing, and Biggs laughed, breaking the tension between them to Luke’s relief.
“Relax, Prince. You know I’m just pulling your leg.”
Sighing, Luke walked over and punched Biggs playfully in the arm. It did no damage (unless you counted probably bruising Luke’s knuckles on the man’s armor), but they were always affectionate together. Even though Luke could never get Biggs to just call him by his name.
Stars. He’d love to be anything other than Prince, or Your Highness, even for one day. But he’d been Prince or Your Highness ever since his grandfather had found him.
Biggs’s face rearranged itself into careful blankness at the echoing clang of armored boots on the floor, and Luke brushed himself off, cursing quietly as he moved to the other side of the hall. Luke had just managed to look presentable when the source of the thunder of armor appeared at the end of the hallway.
Mara Jade had returned, her face replete in the only veneer Luke ever saw on it—crimson blood, dried and caked onto her face so thickly that the whites of her eyes were nearly blinding. Her plate mail was similarly soaked in blood, though with the midnight color you would never know. Luke only knew she was covered in sanguine dress from head to toe because Mara Jade was always covered in blood. If she returned clean, it meant that she had been unsuccessful.
And unsuccessful Blades knew better than to return to the castle.
Her hooded knights marched behind her, swords clinking in sheathes as they moved past Luke and Biggs, taking no notice of them.
Luke might be the prince, but very few in the castle treated him with any kind of respect, or deference—at least, no one who spent any time with his grandfather did.
Though Luke hoped that the reason he didn’t receive the treatment of a typical royal was that he hadn’t earned it—he hadn’t come back from a successful hunt yet.
Once Mara Jade and her knights had rounded the corner, Biggs let out a breath.
“Looks like they’ve been productive. The King is sure to be pleased.”
Luke shivered, the scarlet face of Mara Jade swimming before his eyes, her burning emerald eyes staring through him. He blinked furiously a few times, turning to look at Biggs. Biggs was safe—his face never appeared in Luke’s nightmares. He was always the one that made Luke feel safe, even when he had ridiculous, nonsensical nightmares about teeth in his neck, and red, gleaming eyes...
“Prince Luke!” Biggs shook him by the shoulder, and Luke started. Biggs stared at him, concern in his warm eyes. “You went away for a minute there. You alright?”
Luke nodded; hands clammy as he clenched them into fists to hide his shaking. “Fine.” If he said it confidently enough, he could make it come true.
Though Biggs didn’t believe him, he nodded, releasing Luke’s shoulder and holding his pike with both hands, working his lip nervously.
“Maybe you should relax in your room for the rest of the day. You’re looking a little pale, Your Highness.”
Your Highness. Luke’s smile tightened, but he said nothing, merely clapped Biggs on the shoulder and dipped his head in acknowledgement.
“Yes. That sounds like a good idea. When’s the shift change?”
Biggs licked his lips, eyes rolling back to stare at the ceiling as he tapped his foot, thinking.
“Sundown. But I’m posted at the gates after dinner. So, you won’t be able to hang off me like a little pup out there.”
Luke chuckled, shaking his head as he made his way down the hall.
“I’ll find a way! I always do.”
Sundown did not find him hanging off the ramparts, exchanging stories with Biggs. Instead, the twilight hour graced him with an invitation to visit his grandfather. Luke tugged at his high collar, the brocade feeling more noose than fabric around his neck. His capelet hung off one shoulder, crimson with miniature prancing lions stitched meticulously into the fabric.
He mussed up his hair, nerves singing in anticipation as he waited outside his grandfather’s chambers. The red guards posted outside the enormous doors said nothing, a long moment stretching before they finally opened the doors at some silent signal.
The shuddering groan of the mahogany doors only served to make Luke wince, but he tried not to show it as he strode bravely through them.
His grandfather’s chambers were swathed in darkness, only a handful of braziers lit along the walls, every window covered in a heavy tapestry depicting the rise of House Palpatine. Luke felt a chill run up his spine as he stared up at the embroidered, unforgiving faces of all the Sith that came before, their spears and swords bloodied with the remains of the villainous Jedi.
Luke took another step forward, eyes straining to make out anything in the gloom.
All he could see were... two white pinpricks, staring back at him.
Eyes, surveying him, taking in every move. Every detail, catalogued.
Then, a voice echoing through the darkness.
“My boy. It is good to see you. You have been avoiding me.”
Luke swallowed, bowing immediately. His knees hit the marble with no forgiveness, but he didn’t show any reaction. Any weakness was noticed by his grandfather.
“Your Majesty. I have been busy—my studies--”
“Yes, your studies. I have spoken with your tutors, your sword masters. Do you know what they tell me, Prince?”
He shook his head, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the marble. His legs were already starting to go numb from the biting cold of the stone.
“They tell me that you are ready for your first hunt.”
Luke couldn’t help himself—his head snapped up, and he sucked in a breath. “Your Majesty?”
His words were hushed, awed. But his grandfather heard them and burst out in a cackling laugh. “Does that excite you, boy? The idea of your first hunt?”
He nodded, eyes straining to meet the ones that seemed to glow out of the darkness.
“Yes, Grandfather. I want to prove myself as a hunter. Please,” Luke drew in a breath, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. “Allow me to prove myself to you, Your Majesty.”
His grandfather hummed in consideration, drawing the moment out as long as possible.
“Very well, my boy. I shall allow you to prove yourself. Report to Jade and her Inquisitors. They will assign you a target. Should you return victorious, we can consider you a hunter of proven mettle. If you should fail...”
A harsh, choking laugh bounced off the stone around them, ringing in Luke’s ears and setting the hair on the back of his neck on end. He grit his teeth, fighting the urge to clap his hands over his ears as his grandfather laughed and laughed for ages. Finally, he stopped, his voice hoarse with warning.
“If you should fail me, boy, do not bother returning to this palace. I will have no further use for you.”
Luke swallowed, but he bowed his head. “I understand, Grandfather. I shall not fail you.”
Biggs’s frowned so deeply; the expression might as well have been carved onto his face.
“So soon? But you just turned of age to participate in the hunts—and you’re still a little,” He cut himself off, sized Luke up, and made a straight up and down motion with both hands.
“Shrimpy-- I don’t mean it to be mean, Prince, but it’s the truth—you’d be a ripe meal for any sucker that wanted a nice, warm meal.”
Luke scowled, tugging at his ill-fitting chest plate and trying desperately not to think about how true Biggs’s words were.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m sure it’ll give me the boost I need when I’m skewering a vampire, Biggs.”
Biggs sighed, and looked around surreptitiously “Look, Luke, I don’t think this is a good idea—and especially going out alone. Let me tag along, yeah? You need someone to watch your back.”
Luke’s scowl evaporated at the sound of his name from Biggs’s lips, and he smiled, blushing furiously.
“I appreciate the offer, Biggs, I do, but I must do this alone. I can’t prove myself otherwise.”
Biggs turned away from him, covering his face with a gauntleted hand.
“I can’t... I can’t support this, Your Highness. It’s reckless. It’s stupid. And I thought you were only reckless. I didn’t think you were suicidal.”
Luke didn’t bother responding, only sliding his sword vindictively into the sheath at his waist and flexing his gloved fingers.
He stopped at the staircase leading down the ramparts, turning slightly to watch Biggs’s face lit by the flickering of the braziers.
“I’ll be back. I promise.”
A muttered response, carried to him on the wind had his smile returning slightly.
“You better.”
The wind rattled through the trees and Luke shuddered, stoking the fire and huddling closer to the flames. His hand itched to reach for his sword, but he had to play it cool.
The key to the hunt, after all, was vulnerability. Or, at least, looking vulnerable.
Luke looked over his shoulder again, heart rate picking up at the soft rustling of undergrowth around him. He found it was a fine line between looking and being vulnerable. He didn’t want to think about how finely he was treading that line right then.
He exhaled shakily, hands held out to the fire, feeling the warmth distantly. His mind was focused on the crunch and snap of twigs around him, desperately trying to convince himself that it was only the natural activity of wildlife at night.
Luke pulled his cloak tighter around himself, ears straining. They were barely there, quiet footsteps at the edge of the clearing, where the tree line began. His eyes could make out nothing in the gloom, but he stared around him all the same, breathing faster.
More rustling. The darkness pressed in on him, hungry.
Luke stood; hand clenched around the pommel of his sword.
“Who’s there? Show yourself!” He let his voice waver—though really, was he letting it, or was it out of his control? He was quickly losing the facade of fear, being replaced by actual fear.
The twig snapping grew louder, before the undergrowth in front of him shook violently, and a figure emerged.
The figure was hooded in a black cloak, and Luke could only make out the gleam of their eyes in the firelight.
“I apologize for frightening you. I was hoping I might share your fire?”
Luke did not take his hand off his sword.
They were known for their lightning reflexes. Evolution had crafted them to be the perfect predator.
He nodded slowly, eyes watching as the figure circled him, moving to stand a foot away from the flames.
“Are you traveling as well?” Keeping his voice even, Luke took a step forward. Another, as he examined the figure. They were at least six feet tall, looming over Luke even at a distance. Luke could just make out the shape of a strong nose, and a mouth, lips pursed. And those eyes...
Luke looked away; his eyes trained on the flames. The figure cleared their throat, voice hoarse.
“Yes. Though my travels are nearly over. I’m looking for someone, you see.”
Luke risked a glance at the figure, who he assumed was a man, then flicked his eyes away once more. The man stared at him; hands clasped in front of him. Every inch of him, except for his face, was covered in black.
“Looking for someone? May I ask who? I might be able to help.”
He shifted in place slightly, sliding one hand up and into the fold of his cloak. He grasped around surreptitiously for a moment, fingers finding the leather grip of his dagger.
The man tilted his head, and those eyes gleamed crimson in a sudden roar from the flames.
“My son. He’s been taken from me, you see.”
Luke swallowed, something in the stranger’s voice chilling his blood. Well, he thought a little frantically—if his blood was truly as glacial as it felt, maybe the vampires wouldn’t want to drink from him? It was said they preferred fresh, warm blood after all...
“Your son? How horrible. I do hope you find him—what does he look like?”
He grasped the dagger tighter, sliding it out of the folds of his cloak, hiding it in his sleeve carefully as he took a step closer to the stranger.
Luke had one chance.
The stranger raised his gloved hands up to his hood, pushing it back and letting it fall to reveal his face.
The man was paler than moonlight, one side of his face burned beyond recognition. His eyes burned crimson, then yellow, then crimson once more. And his teeth, when he parted his lips to speak once more...
Were fanged.
“He looked like me, before a monster took everything from me. But the monster failed, it seems, because he’s sent you out here, alone. Back into my arms.”
Luke stumbled backward, abandoning his facade and pulling out his sword, the weight of the metal in his hand keeping his trembling to a minimum.
“Keep back! I don’t know who you are, or what game you’re playing, but I know what you are. You’re a vampire.”
The man smiled, taking a step forward. “An astute observation, young one. But do you really know what that means?”
Luke swung his sword out in a protective arc, breathing heavily.
“I know it means you’re a killer. You suck the life out of people. And the Sith are born and raised to wipe you out.”
The vampire halted at that, growling lowly. His face had fallen into half shadow, now that they were steps away from the light of the fire.
“I don’t think you’re a Sith, boy. I think you have no idea what the Sith truly are. And if you knew the truth, you’d run screaming. But there’s time for all that when we return together.”
Luke held his sword with both hands, the sword point pressed into the stranger’s chest when the man took one last step forward. He smiled, eyes... fond, as they stared down at Luke.
“I’m not going anywhere with you, vampire.” Luke’s voice wavered, but only a little. He was proud of himself for that.
The vampire brought a hand up, flicking two fingers upward in some kind of signal. In the same instant, he felt cold steel at his neck.
Frigid air brushed against his neck, a woman exhaling softly against his jugular.
“Can’t I have a little taste, Father?”
“Leia. We do not drink from our own, you know that.” The stranger was scolding, though Luke could only hear ringing in his ears. He was trembling now, barely able to keep his sword aloft.
The woman sighed hugely, pressing the dagger harder into Luke’s neck, the steel biting into him. “He’s not one of us yet. Come on, Father. A little taste?”
The vampire stepped closer, taking Luke’s sword out of his shaking hands. He tossed it aside carelessly, eyes never leaving Luke’s face.
“Incredible. You still look the same, my son. A little older, perhaps...”
“Father, can’t you be sentimental once we’re out of the open? Mother is waiting for us at home.”
The vampire sighed but nodded. He brushed a hand down Luke’s face, and Luke’s first reaction was to turn his head and go for the fingers, teeth snapping on air when the man recoiled. He let out a startled laugh, eyes wide as he stared down at Luke.
“You are perfect, Luke. You were meant to be one of us.”
Luke growled, struggling as the woman hooked an arm around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. She was impossibly strong, and her high, clear laugh echoed in his ears.
“Easy, little brother. Just go to sleep now.”
A glacial hand wrapped around his throat, squeezing so tightly he couldn’t draw in a breath. He thrashed, snarling and bringing his foot down on his assailant’s toes over and over. Nothing worked. The woman continued to squeeze the life out of him, and his vision darkened at the edges. The vampire murmured soothing words, words that Luke didn’t catch, because the world was already falling away from him. The woman squeezed harder one final time, and Luke surrendered to the darkness.
Anakin was displeased with how skinny his son was. He felt lighter than a tooka kitten in his arms, and stirred not at all when Anakin hefted him into his arms. Leia stowed her dagger with a smirk, tilting her head and crossing her arms as she stared at her father.
“He’s already got you wrapped around his finger, doesn’t he?”
Anakin grunted, but held Luke tighter, arranging him so that his head was pillowed on his shoulder.
Leia looked around the clearing with distaste, eyes narrowing and staring off into the forest.
“We need to make sure we cover our tracks. The last thing we need is to give our position away to the Sith.”
She turned back to her father and gestured to him dismissively. “Get little brother home, Father. I can clean up here. They’ll have no idea where he’s gone.”
Nodding, Anakin turned on his heel and strode off.
The journey home was uneventful and would have been much longer for human legs. Thank the Force for his vampiric strength and speed, that had him at the gates within twenty minutes. Luke still hadn’t stirred, and for that, Anakin was grateful.
The gates stayed resolutely shut, and Anakin sighed. He tilted his head back to stare up at the guard tower and glowered at the shaggy auburn-haired figure that stared down at him.
“You’re late! Here I thought you were all in a hurry to bring him back.”
Anakin was really getting tired of the effect Obi-Wan was having on his daughter—she had inherited the man’s penchant for annoying Anakin, and taking great pleasure in successfully doing so.
“Obi-Wan, I swear to the Force, if you don’t open the gates right now--”
Obi-Wan chuckled, but obediently moved to open the gates.
They swung open slowly, the only sound the groan of old wood, the creak of the heavy iron hinges.
Anakin strode through the gates and stood in the open area of their settlement, looking around for a moment. His wife was nowhere to be seen—probably waiting for his return in their home. She had been restless for weeks, preparing Luke’s room and fussing over the plans for his rescue and their reunion.
Obi-Wan dropped from the top of the guard tower, eyes trained on the sleeping figure of Luke in Anakin’s arms.
“He looks like you.”
Anakin smiled, staring down at the peaceful face of his son. He could imagine the resemblance—or the resemblance they had shared, before Sidious had nearly burned him alive.
“He is perfect. And already so strong and stubborn.”
At that, Obi-Wan laughed, throwing his head back, his pearly fangs glinting in the moonlight.
“Of course he is! He’s a Skywalker. It’s in his blood.” Obi-Wan stepped forward, brushing through Luke’s golden bangs, eyes fond.
“Speaking of which,” Obi-Wan's hand dropped to Luke’s neck, noticeably absent of any puncture wounds.
Obi-Wan raised his head, one eyebrow raised as he met Anakin’s eyes.
“You didn’t start the change?”
Anakin swallowed, shifting from one foot to the other. “You know why that would be a bad idea—he has to agree. He has to understand, first. He’s been with them for so long. He’s so brainwashed.”
Obi-Wan smiled wider, nodding in satisfaction. “You’re being much more patient about this than I expected, Anakin. I’m proud.”
He slung an arm around Anakin’s shoulders, starting to walk toward the Naberrie-Skywalker house.
“My Padawan is all grown up. It seems like only yesterday you were complaining about fang growing pains, and now you’re about to have another Padawan of your own...”
Anakin sighed, shrugging out from under Obi-Wan's arm. He rolled his eyes, walking a little faster and forcing his former Master to hurry after him. Even when he couldn’t see Obi-Wan's face, he could hear the shit-eating grin on his face from his voice.
“You don’t know that Luke will be my Padawan. He’ll probably get assigned to Mace, or even Kit--”
Obi-Wan yawned hugely. “Or perhaps he’ll become my new Padawan. I do miss having a vampling to teach--”
Anakin growled, the house finally coming into view as they walked down the mud path.
“You are not teaching my son. You’ve already infected my daughter with your attitude.”
The door to the house swung open abruptly, and Padme emerged, gasping quietly.
“Ani!” She rushed to them; her eyes fixed on the boy in Anakin’s arms.
Anakin smiled as they met in the middle, his wife trembling, tears in her eyes. She reached a hand out to touch Luke, as if she couldn’t believe he was real.
“He’s so beautiful, Ani. Just like how I remember him.” Her voice was hushed, and her hand shook as she combed through Luke’s hair.
“He’s perfect, Padme. He looks just like you.”
Padme laughed, shaking her head as she tilted her head back to meet Anakin’s eyes.
“He looks like you. He’s your carbon copy.” She frowned, gripping one of Luke’s limp hands in her own. Anakin felt dizzy at the sight—his son and his wife were the same size, down to their small hands and dainty fingers.
“Why is he unconscious? Did he... resist you?”
Anakin swallowed, tipping his head in a half nod. “Well-- he didn’t remember me, Padme. And he spent so long with them, that he has a fear of vampires. He never would have come willingly.”
Padme worried her lip, but she sighed, nodding. “Yes, I suppose he was so young when he was taken—alright. Let’s put him in his room, let him wake up naturally. We need to consider the transformation.”
Anakin stepped around her, holding his son tight as the boy mumbled in his sleep. Anakin stepped over the threshold of the house and through the living room. It was lit only by two candles, the divan decorated with a blanket that Padme had crocheted herself. As vampires, they had no way to feel cold, but Padme had kept some of the humanness after her transformation—she liked to be wrapped up in the soft blankets, and she liked to sleep in a bed during the day, rather than a coffin like her husband and daughter.
They had chosen an empty room at the back of the house for Luke’s bedroom. The choice was strategic, of course—if Luke resisted the truth and his place with his family for longer than they anticipated, he’d be placed in a room that would allow the rest of the family to circle around him. And he’d have to pass in front of Leia, and Padme and Anakin’s rooms before he could reach the front door. They’d hear him attempting any sort of escape. The one good thing about vampires and their sun sensitivity was that there were no windows to worry about boarding up in Luke’s room.
Luke’s room was decorated in lavender and midnight blue, a massive four-poster bed dominating the space. Padme had thrown tapestries on one wall, prancing unicorns and beautiful damsels, intricate florals and verdant lawns woven with care now giving the room a warmth that Anakin was grateful for. He wanted his son to feel at home with them immediately, to understand that he would be cared for, given every luxury they could offer—that his kidnappers could never hope to hold a candle to.
A fireplace resided in one corner, a cheerful fire crackling away and warming the room—or at least, Anakin hoped it was warming the room. Temperature was something so inconsequential for vampires, but his son was still human. Padme had clearly thought ahead, and not wanted their son to be shivering in his new room.
He set Luke down on the bed, arranging him so that his head was comfortably pillowed on a fluffy silk pillow. Anakin took a seat himself on the bed, staring down at his son.
“Welcome home, Luke.”