Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s the last time, I think, as I walk up the stairs to the stage built every year in front of the Justice Building of Mos Espa. Rey will turn nineteen in just a few days. And after that she’ll be safe. The games may continue, but she won’t be up for grabs any longer. Coruscant won’t be able to touch her.

     Lando walks up on the stage behind me, stylish and serene as ever. Many games ago he found a blind spot, one the cameras won’t see no matter which angle they film, and we dare to let our fingers brush against each other. The corner of his mouth lifts ever so slightly, and I respond in kind. Then he takes his place and begins the same act as every year.

     “Happy forty-ninth Hunger Games!” Lando sings out with a fake smile plastered on his face, and only a very trained ear catches the venom in his words as he continues, ”And may the odds be EVER in your favor!”

     I try not to smirk. If the camera catches anything, they’ll think I’m drunk. I spot Rey in the second row among the other eighteen-year-old girls, chewing her lip like she always does when she’s nervous. Lando tied her hair up in three buns earlier this morning, and she wears her nicest clothes, a sunset orange tunic and brown trousers. I will never get used to seeing her there, but after today I will never have to again.

     “As always, ladies first,” Lando continues and reaches for the slips of paper in the reaping ball. I take a deep breath. It’s almost over.

     Lando rolls the slip open as he declares, “The female tribute for Tatooine is—”

     No.

     Lando is a professional, he never pauses, not even for a split second. He never tenses like that on stage. I know immediately which name he pulled out. He doesn’t even need to say it.

     “Rey Skywalker.”

     My entire world comes crashing down.

     Rey doesn’t take any tesserae, she doesn’t have to, so her name is in the bowl only seven times. This is either terrible luck or the reaping is rigged. I know which option I’m leaning towards. I want to run off the stage and puke my guts out, but I know I have to see this through. Not for myself, but for my girl.

     She separates herself from the rest of Tatooine’s girls and walks to the stage, head held high, her eyes never leaving mine. She bites her lip, but her eyes are like steel. I know her well enough to know what she’s trying to tell me.

     “Do not let them control the narrative. Do not give them that satisfaction of seeing how upset you are.”

      Rey is right, I can’t fall apart now. That’s exactly what Coruscant, what the Emperor wants.

     I barely register Lando asking if there are any volunteers to take Rey’s place. No one steps forward. In this part of the galaxy no one ever volunteers for the Hunger Games. For a second I wonder what would happen if I were to volunteer in place of my girl.

     I’m still gathering myself and almost miss it when Lando announces, his voice still slightly trembling, “And now for the gents. The male tribute for Tatooine is A’Yark!”

      Rey and I glance at each other. The Stormtroopers pull out a scrawny Tusken boy who yanks himself free from their grasp and makes his way to the stage. With him covered head to toe it’s impossible to tell his actual age, but since he is dressed in the traditional coverings of a child he must be younger than fifteen. Hasn’t had his growth spurt yet either. I know from experience that his chances in the arena will be slim. There has never been a victor younger than fourteen in the first place, and the tribute who won that year got extremely lucky.

     A’Yark offers us a nod and stands on Lando’s right-hand side. That is the only acknowledgement we get. Tuskens are proud, and I know this boy will not just sit there and let the Careers butcher him. I’ve mentored many of his people—there have been several years in a row that both tributes have been Tuskens.They do not run from a fight. By all logic one of them should’ve won the games by now. The reason I am still the only living victor of Tatooine is that Coruscant would never allow a Tusken victor. Of course this is off the record, but everyone on this planet knows it’s the truth. And it’s nigh impossible to get them sponsors.

     The games are rigged, I’ve been convinced of that since my own games.

     “Any volunteers?” Lando asks again, as pointlessly as before. On some planets it’s actually seen as an honor to volunteer, but not here. Here even the tightest family bonds are severed if one sibling is called for the games. Everyone is just relieved it wasn’t them that year.

     The ceremony continues with Rey and A’Yark shaking hands as a sign of fair play. The boy is a good twenty centimeters shorter than her. Fuck, he’s just a kid. No one actually listens to the regional governor reading out the decree the first Emperor set after the Clone Wars that started the Hunger Games. Everyone just wants this to be over already. I just want this nightmare to end already.

     Finally the galactic anthem rings out and concludes the ceremony. The broadcast is over. Stormtroopers rise up on the stage and escort Rey and A’Yark inside the Justice Building. Like all tributes, they get one hour to say goodbye to any friends and family they have and get their affairs in order. Rey will undoubtedly have her friends visit her, so I give them space. I will see her later anyway.

     Instead, I walk into the Justice Building with Lando, and grab his hand as soon as I am sure his cape will hide it from view. Lando squeezes mine.

     “I need a drink,” I announce when we enter the Justice Building’s lounge meant for mentors and escorts. Rey will be brought in shortly, and A’Yark is in another room saying goodbye to his family. I reach for the bottle of spotchka on the caf table.

      Lando is faster and takes it out of my reach.

     “No, you really don’t,” he says sternly and puts it in the wine cabinet.

     “They’re sending my daughter to be butchered for entertainment!” I argue. If that is not a good enough reason to get hammered, I don’t know what is.

     “I’m perfectly aware of that!” Lando snaps. ”I had to read out her name! How do you suppose that made me feel, huh? Signing her death sentence like that?”

     Lando is on the verge of tears, something I have never seen him be before. During all these years that I’ve known him, worked with him, loved him, not once before have I seen him distraught like this. Angry at the Empire and its cruelty, yes, plenty of times. But he has never cried in front of me before.

     And he certainly doesn’t break the habit now. He takes a deep breath and collects himself again.

     “Luke,” he says and takes my hands. “I need you at your very best for the upcoming weeks, and you know that. To get her sponsors. To give her at least a fighting chance.”

     Lando is right. Of course he is right. And I know it’s what Rey would want too. Though if I know her at all, sponsors or not she isn’t going to go down without taking some of her opponents with her. She’s a fierce one. I would bet on her in a heartbeat, and not just because she is my daughter.

     The hour is up and we leave the lounge to be reunited with the tributes and to be taken to the space port. Rey comes to us first, escorted by a Stormtrooper, but judging from her relaxed body language this isn’t just any of them. It’s Finn, one of the younger and more lenient troopers—and one of Rey’s friends, though they keep it under wraps much like Lando and I keep our relationship. They squeeze each other’s hands before parting.

     A’Yark comes out soon after, with his entire clan it seems. There are at least twenty Tusken Raiders coming out of the room, all of them uncharacteristically downcast. One of them who seems to be the chieftain, possibly even A’Yark’s father, looks up at me and raises his hands to sign.

     “Do not let him suffer.”

     I know enough of their culture to know how much this means to the clan. Trusting an outsider to help one of their own die with dignity. And then I also realize with a start that this boy is the youngest Tusken I have ever mentored. The rest of them have always been of the Tusken age of majority, fifteen, or older.

     I nod at the chieftain and sign back, haltingly but as clearly as I can, “He will get past the bloodbath.”

     And at that moment I decide I will not touch another bottle until the games start. I have to give Rey and A’Yark their best chance.

Chapter Text

Fuck.

     I punch the cushion on the sofa in the room I’m escorted to. I feel like my entire body is about to explode. I want to tear this entire stupid room apart. I want to do anything to make the Empire feel at least a sliver of what I’m feeling right now.

     Fine, yeah, of course I knew there was never a non-zero chance for me to get reaped. But I also know that most kids my age have taken every tesserae possible since they were thirteen and were first able to take them. Statistically my election was extremely unlikely.

     I pick up an ugly vase from the caf table and throw it on the floor with a very emphatic “FUCK!” Seeing the glass shards all over the expensive carpet makes me feel slightly better. It may not be much, but it’s still an inconvenience to the Empire.

     Uncle Lando would be appalled by my unseemly behavior.

     Dad would probably just laugh.

     I wanna see them right now. I know I will in an hour, and I’ll have several days with them in Coruscant when I and A’Yark enter the training period, but still.

     I need my dads.

     The door slides open and the faces of three of my classmates peek in.

     “Can we come in?” asks Neve, her lekku twitching from the nerves. Our two other friends, Shareni and Zhenya, hover behind her. Shareni is holding a jar.

     I nod. “Come in.” I glance at the shards of glass on the carpet. “Um. Mind where you step though.”

     It’s so absurd, me and the girls all burst into laughter. We laugh for almost a whole minute, and for that little while I feel almost normal. Like nothing had changed.

     Like I’m not about to be shipped off for slaughter.

     We calm down, and Shareni hands me the jar.

     “We all pitched in,” Neve says as I open it. It’s sugar cookies from Floury Fionn’s bakery, the ones we’d always gaze longingly at after school. I’d sometimes buy us a batch if Dad had given me credits that morning.

     “A little something from home,” Zhenya adds. She’s fighting tears, they all are. And I realize that my cheeks are damp.

     “Thank you, all of you,” I say as I close the lid and hold the jar against my chest. “I hope you didn’t spend all of your savings on this.”

     Judging from the looks on their faces they did spend a considerable part of their savings on the cookies. I wipe my eyes and promise that I will savor each bite.

     Their time is up all too soon as a Stormtrooper comes in and orders them to leave. We share one last hug, and I am left alone with my cookie jar. The last taste of home I will likely have.

     Minutes pass, and I sit on the couch in silence, until the door slides open again and a Stormtrooper steps in. Before I can tell him to piss off, that my hour isn’t up yet, he takes off his helmet. It’s Finn.

     Finn is a couple of years older than me, and was assigned to Tatooine two years ago. We met for the first time when he happened to enter the cantina run by Neve’s family and decked a drunkard who harassed me and her. Since then we kept running into each other and at some point we started talking and befriended each other. He has looked several of mine and the girls’ antics through his fingers, and genuinely cares about the people of Mos Espa. He never rats out people who steal food to feed their families, or go past the city limits to hunt for womp rats and other scarce game, sometimes even buys the illegal game. And sometimes he comes over to fix things around the house with Dad. He is so great with everyone, and it’s out of genuine kindness, not some attempt to get something out of people. Maybe we haven’t known each other all of our lives or anything, but as far as I’m concerned, he is family.

     I let out a cry and embrace him tightly. Who knows if I’ll ever get a chance again?

     “Are you okay?” he asks.

     “I’ve been better,” I answer, holding him as close to me as I physically can. Finn pats my back and then pulls away, though still holding my shoulder with one hand. With the other he searches through his holster pouch and pulls out a small golden pin. It has some kind of a bird in it, attached to the rim by its wings.

     “For your token from home,” he says, offering the pin to me. I can now see it’s a starbird, a practically mythical creature. “I got this from Poe, he said it would bring me luck. I figured you need all the luck you can get.”

     Poe is Finn’s boyfriend. They meet whenever Finn has a furlough and can leave Tatooine for a week or two. I have never met him in person, but Finn talks about him a lot. From what I’ve gathered, neither of them likes the Empire a lot, but Finn is very careful with his words. You never know who is listening.

     “Are you sure?” I ask. “I would never take anything so valuable…”

     “Rey, I’m offering it,” Finn interjects. “And Poe would agree with me. If it makes you feel better, I will explain it the next time I see him. Rey, I want you to have it.”

     He clearly won’t take no for an answer, so I nod and accept the pin. He fastens it in my tunic, right above my left breast.

     Finn hugs me again and says, “You know what? I think you can win.”

     “Don’t be daft,” I scoff. No one from Tatooine ever wins. My dad is an anomaly.

     “I’m not,” Finn insists. “You’re the most tenacious and stubborn person I know. You have what it takes to win.”

     How much I want to believe him.

     My hour is up, and Finn puts his helmet back on. He escorts me out to my dads and squeezes my hand one last time. He nods, and I know he genuinely believes I can win.

     A’Yark comes to us right after, and the chieftain of his clan and Dad exchange words via Tusken Sign Language. I make out “do not” and “he will” and “bloodbath”. Sign language has never been my strong suit, I know the basics but not much more. I will have to brush up my skills. Something tells me A’Yark is my best bet if I want any allies, and I am his.

     “Move along,” the leader of the Stormtroopers says and escorts us to a speeder that takes us to a shipyard. The ship waiting for us is huge. It could probably fit half of Mos Espa at least in it. I stare at it half in awe and half in disgust.

     Once upon a time, when I was a lot younger, I would beg Uncle Lando to take me with him to fly. I never thought this was how it would happen.

     “Come on, we have to go,” Uncle Lando says, his voice trembling. Has he been crying?

      A’Yark and I follow him and Dad inside. No one says anything. We settle in the ship’s lounge and wait for the take-off. Some part in me would still love to go up to the bridge to watch the ship make the jump to hyperspace, but I can’t bring myself to move a muscle.

     The staff sets a feast in the lounge, and A’Yark tenses. Though I can’t see his face, I know what he is feeling. That’s the demeanor of a child who has rarely, if ever, had enough to eat presented with more food than he could ever eat in one sitting. The feast could probably feed his entire clan and then some.

     “Go on,” Dad signs, and A’Yark jumps up and runs to the table. I can’t help but think that if Dad hadn’t adopted me, that would be me. I also know what it’s like to have gone hungry.

     “Rey, you should eat too,” Dad says out loud. “You both need to put on some weight.”

     That tells me everything I need to know. Dad has gathered himself and is determined to make us get as far as we can. I manage a smile and join A’Yark.

     Chances are I won’t win. I have nowhere near the training that the tributes from places like Hosnian Prime and Chandrila have. But that doesn’t mean I have to make myself an easy target.

     Coruscant wants a fight. And I will give them exactly that.