Archive of Our Own

When he whisked his fingers over the freshly trimmed hair cropped closely to his ears, he let out a mournful sigh. It had been years since his hair had been this short, longer since someone had managed to pin him down long enough to swipe his fringe off his forehead and smooth his parted hair to the side with comb and some sweet smelling wax.

"Sabé wouldn't have cut it so short," he muttered ruefully.

"Sabé," his father replied, flattening the crumpled hood of his velvet vest, "undoubtedly would have given you exactly the haircut you wanted. No haircut at all."

He couldn't help the cheeky grin that lit up his features, and his father's eyes flickered down at his face knowingly. Laughter bubbled up and broke between them, soft chuckles turning into breathless guffaws at a shared memory that could not quite be defined or replicated. Their inside joke settled between them and lifted Luke Organa's spirits tenfold.

Even if he thought the haircut was kind of ugly.

"I guess it's not so bad," he lied as he turned towards the mirror. His father's apartment was incredibly spacious, though not as decadent or lavish as their home on Alderaan. Luke supposed it was sort of hard to beat a palace, but he'd never been to a city quite like this before, and he'd expected something a little more… grand, probably.

The mirror on the wall stretched from floor to ceiling, and it absorbed the sight of a gangly eleven year old swimming in white cotton and blue velvet. He knew he looked awkward. His old formal wear, the white tunic tucked into gray trousers, no longer fit him. He mourned that simplicity, even though this new white tunic and gray trousers were not so different besides the length, the turtleneck, and the knee length vest.

"Well," Bail Organa said thoughtfully, brushing the tips of his fingers over the smooth bristles of hair on the left side of Luke's scalp. "At the very least no one will mistake you for a beggar boy again. Oh, Luke, please don't make that face."

"That was one time," he said, wringing his sleeves self-consciously.

"That was three times, Luke, and that's only the times you were caught."

Luke bowed his head, though the shame he wore was a playful shroud. He knew his father's disappointed voice. This was not it.

So he lifted his eyes, fully aware of the effect of the warm blue gaze beneath the dust of his lashes. His father was watching him, meeting his blue eyes with the depths of his own dark and steady gaze. The corners of them crinkled amusedly.

They both laughed again.

"Oh," his father breathed, resting a hand on Luke's newly shorn hair, "you are a handful. Replacing Sabé won't be easy."

"You said she might come back," Luke protested, shaking his father's hand from his crown and shooting a frantic glance up at the man. "You did say that, right? I'm not imagining it."

"She may," Bail said gently, his kind brown eyes kindling with warmth. "That does not mean she will be coming back to you, though, Luke. I told you when she became your teacher that it was only temporary."

"Yeah, I still don't get that." He shot one last irritable glance at his reflection. Nothing had changed. His reflection was still a papery ghost beside the warmth of his father. He could still count the freckles on his nose and glimpse the dust of the attic of the summer villa in his eyelashes. Anyone could tell they were not related simply by glancing. And that hurt.

"She's not your servant, Luke," Bail said. "She has the right to go and come as she pleases. And if you must know, she told me she has nothing left to teach you."

"But—!" Luke's voice cracked rather pitifully, and he turned away from his father abruptly. He took a deep, unsteady breath, swallowing back a thousand words that would bounce off a galactic senator in a second. "Okay. Fine, then. We can visit her once this session is over. It'll be summer on Naboo, right? I read that there are flowers there that don't grow anywhere else in the entire galaxy— wouldn't that be a nice present for Mama before we head back home? Oh, oh!" He whirled around, his tears forgotten amongst his undying thirst for adventure. "Can we meet the queen? I mean, it wouldn't be that hard to arrange since I'm a prince and all, and Queen Eulalia would probably want to meet us since she's not all that older than me. Why does Naboo elect such young queens, Papa?"

His father waited patiently for him to end his whole tangent about Naboo, and he put on the face that Luke liked to call "the super diplomat." He was in for some bad news. Luke decided to sit down so the disappointment didn't shake him so hard.

"As much as I would love to go to Naboo," Bail said, a lingering sadness in his eyes that did not match up with his usual air of law and order, "I'm afraid it will have to wait. Your mother will want to spend your birthday with you after all."

"Why can't I spend my birthday on Naboo?"

Bail looked weary. His eyes drifted from his son to the floor. Then he sighed, his diplomatic mask falling away as he sunk onto the bed beside Luke.

"Another time, Luke," he promised, taking his son by the shoulder and smiling. It was a dim smile, one that did not quite reach his eyes. Luke searched his father's face for an answer, and he knew that if he just thought… if he could take his own words and his father's words and spin them together, he'd find a common thread.

Empire Day, a voice at the back of his mind whispered.

He nearly shuddered. Oh. The last few years had been so peaceful, he'd nearly forgotten how wretched his birthday could be.

And Naboo… there was a reason for this, he knew. He was turning over all he knew from his Galactic History courses, the stories Sabé had told him of political turmoil, following the thread and letting it lead him to—

The emperor. The emperor's home world.

Luke sunk instinctively, his face falling against Bail's arm and burrowing in his soft surcoat. Bail's hand found his head, and his fingertips drew gently over his shorn blonde hair. His strokes fell into a slow rhythm, one he knew well from years of smoothing back Luke's mop of sandy hair. Sitting here, leaning into his father's loving touch, reminded Luke of Alderaan. His childhood haunts flooded back to him, the sensation of terror folding its inky black wings over him and smothering him close. The nights and the nightmares, his toes chapping against the cold marble floor as he appeared in his father's office in the deadest hours, face splotchy and pink and streaked with tears for reasons beyond him.

He was eleven. The nightmares had long since passed over his mind, ceasing one night and never resurfacing, thank the stars. So why did he feel their proximity now, like he had just awoken from the midst of fear and heat and gaping loss, details fading rapidly into the catacombs of his brain?

"Luke."

His father's voice, crisp and beckoning, drew him away from the wings of his reverie. Luke lifted his head and blinked up at the man. His tired eyes searched Luke's face, and Luke searched back.

"Don't be worried, Father." Luke reached up and touched Bail's cheek, noting that the lines beneath his eyes had become permanent in the last few months. Bail stiffened beneath Luke's fingers, maybe because he had decided to turn to a formal address or maybe because he had not expected Luke to point out his ringing concern. Despite how excited he had been that morning, his belly was in knots.

Bail took Luke's hand gingerly, and he smiled down at him. "Just stick close to me," he advised, rising to his feet. "Remember what I told you."

"Don't speak," Luke said dryly. "Yes, I remember. Isn't the whole point of a senate meaning to speak, though?"

"Are you a senator, Luke?" Bail's eyebrows shot up as he feigned shock. "I wonder, when did that happen? I haven't been away from home that long."

"Ha ha." Luke smoothed out the creases that had appeared on his deep blue vest, and he shot a toothy grin up at his father. "You'll see, Father."

"Will I?"

"When I'm Alderaan's senator," Luke said, albeit a bit haughtily, "I'm going to change the world."

"I see Sabé skipped over her lessons in humility," Bail murmured, hiding a smile behind his hand. "Well, it's a start. Come, Luke. Explain to me how exactly you plan on doing so."

Luke grinned. He trotted alongside his father as they made their way to the senate building.

The senate building was beautiful, but… dim. Luke could not put his finger on it. No, the lighting seemed sufficient, but the atmosphere was so thick and smothering that Luke felt as though he'd just stepped outside the moment before a thunderstorm broke. There was a swelling of clouds overhead, and an acrid taste in the air that seemed to linger the farther he traveled into the belly of the beast.

They were stopped several times, mostly by senators who pressed Bail with urgent matters such as a bill that they were struggling to get passed beneath the emperor's nose and some mercy project that his father had spearheaded but apparently had gotten nowhere since the last time the senate had been in session.

And of course, Luke was thrust into a sea of introductions.

"My, my, Senator Organa," said a rather portly Twi'lek whose name Luke mouthed to himself discretely. "You said your son was interested in politics, but I never expected you to follow through! Hello, young man."

"Hello," Luke said meekly. His sense of adventure had been dampened by the dimness of this place.

"I'll admit I was opposed to it at first," Bail said, setting a gentle hand on the crown of Luke's head, "but he's very persuasive."

"If he can persuade you," Senator Taa said, waggling a fat finger at Bail and laughing heartily, "we should all be scared!"

Another senator flagged Bail down, this time a Pantoran woman. At first she did not seem to notice Luke, her eyes bright as she caught Bail by the elbow. Bail turned, already smiling indiscriminately before his face melted into mild shock and then genuine delight.

"Hello, Senator Organa." The woman's voice was melodious and serene, the sort of sweet tempered tone that reminded Luke achingly of Sabé. "Time has hardly touched you."

"Senator Chuchi, you flatter me," Bail said, blinking down at the woman bemusedly. "I had no idea you had taken up your seat again. You look well, I'm glad to see."

The woman chuckled, hiding it behind a small blue hand. Luke had seen his share of Twi'leks in his day, but he'd never seen a Pantoran outside of holos. Truly, holos did not do them justice. Senator Chuchi was a slender woman, the only indication of her age the crow's feet beneath her golden eyes. She was wearing formal senatorial dress, as Luke and Bail were, but accommodating to her own culture. Luke knew very little about Pantorans, but by looking at Senator Chuchi, he figured they were particularly fond of gold. Her pale purple hair was bundled at the back of her head, snatched in a weaving gold headdress that slithered between strands and bound it all to her scalp. The branch-like strains of gold culminated in a thin diadem at the crown of her head that dripped thin, flexible strings of gold over her hairline and spilling onto her forehead. Each string connected to a golden sun at the center, just above her brow. It was all entirely mesmerizing, and Luke had trouble following the ornate detail of her hair alone, let alone her dress.

"I am no longer a senator," said the woman kindly, "but I appreciate the sentiment. Actually, I am only here to entreat with the emperor on behalf of the Talz."

"The Talz sent you, and not one of their own?"

"I was initially only accompanying Thi-Sen, a chieftain on Orto Plutonia," she said solemnly, "but he died in a skirmish with Imperial forces."

"Stormtroopers?" Luke blurted. Miss Chuchi looked down at him, seeming to consider him for the first time. Her expression softened, and the sadness in her eyes seemed to only grow as she took in his appearance. He could tell this was a tough subject for her. "On Orto Plutonia? Isn't that… a desert planet? I mean, not desert, I think it's actually pretty cold, but definitely not hospitable or resourceful for Imperial conquest."

Miss Chuchi's eyes brightened a bit, and watched him curiously, her eyes drawing over his face and hair bemusedly as she connected them with his Alderaani dress. She smiled gently, and offered out her hand.

"I'm afraid I've been very rude," she said. "My name is Riyo Chuchi. I take it you are Luke?"

"You know me?" Luke gaped, too shocked to take her hand. Bail nudged him, and he quickly grasped her hand with both of his and shook it enthusiastically. "Father has never spoken of you before. You were a senator? I've never read about you, and you look awfully young, so I can't imagine—"

"Luke," his father warned.

"I just mean," Luke said, slowing his voice down considerably and layering the lilting cadence of the Core to his speech, "it's strange that I never read about you, Miss Chuchi. Were you a senator for a very short time?"

"Mostly I served during the Clone Wars," she admitted. Luke felt his eyes bulge out of his head, and a million questions hit his tongue before he had the time to process them.

"The Clone Wars? Stars! Did you ever get into any fire fights? Have you ever been in a Y-wing? Did you meet any clones? Did you ever get to meet with any—?"

"Quiet down, Luke."

Luke shrunk back, and the sprung forward again, shooting his father a pointed look. "I am quiet," he said in a firm yet hushed tone, "this is my quiet voice, see? But, anyway, Miss Chuchi, the Clone Wars. What was that like?"

"Your father has been a senator far longer than I ever was, or will be," Riyo said faintly. "I think he could answer those questions much better than I can. After all, he was involved in much more than I was."

"He says he was cooped up in the senate the whole time," Luke said offhandedly. He paused, processing her words and looking up at his father sharply. "Wait a minute. Did you lie about that?"

Bail arched an eyebrow at him. "I don't believe I ever elaborated on how much time I spent on Coruscant during that time," he said. "If you assumed that I meant the entirety of the war, who am I to correct you?"

Luke flushed, awash with the feeling of foolishness for having fallen for such a ruse. "Rude," he remarked. "I feel so betrayed. How will I ever learn to trust again?"

"I think you'll manage." Bail chuckled as he rubbed Luke's head affectionately. He focused his attention on Riyo, giving her a curt and professional nod. "We will speak later, Riyo. I'd like to hear more about your problems on Orto Plutonia, and the plight of the Talz."

"That is what I am here for," she said, smiling thinly. Luke noted the sadness in her gold eyes, the way they drifted from Bail's face toward a place far behind them. "Unfortunately, I don't see my efforts making much of a difference here. This is not the senate I left."

"No," his father agreed somberly, taking her hand in both of his and squeezing it assuringly. "That it isn't. Come along, Luke."

"What?"

"Come along."

"Are we leaving?" Luke shot an inquisitive look up at Riyo, who was peering at Bail with a mixture of alarm and sudden understanding. She touched his sleeve and inclined her head politely.

"It was nice to see you, Senator." She focused her gaze on Luke, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "Your highness."

Highness? Luke flushed, and he waved his hands rapidly before him. "Please don't," he said weakly. "I'd really rather you call me Luke, Miss Chuchi."

"Only if you will call me Riyo." She winked, and then patted Bail on the arm. "We'll speak. Later."

"Yes."

Luke blinked as he was whisked away, ushered by his father's broad hand through an elegant archway and into another senator. There were at least three more before Luke excused himself to the fresher— if only just to get a break from all the tense formality. None of the other senators had the tenacity of Riyo Chuchi, who had a story behind her appearance and a question of government in mind. Not to mention the Clone Wars thing. Luke was itching to find out more about that.

The fresher was probably more extravagant than it had to be. Even the freshers in the palace on Alderaan had simplicity to their decadence, pale stone and hand carved baths from a generation long gone. The fresher that Luke found himself in now was fairly modern, but ornate to the point where he was not quite sure how to get water flowing through the faucet of the sink. He spent a few minutes fiddling with it, before finally finding the button on its underside.

He splashed about the water idly, meeting his own eye in the mirror and tilting his head. Playing face had never been his strong suit. His mother had always chided him on how he wore his emotions plainly like they were the height of fashion. It wasn't that he meant to let his emotions get the better of him, but he just didn't seem to have the knack for political intrigue that his father did. His sabaac face melted at the slightest inconvenience, and it was so trying to convince himself and his father that this was a good idea. The senate might not be the place for him. His eyes did not tell lies, or so he thought. His voice did not perform miracles of oration, or so it seemed. He was better with his hands than with his mouth, so everyone said. So why? Why the senate?

Frankly, he was doing this because no one thought he could.

Prince Luke Organa had been groomed for this. No one could argue that he had all the resources needed to become a great senator— the pedigree, the resources, the education, the status. What he didn't have was the grace or the mind.

He was smart, sure. He was really smart, in particular areas. Like History. He could run pedantic about battles long since turned to stardust in the hyperlanes of time. That didn't help him much when he was trying to propose a simple solution to a diplomatic dispute over cargo, or how to start coalition in favor of abolishing the slave trade. He was struck pretty much dumb on the spot.

"Right," he muttered to himself. He peered at his reflection, thumbing the smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose self-consciously. Right. He could do this. He'd practically been bred for it.

When Luke slipped out of the fresher, he felt the atmospheric change drain him. He felt like he'd just been thrown off his feet, as though he were on a ship that had a faulty system and sent him into zero gravity. His breath had been knocked out of him, his chest tight and his limbs heavy. When he moved his legs and arms, they were stiff and unyielding, like some unseen force had welded his tendons and made him into some unfortunate protocol droid.

What? Luke thought faintly, moving deeper into this haze blindly, moving now if only out of pure spite. As though as his mind screamed for him to run and his limbs cried for him to stop his heart stood defiant and convinced him to keep going.

The hallway, its reds and golds and pure white marble stone, had been cast into abominable shades of gray. He wanted to rub his eyes to get the color back, but he could not halt his forward movement for fear of never moving again.

Without even realizing it, he had stumbled into a lift and pressed a button, his eyes adjusting to the bleary glow of the descending floor numbers. He was lethargic and shaky, his hands cold and trembling at his sides.

The doors slid open. With them, Luke's heart sped up to his mind's frantic pleading to turn away. He lurched from the elevator and slipped behind the nearest statue, his heart in his throat and his head spitting in a frenzy as though he had a severed circuit. Oh— oh stars. What had happened? One moment he'd been in the fresher, and the next—!

He held his breath. Voices, ones that had alerted him to hide in the first place, were drawing closer. Heavy footfalls rocked the corridor, vibrating through the marble monument Luke had lodged himself behind.

"The lift is open," said a man bemusedly, his core world accent causing his words to flit carelessly from his mouth. "You were right, Lord Vader. I didn't even hear it. No matter, shall we go up?"

The hairs on the back of Luke's neck stood on end. His heart began to palpitate, and his knees shook viciously— more than they had ever shaken before, even in his hellish public speaking classes.

Move, his mind seemed to hiss at him, commanding and desperate and forcing his feet forward in a quiet dash from the statue to a pillar. The statue had given him just enough cover to slip behind the column before a peculiar sound, like the sound of a busy medbay before all the lines went flat, crept into Luke's ears and shot him through with adrenaline.

Vader. That man— that Imperial officer— had said Vader. Luke had just wandered right up to Darth Vader by accident!

It would have been a great story to tell his friends back on Alderaan if he weren't going to die today.

"Lord Vader?"

There was no immediate reply. Only the shuddering force of heavy footfalls and the uneven rasp of a respirator.

Once more his mind was screaming, all functions seeming to turn on at once to shout at him to move away. He did just that, his feet guiding him along the length of the wall and turning a corner abruptly. He threw his arms out to prevent his nose from crashing into another wall, this one positively dooming him. He'd slipped right into a crevice that would provide him no cover at all.

I have to go, he thought wildly, I have to go, I have to get out of here!

But there was nowhere left to run.

A shadow had stretched over him.

The cold he had felt the minute he'd walked through the senate doors froze his bones inside his blood and left him to be shattered.

The boy was quiet as he was marched from the warm, luxurious environment of the senatorial complex's long, expansive halls to the dim and oppressive gray chamber of an ISB interrogation room. He had not put up a fight when he had been caught, only lifted his small face up in wonder and terror at Vader's wide frame and shadowy helmet.

Fear radiated off him, but for all it was worth, he hid it well. His expression was alarmingly blank when Vader plopped him into a chair.

"Your name," Vader demanded. This was the third time he had made this particular demand, and once more the boy lifted his eyes defiantly toward him.

"I told you," he said calmly, though his small hands shook in his lap. "My name is Luke, and you are infringing on my rights as a sentient being and a citizen of the Galactic Empire. Please let me go, I've done nothing wrong."

It was the please that caught Vader's attention. The boy had fine clothes, wealth exuding from their very seams in spite of their simplicity. He was well spoken, his voice soft with the core world cadence glazing over his words expertly. It reminded Vader almost of—

No. Never mind that.

The boy's outward shell of aristocracy aside, he had the spirit and disposition of humble beginnings. A lothrat in silver skin. His eyes were quick to assess the situation, bold in how they met Vader's face, but there was something subdued about him. As though he was holding back a vital part of himself, his shifty gaze nervously surveying his surroundings.

There was also the fact that he refused to give up his surname. Why else would he forsake his name, if he was not guilty of something?

The ISB agent that had been tasked with Vader and his detainee was small and reedy, his watery eyes flickering nervously toward Vader as he searched his datapad for any rebel activity involving a boy named Luke.

"He's clean, my lord," the ISB agent said. Vader had not bothered to learn his name. Balbus— or was it Balbinus? Something in the genus of Balb.

Vader took the datapad and glanced over Balb's findings. There was nothing, really, because the boy's appearance was so plain and his name was so universally common that they couldn't pinpoint his identity based on assumptions. His clothing suggested he was of a higher class, and if it was cultural dress he could be Chandrilan or Alderaani or Nubian or Serennian or be from any other number of systems with humans who saw the aesthete in the colors white and blue. His name fit into all of those categories and more, if the data Balb had collected was anything to go by. Luke by itself was a plain name, its meaning varying from world to world. There were words in fourteen systems that the name "Luke" could be a derivative of. There was no way to tell without his last name, which would clear up his heritage in but a moment.

That could wait.

"Administer the most recent Arkanisian evaluation," he commanded, sliding the datapad across the table. Balb's pale eyes blinked guilelessly up at him, a slight gape parting his lips.

"Arkanisian," he repeated. "We have never used that program here, Lord Vader."

Vader wished the spineless man could see the disgust burning in his eyes. What a fool.

"Do you suppose that makes any difference to me?" He could feel the boy shaking. Not through the force, simply through leaning close enough to his chair to feel his body quake against it. "Run the evaluation."

Balb stiffened, inhaling sharply as the undercurrent of Vader's threat hit him. He scooped up the datapad and glided his fingers across the screen. Luke sat quietly, his anxiety pulsating as rapidly as his heartbeat, and Vader wondered if he even knew the immensity of his position in this very moment. The Force was with him in some form or another— Vader knew it to be true.

"Arkanisian," Luke said, his core world accent slipping with his composure. "If this is an Imperial aptitude test, then I can assure you. I've taken it."

There was something faint in his voice, a subtle hint of bitterness that made his words ring with truth. Whoever this boy was, he had been under Imperial scrutiny before, and he was prepared to face whatever was coming his way.

Or at least, he thought he was.

"Shall we begin?" Balb's expression was a brick wall, his nervousness faded as his natural ISB agent instincts took over. Luke swallowed hard, his clenched fingers going white in his lap as he nodded firmly. "Okay. Luke, a series of pictures will show up on this screen. I want you to name them for me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Agent Balbius." Oh, so that was his name.

The datapad was flipped horizontally and propped before Luke so he could see the screen. Vader stood behind him, watching his body language stumble over itself in attempt to see the trick here.

"Bantha," Luke said cautiously, his eyes glued to the screen. A green check appeared beside the picture as the datapad recognized his answer as correct. "Lothcat. Rain. Um— I think that's a Lycandis flower? I think." His head dipped downward uncertainly.

"I think simply "flower" would have sufficed," Vader said dryly.

Luke sat quietly as the green check appeared, and the pictures moved on.

After Luke had named the appropriate pictures, the boy seemed to gain a bit more confidence and all signs of his discomfort and terror disappeared. Visibly, at least. Vader still felt the steady flood of anxiety that rolled off him.

Balbius turned the datapad back to him, his watery eyes growing cold as his formal ISB persona completely took over. Vader wondered, vaguely amused, if his presence often altered the efficiency of officers, or if this man was just a spineless little worm.

"Luke," Balbius said, not bothering to grace the boy with so much as a glance, "a series of pictures will show up on this screen. I want you to name them for me. Do you understand?"

Vader could not see Luke's expression, but the surprise and alarm that broke through his stream of fear and uncertainty struck out in the Force like a thunderclap.

"What?" he said faintly.

"A series of pictures will show up on this screen. You will name them. Do you understand?"

"No," he said, leaning back in his chair. "No, I do not understand. How can I tell you what it is if I can't see it?"

Balbius said nothing, but he did raise his eyes to Vader inquisitively. Not even he knew how Luke was supposed to perform such a feat.

Vader stared him down. There was no point in stopping here. After all, this was the true test.

"Begin," Balbius said.

Luke sat, his mute terror rising with every passing second. He turned hesitantly in his seat, his salient blue eyes climbing upward in trepidation towards Vader's helmet. His brow was creased with confusion, his mouth parted in a plea.

"I can't," he said. There was truth in his words, a burning sincerity that hit Vader rather hard. The boy seemed to glow— he was a beacon, as Vader was a trench. A singularly radiant star pulsating on the fringe of Vader's black hole. There was light in him, purer than anything Vader had sensed in so many years that he felt he must cling to it.

He must be Force sensitive.

He must.

Vader stepped forward and rested a hand on the back of the boy's chair. He was careful not to actually touch him— that intimidation tactic would serve him at a later date, if necessary. The result was more or less the same, but with less trembling. Luke reeled backwards, his body shrinking away from Vader's looming figure in dismay.

Vader dipped his head as close as he dared, and rumbled, "You will do it."

Luke's hands rose from his lap and crossed over his heart before closing over his mouth. He turned abruptly, averting his gaze from Vader's face and focusing on Balbius.

"What is on the screen, Luke?"

Luke's folded hands clenched over his lips. He closed his eyes.

"What is on the screen, Luke?"

His shoulders shrugged up to his ears. His spine bent forward.

"What is on the screen, Luke?"

He raised his head.

"Luke?"

He lowered his hands, and he said in a soft, resigned voice, "It is a—"

The door slid open behind them with a sudden gust of air and a jolt from the small boy. He swiveled in his seat, his words dying in the air as his unparalleled fear dispersed completely and was replaced by a burst of relief.

"Father!" Luke cried, nearly leaping out of his chair to run at the familiar man who had marched into the interrogation room with the arrogance and confidence that could only belong to a Galactic Senator.

Before Luke could hop out of his seat and run to his father's side, Vader caught him by the shoulder. Both Luke and the haughty senator froze.

"Lord Vader," Bail Organa said low and dangerous tone, "what is the meaning of this?"

Politicians, like most, were always dancing around being direct with Vader. Bail Organa's quick wit and biting charm set him apart if only by a splinter. Now, however, he had put all he knew of diplomacy aside. Vader sensed it. He knew the fragile disposition of parental instincts, and he knew not even Bail Organa's silver tongue could save him from his own rage and fear.

"Organa," Vader said. The name tasted spoilt. Like ash on his tongue. If this man had known, what would he do? In the toiling storm of his mind, he saw the result clear as day. The horror and disgust that would plague this man's kind face. The blot it would make on his poor, wretched, tender heart.

Beneath his hand, Luke stiffened. Vader had not realized in the midst of his unrestrained hatred that he had begun to squeeze the boy's shoulder tightly.

"I may be mistaken," Organa said, his dark eyes gleaming furiously beneath his brow, "but I do not believe my son is a criminal of any sort. Is there a particular reason you spirited him away to the ISB without my knowledge or consent?"

"Perhaps if I had known he was your son," Vader said coolly, "I would have made the proper arrangements."

Organa's eyes immediately swerved to Luke's. The boy shrunk beneath Vader's firm grasp.

"I see," Organa said stiffly.

"You may wait in the lobby until the evaluation has been completed," Vader said, turning his back on Organa. "Proceed, Prince Luke."

Luke, who seemed to have regained that boyish confidence he'd had at the start of this, blinked up at Vader with a nearly guileless gaze. "Lord Vader," the boy insisted, "I can't see the screen."

Rage filled him. He released the boy's shoulder if only to be sure he didn't crush his flimsy collarbone between his fingers. The audacity— had the boy not been about to respond when Organa had arrived? Nothing had changed, and yet the Force did not betray a hint of falsity in the boy's words. Vader couldn't take it. Had he been mistaken in that feeling, in the senatorial complex? That itching, tingling sense of a youngling, something he had not quite felt in this caliber in years? It was faded now, but Luke still was so undeniably light in the Force— what could he do?

If it had been any other child, he would have pressed upon his corporeal and ethereal being with the Force to extract the result he wanted. But this he could not do with the son of a damned senator, and a prince at that.

Damn Bail Organa.

"This test has already been administered to Luke," Organa said suddenly. "Truly, Lord Vader, do you think it possible that if Luke was what you think he is, he would have been able to slip through the cracks? Alderaan is not so remote that ISB agents or Inquisitors have not come to gauge the population's aptitude for Imperial use."

"If that were so," Vader replied, his voice booming through the suit's respiration system, "then why did he not recognize the test, Senator?"

"You change that test yearly, Lord Vader," Organa pointed out calmly. "Luke has not been tested in years, not since the third or fourth edition of the evaluation came out of Arkanis. I was with him, and it was quite different from whatever operation you have set up here."

Vader was, frankly, speechless. It was true that Alderaan was too close to not have been scouted by one Inquisitor or another. After all, if they were crawling around the very fringes of the Outer Rim, they certainly had not over looked Alderaan. He'd have to do some research on which Inquisitor administered the first test on Luke Organa, and what the results had been.

After all, it was clear now that this test was over.

Vader stepped away from the boy, allowing him ample space to breathe and rise unsteadily to his feet. He glanced back at Vader uncertainly, as though preparing for a blaster bolt in the back. When none came, he cautiously made his way across the room until he was in arms-length of Organa. Immediately the boy flung himself into the man, his arms caught around his middle and his face buried in his side.

"Organa," Vader said sharply before the man could return his son's loving embrace. "I expect the young… prince… will not make a habit of wandering into restricted areas without an escort. I will not be so merciful next time."

"Of course, Lord Vader." Organa's grip on the boy tightened significantly, though his eyes narrowed at the blatant threat. "Luke, apologize."

"What?" the boy blurted, pulling back from Organa's fine senatorial robe and allowing for a brief moment of childish indignation. "But I haven't done anything!"

"Lord Vader seems to disagree. As do I." Organa's eyes slid sharply to Luke's face with the utmost severity. "Apologize and promise to never let this happen again, or I will assign you a bodyguard." The boy opened his mouth, but Organa spoke over him quickly. "And let me tell you, this bodyguard will be significantly less fun and indulgent as the last. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Father," Luke said dejectedly. He glanced at Vader, and he bowed his head in begrudging respect. "I'm sorry for accidentally running into you and consequently hiding on pure reflex from fear of you, Lord Vader."

"Luke," Organa hissed, closing his eyes tightly.

Vader watched the boy, whose head was still inclined to the point of mocking whatever respect he had pretended to have. He would be trouble.

"I see you're grooming him for politics," Vader remarked to Organa. "Let this serve as a lesson, then. Teach him to mind his tongue, or he will find himself lacking one."

Organa placed both his hands on Luke's shoulders, though to the boy's credit he didn't buckle or balk at this threat. He merely raised his head and stared at Vader, a twinge of that familiar fear trickling away from him.

"If I can," Organa said in a cold, yet oddly melancholy voice. "He has too much of his mother in him, I'm afraid."

Luke's brow furrowed, his confusion palpable, but he said nothing. Vader watched him closely.

"Even queens must know when the time is right to keep their mouths shut," Vader said.

Organa smiled thinly. "I have never known a queen to do so, sir." He pressed a hand gingerly to the top of Luke's head. "Come along now, Luke."

He guided the boy away without so much as a glance back at Vader. And Vader knew he could kill him. He could kill them both before they got out the door. But there were rules— there were people he could not kill on a whim, and the Organas were a prime example. Killing them would be practically begging for the entire planet of Alderaan and those planets aligned with it— a very great many, as it happened— to rise up against the Empire. It was not worth the effort.

Luke Organa. Prince Luke Organa.

Why had he not used his name and status to get himself out of this situation?

When they were gone, he turned his attention abruptly to Balbius, who had stood at silent attention during the entire encounter. Perhaps Vader's rage was thickening the air, because Balbius's forehead had begun to glisten mildly with beads of sweat.

He reached out, and the spineless little man's eyes snapped shut in preparation. Vader, who was hardly on Coruscant, had garnered enough of a reputation here to warrant such a response. It might have been thrilling to him if he cared an ounce for it.

Instead of reaching out to the Force and concentrating it around Balbius's feeble neck, Vader snatched the datapad from the table and turned away.

Luke Organa. Prince Luke Organa.

It was something to think about.

"I'm sorry," Luke blurted when they arrived back at Bail's apartment. He had been plopped down on the couch, his body sinking into the feather pillows and cushions. There were tears stinging his eyes, tears of shame and relief and anger. How could he have let this happen? Why had he even wandered off in the first place? He had no excuse to give his father, and no excuse for whatever Vader had been planning with that test.

His father said nothing. He had swept into the room urgently, prompting Luke to sit down before marching to the windows and drawing the heavy navy curtains to a tight close. He then swept his hand beneath each and every table, circling the room slowly and checking every nook and cranny. He lifted a lampshade, turned it upside down on a table, and unscrewed the bulb.

"I'm sorry," Luke said again, this time much more desperately, wondering if his father had not heard him the first time. "What— what are you doing?"

"Cleaning."

"What?"

"Luke," Bail sighed, tossing the bulb into the waste chute. "I am not angry. Do I seem angry?"

"You seem unusually enthusiastic about taking things apart," Luke remarked, too shaken to shoot his father a cheeky smile to go along with his quip. "Father, I didn't mean to follow him. If I had known Lord Vader was there—"

"It is not your fault, Luke."

"How is it not?" Luke twisted the velvet vest around his knees as he drew them up onto the couch and to his chest. He still felt so cold. It had been so cold, and he didn't understand it. He felt as though he had spent the last hour or so submerged beneath an icy lake, his brain shutting down as several thousand pins drove into his eyes and frontal lobe with a vengeance. "I got caught. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. I mean, I didn't do anything wrong, I don't think, but— I don't get it, Papa, what did I do?"

"Nothing." Bail crossed the room in three long, hasty steps, and he dropped beside Luke and gathered him into his arms. "You did nothing wrong."

Luke leaned into his father, only dimly aware of the tears that had gathered on his cheeks as he watched the opposite wall, the lightless lamp sitting in the corner sadly.

"I felt him," Luke whispered. He ignored how Bail's arms stiffened around him, and he blinked dazedly ahead. "I felt him before I saw him. I think he felt me too. Is that why…?"

"You're shaken up, Luke," Bail said, smoothing his stubborn fringe from his forehead. "You're warm. Are you getting sick?"

"What?" Luke felt his own face, flipping his palm and his knuckles against his cheek. "No I'm not."

"You're burning up." Bail's eyes met his sharply, and Luke gaped up at him. "I think you need to return to Alderaan immediately."

Disappointment stung him, leaving him even more disoriented than he had been upon stumbling into the apartment. He bit his tongue and then his lower lip to keep himself from objecting. Something was wrong here, but his father couldn't tell him what exactly it was. It was hard because his father's secretive nature had never seemed to apply to Luke. Not that his father didn't keep secrets from him, but he had never been so blatant about it before.

Were they being watched?

"Yes, Father," Luke said obediently, lowering his eyes towards his lap. Fresh tears blinded him, and he turned away so his father wouldn't see his lip tremble.

"I'll make the arrangements." Bail stood, running his fingers absently through Luke's hair, before leaving the room.

Luke had suspected… well, he had assumed that his father's frequent mercy missions were a front for some underground rebel operations, but he had no idea the extent. He certainly had not expected it to follow them to Coruscant. He thought about Riyo Chuchi's exchange with his father earlier that day, as well as her plight for the Talz. He thought about Vader's assumption that he had been a rebel despite his youth simply because he had refused to answer his last name.

He thought about why he had not answered.

Why had he not answered?

He still could not be sure.

After sulking in silence for what felt like forever, he trudged back to his room and fell face first onto his bed in an act of utter defeat and resignation. So much for his first taste of the senate.

The midnight velvet vest was flung irritably to the floor, while his soft tunic was allowed to breathe without the constraints of a belt. He curled up on the mattress, sinking into the fluffy white blanket and allowing himself to give into his exhaustion.

When he dreamed, he dreamed of cold. Endless, fitfull cold. It dredged itself from the core of the planet, rivers running white and snow reflecting ivory sunlight. He was blind and he was numb and he found nowhere to go but forward. His bare toes were blistered and red, cracked against the icicles ribbing the soles of his feet. The clouds of his breath burned his eyes.

He came to the river delta, alive and roaring in spite of the freezing temperature. Mist clouded over the gaping expanse of water, snow catching in his lashes as he peered through the haze and toward the distant riverbed. A dot of dark hair struck out like an inkblot on a piece of flimsi.

"Hey!" he called, his teeth chattering as he stepped closer to the river. Ice cracked beneath his feet, a thunderous sound that caused the figure on the other side of the river to look up.

The ice split, and he was dragged down into the piercing abyss.

He woke up shivering in the dark. It had been so long since he had had a nightmare that his mind reeled, and he could not get a hold of his own body, as though his flesh and bone rebelled against his mind and heart. He took a great fistful of blankets and draped them over his head. What a disaster.

Flight would be a nice skill to have right about now, he thought dully. He withdrew from his blankets and began to peruse the holonet for any mention of rebel activity. Most of it was heavily censored, but he managed to get some backwater tabloids from the Outer Rim that plastered the Empire's failures plainly.

He wiped his history and closed it down shortly before dawn, chewing on his fingernails nervously. He had to be careful. Nothing had happened today, but because of Luke's mistake, something could have. The way his father had looked when he had marched into that room, he probably had suspected that Luke had been taken in because somebody had caught onto his trail of illegal activities.

He probably still did, now that Luke thought about it.

But Vader had not known who he was. So what had it been all about?

"I'm sorry, Luke," his father murmured as they made their way to the docking bay his shuttle had ported in. "I know this is all very confusing, but I promise to explain the second I'm off this forsaken rock."

"It's okay, Papa," Luke said gently, squeezing his hand reassuringly. Bail looked down at him, slightly bewildered. "I think I get it. Well, your part, anyway."

Bail quirked a brow, and he smirked down at Luke. "Oh really?"

"Papa," Luke said, shooting his father a bright and knowing grin, "you've been running your, um, mercy missions, since before I could crawl. Do you really think I could grow up around all that and not notice?"

"Well," Bail said with a passive shrug, "I was hoping you wouldn't, but I suppose I misjudged how perceptive you are. Again."

Luke flushed with pride. "Oh," he said brightly, "you know, I think my perceptiveness could be of some use to you."

Bail grimaced. "Now I don't like where this is going."

"You don't even know what I'm trying to say."

"Oh, I know what you're trying to say." Bail rubbed his face tiredly. "Stars, Luke… first the senate, now… this… I don't know which one is more dangerous."

"Well, on one hand I have an increased risk of getting on Darth Vader's bad side," Luke sighed, letting his voice carry dramatically, "on the other, I can join a rebellion. Take your pick."

"Hush, Luke."

"Father," Luke said, his brow furrowed. "We're moving through the public transit of the busiest part of the busiest world in the galaxy. Do you think anyone just heard me? I could say anything, and it'll be drowned out by Ryl and Huttese and Aqualish and— yeah, I can go on."

"Just because you could does not mean you should," Bail warned. "Honestly, Luke, your poor sense of self-preservation truly worries me."

"I'm just saying that I want to get involved is all," he muttered.

"We'll speak about this another time," Bail said quietly. He rested a gentle hand on Luke's shoulder. "Perhaps when you haven't piqued the interest of one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy, hm?"

Luke smiled sheepishly. "Point taken," he said. The memory of his encounter with Darth Vader was still a fresh wound in his mind, and the very mention of it picked at it viciously.

"Luke." His father took him by both shoulders, turning him around gently and looking him dead in the eye. "It's not that I don't believe in your capacity to do good. Wherever it may be. It's simply that I worry. Can you fault a stubborn old man for fearing the outcome when he puts his only son in the line of fire? Don't be too disappointed in me, Luke."

The shock of his father's words subsided quickly enough as Luke was filled with a sweet, warm feeling. He blinked up at Bail, and said earnestly, "I could never be disappointed in you."

Bail closed his eyes, a slow and pained gesture as heavy as a deathbed declaration. He raised one hand from Luke's shoulder and absently swiped it through his shorn blonde hair. Luke leaned into his touch contentedly.

"You are too sweet for words," his father murmured. "Sometimes I fear your love is too big for your body to hold."

Luke grinned sheepishly. His father's honeyed words were familiar to him, for he had grown up under an orator's poetic refrain. "Only my love for you," he chirped, laughing in Bail's face and grasping his hand.

The rest of their walk was uneventful. Luke spent the majority of it trying to identify every language he could think of in the crowd. Many of them went right over his head, unfortunately. When he got home he might ask his mother about seeking a tutor in Ryl or something. It could be beneficial.

"Now," Bail said, handing off Luke's suitcase and smoothing back his hair affectionately. "Your mother knows you're returning, but she has no idea why. Don't worry too much about it— I expect your escort will explain everything."

"My escort?"

"The captain of your ship." Bail stuck his hand into his pocket and retrieved a datachip. "This is a list of instructions for them. Now, Luke, this is very important— give this to your ship's captain. Listen to what they say for the remainder of your trip, and even on Alderaan until after they leave. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Luke was itching to ask just about a thousand questions, the datachip weighing heavily in his fist despite being nothing but a flimsy piece of plastic. "I understand."

Bail's eyes were shining, whether it be from pride or worry Luke could not know. The chip bit into his palm, the importance of this task not entirely going over Luke's head. He could assume the purpose of the chip, but not its contents.

He had said he wanted to be involved. He supposed now was his chance to prove himself.

"Do not dwell," his father said softly, swiping his hand one last time through Luke's hair. "Do not fear. Keep your head high, keep your heart open, and know that I am with you."

Luke blinked, a shudder of worry fluttering through him. These words were meant to reassure him, but also remind him of the stakes of his father's mission. He didn't know much about the Rebellion— he wasn't allowed to know much beyond what he could scrounge up from holos. But he knew that it was a dangerous thing to be involved in.

Do not dwell, do not fear— it was like his father specialized in impossible demands. Luke wished he could find the inner strength to follow his words to the letter, but he knew himself better than that. His nightmares would catch up to him, and there would be nothing left but dwelling on fear.

"I'll do my best," Luke said softly, offering an encouraging smile. His father nodded, generally convinced by Luke's bare attempt to remain calm and comforting. He didn't want his father to worry even more about him, not after yesterday's debacle, but Luke was scared. His insides were twisting and his hands were clammy and even when he smiled at his father, he felt the cold pressing against his back, passing through his clothes and licking at his bare spine.

They entered the hangar in silence, Luke keeping close to his father's side. This would not be the last time he saw Coruscant, but it felt as though he had only just gotten here. Now he had to leave, and on top of that he wasn't quite sure why. Didn't it make more sense to stay here, so Vader would be less suspicious of them? But his father wished as he wished, and his mother would never object to seeing him home. She had not approved of his stint with the senate to begin with. Luke didn't know why that was either, because his father had been in the senate for longer than Luke had been alive.

"I will see you soon," Luke said, eyeing Bail cautiously and wondering if his body language might reveal the secret key to all of this. But Bail was a man who hardly wore his emotions plainly, and his smile betrayed nothing of the fierce concern Luke knew he felt.

"It won't be so long," Bail assured him, walking him up to a shuttle whose engines were already hot and its ramp already extended. "Trust me, you will not be missing much at all."

Somehow Luke didn't quite believe him, but he smiled at the gesture anyway.

"Now!" Bail straightened Luke's tunic, adjusting the loose ornamental chain that had slid from the folds of his turtleneck to the middle of his chest. "Big smile! Let me see that face I adore."

Luke scoffed, batting his father away when he tried to scoop him into a bone crushing hug. "Papa," he laughed, elbowing the man gently in his ribs. "Papa, stop, people are looking!"

But Bail held him anyway. Luke stopped struggling, pinned in place, and he felt acutely aware of his father's muscles coiling around him protectively. He had lived his life under a small army of bodyguards, but never had he witnessed his father so tense about his safety.

What was it about Darth Vader that made the most unyielding men falter?

Bail released him without much more of a fuss. He handed over Luke's bag, clapped his hand on his shoulder, and wished him his luck and love.

Luke climbed the ramp fearfully, his brow furrowed and his shoulders tense. He shot one last look at his father, smiling his best and brightest smile if only to make the poor man feel better. The future was so uncertain, for Luke, for Bail, and for their peaceful world in the midst of tyranny. He had learned that being a politician meant making tough choices, and never truly knowing if you made the right one, but learning and experiencing were two completely different things.

Would he come to regret this? Part of him said all would be fine, but another part, a more logical and ruthless part of his brain defied that hope. How could it be okay? His father was a rebel, and Luke's presence had put him and his entire operation at risk. This impromptu departure simply proved that.

He stood anxiously, watching his father wave him goodbye from the top of the ramp as it inched slowly closed. Even after it clicked shut, Luke stood clutching his bag with both hands, the datachip still caught in the creases of one of his palms.

It wasn't that he'd never travelled apart from his parents before. He was a prince, and that made for a strange and restless childhood. But he'd always had someone familiar by his side to soothe his fears and anxieties.

Who'd he have now, anyway? A stranger of a pilot and a datachip for a friend?

The least this captain could do was bring him to Captain Antilles so Luke could have the comfort of a familiar face.

The engines revved, and Luke wiped a tear hastily from his eye. The shuttle was awfully small, and he made his way to the cockpit without much wandering. At the helm, a heavily garbed captain shot him a glance.

"Sit down," she said, gesturing to a seat beside her. Luke took it and buckled in hastily. The captain watched him, but Luke could not read her expression because of the heavy cowl pulled low over her forehead, an intricately patterned red and white scarf draped carefully over it. This hid the rest of her forehead, the crown of her head, her nose, and her mouth. All that was left were her eyes, which were hidden by a pair of thick tinted goggled.

"Nice ship," Luke remarked politely, his eyes roving around the cockpit appreciatively. He didn't think it'd go too fast, but if he got a good look at the engine and had a couple of spare parts— well, needless to say, it had potential.

The captain scoffed. "Well, it belongs to royalty," she said with a shrug.

"Oh?" Luke blinked at her curiously. "Really?"

"It's your ship, kiddo."

Luke leaned back in his seat, his eyes squeezing shut. "Oh," he breathed. "Right."

The captain laughed, easing the ship out of the neon tinted atmosphere of Coruscant and dipping into the velvet blanket of dark space. Luke peeked over the winking dashboard, smiling fondly as the stars blinked into life before him.

"First time flying, little prince?" the captain joked.

"No," he said softly. "I just like it a whole lot. Oh, wait." Luke opened his palm and looked down at the datachip. He offered it out to the captain. "This is from my dad."

The captain peered at it, plucking it from his hand and turning it over in hers once or twice. Then she laughed again. "Good old Bail," she said, closing her fingers around the chip. "I thought this was just a favor, but the guy pulls through with a whole dossier of info. Amazing."

"Uh…" Luke smiled faintly. "Yeah, he's pretty thorough. Um, what is your name, by the way?"

"Hm." The captain drummed her fingers thoughtfully against the dashboard. She pulled down her scarf from her nose and lifted her goggles from her warm blue eyes. She winked. "You can call me Fulcrum."

He appreciated her revealing her face, and beamed at her in response. "It's nice to meet you," he said brightly.