The Cost of War and Peace

by Asocial_Lobster

Summary:

"Eagus? What’s wrong?” Master Owlan asked. “Did something happen to the men you sent out? Do they need help?”

It certainly looked as if something was wrong. Eagus’s entire body had gone rigid. His hands shook at his sides, and for a moment he seemed downright pained. Then his right hand closed around his blaster. Without a single word, he raised the weapon and fired on the two jedi.

 

The Clone Wars have been raging for three years, and both jedi knights and padawans fight on the frontlines. Link and his master are on a mission, when Order 66 suddenly changes everything.

Chapter 1: The Master and the Apprentice

Summary:

In which one order is enacted, and another order is annihilated

Notes:

This fic is the first installment in my LU Star Wars AU series. This one only features Sky (Link), but the rest of the boys will show up in later fics

I hope you enjoy!

“This is restricted Separatist airspace, cargo transports. Identify yourselves.”

Master Owlan glanced at the radio with the faint annoyance of someone about to have a difficult day. The blockade was hardly a surprise, but it would undoubtedly turn an otherwise easy relief mission into a full-blown fight. Link had been on several of these since he was first assigned to Master Owlan as a padawan. They always ended the same way.

“This is Serenno 01437867 requesting permission to land on Picor. Our crew was attacked by pirates in the Crenel sector and is in need of medical attention.”

“You’re off your cleared flight path, Serenno 01437867. Standby for inspection.”

Master Owlan sighed deeply and turned off the radio.

“I’m looking forward to the day that trick actually works,” he said.

“What are our orders, General?”

Eagus, the captain who usually accompanied them, was standing in the doorframe. As always, he held his helmet against his side with his right hand instead of wearing it. Link had asked him about that, once, and gotten the answer that unless people were actively trying to kill him, Eagus preferred to look them in the eye as they talked. Link liked that about him in the same way that he liked the permanent, gentle curl that rested on his lips. He had a soft and sincere touch to him that the war hadn’t managed to snuff out. It was the very thing that made him a good match for a general like Master Owlan, in Link’s opinion.

“Tell the fighters to form up. I will lead them myself. Our main objective is to get the transports through, so I want everyone to be on the defense. Please make that clear to the men, so they don’t do something reckless.”

“Sir,” Eagus said, “my men would never.”

Master Owlan leveled Eagus with an unimpressed stare. The clone’s smile grew.

“Captain.”

“General.”

“When the war is over, you might want to consider a career in stand-up comedy. For now, you should stick to my orders.”

“Understood, sir.”

With a wink in Link’s direction – followed by an odd combination of an exasperated sigh and a fond smile from Master Owlan – Eagus left the room. Link turned back to the other jedi.

“What about me, Master?”

The corners of the jedi knight’s eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“You’re an excellent pilot, so you’re with me, of course. Come on, we’ve got a blockade to run.”

---

Link strapped himself into the cockpit of a Z-95 Headhunter and turned the engine on with the flick of a switch. The ship hummed as lights sprung to life in various buttons and screens. He detached the ship from the airlock and let the thrusters fire up.

“Blue leader standing by,” Master Owlan’s voice crackled over the radio.

“Blue 2 standing by,” Link answered.

“Blue 3 standing by.”

“Blue 4 standing by.”

Link tuned out the rest of the roll call in favor of running a quick maintenance check on his ship. Fuel levels seemed alright. No registered system failure. With a light push to the steering stick, he sent the ship forward into waiting position behind Master Owlan’s ship.

“Blue 3 through 6, stay on Transport 1. Blue 7 through 10 on Transport 2. Blue 11 and 12 on Transport 3. The rest, on me.”

Master Owlan picked up speed, and Link stayed on his tail as ordered. They were getting closer to the blockade now, and Link could see a flurry of activity there – vulture droids were rapidly deploying, which meant that the Separatists must have put two and two together and realized they weren't, in fact, from Serenno. The droids themselves weren’t very dangerous, but Link had learned not to underestimate the damage the sheer number of them could do. The Republic fighters crossed the enemy line, and blaster bolts were everywhere.

There was a special sense of urgency that came with being in mortal danger. To sit in a small metal box that someone was actively trying to destroy, looking at the cold, vast expanse of space that might claim you at any moment. No air. No nothing. Just you and the endless void. It drove Link’s mind into hyperfocus until every blaster bolt and enemy was imprinted into his brain like an intricate star map.

He dove sharply to avoid a bolt, spinning 540 degrees before looping around and shooting the droids that had been on his tail. They exploded into cascades of bright yellow, smaller droid parts hitting Link’s front window as he sped past. He rolled to the side to avoid colliding with another batch of droids, the ship readily obeying his every command.

Link had always been good at flying. So good, in fact, that the instructor at the Temple had let him study with younglings several years older than him, just to give him some challenge. A lot of it could probably be attributed to the wings on his own back. They were a mix of red and white feathers with golden lines that shone in the sun. People generally stared when he spread them out, and Link did that often, even as a child – he loved flying. It was thrilling to feel the wind rush by as he dove towards the ground, wings pressed close to his body, only to spread them a second before hitting the ground. Piloting was different, but no less thrilling. In a spaceship, he could reach heights he could only dream of reaching with his own wings, the entire world stretching out as small blinking lights on black canvas.

While most pilots understood how to fly a ship, Link understood how to be it. The difference a tiny correction in wing angle could make, the limits to how narrow a passage you could fit a ship with a certain wingspan through. Link deployed these skills now, weaving through the enemy fighters with a series of graceful loops that would have made most pilots dizzy.

“They’re all over me!”

Link spun around to see a dozen vulture droids in hot pursuit of Blue 5. The pilot had been forced to bank sharply right to avoid the bolts, which had left Transport 1 vulnerable.

“I’m on it, Blue 5,” Link said, “Blue Leader, we have an opening on Transport 1.”

“Copy that.”

Link climbed, then tipped backwards to fly upside-down towards Blue 5. He fired a few bolts as he passed the trooper, hitting the vulture droids from a close range. Blue 5 returned to his position by Transport 1.

“Blue 2, on me. We’re taking out those gun towers. All other ships, get ready to breach the blockade.”

“Copy that, Blue Leader.”

Link fell into pace with Master Owlan’s ship. Together, they separated from the other Republic fighters and raced towards the towers. They kept their ships low, using the enemy flagship as cover from the fire. They fired their proton bombs and sped past the gun towers which exploded behind them. The transport ships used the opening and slipped through the barricade. The two jedi followed suit, pausing only to take out the pursuing vulture droids. But even those were soon dealt with, and Link and his master could let their ships dip into the brilliant, blue sky of Picor.

---

“Everyone’s so happy,” Link said later. He was standing next to Master Owlan in the corner of a town square, watching as laughing Picori lined up behind the supply crates. Eagus was busy assigning troopers to each crate so that the food would be distributed evenly. He’d allowed the village kids to cut the line, though, so they were now loudly munching on ration bars and fruit.

“I wish we could stay and enjoy the peace and quiet every once in a while.”

“I know what you mean,” Master Owlan said, a faint curve to his lips. “When I went on missions with my master as a padawan, they were of an entirely different sort. The things we did had less to do with war and more to do with diplomacy. Sometimes we stayed in the same town for weeks.”

“Weeks? What did you do with all that time?”

“Help wherever we could. Sometimes we just lent a hand during harvest.”

Master Owlan’s hazel eyes landed on Link. They were wide and earnest with something akin to sorrow in them. Master Owlan wore his heart on his sleeve. It was one of Link’s favorite things about him.

“One of my deepest regrets is that you had to be a padawan during a time of war. There are more important things to being a jedi than fighting.”

“Maybe you can show me after the war?”

Master Owlan smiled.

“That sounds like a plan. But only if you show me how to perform that amazing spin maneuver, I saw you do up there.”

“Which one? All my spin maneuvers are amazing.”

Master Owlan let out a deep laugh and clapped Link on the shoulder.

“Remember that thing I tried to teach you about humility, Link? I think we might need to revisit that.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying all along,” Eagus said. He had discarded his helmet somewhere and held two ration bars in one gloved hand, the other holding his own half-eaten one. He held the two intact bars out, and the jedi accepted one each. Link’s brow creased as he looked at his.

“Are you sure we should be eating these? They’re for the Picori.”

“The Picori can spare you one of the ration bars after everything you’ve done to deliver them, Link,” Master Owlan said. “Eat it. We’re gonna have to run that blockade again to get off the planet, so you’ll need your strength.”

Link relented and took a big bite of his bar.

“What’s the status on the other crates?” Master Owlan asked.

“I’ve sent some men east and west. The locals say there are more towns out there that could use the help.”

Eagus pointed in the two directions. His commlink beeped at his wrist. He flashed them an apologetic smile.

“I have to take this. It might be the men I sent.”

With those words, the clone left Link and Master Owlan to themselves again.

“Eagus never stops working, does he?” asked Link.

His master laughed softly.

“Do any of us? I haven’t had a break since long before this war began.”

“What about that time we went to the jedi temple in the Kawa system?”

“I would hardly call that a vacation, Link. You almost got us killed by getting between that bounty hunter and their target.”

“You said that was brave!”

“I think my exact words were ‘brave and stupid.’”

“Well, I saved the civilians, didn’t I?”

Master Owlan placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

“You did.”

He met Link’s eyes, a teasing smile putting his dimples on full display.

“Still doesn’t mean that trip was a walk in the park.”

Link’s retort died on his tongue as both him and Master Owlan turned their attention back to the plaza. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something had changed while they were talking. The atmosphere suddenly felt tense. The last of the chatting villagers fell silent, apparently sensing the same.

“Eagus? What’s wrong?” Master Owlan asked. “Did something happen to the men you sent out? Do they need help?”

It certainly looked as if something was wrong. Eagus’s entire body had gone rigid. His hands shook at his sides, and for a moment he seemed downright pained. Then his right hand closed around his blaster. Without a single word, he raised the weapon and fired on the two jedi.

Link was lucky that Master Owlan was there with him when it happened. At the jedi temple, they were taught from an early age to listen to the Force and let it warn them of danger. It was invaluable on the battlefield because those milliseconds of early warning could mean life or death in a firefight. But to Link, the idea of Eagus attacking them was nothing short of unfathomable. Kind Eagus with the comforting hugs – well, to say he was harmless would be wrong, but Link had never seen him use force against anyone but the enemy. Okay, maybe that sleazebag at the tavern a few months ago, but he’d been harassing someone! That was totally different! Eagus was Link’s friend, and maybe they hadn’t known each other for more than six months, but they’d saved each other countless times on the battlefield. They were family.

Link hadn’t even realized he’d stopped listening for danger whenever he was around the clones. But now that he thought about it, it made sense. Why would he be looking for danger when he was surrounded by dozens of men who risked their lives for his on a daily basis? He had enough danger in his life already.

If he had been alone, he would undoubtedly have been shot. While Link was still trying to wrap his head around the betrayal of his friend, Master Owlan heard the warning in the Force. With the fluidity of an experienced jedi knight, he turned on his lightsaber and deflected the blaster bolt. It hit a nearby building.

“Captain,” Master Owlan demanded. The edge in his voice made him sound strange. “What’s going on?”

“Locas Owlan and Link Camahri, you are under arrest for treason against the Republic. Lay down your weapons.”

Eagus sounded strange, too, words monotone and flat as if spoken by a droid. Link felt like he was watching a nightmare unfold. Perhaps some kind of warped reality where everyone he knew and loved had been replaced by copies that looked the exact same but were different in all the ways that mattered.

“No,” Master Owlan said. “Something strange is going on. It’s happening all around us. Can’t you feel it? Put down the blaster so we can figure it out together.”

Link could feel exactly what his master was talking about. Actually, it was starting to make him rather dizzy. A cacophony of sensations was hitting him all at once as the Force yelled something incomprehensible directly into his skull. The sheer intensity of it was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.

Link had gotten caught in a storm when he went out flying once. There had been a terrifying few minutes during which the whipping winds tossed him carelessly around. His wings had been forced close to his body, and he hardly knew up from down as the world swam before his eyes. This felt like that day, except the storm was inside his mind. It was terrifying. Link couldn’t even remember the last time he hadn’t felt in control of his Force-abilities.

Eagus and Master Owlan stared each other down, neither lowering his weapon.

“Fire at will,” said Eagus.

A rain of blaster fire was sent their way as the clones started shooting. Link vaguely registered screams as the locals fled the scene, but he only had eyes for his master.

Master Owlan’s lightsaber was a blur in front of him as he struggled to deflect the many bolts. He sent them flying into the walls around them, wood splintering under the charge. He glanced back at Link for a second, heartache plain on his face. When he turned back to the clones, his next deflection sent a blaster bolt into a trooper. The soldier hit the ground with a scream. A moment later, another followed suit, likewise hit by a deflected bolt.

Link’s nausea deepened as he realized that Master Owlan was doing it on purpose. He’d looked back at Link – the boy he was protecting, his padawan – and weighed his life against the clones’. Master Owlan had decided that he would rather kill the friends he’d spent the last 3 years with than see Link get shot.

How could his life possibly be worth that? How would he ever be able to justify an existence based on the death of his friends? Perhaps getting shot would be the better outcome. Was it better to die with a clear conscience than live with a tainted one?

“Link,” Master Owlan grunted between two blaster bolts. Link snapped out of his paralyzed state and realized he hadn’t even drawn his lightsaber yet. People were shooting at them, and he was just standing there, frozen like a padawan on their first mission. He fumbled to unhook the weapon from his side.

“Link, listen to me,” Master Owlan continued quickly. “I can’t keep this up forever. I don’t understand what’s happening, but you’re not safe with the clones right now. You need to run and hide. Trust no one except the Order. The Council will know what to do.”

Link’s eyes welled up with tears at the sheer idea of leaving his master behind. He blinked them away furiously. He couldn’t have tears obscuring his vision right now; he needed to be calm and collected like a proper jedi.

“I’m not leaving you,” he said.

“I’m serious, Link,” Master Owlan said, “you need to run. I’ll be okay.”

Link sniffled.

“That’s the first lie you’ve ever told me.”

Master Owlan’s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly, but his voice was earnest when he spoke again.

“Link, you’re my padawan. Nothing matters more to me than your safety. I’ll be okay as long as you’re safe. Now go!”

He shot a quick glance over his shoulder to meet Link’s eyes. They were wet, and it occurred to Link that this decision was as hard on his master as it was on Link himself.

A blaster bolt slipped past his defenses and hit Master Owlan’s shoulder. His entire body jerked backwards, but somehow, he managed to catch himself on his knee and keep the lightsaber between them and the clones.

“Please, Link! Please go!”

“Master-”

“Go!”

The guttural scream didn’t belong in Master Owlan’s mouth, and Link unwittingly took a step back. The clones were advancing now, sensing their victory was near. Link met his master’s eyes, and in them he found a deep desperation that finally forced him into action. Link turned tail and ran.

He bolted down the street, feet barely touching the ground before he lifted them again. He ran faster than he ever had before. If he really were going to follow his master’s wish, then he owed it to him to do it properly.

There was a thud behind him mingled with a deep sorrow in the Force, and Link couldn’t help but look back. Master Owlan had fallen, his lightsaber rolling out of his now-lax grip. The tears in Link’s eyes made a strong comeback as the Force exploded around him.

Link had been warned of the dangers of the Dark Side many times back in the Temple. To love someone was a wonderful thing, but it was also dangerous. To love was to invite fear of loss into your life, and that was the greatest fear of all. It could lead to anger and hate, and those feelings were the gateways to becoming a sith. Back then, it had been easy to brush the temptations of the darkness off, but now Link understood it for the first time. He was angry. And the Force responded readily.

There were footsteps behind him, but Link shoved them out of the way with a careless flick of his arm. A parked speeder blasted out of his way as he ran towards it, and the doors in the houses he ran past rattled like there was a storm brewing. He ducked into alleyways and crossed fences, resisting the urge to use his wings. Flying would be faster, but there would be no cover up there, his silhouette clear against the blue sky.

A jolt in the Force prompted Link to press himself into the shadows between two houses. A moment later, Eagus and two other clones came into view. They stopped not that far from him and looked around, hands ready on their blasters.

“I want a perimeter around the town,” Eagus said. “And lock all the ships down. Owlan definitely told him to contact the Jedi, so he will attempt to find a long-range radio.”

The careless mention of his master sent Link’s blood boiling as the Force flared up again. How dare Eagus talk about Master Owlan as if he hadn’t just murdered him in cold blood? How dare he care so little for someone who had cared so much? The three clones were standing right there, unaware of Link’s presence, and for a moment he wanted nothing more than to attack and unleash all of his anger and fury...

Master Owlan’s face flashed before his eyes. The heartache he’d seen as the older jedi gave in and killed his friends to keep Link safe. He hadn’t wanted to kill those clones. It had pained him greatly to do it. Gentle Master Owlan, who only killed when absolutely necessary, would hate that Link killed someone in his name. Especially for something as petty as revenge. So Link took a deep breath and calmed his mind with one of the many exercises they’d been taught in the Temple. He remained hidden until Eagus and the two clones moved out of sight.

Sighing deeply, he went over his options. Eagus was right, his first instinct would be to steal a ship. He was an excellent pilot, so his chances of escaping once he got ahold of one weren’t bad. Not to mention that the ships were equipped with hyperdrives and radios, both of which would be invaluable.

Eagus locking them down would complicate things, though. Getting a ship ready for takeoff would take time, time he didn’t have with the dozens on clones on his tail. Perhaps it would be better to get out of town and go either west or east. He knew there were other settlements out there, after all.

Link snuck out of his hiding spot and down the street. He scaled a fence and jumped into someone’s backyard. Cautiously, he reemerged in the street on the other side of the garden. He was getting close to the edge of town; he could see the highlands rise behind the houses, small patches of forest covering the bottom.

The news of Link’s new criminal record must have traveled ahead of him, because when a local man made eye contact with him from further down the street, the man’s eyes widened fearfully.

“Here! Help! He’s over here!” the man yelled down a side alley to what Link could only assume were troopers.

There was a series of shouts, and Link cursed under his breath as he began running. Clones were quickly appearing from all directions, and they spotted him immediately, raising their blasters. He ducked into the first building he saw and slammed the door behind him. There was a heavy table of metal next to the entrance, and with the Force’s help, he managed to barricade the door.

Link looked at the room around him. It seemed like it might belong to a mechanic, filled with various machine parts and tools as it was. There were also a number of cannisters scattered around the room. Fuel cannisters, Link realized. Oh shit, those didn’t mix well with blaster fire.

The door banged behind him, and Link hid behind a crate that hopefully contained something less volatile than the cannisters. He didn’t have time to check, since the door was breached in that moment. Eagus entered, followed by a dozen soldiers.

“Fan out and search for him,” Eagus said, his voice metallic through the helmet he usually so despised. “He’s in here somewhere.”

Link pressed himself close to the crate and prayed to anyone listening that somehow they wouldn’t find him. But either no one was listening or Link’s prayers weren’t high on their list of priorities, because a clone soon saw him and raised his blaster.

“Freeze!”

Link did nothing of the sort, instead turning his lightsaber on and vaulting over the crate to get closer to the wall where he would have better cover.

“Listen, Eagus,” Link said quickly, “don’t shoot in here. Those are fuel cannisters.”

Eagus ignored him completely. What had gotten into him today? It was like he was a completely different person. The captain Link knew would not risk the lives of his men by firing a hot blaster inside of a fuel depot.

Link deflected the first bolt, careful to send it into a crate instead of a cannister. The bolts came faster and faster, though, which made it harder to control. Soon, there were bolts all over the place, and he was forced to retreat backwards from the sheer amount of blaster fire. When he backed into the wall, he knew he was done for. There was nowhere left to run, and he couldn’t keep this up forever. He was about to die. He’d failed to fulfill Master Owlan’s last wish.

It was perhaps these thoughts that led to a truly insane idea blossoming in Link’s mind. With nothing left to lose, he caught the next bolt at just the right angle and sent it ricocheting into the fuel cannister furthest away from himself. The effect was immediate: a bright light, a quick succession of booms, the earth and building shaking.

The next thing Link knew was that he was slumped against the wall, lightsaber still in hand. The room looked vastly different from how he remembered it. Parts of it had collapsed, and craters littered the ground. Pieces of metal were strewn around the floor, and Link had a blaring headache as well as a ringing in his ears. He could see white-armored bodies lying around, some half-buried by rubble, others stained red from being impaled by metal shards. One of the clones was shakily using a half-destroyed crate to support himself as he struggled to get to his feet. The air was full of thick smoke, and almost everything was burning.

Link came close to toppling over as he got to his feet, but he managed to stay upright. The wall shifted dangerously behind him as he moved, and pieces of the roof were falling around him. The door outside was completely blocked by debris, so Link stumbled in the opposite direction, hoping to find another exit.

A burning crate wobbled and fell in front of him. Sparks flew from it as it hit the floor, and Link had to cover his eyes. The smoke was getting worse, and he was coughing now. He crouched, trying to get below the worst of it, but it didn’t help much. He didn’t dare crawl, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get up again if he sat down.

A deep rumble sounded over the ringing. He picked up speed, almost tripping over the leg of a clone that was otherwise completely buried. The roof was crumbling for real now, and Link covered his head with his arms. Unable to see where he was going, he tripped, landing in a heap on the floor. There was no time to get up; the world was falling apart around him, and all he could do was curl into a ball and hope for the best. Instinctively, he wrapped his wings protectively around himself and tried to shield his head. He closed his eyes and prepared for all of it to end.

---

It was dark when Link regained consciousness, but still warm. The rumbling had stopped, and he wondered if this was what death felt like. But no, he could still feel his charred feathers brushing against his skin, still taste the smoke in the air. Something hurt a lot, and it took him a moment to realize that it was his left arm. There were also splotches of itchiness and pain down his legs.

Link cautiously lifted his right wing so that he could have a look at his surroundings. Still completely dark. He used his hand to feel blindly around him. It was a small place, but there should be enough space for his lightsaber. He had luckily cradled it to his chest when the building came down, so it wasn’t lost. He turned it on, careful to hold it away from himself in the darkness. The blue light lit up a small pocket beneath debris in the form of stone and wood. A piece of concrete was lying on his left arm, which would explain the pain.

Link’s breathing became labored as he took in the reality of the situation. He was lying in a small bubble of air beneath a building. His arm was broken, his skin was burnt, and his lungs were full of smoke. He’d maybe just killed a dozen of his friends by bringing a building down on their heads. They had almost killed him by shooting at him in the middle of a fuel depot.

(They had killed Master Owlan.)

It was getting hard to breathe, and Link couldn’t figure out if it was because of his smoke-filled lungs or because he was running out of air or because he was having a panic attack. He was getting dizzy, and his arm hurt so much, and he was all alone. Master Owlan was dead, and any minute now the remaining clones might dig him out and kill him, too. If they didn’t just leave him to suffocate, that was.

The lightsaber burned too brightly before Link’s eyes, so he turned it off. The debris was pressing in on him from all sides, scraping against skin and feathers alike. His entire body felt weak like it had given up without consulting him first, resigned to his inevitable, grim death.

He lay there for some indeterminate amount of time, panting like a fish out of water. When the panic finally ran its course, he was exhausted, but his breathing was better, and his mind was coming back online. He did a couple of breathing exercises he’d learned in the Temple.

What was the first thing to do in a situation like this? Master Owlan would probably tell him to analyze the problem, Link decided. That had been his approach to all things in life. Analyze carefully. Don't act before you have all the information. Be patient. An opportunity will present itself if you let it.

Link lit the lightsaber again and looked at his surroundings with a more critical eye. The debris had – miraculously – mostly missed him, thanks to two larger boulders that formed a sort of shelter. His arm was the obvious exception and probably his biggest problem if you didn’t count being buried alive or hunted down and shot. The burns on his legs had formed blisters and were certainly painful, but Link felt semi-sure they could support his weight. But he was getting ahead of himself. He wouldn’t be going anywhere before he got that rock off his arm.

He inhaled and exhaled deeply to focus his mind. He reached out toward the rock with his right arm, his fingers stopping a few centimeters shy of touching it. He concentrated on the Force, feeling its calming presence in the back of his mind. It was still in disarray, but Link let it in regardless.

The Force was like a river. If you weren’t careful and got mixed up in the current, it might wash you out to sea and let you drown. You couldn’t control it. But it could be guided in the right direction, and that’s what Link did now. The rock slowly lifted off his arm, and he discarded it to the side. The bone was definitely broken, but there wasn’t much he could do about that now. He bit back a hiss of pain as he bent it to lie against his chest.

Now for the difficult part. He had to lift the rubble so that he could get out, preferably without it shifting and coming down on his head. He sat on his knees – blisters popping painfully all over his legs – since there wasn’t enough space to stand up properly. Then he calmed himself once more and willed the Force to lift the debris.

Dust and pebbles rained down as Link pushed, drawing on strength of will to assert his demand to the Force. It was heavy, almost physically taxing, but Link carried on. The Force was everywhere. If he commanded it to move a pile of rocks, then it would move the pile of rocks. It was as simple as that. The debris moved, shifting dangerously, but Link pushed through the pain and the exhaustion.

A breath of fresh air hit his face, and he almost cried from relief. With renewed vigor, Link pushed, and suddenly, a narrow hole to the sky above him was clear. Stars blinked comfortingly down at him.

He shakily got to his feet and turned the lightsaber off. Taking a deep breath, he jumped like only a jedi could. He landed on top of the slippery rubble and almost fell, but he managed to right himself at the last moment. Flashlights moved around at the sound, and Link froze.

“Anyone out there?”

Definitely a clone, by the sound of his voice. It made sense, the clones that hadn’t been in the building would of course be trying to dig out their comrades. Maybe they were also looking for him.

The flashlight moved back and forth, and he didn't dare move a muscle. It didn’t find him.

“Yeah no, I thought I heard some of the rubble shifting,” the clone said, probably responding to someone over the comm in his helmet. “But it stopped again. I think it’s just the rocks settling.”

The rubble crunched beneath his feet as he moved away.

Link finally dared breathe again. With another Force-jump, he landed on the street on the far side of the rubble that had once been a building. He ducked into the shadows of a nearby house. He spent a few minutes watching the moving flashlights, before he turned away. The edge of town wasn’t far now. Link spent the rest of the night limping slowly but surely out of the town and away from the clones. Completely alone for the first time in his life.

Notes:

Stay tuned for the second chapter that will hit AO3 in a couple of days. Featuring a very traumatized teenager, more Skyward Sword characters (remade for Star Wars), and the long long process of healing

Chapter 2: The Fugitive

Summary:

In which a severely traumatized teenager starts healing.

After that fateful day followed several weeks of solitude. Link spent a couple of days in a small forest near the village. He ripped his undershirt into bandages with a corner of cloth in his right hand and another between his teeth. He spent an hour trying to recall how to set a broken arm – Master Owlan had tried to teach him, once – and then another hour crying as he was hit by a fresh wave of grief. His arm throbbed painfully, and Link felt fairly sure he hadn’t done it all that well, but there was simply nothing more he could do without proper supplies or guidance. The burns on his legs were mostly left alone except for when he washed them – he didn’t have any more fabric to spare on bandages. The nights were cold enough already.

He left the forest as soon as he was able to, hobbling his way into the highland. At night, he sought shelter between giant rocks, and during the day he slowly but surely scaled the hillsides. He stayed away from high vantage points from where he would be visible as a silhouette against the horizon, instead keeping close to the cliff walls that might hide him from onlookers. His diet consisted of local plants that he didn’t know and which made him sick on multiple occasions. As the weeks went by and his wounds began healing, it became clear that his main problem was no longer staying hidden – it was finding enough food to stay alive.

This line of reasoning was what led Link into a town about three weeks after Master Owlan’s death. He came in late at night, hoping to avoid most of the townspeople. He had removed his padawan braid – ripping the hairstrands one at a time while his heart ached – but he was still pretty noticable. His cloak, fitted with two vertical slits along the back for his wings, did little to hide his Skyloftian ancestry, and that made him anxious. Wings were uncommon enough on their own, and on top of that, his managed to have a rare color. If anyone was looking for him, they wouldn’t have a hard time identifying him.

But there was nothing to be done about all that. He would worry about contacting the Jedi and getting off-planet later. It wouldn’t matter whether the GAR found him if he starved to death.

---

Pumm sighed and scrubbed harder on the small dark spot on the bar desk. That thing was impossible to get off, and he was honestly getting close to giving up on it. Who was going to notice it anyway? One of the many customers currently gracing his inn? It wasn't like business had been booming lately, what with the curfew and the soldiers marching up and down the streets.

He looked at the spot with a judgmental eye. Maybe a fresh bucket of soap water would make a difference?

The door opened in the far end of the room, and Pumm’s hand stopped of its own accord as he turned to look at the newcomer. Surprisingly enough, he was a stranger, and not even one of the clones who'd been patrolling the town these past few weeks. He was a boy.

The boy wasn’t one of the Picori, so it was a bit difficult to gauge his age, but Pumm would guess he was around 13 years old. He was tall – taller than it was typical for Picori, at least – but he hunched in on himself like he was trying to shrink into the floorboards. He stayed near the door as if afraid to properly enter.

“Hello there, traveler,” Pumm greeted jovially. With the political unrest, strangers were dangerous these days, but this one was nothing more than a child. Pumm would be nice to him, even if he were a stranger coming in late at night.

“Hi,” the boy said. He had a raspy voice.

“I assume you want a room?” Pumm asked. “Since it’s after curfew and all.”

“I, uh,” the boy said, “actually, I came looking for a job. I can clean and wait tables, I just need a little food as payment.”

The last words came out in a rush as if the boy expected to be cut off mid-sentence. Pumm’s heart softened. The boy wasn’t from this town, that much was for sure – an innkeeper knew everyone, especially in towns on the smaller side of average. The kid must’ve walked from wherever he came from, which was no small feat considering there were no nearby settlements. He was obviously in a rough shape, too; so thin the cloak hung over his frame like a tent, with skimpy pants that seemed to be actively falling apart at the lower legs. He thought he might see a sling under the cloak, too, but then the boy moved, and his arm was covered again.

“Tell you what,” Pumm said, “with a list of qualifications like that, you can have a room, too. A room and three meals a day.”

“I just need the food,” the boy insisted, backing towards the door.

“No, wait!” Pumm said. “I’m trying to help. The streets are dangerous these days, they arrest anyone out after curfew. You can have your own room, and I’ll give you the key so no one can get in. It’s not going to cost you anything extra.”

The kid shifted his weight anxiously like he was considering bolting for the door. Maybe Pumm had overstepped. The boy had obviously been through a lot, so maybe the overeager offer had scared him. For a moment Pumm thought for sure he'd messed it up. Then, to his great relief, the kid accepted with a small nod.

“Thank you,” he said.

“It’s my pleasure,” the innkeeper said warmly. “My name is Pumm, by the way. May I ask what yours is?”

The boy hesitated. “...Sky.”

A Skyloftian named Sky? Either the kid's parents were the most uncreative people Pumm had ever heard of, or the kid didn't want him to know his real name. But did it really matter, either way? Sky was as good a name as any. If that's the name the boy wanted to go by, then Pumm wouldn't question it.

“It’s good to meet you, Sky. Now, I have some leftovers from dinner. I’ll find them for you real quick, and then I’ll show you to your room, okay?”

---

Link had promised to clean and wait tables, but it was three days before Pumm let him to either, adamant that his arm got some rest. He served Link three meals a day regardless and let him stay in his own room at night. When Pumm finally allowed him to start working, he insisted on also paying Link a small wage on top of it all.

It was odd how much of a difference simple things like those could do. After just a week at Pumm's inn, the Lumpy Pumpkin (named after a local plant), Link felt like a person again. His weeks in the wilderness had been plagued by a desperate fight to stay alive, wounded and starving as he was. Now he had a warm place to sleep and a full belly. He had medical supplies to treat his wounds, and people treated him with kindness.

He worried a lot about his new dependency on the innkeeper, of course. Sure, he seemed nice, but people rarely did nice things for free. He was a lot more trapped here than he’d been in the highlands, and if there was anything the past weeks had taught Link, it was that you never truly knew anyone. Still, if Pumm had any ulterior motives, he hid them well. The whole situation seemed too good to be true, and that made Link uneasy. An anticipated foe was much easier to deal with than an unexpected one.

There was nothing Link wanted to do more than follow Master Owlan’s advice and contact the Order. If there was anyone in the galaxy he could trust to sort out this wanted for treason against the Republic-thing, it was the Jedi. Link’s family. But he had no means to do so on his own, and he couldn’t risk asking Pumm for help. No, he would bide his time and be patient. He would wait. If Pumm had a radio, he’d use it sooner or later. And when he did, Link would know where he kept it, and then he could sneak in and use it in secret. Or, even better, a jedi knight might come looking for him without him reaching out at all. It was almost unimaginable that the Council hadn’t heard of the incident with the clones. They’d want someone from within the Order to investigate it instead of just relying on the GAR’s report.

There was another reason Link was hesitant to act, of course. He’d heard it on the Holo on his very first day in Pumm’s inn: a news station praising Emperor Ganondorf for his swift handling of insurgents in the Lanayru system. Emperor Ganondorf. Link had almost dropped his fork on the floor, all but forgetting the lunch in front of him. Since when did they have an emperor?

No one else – that’s to say Pumm, his daughter, Kina, and her husband, Oln – had seemed surprised, however, so Link had acted as if nothing was wrong. It wasn’t like he could say, “hey, quick question, why is the chancellor an emperor now??”  and expect no follow-up questions. If it was common knowledge, then he couldn’t afford to ask. Not when it might reveal that he’d been completely cut off from civilization for three weeks. Not when someone might start to wonder just why a 14-year-old boy would hide in the wilderness rather than seek the help he so desperately needed. So Link watched the Holo closely instead, and he learned a great many things over the next few days.

There was a big parade in Coruscant on the one-month anniversary of the Empire’s founding. The emperor himself addressed the people from the Senate, promising to deal with the remaining insurgents and restore order to the galaxy. Link wasn’t sure exactly how many days had passed since Master Owlan’s death, but it had to have happened almost at the same time as the Empire’s rise, based on the timing of the parade.

More curiously, the war was over. The Separatists had been beaten and were in the process of becoming part of the Republic – or Empire – once again. Three years of war for everyone in the galaxy. Six months of active duty on the frontlines for Link. And suddenly, it was over. No more fighting. And because of this whole mess, he’d never even noticed.

The only war these days seemed to be against a never-ceasing number of insurgents. Every day, there was news of Emperor Ganondorf’s troops heading out to deal with terrorism on Mandalore, Eldin, Faron ... the list went on. The news gave a lot of details on the horrific acts of terrorism and generally praised the imperial troops for their heroism in protecting the civilians. It was several days before Link realized there might be more to the story.

He was manning the bar with Kina. Because of the curfew that forced the inn to close at 10 pm, the room was quite full despite the early evening. Pumm and Oln were in the back, preparing the dinner they would serve tonight.

“Revnog,” a man said and placed an empty mug in front of Link. It was still foamy from his last drink, and the man’s cheeks were looking a little flushed already. Link shot a quick glance at Kina. She gave a small nod, so he refilled the cup and handed it back to the customer.

“Kina!” a woman called from one of the tables near the bar, “another round?”

She gestured to the others at her table.

“We have a bar for a reason, Samara,” Kina said exasperatedly, though she started loading a tray with cups nonetheless. “You can carry your own drinks.”

She put the cups down on the table in front of the customers.

“Thanks, love,” Samara said, “I’ll leave a tip.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kina brushed it off. She gestured to the small Holo that was placed in the middle of the group. “What was so important that you couldn’t leave it for even a minute, anyway?”

“They caught one of the Jedi,” the man sitting to the left of Samara said. “This one was on the Council, so he was one of the masterminds behind the coup.”

“Really? Can’t imagine catching him was very easy.”

“They found him among the terrorists on Faron. The news are all over it.”

It took Link a moment to notice that the tipsy man wanted another refill. He filled the cup quickly, this time not caring about whether the man was getting too drunk. He had more important things to occupy his mind.

One of the masters on the Council had been caught endorsing terrorism?!

“Hey Kina, why don’t you put it up on the big screen?” another man suggested.

“Alright, alright.”

Kina turned on the Holo above the bar. A reporter was talking excitedly. Her eagerness didn’t match the serious expression she’d plastered to her face.

“-just received word that the jedi in question is none other than Maqon Bal, the 52-year-old Skyloftian who held one of the 12 seats on the Jedi High Council. Bal served as a general in the Grand Army of the Republic until recently and is believed to be one of the instigators behind the attempted coup more than a month ago when the Jedi Order tried to topple the Republic. Since escaping imperial custody back then, he has been in hiding in a terrorist camp on Faron. His capture was a joint effort between the ISB and Inquisitorial Headquarters.”

A picture of the jedi appeared on the screen. Link felt himself go pale as he gripped the edge of the bar for support. He knew Master Bal. As the only other Skyloftian in the Temple, he’d taught Link how to fly. He’d been so excited about it, too, letting out a loud whoop when Link finally managed to take off from the ground on his own. And when Link discovered how much he loved flying, Master Bal had made sure he was allowed to leave the Temple to stretch his wings properly. A growing lad needs more space to fly than can be found in a temple. Just don’t get injured out there, or Master Allorna will have my head. I promised her you’d be safe.

Link hadn’t talked much with Master Bal these past few years, but they always nodded to each other in a silent greeting when their paths crossed. The only two Skyloftian jedi in the Temple, maybe even in the galaxy. Link couldn’t help but feel a kinship with the older jedi. The idea of kind and goofy Master Bal conspiring to make a coup or commit terrorism was simply absurd.

And yet here he was, arrested for those very crimes.

“The ISB released a statement following Bal’s arrest,” the reporter continued. The statement appeared on screen in giant white text as she read aloud.

“They wrote, ‘Thanks to the courageous agents of both the ISB and Inquisitorial Headquarters, the dangerous criminal, Jedi Master Bal, will be brought to justice. As a former general and prominent figure of the Republic, Master Bal betrayed the galaxy when he stopped protecting our civilians and started working for personal gain. Today marks a great victory in Emperor Ganondorf’s quest to bring peace and prosperity to our Empire. But there is still much to be done, and we here at the ISB will continue to work to ensure your safety. We ask the public to remember that the Jedi are armed and dangerous. If you see any jedi activity, call our emergency hotline immediately. Engaging them on your own could cost you your life.’“

A number flashed on the screen. Shortly after, the news cut to a panel of experts for a debate on the terror cell on Faron. Link didn’t hear much more of it. The air inside the bar suddenly felt too stale. He couldn’t breathe.

“Sky? Do you feel alright?” Kina asked, her eyebrows drawing together above her nose.

“Just need a little air,” he gasped and practically ran through the door to the back. He passed Pumm and Oln who both looked up in surprise, then fled out the back door.

Eagus had said they were under arrest for treason against the Republic. Just around the same time that the Jedi High Council allegedly tried to make a coup. Oh Force, was that why Eagus had tried to arrest them? Was that why he had raised his blaster and pointed it at them and fired and fired and fired until Master Owlan’s body fell lifeless onto the ground with those blank, blank eyes staring into a too blue Picoran sky-

The Force was welling up inside him like a rising storm, and Link ran, turning down alley after alley until he had no idea where he was. At one point, he heard the familiar voice of a clone from around a corner, and panic gripped him like a tangible thing. He fell into the narrow nook between two dumpsters and found he couldn’t get his legs to cooperate enough to get up again. What would be the point, anyway? Where could he go? Master Owlan – dead dead dead, his lightsaber rolling slowly from his hand – told him to contact the Order. But there was no longer a Jedi Order, was there? What had happened to the rest of Link’s family? Were they awaiting trial? Were they dead?

The Force swirled, the dumpsters shaking violently next to him. Pieces of trash rained down on him, but he hardly registered it. Faintly, in the back of his head, a voice insisted that it was dangerous to stay here. There were clones nearby, and his Force abilities were out of control. If they saw him like this ...

(Master Owlan's entire front body filled with the burns from blaster fire, heat still rising from his clothes-)

He had no time to listen to the small voice. It burned in the rage of the Force, drowned in the magnitude of his grief. Compared to Master Owlan, it was nothing. Link lay there in the trash, shaking, trembling, tears flowing hot and wild from his eyes. Master Owlan was dead. And so were the rest of the Jedi. He did not, technically, know it, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t need to.
He could feel it.

---

It was dead night when Link finally dragged himself out of the trash and back to the inn. The streets were blessedly empty, and he made it back without incident. He snuck through the quiet house and entered his room. Without turning the lights on, he bent down and felt along the boards beneath the mattress in his bed. He hid his lightsaber there when he first arrived. It was the only reason he came back at all instead of just running away.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Link quickly withdrew his hands, hiding the saber behind his back. He wouldn’t go down without a fight, he promised himself. He owed Master Owlan that much.

The door creaked open, and Link was ready to attack. But there were no clones on the other side. It was Pumm, face illuminated by the small lamp in his hands.

“You came back,” the innkeeper exhaled softly. “I wasn’t sure when you still weren’t back by curfew...”

Link didn’t answer. His body was coiled, ready to pounce, but he was torn. He couldn’t figure out if Pumm was an enemy or not. Every nerve, every instinct in him screamed that he must be. Only the Force whispered that he was safe. But the Force had been wrong before, hadn't it? Link spent months with the clones, and never once did it warn him. What did that say about Link? What did it say about the Jedi and the things they taught? Trust the Force, they'd said. Link had done that, and this was where it had gotten him.

“Listen, Sky,” Pumm sighed, eyebrows and mouth turning downward. “I don’t know what it is that you’re going through. And I won’t ask. But if you ever want to tell someone, my door is open. Always.”

He gestured to the dark room around them.

“I’m sorry I pushed you to take the room. You don’t have to stay. You can keep the job, even if you’d rather sleep somewhere else. But I hope you’ll stick around. I like you, kid.”

The two of them looked at each other, Pumm's earnest eyes meeting Link's frightened ones. Link wanted to believe him so badly. But how could he?

He left the inn that night. But he came back two days later. And Pumm, Kina, and Oln welcomed him with open arms and wide smiles.

---

“Yer can jus’ put it on ma tab,” the man slurred. It was getting close to curfew, and Kina, Oln, and Sky were in the process of herding out the few remaining stragglers. Pumm was in the back, cleaning the kitchen.

“That’s not how we do things here,” Kina explained patiently for the third time. “You drink; you pay.”

“I always get it on ma tab,” the man insisted, lurching forward over the desk. His face and neck were flushed red, and Link could smell the alcohol in his breath and sweat from where he was wiping down a table several meters away.

“I’m really sorry, sir, but that must be a misunderstanding because that’s not how-”

“Yer tryin’ to steal ma money, aren’t ya? It’s always the same with-”

“Woah, woah, what’s going on here?” said Oln, materializing next to his wife in an instant. His hands were raised in a placating gesture, but his narrow eyes and locked jaw revealed the rage he was trying to conceal.

“This kriffin’ bitch is tryin’ t’steal ma money!”

“This lovely woman whom I’m lucky to call my wife is not trying to steal anything,” Oln said in a low, dangerous tone. “You haven’t paid for your drinks. I suggest you do so before we ban you from our inn.”

Sky felt the rising emotions in the Force, Oln and Kina’s cool, controlled rage against the drunk man’s wild, explosive anger. He put the cleaning rag down on the table and moved closer to the bar desk. None of the three adults seemed to notice, too engrossed in their argument.

“Ban me? Do ya have any idea who yer talkin’ to, yer miserable excuse f’r a-”

“Okay, that’s it,” Oln said, walking around the desk to escort the man out. “You’re definitely banned. Don’t bother coming back.”

“Don’t touch me!” the man yelled. The Force sent a jolt down Sky’s neck, and he was instinctively moving before fully realizing it. A second later, the drunk man raised his right hand, still clutching the glass he’d been drinking from all night, apparently to bring it down on Oln’s head. Sky, already in motion thanks to the Force, caught his hand in the air, twisted the man’s arm sharply, and pushed him down onto a table. The man struggled weakly, but Sky pressed him firmly down with one hand, still gripping the man’s arm with the other. The man’s face, squashed against the wood, was still flushed with anger, but his eyes were wide open in fear. Somewhere in the back of his head, Sky registered that Kina and Oln were looking at him with open mouths, but he kept his attention on the man in front of him.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he said in a voice that didn’t sound much like his own. “You’re going to pay for your drinks. You’re going to apologize to Kina and Oln for causing them trouble. Then you’re going to leave and not come back. Do I make myself clear?”

The man did his best to nod rapidly, which didn’t look very pleasant with how his face was pressed against the table. Sky released him. The man quickly stood and threw the credits on the desk. He mumbled something that could conceivably have been an apology, then bolted out the door.

Sky rubbed his left arm. Technically, it was supposed to be healed, but it ached every now and then when he used it. Probably due to his pitiful attempt at setting it that day in the forest. He suspected it hadn’t healed completely right.

“I had no idea you could do that,” Kina said, bringing Sky back to reality. His stomach dropped as he realized this was probably the most jedi thing he’d done in front of Pumm’s family. Most teenagers didn’t know how to fight like he did. It was dangerous to let other people know he could fight because it invited questions about where and why he’d learned to do so, and-

“Thank you,” Kina said. “For protecting us.”

Sky smiled uneasily, and perhaps Oln understood how uncomfortable he felt, because he changed the subject.

“You know, I totally get it. I love our job, but sometimes I also get the urge to beat up the customers.”

Kina punched him playfully on the arm. “As if you could.”

“I could beat them up if I tried,” Oln protested indignantly. “The only reason I don’t is because of my very impressive self-control.”

Kina laughed.

“Self-control? Really? Didn’t I just hear you stop in the middle of an argument to tell someone how lucky you are to be married to me?”

“Well, the bastard was saying all sorts of mean stuff about you. And I am lucky to be married to you. I thought it would only be proper to let him know.”

“You’re damn right you’re lucky to be married to me,” she said. “And don’t you forget it.”

“Never.”

They leaned forward to kiss, and Sky cleared his throat.

“Wow, look at the time. I will be going to bed, then.”

Kina and Oln’s laughter followed him up the stairs, but Sky didn’t mind. He was secretly smiling.

---

“Get in the back,” Oln said sharply. Sky looked out the window and felt the familiar gut punch at the sight of white uniforms. Luckily, the bar was empty, so no one remarked on it when he ducked beneath the desk and crept through the door to the kitchen.

It wasn’t the first time clones had come to the inn while Sky was working, but it only happened rarely. In the beginning, the clones – stormtroopers, now – had come in more often for a myriad of reasons. To check they weren’t open after curfew. To make sure they weren’t selling anything illegal. That sort of thing. They also came for information, since drinking establishments were infamous for getting all news first, whether the news was about something legal or not. In fact, that was one of the first lessons Sky had learned back when him and his master were investigating the theft of the blueprints for a new Republic military base on Akkala.

“Oln,” one of the soldiers greeted. Sky couldn’t see him from his hiding spot behind the fridge, but he recognized the voice. Definitely a clone.

“What can I do for you?” Oln asked easily.

Months ago, Sky would have been certain this was it. Oln would give him up to protect his family. Or maybe just to get the reward. But the other man had proven himself to be loyal many times since then.

“You know, it’s a little odd,” the clone mused. “All these months, and I still haven’t met that new employee of yours. How come? I’ve been looking forward to meeting him.”

There could only be one reason why an employee would be absent every time the authorities came knocking, and they all knew it. He was a criminal.

Sky’s chest constricted with what he recognized as the start of a clone-induced panic attack. His first panic attack had, fittingly, been in the wake of his first battle in the Clone Wars. Though he had received a lot of combat training in the Temple, nothing could really have prepared him for the real thing. Master Owlan – and Force, it still hurt to even say his name – had been there for him then. Guiding him through it with the proper breathing exercises and meditation. He’d had several other panic attacks during his service in the war, but he’d made it through. Those panic attacks had been nothing compared to the ones he’d been having since Master Owlan died.

Sky hadn’t made the connection until a month into his stay at the Lumpy Pumpkin, but the sight of a stormtrooper’s white uniform was a sure-fire way to set one off. He had other triggers, of course, but none quite as bad. They would leave him weak and gasping, as if the surface held no more air than the infinite void of space. He suffered through most of them alone, but Pumm, Kina, or Oln would sit there with him if they happened to be nearby. And while they often reiterated he could tell them anything he wanted, they stayed true to Pumm’s word – never once did they ask about his past.

“He’s out shopping,” Oln said. “Kid’s got a talent for haggling, so we usually send him to the market. I’ll let him know you asked for him. Anything else?”

A short pause. Sky wondered how much the clones knew about him. If they’d already made the connection between him and the missing padawan, Link, then they wouldn’t have come asking so politely. Rumors had it that inquisitors were ruthless, tearing through people’s houses and bodies with no thought for civilian casualties. A stab went through Sky’s heart at the thought of an inquisitor questioning Pumm’s family. But no, he was sure they hadn’t figured it out yet.

That wouldn't last forever. Clearly, they were beginning to realize that Sky was somewhat at odds with the law. And that was dangerous, too. If he were arrested – on Picor, no less – he could be sure they’d discover his true name.

“It’s tax season,” the clone finally said. “Pumm needs to come down to city hall and fill out his papers. Deadline is the day after tomorrow. Make sure he doesn’t miss it.”

“I will,” Oln promised. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

The clone grunted something in reply, followed by the sound of footsteps. Oln showed up in the door a moment later.

“They’re gone,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Maybe it’s best you keep away from the windows for a little while, though. I’ll take the desk.”

Sky nodded and went over to the sink to start on the dishes. While he squeezed soap out of the bottle and started scrubbing the plates from this morning’s breakfast, he thought about the last six months.

It was difficult to fathom he’d already lived with Pumm’s family for almost half a year. The six-month anniversary of the Empire had been last week, and the event had gotten Sky thinking about his life and what he wanted to do with it. It was never really something he had considered before. Growing up at the Temple meant that there was never really anything to choose. He was learning to be a jedi. All of the adults in his life had been knights or masters in the Order, and all the children had been younglings like him. The choice was not whether or not to become a jedi, but rather what he would do as a jedi. Would he stick mostly to the Core Planets? Or would he go to the Outer Rim? Would he go on high-risk missions from the Council, or would he stick up for the little guy? Jedi did lots of different stuff, but the training they received was mostly the same. With the Order, Sky wouldn’t have to choose a thing until he reached knighthood.

Then the war happened. The Jedi were roped into the military, and being a jedi knight became a synonym to being a general. He hadn’t even fully figured out what that meant for his future before the war was over. Sky, who’d never had to make his own choices before, was suddenly completely on his own. His future was uncertain – non-existent, really. If anyone found out who he was, he wouldn’t have a future at all.

And that was at the heart of the matter, wasn't it? Sky had no future. But Pumm and Kina and Oln did. They had already risked enough on his behalf. If the clones were starting to get suspicious, then it was time to pack up and leave. For everyone's sake.

---

“Pumm?” Sky asked. The older man paused polishing the bottles behind the bar and turned to face him, wet cloth and purple bottle still in hand.

“Can we talk?”

“Of course,” Pumm smiled. He gestured to a stool by the bar, and Sky sat down in it. A moment later, the bartender poured two glasses of purple liquid that Sky recognized as a local beverage made from berries, honey, and juice. “What’s on your mind?”

Sky tipped the glass gently in his hand, tracking the flow of the drink. He had already made up his mind about this conversation, but it was difficult to say, nonetheless. Pumm, Oln, and Kina were the closest to family Sky had now. He didn’t want to leave.

“A couple of troopers came by today,” he said.

“Oln told me. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. They didn’t see me. But they got me thinking.”

“Oh?”

Sky interlaced his fingers around the glass. It was cool against his palms.

“I’m leaving,” he blurted out, suddenly unable to keep it in any longer. “Picor, I mean.”

Pumm sighed deeply and set the bottle and cloth down on the desk beside him.

“I can’t say I’m terribly surprised. But I’d be sad to see you go. We like having you here. And if you wanted to stay, you’d still be more than welcome.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to stay,” Sky said, tears now pricking in his eyes. “But it’s not safe. I can’t protect you.”

“Oh, Sky,” Pumm said. He walked around the desk and pulled him into a hug. Picori were small, so they were roughly the same size despite the fact that Sky hadn’t fully gone through his growth spurt yet. Still, it was a good hug. Warm. Safe.

“You don’t have to protect us,” Pumm said gently. “If you have to leave for your own safety, then so be it. But please don’t leave for our sake. Kina, Oln, and I are more than willing to take the risk of letting you stay. You’re family.”

Sky was crying for real now, so his next words came out in a jumbled mess of sobs and gasps for air.

“But you don’t know what you’re risking,” he cried. “If they find out I’m here...”

“Sky,” Pumm said, suddenly stern. “I might not know all the details of your past, but I’m not an idiot. I know what I’m risking. So does Kina and Oln. We’re still choosing to let you stay.”

Sky let his head rest on the innkeeper’s shoulder and cried. He had never told Pumm or the others about Master Owlan or the Jedi, but maybe they knew more than they let on. The thought was both scary and relieving.

They stayed like that for a long time while Sky’s emotions ran their course. When he was done, he felt tired and lightheaded.

“Drink up,” Pumm said and pushed the long-forgotten drink over to him. “You’ll feel better.”

Sky followed the order and found that Pumm was right. The drink was sweet and rich in taste. It gave him a small energy boost.

“Now, up to bed,” Pumm said. “Get a good night’s sleep before you make your decision. And remember what I said. You have a place here for as long as you want it. Risk or no risk.”

Sky tried for a weak smile.

“Thank you.”

“That’s what family does for each other. Goodnight, Sky.”

“Goodnight.”

 Sky went to bed, feeling more loved than he had in a long time.

---

“I’m going to miss you, you little rascal,” Kina cried and gave Sky a hug that squeezed him half to death.

“I’m going to miss you, too,” Sky mumbled into her shirt. It had been a week since his conversation with Pumm, and he had spent a lot of it thinking over the offer. He really had. But while Pumm, Kina, and Oln might be prepared to run the risk of letting him stay, Sky wasn’t. Attachment was dangerous to a jedi. It could tempt you to cling to the people you loved, to defy all reason and logic just to keep them close. But Sky was in control of his emotions. He would not risk his family’s life for his own selfish need to stay. He already had so many friends’ deaths on his conscience. He wouldn’t add three more.

Kina let him go so Oln could take her place.

“Take care out there, Sky.”

“I will,” he promised. “You too.”

Oln released him. Pumm gave him the next hug, then held him out at an arm’s length to look him in the eye.

“You’ll always have a home here,” he said. “Remember that.”

“Thank you,” Sky said and hoped his eyes conveyed the emotion he couldn’t quite put into words. He thought Pumm probably understood. He usually did.

“We’re proud of you, Sky. You’ve come really far in a very short amount of time. We’ll miss having you around.”

Sky surprised the innkeeper with a quick hug more before pulling back.

“Thank you for everything,” he said.

His new family smiled back at him, and Sky took that love and hid it deeply within himself, guarding it, treasuring it. Who knew how long it would be before he felt something like that again?

He slung his bag over his shoulder – filled with enough rations to last him a week, a blanket, his saber, and more credits than he could in good conscience take from his family, despite Pumm insisting on it – and walked up the ramp to the ship. He waved one last time before it closed behind him.

“Strap in,” the pilot said, before leaving for the cockpit. Sky did as he was told. Far beneath them, Picor got smaller and smaller until the ship jumped to hyperspace, and it disappeared.

---

Sky spent the next couple of months traveling. The first ship brought him to Crenel, but he left on another ship almost immediately. His time with Pumm’s family had been a break from the reality of his situation, and he had mostly neglected to actually do all the things one should do while hiding from the government. He made up for it now, jumping rapidly from planet to planet in order to shake any connection to Picor and the family he had left there. He worked odd jobs, mostly for the captain on whatever ship he was staying on that week. He usually helped carry the cargo or run errands, but sometimes he helped out with mechanical trouble, too. And if he sometimes suspected that not all of the cargo was entirely legal, he turned a blind eye and minded his business. In turn, the rest of the crew left him alone. They didn’t ask questions about his skills or his past, and that suited him just fine.

This was how Sky found himself on Daiyu three months after leaving Picor. Daiyu was the lawless sort of planet that had never quite gotten used to any authorities, whether that be the Republic or the Empire. He had visited planets like it during the Clone Wars. The streets were of a sketchy sort, the kind you didn’t walk without a weapon and a keen trigger finger. There were lots of bars and just as many brothels. But even the stormtroopers had little authority here, compared to the other planets Sky had visited, and that was the important part.

“Well, well, well,” a sleazy voice sounded. Its owner was almost indistinguishable in the shadows of night, but Sky didn’t need to see someone to know where they were. He reached out with his mind. Two men of medium build. Their hostility felt like a jolt of electricity through the Force. Sky’s hand crept to the blaster at his hip.

“What’s a young boy like you doing out here all alone?” one of the men asked and stepped into the flickering neon light of the nearby signs.

“Let me pass,” Sky said.

“Or what?” the other man asked. “You’ll shoot us? That’s a laugh. How about you hand over your purse before someone gets hurt, hmm?”

“Okay, okay.”

He loosened his purse from his belt and held it forward. The first man moved to take it.

“See, that’s much-”

Sky yanked his hand back, spinning on his left foot and ramming his right into the man’s skull. The man staggered back, lifting a hand to his nose as he did so. It was bleeding.

“You’re gonna pay for that, you brat,” he said nasally.

The man lunged forward, but Sky sidestepped and struck out a foot to trip him. The man cursed loudly, flailing to keep his balance. The other man joined in, moving closer and punching. Sky ducked under the blow, gripped the man’s arm, and twisted it around into a lock.

Meanwhile, the first man had gotten his balance back, and struck out. The blow hit Sky across the head, and for a moment he was blind and deaf while the pain claimed his focus. On instinct, he stumbled back, regaining his senses just in time to dodge the next punch. He kicked out sharply and hit the first man in the head once again. He crumbled to the ground, and this time he stayed down. The other man let out an outraged yell and charged, but Sky was back in control. He kneed the man in the stomach, pushed him over while he gasped for air, and stole his consciousness with a well-aimed kick to the head.

He stood still for a moment, just panting as he looked at the two unconscious men in front of him. He picked up the purse he’d dropped and tied it to his belt again. It would probably be for the best if he got out of here before anyone else arrived. Especially law enforcement.

“That was quite a show,” someone said behind him.

Sky turned slowly, feigning an air of casualty. The newcomer wasn’t a threat, the Force whispered. At least not yet.

It was a man. A Twi’lek, to be exact. He wore a dark cloak that was undoubtedly intended to blend into the surroundings, but a single look told Sky that this man was wealthy. The cloth wasn’t worn; the stitching was too even. The brown tunic beneath his cloak bore the same marks of money. Something about him looked familiar, though Sky couldn’t place from where.

“You didn’t see me take that punch to the face, I take it,” Sky said.

The man chuckled. “Most would call fighting two grown men on your own impressive, even if you did get a few scratches yourself.”

The truth of it was that Sky was rusty. Compared to his skills not even a year ago, this was not very impressive. Months of malnourishment and grief and neglecting his training had let his body forget motions that used to be second nature. Not that this man knew that, of course.

“I got lucky,” he said instead.

The man chuckled again.

“I doubt luck had much to do with it.” He hesitated for a moment. “You know, I have a proposition for you, young man.”

“I already have a job,” Sky said dismissively.

“Even so, I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

“And why is that?”

The man leaned closer, eyes darting from side to side as if to ensure they were alone. His gaze lingered on the two men, but they were still out cold. When he spoke, his voice was only a whisper.

“I knew Locas Owlan.”

A thousand words and feelings got stuck in Sky’s throat. Of all the things the stranger could have said, this was what he had least expected. He didn’t know what to say or do. Was the man a threat after all? He must be, if he was mentioning Master Owlan, because that meant he had figured out Sky’s real identity. His hand leapt down to rest on his blaster again.

“I don’t mean you any harm!” the man hurried to say, throwing up his hands in surrender. “My name is Senator Gaepora. Master Owlan was a dear friend of mine.”

Sky suddenly remembered where he had seen the other man before. Gaepora was the senator from Ryloth – he’d seen him on the Holonet. And while he had never actually met him, it was true that Master Owlan and the senator had been friends. Sky’s master had mentioned him every once in a while when they talked about politics.

“How did you find me?” Sky asked, hand hovering uncertainly by his weapon. Even if Gaepora had been a friend of his master once, who knew where his loyalties lay now? Eagus had been a friend of Master Owlan’s, too.

“I have been looking for nine months now. Ever since the Republic fell, really. For a long time, I thought you were dead. Then I got lucky. One of my people ran into a Corellian woman last month. She talked about a Skyloftian boy with red wings who fixed the wiring on her comms station.”

Gaepora slowly lowered his hands to rest at his sides. Sky let him.

“I hoped it might be you, so I tracked you down. You didn’t make it easy, though. You’ve switched crew four times since.”

“It’s dangerous to stay in one place for too long,” Sky said automatically, mind still trying to catch up.

“That’s true,” Gaepora agreed. “But I have the proper resources to hide you, if you want my help. There is a secret place you could stay. You’d be safe there, both from the Empire and people like them.”

He pointed to the men on the ground.

“And why would you help me?” Sky asked. The question seemed to surprise the other man because he cocked his head and raised his eyebrows.

“Because Master Owlan was a friend and I owe it to him to take care of his padawan. Because you need my help. Because what happened to the Jedi was wrong and I want to make it right in any way I can. Do I have to pick just one reason?”

He sounded sincere. Just like Eagus had sounded sincere and trustworthy until he wasn’t. But Pumm and Kina and Oln had seemed trustworthy, too. And they were, right till the day he left them. Sky was beginning to believe that there were still friendly faces in the galaxy. Still people he could trust. His hand finally fell away from his weapon. Master Owlan had told him to contact the Jedi Order for help. That wasn’t possible, but perhaps this was the next best thing.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m in.”

Notes:

This AU's main storyline will take place between 3 BBY and 4 ABY. This fic falls outside that category and takes place in 19 BBY. You can think of it as an origin story for Sky, I guess

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of In a Galaxy far, far away...