The dragon has been trapped for years. It lost its name. It lost its body. It lost most of its memories of not being a dragon. It is everything its Master wanted.
Then, one day, its Master brings it a child. A sand-haired boy smelling of blood, grief and terror.
@whumptober-archive @angstober
Chapter 1: Meeting
The dragon slept, curled on itself in the cold cell that was its home.
It hadn’t always been so. Once, when the dragon hadn’t been a dragon yet, it had been free. It had a name and an inferno burning in its chest. It had a will with no one powerful enough to stop it.
It was different now.
Now the inferno was reduced to sizzling embers, doused by too many cycles of isolation and silence. Now its name was gone, devoured by the scales covering its new skin. Now it layed in chains, trapped behind bars no teeth or claws could break.
Read more on ao3 or bellow the line.
A metallic noise echoed further above.
The dragon raised its head, suddenly attentive. No one ever came into this part of the palace except for its Master, his guards, and the occasional food offering. As if on cue its stomach growled, the rumbling noise echoing on the closed walls of the room. The dragon had since long gotten used to the nausea hunger brought, but a reprieve from it always felt welcome. It was better to think about than the alternative.
For if it wasn’t food being brought to it… a shudder ran down the dragon’s spine, its mane flexing in remembrance. It still sported open wounds from its Master’s last visit. Between the dampness of the cell and the growing weakness of its body, injuries became infected more often than not.
Figures appeared beyond the red hue of the ray shield. A rush of fear overwhelmed the dragon as it recognised the Emperor, surrounded by his Imperial guard. Cold slowly filled his veins. The terror soon gave way to confusion as the dragon noticed a small sniveling form between the guards.
There was a child there, half pushed, half dragged by the faceless soldiers. A boy, with sandy hair dirtied by blood and a snotty face covered in tears. He was struggling weakly against their iron grip, though in vain. The dragon tilted its head, curious. The Emperor had fed it children before, but he seldomly assisted the feeding himself.
The group stopped in front of it.
"Hello, old friend," its Master began. "I have a gift for you."
His oily presence reached out to it, slithering inside the dragon’s mind, probing its reaction. Something about the boy he brought was special. His Master was excited today, the infantile excitement of a new toy discovered. The dragon curled on itself and tried not to fight the invasive presence, knowing it would only make it worse.
"Put him inside," Palpatine ordered the guards.
The ray shield dropped and the guards threw the boy inside. A pungent smell of piss, blood and ash assailed the dragon’s nostrils as the child collapsed on his front paw. Wherever the child had been, showers had not been an option.
The dragon's Master studied them. His presence was everywhere, filling the dragon’s lungs, dragging the dragon’s heart, pushing the dragon’s mind.
"Do as you please," its Master said. There was a lightness to his tone the dragon didn’t like. It felt like the warning ozone before the lightning.
The Emperor took a last glance at the situation, a pleasant hum on his lips, and turned away, faceless guards trailing behind. The dragon didn’t dare to move before the oily presence left his mind too - or as much as it ever would.
His Master reduced to an icy point in the back of its’ mind, the dragon turned towards the foul smelling child. He hadn’t dared to move either and was still sprawled on one of the dragon paws. When its immense head turned towards him, the boy scrambled to his feet, taking shelter in one of the corners of the cell. It didn’t take him very far away. If it wanted to, the dragon could snatch him in one snap, and get rid of the hunger plaguing its stomach.
The dragon hesitated. Its Master hadn’t exactly ordered it to eat the child. He had offered for it to do as it pleased, but the dragon’s wants were never of importance to its Master. It was always a trap. An open question with a single answer.
An odd feeling froze its body though; a whisper, a warning hanging in the air. It observed the child.
The boy stood as straight as he could, clearly trying to seem brave despite the terror shaking his bones. He was a shivering mess. When neither of them moved, the child's heart rate slowly calmed down. He began to observe the dragon in return.
He raised a timid hand. “Hi.”
The dragon waited to see what the boy would do next.
“Please don’t eat me,” the boy squeaked. “I wouldn’t make a good meal."
The human words hurt the dragon's ears. They were too loud, too high pitched, too fast. Most of their meaning got lost on the way, but the cold fire that burned in its chest translated for it. The child’s fire was strong too, the dragon noticed, as strong as the laser wielding soldiers, that his Master made it fight and sometimes eat.
It stepped closer, curious about the child’s fire. Curiosity was something it hadn’t felt in a long time.
The boy tensed and scrunched his eyes closed as the dragon approached, but he didn’t run away. There was nowhere to run to.
The dragon assessed the human smell flooding the room. It was oddly familiar. The blood on the child’s skin woke up old memories, memories of a time with a name that belonged locked away in a box. It breathed on the boy's face, letting a few hairs billow. If it ate the boy, the silk-like threads would drag on its tongue and accumulate in its throat, making it cough for days. But the flesh would warm its belly, and the dragon was cold.
The boy stilled. Then slowly, very slowly, he opened his eyes. Clear blue eyes, as vast as the sky spreading beyond horizons.
‘I trust you,’ they said.
The dragon licked the boy. A small grain of sand rolled on its tongue. The boy tasted like blood and flesh and sun. He tasted like chains broken and forged anew, like golden dunes trapping feet in their embrace. He tasted like a small moisture farm lost in the desert, filled and yet empty for it lacked its most important person. Most surprising of all, behind the sand and the sun, behind the blood and the chains, he tasted like Naboo.
The child tasted like family.
The dragon licked him more, reveling in the various smells coming from him. The blood on the boy’s face woke up names in its mind. It swept them away. The grains on the boy’s skin tore open old scars in its soul. It rubbed them away. The bitter taste of the boy’s pain and fear made its stomach swirl with nausea. It wiped them away.
The dragon licked the child clean, until his only stench was the dragon’s smell. It licked the child clean until his fear was gone and it giggled against his muzzle, crying for him to stop because it tickled so much. It licked the boy clean until its stomach stopped rumbling, fed by the dead blood that covered him.
Vader licked the child clean, and decided there and then not to eat him.
(Free to download and repost. Please do not erase credit!)
I made a little something for Christmas! :) This is a gift to a special friend who's also a fan of SFTH! 💖 I've decided to share it with all of you as well!
When Luke woke up, he was lying in a medical bed, and the room was freezing cold. Instinctively, he pulled the covers up over his body, and in doing so, he realized that his right hand was still missing. He opened his eyes and scowled, but in doing so, he realized that he was not alone. A med droid hovered over him.
“Do not be alarmed,” the med droid said. Imperial. His…his mind was clearer, somehow, and the knowledge came easily.
And considering that he was a Rebel, and a very high profile one at that, he had every reason to be alarmed.
He yelped, trying to jump out of bed, but he didn’t feel coordinated, and his legs tangled in the bedsheets and the next thing he knew, he was falling backwards off the bed towards…
His body froze in midair, and he heard the unmistakable mechanical breathing of Darth Vader.
His father.
He remembered now. He remembered Bespin, remembered the cold freezing chamber, a chamber not much colder than the med bay he was in now, remembered screaming, remembered a red-hot lightsaber searing through his wrist…those dreaded words…
I am your father.
Luke suddenly felt nauseous, and he didn’t think it was because his body felt like someone had run over it with a speeder numerous times. Not as Vader lifted him through the Force back onto the bed, and shoved the bedsheets back over him.
“You would do well to stay in bed, young–” he stopped abruptly, staring at him, his mask unreadable, but Luke could somehow feel a furious confusion brewing in the armored Sith. “You will stay in bed until you are cleared to leave it.” He said instead after a moment’s hesitation.
Luke glared. He remembered now. He remembered how this man had hunted them across the galaxy, how he’d tortured Leia, tortured Han. He was the reason Han was missing–
“Scans complete.” The med droid said, far too cheerfully for the situation Luke had found himself in.
“Explain.” Vader ordered curtly, not tearing his gaze from Luke.
“In appearance, the patient is but five years old–”
“I am not–” Luke broke off, the sound of his voice startling him into silence. That…that didn’t sound like him. Sure, people didn’t sound like they did in their own heads, but even his internal perception of his voice was different, wrong, somehow. He reached up and touched his face…or tried to.
His hands–hand–was tiny.
The nauseous feeling intensified.
The droid continued as though it hadn’t heard him. “However, there is evidence that the patient was once an adult at an undetermined age before he was somehow illogically de-aged. As a result, his body is experiencing side effects, including muscle pain, loss of consciousness, nausea, and likely trouble with memory retention.”
“I remember just fine.” He glared at Vader pointedly.
“Then perhaps you could tell us how you came to be like this? It would certainly help with putting together a recovery plan.” The med droid said.
Luke opened his mouth…and paused.
How did he become like this?
“I…there was a mission…” he trailed off. That’s all he could remember. He couldn’t even remember if it was a solo mission, or if others had been with him. “...I guess it went wrong.”
“As I suspected,” The med droid nodded knowingly, “trouble with memory retention.”
“But I remember everything else!” Luke insisted.
“That you know of. There could be gaps in your memory that you don’t even realize.”
“I doubt it.”
“Fine. Then what planet are you from?”
Luke hesitated. Vader was standing right there…but he supposed this wasn’t anything that wasn’t common knowledge about him already. “Tatooine.”
“How old were you before you were de-aged?”
“Um.” He tried to remember, exactly. “In my twenties.”
“What about an exact age?”
Now Luke glared at the droid. “Does it matter?”
“It does if you cannot remember it.”
“I was nineteen when I destroyed the Death Star.”
“You are…were twenty two. The Death Star was destroyed three years ago.” Vader suddenly cut in with a booming voice. Luke winced at the sound. “Accept that you likely have memories missing and move on. It is not the most pressing concern.”
Luke scowled, annoyed that Vader was involved in any concerns of his, but instead he simply grumbled, “I was mostly right.”
Vader chose to ignore him.
“Have there been other cases like this?” Vader asked–no, demanded. Luke couldn’t imagine Vader asking for anything nicely. How in the galaxy was he related to someone like Vader?
The droid processed that question. “According to my databanks, negative, but considering that the patient is not dead, it is my professional opinion that this is not a first attempt experiment.”
Experiment. Luke didn’t like that thought.
“So you’re telling me that I was part of some secret government experiment?” He shot a look at Vader, “And you don’t know about it?”
Vader waved him off. “We do not know it is a government experiment. This is a large galaxy, we do not monitor every scientific experiment that is conducted.”
Luke scowled. “I think you’re just saying that because you don’t want to admit you don’t know something.”
The room’s temperature dropped a few degrees as Vader’s mood plummeted. “Watch your tongue, boy. I am aware of all experiments conducted by the Empire.”
Luke did not believe him, and he made sure the look he gave him reflected that.
“Additionally,” the droid said, “the patient is Force sensitive–”
“I am well aware,” Vader interrupted, but the droid continued.
“I am no expert in Force sensitive subjects, but from what little programing I do have, I would not be surprised if this change had affected the boy’s use of the Force.”
Vader snapped his gaze back to Luke, but Luke was busy trying to figure out if he could feel anything different. Vader seemed to be quicker at assessing, because tension seemed to leave his shoulders and he said, “I sense no change.”
Luke had no doubt Vader was pleased with that considering what he wanted him to become. He had to resist the urge to throw something at the Sith. It would probably get thrown back at him before ever nearing his target.
“Then perhaps I was mistaken. Otherwise, the patient is in good health. In theory the worst of the side effects should last a few days. Do not hesitate to reach out if that is not the case. In the meantime, bed rest is recommended.”
Luke didn’t even like bedrest as an adult. A memory of his childhood surfaced–he was sick, and Beru practically had to camp outside of his door to ensure that he stayed in bed. Luke had still managed to play with his toys under the covers without being caught.
Vader’s head tilted towards him, and though he doubted Vader could read minds, Luke held onto that memory for a moment before thinking, see? My memory is just fine.
He thought he sensed a dark amusement from the other man before Vader turned away.
“You will speak nothing of Skywalker’s condition to anyone except myself, am I clear?”
“Yes, Lord Vader.”
“Then you are dismissed.”
Luke didn’t bother to watch the droid float out of the room. He instead watched the Dark Lord like he was a crazed gundark about to strike.
“Do you remember what I told you?” Vader asked when the droid had left.
“That you’re my father? Unfortunately.”
Vader chose not to comment on that. “I told you when I found you like this that we would fix this. I have already searched the planet below. I suspect that a recently destroyed research facility was the root cause of this…condition. My troops are scouring the wreckage for answers as we speak.”
That was not what Luke expected him to be referring to, but now that he mentioned it, he did vaguely remember Vader telling him that while he’d run around the city in a panic.
Vader hesitated. “It is…good to know that the side effects aren’t immediately life threatening, but we still do not know the long-term effects. We must find a way to return you to yourself before that can happen.”
“What, like going through puberty again?” Luke asked as sarcastically as possible.
“That would be unfortunate, yes.” Luke frowned. Was…that a joke? Somehow, it only made Vader seem more terrifying. “I am, however, referring to long-term effects that could kill you.”
Luke held up his stump of an arm. “You were pretty clear that you aren’t opposed to that.”
Vader said nothing for the span of a few mechanical breaths. “Not like this, son.”
The words were surprisingly gentle…or as gentle as Vader could sound with that vocorecorder in his suit. Still, that wasn’t exactly comforting.
“I will inform you the moment I have a lead.” Vader said, firmer this time, and he pointed at him. “You will stay in that bed until I find a suitable living space for one your size.”
Luke scowled, already trying to think of a way out of this situation.
“And do not bother to try escaping. Your shields are non-existent, and I would know before you even made the attempt.”
Luke’s scowl deepened. He’d need to work on that…if he could remember how.
“Yes, you do need to work on it. It would seem that the med droid was right about your memory, since your shields were decent on Bespin.”
“Stop reading my mind!”
Vader said nothing, only turned to head for the door.
“I’m not five.”
Vader paused. Truthfully, Luke wasn’t sure why he’d felt the need to say it, but he continued. “If the droid says I look five, I’m not. I’m older.”
“And how exactly would you know that?”
“Because I was always small for my age.” He hated admitting it out loud, but if for some reason it helped Vader fix him…he wasn’t above telling him. Besides, it seemed like harmless information for his enemy to know. “I still have bartenders try to card me if I order alcohol.” Which was rare, but he didn’t think that was relevant to the conversation.
Vader looked at him for a few moments, as though digesting this information that he could never find in some Imperial profile on him. Then, “I guarantee no bartender will serve you alcohol now.”
Now that was definitely a joke, but Vader was gone before Luke could hurl an insult at him.
Some young Luke and Vader fluff written for @silvereddaye
Luke was asleep. Vader took a breath out of sync with his respirator in order to sigh—unsure if it was a contented or tired one—and hold the child tighter against his chest, the boy wriggling unconsciously in his sleep to press closer against Vader’s body. Space was cold, Vader remembered from a time when temperature had still mattered to him, and Luke was from Tatooine. Vader, meanwhile, bled heat from his machinery.
Luke clung to him and he was not complaining.
If a few straggling troopers or officers stared as Vader marched through the Star Destroyer’s corridors, a young child clinging to his side, he ignored them. If the dignitary currently occupying the finest rooms on the ship was indignant at being tossed out, he ignored him. He clutched his son and pretended, for a moment, that he could feel the soft curls on his head through his leather gloves and durasteel hands.
He was trying to be gentle.
He didn’t know how well he was succeeding, but Luke was not crying—not the way he’d cried when he’d first seen Vader, highly emotional and relieved and afraid and overwhelmed all at once at having to leave his aunt and uncle for an unknown man in the stars. Luke was sleeping, peacefully. He stirred just as Vader approached his own quarters.
“Pa… pa?” he asked. The word was clumsy in his mouth, on his young tongue, but not as clumsy as Vader would have expected—he wondered how often Luke had used it when whispering to himself. “Where… are we…”
“My home,” Vader said. Luke’s nose crinkled at the lie, but there was no truth to tell him, as far as home went. “Come inside, Luke…” His voice wavered—he hadn’t known that his vocoded voice could waver. “I want to show you something.”
Luke yawned, fresh tears filling his eyes as he remembered his situation, but Vader kept him on his hip and carried him through, hushing him gently. Their Force-bond was strong, and powerful, and undoubtedly far too much for an untrained boy who’d grown up in an empty desert, but Vader took care not to bowl him over with his emotions; he saw ripples, not waves, of reassurances, until Luke’s death grip twisted in his cape relaxed.
“Wha tis’t?” Luke mumbled, eyes blurry. Vader carried him into the large room his hyperbaric chamber stood in the middle of; Luke perked up at the sight of it, curiosity overriding his exhaustion, and stared.
Vader pressed a button, and the pod hissed open.
Luke let go of Vader’s cape to reach out a hand and point at the pod, his face creasing, his mouth opened in a faint oh. “Wha…”
“This is where I can breathe without the mask, Luke,” Vader said. “This is… I…” He stopped, and just repeated. “I want to show you something.”
Luke dropped his hand as they walked into the chamber, instead tilting his head back as the dome of it arched over them, staring. Vader brought his attention back to him when he sat down in the seat in the centre, and put Luke on the floor.
Luke scrunched up his face.
“No— no, little one,” Vader hushed. “One moment.”
The pod locked the doors and there was a hiss as the seals were put in place; Luke was distracted from his tantrum to stare at the sound, tilting his head then glancing at Vader in conclusion—and shouting. Vader used the Force to keep the boy still as the arms descended, deconstructed his mask like they were stripping his mental shields away, layer by excruciating layer, and then…
He blinked.
His eyesight wasn’t as good outside of the suit, but for now he saw a blur of white, dirty white, and… gold. He moved his gaze from Luke’s desert robes to his head of wild hair, to the hole where his mouth had fallen open, and… he stared.
Held out a hand for Luke to come closer, now that the mechanical arms were gone.
“Papa?” Luke said querulously, keeping his distance.
Vader nodded. “It’s me, Luke,” he said hoarsely. Luke narrowed his eyes at his unaltered voice—thin, weak, frail, everything he hated—and Vader hastened to reach out in the Force, sending the same soothing ripples he’d been sending in the hours since he found him. It’s me. It’s your father.
Luke took a tentative step forward, then another one. Then he reached up, and Vader reached down, and pulled Luke into his lap, where the boy sat and stared up at him.
He reached up a hand to place it on Vader’s scarred cheek.
It hurt—there were still unhealed sores there, and it always hurt. But just the shock, of having a warm, gentle skin on his skin, delicately brushing against it…
Vader let out a sob and leaned into the touch like a drunkard leaned on a steady wall.
Luke looked alarmed, but smiled, broadly, showing his gap-toothed grin with an reckless abandon, and raised his other hand to Vader’s cheek, squidging it like he might his food, or sand, or toys. Vader covered that hand with his own, curling the cold metal fingers around the tiny flesh ones with the sort of precision his prosthetics had not been known to have, and smiled back.
At first it was a tentative smile, not daring to try it too hard, not daring to shift the pudgy hands from his face, not daring to scare him… But then Luke’s eyes blew wide and he positively beamed, shuffling closer—
He poked a finger in Vader’s mouth and giggled.
Vader shut his mouth firmly the moment he extracted it, but couldn’t stop smiling, now.
Luke was here. This… this marvellous, impossible, wonderful boy was here, right in front of him, smiling at him, loving him… He’d survived the hellworld of Mustafar and the hellworld of Tatooine and now he was sitting right here, beaming at Vader for all he was worth.
“Papa!” Luke said excitedly.
Vader tousled his hair with all the affection he could possibly muster, trying to stop it from crashing down their bond and crushing his son flat. He didn’t want to hurt him. He would make sure that no one would hurt him, ever.
“Hello, Luke,” he choked out. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Luke knew something was wrong. His Uncle and Aunt were arguing.
Luke knew he wasn’t meant to use it. Uncle Owen would get mad. But the vaporator was about to fall and Luke was only trying to make sure it stayed.
Luke figured Uncle Owen would be even madder if he had to replace a machine.
Luke crawled into his secret space. He curled up with his knees to his chest. Everything was so loud and bright. He scrunched his eyes shut but that didn’t seem to help. If anything it made it worse.
Luke tried to breathe deeply. He needed to be calm to not accidentally use that extra sense to make things float.
A voice called out, maybe from memory. Luke could never recall the person’s face. It always came to him when he needed it the most. Accented and calm.
“Easy Luke. Take deep breaths. What’re five things you can see?”
The voice coached him through each of his senses counting down from five. Luke felt much calmer.
“Are you my father?” He called out. The voice usually faded away after he calmed down. Luke was tempted to act out more just to hear it.
“No dear one. Just someone who loves you very much.” The voice faded away with a reminder to remain calm.
Luke bit back the sob that wanted to escape. He knew he was loved but sometimes, Uncle Owen would look at him and some memory would make him feel fear. Then he would always be a little harsher in his actions towards Luke.
Uncle Owen never hit him, he just yelled a lot.
Someone loved him. That warm presence that ghosted along his senses. He had someone who loved him and wasn’t scared of him. That had to count for something, right?
