Hi! I just wanted to say that your Luke headcanons have been killin' me. The stuff about his speeder and Owen and Beru and worrying about him being like Anakin was so wonderful and heartbreaking. I live for headcanons about how much Owen and Beru loved and worried about Luke. And I think so much about how Luke is THEIR legacy as much as his parents', two relatively ordinary, very good people who did their best with this kid who was maybe always a little too much, a always little uncanny. Yeah.
Thank you, yes, the relationship between Luke & his aunt & his uncle is a fascinating one that fandom has, understandably (given how briefly it is in the films) neglected. Here’s a few more thoughts:
- you left her Owen spits. His step-brother flinches. He’s Owen’s age, thereabouts, but looks older: something about his eyes, depthless and wild and strangely yellow, like some distant sun is reflecting in them. But he’s younger as well, and reckless with it, and he left her, he left her, and grief twines up Owen’s spine, swallowing up any small thing like sense. (It is not wise to antagonise Anakin Skywalker at any point, and this point least of all. He is grieving. He is furious. Not twenty hours ago he slaughtered an encampment of Sand People, men and women and children alike, and he still smells their blood, raw and burned; and he hears them screaming mercy mercy and – )
- Owen is a boy bereft as well, remember. Shmi raised him. Grief is a shadow, a veil, and swamps all beneath it; and he crowds Anakin, aching with sadness; if he were Force sensitive he would quail at the howl of Anakin’s fury, the ghosts tangled in his cloak, the screams – but he has all the Force sensitivity of a potato, and so he shows his teeth and spits you left her! you left us! if you had been here –
- I could have saved her, says Anakin. He’s panting, nostrils flared like a womp rat run to ground. If I were here –
- But you left!
- You’re not her son –
- Not by blood, no, but more than you were, I was more of a son to her than you –
- And, just like that, Owen cannot breathe. His fingers fly to his throat. His eyes bug. Unseen claws haul him up to Anakin’s eyes (fevered and yellow and hungry) and his stepbrother (brother – ) snarls, I should kill you and if Owen knew the Jedi and their propensity for reading thoughts, he might have tried to think something that would have convinced Anakin otherwise; tried and failed, for Anakin is sick and tired of being manipulated and just like a dog from the dust he has the taste of blood in his teeth and –
- But Owen doesn’t know the ways of the Jedi. He thinks, instead, mother I’m sorry I don’t know who’ll care for father if I die –
- The pressure is released. Owen rasps in air. Anakin says, you will stay to care for your father, in this hell-cursed place, you will stay – you don’t know how lucky –
- Owen wants very much to break his nose. Instead he says, low and bitter, I know my duty. I know my job. I’ll stay. I was more of a son to her than you. You left her behind –
- I had no choice –
- There is always a choice.
- He never sees Anakin again. He is not given to introspection. He doesn’t ponder what could have been. He marries Beru. She is sweet and kind and constant – like his mother. His father dies. And then Ben Kenobi comes to him, a babe in arms, and says that Anakin Skywalker is dead, and here is his son. Beru’s womb is empty, despite their best efforts, and children are always welcome on Tattooine. What’s his name? says Owen. Luke.
- The boy is strange and sharp and always a little too much. Beru says he’s too harsh on the boy, and all Owen can do is take her hands in his and tell her, again, of the one and only time he met Anakin Skywalker. How he could not breathe. How his eyes seared yellow. And how he had snarled: I had no choice. How the Jedi had taken him. There is a choice, he said, and we are making the right one.
- Owen believes in the Force. He fears it, as one should. The Force is the heat and the brush fire and the drought, the burning-brand sun and the sudden flood. It is the whispers from the dunes outside: give me the child, you cannot keep him from me, from his destiny, there is no choice –
- He shuts the windows, cranks up the radio, and does not listen to the soft voices outside.