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Ice-cold water shocked Luke awake. He shot upright, sputtering, blinking it out of his eyes and shivering. Through the blur of water he made out an officer he didn’t recognize. The man had a mustache, and the usually-starched grey officer’s uniform was rumpled. His rank plate designated him an Admiral.
“Get up,” the officer snapped. “The Imperial Army will not wait for a prisoner.”
Luke glared at him and threw his bound hands out, but nothing happened. He cursed internally.
Right. The tent was a magic dead zone.
The officer grinned, a malicious glint in his eyes. “Did you just try to assault an officer with magic, boy?”
“I—“
“General Vader will not be pleased to hear about your insubordination,” he said with some kind of glee.
Before Luke could protest further, the man grabbed his arm and hauled him upright, stumbling out of the tent. Luke shivered again as he crossed the boundary, from both the magic and the cool morning air against his soaked skin. The dew was cold under his feet.
The Admiral dragged him to Vader, who was overseeing the packing up of camp by a horse along with another officer.
“General Vader, the prisoner tried to attack me with his magic.” He puffed himself up with importance.
Vader turned that skeletal helmet towards them, unhurried.
“Did he?”
Luke glared back, refusing to answer. Cold water dripped from his hair, running down the back of his neck and down his cheeks. The Admiral’s hand gripped his arm tightly, but he didn’t dare yank it away. He might’ve acted without thinking sometimes, but he wasn’t that foolish.
A tense moment passed. The Admiral shifted on his feet.
Finally, Vader said, “He rides with me today. Dismissed, Admiral Ozzel.”
Vader grabbed Luke’s arm and pulled him close, away from the Admiral, who saluted grumpily and stalked off. Magic tingled across Luke’s skin and through his hair, drying it.
“I believe you’ve lost your breakfast privileges with that stunt, young one,” Vader said quietly.
“Kriff you,” Luke said under his breath without thinking.
“Impulsive. You will have to work on reigning that in. Come, we ride in the front.”
Without warning, Vader hefted Luke up onto the horse. He gasped in surprise, and grabbed onto the horse’s mane on instinct. Vader got on behind him.
What the kriff! Was he seriously supposed to travel like this the entire way to Coruscant? It had to be several days away from here, at least; he’d never been there, but Alderaan was one of the Core city-states of the Empire, and Coruscant was at the center. They were closer than his homeland, Tatooine, but it was still far from a short journey.
Luke scooted up as far as he could on the saddle. Not that it made much of a difference; Vader grabbed the reins, and Luke was trapped between his arms. Luke scowled.
Tangled in the horse’s mane, his hands began to glow softly.
Behind him, Vader tsked, and Luke felt something pull out of him like a breath. He inhaled sharply, the strength suddenly gone from his muscles. The glow faded and he slumped back against Vader’s hard armor.
The Dark Mage’s skin - what little was visible on his wrist - seemed brighter. Luke’s own drained of color, tinged with grey.
“What did you do to me?” His voice was weak. He hated feeling this way. It was worse than the dead zone - like his magic had been emptied out of him, not just blocked.
Maybe that was an obvious question.
“There will be no need for you to use your magic on this journey. If you cannot control yourself, I will ensure that you are kept in check.”
Luke groaned and sat up with effort, forcing his exhausted body away from the Dark Mage.
Kriff you, he thought, wishing he was anywhere else, even back on his family’s farm.
It was going to be a long ride.
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Vader regretted having to take Luke’s magic like that. He knew it to be an uncomfortable process - his own Master, the Emperor, had done it to him enough as a boy as both punishment and lesson. But it was a temporary measure, and the boy would recover in time; much as he hated seeing the deathly pallor of siphoning on his son’s skin.
Riding on a horse was not the time to discover if his son was capable of more than small pushes and a lightshow. Especially not this far from Coruscant, with the boy unaware of his true heritage.
Luke had improved over the hours, and had much better coloring by the time Vader first signaled the company to stop with a raised fist.
He got off the horse, then helped his son down. The boy scowled at him and yanked his bound arms away, stumbling for several steps before plopping on the ground.
Vader allowed it. He would learn to stand by his father eventually, and it would do no harm to allow him his space now.
He took the opportunity to examine his son, looking over his slim form carefully. It was clear the Alliance couldn’t afford to feed even their poster boy, but that would be rectified in time. Perhaps he should not have forced the boy to skip breakfast…
No matter. He had said that if Luke misbehaved he wouldn’t get food, so he had to stick by that. Vader was a man of his word.
Luke’s light hair looked dull; a side effect from the siphoning Vader had performed on him earlier. That would go away once the boy used magic again. Not that Vader would allow him to until they were in a more defensible position.
He couldn’t risk his son escaping.
Brushing magic over him revealed the soft swirl of the other lingering enchantment; the lake. That would be something to watch; the only thing that would get rid of it was time. All he had to do was ensure the boy didn’t spend too long looking into his own reflection until the enchantment faded, and he would be fine.
Luke shivered at the touch of Vader’s magic. He turned around and glared at his father, but didn’t say a word.
“It has been hours. Would you like some water?” Vader asked.
Luke blinked. “Uh, sure. As long as it’s not poisoned.”
Behind his helmet, Vader smiled. His son had a sense of humor, it seemed.
He took the flask off his belt and held it out. Luke stretched out a hand, then pulled it back, pursing his lips.
“Seriously. I don’t want to drink any poison or potions.”
In response, Vader tilted up his helmet and took a sip before offering it again.
“It’s not poison, young one.”
Luke gave him a suspicious look, but carefully took the flask and tipped it back. He took a long sip, then sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. After another, he passed it back.
“Thank you,” he said shortly.
His son was so polite! Who had raised him?
Did...did his mother survive long enough to have a hand in it?
Vader knew his wife was dead. That had never been a question.
No, the only question was when.
But he couldn’t ask the boy now.
Vader drank, then put the flask back on his belt and looked off into the distance with Luke. They were at the crest of a hill, and the whole valley was laid out below them, cast in the brilliant light of midday.
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Luke still felt weak.
His energy had gradually come back over the hours, but he had also spent all day on a horse without food or water. His head pounded.
As soon as the Dark Mage let him off the horse, he walked away with clumsy steps and sat heavily.
How was he supposed to get out of this one?
Old Ben had trained him in subterfuge, sneaking in and out of battlefields, as well as the beginnings of several forms of battle magic. But he’d never been taught how to fight against another Mage. Anytime he asked, Old Ben just got a faraway look in his eyes and said that he prayed it would never be necessary.
That was ridiculous, of course. General-Lord Vader hunted the Rebels relentlessly, and it was only a matter of time before Luke faced him himself.
But Old Ben couldn’t be persuaded, and it wasn’t like Luke had any other real Mages to practice against. Those pressed into the Empire’s service barely had enough training to count, and he’d primarily been on intelligence-gathering or low-level rescue missions; he’d never gone against the elite soldiers, either.
Now he wished more than ever that Old Ben had survived long enough to be convinced.
One day, his mentor had shot out of bed in the early morning with wild eyes, saying something about needing to go on a special mission - alone. His friend Han shook his head, said he always knew there was something wrong with the old man. Ben never came back.
And Luke was alone again.
A tear slipped down his cheek.
A rush of magic washed over him, startling him out of his thoughts. He shivered, and turned to glare at Vader.
Was he about to attack him? Luke tensed.
Unexpectedly, the man said, “It’s been hours. Would you like some water?”
What in the Corellian Hells?
Luke blinked. He...shouldn’t pass up water. “Uh, sure. As long as it’s not poisonous.”
Vader offered him a dark flask. Luke reached for it, then thought better of it.
“Seriously. I don’t want to drink poison.” He’d had enough of being out of his mind recently, thank you very much.
Vader drank from the flask, then held it out again.
“It is not poison, young one.”
Luke narrowed his eyes at the man, then cautiously took it with his bound hands. Luke watched Vader as he took a sip, waiting to see if it was a slow-acting poison, but Vader didn’t seem any different. Not that Luke could really tell, with that mask and armor. He sighed and closed his eyes, swallowing the water.
He waited for several heartbeats.
He didn’t feel any different, and it just tasted like water, if a little stale. After a second drink, he passed it back, not wanting to risk it. He had no idea when he’d next be let off the horse, or if there was some diluted poison that would only affect him if he drank enough.
“Thank you,” he said shortly.
Luke turned back to the valley below. It reminded him of home, a little; the way he used to watch the horizon, hoping for something more than life on the farm.
Well, he’d certainly gotten that wish.
His stomach growled, announcing its displeasure at the missed breakfast. He put a hand to it, as if that would help.
Perhaps the Imperial Army only ate two meals a day - or, at least, prisoners did. The Rebels did. There often weren’t enough rations for three meals for everyone. The Imperials were better funded, though, so maybe they could spare the expense.
Not that he would ask Vader. He’d probably “lose privileges” again just for having the audacity to ask a question.
He sat, staring at the valley, grass tickling his legs, until finally a call went up, echoing over the hills. He recognized it; the Imperial horn, a signal to move.
“Come, we ride on,” Vader said.
Luke stood, sighing, then he was suddenly hoisted back up onto the saddle. He yelped.
Vader reached around him to grab the reins. He flicked them, and they were off.
Luke’s magic bubbled up to the surface again at the surprise.
He was already on edge from being with the enemy, but the sudden offer of water then being thrown onto a horse with no warning didn’t help. He pushed the energy down; he did not want a repeat of whatever Vader had done to him at his last small outburst.
Ben, why didn’t you stay?
He’d never completed his training. All he had left after Old Ben vanished, or died, was a few texts. His magic still burst out of him with strong emotions sometimes.
Luke huffed, and focused on the feeling of the horse’s mane under his palms. It was soft, and warm from the sun. He tried to ignore the Dark Mage behind him and get control of his breathing.
In. Out.
He closed his eyes. Old Ben’s voice echoed in his head.
Center yourself…
The magic simmered back down. Luke exhaled and opened his eyes, blinking in the light.
At the next stop, he would try to escape.