Luke and Mara
- the first ten years



Green light between leaves – Myrkr forest – vronskr land…


No good place for a Jedi – particularly not when you’re Luke Skywalker and have a persisting enemy pointing her gun at your back.


After twelve hours on foot he offers her his waterbottle - the only one they have: “Do you want some water?”


Her eyes turn to him – glacial; staring him down; no answer offered.

“Guess not,” he mutters and takes a sip himself.


Not too big - he knows that she’s thirsty too thought she doesn’t let it show.

He decides to leave the bottle between them when he falls asleep tonight.




Ice is green.


Ice is blue, they say, but looking into her eyes he knows with absolute clarity: ice is green.


Yet, she's pure fire, pure flame.


That doesn't make sense to his farmboy logics, but then, neiter does she...

As he drags his droid through the foreign forest he wonders what came first: the fire or the ice and whether they feed each other?


It's probably the ice that has kept him alive this far, why then this stupid urge to melt that ice?


He wants her to be warm, that's all. Anything so cold must be freezing itself.




As she passes, his eyes are drawn to her nec, her tight-pinned hair and the freckles disappearing down her collar - gold sprinkled against creamy marble.


If Mara had grown up on Tatooine she’d had a problem with that light skin, burning in the sun. Yet, she’s surely been on countless of missions on as many worlds - she must have had that problem many times during her life.


Her skin – her weak spot… a strange, appealing thought...


He finds himself speculating over how low they go, those golden spots – and on who’s seen them…


Not good, Skywalker. Not good at all…




“Do you want to dance?”


She tilts her head; green eyes guarded, frosty.


His mind races like mad; is he too pushing?; this is all so new; what if she thinks he’s trying to make advances on her?; sure she knows he expects nothing for that lightsaber?; does she even like to dance?


Then suddenly she smiles; a tiny smile, weary and unpracticed, but promising like a sunrise on Hoth.


He realizes he’s grinning back like a fool; it doesn’t matter – suddenly he’s beyong caring.


One minute into the dance he steps on her foot but this time she laughs.



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