SW FIC: post-partum.

[remotenesses]

It is old tradition in Raham culture, that it is not the mother who cares for the upbringing of a child. She has done enough, the Elders say, by letting the child feed on her body and on her soul while she carried it. Once parted from her, it must be the work of the father that shapes the child into adulthood.

As such, it had not been Annella’s decision, neither to refuse the Jedi Master who first came for Elio when he was a mere infant, nor to hand him over when he reached age five and began showing greater and greater strength in the Force. It had been Sam’s.

The town Elders and later, the Superior Elders, had tried to warn him against the consequences. Elio is an exceptional child who will grow up to do exceptional things. Let him learn of the Force in our ancient ways, and we shall harvest the fruit of his powers ourselves, without giving it away to foreigners.

Yet, Sam looked at his young son who flew epach fruits in circles around himself as early as two and who could convince his mother, without words at all, to give him the kalech cakes on the top shelf, although she had already said no, when he was four and he thought, it was hardly fair to keep him from the best possible schooling out of a desire to profit on his powers.

Besides, Sam had observed, quietly and without making a point of it, that of all the Rahamian children who were born Force-sensitive and whose parents refused them Jedi training, only few lived to old age. They are like candlesticks, the Elders would say at yet another funeral for yet another young man or woman who had served the Force, they burn brightly, yes, but they burn out all the faster for it.

He ran his hand through Elio’s soft curls and watched the back of Master Windu retreat for the third time in just as many years, after he had said no to letting Elio come with him. Did he want a son who burned brightly, but whose life would be cut short by the flame? Sam wasn’t sure about that.

So, the fourth time Master Windu travels the long, long way from Coruscant to Raham and is invited inside Sam and Annella’s humble house, greeting them with a curt, this is the last time I am going to ask, Sam feels a shiver go through him, looking across the room at where Elio is sitting with his back to the wall, floating chickens around, their clucking slightly agitated. He has told him not to so many times, the birds’ nervous systems can’t take the stress, and Elio does listen for ten minutes, because he is a good boy, before they’re flying through the air again, not on their own accord. As if he can’t help himself. As if the need is greater than the sweetness of his nature.

Master Windu looks, too. And the next moment, the chickens are back on the floor, picking corn and clucking happily. Elio raises his head, eyes huge and brown and surprised. Sam’s heart clenches, unclenches and even before Master Windu says, he is strong in the Force. We will help him harness that strength, Sam has decided.

Walking the Jedi Master and his son in his arms to the ship outside the village, Sam’s hands curl into fists and then relax, release again. The rest of the village had gathered behind him, disbelieving murmurs rising from the crowd. No Rahamian child has ever been given over to the Jedi, although they have born Force-sensitives enough. Sam thinks, maybe that is where they have gone wrong.

Elio’s curls are soft and bouncy where he presses a kiss to the top of his head. By the Force, we will meet again, he tells him in a mutter before stepping back and meeting Master Windu’s gaze.

Sam doesn’t beg him, take good care of my son, because he has already decided, the Jedi Order might just take better care of him than Sam and his people ever could.

Thus, he lets them go.