Chapter Text
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“So that’s it then,” the knight said gruffly, riding alongside the aging King. “The lands revert to the crown, and the Palpatine line is dead. At last.”
The two crested the hill on their destriers, looking upon the vibrant green farmland beyond and stretching toward the horizon, a small cluster of cottages constituting what counted for a village, and beyond, a half-tumbled castle of the old motte and bailey design.
The ancient Duke had threatened war, and so the King had brought war to his gates. And won.
The king huffed, turning amused blue eyes upon his companion. “No, nephew. There’s one last weed growing.”
“Has the old villain a bastard who thinks to launch a claim? It matters not, anyway. The lands are the crown’s, by right of war.”
Sir Benjamin Organa knew well that bastards were not worth much, being one himself. There were no lands to inherit. No title. No power. All had to be earned. His mother had precious little to offer him, having been intended for a glittering alliance, rather than the shame of the kingdom. Not that she knew any shame, only pride in her child, and defiance in her love.
“Not a bastard. A granddaughter.”
As useless as a bastard, Ben mused, as far as most men were concerned. He immediately cast her from his thoughts.
The King patted his horse’s neck. “You cannot inherit the kingdom from me. Would that I could have it so, nephew.”
Ben sighed. “I dream not of a crown, uncle.”
“That I know, nephew. For my sister’s sake, I would see you settled well. You fought alongside me in Tatooine. You’ve saved my life more times than I can count, and despite your youth, you’ve always given wise counsel. There’s no one I trust more. You've been as a son to me. You deserve a place in the world and to be equal to any of Alderaan's nobility.”
The King clasped his knight’s shoulder fondly. The King dearly loved his wife, Mara, but they had not been blessed with children, and he had refused to set her aside.
“Do you mean—” Ben nodded toward the castle and the lands that stretched on and on toward the horizon. A well of emotion rose in his chest. A home of his own. A legacy of his own.
“Yes. I’m creating you the new Duke of Naboo. Take these lands. Prosper. Marry and fill your nursery.”
“Your grace,” Ben said, feeling roughening his deep voice, wanting to honor the moment by addressing his uncle formally. “I hope that I may be worthy.”
“Call me ‘Uncle’,” the old King laughed. “Your king demands it.”
Ben smiled. A true smile. Rare for him, under the burden of war and serving his King, his Uncle. The closest thing he's had to a father in his life.
“Uncle. Thank you.”
“Your mother will be pleased, I think,” the king mused, turning his destrier about and motioning for Ben to follow him back to where a small cadre of knights awaited them at the bottom of the hill. “Now to fill that nursery of yours with another little duke and as many brothers and sisters for him as you can manage.”
“As I can manage? Uncle, I believe it takes two,” Ben joked.
His uncle belly-laughed, throwing his head back gleefully. “Right you are. Well, the littlest Palpatine has no husband. It’d be a clever match, and no one could accuse the crown of mischief.”
Ben pulled the reins on his destrier, halting its progress. “So the lands, the title, and the granddaughter?”
“You wanted a future, nephew. That’s the one I can offer you.”
It wasn’t as if any other family would have him for a son-in-law, King’s nephew, or no. The bastardy was too much of a taint. Already, it rankled the nobility, that Ben was so much in favor with his uncle. Even the acquisition of this land and title wouldn't endear him to the more particular Alderaanians.
He supposed the Palpatine girl was as good an option as any. She should be grateful for his Uncle’s mercy, at that. But Luke was known to be fair. And it's not as if a woman was capable of waging war.
“She’s of marriageable age?” The King nods, and Ben follows him to the bottom of the hill, where they dismount. “And where is she, precisely?”
“Calm yourself, Sir Organa. You can’t marry the wench tonight. Your mother might be interested in seeing you wed, you know. You can’t race off before she has a chance to make a fuss.” The King scolds lightly, reaching for a cup of wine being offered to him by his cup-bearer.
Ben huffed, lowering the hood of his cloak. “I’m asking for logistical reasons.”
The King clapped him on the shoulder. “You have lands to secure and hold. You’ll be in Naboo a while yet, setting this place to rights, before you can return to court. I’ll have the girl fetched to you. Leave it to me, nephew.”
The older man snapped his fingers for his scribe. “Follow me, lad. We’ve some business.”
The young man bowed, the feather in his cap dipping along with his head, and he hurried as The Great Warrior King, Luke Skywalker, strode off purposefully for his tent. And Sir Benjamin Organa, with little choice but to trust his beloved uncle, his liege lord, followed, ignoring the whispers of the other knights.
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