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Chapter Text

‘Now I know that there is a red which is redder than blood, and redder than fire. It seeps into my soul, with its waves of desire—be free, be free! Here is the one place in which I can respire. 

‘My durasteel lungs and my mechanoid heart, light as air, provide for me a fresh start. 

‘Here there is no Mustafar, and here there is no ash. For there is a red redder than all of that which haunts me from the past, and so I make my continued claim:

'He cannot have my soul. I will get up from this furnace floor, and I will fight. For I will not become ashes. 

‘And if I do burn... then it shall be in a better kind of flame. Such is my claim’ 

~ Poem by Princess Padmé Solo from her private journals

***

There was a red that was redder than blood, and redder than fire. This red spread through me in spirit and surrounded me in body, momentarily erasing the stains of blood on me and briefly extinguishing the hot fire inside of my head. I lay, floating, red becoming my world without overtaking my world as the furnace flames and the brutality of the blood always did. 

My hair was spread out. My mind drifted in peace. I floated. 

For once, I needn’t think. For once, I needn’t fight. For once, I needn’t fear. In this one place, Padmé Solo could exist without interruption, without consequence, without struggle, and without pain. 

Eventually, I opened my eyes. The deep-red flowers continued floating around me. But I freed them from my hair as I exited the pool of water. 

My pool. Once, I had come here as a girl; it had been my special place. Though that girl was gone, I still retained a sense of ownership over this particular pool, which I’d once nicknamed the Regine . 

How young, frivolous, and stupid that girl had been back then. 

But I still came here to swim nonetheless. For it remained mine—despite it all. 

And the springtime flowers currently floating in the silken, glassy water encouraged me. Never before had I realized there was a red deeper than blood or more profound than fire. It felt very much a healing realization. Like one of the shards that lay, hidden, within the broken mess that was me inside was able to fit back into place. 

One shard. 

Ten trillion to go. 

Oh, I would never fix. I did not so delude myself. Sometimes I wasn’t even sure I wanted to. I saw things differently than some, certainly, but I felt I saw more clearly. More… coolly . When I had lost my heart and my lungs in that terrible surgery on the Peace Star, after It had done its terrible deeds, I knew that I had lost more than my heart and my lungs and momentarially much of my mind. I had lost a certain ability to feel for certain people or things. 

Like anyone who served the Empire, for example. 

Like having qualms about killing when necessary. 

Like desiring petty things such as frivolous romance or so-called “love” to be in my life. 

But no matter. I saw more clearly because of all of it. I acted more coolly and rationally. Charmingly, of course. The perfect lady as always when the princessly moment demanded. Played the part. I remembered, still, that conversation I had once had with my uncle, wherein he wisely said, “Find a princess who is wholly you. It just doesn’t have to be the whole you.”  

The issue with that was that I no longer knew who I was. The fires of Mustafar had burned away more than my heart and lungs and sanity: they had taken that girl with them, and everything she was, too. Everyone always said how lucky I was to survive. I only stared at them, for how could they fail to comprehend? 

She didn’t survive. I survived. A singular spirit, one with a single purpose and a single purpose only: end the Empire in every way. Kill It. And see the utter destruction of the system that hurt people so much. Make sure the fires of Mustafar took them, too. 

You see, I made jokes about it, the gone heart and the gone lungs. “I’m feeling a bit breathless right now…” or “Sorry. That was a bit heartless of me…” But it was true. No one understood or recognized the deeper truth and utter sobriety behind my words. 

Because I was heartless. I needed to be. And so every time I peered in the mirror at myself, such as I did now, I saw the warrior beneath the fanciful dress. The soft orangey lights glowed from within my chest and I remembered courage and sacrifice—

And heartlessness. 

And I found the strength to go on. For It could not take me to Its furnace, too. 

“Well,” said 3V happily, clapping her purplish metal hands together, “you look almost tolerable for the Frosts’ arrival!”

You see, once, such remarks and their inference of my painful plainness had hurt. Had cut. Now they merely bounced off my durasteel heart, which remained forever unbroken. Forever unhurt. 

I turned my most ladylike, charming, and easy smile on my attendant droid. “All thanks to you, 3V.” 

She flourished a little bow, and then I headed out to war in my long silk dress with my dainty satin slippers on.  

Chapter Text

Mother put on a valiant smile for me when I strode out. “You look lovely, Padmé. That dress is wonderful. 3V did a great job.”

Dresses, I thought. I despised dresses. But Mother (and 3V for that matter) insisted it was traditional for princesses of Alderaan and so I must wear them.

I wanted to tell her we should forget tradition. It no longer served. But I didn’t say that, because concessions must be made for the sake of peace. “Thank you, Mother,” I replied, kissing her cheek. “Tai-Lin,” I greeted, smiling at him just as easily.

The rebel diplomat smiled back at me, a hint of hope in his dark eyes. Please, I thought derisively. “Padmé. I’m very glad to be here today with you both.”

Oh, no doubt. He and Mother must be getting pretty serious, for him to greet the soon-to-be-arriving Frosts with us. Knowing what a stickler for protocol Mother was, this was as good as a declaration of intention. How profoundly she fooled herself in this relationship. This… supposed love.

My mother was much changed. She never said so. But I knew. It would have been impossible not to notice. Mustafar had changed all of us, affected all of us. Mother had changed, becoming warmer toward me and spending more time in my company, but also becoming more intent on matters of protocol than ever. She hardly ever mentioned Dad. Uncle Luke had changed, turning sterner and more serious about his Jedi duties. Rarely if ever now did I see that sunny farmer smile I’d once loved so dearly and which had made me originally trust him. I, of course, had changed. And Dad had changed. He had left us.

He had left me. For I knew it was me that he found himself unable to handle. My brokenness had terrified him to the point of flight. For that was the fundamental difference between my parents: fight or flight.

Leia fought.

Han flew. Literally.

And he probably didn’t even realize that I remembered the day he’d left. Only one person had ever realized I wasn’t completely gone when all the doctors said I was—and that had been Uncle Luke, guided, I presumed, by the Force. But I remembered. I just hadn’t been able to get the words out through my smoked mouth, to plead with him to stay, to tell him I’d try harder.

To tell him I didn’t know what to do without him. That I still needed him.

But I hadn’t been able to verbalize any of it. And the stress of the whole situation had sent me into my World for days on end. I came back from the hopeful dream-land to find a hopeless existence, with claw marks on the walls, my own broken fingernails and matted hair, and my dad forever gone.

And now I had Tai-Lin as a substitute. Or so he attempted to be. Right. Like I needed some kind of father figure now, at twenty-two years old. Maybe I should go back to nappies and suck my thumb a bit.

For that matter, I didn’t need a mother figure, either. But Leia was trying. She’d been trying since my mostly-recovery six years ago, and she deserved for those attempts to be honored. As best I could with derision still extant inside my heart. Too little too late, Mommy. I’m not a little girl anymore.

The Frosts, a noble family of Alderaan who claimed distant relationship to us through Bail Organa, were our rivals in the best sense of the word. Given the rampant rumors—some pretty accurate—about how I had momentarily gone mad after my “staircase accident” and subsequent pulmonodic replacements, many people insisted I was unfit for the throne. That I might still be mad and it was just being well-hidden. That despite my supposed recovery I might snap again at any moment.

Guess who encouraged those rumors because their daughter could technically succeed my mother instead of myself?

“Lady Frost,” Mother greeted regally, offering her hands to the stately-looking woman, who took them with all evidence of gracious aplomb. “Lord Frost. Miss Frost. And Sir Frost.”

This last, Sir Frost, was the youngling of the herd, apparently dragged along on this diplomatic endeavor with his sister’s rival. He had whitish blond hair and a plain, put-out face. Sixteen, probably. And he seemed to have been wrestled into his suit against his will.

I smiled without effort and in complete truth as I clasped his hands in welcome. What a perfect little target for a bit of kriffing. To begin, I met his brown gaze with unflinching attention, effusing of full-hearted joy at our meeting. When he began to flush pink, I felt a surge of victory.

Oh, this was going to be easy.

Mother liked to keep her enemies close, she always said. Such a sentiment had a double irony, given our rebellious moonlighting. But in this case, it seemed to serve. Better to neutralize the Frosts through favor and flattery than let them continue to slander me via tacit means.

After all, who could think me anything but the perfect lady and princess? I spread my time around with each Frost family member, engaging in this conversation and that. But I did make certain to give the youngest Frost, the little Sir who already had it bad for me by the second course, some flourished attentions which had his sister frowning (a bonus) and him beaming with delight. Poor, ignored little soul.

Poor, stupid little boy, falling into my snare with such ease.

I proposed a toast at the end of the meal. “To Alderaan and its prosperity, and to our friendship. May it promote both ends.”

But of course, Sir Frost would get more than friendship this evening.

OOO

He came when I subtly summoned him from the quarters in which his family was staying for the night. Shyly. Somewhat flushed. By the stars, this kid just made it too easy on me.

I wasted no time. I had had too much to drink to retain my patience at this point. After kissing him—to which he had enthusiastically responded with the guppy-like air of a fish taking its first swim—I twined my arms around him, holding him close. Allowed my hands to drift downwards. Downwards... A thick shaft of star light that was probably from a passing speeder suddenly streamed into the room, throwing it into silvery color.

“Do you consent, my sweet?” I whispered.

“Yes…” The word seemed to leave him without any thought. Oh—who am I kidding? Naturally it left him without any thought. “Yes, Your Highness…”

“Perfect.”

And then, once I’d gotten what I wanted from him, I so politely and with such grace dismissed his ass from my presence that he probably never even realized he had been rejected. I closed the door, locked it, and then pulled my panties back up. Then I went to the windowsill, staring out at Alderaan in the night. It never looked more beautiful than in the darkness, when the candlewicks bloomed on the ground and the stars spangled the sky. Apenza Peak, that great height which I had never been able to surmount thanks to my pulmonodes, stood out like a needle even in the dark.

I sighed out, feeling suddenly very regretful that I should have taken that boy to bed. Some woman who cared ought to have had him first. 

Oh, well. There were no second chances.

I lit a cigarette, then blew out in a puff of silvery steam.

Chapter Text

Luke Skywalker knew how to look severe and stoic. I mean it—the man had this mastered as surely as he had his Jedi skills mastered. Whenever I was around him these days I just wanted to agree, “Yes, Master Skywalker,” to whatever he said, because I wasn’t desirous of arguing with such composed seriousness. Too, he had this look now where he would stare into your eyes and it was like he saw your whole soul. I always felt profoundly uncomfortable after just one second of enduring it.

At any rate, I hardly wanted to argue with him now. What was there to argue about? The facts themselves just sucked.

“Another Death Star? Stars. What is this kark?” I uttered as we walked along the hallways of the Yavin IV base post briefing. The briefing had been one delivered to the highest levels of the rebellion leadership and to me, as Mother’s representative. At least the so-named Rebel Alliance believed in my sanity and capability. But the meeting had also included one little, somewhat unpleasant fact: i.e., that Palpatine had built a new Death Star.

A new Death Star!

“It feels like you just destroyed the last one.”

“It’s hardly a surprise. Sidious never would have let a weapon like that slip from his grasp. It was the main thing keeping all the worlds under the Empire’s thumb.”

He always said such things like “This is not a surprise” or “I have foreseen it,” thanks to his Jedi foresight. It ticked me the kriff off. I mean, of course, it was real, and incredible, and useful, but come on. Stop seeing how everything would work out then saying mystical things about it. Say it straight up.

“How did they even manage to finish one in six years?”

“Well,” he reasoned, “it isn’t finished yet.”

I inclined my head to this truth.

He ventured, “Padmé—are you sure that you want to get the information from the Tarkins’ yourself—?” (The task for which I had, in the meeting, volunteered my services.)

“I’m sure. Andor didn’t give me all that spy training for nothing, you know. Besides. I even have the perfect excuse. Poor little pathfinders aren’t getting the memo. I think a trip to the Spike might clarify things.”

Luke raised his eyebrows. “As in the Carrion Spike where people die?”
            “They won’t if they remember what Adalyse and I have taught them. And if they do, then they signed the release form.”

“Your level of motherly concern for your students’ welfare, as always, warms my heart.”

            I made a little ‘x’ motion over where my pulmonode loyally worked, circulating the blood around in my body. Then I sobered up. “Will you do it?”

            “It’d be kind of trite to deal with another Death Star myself.”

            “Lives up to the legend.”

            Luke could look very prim these days. There was a specific tightening to his lips and a set to his chin that occurred—such as it did now. “I’m not a legend, Mé.”

            Yeah, okay, boyo. However, I didn’t push him. No sense in telling him that he, in fact, was galactically famous and revered. He would only be modest and humble about it all and the conversation would end up nowhere.

So in mutual-but-silent agreement, we rerouted the conversation. Somehow, we got on the topic of the Frosts’ recent visit to Aldera, given we both didn’t want to discuss the mission we would soon set out on together. Because that was how we dealt with unending mortal danger: we pretended things were normal and that Vader wasn’t rabidly hunting him and that Mother and I might not be executed any day if our involvement in the Alliance got out. In fact, Luke and I got into a spirited debate regarding my seduction of Sir Frost, to which I freely admitted. Everyone else already knew of it, I was sure. Palaces were good for nothing if not good for gossip.

            Then, Biggs walked up, and Luke got that prim set to his lips again.

            I jumped in. “Hi, Admiral Darklighter.” Sometimes over the years I had taken to calling him “Uncle Biggs,” but these things could only be said among friends, rather than in open hallways full of countless other rebels passing by. Besides, I hadn’t done it in a while, since I realized it genuinely caused my uncle pain. “Good to have you here. You can resolve a debate between us.”

            Luke said, “I was telling Padmé that diplomacy needn’t always be practiced by breaking sixteen-year-old boy’s hearts in order to get back at their sister.” He spoke formally.

            I jested, “Actually, he was sixteen and a quarter.”

            “That helps,” Biggs returned lightly.

            “Not from what I could tell.”

            Biggs let loose a laugh. Luke’s lips twitched, and for an instant he looked like the uncle I’d gotten close to six years ago. Then, the sobriety and serious focus returned. Luke generally disapproved of jokes these days. His sassy nature seemed a mere memory.

            All of it made that place in my chest which had once housed my heart ache. Luke had done amazing things, and great work with the Rebellion. I still didn’t understand how he had gotten so much funding, such advanced tech, and recruited so many allies, but somehow, he’d turned the proverbial “one nail and a rusted hammer” I’d once referenced into a veritable force to rival the Empire. Because after all, a force didn’t have to be the enemy’s equal: it only needed to reach a certain mass. And by the stars we had reached that mass, and had a man as our symbol who was the known needlebug in It’s side.

            It made me fear for Luke. No one could mess with It for long and get away. Six years was an impressive feat. But at what point—?

            No. I couldn’t think of that. I would go mad again if I did.

            Might as well get down to business, then. To Biggs I said, “So—are you here about the mission?”

            “I am,” Biggs confirmed, returning to his usual briskly businesslike demeanor. “If you both could follow, Andor has some information for you both about just where you might want to go…”

            Luke and I followed. And this was how it was, now. Biggs a now-famous rebel in command of the flight forces, pretending he wasn’t in love with Luke. Luke a now legendary Jedi Master and commander of Rogue Squadron, pretending he wasn’t in love with Biggs. Both of them pretending they were fine when everybody else knew the two were just one Corellian-brandy-filled eve away from knocking each other senseless in the bunks. And I pretended not to notice, either, now, because I didn’t want to hurt Luke. I didn’t want to hurt either of them.

            I had hurt those I loved enough for a lifetime.

OOO

            He comes out to greet me, his black cape billowing behind him. His vast height looms over me, an unusual sensation when I am typically the tallest in the room. My heart beats harder, and I pray he doesn’t somehow know so through the Force. “Princess Padmé.”

            “Lord Vader. Thanks for inviting me here! It was ever such a surprise, but ever such a wonderful one. You have a very posh pad.” I smile charmingly.

            It seems he doesn’t know what to do with having his palatial dark castle called a “posh pad”. Well, good. I caught him off guard. I feel a little victory, but not much. I’m too terrified.

            Does he know? He must. But about what? Uncle Luke? Or Mother and Dad? Or the whole movement they are trying to put together?

            Or—worse—all of it?

            I have heard that Vader hunts Jedi. What happened to my brave good grandfather, Anakin Skywalker, proves that. So probably it is about Uncle Luke.

            And that means that he called me here for only one reason. A reason that chills me to the core and makes me want to run, but I can’t do that. I know I can’t. If I show any fear Vader will latch onto it and I will ruin every possible chance for denial. I must stay and hold my ground, for everyone.

            But, surely, he wouldn’t hurt me. Surely. I’m the princess of Alderaan! I have always been loyal to the Empire! (Yes, I know of my family’s activities, but I haven’t helped them.)

            “What can I do for you?” I add, because still Vader hasn’t said anything and it has started to make me sweat. My hands, clasped together, are sticky with moisture.

            The sightless eyes take me in, as if committing this moment to memory. And then he speaks, speaks to me like he now sentences the most grotesque of criminals: “Die.”

OOO

            I woke up with a wild scream. The hand on my arm stilled. I thrashed wildly, fighting the grip, reaching for the blaster I always kept under my pillow but finding none—

            The light went on. I saw him. I relaxed.

            And then I felt myself flush, hard. “It was just…” I struggled for breath, and for a story—“a dream. Sorry.”

            I knew he didn’t believe me. Probably I had been screaming in my sleep. I was told I could do that. Usually, I used a sonic neutralizer. Mother had been so happy at how much “better” I had gotten these past few years.

            (Only… not.)

            On this trip, I’d forgotten to bring it. So now Luke, at least, knew one of my lies. But I also knew he wouldn’t sell me out. Just like I would never sell him out for some of his secrets.

            He nodded, giving me one of his usual gentle smiles. It didn’t contain the sunshine it used to, only the compassion of the Jedi he had chosen to fully be. But it made me feel safe. He made me feel safe.

            As safe as I ever could feel.

            Luke said only, “We’re about to make planetfall. If you wanted to get ready.”

            “Yeah. Sure. Thanks.” I spoke gruffly, and coughed once. At least we wouldn’t talk about it anymore. Time to get down to business.

            Not that I exactly felt great about this particular mission… After all, the last time I’d seen my father, things hadn’t exactly been persona grata between us. Well, here was hoping things could at least be alright. Because the Rebellion needed his help.

Chapter Text

The cantina stank. But that was fair. After all, the planet itself stank of sweat, drink, and pollution. And of dead dreams. Welcome to Ord Mantell, I mused. 

            I picked my way through the shadowy depths of the cantina, peering through the smoky haze to see if I could find a familiar figure—or a semi-familiar figure at any rate. Six years must have changed my father some, no doubt, in every sense.  

            Or maybe it hadn’t changed him much at all. My eyes caught on the figure of a handsome, white-haired man with a young lady perched upon his lap. Said young lady, who had to be only a few years my senior if that, wore an outfit which I must note had to have resulted in some intriguing tan lines throughout the day. Unbelievable, I thought. And once, he’d been so dedicated to Mother he had declared he would never look upon another’s beauty!

            Of course, most people were liars and cheats. But Dad…?

            Forget it, I reminded myself. Forget it. You are here to do a job. I dug my fingernails into the flesh of my wrist in order to steady myself and stave off any possible mental drifting. It was one of many techniques I’d developed over the course of the years in which I’d needed to appear wholly fine again post-torture.

            Wholly fine again…

            What a joke.

            I approached the table, around which a multitude of beings had gathered, just in time to hear the man crow, “Looks like you’re out, Hesh!”

            A Rodian woman will ill-concealed poor temper uttered a string of oaths, then surrendered her cards. Hmm. Sabacc. I watched from the shadows as my father gleefully raked the chips and all the credits they represented towards himself. Sabacc always had been his favorite. He’d taught me, when I was only six. “It’ll teach yah about life,” he had promised.

            Had it?

            Yes, I think so. Sabacc had taught me everything about life I’d ever needed to know—though I didn’t realize it at the time. Life must be played with a confident countenance, a shrewd and cold head that never deviated in the heat of emotion, and, if possible, a stacked deck like I suspected him of using.

            “Anyone else, then?” my father called to the crowd. The girl on his lap giggled gleefully.

            I stepped forward. “I’ll take a whack at it.”

            Honey eyes flew to meet mine, widening in shock. Yeah. No doubt. But we wouldn’t do any of that—Hey, Cess. Haven’t seen you since I abandoned you because I couldn’t handle what happened. How are you? Oh, fine, Dad. Just fine… No worries about that. I’m over it…

            “You,” I said to the Rodian, nodding at her chair. She vacated it all but instantly. I offered my father what I knew to be a very confident smile, never so much as looked at the girl for a moment, and then eyed the dealer. “Go on, then.”

OOO

            While we played, we talked. We talked like we had talked over the years. We talked like nothing had ever gone bad and no ashes of Mustafar unfurled in the smoky air here. We talked like two old friends, rather than father and daughter.

            It was traditional to talk while you played through the rounds of Sabacc, a classic psyche-out technique. He had helped me to master both sides of it, though I’d developed my own techniques in time. So no doubt those gathered around believed that to be what we were doing—the usual banter. But no. This went so much deeper.

            “Didn’t expect for you to be here,” Han remarked. His gaze kept flitting to the girl on his lap, a distinct note of guilt in his eyes. But he obviously didn’t know what to do, and so we pretended like she wasn’t there, which clearly put her out. A bonus.

            “Just looking up old acquaintances,” I replied, combing through my cards, countenance never wavering. “For some friends.”

            Translation: I’ve come here because of the rebellion.

            Han shifted, but his expression never wavered, either. The girl whined about wanting to look at his cards, but he hushed her. I chuckled quietly.

            “Really? Hear they’ve been doin’ pretty well.” Looks like the rebellion is doing well.

            “Oh, fairly,” I granted, nodding. There’s just that damned new Death Star on the horizon and the fact that the Empire is a titan.

            “So—what do these friends need from me?”

            “Nothing untoward,” I smiled. “Merely cashing in some favors.” You owe me, I thought savagely. Don’t you realize how much you owe me, and Mother?

            For the first time, he seemed to be singularly focused on his deck.

            “In three, you will present your hands,” announced the dealer once we reached the final round. “Three…” (Seeing Dad come into my room, tears tracking his cheeks, his once-brown hair turned snowy white.) “—two…” (Mother and Dad arguing, and then stopping. Because they no longer cared enough to argue…) “—one…” (“She’s mad. I’m sorry. The effects of the X-TO have completely maddened her. There is nothing we can do.” “TRY SOMETHIN’ ELSE!” “Viceroy Solo, all proper treatments for madness have been—” “Don’t… call her… mad. She’s traumatized.” “Han… let it go.” By which she’d meant let her go—)

            “Present!”

OOO

            “What did they want to see me about again?”

            “Oh, things,” I remarked a little while later. Given I had won the hand, and thus the game—causing groans and surprised yelps, some a little victorious, to echo around the room—my father had agreed, albeit reluctantly, to accompany me. Otherwise I could take so much from him, like his ship. Maybe he didn’t think I would do it.

            I would.

            At least he had ditched the girl, whose name he apparently couldn’t even remember. “Ah… Starla?” “It’s Jenny.” His jacket was drink-stained from where she’d tossed it at him, but anyway.

            “What sort of things?”

            “Good question. Why don’t you ask Luke about it?”

            “Luke… He’s here?” Undertone: This is serious, then.

            I softened somewhat. “Don’t worry, Dad. No one got nearly tortured to death in the near family.”

            He made to reply to that one when suddenly I was seized from in front by a woolly Wookie. The laugh left me. “It’s good to see you, too, Uncle Chewie.”

            He chattered excitedly. 

            “That’s right. I did beat him. To tell you the truth I don’t think he has the same level of game any longer.”

            Chewie chuckled. Han glared. “Laugh it up, fuzzball.” But I could also tell he wasn’t really that mad. Mostly he seemed to be marveling at my improved state.

            It simultaneously made me feel proud, humiliated, and angry. Hadn’t he seen the HoloNet and me on it? He would’ve known. Could’ve come back—

            It didn’t matter. It was done.

            “So, where is Luke?”

            I answered him in my formal tones I reserved for when I got emotional, “He should be coming around pretty soon. I said I would meet him at this time…” I checked my chrono. And that is when I saw them in the reflection of it. I cried a warning, but too late. The blaster bolt sliced through the air, hurtling straight into my father; he cried out, crumpling; Chewie grabbed hold of him to prevent him from hitting the ground; I unholstered my blaster, taking aim and firing—

            A fan of green light slashed through the night air, deflecting the array of bolts with dizzying speed and accuracy. A gray-cloaked blur sped through the streets, cutting through the attackers like butter, to arrive at our side. He let down his cowl, extinguishing his lightsaber.

            Stars. Even after seeing my uncle in action, I thought I’d never get used to it. It was like he wasn’t even human in those moments, so powered by the Force was he.

            I jarred myself from this.

            “Han,” said Luke, touching his arm. It seemed the bolt had, luckily, only gone into his side. It could be fatal.

            But it might not be.

            “Luke,” Han uttered in turn.

            Then, “It’s him!” someone screeched. “Luke Whitesun! Call the troops!”

            A flash of panic seized me. I looked to Luke. He didn’t seem scared; he only seemed determined. “Chewie, take Han. Padmé, go with them.”

            “Not without you.”

            “Do as I say. I’ll be there in a moment.”

            I didn’t believe him. But what choice did I have but to believe him? I was no Jedi. And for the first time in six years, I was regretting having never taken up my uncle’s offer of training after all. For so long, I had resisted, because It, too, could use the Force, and I didn’t want any connection with them. And surely Luke could handle the one Sith remaining in the entire galaxy. But—what if—?

            Luke pushed me. “Go.”

            I had no choice but to obey. He was my elder and superseded me in capability. Even I knew I couldn’t handle a whole garrison of Imperial troops on my own. But—if I’d been a Jedi like my uncle—

            All this was my father’s fault. If he hadn’t gotten himself in trouble with whoever those thugs were, none of this would be happening. Uncle Luke’s life might very well end up on his conscience. And without Luke, my greatest advocate, my champion, the one family member to whom I was truly close, what would become of me?

            I couldn’t think about it now. I would drift if I did. These kinds of high stress situations were precisely when it might happen. I dug my fingernails into my flesh as I ran, pulmonode pounding, pounding, pounding to keep up with the stress inside of me. And Chewie was running, too, carrying my father. And Luke was fighting—

            And then I was in a world with no Empire, a dazzling New Republic of happiness and wholeness and, oh, Uncle Luke and Uncle Biggs and I were headed out to a picnic before going back to the Jedi Temple…

Chapter Text

            “—Mé?”

            I blinked.

            I blinked again.

            One look into my uncle’s eyes and I was bursting into tears. Thank the Force we were alone. If anyone else stood here to see I knew I could not bear the humiliation. The utter humiliation… It was better, with just Luke, but certainly not non extant.

            How could I have failed so badly? Right when I needed most to stay with it? In it?

            “Honey,” he said quietly, kindly, laying his hand upon my arm, “it’s alright.”

            “What’s alright?” I felt so confused. But I also instinctively knew this must be reality, because Luke looked composed and compassionate rather than effusively sunny, and we sat in some kind of dark ship cabin that sang of memories but I couldn’t place them right now, and Dad—“Oh, stars. Is Dad—? Is he—?”

            “Han is fine. He… will be fine.”

            “Oh,” I breathed, “stars.” I felt like crying again, but managed to restrain myself. I uttered, “Thank you,” since it had to be thanks to him that my father would be alright.  

Luke had taken up healing arts after helping me recover my mental faculties. Turned out he was born to it. Not that such surprised me. He seemed born to anything involving the Force.

            Could that have been me, had I accepted his training? No. That didn’t matter now. Soon enough, I would turn twenty-three. Far too old for anything like that, surely. He had begun his training at sixteen and said that he had been considered too old even then!

            “He’ll need medical help once we get to the base, of course,” Luke continued, still speaking gently, “but he will be alright.”

            Of course. Healing trances could only go so far. If only Luke could put his hands over someone and fully make them well through the Force. What a feat that would be for him! For anyone.

            Probably, he’d have it figured out before lunchtime tomorrow.

            I nodded, and as usual when I felt embarrassed or things got too emotional, turned gruff. “Good to hear.”

            I sat up on legs that felt leaden. But I had to prove my fine-ness.

Only Luke wasn’t buying it. “Padmé…”

            “Please. Don’t make me talk about it.”

            “I think we have to. Who else will you talk to about it?”

            A stupidly good point, that. I drew a deep breath, then turned to face him. “And?”

            “Have things been worse, lately, or have you just been hiding it?”

            Anger filled me up. Anger—and shame. Because I knew the true answer, and suspected he did, too. But I didn’t want to admit to it. Admitting to it meant saying things like, “You helped me get part of the way there, but we both know I’ll never be alright,” and, “So I drink sometimes to sleep and to deal with it, and maybe I can drift under stress, but it hasn’t been that bad. Mostly.” So, I ended up staying silent. I had successfully tricked everyone into thinking me better for four years now. Why did he realize now?

            Or—maybe he didn’t just realize now. That would be the worst. That he’d known but had let me believe I was fooling him.

            “Ah,” said Luke simply. He looked so terribly sad for me that I felt myself begin to flush. “I should have been paying more attention,” he murmured.

            “Stop putting it all on yourself like always, Uncle. There’s only one person responsible for this.”

            He flinched. He said, “Yes,” and his tone had shaded even softer, but was also suddenly as hard as rock. I knew he was thinking of It, and probably thinking how much better he needed to do in many respects, like killing It already.

            If only things were so easy. I managed to stow my shame, guilt, and frustration. Kneeling, I took his hands in mine, then smiled up at him. “I have been better. Truly. No, don’t start. I am not lying. It has been better. You remember how it once was: I was so trapped in my World and in my head that I could hardly hold a ten-second conversation. But you helped me, Uncle.”

            “You helped yourself.”

            “That is true as well,” I granted. Humble to the core, I thought. And it wasn’t fake, like the humility of the Imperial elite, such as dear Alba Tarkin. “I admit… that I do things to cope.” It was as close as I could come to acknowledging some of my methods at the moment. “But I am better. Extreme stress can still bring it on, but of course it can. I’m alright. Really.”

            And at this, he pretended to believe me. “Okay.”

            “Okay,” I agreed, and got back to my feet.

Now, I realized we stood in the ship’s cabin of the Millennium Falcon. How I had gotten here was a mystery, but I supposed I’d been carried after I had lost my faculties. It was remarkable we had all gotten away, and that my father was doing alright. I intended to go see for myself in a moment. Because whatever he had done… I could never wish his death.

But the remarkability of our escape… I shook my head. “Sometimes I wish I’d taken you up on your offer those years ago, Uncle.”

“—what offer?”

“Of being a Jedi. Wish I could save the day like you.” But I knew I was too old, and too mentally unstable, to ever be such a hero.

Oh, well. No second chances…

I must simply make the most of what I had within my power.

OOO

            My father did seem better. In the very least he was able to colorfully swear at the vast array of the doctors and nurses on the Yavin IV base as they helped him to get on the mend. I didn’t physically go and visit him—in that I didn’t announce my presence—but I did check once or twice while he lay asleep. “He was lucky,” one of the doctors informed me once. “It didn’t hit anything vital.”

            Lucky indeed, I mused darkly. We were all lucky, thanks to Luke. But who were those thugs?

            Oh, Dad. What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into…?

            Regardless of whatever trouble he’d gotten himself into, he was now into more. Because the Empire was now looking for any Corellian YT-model freighters galaxy wide. They’d put out a red alert, which went to the highest levels of priority. We all knew such alerts existed, had seen a few in the past six years. But that was just it: a few. One had been related to the Death Star and its destruction. One had been related to a downed star destroyer we managed to get out of commission thanks to Biggs’s knowledge base. (That had been the thing to confirm his involvement in the Alliance, and to get him a very large wanted poster with an even larger reward for ‘captured alive’.) And now, this alert. Because a YT-model freighter had been known to harbor Luke Whitesun, the most wanted man in the Empire, as he escaped from Ord Mantell.

            When my father woke, he would find that he couldn’t leave. At least—not in the Falcon. I could imagine how well that conversation might go over…

            And I didn’t have to wait long.

            “She’s my ship! I want her back!”

            “Yes, Han, I realize that. We all do. But the Empire is stopping any YT-model freighters right now.” Meaning until they get this one. “So you can’t leave in the Falcon. If you do want to leave… then we can provide you with another ship.”

            “Because we’re friends, Luke, I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just offer that.”

            To his credit, Luke sounded abashed. “I’m sorry,” he reiterated. “But there’s nothing we can do. He’s after me, and he’s going to do whatever he can to get to me.”

            He. It. A chill raced up my spine, though no fear sounded in Luke’s voice: only calm acceptance of the now. Yes, It was doing whatever It could to get to my uncle. No doubt in order to kill him as slowly and torturously as he had almost succeeded in killing me. But I wouldn’t let this happen. I would never let this happen. Even if I had to go and knock some sense into my father personally.

            Turned out he didn’t argue too terribly after this, though. Seemed the storm had passed. Instead, he began more quietly, quietly enough that I had to press my ear harder to the door, “How is she?”

            “Which she?”

            “—both of ‘em. Speakin’ of—why’m I here?”

            “I’m sure Leia will want to tell you herself.”

            “Leia…” There was a world of feeling, even reverence, in the word. But pain, too. “She’s comin’ here?”

            “A rare occurrence. Feel honored.” There was something… deadpan about Luke’s tone. “As for how they are… she’s well.” Then, “She is planning to get married to Garr.”

            “…huh.”

            “I’m only telling you so you aren’t surprised when she gets here.”

            “I ain’t surprised. Sounds like a good idea.”

            Luke, the one who never pushed, continued, “And Padmé is…”

            “Yeah,” agreed my father gruffly. “Noticed.”

            What? What did that mean? I stood there, no longer trying to listen in to their conversation, a torrent of feeling and hurt within me. So Luke didn’t think I was doing well, eh? He hadn’t been convinced? Fine. I’d show him. Soon enough, with the Tarkin mission, I’d show both of them.

            Because I. Was. Fine.

            Really.

OOO

            Han looked at Leia.

            Leia looked at Han.

            And then, 3PO, shining and stupid, popped between them. Effusively, he cried, “My goodness! Han Solo! Bless my circuits, but what a shock. It is I, C-3PO. No doubt you failed to recognize me because of the bronze leg. How have you been, sir? Queen Leia! Look who it is! I…” He faltered on seeing his mistress’s raised eyebrows, apparently some algorithm or other at long last recognizing his social failings or his mistress’s umbrage.  

            I decided my time had come. Stepping forward, I intervened, “3PO. Why don’t you and I go help R2 coordinate the rest of the repairs for Rogue Squadron’s backup pilots? You know, he really has been wanting to see you…”

            “Really?” 3PO straightened a little, an air of pleasant surprise in his tone. I wondered what he would do once R2 inevitably sassed him. “Well, how nice of the little rust bucket!” (At least the sass was mutual.) “We must go, then, Princess Padmé! How good to see you, Viceroy Solo. How very good…”

            I gave Mother a wink before heading off with the droid, leaving my two parents to talk. Then, safe within the concealment of my jacket, I crossed my fingers, hard.

Chapter Text

To some, Adalyse Holdo might have seemed strange. I had heard comments to such an effect previously, and had promptly dealt with those who made them. Oh, not openly. That would have been too easy. But if a hotshot pilot in her squadron bashing her as one with “her head full of feathers” suddenly got downgraded to maintenance duty… well…

Yes, Adalyse dressed as colorfully as her personality. Sure, she made odd comments here and there. She did have an airy way about her. And she did obsess a little over the snow owls that she had gained special permission to raise on-base (with varying incidents occurring subsequently). But who was I to judge? I, who she calmly handled the occasional drifting of, knowing that even though I seemed here I wasn’t really here at all. I, who could make my own occasional off-brand comments? I, who thought the snow owls were adorable little puff balls?

Adalyse was wise, loyal, and whip-smart. You just needed to take the time to see it all. And she was my best friend. While she had become my friend before Mustafar, she had become my best friend after, for she had been the only one who didn’t fear me. Instead, she had embraced me wholly. Maybe it took someone slightly quirky to be friends with someone damaged like me. In that case, Adalyse was not only my best friend but a perfect friend. And to me, she was. She was like my sister, the sister I’d never had—that sister that baby Mother lost might have been.

Adalyse flew for Coronet squadron, but she also part-time taught pathfinding with me. Given how much the tools of pathfinding had helped me to cope not only with the daily struggles of life itself post Mustafar but situations I had gotten into with my work for the rebellion, I’d known that I wanted to help mold young minds in it, too, like Chief Scarlet once had for me. But I also had to admit to myself that I could not depend on myself one-hundred percent of the time to stay in the game and be completely fine. What if I blanked out in the middle of a class?

Enter Adalyse, perfectly willing and indeed quite excited to be my co-instructor in order to, as she said, “Promote experiences for younglings that help them to become comfortable with the nearness and inevitability of their mortality!”

And so, as our cover for this mission which I myself would today undertake for the Alliance, Adalyse and I had taken our current pathfinding class to the Carrion Spike. A famed section of the Carrion Plateau—a large mass of land on Eriadu which was entirely owned by the Tarkin titans—the Carrion Spike was surrounded by seemingly endless fog-shrouded lands and contained many wild beasts and great winged birds within its space. In other words, it was intensely dangerous simply to hike here. But to get to the top of the Spike itself was a vast climb that challenged even the most expert of instructors—much less students. 

In other words, it was perfect for today’s lesson. 

I should note that the class hated us. I mean, they really hated us. This trip didn’t help. 

“Maybe we should have gone alone,” Adalyse mused as we hiked along, the various pairs of sentient beings trudging, slithering, or skittering along, each with ill-concealed umbrage and/ or terror. Many were shooting us none-too-covert glares as they went—most of them directed towards me.

“We couldn’t have done that. If we’d gone alone and then I requested to stay at the Tarkins’ for the night it wouldn’t have made sense.”

“But you’ve come to the Spike every year since you were able to after Mustafar.” 

“Right,” I agreed. There was something calming in hearing Adalyse mention the horrors of Mustafar in her dreamy voice, as if none of it had been real. She contrasted flawlessly my too-sharp realism; for her everything in life had soft edges, even the contemplation of that planet of fire and ash. “But I’ve never stayed at the Tarkins’ afterward. It looks better for the cover story.” 

“I agree.”

That paused me. “—then why’d you argue about it?” I asked, adjusting my supplies backpack so that the straps didn’t dig into my spine so much. 

“Because they hate us for bringing them here,” Adalyse replied promptly. “And I can’t blame them. It’s dangerous.”

“Life is dangerous,” I returned. “And they need to learn.” 

She peered at me with, I thought, a touch of sadness. I pretended not to notice. “So,” I started, “how’s Ellis?”

Adalyse broke into a broad smile. “She’s great. She wants to join up with us pretty soon.” 

“That’s good. You’ll get to see her more.” I nudged her playfully. And we chatted on about her girlfriend, of whom she was extremely proud, and it seemed she didn’t feel any hint of the concern I felt about the coming mission at the Tarkin home. No. Her concern was all about the kids, who hated us. But they just didn’t get it: we were trying to teach them something valuable. I was trying to teach them something valuable. 

The preciousness of life. And its precariousness. You couldn’t take such things for granted: you needed to learn that life was perilous, and that people were out to get you, and how to survive with nothing but your own two hands and will, because that was what it came down to inevitably! And better that they learn these lessons with me than somewhere else where they had no backup, no allies, and no second chances. 

Because real life had no second chances. 

OOO

After the pathfinding trip ended, I headed back to Eriadu city, where the Tarkin estate stood. It was a high, gabled building that spanned a vast swath of land on the edge of the city, and stood taller than most of the skyscrapers. Huge picture windows looked out from every room. The blackish tiles of the palace-like building glittered in the fading evening sun. 

I was sweaty, exhausted, and slightly bloody. There had been a rabid animal incident on the excursion. And for once, I thought my pathfinders had hated me more than they respected me. 

But… they had gotten the point of the class. And that was all that counted.

Tarkin dimpled at me as I finished the story. Though in his early eighties now, he retained the same forceful vitality as ever, for all he looked like a walking corpse. “A job very well done, my daughter,” he praised, leaning back in his chair and, it appeared, admiring the blood on my jacket. 

“Thank you, Uncle Wilhuff,” I replied. He’d told me I could call him that years ago. I rarely did so now except in more casual circumstances such as these. For he was not my uncle. But he once had been in the place of Luke, albeit on a different side from him, and I couldn’t let on that my affection for him had diminished at all—

Much less that he repulsed me in every possible sense. 

Well, at least today I could use our retained relationship for a positive purpose for the rebellion. 

Tarkin smiled back at me, and reached forward to take my hand in his. “You know that it was, in the past, traditional for Tarkin heirs to surmount the great challenge that is the Carrion in order to gain right to their inheritance. You also know that Alba considered herself too refined for such matters.” Meaning too wimpy and pampered. 

I nodded, still smiling. “Understandable, given her level of refinement.” And after all, soon she would be princess consort to our beloved Prince Palpatine. 

Good riddance. I hoped they made each other mutually more miserable every day. The thought helped me smile wider until he continued,

“But I do not think it is understandable. You’ve always known that. So, you should also know that I have never been prouder of any daughter than I am of you today.” 

I found myself without words, a sudden feeling of sickening guilt piercing through the veil of vengeful victory. I took in the pride in the gray, hawkish eyes. I felt how frail the hand holding mine was. 

And I couldn’t balance the scales in my mind, or comprehend the duality: this man, who had so coolly ordered the destruction of Jedah City, Chandrila, and Jakku. This man, who had saved my life from It’s mercilessness. This man, who loved me as a daughter. No longer could I deny this fact. For he did. 

And how could I live with that? Or understand it?

OOO

Luckily my existential crisis didn’t last long. It didn’t have time to last long. Another crisis, this one far larger than the Death Star itself or its new sibling, came swiftly and smoothly on its heels. 

Namely: a princely one. About an hour before, Alba had called, looking flushed and victorious, and said she had a “surprise” for her father. She was coming home soon in order to prepare for Empire week. Naturally, both Tarkin and I assumed that her surprise would prove something stupid and frivolous, like a new nail polish color that perfectly matched her Commander’s uniform for the parades or some kark. 

Then, Alba arrived with Nigel in tow behind his sister, as usual. But something was different. Something big. A huge retinue fanned out behind them, one with scarlet-robed guards and hooded manservants and with stormtoopers flanking the group after that.

My first thought? Caught.

But then, two of the red-robed guards parted. I saw the purple-robed figure walking between them, the cowl pulled up over his face and throwing it into utter shadow. Only two beings in the galaxy were allowed to wear robes of that shade of purple. It was the shade of royalty—Imperial royalty. And since this figure used no cane… it could be but one man.

The Imperial Heir had come to Eriadu with Alba and a cadre of Imperial forces who could catch me in my planned act in a moment. By the stars, but kriff me.

Chapter Text

Dinner was, in sum, the blazes. I had to sit through the Alba Tarkin The Fake Presents Herself Beautifully and Charmingly parade while making occasional comments like “oh, yes” and “that was one of your greatest triumphs, Alba”. For the most part I went on autopilot, focusing my energies on staying here in the moment. If I drifted… 

No. I couldn’t think like that. I wouldn’t drift. I couldn’t. Point blank. 

Nigel, as usual, was blandly supportive of his older sister, whom he seemed unable to survive without holding onto the coat tails of. He contributed to the conversation by offering yet more good things about Alba while she preened and feigned modesty and faux affection for the Imperial Heir. 

Prince Palpatine, for his part, seemed polite, if insufferably boring. He reminded me of most of his Elder House counterparts: well bred bores with small cocks they were idiotic enough to be proud of. For some reason, as I thought this last, one of the prince’s manservants currently dancing attendance on him gave a cough that sounded something like a suppressed laugh. My gaze automatically swiped to his, my eyes narrowed—

It was like being stuck by lightening . But in a good way. In the best way any woman has felt since, roughly, the creation of the universe. I lost my breath for a moment, from no failure of my pulmonode. Confusion flashed through those fathomless ocean eyes, and then something like recognition. Then, excitement—but it was of a feral variety that sent my mechanized heart pumping again. 

I turned away and paid attention to the dinner again as best I could. But I swore his eyes remained fixed on me the rest of the time. 

***

Alba had shoved me into a dress of Daala’s that only just accommodated my vast height. After taking one look at me, her triumphant smile had slipped right off of her lips. So then, because of this unexpected and unfortunate incident of my presence during her moment of victory in the catch, she’d decided insulting me was the best route. “ My goodness! Look at you! You look a fright… We can hardly let His Imperial Highness see you like this, Padmé…” (As if he wasn’t standing just off to the side of us.) 

She had also forced makeup upon me that was multiple shades too pale for my skin tone, and lipstick that made me look severely trampy. 

So as soon as I got the moment, I slipped out from the after-party to go and change into something —anything —besides this. Unfortunately, a manservant seemed to have the same idea as I at the same time. We rammed right into one another in the hallway. I only just managed not to swear at him. 

But then, those ocean eyes met mine. All the anger and fear flew from me. It was the manservant from dinner, the red headed one. 

He demanded sharply, “Can’t you watch where you’re going?” 

Me? He was the one who —“I apologize,” I said smoothly, getting back up to my feet. “You’re right. It was my fault.” 

I saw that in the crash he had dropped something, and so I bent down and got it for him. “Here.” 

He looked down at the box, which must be something for the prince. Oh, stars . Let it not be a ring. I couldn’t handle proposals tonight. I would vomit. 

“Uhm—thanks,” he said finally, something imperceptible passing through his eyes as he seemingly took me in afresh. Then, “It was my fault. I—I wasn’t… looking.” He set his teeth, visibly angry with himself. And in moment I recognized something in the way he couldn’t quite meet my eyes. 

This guy wasn’t rude. He was shy . Extremely so. And I, Padmé Solo, had made this shyness emerge from the confident demeanor he had so carefully projected at the dinner party. 

Now would be the perfect time to taunt him, perhaps to flirt with him. Diverting. And to ensure he suspected nothing of my wanderings in these hallways except the obvious attempt to change clothes. 

But for some reason, I didn’t want to do that to him. Either one—flirtation or taunting. 

Instead, I found myself reaching out and squeezing his arm, which proved quite slim and fine-boned beneath the servant’s robes, making me think of a bird. “Don’t worry about it. Seriously. I’ve braved worse than a little crash.” 

He eyed me with sudden sharpness. “So I’ve heard.” 

Did he hope to embarrass me?

I sighed. “I’m sure you have.” Probably Alba gossiped about me to the prince all the time. As one of his attendants, the boy would naturally hear. I found myself smiling drily. “And just what have you heard?” 

“Doesn’t matter. I see now that it’s inaccurate,” he said succinctly. 

A hint of grudging respect began welling up inside me. For some reason, despite years of politics telling me never to believe anyone’s words, I believed this boy’s. He said what he meant, wasting no time with frivolities. I wished I could be so free. 

And it also meant he didn’t think me entirely mad. Always a plus. “Well, then, here is to the inaccuracy of gossip. May we forever remain shocked,” I replied in a stage-whisper. 

And I could have sworn that a hint of respect shone in his eyes, in turn. So surely he didn’t suspect a thing from me. No one in Imperial service would wait a moment before reporting someone so much as inferred in rebellious endeavors.

Still. I felt I should not have mentioned the worse that I had braved. 

***

The evening wound down soon after that. And so I necessarily infringed on the Tarkins’ not-so-willing hospitality (on the part of Alba, at least) even as the Imperial prince infringed with their wholehearted consent. It made it impossible to sleep: the knowledge that the Heir to the Empire slept under the very same roof as I tonight. If I had more courage after today’s curveball, I might have tried to take a knife to his throat and cut away one of the Rebellion’s—and one of my personal—topmost enemies. Instead, I left my guest room and headed outside, padding softly through the estate so as not to wake anyone else. 

Once I got outside, I felt somewhat less constricted, but not much. It felt as if durasteel bars had wrapped themselves around my chest and were determined to press ever inwards. Danger constantly pricked at me, and I sensed it might be more than mere fright: the Force itself was warning me of something. But of what?

“Can I sit down?”

I yelled, jumped up, and wildly went for my blaster— but of course I didn’t carry it on my pyjamas . Or, rather, Alba’s pyjamas: a lovely flannel set she’d given me which, in the heat of summer stifled; it was a dowdy thing I was sure was meant to insult me. The lack of a blaster merely left me to clench and unclench my hand, breathing hard through my teeth, wanting worse than ever to swear at this boy. 

“Don’t… ever… do that again,” I told him, attempting to return to some semblance of my former dignity. He had snuck up on me from the shadows with a velveteen tread so soundless I hadn’t known he was by my side on the bench until—well, until he was. 

Even in the pale moonlight, it was clear he’d colored. “Sorry,” he said so earnestly that I couldn’t stay mad. 

“Forget it.”

“You seem to say that a lot.”

“You give me so many offences to dismiss.” I waved him to the bench, and sat back down myself. 

He pouted, a touch playfully. “Only two.” 

“Right. So don’t get any more strikes.”

“Three and I’m out?”

“Something of that nature.” 

Silence. 

Longer. 

He tried, “You couldn’t sleep?” 

“I find anywhere except my room in the palace to be difficult for proper slumber.” That, a sufficiently officious answer, ought to sound so spoiled he wouldn’t pursue the deeper reasoning for it. 

Except his voice held amusement when he responded, “I see, Your Highness.” 

Was he—was he mocking me? I decided not to deign to reply. Instead I asked, “And you? Couldn’t you sleep?”

“Oh, it’s the same kind of situation as yours. Without a feather bed and five plump pillows I just can’t get a bit of shut-eye.”

He was sassy . And funny. I didn’t want to admit the second, given I still felt mocked. But my lips twitched, and betrayed me. 

Starting to smile, he continued, “And I have to say, I mean, as much as I love it here on the estate… the accommodations are almost… subpar .” 

“I wouldn’t let the prince hear you say that.”

“Why not? You know that the prince actually quite cares about my opinions.”

Such boasting. Was he trying to impress me or did he seriously believe it? Both, perhaps? “Well, he will probably be coming here quite a bit soon enough,” I said with meaning. 

“You mean because of the merger?” 

Uhm. “...marriage.” And how could he be so indelicate as you broach the subject? It was incredible. 

He shook his head. “The merger. That’s what he calls it anyway.” 

And I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Then I wanted to slap myself. He might be testing me. This might all be a trick. How could I have laughed at such a thing? It might put everyone in danger. What if he should tell the prince that I laughed at such a joke? What would that tell him? Oh, stars. Might it be considered treason?

I felt faint. 

I jested, “Oh, come on. I’m sure he’s very fond of Alba.”

“No,” he said simply, harshly. “He despises her.” 

Again I felt that respect well up in me—not for the prince, who maybe wasn’t as feckless as he seemed after all—but for this boy. He didn’t pull punches. I wanted to honor that. But I wasn’t sure that I could. 

And he still might be playing me. 

“Then why marry her?” I returned, arching an eyebrow. 

“Because his grandfather wishes it,” was the prompt reply.  

“And that’s good enough reason to make himself miserable?”

“He’ll hardly have to see her.” 

“That’s not what I’ve heard about marriage.” 

“Oh. You’re one of those people who think it should be based in ‘love’?” 

“Of course not. Love doesn’t exist,” I retorted, my voice coming as coldly as his formerly had. 

His eyes widened a moment. He said, “ Finally . Someone who agrees on that.” 

“But I do think that some matches can be better than other ones.” 

“And you think the better personal match should supersede the better political one?”

“Who said the Tarkin match is good politically?” 

             It just… left my mouth . And as soon as I did, I wished I could bite my tongue and turn back time all in one stroke.

             And I had no such mercy as him missing the implications of such a comment. His russet brows rose as if by a conductor’s baton. He remarked, “Do tell what you mean.”

I had to play it cool. I must . And I must stay in the game, not drifting. I clamped down on the inside of my cheek and used the pain to steady myself.

Lightly, I shrugged. “I only meant that the stronger part of the alliance of the two families comes in the military wing. Because uniting the Tarkins, who have such wonderful loyalty from the Imperial troops and such a legacy of fine service, with the Palpatines, who are our beloved rulers, carries the most benefits in military cohesion. But there will be many political benefits as well, I am sure.” 

             “Oh,” he said, “of course.” His gaze sparkled in the moonlight, shining with what I thought might be more respect—for my quick thinking, maybe.

             But that also meant he didn’t believe my hastily-constructed but well-reasoned explanation. He was too sharp for that.

             Quietly, he added, “Don’t worry. Your secret opinion is safe with me.”

             Oh, if only I could believe that one. Regardless we moved on in the conversation. I asked him precisely what his role was in serving the prince to whom he was “so close”. Vaguely he said he did various things, but mainly acted as his “eyes and ears”.

             “Like a spy?” I remarked.

             “Yes.” A softly sibilant wind had begun to whisper around us, carrying his chocolatey voice on the breeze. “Very much like that. Do you like spying? I mean— spies , such as in HoloVids.”

             “Of course,” I replied, heart pounding, pounding, pounding. Was this a hint? A threat? Or simply a question? He looked as lighthearted as anything. But that must be an act. Any spy of the prince’s would be sharp as a tack and a good actor.

             Oh, stars.

             But a hint of boldness rose up in me. “So long as they work for the right side.”

             “That is a very wise answer, Your Highness.”

             “Call me Padmé.”

             “Oh, I couldn’t.”

             “I insist.”

             “Alright,” he consented.

“And what should I call you?”

A pause. Then, “Call me Ray.” 

Ray . “It’s a good name for you,” I decided, and rose to my feet, deciding it was time. We had been out here for at least half an hour. How quickly the time went with this servant of the prince’s! “Goodnight, Ray.” 

“Goodnight,” he echoed softly. And I could have sworn he used my first name back at me. But surely not. Surely it was the mere whisper of the wind that sounded like, Padmé. Padmé. Padmé … 

Ray. I liked that name very much. I think... I liked him very much. 

Getting back into bed fifteen minutes later, I clutched at the front fabric of the awful flannel pyjamas and whispered to my chest where my heart had once lain, “You stupid, treacherous thing. Stop .”

I had far bigger issues to worry about than a stupid little crush. If that’s even what it was. 

But at least I wouldn’t return to the rebel base a failure now. Luke and my father must acknowledge my capabilities. For I had gotten the plans we needed, against all odds. 

Chapter Text

The fire is everywhere and nowhere. It burns my body, but I have no body. I roll to extinguish the flames, but no flames exist. I writhe, helpless, on black glass sand as flames chew upon my flesh.

And it never ends.

I’ll answer anything, anything, to make it stop. To make it ease. Anything he wants! I don’t care about keeping secrets anymore! I’ll give him anything!

“Please! Please!” a voice cries, and someone is sobbing, sobbing wretchedly. Retching and convulsing in helpless agony. Oh… that voice is mine, isn’t it? “Make it stop! Oh, stars, make it stop! I’ll give you anything… anything…!”

The rumbling voice says, “Thank you.”

And somehow, the pain increases—! Oh, stars, oh stars! And in that blazing moment I understand: he doesn’t want anything from me. He wants only this pain. My pain. He doesn’t want Uncle Luke and he doesn’t want the rebels. He doesn’t want the Peace Star plans. He doesn’t want anything except my death—and my all-consuming pain prior to it. I can give him nothing to make this stop.

It will never end.

“Please… please…” And now all I beg for is death…

“You are pathetic and weak and deserve to die, and just like this. Stop begging!”

“Lord Vader!”

Suddenly the flame snuffs out—oh my stars… sweet relief… But something is wrong. I know it is. I know that voice… but cannot place it. And my heart is pounding, pounding so hard, like it shall burst from my chest… And I have things I want to say, things I want to do, but I just cannot get any of them out—only one—one thing—

“Uncle… Uncle…” I want Luke. I want Luke…

But it is another voice which answers me, after having a furious argument with Darth Vader that includes threats and courage on my behalf the likes of which I never expected from anyone. Anyone except Luke. But this… this isn’t Luke.

“You’ll be alright, daughter. I’m getting you help. Just hold on…” And Tarkin places his hand upon my brow, as if setting his will to this end.

But I know he lies. Because I am trapped in my head and I shall never come out, because I shall never leave this black glass sand while flames chew upon my flesh, and because Uncle Luke is not here to fix it… any of it… he isn’t here with me…

OOO

Empire week was to be the grandest celebration of the Empire and all its manifold glories ever had. No expense had been spared. Exclusive invitations had been issued galaxy-wide (mostly with a focus on a few key core worlds). The press had been abuzz for months on end, covering every minutia of the affair, from the way the Imperial Eve ball might be constructed to the table napkins at different receptions. This was the fortieth year of the Empire, and Emperor Palpatine seemed determined to ignore the fact that a strong resurgent rebellion so much as existed.

And so Mother and I packed our bags and headed to Coruscant for five days of luxury and opulence at the expense of immense suffering on so many other planets in the galaxy. As the Mirrorbright, Mother’s personal vessel, swooped in low over the intricate ribbons of traffic that crisscrossed the planet, I peered out the window at the city. Imperial banners fluttered crisply from almost every building, shining stark crimson in the daylight; it made the whole city center seem like a sea of blood. Traffic was even more congested than usual. And the city itself seemed to shine, as if trillions of polishing droids had been at work for weeks. Probably, they had.

Cantham House, the Alderaanian royal residence on Coruscant, as usual proved comfortable. All our security stayed downstairs, the better to give Mother and I some privacy—always appreciated. But I personally would have felt better with a few guards. Not that any guard could take on It if or when It came for me…

Soon, we had gotten ourselves settled in. I sent 3V off to do some shopping for me and Mother sent 3PO on a busywork errand, so we finally had a moment to talk. Out on the balcony, sonic neutralizers activated, we knew ourselves fairly safe. As safe as it ever got for us, at any rate.

“You did well, my daughter,” she praised me, smiling. “They have all the information they need to destroy Chita Station and clear the path to the Death Star. We’ll have it destroyed in no time.”

Her praise warmed me more than I desired to admit to myself. I dismissed it as merely doing my part and then ventured with the question I’d been dying to ask ever since my father and my mother had reunited: “So—did Dad agree?”

Leia’s smile shaded to a frown. “We… discussed things,” she allowed. Then she smiled again, a determined nailed-to-the-mast smile. Laying her hand on my arm with all the gentleness she possessed, she vowed, “It will all work out. Don’t worry. You’ve done your part. We can take care of the rest, now.”

Dismissed. Again. Anger curdled within me, and I only just managed to continue the conversation pleasantly enough before getting the blazes out of here. Royal life as usual stifled. A night on the town was what I needed to clear my head.

Apparently, even after stealing the vital information about Chita Station right under the Imperial Heir’s nose, I still hadn’t earned the right to hear the whole of our plans. Or earned the right to know if my father would fly in the battle with the Falcon. No. I must be… what? Protected?

It didn’t matter. I’d show them. I’d show them all.

OOO

But I ended up staying out of the town—or, rather, out of the cantina. The sheer crushing level of crowds precluded any hope of restoration through being alone. Now, I loved people and enjoyed being around them—but not around hundreds of thousands of them in the same square mile. And so, I instead ended up heading somewhere that I hadn’t in six years.

The old senate gardens.

For some reason, while the senate had been torn down after its disillusionment, the gardens near them had never been demolished. Instead, they had been left to grow wild, and stayed, in my opinion, one of Coruscant’s best-kept secrets. As a girl in the Young Imperial Leaders Coalition, I had come here. But then, Mustafar had happened, and I couldn’t bear to return. Too many memories.

I finally felt like facing it this evening.

Unfortunately, I soon discovered that even here in this secretive place I couldn’t be alone. Though the company could have been worse.

“Oh,” I said, on seeing the redhead turn to look at me, “it’s you.”

“You know, I might take offense to that,” he mused. “But knowing your gruff demeanor when casual, I think I must be making progress!”

I huffed out a laugh.

“You come here, too?” remarked Ray. He looked different today, dressed more nicely in a well-tailored suit with a burgundy-colored velveteen jacket that looked soft as fur. I wondered what that was indicative of - perhaps spywork for the prince?

“Sometimes,” I dissembled. “Do you want to be alone?”

“…it’s alright,” he decided. “Sit down.”

“Is that an order?”

“Of course not. What right would I have?”

None. I leaned against one of the trunks of a tall, overgrown palm tree that provided vast shade over the space. A mossy fountain near us played softly, somehow still working despite its derelict state. And Ray the manservant-spy met my gaze evenly, and we engaged in a little bit of an undeclared staring contest.

And then I blinked. Kriff it.

His lips twitched. “So,” he started, “you’re here early.”

“I have diplomatic work to do. As does Mother.”

“The infamous Queen Leia,” he mused of my mother’s durasteel-fisted repute. “What is that like?”

I raised my brows. “You’re being rather rude to ask such a question.”

“I… thought we were friends.”

Stars. He looked so hurt. I thanked the Force for the shade of the trees, for then he couldn’t detect my flush. But really? Friends? After a few encounters? No one could be friends after a few encounters and one conversation, even if they did call each other by name, or feel comfortable talking.

Right?

I decided to be honest for once. “I’m not too good at friends,” I ventured slowly.

“Neither am I. So what does it hurt if we both kriff it up?”

There seemed sound logic in that. And so we ended up talking, rather casually, like friends who had nothing of enmity over opposite sides between them. (Though of course he knew nothing of that.) I never answered the question about Mother, and he never pushed on me to do so. Mostly we discussed Empire week’s coming festivities. He got to brag.

“I’m going to be running point for the prince a lot, so you’ll probably see me around.”

I got the feeling, again, that this was meant to impress me. All I said was, “I see,” which made him cock his head at me and look distinctly amused again.

“You know,” he mused at the end of our conversation, which had ended up ranging from Empire week to my responsibilities as heir and effective de-facto viceroy of Alderaan to his life at the Imperial palace and what the court was like, “I’m glad to have run into you, Padmé. I was feeling… oh… a bit… down earlier. You’ve cheered me up. It was a lucky coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in luck,” I admitted.

“What do you believe in?”

I smiled. “Credits.”

“Well. That’s wise as well.”

Telling someone I believed in the Force was dangerous, especially these days. Best to say credits, another important staple of existence. But I got the uncomfortable feeling that Ray didn’t believe my answer. More, I got the uncomfortable feeling that he saw me straight through.

I hated being seen.  

Yet he reached out, reached right toward me, and then looped the chain of the treasured necklace I wore. Looped it right around his slim, spidery fingers. The ocean eyes examined it. “A polestar,” he mused, no hint of shyness in him right now. “Lovely.”

I managed, “Thank you.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“—A friend.”

OOO

“Hey, Padmé.” Uncle Luke is back and he is smiling at me in his gentle way. Why does he come back? He’s been here so many times and it hasn’t made me better. Doesn’t he get that I’m not getting better? Doesn’t anyone tell him? “Hey,” he continues.

Today, though, he holds a necklace. A necklace in the shape of a polestar. And the necklace itself has something beautiful and glowing inside of it. Uncle Luke says, “I’m going to put this around your neck, alright? Now, I want you to make sure and keep it on for me, always. Can you promise that?”

And I have to tell him. I must tell him. I can’t fail him, Luke who is the only one who comes, the only one who believes in me. I try to think but my mind is a blur and jumble of sights and sounds and people and things and some are real and some aren’t—

I crumple a piece of flimsi I spot, then push it toward him.

He breathes out sharply. He. Luke. Here. Now. He says, “That’s great. Thank you. So, I’m gonna put it around your neck now, alright? Okay… There we go.

“Perfect.”

And it is perfect. It is good. It gives me clarity. It grounds me a bit more. I almost feel like I comprehend reality again—though not quite—and I want to say something—some way to thank him—but then I am sucked back to the black glass sands and I don’t wake for days…

Chapter Text

Empire week began boringly. The first few days centered on a lot of speeches about rah rah the Empire is super great yeah we’re evil but pretending we’re awesome let’s cheer for tyranny woo hoo! I clapped when everyone else did and heartily wished the speakers the utmost of ills all whilst keeping my countenance as composed as Mother’s—or almost as composed, at any rate. For all my irritation with her lately, I had to admire Mother in these moments. She looked such an Imperial queen. Chin high. Eyes emotional—misty, even. Filling up the space around her like she was ten feet rather than barely five.

I knew I could never be like that. But I would never have to be an Imperial queen. Maybe, I would never have to be a queen at all. Surely, once the New Republic came, the day for monarchies would be over.

Besides. I might not even live to see that day. Maybe Erika Frost would succeed Mother after all when it came to it.

The HoloNet scrupulously ignored the destruction of Chita Station, instead opting to blare a nonstop praise parade of everything Empire—including a none-too-subtle promise to air a documentary about the life and times of the Great & Good Commander Alba Tarkin. Like we didn’t all know already that she would be engaged to Prince Palpatine by the end of this week. But Mother at least deigned to share with me that, in fact, Chita Station had successfully been destroyed, clearing the way for the second Death Star’s… well… let’s just call it “disillusionment”.

It had been almost impossible to believe the first could fall—and I’d been in that battle. But at the time, I somehow had believed it. Maybe it took madness to believe something like that could be destroyed once, much less again. But I chose to believe. I had to believe. Because Empire week was the grand distraction which we were happily using to cover our tracks for destroying the damned thing.

And until two days into Empire week, everything seemed to be going swimmingly. Sure, Tai-Lin showed up around Mother an annoying number of times, always polite and offering me kind words in his calm and soothing way. Yes, Alba strutted around all of the events like a bronze-haired cockatoo with her coterie fluttering eagerly behind her. And the extravagance of everything made me sick. But there were no diplomatic or drifting incidents, and the Alliance was prepped and ready to go. I did indeed see Ray around a few times as he had said I might, as he danced attendance on various gatherings the prince was a part of. I tried to pretend I didn’t notice him, but he always made a point of slipping away and saying hello in his shy way he had before he really got going in a conversation. I also tried to pretend his insistence on pursuing our “friendship” didn’t please me just a little. 

Yes, I could deal with it all—until on the third day at one particular party, It walked in. Then, oh, my palms began sweating. My hands began shaking. Knots seized my stomach like a fist and wouldn’t release. Ransolm Casterfo, an ally and good friend to whom I’d been talking, began to frown and peer at me cautiously. But when I heard the heavy rasp of breathing—saw the effect it had on the others around—

“I need to use the fresher,” I told Ransolm, sounding remarkably calm about it all. 

“Of course. I will wait.” 

Once inside the fresher, my legs buckled underneath me, and I toppled to the floor. I retched, but no vomit came. I came to huddle on the cool tile then, breaths coming in shudders, clutching my polestar necklace for dear life. 

Ashes. 

Fire. 

Blood. 

They consumed me as they always did. As I knew, in my soul, how they always would. Naturally I had known that It would be here. How could It not be here, during Empire week? Wasn’t that one of the reasons we were striking the Death Star II now? And I had told myself I’d been prepared. 

What a joke. What a fool. I wanted to sob but refused myself this right. After my recovery, I’d vowed never to cry again over what had happened that day. That promise had seen me through many years, many dark hours. But it never got any easier to keep. 

How could I go back out there? How could I ever leave this stall? 

I thought of Luke, in all his Jedi bravery, courageously and effortlessly finding the strength to confront Vader’s forces and even Vader himself time and time again. Luke never wavered. Because he was a Jedi? Or because he just had some kind of heroism in him that I never possessed?

I believed I knew the answer. But I couldn’t bear to accept it. 

The loud patter of flats and high-heeled shoes alerted me to new presences in the fresher. My breathing, quieter now, didn’t seem to alert them to my presence, however. I laid there, listening without desire to the ensuing conversation, but unable to find the strength to move. 

It was Alba and her gaggle, gossiping with giggles and in boasting tones about various frivolities. 

But then suddenly said conversation became very interesting indeed. “—she’s so pathetic,” Rosetta Motti was saying, then gave a giggle. 

Alba scoffed. “I know, right? You saw that look on her face. She doesn’t even deserve to be called a princess. She’s just a glorified droid!”

“And a cowardly one at that,” Juliet Piett added. 

“Exactly. But it’s hardly something to worry about. The prince adores me. And once I’m the Imperial princess? It’ll be bye-bye Alderaanian monarchy. I mean, come on. It should have been abolished ages ago!”

“But… Queen Leia and Princess Padmé aren’t traitors.” 

“What does that matter? A little evidence planted here and there… and it’s off with Mother and Daughter’s heads. I’m sure Vader will even thank me.” And then she laughed. 

At some point in all this, I’d gotten to my feet, legs no longer leaden. Now, I burst out from the stall. Jaws dropped. Juliet Piett actually squeaked. Alba Tarkin stared at me, her jade green eyes wide. And I met her gaze right back, feeling so angry I could hardly fathom it. Somehow, though, I managed simply to smile, and then to walk from the room. Because if I didn’t get out of there now, I knew I would commit treason.

Guess who I then ran into in a remote hallway when I wanted nothing more than to be alone to collect my thoughts and control my rage? Or rather who ran into me?

“Hi,” said Ray with his usual shy smile. He had an eager look on his plain face and a strange febrile light in his ocean eyes.

It faded when he got a good look at me. Oh, I looked a mess, surely. Hair scraggly. Maybe I smelled like sweat, or toilet. I hoped I did. I didn’t care. I didn’t care. Kriff this. Kriff them. Kriff it all. Their punctilious manners and their fancy garments and their acts of fine ladies and gentleman that really only masked cruelty and subjugation and tyranny. The Imperial palace and its court was not some arcadia: it was the blazes with a façade hastily tacked over it.

I said, “Hello.”

“—is everything alright?”

“Oh,” I nodded, “just fine.”

He had begun backing up, for I was coming toward him now. Then his back hit the wall and a little cry left him. I chuckled, then took his hand. It felt good to take his hand. When I held his hand, I felt less… less… 

“Your hands are so slim, Ray,” I mused, turning over his palm and examining it. Faint scars latticed the skin, as if from harsh work. I knew scars like these (usually more pronounced than these ones), but only in slaves. Odd. Perhaps he hadn’t told me something of his past. But surely the Heir wouldn’t keep a slave in such high a position as manservant. “Why, I’d almost call them dainty.” 

He swallowed hard. “Please let go.”

“Why?”

“My hands… they’re dirty…” 

“So are mine,” I soothed. Fresher floor hands. “Don’t be afraid.” 

“You think I’m afraid?” 

“You are trembling.”

“No, I’m not,” he snapped. 

But he was. He definitely was trembling. Excitement, fear, and thrill shone in his eyes. And I thought perhaps I would kiss him, now. Now that I clearly had him. I wanted to kiss him, if only in the hopes it could make me forget for a time. Make me feel less powerless. Less furious. 

Then he suddenly tensed, gaze flitting to an unknown figure behind me, and then Alba’s voice came. Derisive. Infuriating. “Stars. Cavorting with servants now. Is there no limit to how far you will sink, Padmé?” 

And the distraction which I had gained from flirting with Ray vanished, leaving only the smoky red in my vision and the almost uncontrollable fury. The tight hold I’d had on myself vanished, like a string being sliced through by shears.

I whipped around and punched her full in the face. I hit her once. And again. Again! I couldn’t hit this kriffing woman enough to ever satisfy my rage at her. My rightful vengeance! Think what she had done! She owned slaves! She had slaughtered tens of thousands in cool massacres without remorse! And she was so spoiled, and frivolous, and vain! And she’d threatened my family! My mother! My people! How dare she? How dare she? 

And I couldn’t forget, either, the surge of protectiveness I felt for Ray. She thought she could insult him? Kriff her. Kriff her. Kriff her!

And Alba was screaming, but then she wasn’t any longer. And there was blood, but it didn’t matter. I gloried in it. The blood. The cries that faded to dull whimpers and then went silent… 

Then a voice said calmly, “You’re going to kill her.” 

“Excellent,” replied a cool smoky tone I vaguely realized was mine. I stepped on her face with the heel of my boot, relishing in hearing the crunch of her nose. So much for those aquiline features, I mused savagely. “Perfect.”

And there was a soft cackle then. The voice sounded regretful when he said, “I’m afraid I can’t let you kill her.” 

“You want to do it?” He couldn’t. She was mine. 

“No, Padmé,” returned the chocolatey tones of the shadow. Soft lips danced across the flesh of my neck—and in the moment of my distraction, I suddenly felt just how hard my mechanoid heart had begun to beat, just how fast I’d begun to breathe… The pound pound pound of my pulmonode and the strain of my mechanoid lungs consumed me, dragging me into darkness alongside the shadow…

OOO

A while after Luke gives me the necklace—or maybe it’s only been a bit—I find the strength to sit up. To walk. But on doing so I find the door locked. 

Oh, that makes me panic panic panic. But then I decide to walk, walk, walk around. And finally I find a pin pin pin and I pick the lock lock lock…

Silly. Them thinking I couldn’t get out… Sure I can get out. I can move at will again, can’t I? I wonder when that started, then forget about it. I must walk, must move, must get out of this room…

I get to a balcony, but don’t try to pitch myself off like I once did. I just stand there, looking into the seemingly endless night… 

Chapter Text

Slowly I swam back to consciousness. My whole body felt like durasteel. The replacement organs inside me that were constructed of durasteel felt too tight, too foreign, and each seemed slow to function. It was an effort even to open my eyes. 

Where am I? I wondered. What has happened?  

The moment I did manage to get my blurry eyes even halfway open, someone said,

“Here. Drink this.”

A cold glass lifted to my lips. The voice seemed familiar, and proved soothing to me for some reason. Like coming home. 

I sipped at the water, and after several blinks began to see more clearly. I saw the wavy-red-haired boy kneeling before me, with his nondescript youthful face and his ocean eyes intent. His slim hands clasped the glass of cool water. And with a jolt I realized I wasn’t home at all. I was in a room furnished and decorated so simplistically as to be almost barren. Dull light streamed into the room from a mostly-curtained window.

I instinctively drew back—and then realized it was not my bed that I lay in, either. My eyes bulged, a hint of panic striking through me. “ What —?”

“You fainted,” he said simply, and set the glass down on a bedside table. “No, you shouldn’t get up too quickly. All that exertion strained your body too much.”

All that exertion . And then, suddenly, I remembered. I remembered all of it. Ignoring his declaration, I sat bolt upright in the bed, then hopped up from it, cheeks burning despite my better efforts. Naturally, I’d been in unfamiliar beds before, but never … How dare he presume to take me to his quarters?

“Don’t worry,” he said simply, apparently reading my thoughts. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I believe you.” And I did. But it was still inappropriate as druk. Though that was hardly the largest issue presenting itself right now. Oh, stars , I thought, recalling Alba, beaten and bloodied on the floor, my fists tingling, my heart pounding from exertion and jubilation… I looked down, and found some of the blood still marring my skin; the dull shafts of sunlight highlighted the dried crimson substance. 

Oh, stars. What had I done?

He remained silent even after I looked up. 

I pretended not to notice the way he was looking at me. I finished the water, then asked, “Would you mind getting me some more?”

“Sure.” 

He came back, then looked about, russet brows furrowed. “—Padmé?” 

I leapt forward from where I had hid myself, setting the tip of the knife to his heart. Stupid of him, to have left it on his dresser next to a half-eaten apple. But it would be his last mistake. 

“Don’t move,” I ordered. 

He went still in my hold. “Padmé…” he ventured. “—can’t we work this out?” 

“That’s precisely what I’m doing.” 

“This is about Alba, right?” 

“No.”

“Oh. So… you just personally dislike me enough to kill me.”

“Shut up. You’re distracting me.” 

“Okay. Oh—you said to stop talking. Sorry… I’ll stop talking now. Oh! Gosh! I’m so bad at this—I’m sorry…” 

“Stop saying that!” 

“Okay.” Then, “Actually, since we’re talking, I have one more thing to say: don’t do this, please.” 

“Sorry.” 

“No you aren’t. I don’t think you’ve ever been sorry for doing something you considered just.” 

That… was true. 

“And besides that, I don’t see you expressing any guilt over what you did to Alba. You know, I find that refreshing. And then you’re just getting right back up on the speeder bike with killing me…” 

“It’s not personal.”

“Sure it is. You’re killing me. That’s the very definition of personal.”

“You’re a witness.” 

“That’s true. I am probably the only person who could get you caught.”

“Exactly.”

“But I don’t plan to.” 

The knife hesitated. 

“You see, I like you, Padmé, when you are acting like a scoundrel. In those moments one sees how you have ascended above the limits of petty morality to create your own personal code of law. Law of what you think right and just and serves your own ends. And whatever serves your own ends you think right and just. That is a very… rare and impressive thing to find in anyone, particularly a woman of your breed.” That chocolatey note from earlier had reentered his voice, caressing me with its silky sweet blackness. “And I’d like to help you, because I like you and I feel like it.” 

Fury lit within me. Because a part of me wanted to believe him. To trust him. But I couldn’t do that. 

“I appreciate the offer. And I apologize.” Then I made to stab him—

But a force greater than any I had ever known threw me back, back, until I was flying to the edge of the room, the knife careening out of my hands and landing, remarkably, tip down in some of the dark wood of the cabinet. Gasping on the floor, stunned senseless, I could only pant for air, able to think only one thing: Force user… Only Luke had displayed such skill—and, I knew, It possessed such skills. But… this boy… this boy… 

This boy, who now approached me with a lighthearted tread, smiling as brightly and sweetly as ever. He looked a summer rose, innocent and tender. But his eyes… his eyes gleamed an eerie, blazing sulphur. Here, now, in this moment, he looked like an angel. 

An angel of death. 

The angelic-looking boy who looked no more than sixteen waggled one fine-boned finger at me, tsk’ing. “And here I thought we were becoming friends , Padmé! I did so hope to have you in the wedding when I eventually married Alba… Though of course the dear Commander may not make it long enough for all that… 

“That you would kill me so callously after the connection I thought we had… Why, it’s enough to make a man lose faith in the character of those around him.” He shook his head sadly. 

Head spinning, heart pounding, I somehow got to my feet. Ray Palpatine. Another Sith. There wasn’t just one Sith, but two. Or were there more? How much had Luke kept from me? 

What did it matter, now? Here?

“ You . I should have known.”

“Don’t fret, Dove,” he replied kindly, tucking back a stray lock of my hair that had fallen from my formerly immaculate style. I went back against the wall even as he had earlier, wanting as much distance from him as possible. “No one ever has before. After all… I hardly look the part, do I?” 

I decided I best not insult him. Levelling my most cool regal gaze at him, fearing the worst, but knowing I mustn’t show it, I asked, “ What do you want?”

“Why do you assume I want anything?” 

“Because if you didn’t, I’d already be dead or in prison.” 

And then he burst into peels of boyish giggles. Somehow they scared me more than the yellow eyes. “Well,” he admitted, smiling even more angelically than ever, “that’s true.” 

OOO

    At an indeterminable hour, I stumbled back into Cantham house. (I may have been… ever so slightly drunk.) I found both Leia and Tai-Lin waiting for me, their faces ashen. But some color came back into Mother’s face the moment she saw me weave my way inside. 

She said tightly, “Padmé: where have you been?” 

“Uhm… that’s a lot of planets to name—” Yawn— “off the top of my head…” 

“I mean—what have you been doing?” 

            “Oh. You want to know his name ?”

Mother’s cheeks flushed. She took hold of my arm. “Come on. You’re going to bed.”

“But I already did!” 

“ Don’t —” 

Whatever Mother had been about to say, Tai-Lin cut over her. He spoke soothingly, ever unruffled. “Leia: now isn’t the time. We can wait until the morning.” 

I yanked my grip out from Mother’s. She might be mighty in spirit, but I easily overpowered her in body. “Yes, Mom,” I agreed, eyeing our reflections in the hallway mirror. For an instant, I swore I winked at myself. But not me. Someone else in my body was looking back at me… “Listen to Daddy. That is okay if I call you that, right? I mean… after all…” 

“That’s enough,” Leia snapped. “You’re going to bed.” 

“I already told you, I went .” I smiled. “ Stars . Thank the Force I’m not the queen. I might turn out like you.” 

Leia inhaled sharply. Tai-Lin, for once, looked angry. I chuckled, then headed toward my room. But when they followed, I began to run. None too steady on my feet, I nearly lost the pursuit, but then managed to get into my room and slam the door, quite nearly on Tai-Lin’s fingers. Leia cried out. 

“You aren’t my father!” I hurled at him, and locked the door. Then I was free. Free to do as I pleased. Live as I liked. For once the restraints of royalty and madness didn’t feel so tight; I had been made a bird, able to take flight… 

            My breathing came hard and harsh. My head went back. Then I looked down at my hands. Oh , Alba’s blood still stained them. Dripped from them. I twirled one finger in the blood, then drew that finger across the mirror at my vanity…

            And she looked back at me, crimson-lips smiling. Unafraid, unthreatened. For she had all the power she could ever want or need, and all bowed down to her. None derided her. Her mind was pure and clean and perfect. She winked at me again, the picture of confidence and ease, grace and strength—

            And then I toppled headfirst into night.

Chapter Text

The hospital seemed eerily silent. Or maybe it was merely this corridor, or this room. Oh, there had been plenty of activity when I’d arrived, but after gaining access to the room, it seemed as if all the worlds themselves had stilled.

Alba Tarkin lay on a bed in the middle of the room, various breathing tubes and other apparatuses hooked up to her, sustaining her life. Her beautiful face was swollen and marred by various purplish, yellowish, and reddish bruises. It seemed that they’d had to put her broken nose in a splint. And her curly bronze locks had been sheared away, in order to provide access to her skull for the necessary surgery—because I had hit her this hard. This hard.

I won’t lie. I’d done a number of things I wasn’t too proud of in my life. Killed some people who maybe didn’t deserve it in order to necessarily cover my tracks for the Alliance, and in order to protect my people. But that was just it: all of it, I had done in the name of the Alliance and in the name of protecting my people. But never before had I done something so terrible. Never had I done something so savage. And I’d had no worthy cause for which to do it. I ought to have gone to Tarkin, or reported her plans to Mother.

But—even in this moment I needed to wonder—what would that have done? Alba had been right; she did have the power. Or she soon would. Power enough to destroy us. Though I hadn’t known at the time that the prince was in fact Ray and despised her deeply…

But no. There was no excuse for what I’d done. Only that I’d felt that uncontrollable fury that smoked red and hot through me and then made me cold as ice and so I saw things clearly as crystal…

And now, here I was, in this situation: the prince the one witness to my activities, everything on the line unless I… what? Killed him, somehow? Making another attempt on his life? Or pleased his whims until the current Emperor died and he was willing to forever keep my secret?

Oh, it was all too much for me. I burst into tears, and that was how Tarkin found me. He walked back into the room, saw me crying—presumably over Alba’s state—and then in a slightly wavering voice said, “There, there, daughter.” 

He embraced me. I kept crying, furious now. Because this was all wrong. He shouldn’t be comforting me. He didn’t understand anything at all. But I couldn’t tell him, either. That he was soothing his daughter’s attacker: the very attacker for which everyone was now hunting. I cried harder because of all of this, and I cannot lie that the thoughts of my possible fate haunted me horribly… 

Tarkin straightened up as Daala and Nigel reentered the room. Though his former mistress and now wife was over twenty-five years his junior, she looked as haggard as he did this day. Nigel’s eyes were wide, like a lost child’s; he was bereft without his sister. 

And behind them strode in the Imperial prince, his eyes boring into mine, glittering like twin gems beneath the hood. 

With a jolt I knew instantly this was the real one and not the sub. Oh, stars. I didn’t want to see him yet! I didn’t want to see him ever again… Yesterday had been the second worst day of my life, and his threats hung over my head like a sword blade poised to strike. 

I ought to have realized from the beginning who he was. Red hair. The nose. He looked like his line. Like his grandfather.

Daala’s eyes flashed on seeing the embrace shared between Tarkin and me. Her gaze flickered to her daughter, then back to me, and a stab of accusation lay in her jade green eyes—Alba’s eyes. It should have been you, was clearly the message. 

I attempted to regain some semblance of my former dignity. Better to greet the prince first off. After Tarkin greeted him, thanking him for coming, I went ahead. “Prince Palpatine. Please accept my condolences for this terrible tragedy which has struck so close to your heart.” 

Like he had one. 

He answered silkily, “Thank you, Princess Padmé. I believe I know just how much you mean that.” 

The asshole. I felt myself pale, but no one else seemed to notice the emphasis in his words. I managed to extricate myself from the hospital scene then, and headed down the hall, my contingent of security behind me. As I looked into my compact and wiped my eyes, she suddenly smiled back at me in the mirror. Her polite, sanitized, bleach-poured-over-blood smile. I breathed in sharply. 

Solano said, “Your Highness? Is everything alright?” 

“I’m fine,” I said, shutting the compact firmly. It would only ever be my answer. My mess. I needed to clean it up on my own. If I didn’t… 

OOO

When I got back to Cantham, I found it, thankfully, empty once again. This morning when I’d woken up, it had been with a spinning head and a sick gut which hadn’t just been borne of the effects of the alcohol. “You aren’t my father…” 

Well. I didn’t regret that one, but I regretted a few others. And so it had been with immense trepidation that I’d left my room to go face the music—

Which didn’t exist. Leia hadn’t been here. No one, in fact, had been here. And so I’d been left to breakfast alone and then head to the hospital to see Alba. It was all over the HoloNet, now, her attack, so it wouldn’t turn any heads. 

And now it looked like I would be lunching alone now, too. 

Or not. “Hello, Dove.” Ray Palpatine reposed in one of the dining table chairs, that sweet little smile set on his deceptively pleasant face. He still wore his purple cloak. 

“How did you get in here?” I demanded, irrelevantly. 

“I have my ways.” 

Right. I tried another. “What are you doing here?” 

“Well, at the hospital you seemed in so much grief over our mutual friend that I just felt moved to come by and check up on you…” He burst out laughing. “Niima, Padmé. I knew you were good at playing a part, but had no idea you were that good. All the…” He mimed crying. “Very nice. You almost had me buying it for a moment. And I was a witness to your little… hmm… shall we call it an ‘expression of anger’?” 

I kept my cool. “What are you really doing here?” 

“Maybe I felt lonely after seeing my intended so desolate.” 

Right. But I was going with my plan of diplomacy. Perhaps, I could stall him long enough so that he would keep my secrets once he ascended. Or, if not… I could just stall long enough to get Luke’s help. I felt loathe to ask my uncle for aid, but what else could I do? 

But how could I admit I couldn’t handle this? No one would ever trust me again. Because of the brutality of the act. Because of my original concealment of it from them. Because I was sure Mother was now mad at me. 

I asked him, “Would you like some lunch?” 

“Good idea! Let’s go!” He hopped up from his chair, purple cowl fluttering like so many bruises. 

Like Alba’s bruises. 

Oh, stars. What have I done? 

“What? No. I meant here. Not—” I broke off, realizing myself rambling. “I have duties to attend to here.”

“Really? I thought your mother canceled all of those.” 

With effort I kept my composure. A hint of respect shone in his eyes for it. What was he—stalking me? Or did he have some perception? “Apparently she believed it necessary. But since I am fine, I intend to do work today.”

“A noble attitude. But it’ll have to wait!” He put on a deeply hurt expression, and toyed with his chrono. “Unless… you don’t want to have lunch with a loyal friend who’s keeping your secrets for you?” He pouted. “When all I asked for yesterday in return was to spend some time with you…” 

The fine thread of control snapped. “If you’re going to kriffing threaten me every time we’re together, I’d rather you just do it. Do it. Turn me in. Let me take my punishment like a woman. Just stop this game, you little asshole.” 

“That’s… so impolite, Padmé. I… I’m hurt that you would…” He shook his head sadly. Then he grabbed my arm with a grin and trotted off, yanking me along merrily toward the veranda. 

Near it sat a parked speeder bike. “Nice, huh?” he bragged, eyes alight. 

“It’s alright.” 

“Just wait until you try it.” 

“—oh, no. I’d rather walk.” 

“We can’t walk all the way there, Padmé. Come on. You aren’t afraid, are you?” 

A vast castle. Its gargantuan height. Walking toward my destiny, my doom, looking down the seemingly endless drop into fire and spitting lava and tasting ash in the air… Before Mustafar, I had never feared heights or open flying. Now, however… 

He’d stopped smiling now. There was something dark in his gaze—but perhaps not directed toward me. “It’ll be fine,” he said almost kindly, almost soothingly. “I promise. Trust me.” 

Trust him? What an idea! (I scrupulously ignored the fact that, previously, I nearly had.) This boy—no matter how finely boned and slimly-built or how pleasantly-faced—was a Sith. He held the dark powers of the universe within his hands. And he could at any time use them to crush me, and destroy my people and my family. All because I had lost my hold on my rage. Then they would all know exactly who and what I, in fact, was: mad. Unstable. Someone who, just like Leia thought, couldn’t handle herself. Who Han thought. Who Uncle Luke thought… 

And I thought of the doppelgänger, and realized I needed some of her right now. Because she would know how to handle this. She could handle this. 

Right now… 

Here…

I knew that I couldn’t. 

And the shame felt too much to bear. 

OOO

The spot he’d picked out for lunch was nice, after all—a rooftop garden that he owned which was far better tended than the derelict senate one, with a glittering fountain at the center near which we ate. The food had already been set out. He’d planned this ahead. 

Somehow, we got on the topic of his marriage to Alba. I was, inherently, trying to figure him out a little more. If I understood him better, surely I could handle this situation better. 

Because I didn’t want to call Luke. I couldn’t bear to call Luke. And after all, he was busy with the Death Star II right now. 

“I think that you were scared to marry her, despite what you claim,” I countered as we talked of Alba. “You were upset about your coming nuptials, and that’s why you were in the old Senate garden the other day. You want to remain loyal to your grandfather and obey him in this, but you know in your heart that the match is a disastrous one.”

His countenance betrayed nothing. “What a fascinating theory. But she’ll probably die.”

“Probably. Who will you go with, then?”

To my surprise, he admitted, “I’m hoping I can wait a while longer. I don’t want to get married yet.”

“I will never get married, ever,” I replied. 

“Really? How intriguing.”

“Queen Chaia did it. Why shouldn’t I?”

He shrugged. “No reason why not to. Your mother’s done a fine job herself.”

Why must he bring her up? “Yes,” I said. “She has.” 

“Though,” he added, “I’ve heard she won’t be ruling without a consort much longer.” 

“I’ve heard that, too,” I returned lightly. 

“Too bad you hate him,” he mused. 

“Right.” I realized what I’d just said. Kriff him… “I don’t hate him.” 

“Oh. Okay.” 

Pause. 

Then, I said, “He’s just not my father.” 

“...I wouldn’t be too distressed about that,” Prince Palpatine said at last. “Fathers aren’t generally too worthy of being sad over.” 

“I take it you didn’t care for your father much.”

“No,” he freely admitted. “He was an awful person. So was my mother.” 

Well. Wasn’t that rich. But it seemed I was making inroads, so I pressed on, “I’m sorry to hear that. I can… understand the mother part.”

“Probably not.” 

I felt myself flush, and wanted to fling hot words at him for his swift dismissal. Instead, I took a sip of my drink, and then remarked, “I used to think Kiria DeWinters was the perfect Imperial princess before she and Prince Aiden died. I suppose image is everything…” 

He didn’t answer this. Instead, he quite abruptly asked, “Do you find me handsome?” 

“No.” The reply left me before I could think about it. An honest reply. The worst possible thing in politics, much less Sithly threat situations, surely. The thing was to flatter him, to lie. 

Oh, I was done for. We were all done for. And it was all my fault… 

But instead, he merely laughed. Short. Unamused. But he didn’t seem angry—or have that terrible angelic look, at any rate. 

“I appreciate your honesty. I don’t find you so hot yourself.” 

“Okay,” I said, smiling for some reason. “But I don’t care about such trivialities.” 

“Neither do I.” 

“Then why did you ask me?”

“I don’t know. I felt like it.” 

This response satisfied me, in its apparent honesty. But I also realized that he hadn’t wanted to discuss his mother or father, and had purposely diverted the conversation away from them. Interesting. 

“And your grandfather?”

“What about him?”

“You’re clearly very loyal to him. So why aren’t you telling him about what I did?” 

He considered his answer slowly. I liked how he thought things through before responding to them. Then, “Grandfather has been very good to me. I owe him a lot. After my parents’ deaths, I was quite bereft. But he took me in and raised me like his son. Taught me so much. I can never repay him his kindness. 

“But I’m allowed to keep one thing for myself.” 

“You consider me a thing?”

“I consider you mine, princess.” 

A shiver went up my spine at the utter honesty in his face and in his eyes. I stood up. “I am beholden to no one,” I said coldly. 

“Well, we both know that’s a lie,” he retorted, a hint of color in his cheeks now. He meant this. And now I had made him mad. “Because I could strike you down as quickly as I have seen fit to shield you, with your selfish heart.” 

Kriff fear. I got in the evil munchkin’s face. “I have no heart.” 

“How true.” He reached out one slim finger and traced, slowly, down my neck… I thought he would touch me inappropriately, but he didn’t. Once he reached my collarbone, he let loose. He smiled gently, a mockery of a thing. “Watch what you say, Padmé. I’ll tolerate only so much from you.” 

Chapter Text

“Padmé,” greeted Mother coolly that evening. At last, she had come home for dinner—with Tai-Lin by her side. Clearly she intended to make a point. 

I started first. “I owe both of you apologizes.” At this both seemed surprised. I went on, “My behavior last night was completely unacceptable. I was drunk, and said things I didn’t mean. But some things I did say… revealed things I ought to have expressed in a far better way. 

“Mother, you are a wonderful queen of Alderaan. A wonderful Imperial monarch. And what I said to you was inexcusable, and wrong. I hope you know that I didn’t mean it. 

“As for you, Tai-Lin… Well, no one could ever replace my father for me. I’m sorry for that. But I think it is a fairly open secret that he is the one who I have always loved best. Yet that doesn’t mean I should disrespect you like that. You’re a good man, and I’m glad that you have found happiness together. You both deserve it.” 

And that gave us this last reunion together. Things would never be the same after this night, though none of us could know it. Mother, with tears in her eyes, embraced me; I knew she forgave me. Tai-Lin and I shook hands. For an instant everything felt truly  okay…  Okay in a way it hadn’t felt in years... 

Until I got to bed that night and couldn’t find a wink of sleep. My mind remained alert. I listened for every sound, chest contracting with each. Coruscant’s traffic sounded like the buzzing of a thousand sonorous bees. And then, a voice mused,  

“Poor Princess Padmé. So afraid .” 

I sat up in bed. And there she was, again, striding toward me with supreme confidence, one brow slightly lifted in apparent disdain. “Who are you?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m you . Well—your better half, at any rate.” She smiled. “Don’t you remember me from when you were hitting Alba like she deserved?” 

A recollection of the cool certainty, the ice power, and the frosty control… “I don’t remember. You know how I forget things sometimes.”

“ Liar .” 

“Get out of here. You’re the liar. You aren’t real.” I knew it must be so. I must be hallucinating her. After Mustafar, it had happened from time to time. She couldn’t be real. 

Right? 

But then she grabbed me by the shoulders, yanking me up from bed; I cried out; she muffled it with one hand. “I am as real as anyone or anything. How dare you insinuate otherwise?” she demanded with frigid regal pride. 

“I… I’m sorry, I—”

“ Weak ,” uttered she, and tossed me aside onto the bed with effortless strength. “Though you try so hard to pretend that you are strong.” 

Something in that effortless strength struck me more than did my fear or her derisive comment. “You use the Force.” 

The ice anger left her. Her smile shaded sly. “Oh. Suddenly you find me useful, eh? Indeed I do. And to answer your true question: yes . I can combat him. Oh… please… I could well beat him… I suppose that interests you.” 

I gnawed on my cheek. Best to admit it. Sure, I might be hallucinating, but still. She might have ideas I couldn’t think of. “I just—don’t know what to do.”

“There’s your second lie tonight, Padmé. You know exactly what to do.” She smiled at me with the tenderness of a loving mother (or so I imagined), then stroked my cheek. Her hand was ice cold, and made me shudder violently. 

“I can’t.” I set my teeth. 

“Of course you can. You can do whatever you have to for an end. We can do whatever we have to for an end. That’s what defines us, my sweet.” 

I remained silent for a moment after that. Then, I asked, “What should I call you?”

“Kyla. Kyla Ren. And I’m happy to help you, darling.” 

***

But before I could enact the plan proposed to me by my doppelgänger, shock struck in the form of a visitor. On the afternoon of Empire Eve, a few hours before the ball, I stood in the garden watering Mother’s orchid plants. It would cheer her to see them cared for. When the shadow began creeping up on me and I saw it looming, I braced myself—

And then gasped when I saw the face beneath the brown cowl. 

“ Uncle Luke!”   Impossible. He couldn’t be here, on Coruscant. The danger was so immense. The risks… The attack on the Death Star II—

But here he was, even as my deepest soul had wished he might be. 

He hugged me back, but when I released him, I found his eyes searching mine intently. 

“What’re you doing here?” I demanded, then laughed suddenly. “I mean—how can you—? What about the attack tomorrow on the station—?” 

“Padmé,” Luke said slowly. He held my hands in his. His sky eyes looked haunted. He looked hunted. “Honey. What have you done? ” 

*** 

And then—before I could properly ask what it was that he knew— disaster . This one striking right at the heart. As Luke and I sat on the couch at Cantham, sonic neutralizers on, stormtroopers suddenly burst through the door. A Captain led them, strides crisp and slacks starched. My first panicked thought was for Luke, but she had eyes only for me. 

“Princess Padmé Solo,” she said evenly and coldly. “You are under arrest for high treason against the Empire, for plotting to destroy it with the known terrorist organization called the Alliance to Restore the Republic.” 

So this wasn’t about Alba, or about Luke. The prince hadn’t betrayed me after all, it seemed. And they hadn’t seen Luke through some spy means or another. But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t take them but a few more seconds to recognize the man beside me. Luke got the memo. Drawing the blaster I had hidden within the folds of my jacket, I began to blast. My uncle was a whirl of green. And in five seconds, every one of the group was dead. 

Then we were running, running out from Cantham through the back entrance, taking each stair two at a time. Luke stole a speeder through some means of the Force. We sped toward a location at top speed that I assumed housed a ship he’d flown here. 

But then I realized—

“ Mother! Tai-Lin! They’ll be taken too! They went to that event! And Solano and—”

Luke didn’t look from the lane. “We can’t go back for them, Mé.”

I could barely form words. “But— Mother— ”

“We can’t go back. It would be a death mission.” 

I shook my head, comprehension failing to occur. “She’s your sister . She’s my mother .”

“I know,” he said simply, and his determined voice wavered a fraction. But still he refused to look at anything except the road. 

Fury borne of terror filling me, I made to steer us off course and back—needing to do something —anything —but I found myself restrained to my seat by invisible hands, the breath sucked from me. Still Luke looked straight ahead. And in the end, all I could utter was a repulsed, horrified: “If this is the way of the Jedi… I want no part of it.” 

Chapter Text

Mother chats quietly with the doctors at the edge of the room. Apparently they still think I can’t hear a thing. “Might there be… a chance she is recovering?” Mother is asking. 

The doctor shakes her head. “There’s no possibility of that, Your Majesty. The effects of the XTO permanently damaged her mind past the point of…” 

I stop listening because I don’t want to hear this! They don’t know. They don’t understand that maybe I can recover… Only Uncle Luke understands… 

But then I hear that they’re going to lock up my room even tighter since I got out, and it makes me scream, scream, scream, and cry, cry, cry… How can they do this to me? Don’t they understand? Doesn’t Mother care—?

I think she does. Because I catch a hint of tears in her eyes as she goes… But she doesn’t stay to comfort me, or try and help me. 

No one stays to try and help me. 

Except my uncle. A few days later, he comes back to find me in a sorry state. The first feeling of shame I’ve experienced in months—or years—whatever—comes over me, burning my face… 

But Uncle Luke doesn’t say anything. He just smiles gently at me, then puts his hands over me like he’s been doing. He shuts his eyes, breathing deeply. I feel those now-familiar currents of warm pure energy, and feel safe again and no longer panicked by my entrapment… 

A little while later, Uncle Luke is gone again. I get up. I go to the one window I am allowed in this room, and look out onto the lightening storm. How I’ve always loved them. Oh—I remember that, now. Yes. Lightening storms…

Love the wildness of them. The unpredictability. The untamed power . 

But something new, tonight. An animal, trapped in the thick mud. It tries to get out, but with little success. Eventually, it lies down, letting itself be washed dead by the showers of rain accompanying the lightening… 

‘That’s me,’ I realize, false heart beating furiously in my chest. It hurts. Both the false heart and the false lungs make me ache with each and every breath. ‘That’s me. I’m the animal… laying in the mud… 

‘What does he want? What does he want from me?’ I question. Because I am still alive. He left me to live. No assassins have come. So he yet wants something from me. 

And then, I realize: ‘He can’t have my soul, too.’ He took my body. I will never be strong like others again. He took my mind. That girl died there. He even took my spirit. Never again can I find love for the Empire within myself. 

‘But he’s not going to have my soul,’ I decide as I look at the surrendered animal laying stuck in the mud. ‘I’m going to get up from this furnace floor… and I’m going to fight… because I will not become more of his ashes. And if I do die… it’s going to be in a better kind of flame.’

OOO

Luke and I exchanged no more than two words on the entire flight to rendezvous with the rest of the collected fleet. He had a clearance code, and soon we sat in the belly of the Liberty , a vast ship as sleek and well-equipped as any. How he got us such materials and ships, I never knew. I didn’t care about the mystery anymore. 

I was sick of the sight of his face, knowing at this very moment what he had left Mother, the staff, and Tai-Lin to. And I thought I was heartless. 

“Padmé—”

“Get out of my way .” If he wouldn’t listen, I knew one person who would . Dad would help me. Surely he would. 

“No,” said Luke evenly. We’d begun to attract a bit of a crowd in the hangar. Oh, they pretended to keep on with their various chores, but when the silence was so evident it was pretty unconvincing. “We have to talk. And we need to figure out what blew your covers and how deep it goes—”

“What does it matter? You left them there!”

“They won’t talk.” 

I slapped him, hard. Gasps ensued among the crowd. Luke took this with calm, and made no move to defend himself. 

“So sure are you?” I retorted. I thought of what must be happening to them all, to Mother. Again . Was It interrogating her, even this very moment? Probably Luke knew, though in his coldness would never share it… 

“Yes. I’ve foreseen it.” 

He’d foreseen all of this? “You son of a—”

“Hey,” said Biggs, pushing through the crowd. He had a pinched look about his face. Tension danced in his eyes. “I think I can tell you what happened here.”

I thought of about fifty retorts to him… and as a result voiced none of them. “Fine. Talk to him.” I refused to say my uncle’s name. “I’m going to find my father.”

“That’s just what I was going to tell you, Princess Padmé. Your father’s gone. When you left, so did he, Luke. And he took his ship. That’s what got you all caught.” 

OOO

“Where is Han?”

“We don’t know,” said General Andor simply. “We’ve been listening to the Imperial traffic we’re tapped into, but all we know is that he made an escape from the Empire.”

“—too late.” It was the first time I’d said anything for about half an hour. Everyone seemed shocked. Maybe they thought I’d drifted. 

Nope. 

It was Admiral Holdo who spoke up. “It seems like it. They were somehow able to identify that the ship was your father’s from his days as Viceroy. From there it wasn’t too hard to make the leap.” 

Why ? It was the only question I could ask myself. Why had my father done this? He knew the risks of leaving. I’d heard Luke explain them to him. He had spoken directly to—to Mother about helping us by letting us use the Falcon , one of the slimmest ships in the galaxy still in operation, for the penetration of the Death Star II belly. Mother had said it would “all be alright,” whatever that meant. 

Even if he’d wanted to go, he should have realized how much bad could happen if he did. He ought to have stayed here, hunkered down, let go of his selfish wishes… But that was just it. He hadn’t. He couldn’t . He’d thought only of himself when he had left, and of no one else, and in doing so… 

I stood up. All eyes went to meet mine. I said simply, “I have no father.” 

OOO

Alderaan might be caught. But the plan didn’t change. The Endor team was already in place for tomorrow. I sat in an empty hallway at the back of the Liberty , a spot where a force field protected one from falling down into the depths below, where countless mechanics worked on their ships… How could normal life continue, when the worlds themselves were over? I knew the answer, had learned it after Mustafar. It just always did. 

But that didn’t mean that I must continue with it. For so long, I had been determined to fight on, to prove myself as capable as everyone else despite things. I’d had a chip on my shoulder and felt like I had something to prove. 

Well, I hadn’t been able to prove it. Because in the end, all of this was my fault. 

When I heard the soft sound of footsteps, I cringed. “I don’t want to talk.” Now I was certain my uncle had seen what I’d done to Alba. I never knew how I would explain that. 

Why should I even feel the need to? To explain to him ? 

“Alright. I’ll make it brief, then,” said Adalyse in her gossamer voice. 

My head snapped to look at her so fast that I got whiplash. “...what’re you doing here?”

“I thought you might need me.” 

I wanted to use my usual, “I’m fine.” But the words got lodged in my tight throat and became suffocated there in a sea of grief. I merely nodded, beginning to tear up, and with tenderness she hugged me to her. 

“You’ve had a bad week,” she said simply. 

For some reason, I laughed. The statement just seemed so absurdly under the mark. “...yeah.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” 

Silence for a while. We watched the ship repairs go on for the coming battle. Then, “It wasn’t your fault, Padmé. It so wasn’t your fault.” 

“You don’t…” understand. I wanted to tell her about Ray, and my foolishness in telling no one about the situation. I wanted to tell her that tracking down Dad had been my suggestion. I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t sane, and would never be, and so how could I ever have seen fit to claim so many responsibilities? More than anything I wanted to tell her that I’d hurt someone horribly in the name of protecting other people who now hadn’t been protected after all. And that I was afraid of myself now… and afraid of the prince. Of his power. Of his threats. 

Of what he might this moment be doing to Mother. 

But I was, in the end, a coward. Because I couldn’t bear to tell Adalyse any of these things. I knew she, too, might lose faith in me like Luke clearly had. 

“No, listen to me.” Adalyse’s voice was more resonant than I’d ever heard from her before. Her eyes were hard, like chips of stone. “You can’t make other people’s choices for them. You’ve made your own choices, and they’ve been good choices, especially with the cards you’ve been dealt. This is… a terrible situation you’re now in. One of many in your life so far. Probably there will be more. And I’m not going to waste time trying to comfort you, because this is awful and nothing could make it hurt less. Just don’t blame your uncle.”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s a Jedi, Padmé.”

“Yeah. I’m aware.”

“And Jedi serve the Force above all. They give up attachment in order to serve it and all the citizens of the galaxy. You think it’s not a hard thing? A hard life? She’s your mother, and they’re your people, but she’s his twin sister, too. And he’s hurting, even if he isn’t showing it. That’s why he’s the greatest Jedi. Making the hard choices that serve the greater good, even when they don’t serve the individual’s personal good.” 

I remembered, like a dream, a scene from the River Wuitho almost seven years ago now. Luke offering to train me. Saying that Jedi gave up attachment. Saying it was a hard life. Saying I must be very certain if I chose to undertake it. 

Comprehension finally came. 

And I remembered, too, the way Luke’s voice had broken as he said we couldn’t go back. But he had kept driving, driving so that the hope of the galaxy didn’t die today. Leaving his sister behind so that he could continue to fight for her cause. 

And I realized that he was a hero, and a true Jedi. I hadn’t understood what being a Jedi really meant. It was true. In my mind, I’d glorified it to something where you got to spin around using laser swords and ending evil while powered by a Force that made you almost superhuman. I’d refused to understand why Luke had given up Biggs, made fun of it even. Because I’d never really gotten it . 

Now, I did. A difficult life, indeed. 

And I knew that I could never make the cut for it. 

OOO

I went right to my uncle’s quarters. Better to apologize now, like ripping off the bacta patch. Face up to my activities with Alba and the prince. Probably he knew all of it anyway. Echoes of “Padmé… what have you done?” swam through my thoughts. 

I was determined, now, not to think of Mother. I couldn’t, or I’d lose it again. I dug my nails into my forearm and entered my uncle’s quarters—

Only to hear him scream out, “Leia!” And then I was running, running to find him, to help him—

I found him jarred from meditation, a wild look in his eyes. When he first saw me, he cried out, making to draw an unattached lightsaber at me—

Then he saw me and went slack. 

“Uncle Luke…?” 

He panted, gripping the edge of his dresser, repeatedly shaking his head. “It’s a trap .” 

I swallowed. “— what is?”

“Endor,” gasped Luke. “They’re waiting for us. They’re all waiting for us. This whole thing… it’s been a trap.” 

Chapter Text

Luke and I headed at full speed toward command. They needed to know about the trap. Although what, precisely, could be done given this situation… I doubted either of us knew. I certainly didn’t. 

If we didn’t destroy the station now, we never could. The Empire would reign supreme forever after all, the rebellion snuffed out, all our work burned away. No wonder Emperor Palpatine had been so overconfident this week. 

It was a trap to catch us all. 

But if we did go ahead and attempt destroying the station… then… 

And then, a voice called after us, “Luke!” 

I froze. 

Luke froze. 

I felt that surge of uncontrollable anger again from when I’d beat Alba. I clenched my fists, tightening my hold on my control. Luke looked placid as ever, though I now understood it—at least in this moment—to be the most farced of masks. 

And there was my other parent, jogging up to us, smiling . I couldn’t have spoken if I’d tried. 

Luke said evenly and without inflection, “Han. You’re back.”

“Yeah… Sure you know by now I took off after you left. Well, I had kinda a close escape… It made me do some thinkin’. Anyway…” He drew a deep breath. “I wanna help, Luke. Cess. I think it’s only right. You can tell Leia that—”

“None of us can tell her anything.” I sounded… oddly calm. Almost serene. I felt serene. This whole experience felt out-of-body. 

Dad blinked. “What d’you mean? Actually—what are you doin’ here, Cessy? I thought it was Empire Eve and all that…” 

“Oh, it is. But the Empire didn’t feel very gracious about hosting us anymore. You see… thanks to your little flight from here… our cover got blown.” Then I lowered the boom on him. “ And they have Mother . So, thank you for deciding, finally, to join us, Dad. Only took six years. But… it is far too late.” 

OOO

I got into an abandoned room. I shut the door. I tried to breathe in deeply, but failed for the pain. My pulmonodes hurt as much as they had in the beginning, now. The doctors had called it “phantom pain”, then.  

It didn’t feel so phantom, then or now. 

“Tsk tsk tsk. That was cruel.” I looked up to see Kyla striding toward me, shaking her head with an amused twist to her crimson mouth. “Telling Dad like that. Why… Padmé. I’d almost think you’re me .” 

“Leave me alone.”

“No,” she said simply, and leaned against the wall. “So—command is out there debating what to do about the trap and whether to shut down and give up… and you’re here… cowering. Have you no shame?” 

I clenched harder on my arm. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. I’m just having a breakdown given everything… This isn’t real … 

“And here I thought we really connected last night with planning to get rid of the prince and your problem. Though, of course, you then ignored my advice and had your own plan ready… 

“That hurts me, Padmé. It hurts me deeply, you know? I’m just trying to help. We know what we have to do. Just stop resisting it. I mean… you want to have a chance to rescue your mother, don’t you?”

“There’s no chance. She’s gone.” 

“How very convenient,” she mused. “But that’s just not true. They have her with them on the Death Star, don’t they?” 

“... what?”

“Embrace me, Padmé. Embrace your true self. Cast off these shackles and fly free. You know it’s what you want. And finally… you’ll be what you were always meant to be. A hero .”

Someone no one could stop. 

OOO

I barged into Luke’s room uninvited for the second time today. In it I found my father, Luke, Biggs, Andor, General Erso, and Holdo. Oh. Some kind of clandestine meeting of those who opposed the Council’s call on the matter, it seemed. 

No matter. I wanted to be a part of it, in spite of my father’s stricken face. This I pretended not to notice. 

There’d be time. Or there wouldn’t. We would see. It didn’t matter any longer. 

“So,” I said, using my most regal manner, “I assume that the Council decided to give up?”

“The majority did,” returned Andor. 

“And I assume we’re ignoring it and going rogue?” 

Silence. 

“Great. Because I have an idea.” 

OOO

In the shadows of the shuttle bay, as other members of the rogue team assembled, my father and I engaged in a furious argument. 

“This isn’t gonna work,” he uttered. “Slippin’ away like that…” 

“We’ll figure it out. We’ll use the Force.”

“That’s not how the Force works, Cess!” 

“Dad, I’ve had six years of combat training, including with quarterstaffs.” It had been one of my feeble attempts to learn to defend myself against It, in part. “How hard can it be?” 

“ Padmé .” He never used my real name, which meant this situation proved extremely serious. Like I didn’t know that. “It’s a death mission.” 

“I know.” I met his gaze evenly. “So let’s go, then.” 

And he didn’t argue after that.

Chapter Text

We didn’t talk as the Imperial shuttle lifted off from the mossy moon’s landing pad. Sure, we couldn’t risk discovery, hiding as we were behind a few crates in the back. But this stultifying silence between us ran deeper. For what did either of us have to say to the other? 

We would make it onto the Death Star II, or we wouldn’t. 

We would rescue Mother and Tai-Lin, or we wouldn’t. 

We would live, or we wouldn’t. 

The rebellion would die today, or it wouldn’t. 

At least I knew with certainty that our relationship would never repair. Too many things had remained unsaid. Too many regrets stole the oxygen from the space. Too many words had been hurled by me when it was far too wounding. What remained to say, except, once we got into the hangar bay and prepared to sneak off the ship… “May the Force be with you”? 

Nothing. 

Which was why I’d partly lied to my father about one particular detail of this plan. Or two. Because he may or may not believe that I had a bit of Jedi training. Well. It didn’t matter.

We would succeed, or we wouldn’t.

OOO

The security for the Throne Room proved extremely poor. Either the Emperor needed to up his game big time, or he wanted people to come. Probably the latter, if he was anything like his cat-and-mouse playing grandson. 

But I knew Mother was here, and Tai-Lin, and so I also knew it was where I must go—regardless of the possible consequences. Don’t ask me how I knew. I just did. Finally, I was beginning to let the Force in in its fullness—as much as I understood how, anyway—and the tug of my gut vowed that my mother stood prisoner in this room. This room turned out to be a large, dark space that somehow no one noticed me sneaking up the back stairs to. 

Or they did, and I was trapped.

But I didn’t think so. The collection of beings standing around seemed pretty focused on the scene unfolding between them. Focused on the battle now blossoming outside. 

The fleet Holdo had without authorization put together had come, and it seemed a bloodbath. Fireballs bloomed before the vast view screen. Green and red laser shots sparkled in the night of space like so many deadly fireworks. The scream of TIE fighters penetrated even the thick duraplast viewscreen. And the Emperor’s chilling voice came in time with the continuous click and hiss of Its respirator. 

My hands began to shake. 

“And now, as we extinguish the rebellion… so we extinguish its guiding light. Lord Vader—kill her.” 

I saw my mother pulled from the shadows of the room, and made to kneel before the Emperor. My insides clenched like a fist at how battered she looked, stealing all breath from me. I didn’t want to know how she’d gotten that way, though I already did… And suddenly I realized Tai-Lin no longer stood with her… 

Now was my moment! For It had said, “Yes, my master,” and begun to move toward Mother, whose eyes remained defiant even now—

“Wait!” It… wasn’t me. It was the prince. He now turned around from where he’d been standing at the right hand of the throne, his face half in shadow and half in light. “You said you weren’t going to kill her yet.” 

“That was yesterday, after we disposed of Garr so… unpleasantly.” 

I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to know. I wanted to clamp my hands over my ears and never know—

But I couldn’t do that. Leia said, “You bastard.” 

And when the Emperor’s gnarled hand struck her in a slap, she refused to make a sound of pain. “Do it!” he ordered Vader. But the prince was still insistent that she shouldn’t die, not until he had me—had me—?

“Quiet, boy!” And suddenly a frozen look appeared on the prince’s face. But then his gaze swiped to the exact spot in the shadows in which I stood, ready, poised—

I hurled the detonator with all the force I had. It turned out to be a lot, for all I felt heady with terror and shock. I clamped my hands over my ears, squeezing my eyes shut—

The wave hit me harder than anything physical. Harder than a punch by a Rancor. The sight left me. The sound left me. Feeling briefly abandoned me. 

But I couldn’t lie here. I must get up! With what felt superhuman effort, I managed to scramble to my feet, reminding myself my enemies were just as currently incapacitated as I, very likely more so. But it wouldn’t last—for any of us. 

Fumblingly, I made my way over to where my mother lay, prone, bleeding from her ears. I sincerely hoped no damage would be permanent. Besides the mental scars, anyway… Then it was numbness, numbness in picking her up into my arms, stepping over It, thinking—if I just had one more moment—

But then ocean eyes, somewhat blurry, flashed to mine. A world of anger and something else shone in them. I couldn’t determine it, but felt it echo within my own self… 

I stumble-ran from the room with my mother clutched to my chest like a stuffed prize. Slowly senses began to return. I heard noise behind me. Commotion. A chase—

Then, suddenly, a flash of green the color of life. Luke ordered crisply, “Give her to me.” 

“What?”

“Give her to me!”

“No,” I said instinctively, confused, bewildered, holding her closer to my chest. Why wasn’t he on Endor? He was supposed to have the shield down with the team. Why wasn’t it down…? Because I saw more ships dying outside even now… What was going on?

Luke yanked Leia from my arms, then pelted off at all speed. He was saying something to me—oh, right. Run. Run!

And I wasn’t sure where Dad was, but my uncle was right. Run! I must run. I ran blindly, the corridors which had once seemed so clear before now a twisted maze of glossy dark tunnels and endless danger… I’d never get out of here. I’d never, never… And I didn’t feel the Force any longer, for I was too afraid. Hadn’t Luke said something to that effect once? That fear blocked it out? 

And then… “Dove…” His voice, in its sibilant whisper, seemed to come from everywhere all at once. I couldn’t tell from what direction he might actually be heading. “Where are you?”

I hid myself behind one of the masses of supplies. Here, where I’d run, construction was still very much ongoing. Tarp lay across half the walls, and divided part of the space. The space into which, suddenly, the prince strode.

His purple cowl was up. He seemed to float, rather than walk, as though he was the shadow made manifest: an ethereal ghost come to haunt me. And in his right hand he held a wicked, double-bladed laser sword, which crackled and spat like flames. Its didn’t look like that, or Luke’s. Look so… untamed.  
Feral.

It seemed the perfect encapsulation of the boy holding it.

He didn’t need to lower the hood to show his smile. I saw it. I felt it, like I felt death in the air with us. Death… and destiny.

“I know you’re in here,” he said simply, voice no longer echoing. “That was very brave and inventive of you—but also very reckless. Though that does seem to encapsulate you…”

I stayed silent. If I spoke, then surely he could pinpoint my location. I tried to breathe soundlessly.
“Of course, you must have overheard enough to get the picture,” he continued ruthlessly, ducking behind one of the stacks of supplies, then weaving back out again. His chocolatey chuckle, so very soft and silken, made me feel faint with fear. There was something far more threatening about someone who seemed to be playing a game rather than acting the champion in a deadly tournament. If he’d said the usual villainous stuff, I thought I might have felt… well… safer, in a way.

But no.

“Garr died yesterday. Unfortunately, neither he nor your mother were feeling very cooperative. Since we learned that she was the superior in the duo, we decided to… let’s call it motivate her a bit with his demise. I didn’t think it would work. But you know how it is to be subject to our regent’s desires. Would you like to hear how he died? It was… terribly painful, to tell the truth. He was a brave man. I admired him, in the end, for all his convoluted ideals.”

He was coming closer now. It wouldn’t be long before he got me simply by process of elimination. I tried, desperately, to recall anything Luke had said about the Force, or Jedi training, or how to use this lightsaber I’d stolen from him… And came up empty. I was so afraid, I couldn’t think of anything except the fact that I suddenly realized I didn’t want to die like Tai-Lin had, or like the people in the battle out there were. There were things left I wanted to do, like make up with Mother, try to repair my relationship with Dad, see Ellis and Adalyse quarrel and then make up, hold more baby snow owls, rule my planet the way I thought it should be ruled, rather than sticking to tradition and bowing to the Empire, see the dawn of freedom in the galaxy, show people that pulmonodes didn’t mean a half-life—they just meant a different kind of full life…

I didn’t want to die. It was a revelation. A shock. But one I inherently realized was quite true. For so long I’d been so reckless, willing to lay down my life and risk it at the drop of a hat, all for the Alliance and for the name of revenge against the Empire. But… no longer was I so willing.

And it was far too late to come to this conclusion, because now I would die, because I had been reckless. Yet I couldn’t regret it. Mother might live because of it. And she was worth ten of me.

And in that moment, I realized it was time to stop running. Stop running from everything. Stop pretending that I was fine when I wasn’t. Stop saying that my mind was entirely okay when the XTO had damaged it forever. Stop trying to be fitter, and stronger, and faster than everyone else to prove that just because I had pulmonodes which strained my body didn’t mean I was weak at all.

And above all, I needed to stop running from that which scared me. I must face it. The dark’s very power came from making me afraid of it. Without that power over me… I might well possess power over it.

I strode out from my hiding place, and with hands no longer numb ignited the laser sword. Dazzling sky-blue plasma bloomed from my hand, throwing the room into bluish light that blended with the red. The prince whipped around.

“Alright,” I said. “Let’s go, then, Ray.”

Chapter Text

I was losing this duel. I knew I was losing. And he knew I was losing.

So he decided to add some spice by explaining everything, for some reason. “When I first met you, I felt something strange.”

“I don’t mean to make it awkward, but… aren’t you eighteen? Has to have happened before.” (Since I was going out, I figured I might as well go out with pith.)

But this just made him smile—and then parry far more intensely my attempted strikes. That made me focus entirely on not getting scorched to death. Sure, I’d fought with quarterstaffs, and it somewhat lent itself to laser-sword fighting… but not too much. The sword was heavier than I had imagined, and he struck and moved at lightspeed with dark-born strength which I knew not.

He continued, “I watched you during the dinner, because I was trying to figure out what was going on. And you impressed me, then. I learned how you went to the Carrion Spike with your class, and you spoke so eloquently, reserving your words with care. I thought, This is an interesting princess. Of course, I’d heard about you before, but rumors get things so mixed up and all.”

“True. I heard a rumor you’re an annoying little ass… Oh. Wait…”

He laughed, and then proceeded to ignore me. “But then, I saw your necklace in the garden. And that’s when things started to make sense. Do you know what that necklace does?”

I thought about denial, but then the word slipped out anyway in my intense focus on the fight. “No.”

“I didn’t think so. It shields Force-sensitivity, so far as I can tell. The kyber crystal in there helps to harness and conceal Force strength. And that was when things started to make sense. I knew what I’d felt when I met you. What everyone else had missed. And I also knew only one person could have given that to you: Whitesun.

“I thought about turning you in straight away, but I admired your courage. You’re so clearly damaged by everything that’s happened to you, but you don’t stop. You refuse to stop, to let him have the final victory over you. You have the heart of a warrior, and have emerged from the most difficult of tests still with the will to fight. That’s a very rare thing. I knew you could be valuable.”

He spoke of me like I was an object of rare and remarkable value scavenged from the sands of Tatooine, rather than a person. He went on quickly like he might be stopped lest he get the words all out now, that same febrile light in his eyes as before, even as I lagged, knowing the end was near. Or maybe not.

Maybe such mercy wasn’t headed my way.

“And then you beat Alba. Oh, Padmé… that was wonderful. I’d never seen anyone lose control so completely like that. I wanted to kiss you, then, because then I was sure. The dark was so powerful in you then. So glorious. But then… you drew back.” For the first time, he betrayed a hint of a frown. “I wish you hadn’t. It would have made everything so much easier. But I couldn’t give you up. Not now. I had to keep you… But by then, it wouldn’t have been wise to tell Grandfather. I’d kept you from him. The only way to make things right was to bring you around, and then show you to him… Don’t you see? So I couldn’t tell him, or give you to him. Not yet. It had to be me… You were mine, now, after what we’d shared.

“But then, your cover got blown by your foolish father. And you ran with Whitesun. That left your mother and Garr. I knew I could get you back, because I knew you’d come for her. I had to tell Grandfather then, what I’d learned… I didn’t quite tell the whole of it… But he was displeased. I could tell. Still, his displeasure focused on them, mostly… But I thought he would listen to me, until today… He was about to disregard me in there! He says you can’t be worth much to us, because of your mind. I told him he was wrong… that you’ll be wonderful… But he just doesn’t understand… But you do, don’t you, Dove? I’m sure you understand.”

In this moment, it occurred to me that I might not be the only one in this duo to be not-entirely sane. This boy, too, housed some instability of his own. It was in his words. In his voice. In his eyes.

Yet… I realized that, perhaps because of that… I did understand. I understood extremely clearly—excepting the whole possession thing. And I felt… I felt…

I lost my focus, and my footing. I stumbled on one of the crates, and then fell back, barely bracing myself against the wall. The fiery red blades snapped together, coming to both poise at my throat.

Death.

“You do understand, don’t you?” he asked almost anxiously, eyes hunting mine, like my response really mattered.

“Yes. I understand.”

“Good, good.” He breathed out, sharply.  

I tensed—I cringed—preparing for the inevitable—

And instead through my veiled vision saw him extinguish his lightsaber and offer his right hand to me. “You have a lot of potential, Padmé. But it’s nothing without some proper training. Let me help you. I’m sure it will help you mentally, too. Part of your instability… it stems from the Force made confused in you. I’m certain of it.”

I examined the pale, slim hand, dull in the low light. It seemed so small. So fragile. So unthreatening.

The station rocked underfoot. “What—?” On instinct he turned to look out the viewport, even as I did, at the suddenly changed scene: the shield was down, and the rebel ships, aware of their sudden change in fortune, were now speeding toward the Death Star. Toward us. To destroy us. To destroy the station.

My pulmonode heart began to beat once again with the I want to live I want to live I want to live rhythm of the duel. Though I realized this was also good. We might actually win this thing…

I stood up, taking hold of Luke’s stolen lightsaber as I did so. The prince looked back to me. “We should go.”

“If you’re so confident about this station’s safety, why flee?”

“Because the shield wasn’t supposed to…”

“Oh, don’t worry. We knew it was a trap.”

“I realized that. Clearly your intelligence is good.”

“So I’ve been told.”

He said, “Come with me, Padmé.”

And if I refuse? But I knew the answer to that one. Death seemed to be closing in on all sides, except for one—one I refused to contemplate—

“What about your grandfather?”

“He’ll understand.” He didn’t seem to wholly believe that himself.

But that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, suddenly. Because all of a sudden, I felt in the Force a life… a life full of hope and courage and strength. A life flying in one of those ships out there. Adalyse.

And then I felt the flare of life extinguish as surely as water dousing a flame. Out. Goodbye.

I cried out, unbelieving, shocked numb, but unable to deny the flesh truth of the durasteel reality… And I suddenly realized that in this boy before me stood the source of all evils in the whole of the galaxy. He had killed her. He had tortured my mother. He had killed Garr. He had taken my life and my family’s lives and that unborn little baby’s life—

That same haze of rage overtook me from when I’d hurt Alba. I didn’t try to suppress it, for it lent me power. Power enough to take on the shadow, grasp its thin neck between my hands, squeeze and twist… And the boy fought back, but had clearly been unprepared for such an onslaught of violent potency. Yet that didn’t mean he was without the greater skill. I cried out again as one of the two fiery blades he wielded sliced down across my face and into my chest, so nearly hitting those vital components which sustained my life—

Fueling my rage, making me fear—

Fueling the power—

Soon I maneuvered him into a trip even as I had been maneuvered before, and my blade was slicing cleanly through his hand. I had to hold my chest with one hand, the better to keep safe the components… The station rocked again. His hand seared off, falling to the floor… His eyes were wide as they took me in—wide and defenseless, gaining me a glimpse of a wounded and frightened little boy huddling there—

Then a voice said, “Good! Good!” and the Emperor stumped in on his cane, cackling gleefully… His sulfuric eyes took in the scene. “I see what my grandson meant, milady. You are powerful indeed. Now, kill him.”

The prince gasped. Breathlessly, he uttered, “Grandfather…?”

The cold Emperor looked no longer on him—only on me. “Kill him now.”

The station rocked again. And I saw as if in a dream myself standing at the helm of Imperial power, no one mocking me, no one calling me a glorified droid, no one calling me mad. I held control. Strength. Valor. Supremacy.

The moment passed. For suddenly I was thinking of Adalyse again, and the terrible pain had returned. It was like I felt her presence here, in this room, with me right now. And if the thought of my uncle or mother or father couldn’t pull me back… the knowing that this would never be what she had wanted for me did. She’d just sacrificed her life for all of this. I couldn’t disrespect that.

I stood at the edge of the room, and at the edge of this room lay a long drop into a hangar below. Was I wrong or could I see a ship just there? The Force will provide… I mused.

Without a word, I took the hand that didn’t hold Luke’s lightsaber and gave a salute to the prince at my left. Then, I jumped headlong into the depths below, trusting in the Force to catch me. Or not. It would do what was right.

Chapter Text

Somewhere in that space between dream and reality, Kyla came to me once more. Disappointment was written across her stonily-set face. “Padmé, Padmé… Why do you insist on doing this? Why do you deny me?”

Propped up as I was in my hospital bed, hazy from the drugs given me to ease the pain of the surgery, I nevertheless met her gaze with evenness and frigidity to rival her own. “Because I refuse to give into you. Yes… you’re a part of me, but you aren’t all of me. And you’re hardly the best part of me. I have nothing for you. Now go away.” 

My dark doppelgänger broke out in a hideous sneer. Finally the polite venire had been stripped away, leaving the true woman beneath. Dark. Hateful. And willing to kill. 

But she could do nothing without my permission. 

“Well. I see how it is. Fine, then. You’ll regret this, someday, Padmé. I promise you. You’ll regret it so much.”

Well. At least she sounded like a regular villain, now. I smiled, and though it hurt to talk with my still recovering chest, replied lightly, “I doubt it. Goodbye.” 

With that, she left me. 

The haze of drugs precluded cogency such as that most of the time. The damage from the lightsaber’s cut had apparently been extensive to my pulmonodes. I was “lucky to be alive”. 

Oh, not that again. 

But... it was true enough. I was lucky, and I was glad, even if life didn’t currently make much sense at all. Between breaths of incoherence, I gained inhalations of comprehension. Alderaan. Home. I might never return. The throne. It was no longer ours, but the Frosts’. We weren’t even royalty any longer. And Adalyse was dead. 

But the Death Star II had fallen. Somehow Luke had gotten Mother away. She was alive. Father was alive. They visited me sometimes, and I believe that I cried a lot and apologized. Though I can’t quite recall. 

At some indeterminable hour, I reached full consciousness again. The doctor in charge of me, a cheerful and idiotic man who I nonetheless appreciated for his efforts, could be heard saying happily that it was “remarkable, my recovery”! I fell asleep again, after that. 

When I woke, I found Luke sitting by my bed. Even in my haze, I’d noticed a new haunted air about him. Something had happened for him on the second Death Star, just like something had happened for me. But I was shocked to find just how drawn and tortured he looked. 

He attempted a serene Jedi mask when he noticed my open eyes. “Padmé.”

“Uncle,” I returned. Though it still hurt a little, I sat up. I tried to think of something cogent and maybe soothing to say, but all I could think to say was, “I’m sorry.” 

“You’ve already mentioned that to all of us.” 

“Yes, but now I can explain.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I shouldn’t have left the team on Endor—”

“No. But it’s behind us.”

“Can’t you just let me say what I need to say before you get all forgiving?” I snapped. 

“Oh, sorry. I’ll wait.” The slightest hint of sass lay in the response. 

My lips had to twitch. A hint of hope sprang up in me. “I shouldn’t have left... nor should I have recruited Dad to my cause to leave... but I had to go help Mother and Tai-Lin. Well—Mother, anyway.” I still didn’t want to contemplate Tai-Lin’s gruesome death. From Luke’s suddenly stricken frown, neither did he. So I went on, “But I can’t regret doing it. Because I finally got it.”

“Got what?”

“What you meant all those years back about it not being an easy life, becoming a Jedi. I should never have blamed you for not going back for Mother. You made the right call, not the easy one. You made the call that saves more lives. And I thought... I could never do that. That you just didn’t get it. That you weren’t a hero at all. But when I was on the Death Star... and I felt Adalyse go... I realized I was the one who didn’t get it. If I’d stayed where I was, she wouldn’t be dead.”

“...honey, you don’t know that—”

“I think I do. The battle went on longer. She died toward the end. We can all do the math. If you’d been back on Endor to help the Ewoks and rebels bring down the troops faster than the team down there did—instead of up on the station saving my ass—then it would have been over faster.”

Luke wasn’t cruel. But he didn’t contradict me. We both knew its truth. 

“And that’s how I realized what you meant. By saving one I loved, I condemned another. The Jedi are... called to something higher than last-ditch rescue missions or traditionally heroic actions. You serve the Force, and in doing so trust that all works out for highest good.” 

“It is the general idea,” he said quietly. “But every day I find it harder and harder to live up to the ideal. Codes are one thing. Execution of them... is something vastly different. We just can’t ever give up hope that it is achievable, in all of our sentient imperfection. We let the Force transcend our own flawed beings, the better to do its perfect will.”

It sounded extremely idealistic to me still. But I could no longer dismiss it, either. I’d seen the raw reality of the Force, of the dark, and of the Sith. There was much I hadn’t known—like the fact that there were at least two Sith, and probably three in the Emperor. Like how the Jedi pretty much gave up all in order that others might have more. Like how... I wanted in my heart of hearts to be even fractionally like my uncle. 

Like how I now knew I would honor my lost best friend. 

It was the purest kind of heroism, and all the more because some people never understood it. It wasn’t the heroic legend. It was so much more than that. So much more difficult than that. So much more rewarding than that.

And so I asked him, “Will you teach me?” 

Luke betrayed no surprise at this query, only pride. He smiled, no longer looking so haunted, and it was his old smile now—the lightful farmboy grin that made my aching chest momentarily full once more. “This was lesson one.” 

I inclined my head. “Thank you, my master.”

END OF BOOK TWO