I do not have a beta. Wanna beta me? PM me!
Trigger Warnings: Violence, torture, fire, and vomit. While it's very mild, the torture bit, I still wanted to mention in just to be safe.
Leia recalled being a little girl, no more six, awaking from a dream filled with fire; ever since she could remember, it was the same dream. A krayt dragon swam in a lake of lava while a woman, heavy with child, gazed brokenly at the monster before, eventually, she would be engulfed in flames. Leia, she would hear the woman whisper—almost like a prayer—as the flames lick her body. Leia. "Leia," now it was her mother's, her Mama's, voice as she held the sobbing child close to her chest. Long fingers combed through her hair, gently, humming some lullaby in Aldera to calm her sobbing child. It was another nightmare. Leia remembered how the room seemed to quake as all her datapads filled with children's tales, lore, histories of surrounding planets, and further academics would fall from the shelves and onto the floor. "Hush now, Lelilla," her mother would whisper into her matted hair. "You are safe. You are safe, and you are so much loved."
The sounds of a deep respirator broke her reverie.
"Lord Vader, only you could be so bold."
Leia knew she had grit, gumption, for bold face lying as she stared up—up, up, up, kriff! Why'd the tin can had to be so tall?—at the cyborg all durasteel and iron. The Holonet got it wrong; she was more than just a pretty face, but if she had to play that card to live another day then that was what she had to do. Barely nineteen, three years serving as Senator of Alderaan, and one day a Queen to an entire planet, she had to be durasteel; to be anything less would mean losing. Oh, did Leia loath losing. A head tilt, the arrogance of youth itching to smirk at the Dark Lord but she had enough wisdom to stomp on the urge, thankfully, she dedicated herself to this façade. She had the responsibility of millions, billions, of lifeforms to save.
I would trust her with my life.
"—I'm a member of the Imperial Senate on a diplomatic mission to Alderaan!"
A finger jabbed at her chest, roughly, almost as if scolding a child. His ego was bruised, his anger near boiling, and something told her it was taking Lord Vader all he had to stop himself from snapping her neck. As long as she knew the plans made it safe to General Kenobi, she would almost preferred it than spending a single moment more in his sight. "You are a member of the Rebel Alliance and a traitor: take her away!"
The next thing she knew she was sitting in a steel cell, on a steel bench, with only her mind for comfort. You are safe and you are loved. You are safe and you are loved. The door to her cell hissed open, revealing some general, two storm troopers, and Vader. Brown eyes darted to the IT-0 droid hovering beside him, then in front of him, and she allowed herself a moment of panic.
She knew what was going to happen—she made peace with it as soon as Raymus gave her the Death Star plans—but actually being presented with the very real reality that she was going to be tortured? Well, that was another animal all together, especially from a man she'd known since she was a child. Closing her eyes, she pictured how her mother's pulmonodes would glow through her clothes, and how she often likened them to the flowers that frequented her bedroom at her home. How their glow gave her comfort and the utmost love, especially when her heart needed it most.
It was her mother's—Mama—face she focused on as the needle pierced her skin, breaking it, allowing the white hot pain to spread from the tips of her hair to the tips of her toes. "Now, Your Highness, we will discuss the location of the rebel base." He had already said that; repeated it twice, even, clinching and unclenching his leather gloved fists as if resisting the urge to hit her. You are safe and you are loved. If one repeated it over and over, surely it could be true? "Increase pressure!" The white hot pain increased in intensity—almost as if she was being licked by flames like the pregnant woman in her dreams.
Tell me! A voice boomed in her head. She knew, instinctively, it was Vader's, but without the vocoder it sounded familiar. Almost like a song she used to hum once, long time ago, but while she remembered the melody the words seemed to evade her. You are near lava, Your Highness. Your foot is slowly being dipped in. Feel that.
Instinctively Leia raised her feet to her chest to curl on the steel bench. Except she wasn't on a bench—not anymore. It was the place of her childhood dreams, dreams she did her best to ignore in the waking world, but there was no krayt dragon. There was only Leia, with her foot in the fiery lake. Funny. No matter how hard she'd kick—a startled groan could be heard in the distance, followed by a stinging sensation on her cheek—the fire wouldn't be put out. It only grew.
With a kick that hard? Definitely a girl.
Behind her was a robed figure. She couldn't tell his face, couldn't make out much besides the fact he was tall with broad shoulders. She knew this person—our baby is a blessing—but every time she'd open her mouth it was to scream. Tell me where the base is!
Her heart-shaped face pinched in concentration as wall after wall began to separate herself from the cloaked figure. Every time she'd put up a wall, a hissing sound of his lightsaber would try to break it. The air was stifling, suffocating, and while no hand gripped her neck she found it hard to breathe. While fighting for her breath she noticed a rancid smell and, not even ashamed, surmised she soiled herself. The pressure only increased with every wall she imagined, like durasteel doors locking herself away forever.
Most impressive, the booming voice mocked, "Increase the pressure!"
"My lord, the IT-0 droid is nearly at maximum compa—" a soldier interrupted, but Leia only heard muffling, gasps for breath, before a loud THUNK hit the floor. While the invisible grip on her neck lessened, the fire began to dance up both legs and toward her abdomen. Something told her, and she knew not what, but something told her she wasn't going to die. While it should've been some comfort—you are safe and loved—it was more ominous than anything.
I can end this, child. Tell me where the rebel base is.
The sad thing was, Leia was about to. She'd never admit it, not when she's older and wiser and less of the krayt dragon in her dreams, but she was going to—but the woman, the woman great with child, who said her name like a prayer appeared, grabbing her face in her hands. This time, she wasn't being burned alive. This time she wore all white with her curly, chestnut hair down and framing her face. Let him see me, the woman urged Leia. You know who I am, you've always known; let me protect you. Let him see me.
"Turn it to ma—!"
Leia allowed a wall, a wall she kept firm and true all her life, lower. She winced as he greedily bombarded her secret room, as if he were a man starved being offered bread for the first time in days. Suddenly gone was the fire, the lava, the black sky and the cloaked figure. Gone were the flames and the pressure on her throat, as well. Now there were bright lights in a Spartan, sterile room and the same woman—you are safe and loved—laid on a steel table, her face tear stained and curly hair damp with sweat. What is this foolishness? But Leia paid no mind to the booming voice, nor did she notice the cloaked figure appearing beside her as the woman's clammy hand grasped hers, is it a girl? The woman asked in a hoarse voice. Ani… Ani thinks it's a girl.
No. Stop.
If it's a girl, the woman spoke, name her—
—a baby began to scream in the background, almost overpowering the woman's soft voice—
—Leia.
STOP!
Leia was back in her cell, her senatorial robe soiled with feces and sweat, laying limply on the steel bench. She wasn't on fire, but her body still felt like it. Eyes were lulling to a close as the deep sounds of a respirator were all she heard before darkness, and arms lifting her as if she were still a small girl, engulfed her in a deep slumber.
You are safe and you are loved.
The time she opened her weary eyes she found herself hooked to an IV, washed, and laying on a bed. Her hair was down, but matted, and instead of the soiled senatorial dress was a white gown. A medic droid murmured something about her vitals and another fussed with checking her pulse, then administrating more fluid into the IV. "I—I am a member of the Im—,"
"Be quiet!" Ordered the Medric droid. Oh, how she'd love to trade it for TooVee or even Threepio. Stars, how she hoped they were safe. Droids or not, they were her family. I'm counting on you, Artoo. "You are severely dehydrated. Lord Vader said if anything should happen, we will be nothing but spare parts. I, however, enjoy being fully intact, Your Highness."
Great. Heal her up only to start round two. She felt bile in her throat, but kept the sickness at bay in favor for shutting her eyes once more.
This time upon waking—an embarrassing sight, to be sure: the future reigning monarch of an entire planet on her side, her cheek laying on a wet with drool white pillow case—she was much more alert. Lively. Yet, she still lacked the full strength to sit up, so she favored for rolling over on her back when her eyes met—kriff. "You," she hissed, her voice hoarse from disuse. Instead of the ominous, dark, looming figure of her childhood, the cyborg stood several feet from her bed, once more clinching and unclenching his fists. "Round two? Forgive me if I decline."
"Who is that woman in your dreams?"
"From rebel bases to my dreams, Lord Vader? How presumptuous!"
Who is she? She heard his voice, once more, in her head. She did her best to imagine a wall to keep him from her mind once again, but her energy was spent. She's just a woman. She's been with me since I was little. Now, please, kindly get out of my head and send me straight to Alderaan!
She's more than that. Leia, this made her stiffen. It was always Your Highness, or Her Highness, or Her Royal Highness, or even Senator. Never her given name. The woman—the woman who kept saying your name—who is she?
Just like the torture was personal—a wounded male pride was a dangerous thing, even if he was more machine than man.—this, also, was deeply personal on a whole other level. Pinching her face and shutting her eyes tightly, she imagined a wall, then another, and another—
LEIA!
I don't know.
Search your feelings. You do.
No. No. You can't have her.
Who is she?
Stop. Please. Haven't you done enough?
TELL ME!
"She's my mother!" It hit her as if someone dumped ice water on her, causing her doe eyes to widen and her entire body to stiffen. She barely registered her medic bed shaking until the Medic droid informed her, scolding the princess, bullying her way to adjust the IV drip, not giving Vader or Leia a second thought.
"Leave us," Vader commanded. The droid, while plucky and dedicated, obviously knew better to wait for the cyborg to repeat himself, and rolled out of the room. Then it was just the two of them in the white, sterile, Spartan medical room, much like the one the woman in her dreams was in. You are safe and loved. "I promise you, child; no more harm shall come to you. Together, we will make the galaxy in our image." He raised his hand and clinched his fist, almost dramatically, before uttering the words that would send Leia's life out of orbit forever: "As father and daughter."
No.
Yes, child. You feel it to be true. Search your feelings.
Oh, gods.
This time, Leia allowed the bile to leave her mouth, falling on the white tile. Just as she was certain she was finished, brown eyes darted to the masked figure, and all over again a need to vomit overwhelms her.
"I… I will leave you to your thoughts, Leia." He sounded awkward, almost afraid, and all she could do was release more sick on the floor.
You are safe and you are loved.
Kriff that.