Star Wars belongs to Lucasfilm Ltd., itself property of The Walt Disney Company. I make no lucrative nor commercial use of my writings in relationship with the Star Wars license.
Inspired by this post on tumblr: star-wars-13. tumblr post/165220202123/maedre13-on-the-mask-ball-moodboard-sithluke
A silly little thing born of a long exchange with maedre13 on tumblr, after which she asked me to put our combined ideas in an ordered story. The image is hers, and I had a lot of fun writing this. I hope you enjoy!
"A contact operation?" Leia asked, frowned. "You know I haven't performed in intelligence since... since the last days of the Senate."
She involuntarily shivered, remembering how that particular mission had finished. The cold grey walls of the Death Star, Alderaan exploding. A young pilot, coming from nowhere to help her escape and destroy that monstrosity...
She forced the painful thoughts back in the depths of her mind, and reported her attention on the conversation just as Mon Mothma threw her an apologising glance.
"I know, Leia, and I know it was not your wish to continue on this path," she said. "But you have the perfect profile for this mission, with your experience in dealing with Imperial elite."
Leia sighed, knowing the Rebel leader had a point. Although there were a few people coming from the Core world serving in the Alliance, none of them had her undercover experience, or her expert way of misdirecting questions, learnt from years of being taught politics and honing her diplomatic skills. She was indeed the most logical choice.
"Very well," she said. "But don't you fear people will recognise me? A Rebel figurehead crashing an Empire Day dance, that is bound to attract attention."
"The event in question is a masquerade. Nobody will ask you to show your face. Your contact will be given a detail of your mask to find you. If all happens well, I don't expect you to stay in the place for more than half an hour."
Leia thought a bit more, then nodded.
"All right. I accept."
.
Getting briefed on the last details was a matter of minutes. Soon Leia was wandering in the corridors, walking down a way she had taken far too many times, before arriving in front of the Millenium Falcon's familiar shape. The ramp was down, and she didn't hesitate before coming in, the familiar smell of the ship's interior comforting her.
She announced herself, quickly greeted by Chewie's warm and crushing embrace, then set out to find Han. The smuggler was in the kitchen, his back to the door while he was boiling water; she stayed in the entranceway for a few seconds, watching him in silence. She didn't often have the occasion of seeing him perform such mundane, domestic tasks, and found herself enjoying the calm he exuded, in the middle of her hectic days.
"What are you doing here, Your Highnessness?" he finally asked, turning around to face her.
The nickname tore her from her musings, and she brought her guard back up, reminding herself of the task at hand.
"I have a favour to ask of you," she said, her tone cold, professional. "A mission in the Outer Rim, on Naboo. We are short on pilots for the moment, and I thought –"
"That I might do it for you," he ended before she could do it. "Right. What would I be transporting?"
"Me," she said. "Nothing else. The mission is pretty straightforward, the simple, in-and-out type. Same amount as usual."
She expected protests, attempts to bargain. Instead he just looked at her for a long while, with a steady, open gaze that made her feel completely exposed; then he shrugged.
"Okay. I'll do it."
Her eyes widened, so surprised that she couldn't hold back her next words.
"What? Just like this?"
"Yeah," he replied, looking slightly hurt. "D'you want to sit down? I made caf."
Leia wordlessly complied, a bit stunned. She was not used to him being so simple towards her, and she found herself uncertain how to react. Not that she didn't appreciate the departure from the usual taunts and teasing, the constant threat that he could leave at every moment; but she had no idea what to make of it.
He poured the hot drinks in both of their cups and sat down in front of her.
"Kid's been officially marked as presumed dead," he muttered. "I don't know if you saw."
A pang went through Leia's heart, but she didn't offer any other reaction than a nod.
"I know," she said. "I've seen."
It had been nine months since Luke Skywalker had gone missing. A supposedly easy mission turned badly, Imperials swarming from the black sky; he had been shot down, crashed on the planet. Nobody had seen him since. Leia knew he had to be dead now, if not in the crash, then from the horrors the Imperials inflicted on captured Rebels, for on an Imperial world there was but little chance he had escaped. But for some reason, she couldn't find it in herself to mourn him.
"How are you doing?" Han asked.
Leia shrugged, without daring cross his gaze, uncertain how to deal with this unexpected concern from him.
"I'm all right."
And it was true, to a certain extent. She didn't know if the full realisation hadn't come down on her yet, or if after Alderaan she had lost the capacity to grieve altogether. But she certainly missed him. In the two years since he had joined the Alliance, she had formed a strange connection to the young man, as if she had known him all her life. She wondered, sometimes, where it could have led.
To think she would never see him again left a dull ache inside her, that she didn't know what to do with.
Han's warm hand settled on hers, and she rose her eyes to meet his, her heart beating.
"Leia," he said. "You know you can talk to me, right?"
She offered him a tentative smile.
"Yes," she answered, comforted by the feeling of their touching hands.. "Thank you."
He nodded, and they simply looked at each other for a while, without saying anything. For a moment she was tempted to take him up on his offer, to tell him of the nightmares, of Alderaan exploding again and again in front of her eyes, of Luke smiling at her like he'd never left.
Suddenly overwhelmed by the need to get away, she rose from her chair, breaking the moment.
"I will retire for the night now," she said. "I have to be well rested for tomorrow. Thank you for the caf, and for accepting the mission."
She then turned away without looking back, or noticing the full cup she was leaving behind.
.
As Mon Mothma had foreseen, nobody had recognised her: she had entered the ball without any problem, her invitation card and assumed name barely looked at as she took her first steps into the hall and greeted the hosts, self-important high functionaries she had always despised, with all the grace she had learnt in her youth as the princess of Alderaan.
It had to be said she fit in perfectly with the rest of the guests as she smoothly walked on the waxed floor, the skirt of her long red dress silently sliding with her. For once, she had opted for a wide cleavage uncovering her shoulders, rather than the sensible, comfortable dresses she used to wear to the Senate; but her arms were covered with wide veil-made sleeves, in order to hide the small, needle scars from her time on the Death Star. She didn't want anybody to recognise them as such and break her cover.
Undercover in a masked ball. How unoriginal. She took a sip from her glass of Naboo sparkling wine, scanning the crowd for her contact. He was a deeply infiltrated agent, who had managed to enter the highest ranks of the Empire: hence why she had to meet him here, at this fancy and highly dangerous event, rather than a shady bar somewhere on a backwater world. She hoped she wouldn't have to wait too long for him to recognise the pattern of pearls on her silver mask, which had been arranged to look like the Horns of Waryl, a constellation visible in the Kathol Sector. She had but one desire, that of getting out of here.
In order not to seem suspicious, she had had to engage in conversation, distractedly listening to the insipid small talk and answering with some banal sentences of her own, discreetly checking the time on the men's watches. The praise of the Empire, on this special day, had been more difficult to bear, but she had endured it with a smile and a nod, too. She berated herself for her emotions: somehow, it felt like it had been easier, back in the Senate, when she hadn't yet fully known the grim grittiness of war. Her years with the Alliance had clearly made her lose her touch.
She had only been there for about fifteen minutes when silence fell on the room, only broken by a loud announcement by their host.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I have the pleasure of announcing to you that a very special guest has made us the honour of joining us tonight."
Leia's heart fastened, although she tried to keep the expression on her face bothered and uninterested. Who could it be that they would be announcing with such pomp?
Her breath caught in her throat as she stared, frozen, at the figure that had appeared at the host's side.
"Lord Darth Vader, Commander of the Imperial Navy and Right Hand of His Majesty the Emperor."
Leia swallowed, unable to tear her eyes from Vader as he dismissively waved at the host, clearly unhappy with the whole display. She couldn't break down here. She couldn't afford to remember now, the horror of these gloved hands holding her down, the pressure of this mechanical breath on her ears, the small cell, far too small, without any escape –
"My lady?" an older man with scarce white hair styled backwards spoke to her with concern in his voice, bringing her back to the present. "Are you all right?"
She offered him a shaky smile, trying to bring her emotions back into control.
"Oh, I am, thank you," she replied. "I am merely... awed to see Lord Vader join us tonight. I never had the occasion of seeing him in the flesh before... if such an expression can be used, that is."
Her interlocutor emitted a polite chuckle.
"It is indeed a great honour. Lord Vader rarely attends these functions. I do not think he had ever graced Naboo with his presence before today."
Leia glanced back at the Dark Lord, relieved when she saw him walk away and mingle among the guests, who made way for him, doubtlessly intimidated by the irritation radiating from his whole posture. Only then did she notice the silhouette walking next to him, slightly behind.
It seemed to be a young man, not much older than twenty. Like Vader, he was entirely dressed in black, with a cape draped over his shoulder that reached to his knee. But his mask only covered his eyes, leaving visible his mouth and chin, and locks of sandy blond hair fell upon his forehead. Leia frowned: he looked familiar... he looked like...
"Who is this man following him?" she asked.
"Ah," the other said, with an air of mystery. "Nobody truly knows. He has begun appearing at Lord Vader's side a couple of weeks ago perhaps, from time to time. No one knows where he comes from, or what he does. We call him Darth Vader's shadow."
Leia distractedly nodded, looking at him again. She was startled to find him looking back at her intently; a great fright took hold of her, and she tore her gaze away, wondering what got such a reaction from her.
Who was he?
Strangely shaken, she excused herself from her interlocutor, pretending she had seen an acquaintance at the bar, and walked away in that direction. People were gathering more closely there: she would be less in the open.
She ordered a drink, observing the people and ensuring she would be visible for her contact to notice her. Some of the guests were playing the game, with elaborately ornate masks each more beautiful than the next that covered their faces and made them unrecognisable, but others just wore domino masks, making it easy to see who was whom. Most were Imperial dignitaries, high ranking officers, people in favour with the Emperor at the moment. Leia tried her best not to frown, seeing them parade around in such luxury without being bothered by the countless atrocities that were being perpetrated by their fault.
A bit further, a band of string players was performing a Corellian sonata, oblivious to the party around them, concentrated on their music. All humans, naturally. With their discriminating policies, the Empire had all but forgotten the wealth of music and culture of species like the Mon Calamari –
She stopped her train of thoughts, forcing a smile. What was she doing? With such a mindset, she was increasing her chances of being caught. She had to act the perfect Imperial, in thought as well.
A group of people moved, and she found herself in sight of Darth Vader and his shadow, apparently taken in a low and heated discussion. She saw the young man bow his head in defeat, and remembered at that moment to walk away, unwilling to interact with these dangerous men. But it was too late: just as these thoughts passed through her mind, their eyes met, and he addressed her a smile that made her stomach churn in uneasiness, before heading towards her, with a practised elegance that still seemed a little clumsy.
As she saw him approach, there was no more denying her suspicions. The last time she had seen Luke had been months ago, but the resemblance still struck her, although she couldn't see his face: his posture, his build, his nose and chin, all of it was screaming of her friend. But she knew he would have died rather than joined the Empire. To see him here, at Vader's side... it was impossible. It had to be someone else, someone looking just like him.
The sound of his voice confirmed all her doubts.
"What a shame to see such a stunning lady as you alone," he said, leaning forward to make himself heard more easily in the ambient noise.
He was talking in lower tones than she remembered, his voice controlled and steady, but she would have known these inflexions anywhere. His Tatooine accent that had once been so exuberant was now polished and emotionless.
She couldn't stay with him. She had to get away. As long as she was talking to him her contact couldn't approach her. The mission came first, even though she was dying to know what had happened to him, what he was doing here.
"And what a surprise to see you, the guest of honour, come and shake me from it... should I call you sir, or my lord?" she retorted.
She glanced aside , trying to see if someone was trying to reach her. There was nobody.
The young man grimaced.
"None of that, please," he said. "I am not the guest of honour. My... Lord Vader is."
He was hiding it well, but she could see how annoyed and uncomfortable he was with her use of titles. That was one more thing that he had in common with the Luke she had known: he had always been awkward in receiving praise and fame, and nobody had been more relieved than him when the racket of his victory at Yavin had finally died down.
It had to be him. No matter how impossible it was, she had the proof of it in front of her eyes. And yet he seemed... changed, in ways she didn't completely understand. Perhaps it was his clothes, the black outfit cut like an Imperial Navy uniform, although without rank or decoration, or the cape that looked so much like Vader's, carelessly thrown over his shoulder, a chain locking it at his neck. Or it could be the gravity in his posture, the poise that was suffusing each of his movements.
Could it be that she was wrong? That it was a totally different person after all? Her mind, in any case, was screaming at her that it must be so; but he looked so much like him...
"How do I call you then?" she probed, nearly wishing he would give her a different name and end her trouble.
He only gave her a small, cryptic smile.
"You don't have to call me anything. Let us play the game: anonymity is the rule tonight."
"Naturally," she easily answered, forcing a smile despite the knot in her gut.
She had so many questions, so many things she needed to know. How had he ended up here, of all places? Was he undercover, too? Was she compromised, had her mission somehow leaked?
He rolled his glass in his fingers pensively.
"Sometimes it is good... to forget names, and the strain put upon them. Names are so heavy... But to shed them for one night, one night of freedom, away from expectations and destiny... isn't that what every person secretly wishes?"
"I don't believe in destiny," she replied.
He sighed.
"I used not to, either. But it has a way of falling upon your head when you least expect it."
She nodded, not knowing how to respond. He was an enigma, now more than ever, and she was beginning to feel really disquieted.
She had to get him to leave her, find her contact and get away. Now.
"I'm sorry, I think I'm seeing someone I haven't greeted yet –" she lied.
"Just when they begin playing my favourite song? That's not fair," he cut her off, in a tone she knew well. "I was about to ask you for a dance."
She did her best to keep her smile on, not to show any of her fear as he set his glass down and extended a gloved hand to her in invitation.
She was trapped. There were people all around, and it didn't do to refuse a dance. It would have seemed suspicious, and that was the last thing she wanted. She tried to decipher his expression, to guess what he was trying to do, but the black silk covering half his face made it near impossible. Still watching him, she slowly placed her hand in his, unable to repress a shiver when dark leather closed around her fingers.
He led her on the floor, and brought her closer to him, rising their joined hands, putting his other on her waist while she reluctantly brought her on his shoulder, and they began to move slowly, in rhythm with the music. He didn't know the steps very well, and she soon found herself taking the lead, her mind spinning faster than the two of them were. She had so many things she wanted to know, and she had no idea how to ask him without revealing herself completely. She didn't even know on which side he was...
"You remind me of a dear friend of mine," she murmured, hoping for a reaction.
She felt him stiffen.
"So do you," he whispered back. "But that was a long time ago. In a former life."
"Is that why you asked me to dance?" she asked, her curiosity piqued rather than appeased by his answers. "Because I remind you of her?"
He remained silent for a while, taking her in an about-turn before answering.
"Can't I just enjoy spending time with you? You are a wonderful dancer."
Better than you, she wanted to throw, jokingly. But she refrained herself. This wasn't the Luke she'd known; she didn't know how he would react.
"What if you could see her again?" she asked instead.
He kept his eyes in front of him, pretending not to have heard her.
"My friend went missing," she went on. "For months I hoped to see him return. I would love it if he came back."
She turned her head to look at him. He looked back, his blue gaze staring into hers, and the emotion she saw in it took her breath away. There was so much there, so many things she couldn't even begin to understand. Finally, he broke the eye contact.
"I think you mistake me for someone I am not," he said, very quietly.
The music changed, and he began taking her in faster, more elaborate twirls. She followed him effortlessly.
"Let's no longer speak of that," he offered. "Tomorrow will be early enough to worry about lost friends. Do you know Bith quickstep? It's one of the best dances this side of the galaxy."
She couldn't hold back a smile, remembering a night where drunk pilots had played their favourite songs and danced. Wedge trying to teach Luke Bith quickstep, both of them stepping on each other's feet and bickering over who had to lead and who had to follow, had been the highlight of the evening.
"I have the basics," she replied.
"Great," he said, and for a moment he grinned in a way that made her forget all about their present circumstances.
Her first thought as he began to move with her in a series of twists and spins was that he had greatly improved since that drunken night. She had to make an effort to keep up with him, and had no time to remember the moves, instinctively reacting to what he was taking her in. Once they had even tried a more elaborate figure: she had felt him lift her in the air like with magic, then one of them had made a wrong move and she'd ended up falling on the ground and taking him with her, the both of them laughing. It had been like finding him back completely, with all of his youthful innocence, and she had relished these instants.
Unfortunately, the song ended, and the moment with it.
"Thanks," he said as it finished. "I hadn't had such a great time in ages."
"Same," she replied, brushing a stray lock of moist hair away from her forehead.
He looked at her for a minute, and she noticed that contrarily to her, he didn't seem out of breath at all.
"Come, we both need a drink," he said.
She let him lead her towards the bar, slowly remembering where they were and how precarious her situation was, when reality crashed down on her again as she felt Luke flinch next to her, and caught sight of the reason for it: Darth Vader was looking at them from afar, his arms crossed, in a posture that clearly expressed disapproval. The two men stared at each other for a few seconds, then she saw Luke nod, looking contrite, in agreement to something she had no idea of but made her feel deeply uneasy.
He disappeared for a moment to order them something, and she played with the idea of discreetly getting away before he could return. But she didn't have time to put her plan into action before he was back with two glasses of water. She thanked him when he handed one to her, taking small sips as he gulped down his own all at once.
"I think I need fresh air," he said after leaving it on a table close to there. "Do you mind if we go outside for a while?"
Alarms flared in Leia's mind. As much as she enjoyed spending time with her former friend, it would be crazy to allow herself to go alone in the dark with someone who, by all appearances, was an Imperial. She couldn't leave the room.
But at the same time, the temptation was great to seize the opportunity to speak heart to heart with him, without any eyes to look upon them or enemy ears to surprise their conversation.
"I would rather not," she replied. "The night air is chilly..."
"I can lend you my cloak," he insisted.
She hesitated, wondering what he had in mind and thinking of the small blaster she had concealed under her dress, that she could always put to use in case things took a nasty turn. She wasn't exactly helpless... And if it meant talking to Luke alone, it could be worth it.
"All right."
The quiet of the night was a welcome change from the constant noise of the ballroom, and she relished it as they began walking in the well-kept garden, between the hedges. The moon was full and huge, right above the horizon, so that the darkness was softened by a pale glow.
She threw a glance at her silent companion, who forlornly kept his eyes in front of him, as if he had completely forgotten about her. He was tense and serious, turned slightly away from her.
Throwing caution to the wind, Leia placed a hand on his arm, catching his attention and forcing him to stop walking and face her.
"Han is here with the Falcon," she blurted out before she could think. "You could leave with us. Nobody would see you."
Under his mask, his eyes widened, and he moved away from her, escaping her touch.
"Why would I do that?" he retorted, a bit too harshly. "You shouldn't have told me that. Why did you?"
She took another step forward, but stopped when he stepped back in response, on the defensive.
"Because the friend I know would never have wanted to work for the Empire," she stated. "And I know he would want an escape."
"I am not that friend of yours," he retorted, looking away. "You don't know me."
"Then why come to me?" she countered. "Why ask me to dance and take me out here? I know it's you, Luke. That mask of yours isn't enough to conceal you from me."
He swallowed, his fists tightening.
"You know nothing –"
"Then show me," she cut him off. "Take that mask off. This pretend game has lasted long enough."
In order to emphasise her words, she removed her own mask, letting him feel the full weight of her gaze on him. He looked away, as if he was unable to bear the sight.
"Put it back on," he half-pleaded, half ordered. "Someone could recognise you – don't make this more difficult than it has to be."
"There's no one but you and me here," she retorted. "All this hiding is useless. Why all this trouble, why are you so afraid of letting me see your face?"
"Very well!" he snarled, ripping the fabric from his face and taking an aggressive step towards her. "Here's what you wanted to see!"
She gasped and stepped back, unable to tear her eyes off him. His features were exactly like she remembered them, but the softness of his sweet farmboy face was entirely gone. Creases of anger and suffering were making him look ten years older than he really was, and he bore a scar on his right cheek that hadn't been there before. But what really frightened her was the way he looked at her, the helpless fury in his gaze, bordering on insanity: she even thought she saw a glint of golden in his eyes.
"Oh, Luke," she breathed out, sorrow taking the place of fear as she wondered what had happened to induce such a change in him.
She reached out tentatively to touch his cheek, and his gaze softened as he evaded her hand, turning away from her. He made a move to put his mask back on, but her hand on his wrist prevented him from doing so.
"Come back," she whispered, her throat tight. "Please come back to me."
He didn't move, all his muscles tense.
"I can't."
"Why?" she retorted.
"You don't know the power of the dark side," he said quietly, looking down. "My place is here."
Leia stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing.
"Luke, you're a good man, don't do this," she begged, more urgently this time. "Remember who you are, where you are coming from!"
To her surprise, her words elicited a hoarse, bitter laugh from him.
"Believe me, I've never been so aware of that," he said, his voice full of many feelings she couldn't place.
Leia gritted her teeth, suddenly feeling extremely annoyed with his cryptic way of evading her questions.
"I don't understand anything you're saying," she snapped. "Can't you at least give me answers?"
He turned back to face her again, looking torn and indecisive as he studied her; then he planted his gaze into hers.
"Major Xel Kiyanu was uncovered as a Rebel spy and executed yesterday," he finally said. "We managed to find out about his last contact mission, and set a trap for the operative."
A cold weight fell on Leia's stomach.
"You're here to arrest me," she breathed out.
Luke nodded, still staring at her.
"A squadron of troopers will arrive here any minute now, from the back of the gardens, as not to disturb the party."
Leia couldn't help looking around, feeling nauseous as panic slowly took hold of her. She couldn't be captured. She couldn't go through it all over again. She threw a pleading look at Luke, wondering if he would be the one to inflict these torments on her. The taste of betrayal felt bitter in her mouth.
"And you will stand by and watch," she accused.
Only then did he look away from her.
"I won't stop you from leaving," he said.
He looked at her again, and she finally understood what he was doing. He was giving her an occasion to escape.
She was tempted to take him up on his offer immediately, to turn on her heels and run to the safety of the Falcon, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from him, so similar and so different from the young man she had known, a puzzle she didn't know what to make of.
"Luke…" she began once more, not yet certain of what she was going to say.
She didn't have time to continue before noises of marching coming in their direction brought her back to reality.
"Go," Luke whispered.
She didn't protest this time, leaving him behind with a last glance, her heart beating against her temples as she ran.
She entered the Falcon with the deepest relief, instructing Han and Chewie to leave as soon as they could.
"The mission was compromised," she told them. "Our agent is dead. The Empire knows we're here."
The pilots merely nodded, blasting into space, understanding all too well how critical the situation was. Only when they were into hyperspace did Han look at her in concern.
"Are you all right?" he asked. "You're trembling."
She took a deep breath and slowly let it out.
"You'll never believe what happened tonight..." she said, before telling him everything.
.
Luke bent and picked up Leia's silver mask that was still lying on the ground, his feelings carefully guarded as Darth Vader stopped, the troopers halting behind him. He rose up and approached him, looking him steadily in the eye as he addressed him.
"She managed to escape, my lord, and only left this behind," he said, handing him the mask.
Without a word, Vader took it, studying it as Luke remained standing motionless in front of him. Then he looked up, staring at his son.
"You let her go," he said, a mere observation, without any inflexion in his voice.
Luke's composure immediately faltered, and he looked down in shame, his shoulders slouching.
"I apologise," he whispered. "I had no idea they would send her. It caught me unaware."
He remained there as Vader continued to watch him, submitting himself to his scrutiny without a protest. There was a long silence, only disturbed by Vader's mechanical breathing, then the cyborg put a hand on the boy's shoulder, who looked up in expectancy.
"It is a minor setback, my son," he said, before calling Luke's black mask to his hand with the Force and holding it out to him. "Let us rejoin the party and take our leave of our hosts. We have nothing left to do here."
Luke nodded, then silently took the offered fabric and tied it around his head again.