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.

Cover : remix from a poster of Return of the Jedi, and a detail from "Return of the Jedi 30th Anniversary final artwork" by MarkRaats found on DeviantArt. com.

This short fic is a translation of "Blessures" that I published a little while ago. I kind of massively rewrote it, though, as I was not happy with it, so it's not exactly the same as the French version. All my apologies for the possible mistakes, as I have no beta-reader...

The inspiration for this comes from "Kindertotenlieder" or "Songs for the death of children" by Gustav Mahler on poems by Friedrich Rückert. I advise listening to the version by B. Walter and Kathleen Ferrier available on YouTube, it is heartbreakingly beautiful. The texts above the chapters are translations of Rückert's poems, in case you'd wonder. ;)

No particular warnings; some mentions of past torture and of violence, but nothing graphic.

I wish you a good read, and I hope you enjoy. Comments are always welcome and much appreciated!

Now the sun will rise as brightly
As though no misfortune had occurred in the night.
The misfortune happened to me only.
The sun, it shines on everyone.

You must not enfold the night in you,
You must sink it in eternal light.
A little star went out in my home!
Greetings to the joyful light of the world.

The fire was rumbling and crackling. While twilight's shadows were lengthening on the clearing, ineluctable night spreading its mantle on the world, its flames alone continued to pour their warm light on the many faces turned in their direction. The clarity of its restless arms was reaching out beyond the boughs towards the stars, as though recognising even from that distance a brightness akin to them, and the smoke that ascended to the sky seemed to carry a message higher than the crown of the trees.

The fire was rumbling and crackling, and she stood motionless before it, mesmerised by its fascinating dance. Her red and haggard eyes were following the blaze's elusive movement, never leaving it, she was burning her retinas without even caring: in that moment, to her, nothing else existed than this inferno. She no longer felt the arm passed around her waist, nor the stable presence supporting her and keeping her anchored in this world. She no longer knew anything of pain, nor grief, nor the awful sensation of being torn from a part of oneself. There was nothing left but this gaping, raging beauty, this forgetful illusion on which her distant gaze was set. Sometimes a shape appeared, a dark silhouette emerging then vanishing just as soon, the fleeting echo of a fallen young man.

They hadn't left anything of him. Some clothes, a weapon, a prosthesis, was all that had been brought back to them. This pyre burning for him wasn't what had consumed him.

Horror in turn had become dull, stunned by the grumbling of wood slowly changing into ashes. A part of herself was relieved to see that the thick shell she'd build to protect herself from the blows of war remained strong despite this new ordeal.

Her gaze rose to meet a pair of hazel eyes full of distress and worry, a question obvious in their bright pupils. She gave him a mechanical smile that was meant to be reassuring, then she looked away, unable to sustain the emotion she read in him. The hold on her hand strengthened, and she felt a kiss be laid on the top of her head, as she did her best to control the flow of memories restlessly assaulting her.

She remembered the brief and intimate conversation she'd had with the young Jedi two days ago, and that felt more like two centuries before. It was the last time she'd seen him. Less than the words, she recalled the solemnity and the urgency that had coloured the moment, the determination she'd read on his face, her own desperate helplessness to hold him back. There had been so many things to say, so little time to say them. His revelations had overwhelmed her, she'd had a thousand questions, a thousand thoughts, but before she could share them with him, he had left, never to come back, their hands slipping apart for the last time.

Like a shooting star, he had vanished into the night, after a short, intense burst of brightness.

She closed her eyes and let out a shivering sigh. His name was burning on her lips, but she didn't dare utter it, frightened by the harrowing hope she held despite all reason to hear him answer her. Other pieces of him came back to her memory, as if to hide the reality of his absence, and for a moment she yielded to that tempting illusion, to those sweet lies murmuring to her he wasn't really gone. Since the day he'd burst into her dark Imperial cell without a thought, he'd been a constant in her life, a light in the shadows of grief that had never ceased to pursue her. How she'd cherished that fiery optimism, she whose hope had been blown apart with her homeworld, that freedom of dream that despite all losses, despite all trials, had never left him. He'd been so brimming with life that she'd never fathomed he could, at any moment, exit her existence as suddenly as he'd entered it.

Despite her anguish, she managed to marvel at the new meaning she was discovering in those memories, now that she knew the true nature of their relationship. She wished she could talk of this with him, see her brother's features light up in the grin she knew so well, as they'd recall their numerous instants of confusion... They'd been so clumsy, in their ignorance. She wanted to listen to another of the silly jokes he sometimes made, to hear his laugh rise again at the mention of all they had experienced together...

She missed that laugh, maybe more than anything else. Now that she thought about it, she realised it hadn't sounded for months, or only as the ghost of what it had been, as though muffled by a yoke too heavy for its bearer. And she finally understood, too late, the weight that had seemed to settle on his shoulders, these demons she'd seen him struggle with, powerless, since the sinister day Lando, Chewie and she had found him, battered and bloodied, desperately clinging to a vane beneath a city in the clouds.

If only she'd understood at that moment, if only she'd seen through her own worries and crossed his shields in order to carry his secret with him! Perhaps, had she been able to talk to him, she could have helped him accept the truth without resorting to the illusion he'd clung to, and which had lost him... But even as she imagined what could have been, she knew within herself that none of that would have changed anything, and that all those stories she was telling herself were but a defence mechanism, one more way to escape the truth.

Comparing the enthusiastic young pilot carrying the stars in his eyes with the tormented young Jedi she'd watched him become, she caught herself wondering if maybe the black monster who had taken Luke away from her hadn't done it far before she knew it.

The fire was rumbling and crackling, and she watched it slowly diminish, feeling part of herself die out with it.

It was but far later, when only ashes remained and the embers had slightly cooled off, that she came around, and that her consciousness returned fully. Night was well under way. The pilots, Lando, Chewbacca, and the few other Alliance members who had known Luke well enough to wish to attend his funeral were all long gone. She was the only one left, together with Han, who was still holding her.

As though waking from a dream, Leia raised her head and crossed his gaze. Han flashed her a wan smile that didn't reach his eyes, and pressed her hand. "Time to leave, don't you think?"

She nodded, too exhausted to speak. A huge rush of gratitude overwhelmed her, as she realised he was there, he'd stayed with her all this time, nearly more to support her than to himself mourn their friend, and he wouldn't leave her alone again. Without releasing his hand, she took him with her out of the clearing, turning away from the pyre.

They had only made a few steps when a group of people passed them by, as quiet as their number allowed them to be. In the night, only their shadows could be seen, a movement barely visible in the obscurity. Leia shuddered, suddenly gripped by a cold that had nothing to do with the woods' temperature.

"Leia?" inquired Han, worried.

Without answering him, Leia retraced her steps to follow the intruders, blaster in hand. An irrational impulse had taken hold of her, like a bad feeling: she had to know what they were doing here. The smuggler too had drawn his weapon, and was watching her back without a sound.

As she had feared, they were headed to the clearing where the young Jedi's remnants were laid to rest. The starlight was shining enough on them, now, for her to clearly distinguish their forms. She gasped.

They were six. Five of them, weapon in hand and clothed in the Alliance uniform, were carefully watching the last man, whose shape standing out black on black against the sky was enough to give Leia shivers. Tall and menacing, enshrouded in a wide cape, the figure, in the night, seemed unearthly, come right out of her worse nightmares. The angular mask covering his face bestowed a terrifying aura upon him, and the mechanical thunder working as his breath was resounding violently, tearing apart the silence of the woods.

Only their men's presence, and the knowledge that he was their prisoner, prevented the outraged woman from firing. What was he doing here? Hadn't he brought the young man lying there enough misery when he was alive, must he also torment him in death? Did he come to behold his victory, to trample the last Jedi's final resting place, to humiliate him once more for his triumph to seem complete? She couldn't understand how Mon Mothma had allowed this – for she alone could have delivered such an authorisation.

She never took her gaze from him, tight as a bow string, as Vader stood motionless in front of the pyre's blackened residues, contemplative, at the precise spot where herself had watched it burn for hours. His hands were held together before him, his head tilted down, in a posture that reminded her a little of Luke, although she couldn't pinpoint why.

He moved again, and Leia noticed the reflexive gesture of a young soldier who'd raised his blaster towards him, before one of his elders' hand setting on his arm reassured him that the alarm wasn't necessary. Indeed, the giant had but knelt, his movement slow and careful, and reached out towards the extinguished fire. He was only using his left hand: where the right one should have been, nothing but wires came out of his forearm, and it was uselessly falling at his side. In a gesture that betrayed his hesitation, he softly brushed the ground, and this unexpected behaviour surprised Leia. She watched him as he delicately touched the ashes, took them then let them fall from his fingers, uncaring about their temperature. How dare you, she wanted to yell without daring do so, how can you be so bold as to desecrate this place, to defile his memory so, you who persecuted, hunted and murdered him...

Suddenly, Vader lowered his head. His ashes-stained fist was clenched in a gesture of powerless rage, the intensity of which the young woman had never seen before. She watched him, bemused, as he collapsed on himself, his shoulders hunched, his back bent as though a great weight had tumbled on him all at once. Unmoving, huddled close to the floor, his mask was nearly touching the knee he hadn't put to the ground, the back of his helmet glistening in the weak light.

Han tore her from her contemplation. "Come," he whispered, before taking her behind him to the shuttle.

She followed him without a word, stealing a last glance to the motionless creature still crouched next to the remnants of the extinguished pyre.