Notes: I was heavily inspired by the amazing SerenLyall and her fic Home. It's flawless, like all of her work, and you should go read it.
Also, I got the idea for this after reading the junior novelization of ANH by Alexandra Bracken, The Princess, The Scoundrel, and the Farm Boy, in which Leia is compared with a star.
"Maybe she had misunderstood what he meant after all. Her father hadn't been a man who prided himself on his riches or owning beautiful things. He didn't value gems or credits, and he didn't often fall back on poetic flattery. Above all, he admired strength. And how else were stars formed but through a collision of pressure and heat, an explosion of energy? The formation of a star shaped the space around it. It could be seen from millions of kilometers away."
- The Princess, The Scoundrel, and the Farm Boy by Alexandra Bracken
Blazing Star
It was all her fault.
Leia still saw the explosion in her mind's eye, and she could still hear the screams. At first, she had thought that maybe it was all an illusion, some twisted method of getting her to talk. But the screams were real, as was the emptiness she felt in the place where Alderaan should be.
She had screamed once, after it was over, before the emptiness consumed her and her fury was doused in numbness and despair. But that wasn't what haunted her. In those last few moments as the laser raced towards her home, in that surreal suspension between life and death, she could feel it, she could hear it: the screams of an entire world. She could see her aunts panicking as the sky lit up with fire. Her father pulling her mother close, eyes ringed with tears, hope extinguished (she had never seen those eyes without hope before, and that, as much as anything, pierced her to the core). She could feel the sheer terror, wave upon wave of it, radiating from millions of her people as the world around them melted, as the vibrant colors of Alderaan collapsed into burning flame.
She told herself that at least it was only for a moment. It was quick. Horribly efficient. Like everything the Empire did.
And yet, to her, it was unending. The moment replayed itself, over and over again, as she lay unable to move, unable even to weep, on the cold, grated metal floor of her cell. The fireball kept racing outward in her mind, repeatedly enveloping her in its horror. She didn't know if it would ever stop, and she didn't know if she wanted it to. She deserved it. She was to blame.
She had been the one who had so obstinately insisted on going on this mission, despite her parents' reservations. She had been the one in command when their ship was boarded and her crew was slaughtered. She should have done something, anything, differently. She should have known the Empire would catch on, would catch them.
She had been the one who had allowed herself to be captured. She should have killed herself instead — she had hoped she could escape and complete the mission, but she should have known that was impossible.
And she had been the one who stood by and watched as her planet was shattered to pieces, because of her. They chose the target because of her. It all came down to her.
Her mother had drilled it into her so many times: A princess should always be prepared to sacrifice herself — her wants, her dreams, her needs, and even her life — for the sake of her people. Instead, it was her people who had made the sacrifice, and she was still here.
At least she wouldn't be here long. She had already gotten her death tag: her prisoner number etched into her hip, along with a tracking device, in case she made any more escape attempts. As if she could even muster the strength or the desire to escape anymore. She just wanted it all to end. She only had to wait a little while, and then she would join her people — if they would have her. She wasn't so sure that, if there was an afterlife as Alderaanian religious thought dictated, she would be welcome. She had failed them.
Father. Mother. I'm so sorry. Hot tears finally released themselves from their fetters, trickling down onto the cold floor, and she wept until she could no more. The fire still burning in her mind, the screams still echoing, she let her exhaustion take over and carry her away into a dream.
She was at her favorite vacation palace on Alderaan, in the tropics by the sea. The sand felt warm and comforting beneath her toes. The gentle waves were like music, a melody she knew in her bones; the water a vivid cerulean blue. She ran into the waves, laughing, twirling, feeling the cool touch of the water, delighting in its playfulness and familiarity. The ocean was vast and powerful, but here it promised rest, joy, and a loving embrace. Home.
Suddenly, the light changed, growing dimmer, and the clear blue sky was replaced with purples and reds. There was a great crack and roar, and the ocean rushed around her, away from her, retreating into the distance, leaving her standing there dripping on the sand, alone. She turned around in confusion, but instead of the palace, there was only sand — endless sand stretching into the distance, beneath a pair of twin setting suns. The wind whipped around her, and the blowing sand stung her eyes.
She knew this place. She had dreamed of it before, though she hadn't always been there alone. Sometimes there was a boy there with sandy hair, the boy who often visited her dreams. But now, there was no one, and no sound but the low, mournful whistling of the wind.
She knew, somehow, that in this dream, she needed to go on, to walk over the sands until she found what she was looking for. The sea, again, maybe? She wasn't sure, but she couldn't stay. Staying would only bring thirst, starvation; death in a lonely place. And yet, as she looked out over the vast waves of sand rolling into the distance, she suddenly felt too weary, too tired to go on. She couldn't do this, not alone. She sank to her knees, despair flooding over her. She wasn't strong enough. She couldn't go on.
The wind picked up around her, tugging at her hair. The air hummed as if full of electricity, and she opened her eyes. The sand was swirling in front of her, a column of shadow. It coalesced, and before her stood a woman with dark hair and kind eyes, wind ruffling the edges of her plain, ragged clothes. The woman smiled softly, giving her a knowing look. "Come," she said, reaching out a hand in invitation. "This is not the end of your path. You still have far to go." She spoke with an accent that rippled like the sand.
"I can't," Leia whispered. "I'm so tired, and I'm lost, and alone."
The last sun's glow disappeared from the horizon, and the stars twinkled above them, bright, unfamiliar, strange. The woman looked up at them, and then at back at her. "I know this place," she said. "I will help you. You're not alone." She searched Leia's eyes, her gaze piercing, and then nodded, as if seeing something confirmed. "You're so much stronger than you know. You — you're a blazing star." She stepped closer, offering her hand again. "Come," she repeated, earnestly.
Leia hesitated, but the woman's words were like a salve, and her eyes were safe, and suddenly, she wanted to go forward again, to see what lay ahead. She took the woman's hand. Warmth filled her, and comfort, and the air hummed a haunting melody, and they stepped forward, together.
The world faded to black, and then to blue and green. The sound of birdsong filled the air, and a lake before her glimmered, ripples sparkling like diamonds in the sun. There were houses clustered around the water, stately and round and pillared, dressed with ivy that gently danced in the breeze. The lake itself was a deep blue under the glistening surface, its depths unmeasured, a portal to some unknown world.
Leia knew this place in her dreams, too.
A woman was humming a lullaby behind her, and a familiar fragrance filled the air. Leia turned and saw a soft, kind face; beautiful, but sad. Her birth mother.
At the sight of her, the woman smiled and reached out, pulling her into an embrace. "My Leia," she said, kissing her forehead. "I love you so." Leia closed her eyes and breathed deeply, resting in her mother's arms, letting the waves of comfort wash over her. A fountain trickled softly nearby.
The fragrance changed, and she looked up. It was her mother Breha instead, looking down at her with sad eyes.
"Darling," she said, "don't give up now. Don't lose hope."
Leia's eyes filled with tears as she pulled away. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault — I didn't mean —" she choked on her words.
Her father stepped up to join them, his face full of love and concern. "My dear daughter," he said, "it's not your fault."
"It's no one's fault but the Empire's," added her mother, reaching a out a hand to touch her daughter's cheek. "And they've hurt you, too."
"They have done this once," Bail went on, "and they may do it again, but you, my daughter, have the power to help overthrow them, and bring justice and peace back to the galaxy. You are good, and brave, and stronger than you know. Don't give up now." He stepped forward, putting his hands on her shoulders, stooping down to look in her eyes. "My dear Leia, there is always hope."
There it was again — hope. His eyes were full of it, even after... (she couldn't complete the thought). Both their eyes were bright and yearning; there was no trace of the horror there anymore, or pain. Leia looked from her mother to her father, trying to hold onto this moment, even as it started to fade. They were all right, now. They were safe.
"We love you so much," said Breha, though her voice was the voice of her birth mother now, and the world was fading to black. "Keep fighting, my little princess. My blazing star."
She awoke to a pounding headache, and the grate of the floor digging into her face. In stark contrast to the now-familiar agony of torture, the rest of her body felt numb — probably from the drugs they'd given her so she'd have the strength to walk to the bridge. Slowly, she sat up and dragged herself over onto the bunk, where she sat leaning against the wall, arms cradling her legs, knees to her chin.
Her grief was an ocean at the back of her mind, but she no longer felt crippled by her guilt and despair. She knew what she had to do.
They could slaughter her family, obliterate her world, they could shatter her to pieces, but she wouldn't go down without a fight. Whether she lived or died, she would not despair, and if she lived — oh, if she lived, they would regret it. She would fight against the Empire with every ounce of her being. She would make sure that nothing like this would ever happen again. She would honor the memory of her people. She would burn like a star, a beacon of justice and hope, shining white-hot in the black of the Empire's night. Evil hadn't won, not yet. And as long as there were still beings in the galaxy who refused to give up hope, it never would.
She would go on, blazing her way across the desert at her feet, and she would find the sea again.