High Flying, Adored

Chapter Two

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

Hermes God Of Thieves: Oh, thank you very much. It's intended to be confusing at first. Hopefully, that'll lessen as time goes on. I know next to nothing about strings, I'm a brass player myself. The only pieces my band ever plays are for competitions. I wish we would do something that cool.

CRYSTAL: The Skywalker Organa thing gets a little light in this chapter, but I think that'll be explained in more detail next time. I think.

Madame Naberrie: Oh, I love that one. I'm kind of worried that the beginning of this is too similar, but there are some major twists and turns of plot coming. They'll just take a little while to get here.

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There will always be a valley

Always mountains one must scale

There will always be perilous waters

Which someone must sail!

- The Scarlet Pimpernel

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"Like this the Council does not," Master Yoda was stoically saying.

Mara brushed a rebel lock of hair from her eyes, sighing to herself. As terrible as it was to admit, the Council was a rather loose term. The only actual raised from birth Jedi on it were Yoda and Obi-Wan. The other two were rather poorly trained initiates, older than Mara, though inducted at about the same time. They had talent in the Force, but they were not very powerful. Mara used to be rather annoyed that she hadn't been invited onto the Council, but Obi-Wan desperately preached patience, still hoping painfully he was not reliving his disaster with Anakin.

And so she was patient. She would become a Master, take one of the Younglings as a Padawan when they were old enough, become a member on the Council, and just continue on like that for a few years – at least, that had been the plan. And then this had cropped up.

"But…" he was continuing, wrinkly hands folded on his Gimer stick, "wise for the Republic it is also. So," Mara perked up slightly, finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, an end to the long lecture Yoda had just delivered. "Go to Coruscant you shall, discuss terms with young Skywalker. Accept, to be decided, but to go…may not hurt."

She bowed, not so much thrilled with the verdict as she was thrilled to be leaving. "Thank you, Master Yoda."

"Exercise caution, you will!"

"Yes, Master."

"Yes…" He hummed a moment, giving his cane a quick tap against the floor. "Go, may you," he addressed both she and the other Council members, settling back into his chair.

She bowed again, walked out the doors to the comparatively pitiful Council room, and soon found her former master at her heels once more.

"You seem rather pleased with yourself," he sighed, seeming somewhat miffed. "Or at least annoyed. Only you can make that go hand in hand."

"On the contrary, I assure you."

"Then may one ask what you're annoyed about?"

She glanced at him, pursed her lips – but kept walking. "You could have stood up for me a bit more." She now fully sighed. "You know how Master Yoda picks on me with those lectures of his, he always has!"

"He's being cautious. The last Jedi not raised from birth in the Temple-"

"Was the Emperor, believe me, I know." She wheeled on him, giving up the argument. "But he makes me seem like such a villain." Obi-Wan said nothing, she pressed the issue. "Am I?"

"Mara…"

"That's not an answer," she rebutted, reaching a hand for the hall door.

"Of course you're not, don't ask stupid questions. But it is a delicate situation, and to exercise even greater caution than you usually do would not be unwise."

"But I-" She stopped, suddenly grinned, and now threw open the door. "Took you all long enough."

………………………………………………………………………………………

Officially, they didn't exist. In Imperial or Rebellion records, and they had planned it that way. Just in case. In case something like…this happened.

They hadn't expected Imperial troops to breech the stronghold so far, they'd have to pack up and move again.

Almost as if she knew what he was thinking, she said, "Bail's talking of emancipating Alderaan."

He looked up at her, surprised, but said nothing. Senator Organa had been talking about a lot of radical ideas since…the death of his wife….

"I…I might try talking to the Queen. I'd like to see the same done for Naboo."

He snorted. "It's not a bad idea, of course," he amended. "But it's Palpatine's home planet."

"I somehow doubt," Padmè replied wryly, "he'd seriously mind the slight. But a disjointed Rebellion doesn't stand a chance. Taking a stand, arming and allying a few planets, even if it's only two at first, does."

"It's dangerous," he reminded her.

"I know that…" she whispered, looking down at the small boy – who technically did not exist – in her arms. "But more planets will follow. And that's why…" She paused painfully. "You're taking Luke to Tatooine."

He sighed, feeling old. "It's not a bad idea," he repeated for a different reason. "But I know how hard it is on you."

"Master Yoda suggested it." Yoda, he should have known. "But you could keep him out of harms way there. Anakin would never-" She stopped; it was too painful. "You could raise him right. A war zone isn't any place for a baby."

"And the girl?"

She paused guiltily there. "Bail and I were talking…"

"You said," he reminded her, though he felt somewhat hypocritical, "a war zone is no place for a baby."

"I can't give up both of them, I'm not as strong as you or…Anakin. And I've been up for two nights trying to decide who should stay and who should go. A war zone is no place for a baby, but neither is Tatooine, I remember that much."

Tatooine was no place for anybody, he reflected to himself.

"I somehow figure from flawed logic Tatooine's even less of a place for a baby girl. You've been there, you remember, understand…"

That was true, she had a point…. "Alright," he conceded. "We'll work out the details later. But no one can ever know they're twins."

"I know that," she whispered. "But Bail suggested something…"

"We'll talk about it later," he reassured her. Now was too hectic and confusing.

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Wedge Antilles, Rogue Leader, was sprawled out indignantly in a chair outside the hallway to the Jedi Council chambers. He'd never seen the original Temple himself, but the one they'd managed to build up on Alderaan wasn't bad, he personally felt, whistling to himself. He sometimes heard Master Obi-Wan comparing them in size and majesty, but there were a whole lot less Jedi now, and they were fugitives, not honored guests in most societies.

Whenever he voiced this to Mara Jade, he got hit very quickly – the Jedi would grow, she maintained. The fact that there were any left at all after the slaughter of the Purge was a miracle to thank the Force for, and given a few generations, they would have a nice size once more.

"And the majesty?" he'd asked.

That, too, would return.

"You know, Master Yoda would kill you for sitting in one of his chairs like that."

Wedge stopped his whistling, looked up at the expectant and impatient face of the Senate's youngest member.

"Oh," he said, swinging his legs from off the arm rest and sitting upright. "Hey there, Senator Organa."

Senator Organa had her hair tied simply back and had escaped her parent's detection in her preferred more comfortable garb. "The Senator is out," she replied, still sitting very princess like in the chair across from him. "But you can talk to Leia."

"Why do you do it?" he asked skeptically, and she raised an eyebrow. "I mean the whole politics thing."

"Cause I like it. Why do you fly?"

"Because it's freaking cool!"

"So is the senator-ship."

"Nu uh," he replied, shaking his head. "I've sat in on those when they've threatened to cut our funding, that junk's tedious."

She shrugged. "Every dog knows his own. Changing the topics," she sighed, pushing a long, brown braid out of her way, "why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same," the pilot quipped, affecting hurt. "But I got caught up on Rogue gossip and thought I'd come down and see what Mara was up to."

"Did you now?"

"Yes, I-" He stopped, looked down the hall to the main courtyard of the new Jedi Temple. It branched off three ways, to the public, to the cloister, and to the supremely depleted library. But coming up from the public entrance was a brown haired man in his thirties, looking rather grizzled; a standard smuggler, by most's opinion, but Wedge flashed him a smile and gave Leia a glance, who was refusing to look at the man.

"Hey, Han, long time no see. You and Chewie finally deliver those parts I need?"

Solo, reluctant supplier to the battered Republic Confederacy, shrugged nonchalant. "You paid me to do it, didn't you? Well, Chewie's dropping them off at the garage."

"What are you doing here?" Leia said coolly, finally deigning to look at him.

"Well, excuse me, Your Worship. I'm on official Jedi business."

"Jedi?"

"That's right. Got a message for Master Obi-Wan." He dug a chip out of his breast pocket, and Leia glanced at it suspiciously. Whatever Han had done to start this particular lovers tiff must have been good, Wedge thought to himself. Boy, those two could play it…

He opened his mouth to say something else when the sound of two familiar voices arguing behind the door stopped him. "Speak of the devil…"

The door swung open to a beaming young Jedi girl. "Took you all long enough."

"Thank you," Leia replied sarcastically, "but I already talked to you about your little arranged marriage."

"Alright," Mara said, putting her hands on her hips. "Leia's exempt." She turned on the boys. "Now what's your excuse?"

"Repairs," Han shrugged, motioning behind him, apparently meaning the Falcon.

Wedge smiled feebly. "Uhm….training exercises?"

"Ha!" she cried, pointing an accusing finger at the smiling pilot. "You're on my list now, Antilles, you best watch yourself."

"I'll be careful."

"Captain Solo," Master Obi-Wan interrupted, smiling. "You decided to join us again."

"Not so much," he shrugged, taking the chip out again. "I was just told to give you this."

Mara peered at it curiously. "What is it?"

Solo shrugged. "Dunno. Some message or something, I guess. Now," he continued, smiling slyly at her. "What's this I hear about you getting married?"

She groaned. "I'll tell you later. Believe me, it's a mess."

………………………………………………………………………………………

She had refused to dress up fancy or anything for her first meeting with her "fiancée," on Coruscant. Even Obi-Wan had suggested she try and look nice, which of course just strengthened her stubborn resolve. She tied her hair back into a braid, slid into some non-descript Jedi robes, clipped her lightsaber onto her belt, and was ready to land and meet the guy.

The landing was the really exciting part. She hadn't been on Coruscant in eighteen years – until the day Obi-Wan had accidentally discovered her. So seeing it from space – glowing like a beacon – was absolutely thrilling. It sent a small shiver down her spine; the undisputed hub of the galaxy!

And you might be Empress of it, some strange, small voice whispered to her. But that was a silly, dangerous thought, and she pushed it away absentmindedly.

The amazing part was the reception. A line of guards awaited where her transport had landed, and even her Jedi Master chaperone was allowed to come with her. But the people! She wasn't sure why the massive crowds surprised her so much, but she suddenly felt introverted and small, and kind of wanted to retreat. She hadn't expected all this….

When they finally got to the palace itself (grandiose, and very elegant and old world) they were lead through a small maze of hallways, until they finally reached a set of doors.

"Erm," the guide hesitated. "M-master Obi-Wan will have to wait outside. You, however," he said, turning to Mara, unsure of how to address her, "can come in."

Casting a glance at Obi-Wan and then at the solid door, she opened it, and walked as confidently as possible inside.

And she wasn't sure what she was expecting out of him, either, but she was somehow over and under whelmed all at once.

He was just sitting in a chair behind a desk to the right, patient and waiting, and he stood up when she came in, which had to be a good sign. The Imperial Prince was blond haired, blue eyed, affably smiling; he was tall, and rather thin, and he crossed half way to her, sizing her up the same way she was sizing up him.

"Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon," she replied, and he sort of motioned to a chair.

"Won't you sit down? The discussion might take awhile, so…"

She didn't say anything, just continued to watch him carefully as she took the seat. What was she waiting for him to do, attack her? Even she didn't know.

"Right," he sighed, settling back into his own chair and pushing the contract, wedding license, treaty mix to her all at once. "You can read through that, if you like. See if there's anything unclear. I think the treaty rules are rather simple."

All the same, she wasn't going to miss the fine print, and he waited very patiently for her to read the entire document before setting it down. "The trading lanes?"

"Established."

"The attacks?"

"To cease, Force willing. Anything else?"

"Yes," she replied, leaning foreword slightly. "Why me?"

He shrugged, very unemotional and unexacting throughout. "Why not? You'd want an ambassador anyway, wouldn't you?"

"Ambassador and Empress-"

"Not strictly Empress, thank you," he replied, tapping a paragraph on the data pad. "Yes, you're called the Imperial Princess, but in the event of my death, you cannot inherit the Empire. That would go to any heirs."

"Uh," she stuttered for a moment. "You mean ours?"

He shrugged again, leaned back in his seat. "Relax, it probably won't happen."

She rubbed at her head for a moment. "This whole thing's very confusing. Adultery?"

"Knock yourself out. But any kids that aren't mine do not ascend the throne, in case you had any plans in mind."

"You're safe on that account, believe me," she replied dryly. "And you? It seems to me I'm the one who has to be keeping up appearances to keep the contract from being void. You can do whatever you like."

"A pledge of good faith," he said, placing his hand over his heart. "I'm not trying to cheat you." She looked unconvinced. "I highly doubt I'll be having any royal bastards to put on a throne, you needn't worry about that. But as to keeping up appearances…" He stood up, walked around her once, very slowly, and it made her feel uncomfortable, before sitting back down again. "I don't suppose you have anything much fancier for official occasions, do you? Of course not, Jedi never do…Alright," he scribbled a note down to himself, muttering as he did it. "Just leave your measurements with an aide, we'll have some stuff brought in. Oh, and," he added, glancing in your direction, "if you could take a bit more time with your hair…" She didn't have time to be insulted, as he seemed to honestly continue, "You have very nice hair. Anything else?"

"Wedding night?"

"No obligation, unless," he grinned slyly, "you really want. No," he returned to his smooth, serious demeanor. "You come here, you put in your three months, you go home for three months, you come back, etc. No…intimacy," he struggled for the word, "is expected of you. Well, accept in public." She raised an eyebrow at him. "I mean things like holding my hand, or something. You know, the supporting wife role."

It suddenly dawned on her. "Ah, so that's it. I'm your propaganda bulletin." He seemed not to understand. "Your ticket to the masses?"

"Ah," he said, folding his hands on the desk. "Well, that was part of it, yes. Speaking of masses and propaganda, I don't know if you particularly care, but I'm afraid the wedding's going to have to be a rather noisy affair. I don't like it myself, but the mob is rather romantic."

"Do you think of them as the mob?"

"Do you think of them as really knowing what they want?"

She paused a moment. "That wasn't an answer."

"Nor will you get one. Now, if we're finished here," he stood, and she did, too. He carefully took her hand, Mara cautiously allowing him to take it, and lead her to the door. "Oh, and, as I'm sure you're well aware, after the wedding, absolutely no Jedi on my planet except for you." He turned somewhat stern, eyes flashing. An intriguing young man, this Imperial Prince… "And I mean that."

"And the politicians?" she asked sweetly.

"Upon request and research. Good day," and he opened the door to her and showed her out. "See you in a few months."

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"And what did you think of her?"

Luke glanced up at his father from where he had been sitting in his father's study. If he didn't feel like being alone, it was a nice retreat, to run back to his father.

"Very nice, I suppose," he replied, making some absentminded gestures with his hands. "She didn't make the term, 'The gentle sex,' spring to mind, but…"

His father shook his graying head. "They never do." The Emperor walked over, placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "You'll work out fine, I'm sure."

Luke caught the hand as its owner began to walk away. "Do you think I've done the right thing?" He had that pleading look in his eyes that he always got when he needed reassurance, and Vader smiled.

"Yes, I'm sure all your plans will work out."

"I mean honestly, now, please?"

Vader clasped the hand firmly. "You needn't worry, I'm sure. You've got a good head on your shoulders. And it's a sound idea. Now, you look tired," he sighed as the young man yawned in defeat. "Why don't you go to bed, you'll feel better about your plans in the morning."

Young Skywalker conceded, wished his father a pleasant evening, and retired; this Mara Jade would prove interesting.