"So," Han rolled the word around his mouth, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with it, "Vader's kids, huh?"
"Shut up." The quarters Padmé had given them in the Rebellion's base—a secluded manor—were very nice. Leia hadn't stopped pacing them, but she could at least appreciate that.
She raised a hand to rub her temple. "Just. . . shut up."
"Y'know, it does explain a lot, actually. Did that lady say your old man's name was Skywalker? That'd explain why he would've been obsessed with Luke, not you. He probably didn't know about you."
"That lady is my mother, thank you very much, and yes, she did. And yes, I figured. I'd rather not think about it."
"Well, tough luck, sweetheart," Han smirked, stretching over the ratty sofa in the quarters they'd been given with an air of smugness. "'Cause wasn't it you who demanded you be told everything as soon as possible? Of course your Ma had stuff to do, but she'll be back any minute, and then thinking about it won't be optional."
Leia glared at him. "You're not helping."
"I ain't trying to."
She scoffed and went back to pacing.
"It's just. . ." She sighed. "Vader razed Alderaan."
Han sat up at her tone, looking concerned.
"He razed Alderaan to the ground, and felt no remorse while doing it." Leia stared at the carpet—a faded red, with fleur-de-lis patterned in gold. "He's a monster." She shook her head. "How can I be his— his daughter?"
A pause. Then Han said, with a wry smile, "Well, I mean, I'd have thought your aunt and uncle would have told you how, but you can ask your Ma if you really—"
"Shut up." But Leia laughed a little. She had a tendency to take things too seriously, her aunt and uncle had always told her—Han stubbornly not taking all of this seriously. . . helped, somewhat. "Just shut up."
"You're smiling."
"I most certainly am not."
"Yeah you are." He sat back against the sofa again, folding his arms behind his head. "My work here is done."
"Oh, go—"
She was cut off by the door opening, and Padmé ducked her head in. Her gaze fell with some amusement on Han's smug smile, Leia's contained smirk, but even that amusement couldn't quite chase away the melancholy look on her face.
Leia saw that look, and something inside her went cold.
"Luke?" she asked.
Padmé pinched her lips together. "My agent just reported back," she admitted. There was a chirping at the window; Leia turned to see a red starbird, who was not Sabé, hop onto the windowsill. It had a pattern of white feathers on its head. "The escape attempt failed. Luke is still a prisoner."
Leia made a noise that was half-sob, half-sigh. Han just grimaced, but Leia noticed a new tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there before.
"What happened to the agent?" he asked.
Padmé glanced at the bird, and lifted her arm. It fluttered to land on it. "She chose to die," she said, gesturing with her other hand, "and be reborn."
"Uh huh." Han's tone was sceptical.
"Handmaidens live twice," Padmé told him. "Like ghosts. And they can choose when to make the transition."
Han just shook his head. "Sorry, Your Ladyship, but I ain't falling for any of this mumbo jumbo."
"Then how do you explain the fact that you managed to outrun Vader so easily?" she asked. "The winds always favour him—but you had my children on board. You had wind filling your sails the whole way. Have you ever experienced something like that before?"
"No," Han admitted, wrinkling his nose, "but that ain't proof!"
Padmé just rolled her eyes. "If you won't look at the evidence in front of you, I won't—"
"And speaking of my sails," Han interrupted, "what're you doing with my ship? I don't like other people messing with her."
"You let Lando's people mess with her," Leia pointed out.
"No, I didn't!"
"Anyway," Padmé said loudly, "Captain Solo, Chewbacca is currently supervising the repairs. Unless you mean to imply that you don't trust your first mate's judgement—"
"Don't you turn this into something against Chewie!"
"—I suggest we move on." Her gaze slid to Leia. "I promised to tell you everything about your father."
Leia swallowed.
Padmé nodded to the little table next to the window, covered in a white table cloth. "Shall we?"
Leia sat down, her mother following suit. Han eyed the third chair for a moment before deciding he preferred the sofa, and the starbird fluttered onto the seat instead.
"This," Padmé began, "is Ahsoka. She used to be Anakin's student, when he was a Jedi, and she's been spying on him for me for quite a few years now."
Ahsoka cawed. Leia tried to pretend she noticed nothing strange about this situation. "Hello."
"She tried to get Luke out." Padmé winced. "She failed."
Leia just shook her head—though whether it was in disappointment or a hopeless resolve, she wasn't sure.
"You said she was his student?" she prompted.
Padmé let out a breath. "Yes. Anakin was nine, and a slave, when the Jedi adopted him. He loved them like a second family, but he missed the mother he'd left behind, and that caused some rifts." She twined her fingers together. "He was given Ahsoka as a Padawan when he was nineteen, and she was fourteen."
She took a breath. "He was a Jedi—he was supposed to serve me, and the sea, and most Jedi do that out of love. But the way he loved was different, and. . . I loved him too.
"I became a human to be with him, and I became pregnant with you and Luke. But that was where it began to fall apart."
Leia's hand twitched—to fist or shake or punch something, she didn't know. Han cast her a worried look.
Padmé continued, "It's difficult to remain human while pregnant. I slipped back into a goddess often. It worried Anakin—I didn't even know what being pregnant as a goddess would do to me, I'd never done it before, and he feared he would lose me. So he went behind my back and convinced Palpatine to give him a spell that would keep me human, forever."
"The Emperor?" Han asked, despite himself. He had always seemed as human as anything, despite his arcane servant.
Padmé nodded gravely. "He's a dabbler in any number of magics that I have no jurisdiction over. By no means an expert, but good enough—I believe that his current illness, his deterioration, is caused by dealing in that which is not natural. But his spell worked. Anakin stole my godhood, and trapped it in the necklace he'd given me when we first met—a japor snippet."
She spread her hands. "And as you can see, I'm still human. I have but a fraction of the power I used to wield.
"I tried to get Anakin to break it—I'd lost an intrinsic part of my nature, and I wanted it back. I wasn't me without it. But he refused.
"I turned to the other Jedi. They'd never approved of my relationship with them, and I understand that. I was Amidala; they were my warriors—handmaidens, to use an older word—and they would be long after they died. Showing favouritism was. . . bad taste.
"But Obi-Wan helped me.
"I asked him to find a way to break the spell. I never meant to say what had happened, or why I couldn't change back, but he. . . worked it out and told the other Jedi.
"They were apoplectic." She winced at the memory. "They thought Anakin a heretic. There was a fight—I couldn't do anything to stop it. Anakin lost his leg, on top of the hand he'd already lost. But Palpatine was a high-ranking Coruscanti noble, and he sent soldiers to assist Anakin. The Jedi were wiped out."
"What about Ahsoka?" Leia asked, nodding at the bird.
"She'd already left Anakin when she heard what he had done—she went wandering for a few weeks, to come to terms with what she thought about her Order. Then she heard what had happened, and just. . . didn't go back. Not for a few years, until after she'd agreed to spy for me.
"By that point Anakin had changed his name to Vader, and had been appointed an officer in the Coruscanti Navy. With me and my Jedi gone from the seas, as well as the powers that necklace granted Vader, they conquered other lands with ease and created the Empire." There was something immeasurably sad in her voice as she said, "All I could do was hide."
"And when Luke and I were born," Leia said quietly, "we were separated."
"For your own protection. Bail and Breha were old friends of Obi-Wan's; Owen was Anakin's step-brother. I knew they'd protect you the way I couldn't. During those early years, adapting to being a human completely, my emotional state. . . I wasn't able to take care of two children. I could barely take care of myself."
Leia didn't say anything. It was an explanation, one that made sense, more than she'd ever received before—it was a lot more than "dangerous".
But. . . it still hurt.
It still hurt that as much as she'd loved her aunt and uncle, she hadn't been with her family.
"Does Vader know?" she asked dully. If he'd known, and Alderaan had happened anyway. . .
"He knows I'm alive. He hates me. He knows Ahsoka was a spy. He hates her. He knows about Luke. He's. . . conflicted, about him. He doesn't know about you."
Leia nodded. "Alright." She stared at the table, the cloth covering it. Burgundy fleur de lis were embroidered along the edges—like the pattern on the carpet.
Ahsoka chirped, then there was a hand on Leia's shoulder. "I'll leave you to digest it," Padmé said softly, then stood up. A flutter of wings, a few footsteps and a swing of the door later, she was gone.
Han pushed himself to his feet. "Leia. . .?" he asked carefully. He took a step forward.
Leia didn't care that he was watching. She bowed her head, and burst into tears.
The porthole in the wall of Luke's cell was small and dirty, but it was enough for him to tell that Coruscant's skyline was vastly different to Tatooine's.
Summer was starting to fade—the temperature change was barely noticeable in areas like his homeland, but in Alderaan and Coruscant and other Core countries, it was impossible to ignore. And although the coming autumn was still new, it was on an especially cold day that they docked in the capital's bustling ports.
Luke was dragged out of the brig shivering, his father's metal hand bitingly cold on his shoulder. A fine mist had settled over the city, mixing with the usual smog of a centre of industry. The hustle and bustle of people moving off the ship, onto the ship, round the ship and just past the ship to other ships on the dock, was nothing more than silhouettes a slightly darker grey than the fog. Pea soup fog, Luke had heard it called.
The only light was by the street lamps, a soft yellow that cast everything into shadow. It tinged it all amber—from the glint off his father's sword, to the slightly sickly pale faces of the white-clothed sailors, to Luke's hair, damp with sweat and matted to his forehead. The face of the man who came up to them—the captain Luke had spoken to on Tatooine all those weeks ago—was cast into a dichotomy of orange and black by it, the shape of his face set in stark relief.
"Captain Piett," Vader greeted. With a careless shove, Luke was forced forward, the manacles clinking round his hands. "I leave him in your care. Transfer him to the quarters established on the Executor, and assign someone to supervise him until I return."
"Yes, my lord," Piett replied, while Luke just blinked. The Executor? Why was he—
Piett yanked on his manacles; Luke grimaced. "Come along now." The wind picked up slightly as Vader glared. Piett added hurriedly, "Sir. Come—the Executor is this way."
"What. . ." Luke twisted round as he was led away, but his father just strode in the opposite direction. Before he could so much as open his mouth to shout after him, the amber light slid over his hair, then he disappeared into the fog.
Vader knew he'd left Luke confused, cold and alone, but there was nothing for it. His arrival had been long delayed as it was; he needed to see the Emperor as soon as possible.
He'd only hoped, all the journey here, that he wouldn't be too late.
Upon entering the Imperial palace, he followed all the protocol. He dispensed of his weapons—he was technically allowed to wear them, but it was a sign of respect—and shrugged off his boots, his coat. No one wanted to risk anyone from outside the palace, especially one who saw as much blood as Vader did, transmitting any sort of infection.
Because the Emperor was dying.
It was a secret kept from all but the most high-ranking officials—Tarkin and the likes, Vader himself. Emperor Palpatine had been extremely ill for months now. They'd hidden the news, excused his lack of public appearances for fear of assassination attempts, but sooner or later it would leak out. If not on its own, then certainly after he died.
So Vader was grateful beyond anything that when he came into the grand bedchamber, his Master's chest still rose and fell with breaths. Difficult breaths, but breaths nonetheless.
He sat himself down in the chair at his bedside and waited for him to wake. Fingering the elaborate crimson thread at one of his cuffs, he glanced around the room.
He always felt foolish here, sitting in his grandest attire, in the colours of a Coruscanti nobleman. He didn't fit in. He was an ex-slave, from the lowest of the low—how had he become the second-in-command of the greatest Empire in the world?
How had he drawn the attention of a goddess like Amidala, to be blessed with someone like Luke?
He knew the answer to that of course: through others. The Jedi were one example, but he had quickly proven himself too good for them, crushing them to dust under his boots. But only with the help of. . .
Palpatine.
Everything he had, he owed to Palpatine.
It was Palpatine who'd shown him how to save Padmé's life all those years ago; it was Palpatine who'd sent forces in to save his life; it was Palpatine who'd given him a place in his budding Empire, a way for him to wreak revenge on everyone. Slavers, Jedi, Rebels—they had all fallen before him. Because of the power he'd acquired from Padmé, of course, but also the power he'd been granted by Palpatine.
And now the man was dying, and he didn't know what to do.
Vader had been named heir to the childless man the moment his health started to wane, back when Palpatine could bear to stand through pompous ceremonies so long as he was rushed back to bed moments after. He knew what he was expected to do.
But he also knew that he was not ready.
He could serve. He ruled over the navy with an iron fist, but serving was all he knew. Forcibly, as a child; by choice, now. Give him the military and he would make the world bow to the throne, but he would not sit there himself. He would be among those who were bowing.
But only if he was bowing to someone he respected, loved. . .
His breath caught in his throat.
He did not have to rule. Palpatine was not the only person in the world whom he loved—not anymore.
Luke could be Emperor.
Luke, the son of goddesses and men, the power of the sea at his command. . . Yes. He could rule, and rule well, once Vader fixed his ideas on the world.
Vader bowed his head, a curious weight lifting from his shoulders. Grief still hung there, a heavy burden, but. . . he would not be alone when his mentor died. He would have Luke.
He didn't realise he was smiling faintly until a few croaked words chased it away.
"Lord Vader."
He snapped his gaze up to Palpatine. Bleary eyes pried themselves open to meet his; skin that was more wrinkled than smooth stretched into a small smile.
"My old friend," he murmured. "What on earth took you so long in returning?"
There was a sudden lump in Vader's throat. "I found my son."
Palpatine let out a breath. "Amidala's child lived?"
"Yes."
An expression flitted across Palpatine's face—something that could've been disappointment, satisfaction, or both at the same time. Then it was gone.
"I am glad," he said. "I have a worthy heir, and my heir has a dynasty. My Empire will survive the generations. And. . ." He paused, then admitted, "I am glad you have someone left. Amidala may have been a traitor, who needs to be destroyed. . ."
Vader's hands clenched into fists. He didn't want to think about her—he didn't want to think about Ahsoka, making him feel a little less alone but all the while working for her—
". . .but her son may yet right her wrongs. I am sure he will make a wonderful Emperor, once you have passed. He will uphold our legacy. Tell me," he pressed, "what is he like?"
"Opposed to everything we stand for." Vader said the words with a twist of his lips.
"A slaver, then?"
"No. He is against slavery. But he hates everything else." He took a breath. "Alderaan especially. . ."
"Ah, the education of the common masses. The destruction on Alderaan was a way to make them fear justice, and fear of retribution has always been a deterrent for criminals. Does a petty thief not fear time in prison, or the hangman's noose? Does that not prevent a great many opportunists from tearing society apart from the inside?"
Vader nodded. This was what Palpatine had always taught him—the ends justify the means. Everything can and should be sacrificed, to achieve a peaceful society.
To achieve the glory of the Empire.
"He will come to understand it, my friend. Once you have taught him, shown him the true role he was born to inherit, he will accept it. He will even support it. You simply have to be patient—"
"I do not know how to make him understand."
He whispered the words, ashamed and quiet with it. Here he was again, begging for help, just like he'd always needed Palpatine's help and he couldn't do this alone—
Palpatine frowned a little. "Is he anything like you were, at that age?"
Luke had run into what he'd known was a trap to save his friend. He had fought his father every step of the way. He made friends with anyone and everyone. "Very much so, Master."
"Then he will come around—look at you, after all these years, after all. But he will likely respond more to showing than telling." He reached out a hand, to place it on Vader's knee. "Show him what our Empire does, my friend, the order and peace we bring. Then he will understand."
Vader nodded. "Yes, Master."
"Is he the one for whom you ordered those quarters on the Executor?"
"Yes."
"I would expect nothing less—from what I heard, they were fit for a king. A prince of the Empire would do well in them." he added, "And it is for the best he acquaints himself with your new flagship. When you take the throne, he will need to perform your current duties in your stead." Vader pinched his lips together at the words; Palpatine's brows rose marginally. "You object?"
"I. . . had hoped," he swallowed, "I'd hoped that my son—"
"Would become Emperor instead," Palpatine finished, eyes narrowed.
Vader rushed to defend himself. "You know I have no interest in politics, Master, and Luke is just a boy. I would not want him fighting wars at sea where I can't protect him." I've already lost him once.
"Luke?" his Master said after a moment. "That is his name?"
"Yes, Master. Luke Skywalker."
Palpatine nodded, looking thoughtful. "He will need formal training. You must bring him to me—I can teach him. I may even be able to help you bring him around to our point of view."
"Thank you, Master. He is being installed on the Executor as we speak, but I shall bring him to you tomorrow."
"I look forward to it." He patted Vader's knee twice, then retracted his hand. "Now, I grow weary and I can see you wish to return to your son. No," he insisted when Vader made to protest, "I understand. You have lost so many years of his life, while I have had you by my side. You deserve this time with him."
Gratitude filled Vader's chest. "Thank you, Master."
"I shall see you tomorrow, old friend. Now go," he closed his eyes, settling back against the pillows, "and make me and my Empire proud."
Vader gently drew the curtains closed around the bed. Then, careful not to wake him, he crept out of the room.
Leia was getting antsy. It had only been a day since she'd learned about. . . everything. . . but she'd cried all her tears. Now, she needed to move—she needed a distraction from the knowledge until it found its place in her heart.
So she supposed it was just as well that it was then that Padmé called a meeting to assemble a team for a strike force on an Imperial outpost, and that she wanted Leia and Han on it.
They met in another room in the manor—Varykino, the house was called; apparently the family whose last name Padmé bore used to live here. It was a small room, with only a wide window that Padmé stood with her back to for illumination. Leia couldn't help but notice yet another starbird peeping in.
The day was cloudy, but what little sunlight did seep in touched the dust motes in the air and set Padmé's outline ablaze. Leia could almost actually see her as a goddess, then, with gold light wound in a halo through her hair.
She stood before a table, holding a map and compass, with perhaps a dozen people including Leia and Han crowded round it. She took a quick inventory of everyone she could see: a tall, handsome woman; a boy about Leia's age with blazing blue eyes and a cheeky grin; a couple, the man slim and the woman with two thick plaits that hung to her waist; a teenage girl with armour all the colours of the rainbow; and, of course, Chewie.
The moment Chewie noticed Han, he started lecturing him about something or another. Leia had no idea what he was saying, but it was amusing anyway.
A few more men filed in behind them, then Padmé began, "I've called you all here because I believe your talents would be useful in an attack we intend to carry out on the Imperial communications outpost on Coruscant."
"The eyries where the comm hawks live?" the blue-eyed boy from earlier piped up. The slim man shot him a warning glare, but Padmé waved him off.
"Yes."
"What good will gettin' rid that do?" It was Han who asked the question this time—Leia and Chewie weren't the only ones who glared at him, either.
"Part of the reason the Empire is so efficient at counteracting our attacks is their ability to communicate between territories. This outpost is an important part of that—while it may not receive reports of minor skirmishes, it's where the capital gets news from all over the continent. And it's where the Emperor decides where Vader and the bulk of his navy should go next." She caught Leia's eye meaningfully.
Leia's throat dried. Luke.
"Eliminating this outpost," Padmé went on, "will disrupt their communications and make it harder for them to transmit important messages. Especially when Vader's away from the Core. With our own systems still intact, we'll have the information they base their movements on before they do. We'll be able to intercept and stop them more easily. And the time for this strike is now."
"Even with Vader on Coruscant?" the woman with two plaits asked. No one glared at her—Leia assumed she was high-ranking enough to interrupt these meetings.
"Yes, General Syndulla. Vader is currently on Coruscant to change his flagship from the Devastator to the Executor. He's nearer than he would be at most other times of the year, but bogged down in ceremonial procedure and pomp. It will take longer than usual to respond to the threat, by which point your team will be out of there.
"And it has to be now," she added. "Our. . . informant on the Devastator has been compromised, and we can no longer expect any reports from her. Not only is the Executor reportedly faster and more heavily armed than Vader's current flagship, but after this exchange we have no intel on what Vader's movements might be. This is the last chance we have to do this effectively and strike a crippling blow to the Empire."
Leia frowned at the map, then back up at Padmé. "So what's the plan?"
"This ain't gonna work," were the first words out of Han's mouth when they left.
Leia whirled on him before the door to their quarters even slammed shut. "Then why didn't you say so before?"
"I did say so before!" Indeed he had. She doubted any of the Rebels would be forgiving his scathing words for a long time. "The whole plan's suicide, and even if it works, what then?"
"What then?" Leia scoffed. "We're that much closer to toppling the Empire and saving Luke, that's what. Were you listening in there?"
Han snorted as he plopped himself onto the sofa, crossing one leg over the other. "In case you've forgotten, sweetheart, I ain't in this for your little Rebellion. I don't even know if I'm even here for Luke anymore, it's a lot of hassle for one kid—"
Leia sat in the armchair opposite him. "You don't mean that."
Han grimaced and inspected the carpet. Leia followed his gaze, and noticed again that pattern of fleur de lis. Whoever the Naberries had been, they'd had some very tasteful decorators.
"Maybe I don't," he admitted. "He's a good kid, he doesn't deserve it. But I'm not risking my life and Chewie's life in a fool's cause just to save him."
"Then why are you still here, Han?" she snapped. She couldn't explain why she was so angry all of a sudden, just that the thought of Han leaving Luke behind—leaving her behind—made her go cold. "You know full well you don't give a damn about my family and this war, so why are you still here? What do you want?"
"No," Han bit right back, "why are you here, Your Worshipfulness? I know your Ma offered you rooms next to hers—why're you here, hanging around me and Chewie, when you could be lording it up with a goddess." He still said the word with a cynical sneer. "What do you want?"
"I want you to stay!" She shouted the words before she thought about them. "I want— I want you to care about Luke, I want you to help me get him back!" Her voice cracked a little. "I'm scared for him, Han."
Han scoffed again, but still looked vaguely uncomfortable as he said, "You know what Her Ladyship said, the kid's with his father, he won't get hurt."
"I'm still scared for him!"
A sort of silence fell in the wake of her words. Han looked more awkward than ever.
"And," she admitted, "maybe I'm a little scared for me as well."
The destruction of Alderaan had left her with no family, and nothing she'd been able to do had stopped it.
Now she'd found a family again, with Luke and Han and Padmé. . . and she didn't want to lose it. Especially to a man who was supposed to be her father.
She didn't want to be alone.
"That's why I'm here, Captain Solo," she said. Her eyes were dry, tearless—she would not cry, she would get even; she would not cry, she would get even, she would not cry, she would get even— "Why are you?"
They stared at each other for a few long moments. Han was breathing heavily, trying to say something. He took in a breath, opened his mouth, closed it again. Repeat.
And repeat again.
Took in a breath. Opened his mouth. . .
. . .and closed it again.
Leia shook her head. When she pushed herself off the armchair and strode out of the room, Han made no move to stop her.
