1 NRE

Night had fallen on Myrkr, and Mara sat cross-legged on her sleeping pallet, shifting uncomfortably. The wound on her back ached, she was exhausted, and yet she knew that she would not get any more sleep that night than the previous one. Her body was screaming for rest, but she would not permit herself that weakness. If Skywalker could stay awake, then so could she. Mara popped another stim-pill in her mouth and forced herself to concentrate.

They were running low on ration bars, and so Skywalker was roasting some kind of quail he'd hunted over an open fire. Mara took the opportunity to study him, desperately trying to understand the contradictory man she was honour-bound to kill.

The firelight heightened the shadows on his face, and for the first time she could see that he was just as tired as she was. But there was more, a deep sorrow he carried that had not been visible in the sunlight, a weight inside of himself that he took pains for others not to see. It was the look of a man with millions of deaths on his conscience, as he'd admitted earlier that day. And yet his regret in the action was obvious, and Mara couldn't quite understand it. She'd never regretted any life she'd taken, because she had been dispensing justice.

Skywalker handed her one of the quails, and she tucked into it gratefully. After a long day of travelling, she was famished. As, evidently, was Skywalker. He wolfed down his own bird with such gusto Mara thought he must have swallowed a bone or two.

"How's your back?" he asked when he was finished eating.

"Fine," she replied shortly, although in truth every time she moved the tight skin around the wound pulled back, sending slivers of pain through her shoulder blade.

"I can change the bacta patch, if you like," he offered.

"No, I wouldn't like that." Mara knew however that it had to be changed to prevent infection, and gave a resigned sigh. "But do it, if you're so concerned."

Skywalker smiled and cleaned his hands. Mara removed her tunic again as he moved to kneel behind her with the medpack. She held her back ramrod straight, shivering slightly in the cool night air that filtered through the trees. Skywalker carefully peeled off the soiled patch, and used a healing stick to clean off the excess salve and dried blood.

"If I could locate a Force bubble, I could try and heal it," Skywalker offered. Mara had seen him flittering about earlier in the clearing they'd chosen for the night, trying once again to find a gap through which he could access the Force, but he'd been unsuccessful and had given up.

"Don't bother," Mara told him as he applied more salve to her back. "It will only take a couple of days to heal."

"You're very brave." Skywalker sounded impressed.

"Hardly," Mara said shortly.

"You're probably right to be sceptical," Skywalker said genially, as if to simply make conversation. "I'm not the most gifted healer, although I practice. My sister Leia has a great aptitude for it."

He was speaking of Senator Leia Organa, Mara realised. His sister. In the days of the Empire, Mara had seen her around Coruscant, and had only paid her mind as the daughter of a known traitor, and a suspected rebel herself. She'd never been able to find proof of Organa's treachery, though, and Mara wondered if that had been due to the woman's latent Force sensitivity.

Skywalker carefully applied a bacta patch to her back, smoothing it down with gentle fingers. "All done," he said cheerfully, and waited until Mara put her tunic back on before he moved back to his seat across the fire. The farmboy modesty almost made Mara smile.

"So what do you want to do?" Skywalker asked.

"Do?" Mara raised one sceptical eyebrow.

"Come on, Mara," he rolled his eyes. "Sitting around in silence yesterday made it one of the longest nights of my life. It won't kill you to talk to me."

Mara smiled at his interesting choice of words. "I don't know what to talk about."

"We could play a game," he suggested.

"A game?" Her voice was dripping with derision.

"Yeah," Skywalker smiled and nodded, unoffended. "Something to pass the time."

"I don't know any games."

"What, you never played games as a child?"

Mara pursed her lips. Her childhood was one of study and training - there had been no time for frolicking or frivolity. "It was not permitted." A shadow of sympathy crossed his face, and she turned away, sickened by his obvious concern.

"Well, I know plenty," Skywalker said smoothly. "How about the truth game? It's a good way for people to get to know each other."

She stared at him, unable to believe the words that were coming out of his mouth.

"Basically we ask each other questions," Skywalker continued, either oblivious or unconcerned about her reaction. "And you have to tell the truth. We used to play it in Anchorhead - if you didn't answer you had to take a drink of moonshine."

"Sounds like fun," she said dryly.

"Come on," Skywalker goaded her. "There must be some things you're dying to know about me."

"But then I have to tell you something in return?"

He grinned. "That's the way it works. Ask something too personal, and you're bound to get the same back. It's a game of risk…and reward."

Mara rolled her eyes and sighed, somehow knowing that he would not let the matter drop. And yet a small voice inside of her whispered that it provided the perfect opportunity to learn more about him in hope that he would reveal a weakness.

"Come on - I'll let you go first."

She knew what he was trying to do – humanize himself in her eyes so that it would be more difficult for her to make the killing stroke when the time came. It wouldn't work, she promised herself, and so asked him the most banal thing she could think of.

"What's your favourite colour?"

Skywalker looked surprised, but then smiled genially. "Green," he told her. "It reminds me of the forest. I never saw one until I left Tatooine." He looked at the surrounding trees for a few moments, as if cataloguing everything he saw for future study and contemplation.

"I would ask you what your favourite colour is, but suspect you don't have one," he said as he turned back to her. Mara shrugged; it was a fair assumption.

"How old are you?" he asked after a few moments consideration.

"How old are you?" she shot back, not caring that she wasn't playing by the rules of his stupid game. Mara wasn't sure why she had reacted in such a way to a harmless question, but for some reason it had irked her.

Skywalker, however, didn't seem too bothered. "Twenty five," he answered.

She had known that, of course. Mara wasn't sure why she had asked him. "I'm about the same," she conceded. "I think."

"You don't know?" Skywalker gave her another sickening look of concern and pity.

"It wasn't important," she dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "My turn," she changed the subject.

"No it's not." Skywalker furrowed his brow. "I asked you how old you were, and you asked the same of me. I'm next."

"Then you asked whether I knew how old I was," Mara smirked.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Fine."

"How did you find out about your sister?" Since he had mentioned her, Mara was curious. The whole story had never really made sense to her, since the Rebels had only released the information regarding Skywalker and Organa after Endor.

When Skywalker's smile widened, the sorrow seemed to melt off his face. "I always thought we met by chance," he began, that faraway look in his eyes again as he reminisced. "She came to Tatooine to enlist the help of Ben Kenobi-"

"Ben?"

Skywalker looked back at her, shaken out of his reverie. "Obi-Wan," he clarified. "He called himself Ben when I was growing up. Obi-Wan Kenobi was this great man," he continued a little sadly. "Hero of the Clone Wars, master of Soresu and one of the greatest Jedi who ever lived, at least according to the records I've found. But Ben Kenobi - he was the man who once found me when I crashed my speeder in Beggar's Canyon and patched me up so that my Aunt Beru wouldn't worry. I always wondered why he was so far from his home, but now I know that he was watching over me."

It was difficult not to get caught up in his story. Mara had read about Obi-Wan Kenobi as well, supreme traitor to the Empire. In the holos she had seen and the events she had read about he had always seemed calculating and cold, not at all the warm presence Skywalker described him as.

Skywalker was silent for a few moments before he came back to himself and turned his attention to Mara again. "I found out about Leia just after the assault on Jabba's Palace," he said, although he looked uncertain, as if reluctant to share the information. "Master Yoda's final words were that there was another Skywalker, and then Obi-Wan appeared to me and told me I had a sister. I felt that it was Leia - with that knowledge everything made sense."

"Why didn't Kenobi tell you when he was alive?" To Mara it seemed unfathomably cruel, not only to separate the siblings, but to not even tell Skywalker about his sister when their intent was to rescue her. Mara didn't understand how Jedi thought at all.

"It's my turn," Luke reminded her. "I get to ask another one before I'll answer that."

Mara had momentarily forgotten about the game, and berated herself inwardly. "Then ask," she said in a clipped voice.

"Do you remember your parents?"

Mara looked away and bit her lip. That was exactly the kind of question she'd been afraid of.

"I'm sorry," Skywalker added gently on her reaction. "You don't have to answer that."

"No, it's only fair," Mara responded, steeling herself. "I remember my mother a little," she said quietly, locating the long-buried memories which flooded her with sadness. "She had red hair, too." She couldn't remember her mother's face, but had a vague sense that she had been a warrior, or at least Mara recalled that her embrace had been hard and cold because of the armor and breastplate she'd often worn. Her father she had no memory of at all.

"I don't know why Yoda and Obi-Wan kept secrets from me and Leia," Skywalker said softly in return. "I suppose they thought they were protecting us." He was silent for a few moments and then looked back at her. "How did the Emperor find you?"

Mara shifted uncomfortably, looking down at her hands. She wanted to answer that question even less than the previous one, but for some reason the words began to spill out of her.

"I was five, I think," she began. "There was an attack - all I remember was that I was alone, and hiding. But Vader found me," Mara's voice became hard. "He ignited his lightsaber…" Mara shivered at the memory, his blood red blade the only light in the room as he advanced on her. Skywalker looked stricken, as if the information wounded him deeply.

"The Emperor stopped him," Mara continued. "He took my hand, and told me that he was going to look after me." She looked away to escape Skywalker's obvious emotion and once again his look of sadness and pity. And yet the memories refused to fade away, the remembered fear clutching at her as she hid in the closet, trying not to breathe and give away her position. But Vader had sensed her, even though Mara had tried to make herself invisible. It had been instinctual as well as practiced even at that young age. What little she could remember of her mother included her firm demands that she hide her abilities - all those who had such tendencies were either evil or corrupt, her mother had said. No good could come of the Force or Mara's use of it.

But the Emperor had been so kind to her when she'd been convinced to tell him her secret, saying that while Mara's mother had been correct that the Jedi were evil, her abilities did not make her so. Why, he himself used the Force, Palpatine had explained to her, and hadn't he rescued her from the same fate that had befallen her mother and compatriots? She'd been constrained and caged by her mother's decree, Palpatine had continued; he wanted her to fly.

Mara's abilities made her special, he had promised her. They made her useful, if she knew how to use them.

And she believed the Emperor's word without question, placing all of her faith and trust in the man she believed had saved her. At the time she had him distanced Vader's actions in destroying her home and massacring her family. But if she was honest with herself, she knew that Vader had been acting under Palpatine's order, and that she had been stolen, rather than saved. Had they come specifically for her, she wondered, or had she been an opportunistic acquisition in an attack which had been for another reason entirely? She supposed it hardly mattered.

When Mara shook herself out of her daze she felt Skywalker's insufferable gaze on her, and she turned her mind back to her mission.

"What would you say your combat weaknesses were?" she asked shortly.

Skywalker laughed heartily. "And here I thought I'd almost won you over," he said teasingly. "I guess I would say I'm not good at strategy. I tend to fling myself into a battle and trust my instincts to guide me, rather than wait and plan the best approach."

That was interesting, and Mara filed the information away. He'd certainly employed a successful strategy at Jabba's Palace, however ill-conceived it appeared at the time. But it seemed that it was the exception rather than the norm, that Skywalker was reckless and easily swayed by his emotions - hardly the traits of a true Jedi.

"How long have you been working for Karrde?" Skywalker asked as his next question.

"Two years," Mara answered without even needing to think about it.

She saw him make quick calculations in his mind. "Since Endor."

Mara nodded. "After I failed at Jabba's Palace I went to Sullust, where your Rebel Fleet was in orbit," she told him. "Karrde and his crew were there – they were probably the ones who sold your location to the Emperor by the way." She looked for his reaction, but he only shrugged, as if the information was unimportant to him. "I was figuring out a way to smuggle myself aboard the Rebel flagship when the fleet left the system."

"I wasn't there anyway," Skywalker pointed out. "I'd left for Endor with the strike team the day before."

"I know that now." Mara grimaced. "I was with Karrde when the Emperor died – I'd met him before, he'd even given me information a few times. I figured he might know what the Rebel's plans were."

Mara remembered that dark day – she'd felt the Emperor's death with such force and shattering pain that she'd passed out. Karrde had been there when she woke up – he had been so kind to her, not even asking any questions even though he suspected that she was an Imperial agent and not a bounty hunter as she'd always claimed. He could have left her there to die, but he hadn't. He could have blackmailed her into his service, or turned her over to the Rebels. Instead he'd taken care of her, given her a job and eventually made her his second-in-command. She owed him.

But she couldn't tell Skywalker that – couldn't show him such a weakness. "I've worked with him ever since." Silence fell between them again, the only sound a light pop from the wood in the fire as it broke down into ash.

"Your turn," Skywalker said softly.

Mara gave the matter serious consideration, and after a few moments the question became clear. It was something which had been on her mind ever since the Emperor's death, something she'd been wondering about ever since deciding he'd told her the truth in his version of the events on the second Death Star.

"Why did Vader save you?" she asked. Mara knew she'd struck a nerve when Skywalker looked away, wringing his hands nervously. "You've always claimed that Vader turned on the Emperor, killed him and died in the process," she challenged him. "Why did he do that?"

"Vader...had once been a Jedi Knight," Skywalker said eventually, and Mara could see that he was choosing his words carefully. "He fell to the dark side, and served it for so long that not even he believed there was a chance to return to the light. But I felt there was still good in him." Skywalker seemed far away, his gaze fixed at a spot above her shoulder. "He came to realize that Palpatine was his enemy, and I was not. And in saving me, knowing that it would cost his own life...he became a Jedi once more."

Mara stared at him for several seconds, her eyes narrowing. "I thought the point of this game was to tell the truth?"

"That is the truth." Skywalker refused to look at her.

"But not all of it. There's something else," she pressed, enjoying her advantage over him for perhaps the first time that night. But he was silent for several moments. "It's your game, Skywalker," she said coolly, turning away, disappointed.

"He was my father."

Mara turned back to him in shock. "What?"

"Darth Vader," he said, his eyes finding hers again. "He was my father."

"Your father was Anakin Skywalker," she argued. She'd discovered the records herself, and the Rebels had even issued a press release confirming it.

"Yes," Luke nodded. "I told you Vader had once been a Jedi."

Bitterness settled in the pit of Mara's stomach. Anakin Skywalker. The Hero Without Fear who the New Republic had worshipped as the sire of their savior Jedi, who had been cast as a heroic martyr in their revisionist history. He had been Vader, all along.

"So he murdered the Emperor to take you as his apprentice." Mara had suspected as much, and their familial connection explained why Vader had sought Skywalker out.

"No," Luke said emphatically. "I told you, he turned back to the light. The Emperor had me in the grip of his Force lightning, would have killed me because I refused to turn to the dark side. My father killed the Emperor to save my life, knowing that he would die in the process." He swallowed heavily, his eyes locking with hers. "You asked why he saved me," Skywalker continued. "He did it because….he loved me."

Mara looked away, unsure of how to process his words. "The Sith do not love."

"Exactly."

"You're lying," she insisted, deeply confronted by his words.

"I think you know I'm not," Skywalker pressed. "I think you're starting to wonder about all the little things that didn't add up, the assignments the Emperor sent you on that you didn't agree with, the horrible things you saw but dismissed because you were taught there was a greater good."

Mara couldn't help but feel wounded. "You're asking me to believe that my entire life was based on lies," she said, her voice stripped and bare.

But Skywalker looked at her kindly. "I think you already believe that, Mara," he replied softly. "I'm only asking you to accept it."

Mara turned away from him abruptly, lying down on her sleeping roll and wrapping her arms and the blanket around herself. Even though she would not allow herself to sleep, she didn't have to look at him, or listen to his words any longer. She heard Skywalker sigh and settle down himself, not trying to press his advantage any further.

Darth Vader was Luke Skywalker's father. The fact kept running itself over in Mara's mind, almost driving her mad. The Emperor must have known, and been concerned about Vader turning against him for the sake of his son. And yet Palpatine had not confided in Mara when he'd given her the order to kill Skywalker. He'd told her that Vader planned to use the boy to overthrow him, and therefore her actions were subverting treason as well as eliminating a dangerous rebel leader. But now, knowing the truth, Mara could not escape one sickening realisation.

The Emperor had lied to her.

29 NRE

The Spires Social Club was the most exclusive gathering place on Coruscant, with closed membership which catered only to society's elite. It was located at the very top of the tallest building in the Senate District, with athletic clubs, bars, restaurants and other offerings within the plethora of sharp spires which jutted from the building's apex.

Trevin Ravenlok was greeted by name at the door, granted entrance immediately and his usual table prepared. An aide quickly appeared to help Trevin from his repulsorchair into the booth, and another brought him a glass of one hundred year old Whyren's Reserve.

It had been a long afternoon, and although Trevin was less involved with the day to day running of his businesses, he seemed to tire more easily. He was therefore grateful to relax with his whiskey in peace without the interruption of mining assessments, stock reports and partnership enquiries.

Following the fall of the Empire, Trevin had not taken up the rank and position offered to him in the New Republic, instead choosing to continue with private enterprise. So many of his colleagues and friends and been grateful for the amnesty offered by the new government and their eagerness for a smooth transition back to a Republic. And yet Trevin hadn't been able to stomach it, not when he'd been such a staunch supporter of the Empire.

In the days following the Clone Wars he'd courted prestige from the Emperor who had been willing to grant power and wealth to his supporters among the aristocratic houses. Palpatine himself had been nobility, although it had been from a backrocket like Naboo. Still, his breeding and sense were clear to everyone, and Trevin had rejoiced when the disorganised and fractured Republic had been reformed into a stable and secure Empire. Trevin's wife, three sons and eldest daughter had all died in the Clone Wars, leaving only his youngest daughter Sidel, a mere child of four. After years of bitter conflict and war, the Empire seemed to herald a new age of peace and prosperity.

Under Trevin's leadership, the House of Ravenlok had reached new heights of influence, and he had been made Moff of the Bormea sector. He'd given his daughter Sidel everything he could, since the rest of their family was all gone. The finest education, and when she was old enough responsibility over his business interests on Coruscant; a lifestyle any being would be envious of. He'd even arranged for a union with the younger son of the House of Delrond, one of the oldest and richest families in the galaxy.

Yet when he'd returned from Chandrila, he found Sidel changed. She'd not only thrown her lot in with the rebels, but had secretly married one of them - a fighter pilot with no family or breeding.

Trevin remembered that day with a clarity that was almost blinding. Sidel had looked at him, unashamed and unrepentant, and said that if Trevin loved her, if he truly wanted her to be happy, he would join them as well.

The Siege of Coruscant had already lasted weeks at that stage, and Trevin was not blind to the fact that the rebels had already won, and it was only a matter of time before the Empire's death knell. And yet he could not deny that his daughter's pleas had been more effective than the logistics of defeat. That day, he had surrendered his fleet and the Bormea sector to the Alliance. Others quickly followed, although that did not dislodge the bitterness Trevin still felt as a turncoat.

Trevin was distracted from his musings by the approach of a familiar white-haired figure. He was pale and dressed in the blue and orange robes of the NR Senate, a not unusual sight in the Spires.

"Trax Avarice, my old friend, how are you?" Trevin greeted him. "Still clattering around that hen-pen of a Senate I see."

The Senator chuckled. "Good evening, Trevin," he said as he slowly slipped into the booth opposite. "Duty is a demanding mistress, I'm afraid."

"I do not envy you, my friend," Trevin said genially. "Have you thought about retirement?"

"Not while Organa is Chancellor," Trax grimaced. "Sometimes I feel as if I am the last line of defence against a rebel insurgency. Perhaps I am the rebel now," he chuckled to himself. A waiter appeared and placed a gin and tonic before Trax, who took a sip from it gratefully.

"I know how you feel," Trevin commiserated, sipping his whiskey.

"Speaking of which, how is your young granddaughter?" Trax asked. "She is a Jedi, is she not?"

"Yes," Trevin frowned. "Kara was knighted five years ago."

"She was Skywalker's apprentice, as I recall," Trax continued. "A high honour, at least in the eyes of some."

"Skywalker," Trevin huffed. "Nothing but 'Rim scum, that one."

"I know what you mean, old friend," Avarice nodded sympathetically. "His sister is of the same mould - as stubborn and short-sighted as her mother Amidala."

Trevin nodded sympathetically. He'd had fewer dealings with Padme Naberrie than Avarice, since he'd been a military man rather than a politician. He'd crossed paths with Anakin Skywalker numerous times, and the man's lack of breeding as well as his supreme arrogance had soured Trevin against the Jedi generals of the Clone Wars.

"Have you heard from your granddaughter?" Trax enquired.

"She commed me from Tatooine." Trevin had been so happy to hear from her, although he had been less pleased when she'd started asking questions about his days in the Empire.

"Oh?" Avarice seemed intrigued. "Skywalker's returned to his home planet? I thought there was nothing there but sand and barbarians."

"Evidently there is a Sith there," Trevin imparted. "Or so Kara tells me."

Avarice was intrigued. "A Sith?"

"Kara thinks it was someone close to Palpatine," Trevin told him. "Someone who has been waiting and biding his time."

"The Sith Lords are a myth, Trevin," Trax said derisively, . "The so-called Darth Vader was nothing more than enhanced intelligence like Grevious, and surely you don't believe the claims that Sheev Palpatine was a Sith." Trax scoffed. "It was all Rebel propaganda."

Trevin shrugged. His granddaughter had seemed concerned about something, and although he had given her some names of Palpatine's favourites, he hardly believed the information could help.

Trax rubbed the side of his face thoughtfully. "The Jedi did not disclose this concern to the Senate," he complained. "Their librarian just gave a report and said nothing."

"I am not surprised," Trevin told him, taking a sip of his whiskey. "They were always a secretive lot."

"Hmmm." Trax seemed deep in thought. "Very interesting."

Trevin didn't answer, for politics had never held much interest for him, even during his Imperial days. He'd been an Officer, responsible for the lives of the men and women under his command and had not cared much for the political fanangling of the Emperor and his court. The Jedi were insular and secretive, that was true, but not to the extent they had been during the Old Republic, and the same could be said about the Imperial system. The Empire had after all been a true autocracy, with Palpatine's word as ultimate law and the walls around his court high. Simply because Trevin had been privy to that inner sanctum made no difference, he considered, and therefore could not complain if the Jedi kept their own counsel now.

The galaxy had indeed changed, Trevin mused to himself - although perhaps not that much. Republic or Empire, the nature of the beast would always be the push and pull of politics; maneuvering and persuasion and pressure from all sides for their voice to be heard; conflict between opposing factions and war when negotiations failed.

For his part, Trevin was content to stay out of that mess and enjoy his golden years in peace.