AN: Happy Monday!
Press members and hovercams crowded against the entrance to the diplomatic temporary residence. Velts. All of them. Grasping and greedy. Behind the darkened protective glass of the speeder-cab, he sneered at the mob pressing in around him. The questions would be the same string of inane hawking which had been tossed his way for the last several days; Were the Hapen's staying with the New Republic? What had happened to his face, had he gotten into a fight with the ex-General? Had he spoken to the Princess before she left? Did he know where the ex-smuggler had taken the royal disappointment which was Leia Organa.
His lip twisted slightly at the thought of her. Yes. They might love her. Them. He corrected himself, pausing to take a deep calming breath before depressing the door lock on the speeder's door. Shouting assaulted him, body guards rushing in front of his path, pushing, threatening, keeping everyone back. How appropriate, he thought as he nodded at no one in-particular, that the galaxy love them, the jumped-up power couple of the fledgling New Republic. The classic holo drama couple, the unlikely team. The Princess and the Smuggler. It was deplorable. Ridiculous.
The whole planned had been flawed - right from the beginning. If he had had any hope of winning her attention - he saw that now - he should have started on Hapes, met her on his ground, his terms, without that troublesome other man in the picture. His mother had fought against him in his choice of romantic pursuit. Had relented - very unlike her - to the idea after many weeks of debate. Leia Organa could be molded, crafted and toyed with. Stripped of the comfortable cover of her precious Ne Republic, thrown into a world she didn't trust or completely understand. Removed from friends and the small family she had gathered. Yes, his mother had finally relented, she might be capably of controlling a "Queen" like that.
His mother.
She had not permitted an audience with him since his unfortunate last meeting with General Solo.
His eyes narrowed and he flexed his shoulders against the rough cloth of the formal family robes. Uncomfortable. Hand raised, he hesitated a moment before knocking at the large ornamental door which guarded his mother's assigned set of rooms.
xXx
He waited. Having being summoned into her presence an hour ago, she had yet to acknowledge him. Another punishment - perhaps. Disappointment radiated from her. Not that she had ever liked the girl - but it was a failure; one more stacked precariously on top of so many others.
Finally, at last, she slowly turned her head to the side, an invitation to speak, to leave, to come forward and offer the apology he had already delivered daily for the last seven days.
"Mother." He bowed his head at her still turned form.
"News?" she asked simply, quietly. A whisper of a demand.
"Nothing of significance."
"We are to leave in the morning." Her voice remained a soft murmur, gently echoing across the great expanse of the large window in front of her.
"What of the Republic?"
"We have no need of the Republic." she spat, angrily flinging the final word across the grand living space with disgust; as if this whole campaign had been an exhausting lesson in patience and a complete waste of time - in that, Isolder mused, his mother wasn't entirely wrong. He couldn't deny he had wanted Leia, and on some level still did. Despite the embarrassment and the sharp unexpected twist this disaster of a negotiation had taken. He hadn't expected - could never had predicted - the dedicated manner in which the last Princess of Alderaan would remain faithful and attached to an ex-Imperial Officer, ex-smuggler, ex-General.
No. It seemed no one expected that reaction. She had surprised them all. Called their hand, as it were.
"And what of the Princess and Captain Solo?" He asked quietly.
"I will deal with them, myself." She hushed once more, turning back to the wide window-wall; again facing into the cold shifting night.
xXx
The sun rose over their ninth day on the forest planet. Mist burning off across the tree tops, rising and dissipating with the first rays of mellow pink sunrise.
Disentangling himself from the covers, he had dragged on a pair of sleep pants and softly closed the door after him, leaving a sleeping Leia behind. She had sighed and settled back into the deep covers, buried as always under a mound of blankets and coverlets; nested happily. Content and safe for the time being.
The house was unusually quiet, without the normal bustle and movement of the home's large occupants.
Both hunting bags were missing entrance way, however - Han squinted as he passed by - Chewie's crossbow was still slung from the centre hook.
Rounding the corner to the galley, Han startled out of his thoughts, a jumble of future worries and present concerns, by the towering figure of Chewbacca, eyeing him from across the large wooden table.
"No. She's still asleep."
Chewie woofed softly and offered Han a large mug steaming with caf.
"Thanks." He turned and flicked the comm system onto silent as he called up the new channels. "Anything new?" He asked, carefully sipping on the steaming liquid.
Chewie nodded and sank into the sofa, woofing softly - as to not wake Leia - as Han scan through the news reports, volume still muted, fingers clicking over quickly. He stopped abruptly at one of the Core channels. The smug, still slightly bruised face of the Hapen prince shone back at him. His fists balled instinctively. Bastard. Chewbacca sat forward, reading the scrolling script at the bottom of the screen.
"Good. They're leaving."
The two were quiet for a time, each staring at the news feed intently.
"No. It's not. You're right about that." Han sighed and stood, flicking the switch, comm-station going dark. Chewie growled, gesturing over to the hallway. "No, let her sleep. She's exhausted." He stood, back to his friend, watching the controls quietly. "Lando wants us on Nar Shaddaa." He said under his breath, not looking up, but feeling the large wookie's attention on him instantly.
A low growl questioned him.
"Yeah, I know. I thought about that too. But…" Chewie glanced again down the hallway towards the darkened room in which the tiny powerhouse of a woman was still sleeping.
"We can't stay here, Chewie." He sighed, slightly exasperated. His friend woofed a question and cocked his head dramatically. "Okay, fine we could. I know. And I - we - both appreciate it, Pal. But..." he trailed off, tracing the rim on the mug while hunting for the right words.
So many possibilities stretched out before him, his hands tingled with excitement, itching to feel the controls pull and twist as he continued running. But, he reminded the reckless, wild side of his brain, it wasn't just himself anymore. And they were both too done for running. She didn't deserve that life, and he didn't want what didn't include her.
he needed to come up with a plan. He needed to do something.
For her. For them.
Perhaps then he could offer her something besides a beaten up old freighter and a hairy roommate. Perhaps after they ran a little further, pushed just a little harder, went that much deeper into whatever lay in front of them, maybe then he could ask her. But not before. He shook his head to clear it, insecurities snapping back down to lay dormant and twisting.
"We're going." Han finally said, quietly still staring at the disengaged comm station. "To Nar Shaddaa. We have to."