I'm not 100% happy with the pacing of this chapter, but with the order of events in the previous two and the next few, this was the best I could get it.
He dodged. Of course he dodged. He'd never sparred with her, never given her a taste of what he could do, but she knew he was good.
He'd survived the Jedi coup and assassination, after all.
A lightsaber flew from his sleeve in half a heartbeat, halting her blade just before it lopped his head off and did the entire galaxy a kriffing favour—
She yanked the saber back and slashed again; he parried almost effortlessly. His lips were drawn back from his yellow teeth in what might have been a grin, might have been a snarl.
"You're out of practise," he said.
A scream clogged her throat. She barely ducked back in time to avoid the strike coming for her, caught the second one on her saber, pushing.
He spun his saber; her own flew out of her hand, clattering across the floor.
She saw his eyes narrow—
"No." Her hand shot out and the lightsaber zipped back towards her—
Only to be halted halfway.
Palpatine's free hand was also out.
Leia gritted her teeth and pulled—
And it snapped towards her.
She caught it deftly, taking several long steps back, breathing hard. Palpatine's gaze was on her, thick with a surprising amount of hatred; she allowed herself a small smile.
In terms of raw, untamed ability, she was more powerful than him. She and Luke both.
And he knew it.
She held her lightsaber out beside her, unlit for the moment, and stalked around him. Her shoulders, her arms, were shaking.
"Where's my brother," she demanded.
"Do you know whose lightsaber that is you stole?" he asked.
She lunged forwards and drove the saber down two-handed—
He knocked it aside easily and she jerked back to avoid being gutted from nape to naval.
"Tell me where my brother is, you monster!"
"That was Barriss Offee's lightsaber."
She paused, chest heaving, sweaty hair tipping into her face. "I don't care who that is."
"You should. She was the first Inquisitor." He smiled a little. "The First Sister."
Leia rolled her eyes.
"At least, that's what she became."
She stalked closer, saber tip inscribing loops in the marble floor. The diamond-stars in the ceiling glinted above her.
"She too was young and naive, dedicated to ending war and tyranny, but disillusioned with the methods she'd been taught." He smiled wider. "She too turned to terrorism to make her point heard."
Leia flinched. "It's not—"
"You yourself have called Saw Gerrera a terrorist very often, have you not? And now you and Amidala throw your lot in with him. Do you—"
She slashed at him. He blocked it.
"Rude," he commented. "But as I was saying: do you truly hate me that much?"
"Yes," she growled.
His smile was wider than a sando aqua monster's by now.
"Then you are mine," he said. "Just like she was." He tilted his head. "Just like your brother is."
She screamed and attacked him.
The dark side coursed through her veins like glitterstim, her heart raced, her muscles wrenched—
He stumbled back, startled by the sudden, intense onslaught and she seized that darkness that was so thick around them both and shoved, flung him back—
He landed on the steps up to the dais with a crack.
She was right behind him, bringing her saber down again, and again, until his crimson blade slipped from his fingers and rolled away from him, winking out.
She glared at him with all the fury she possessed, the darkness coiling around her like an affectionate parent—
She wanted to kill him, she wanted nothing but murder, to see the life drain from his eyes as he gasped for air, or stared where the saber went in; she wanted to sense him vanish, to never return, to feel his blood spatter the earth—
And then the darkness barrelled into her and it burned. She must've blacked out for a bit; when she woke, a first seconds later, her lightsaber was gone and blue sparks were just dying in her peripheral vision.
Her arm was in agony.
"You're mine," he repeated gleefully. He was on his feet now, though blood soaked the right sleeve of his robe. His hands came up in that all-too-familiar position and she closed her eyes.
"You belong to the darkness, Leia." His voice was cajoling again, soft and forceful, and it cut her sharper than any admonishment would have. "These Rebels, these Jedi you've thrown your lot in with. . . they would never understand you. They will never accept you. You will never be good enough, pure enough, light enough, in their eyes.
"Because you belong to the darkness. You have your anger, your hate; you were one of my most promising pupils. It can be like that again, Leia. You can save your brother, and find the belonging you seek."
"I don't seek belonging," she spat. "I just want you dead."
"You seek destruction?"
She spat at his feet.
"As I said," he continued. "You belong here. You belong with us, in the darkness. Surely you know that?"
Leia hesitated.
Ahsoka tells me, Kanan tells me, that they are worried about you. The dark side will eat you alive.
She did know that. She didn't belong with Palpatine, never Palpatine, but the Sith. . .
Once you've wallowed in death and destruction, once you've burned the galaxy to ashes to rescue him, you will have to find out if that was really what Luke wanted.
She knew that, and she knew that it wasn't what Luke would want for her. That it wasn't what she would want for him, in reverse.
She curled her hand around the emergency comlink in her sleeve. Then shoved herself to her feet, stumbling a little.
"I belong with my family," she told him. "And you—you and your precious darkness—are no family of mine.
"I will spend no longer in this cold throne room than I have to."
He glared. "You insolent little girl—"
She threw out her hand and the windows shattered. Chilly night winds swept in to tug at her hair, her rags; ruffle Palpatine's robes. The bloody fabric shimmered in the starlight.
Then she turned on her heel and ran.
Luke was not there. She didn't know where he was—had he ever been there at all, had Palpatine tricked her?—but he wasn't in that room, and so soon neither would she be.
She reached the precipice where the window had once been and jumped.
Skidded on some roofing tiles, softening her landing with the Force. Hopped from ledge to ledge, resolutely not looking down, even as she felt Palpatine's dark nova explode behind her. He was barking orders—
But there was the familiar shape of the Hidden Star nimbly vaulting the spires, and there was the open ramp.
She landed inside it with a roll—ow; she'd forgotten that she'd hurt her arm—and heard the snick of the ramp closing.
"You alright?" Biggs shouted back to her. Leia lay on her back, panting.
"No," she said. "I haven't got my brother."
"Oh."
"Ahsoka and the others are on their way out, right?"
"Yeah. You're the last to be picked up."
"Great." She drew herself up just enough to bury her face in her knees, finding herself strangely tearless after. . . everything. "That's just great."
She found herself reaching out to the Palace even as they fled it. Luke's light was shrouded again, even from her, and it was tormenting her. She wanted, more than anything, for her brother to hear her, to reply, to let her know that—
That—
He wouldn't resent her for leaving him behind again.
She couldn't bear it if he did.
"At least we're all alive," she muttered.
The words felt hollow.
Leia may have escaped, rejected his offer, but Palpatine was not without the means to make her regret it—for the rest of her life.
The hidey-hole he'd shoved Luke into was cramped and unpleasant; he dragged the boy back into the vastness of the throne room as quickly as possible and stalked around him as he tried (and failed) to get his bearings.
Before he could, the red guards were around him again and he flinched, terrified. They did not reach for their Force pikes, but when they seized the boy by the arms and dragged him away, his dazed mind concocted all sorts of agonies they were about to do to him. It stained the Force red; Palpatine lapped it up with glee.
It was a few hours later—a few hours of more pain and torment later, for Luke—that he visited him back down in his private, hidden cells. He imagined Leia would have been very interested in coming down here, he thought, had she known where they were, but it was of no import. Leia had fled, again, and left her brother at his mercy.
Again.
And after both twins' stubbornness, he had no mercy to spare.
When he swept into the room, the red guards stepped back to reveal a frail, broken form of a boy in amidst the swirl of their red robes. Palpatine smiled.
"Leave us," he commanded, and watched the broken boy try to curl up into a foetal position at the sound of his voice.
Much like he had in the throne room after his first failure to kill those Rebels, Palpatine mused, all those months ago. . .
He crouched down beside him. Cold, clammy hands felt along the wrecked and ruined clothes to grasp his shuddering shoulders, pushing him upright. Luke cried out.
"Shhh, my boy," Palpatine murmured. "Lean back against the wall. Be still."
He sensed the will to resist flash through Luke's mind, but the boy was weak, in agony, and tired. He gritted his teeth and tried to spit something out. . . and that something dissolved into another moan of pain.
"Now, now, child." Palpatine gently tilted his head back, gently pulled out a syringe with a drug inside it, and—ever so gently—slipped the needle into Luke's arm. "I'm sure that hurts. Wouldn't you like the pain to go away?"
Luke said nothing. Palpatine tightened his grip, and the needle bit. "Wouldn't you like the pain to go away?"
Luke stirred briefly, eyes even more glazed than before as the freezing numbness spread up his arm and to his head. His thoughts swirled sluggishly, like water under ice.
He nodded, very slowly.
Satisfied, Palpatine lowered himself into a cross-legged position opposite him, amber eyes sharp on his face. Luke's irises were more grey than blue.
He said, "I'm so, so sorry, Luke."
The boy frowned, clearly trying to drag himself into some form of lucidness, but there was a reason Palpatine had finally given him painkillers.
"I know this has all been terrible for you—you think you're suffering for your family, for what they would want, but I have been trying to tell you the truth for so long now, and it is time you accepted it: It's pointless. They have abandoned you. Why do you remain loyal to them after all of that?"
Why does anyone remain loyal to you?
Palpatine heard his thought, loud and clear; he smiled, and pretended not to have.
"I wish I had your faith in people, my boy." He sighed. "To keep fighting for someone even after they'd tortured you, even after they stormed a palace trying to slaughter you. . . It is admirable, but foolish, and it will only get you killed. I only want to see you safe and as well as can be, my friend," he took Luke's chin in his and Luke could not resist as he tilted it upwards, "and see you give your wonderful, powerful devotion to those who would scorn it so. . . it breaks my heart."
Luke was frowning, desperately trying to focus on. . . anything. "They. . ." He tried to shake his head; all he really did was. . . shiver it. "Torture. . .?"
"Luke. . ." Palpatine let himself sound concerned. "Do you not remember Lord Vader in here, several days ago? He. . . was not gentle."
Luke shivered his head again. "No— Father. . ."
"I understand. Perhaps it was too terrible for you to remember. But, child, it's all the evidence you need to—"
"No."
He stiffed, swallowed, and forced himself to say, "What was that?"
"No. . . killing. No one wanted to—"
"Luke." He silence him with a gentle, pained laugh. "Surely you sensed your sister?"
He saw Luke tense up, realisation clouding his mind further as he cottoned on to what Palpatine was saying.
"Surely you sensed her anger, her murderous intent? She was searching for you incessantly, remember?" His mind would have been far too clouded, his Force connection far too erratic, for him to sense much else. . . but he would have sensed that much.
"Luke, I am so sorry."
"No." The word was weak, though, and doubt riddled his mind. "No. . ."
"Luke. . ." He placed a hand on his cheek. Luke was too busy staring at the floor, his hands, in mounting horror to jerk back or object. "I am so sorry. But you have to understand. You cannot give so much of yourself to someone who only wishes you ill."
"No. . ."
"Join me again," he coaxed. "Come back to where you belong. Leave your traitorous family behind and I promise, next time your father tries to lay a hand on you, next time your sister comes for you with murder in her heart—and there will be a next time—we can stand together. Or, you will be strong and capable enough to stand alone."
Then he leaned in to whisper, "But you don't have to stand alone."
A tear slid down the boy's cheek.
Palpatine rose. "I shall leave you to think about it. I know it has been an overwhelming day."
And then, just as he'd hoped, a surge of resolve cut through the fog on Luke's mind long enough to illuminate one path to take, one course of action, before sweeping in again.
He made to leave.
"Wait."
He kept leaving.
"Master," Luke said. Palpatine stopped in the open doorway.
He turned his head and shoulders back to face him. Luke's pale, colourless eyes were wide, his face ashen. Pain contorted his features, his body—but so did desperation. He reached towards Palpatine like a weed towards the sun.
Palpatine took a step back towards him, let those grasping fingers touch the hem of his dark robes.
"Yes, Luke?" he asked lowly.
"Please," Luke swallowed, "Master."
He took a shuddering breath and cast his eyes down to the floor.
"Wait."
Leia disembarked the ship with a heavy heart and a frown. Alderaan was bright, the palace gleaming.
There'd been no communication through hyperspace, neither Leia nor Wedge nor Biggs had tried it; perhaps the other two were letting her decide what to say about this travesty of a rescue operation.
He'd known she was coming. How?
Had she or Ahsoka not been shielding well enough? Had they given it away when they'd brushed the Force to survive the jump to the midden? Had she taken too long to get to the cells, so he could spirit her brother away before she arrived?
Had Luke been in those cells at all or in those fabled private dungeons of his, buried somewhere in the mass of the palace where no one would ever find him?
. . .or had he just known?
His much-vaunted foresight had proved a problem to them in the past.
It seemed set on continuing that trend.
The questions plagued her mind, day and night cycle. So she couldn't sleep, couldn't speak—and she certainly didn't know how she was going to tell her mother, her stressed, overworked, worried mother, that they'd failed.
Perhaps it was for the best, then, that they'd received a message shortly after entering hyperspace to set course for Alderaan. It meant she only had a few hours to stew, rather than days.
Why, exactly, they'd been diverted to Alderaan. . . she had no idea.
She had no idea.
They'd emerged from hyperspace to the Force exploding with light, especially around the palace in Aldera. As soon as Wedge and Biggs made for that area, Leia came forward to the cockpit to watch the city sprawl beneath them.
It was beautiful, she admitted.
The cool, arching architecture reminded her of Naboo, somewhat, if the buildings in Theed were taller, narrower and more. . . metallic. No, actually, it wasn't the architecture at all: it was the green. Parks blossomed at various intervals around the place; mountains clustered around the cities like flowers.
It was nice.
It was Coruscant's bright, pleasant antithesis.
Once they got closer to the Palace, the comm crackled with a comms tech issuing orders. Biggs replied, but Leia ignored them both; she was watching the landing pad they were heading for.
Watching who stood on it.
Ahsoka was already there, waiting; Leia felt her bright presence expand to encompass the ship, brushing against her mind in greeting. Leia brushed back. . . and felt her sense grow questioning when she scanned the rest of the ship to find only Leia, Biggs and Wedge.
Leia didn't comment.
She watched Ahsoka's figure, growing larger and larger as they approached the platform, lean towards Padmé to whisper something. By now, they were close enough to see Padmé's face slip from hope to confusion. . . to fear.
They landed, the ramp went down, and Leia emerged.
Her gaze went immediately to her mother and Ahsoka, but the person who stepped forward first was neither of them.
A tall man with tan skin, who oozed culture and diplomacy.
Leia disliked him immediately, and that was before she even connected the face to the name from her political studies:
Bail Organa.
He smiled at her—she was sure that anyone else would find it warm, endearing, but she just thought it reeked of practised politeness. "Welcome to Alderaan, Leia."
She did not like him using her first name.
She glanced at Padmé. Her mother was watching her with a grave expression.
This was her friend, she remembered. Organa was her friend.
So she smiled back. Its politeness was evidently forced and she did not bother to correct it. But he got the hint.
He waved her forward. "Your rescue attempt?"
"Failed," she ground out. They were in earshot of Padmé and Ahsoka now; she watched her mother's face fall further.
"Well, we rescued several valuable political prisoners thanks to Fulcrum's efforts," Organa tried. He nodded at Ahsoka, then Leia. "And your own, of course."
She gritted her teeth, suddenly finding words difficult to form. "We did not rescue my brother."
Padmé reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder. "There was nothing more you could've done."
"He said," Leia choked out, "that I— that I was his—"
"Leia—"
"He predicted my every move," he spat. "He knew exactly what I was going to do, and I felt like—"
"Leia. . ." There was a hand on her shoulder. She shook it off.
"I felt like him."
She finished, quietly, "And in that moment. . . I wanted to be."
Padmé frowned. She turned to Ahsoka. "Can you. . ."
Ahsoka nodded, took Leia's arm, and guided her inside.
She said, "I know you and your mother have spoken about. . . about the dark side, and its implications, and whether you think you should continue to use it. I believe you expressed an interest in learning the light?"
"Just to compare," Leia muttered.
Ahsoka laughed. "Yes. Just to compare."
Leia gnawed on her lip as they mounted the steps and wandered through the palace's cool, marble halls.
"Alright," she said, "can you. . .?"
"I," Ahsoka grimaced, "am not a skilled teacher." Leia thought that might be selling herself a bit short. "But you have a visitor who is."
"Who—"
Ahsoka stopped outside a door to a small lounge and waved Leia inwards.
Leia stepped inside, taking in the paintings on the walls, the rich carpet, the luxurious sofa. . .
And the creature sitting there.
Green. Small. Wrinkled.
Shields upon shields unravelled and a vast, crackling Force presence unveiled itself, so explosive Leia wondered how she ever could have missed it.
"Welcome, young Skywalker," Master Yoda said. "Expecting you, I was."
Bail squeezed her arm. "Are you alright?"
Padmé shook her head but said, "I'm fine."
He grimaced, then led her inside. Showed her to a private office nearby, indicating the lock on the door.
It wasn't until she'd sat down and he'd left, silence falling like snow in his absence, that she put her head in her hands and let out the sobs that cracked her chest in two.
Luke had spent twelve hours in bacta and a further twenty four hours in the medbay by the time one of Palpatine's lackeys came to show him to his new quarters.
They were located in the Palace—in the same tower as Palpatine, in fact, close enough that his presence hung all over the place. Luke had no possessions of his own to bring; he'd want to return briefly to the apartment, he thought, to get his datapads, some clothes, his. . .
What?
What was he doing here?
Palpatine's lackey was still droning on and on about the rooms, the view, the appliances—as if Luke didn't know all of this already. He just walked up to one of the windows—floor to ceiling, wall to wall— and peered out over the violet dusk of Coruscant, the shadowy skyline.
"Leave," he said quietly.
The lackey paused. "Are—"
"I said, leave."
The man paused again, hands fluttering as wildly as his pulse, but eventually frowned and said, "Yes, my lord."
My lord.
Luke raised an eyebrow but didn't turn to look at him. He left, and Luke was alone.
Well, not totally.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Luke felt for the Force. Pried through these new quarters until he sensed the whirring of holocams and, in one last fit of rebellion Palpatine would no doubt be expecting, crushed them.
Then he bit out, "It's nice to hear from you too, Kenobi."
"Manifesting myself is difficult, I told you that. I've been gathering my strength."
"It's been weeks."
"Time does not exist in the Force."
Luke snorted. "Whatever you say."
"Luke. . ." The ghostly form reflected in the window approached him cautiously. "What have you done?"
"I've decided to return to my old habits—"
"Luke—"
"—of treason." His voice quietened. "And espionage."
Silence.
The ghost shook his head. "He'll find you out. You only survived a few months, last time."
"Any day"—Luke clenched his fists—"I survive, out of that cell, is another day to—"
Ben's reflection frowned.
"Live?" he offered quietly.
Luke swallowed.
Cast his mind back to that presence of fear and anger and desperation and intent to kill that he'd sensed, half-awake, in the thick shadows of the throne room.
"Help Leia," he murmured. "Even— Even if he realises I'm only pretending to repent, it's better this way. At least I have a chance."
"A chance to do what?"
"What do you think?" He gave a humourless laugh. The sky was dark, now. "Same as before. Report back. Try to skew things in the Rebellion's favour.
"And the moment I'm able to escape. . . I will. I will return to Leia."
"Leia. . ." Ben frowned. "What Palpatine said to you—"
"Was a lie." Luke nodded. Tears. . . they'd flowed freely in the cell, on the way here, but now his eyes were perfectly dry. "I know."
"You do?" Luke nodded. "How?"
Luke's gaze turned upwards—to the now-black sky. No stars could ever be seen from Coruscant for the light, but he knew they were out there.
Just as his sister was out there, somewhere.
He said simply, "Because she's Leia."