Chewbacca has spent a good portion of his two hundred years surrounded by humans and, as such, their behavior rarely surprises him. He found Ben and Rey difficult to predict and their motivations were often harder to understand, but after learning of out-of-time status, even they began to make sense. Vader is still an enigma to him, but he supposes the masked man is an exception for most.
He is not surprised by the sour mood that takes over the Falcon when the others leave nor is he surprised that none of them jump at the opportunity when he offers up a game of dejarik. The young Jedi, Luke, finally and quite reluctantly, agrees when Chewbacca presses the issue. Normally he would leave well enough alone, but he is certain that they all need something to occupy their minds, or at least their hands - especially the younger two.
The Princess, Leia, seems especially distraught, though that is understandable. He would likely find himself in a similar state if he learned that Kashyyyk were destroyed. Such news would be devastating, even if it only happened in a time that did not belong to him. The idea of it happening at all, ever, is enough - is too much, really.
Her brows seem permanently knitted together, such a human sign of distress, and it is no great shock when she stands and leaves the lounge without a word. He does not stop her or call after her. In his experience, while Leia can be temperamental at times she is sharp and intelligent, a strategist at heart. He is confident that she will not leave on her own, or at the very least he is sure that he will hear any attempt to leave. He is certain that Ahsoka would scoff at his assuredness of either of those things, but that is no matter now.
Han, my friend, Han startles slightly at Chewbacca's call. Han has always had the uncanny ability to bounce back from anything with hardly a scratch, something the pilot often attributes to luck, but Chewbacca credits his difficult and lonesome childhood for his hardy spirit. He's never seen his friend so mired down and it is difficult to witness, even if he understands. A piece of advice from one husband to a future one, go after her. Chewbacca puts an effort towards keeping his tone light as he sees his friend struggle towards a smile.
"Yeah, thanks," Han says, standing. His eyes are heavy and though Chewbacca cannot see his spirit, he is certain that it must look much the same.
Luke makes mistake after mistake in their shared game, but Chewbacca does not take advantage of any of them, preferring to keep the rounds going as long as possible. Eventually, Luke's shoulders slump and his head hits the table with a soft thud. The holographic monsters that populate the game board flicker with the interruption.
Any word? Chewbacca asks, taking care to speak as clearly and slowly as possible knowing that Luke's Shyriiwook is still quite rusty.
"No," Luke's answer is muffled by the sleeve of his jacket. "Nothing," he reiterates. He moans and stretches his arms across the table, further upsetting the holograms. "I can't concentrate on this."
Alright, Chewbacca says, standing and rounding the table. He places a hand on each of Luke's shoulders and lifts him up - gently, of course, he doesn't want to dislocate the boy's arms - forcing him to stand as well. There's some work to be done in the cockpit, then. Come with me, Little Jedi.
Luke frowns, perhaps at the title which, Chewbacca considers now, might have been a mistake, but he nods slowly and heads off towards the cockpit without further prompting. Chewbacca follows in silence and wishes they had an audiobulb or some other device to cut through the thick quiet that permeates the ship, but there's nothing to be done about that now. Busy hands are usually distraction enough. Chewbacca can only hope that is the case here.
The ship is so quiet after Ben and the others leave. The air feels weighed down with guilt, or perhaps that's just Leia. She's holed up in the now-quiet crew cabins, curled in on herself in shadowiest berth she could find. She hugs herself tightly in an effort to stave off the cold that seeps in through her clothes, sinks down to her bones. She's never been this far down into the depths of Coruscant but the air here rivals that of deep space or, perhaps, Hoth. She's heard that it's blisteringly hot near the core, for obvious reasons, but they must be too far off that yet to feel the benefit of its radiant heat.
She doesn't know whether she wants to scream or sob or both. Neither happens. She is as still and silent as a stone, her heart pounding in her ears as though the room around her is on fire. She breathes in deeply, allowing the imagined smoke to fill her lungs, but there are no embers here, only ice. She is too cold to burn.
Terrible mother, planet destroyed, no home, family broken… These terrible thoughts repeat over and over in her mind, one begetting the other and then the next. As hard as she tries, she cannot break the line of thought. It's almost as if she has no control over it at all.
Alderaan – gone, just as she had seen in her vision. She tries to comfort herself by remembering the destruction of the Empire's horrible battle station over Yavin IV, but that had only been the first. There would be a second and then something following that, 'Starkiller', Ben had called it. Alderaan would be – will be a high-level target, especially now given her family's very public allegiance to the Rebel Alliance.
Are her visions things that had only happened once, that can be prevented or are they warnings, windows into a future that will still come to pass? She has no way of knowing.
Destined. The word slithers through her mind drenched in sticky, black ichor. Fated. Pre-determined. She's never believed in any of these things before. She doesn't know what to believe. Her thoughts don't feel like her own. She does not feel like herself.
She shivers even as a weight settles on her shoulders. Han tucks the thick cotton of his jacket tighter around Leia before taking a seat beside her. She peers up at him through her lashes and offers a weak smile in thanks. He returns it with one of his own, though it doesn't reach his eyes. Leia doubts hers does either.
"Still cold?" He asks, shuffling awkwardly on his feet. Leia nods and he frowns deeply. "I checked the air-con, damn thing said it's working fine. I don't feel –" He cuts himself off, his lips pressed together in a tight line. "I'll check it again."
"No," Leia protest weakly. "Please… don't go."
"Alright." He agrees quietly, his lips curving upwards in something a bit more genuine or heartfelt than before. If someone had told her back when she met Han how soft his eyes could get, how the mossy greens and stormy greys could shine so clearly through the hazel – well, she's probably sneer and tell them to go tell someone who might actually care about such information. She likes his eyes.
He crawls onto the bunk behind her and pulls her into him so that her back lays flush to his chest. He then takes one of her icy little hands in both of his, idly playing at and toying with her fingers.
"What are you doing?"
"Looked like you needed a distraction." He murmurs into her hair. Leia shuffles back further, wanting to cocoon herself in his warmth. He radiates it. He is the only thing on this ship giving off any heat, maybe he's the only source of it in the whole galaxy. It certainly seems like that in this moment. "I needed a distraction… You want a ring?"
"What?" Her voice is hard to her own ears, something like a verbal shove, but she doesn't mean for it to come out like that. She actually wants a distraction. She's desperate for the opportunity to think about something – anything else for a moment, to keep the stone forming in her heart from gaining any more weight. "What in the galaxy are you talking about?"
"When we get married." He hums, idly stroking her bare ring finger between his index an thumb. The calloused pads of his fingers rough where hers are soft. "Bet you want a ring. Bet you've already got nicer ones than I can afford to get you – sorry about that."
"Han," Leia sighs. Of course this is what he wants to talk about – the very thing that Leia is trying so hard to avoid. The future. And what's worse is that he's making light of it, a feat that should be impossible, in Leia's opinion, when what lays before them seems so very dark.
"Bet you've got a hundred rings."
"Han." Leia pulls her hand from his and tucks it into her chest, thoroughly done with this game.
"What?" He kisses the tip of her ear. She flushes more out of irritation that pleasure. She doesn't know why he insists on pretending everything is normal when absolutely nothing is. "I'm not asking you today, but we both know what's gonna happen. I'm not gonna tiptoe around it just because, what, it's strange? Sweetheart, my life has been nothing but magic powers, fortune telling, and secret family members since the day I met you all. If it suddenly started getting normal, then I would be scared." He chuckles and it sounds genuine.
"Do you possess the ability to be serious?"
"I can manage it sometimes." He tries for another laugh, but it comes out much sadder, a quiet huff of air against the back of Leia's head. "I can be serious, Leia. I'm just trying to… I can tell you're hurting, hell, I – I'm hurting. I don't know who wouldn't be after – after all of that."
"My heart is broken," she confesses.
"Yeah, I know." He pulls her tighter to him. "Mine, uh, mine… It was easier to pretend I didn't have one, ya' know?"
Leia wishes that she didn't have a heart. Something that doesn't exist couldn't possibly hurt this much.
"I wish I knew what to do, what to say."
Selfish girl. The voice that isn't quite a voice at all has returned. It's almost a physical pain, the way it scrapes along her senses.
She is selfish, holed up here, tucked safely in Han's arms, while the others, her own son included, march off to a possible death.
Possible? You are being generous, her heart or her mind or something else corrects. They will die and they will do it for you.
Leia grips the fabric of Han's shirt with numb fingers. Terrible images assault her. Lightning and certain death, screams and unseeing eyes. She is hollow and bloodless in her fear, carved out by it. Leia blinks them away. They're not real. She has never before been one to allow her life to be controlled by fear, but now it is all consuming, possessing and she doesn't know how to let it go.
"I just - I feel like the worst mother in the galaxy right now."
Han says nothing and Leia is glad for it. He watches her, his hazel eyes dark and intense and so much sadder than she is used to, and nods, waiting for her to continue.
"What did we do?"
Han offers no answer. Instead, he gently cradles Leia's head against his chest and holds her there. The soft beating of his heart through his shirt soothes her just as much as the gentle feather-light kisses pressed to her hairline.
"Clearly, we failed him once already, and now…" Her voice is a lament. She shivers violently. The cold has returned with a vengeance. "I feel like we sent him off to die." The words only barely manage to escape her throat in a hoarse whisper.
The Force buzzes angrily around Leia, electric and judging. She should not be here. Her skin itches. It's too tight, like it is something she should jump out of, something she should shed, as if it is something she has grown past the need for.
"What do you want to do, Leia?" Han's words travel from his lips down Leia's spine, along her veins. They hold no suggestion but every possibility.
"I want to go after him." Want is such an impotent word, flat and nearly meaningless compared to what she means. This is not a matter of want, it is a need. She must go to him, stop him, save him. The conviction settles in her lungs more comfortably than air. It feels good, natural, and right in a way nothing else does, not now, not with her body threatening to turn inside out with distress and confusion and fear.
Leia waits breathlessly for a protest that never comes.
"Good," Han sighs, almost in relief, and his arms tighten around her. She lets it happen, certain that he is the only thing holding her together at this moment. She is shattering. "I do too. We should go, all of us. Chewie'll take some convincing but…"
"Han," That isn't what she had meant. She needs to go, but Han? She can't allow him to burst into the Emperor's throne room armed with nothing but a blaster and his wits. She squirms around in his grip until their chests touch each other's and she is able to meet his eyes with her own. She reaches up to touch his face slowly and her thoughts must be painted clearly on her own because he frowns and snatches her wrist in midair.
"Don't tell me not to go," He warns. "Don't you do that, Leia. He's my son too."
Leia opens her mouth to argue but nothing comes out. How can she allow him to do this? How can he expect her to? He'll die if he joins her, she's certain of that, and she can't allow him to die. She already keeps the secret of his fate tucked close to her chest, selfishly hoarding the knowledge he should likely possess.
"He is," Leia agrees instead. Her words lifeless and chilled by the guilt she cannot speak.
"So, I go." Han searches Leia's face for a change in expression that she does not give. "If you go, I go. We're in this together, alright Princess?" He leans forward and his lips brush the apple of her cheek, barely a kiss, barely there.
An idea slips into Leia's mind. She does not know where it comes from or how she came to possess the knowledge it contains, but she is thankful for it nonetheless.
Her hand breaks free from Han's now limp hold and her fingers card through his hair. She smiles at him and he relaxes. She presses upwards and kisses his cheek, whispering an apology into the stubble there. If he catches her meaning, he doesn't have time to react, as her influence wraps around his mind and he falls into a deep Force-induced slumber.
Leia looks back at him once before slipping out of the ship unseen, his eyes closed and face peaceful, his jacket laid back over his chest like a blanket. He is safe and he will forgive her, at least, she hopes he will.
It has been almost twenty years. Vader has not set foot in, or even been near this building in almost twenty years. He knows that the penthouse apartment at the top has remained unoccupied for the entirely of that time. He has ensured that. Her things are up there, untouched, just as she left them before…
It is difficult to imagine the thick layer of dust gathered over it all, the way the furniture he still remembers so well must be rusted or rotting with age, decaying the way his memories never will. It is a tomb just as real as the one she rests in on Naboo, the one he has visited only once in the time since her death. A shrine to her and her love and their dream.
This is where that dream was built. The dream of a life together, of something beyond politics and the Jedi and codes, of a family. This is where she and her husband - a far different man than the one who returns here now - believed that their dream was a sustainable one. It is where they had hoped that the galaxy might be more forgiving, that one day, once the war was over, they would be allowed to live in peace. It is where Anakin Skywalker, the young fool that he was, thought that he might be enough, that his love alone could prevent the terrible things that he had foreseen.
This is not where that dream crumbled, turned to ashes and scattered to the wind. But what a dream it was, wild and beautiful and doomed. As substantial as smoke and just as easy to get lost in.
"The tunnel?" The girl prompts, cutting the cords on the net dragging Vader back into the past.
"Yes," Vader agrees, though to what he's unsure. Being here, it leaves him unbalanced.
They exit the vehicle and gather on the platform outside. The landing pad he's chosen is not the same he would have used in the past. Then, he would have landed on her personal landing pad. This one is a few floors below the building's main entrance, perfectly out of sight of prying eyes, and the closest to his current goal as possible.
The walkway connecting the floating platform to the rest of the city juts straight out, running into a solid wall of durasteel panels about ten meters high before splitting off in either direction, leading to an exterior turbolift on one end and another series of landing pads on the other.
The panel closest to the turbolift seems completely unassuming, it's exterior no different than the many dozens and hundreds that surround it, concealing the city's electric wiring, plumbing, and computer panels from the elements. Vader knows better. He extends one hand, the fingertips of one glove nearly brushing the awaiting metal, and the panel shifts, pushing inward and then sliding to the side to reveal a hidden pathway.
The official story he'd received upon discovering the first of these tunnels is that they are used for city maintenance, but never once in his many years of running them has he ever met a single soul in any of them, doing maintenance or otherwise. Too many of them connect directly to the Palace to be a coincidence, like many fingers stretching out along the city from that one singular point. He suspects that they may have been used by the Sith who built the temple before the Jedi took it over, or, perhaps, were added as escape routes in cases of emergency - not that they were ever properly employed if that was the case.
The tunnel itself is narrow and dark, with barely enough room for both he and his grandson to transverse it shoulder-to-shoulder. The panel closes behind them and perfects the darkness. Though the goggles in his mask allow for night-vision, he remembers traveling these tunnels by the glow of his lightsaber alone, a single streak of blue against the pitch-black before and behind.
He ignites his lightsaber now, burning red illuminating the well-worn path. He senses apprehension and distrust from the others, but they make no outward protests. They follow him along the corridor, their own blades humming to life behind him.
The air here is thick with memories of her and them and what might have been. His mask cannot filter them out. They slide around the husks of his lungs and claw at what remains of his heart. Every step forward feels like an accomplishment though he is doing nothing more than what he has had to every day since her death. But he continues, one foot in front of the other.
He reaches out to his son. A gentle prod against the boy's senses, curious and concerned. Luke's response is an immediate wordless assurance, undercut with a thin layer of anxiety, that all is well. It does little to ease Vader's unease.
Sidious is waiting for them. Vader is not so foolish to think that they will be able to catch the Sith completely unawares. Sidious is a master of reorganizing on the fly. Facing him now, they rob him of time to plan, which is not much, but… his children's lives are on the line. It will have to be enough.
"Ow! Gaah-" Luke cries. He sticks his smoldering finger into his mouth to help soothe the pain of the shock he just suffered and glares angrily at the offending wire. Bits of frayed copper stick out of the green rubber encasing them and spark menacingly, spitting like a snake warning him to stay away. He could have used that warning a few seconds earlier, thank you very much.
Chewie rumbles with laughter off to Luke's right and says something that sounds very much like 'be careful'.
"Yeah, yeah," Luke mutters under his breath. He grabs a bit of electrical tape and wraps the split ends of the wire that connects to Force-knows-where - probably the 'fresher with how Han has the rest of this ship wired up.
There are a few more wires deeper in the console that he can see need to be attended to. He crawls through the panel opening and as he does so his elbow brushes a lose bolt on the inside of the console's frame. An easy fix and one that is far less likely to get him zapped, so he decides to shift his attention to that temporarily. He crawls back out in search of the tool he needs but it's nowhere to be found.
"Chewie, do you have the spanner? I can't find it anywhere."
Luke concentrates hard on Chewie's answer. His Shyriiwook is still… not the best, but he is able to make out 'ask Han', which he thinks makes sense. Standing, he brushes the dust off of his pants.
The ship feels so empty without everyone else around, crowding it wall-to-wall. Something feels off about the emptiness, but he just feels off in general, so he ignores the sensation. Han's not in the lounge, but Luke's not really surprised about that, he'd seen him follow Leia deeper into the ship a while back. C-3P0 and R2D2 are in the lounge. Luke raises his hand in greeting.
"Either of you know where Han is?"
"Ah, yes!" C-3P0 answers, seemingly overjoyed to be of service. "Master Han and Princess Leia retired to the crew cabins, I believe."
"Jeeze, really?" Luke scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. He doesn't think that, with everything going on, they're likely to be doing anything overtly… romantic, but he doesn't have enough experience in the field himself to be truly confident. Does he really need the spanner that badly, anyway? "Maybe I'll just – I don't want to interrupt anything." He takes a step back towards the main corridor, fully intent on returning to the cockpit empty handed, when R2D2 beeps, halting him in his tracks.
"Oh, that's right, Artoo. I do believe that the princess headed to the refresher not long ago – perhaps you could speak with Master Han before she returns?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'll – Thanks!" He calls back, retreating already.
He slows considerably as he passes the corridor leading to the cockpit but presses on. He'd gone to find the spanner and so he's going to find that spanner, even if only to keep his mind from wandering to his father and the Emperor and…
The first sign that something is off, and it's less of a sign and more of a blatant, blindingly red flag, is that the entry ramp is open and fully lowered. Luke remembers it closing when the others left. The thick silence that settled over the ship is not something easily forgotten. So, what is it doing open now? The next sign is that the 'fresher is clearly empty.
His heart is already beating rapidly as he rounds the corner and throws open the door to the cabin. Han is here, but he's asleep – deeply asleep, almost unnaturally so. Luke takes a cautious step into the room, as though that might cajole Leia out from wherever she's hiding. It doesn't, obviously, because she's not here. He reaches out with his senses. She's not on the ship at all.
"Aw, come on!" He whines almost silently.
He breaks off into the hallway at a near-sprint, the soles of his boots sliding against the metal floor of the ship before catching on a rusty grate, stopping him dead and nearly sending him to the floor face-first. He catches himself with both hands against the wall in front of him.
R2D2 beeps reproachfully as he rolls into the corridor and takes in the open entry-ramp and the city's evening air rolling to the ship.
"I don't know – I think she's… She can't have gone far." Luke hopes. "I'm going to get her." R2D2 warbles again, incredulous. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right – if I'm not back in ten minutes tell Chewie, okay?" A short, sharp beep, not quite a protest but not far off either. "Okay, okay, five. I'll be right back. You'll hardly know I was gone!"
And with that Luke was off the ship and tearing through the city streets. Well, streets would probably be the wrong word to describe them, really. Metal walkways hovering over fathomless chasms, speeders and transports and ships zooming between them, more than Luke could possibly count.
Leia's not far, he can feel her, feel that he is drawing closer. A few dozen pedestrians turn to bustling crowds the further he gets from the ships. Vendors cry out in more languages than Luke even knew existed, peddling their wares. The fetid stink of pollution is nearly overwhelmed by savory and salty and sticky sweet – everything. It's… overwhelming, in a word.
And then he sees her. He knows that she senses him because her steps falter and then she stops, her hand already on the hilt of her lightsaber, but casually so. She hadn't changed after they landed, still swathed in the black Imperial uniform given to her by their father. She doesn't turn around, but she doesn't walk away either.
"What did you do to Han?"
"Han is fine." Leia responds sharply, not really answering Luke's question at all.
"What are you doing?"
It's difficult to really tell so many layers below the surface of the city but Luke figures that the sun must have well and truly set by now. The darkness at this level is persistent, broken only by artificial light sources which bathe the street and pedestrians in a wash of every color imaginable. She whirls around to face him. Neon-bright lights dance in Leia's eyes, which are otherwise hard and flinty. Red and green flash across her face, alternating.
"I -" She begins, her voice as hard as steel for just a second before her face crumples, her jaw trembling and eyes shining with tears. She looks lost, clutching at the lightsaber hilt on her waist like a lifeline. "Ben's in danger. I can't let him - he's my son, Luke. I can't let him die for me." Her voice shatters over the words. Tears pour down her cheeks and she turns away, as if to hide them.
"Father said we weren't ready." Luke offers in half-hearted protest.
"I don't care what he said." She bites back with more ferocity than the anguish in her eyes would belie.
"Ben asked you to stay behind."
"I don't know how to explain it, Luke." She sighs. "I don't know how I know this, but I have to be there."
"I understand." Luke says quietly, his words nearly lost to the din of the bustling crowd that parts around them, oblivious to their current turmoil.
Leia pauses, blinking. Her face screams her disbelief. "You do?"
Luke laughs a little, though there is no joy to be found in the sound. He nearly reminds her of the burning need he'd had to join their father, to save him, help him in some way. It had been like the entire universe pulling at every fiber of his being, screaming that he was in the wrong place, that he needed to go. He understands. "Of course I do."
Leia's eyes dip down to Luke's prosthetic hand and she blushes, turning away. She opens her mouth and then closes it again, her lips pressed tightly together. "Are you going with me?"
Is he going with her? Going against his father's explicit instructions, ones that had been made with their safety in mind, seems wrong, but staying behind and letting his family and friends risk their lives while he does nothing doesn't feel right either. He could die, but he's been in danger of that every day since he left Tatooine.
"Yes, I am."
No one speaks even though Rey thinks that there's quite a lot they should talk about from a plan to defeat the Emperor to what happens after. There's a quiet buzz of distrust and apprehension that surrounds them, but the only sounds that cut through the echoing silence are their boots on the floor and Vader's breathing.
Rey has been able to feel the distinct, cold presence of the Dark Side since they crossed into the planet's atmosphere, but the deeper they draw into the tunnel, the closer they get to the Palace, the stronger that presence becomes. The walls ooze anger and pain and fear, as though they, themselves, feel those emotions. It is thick and sticky as it rests on her skin, threatening to seep inside through her veins and to her heart. This place is corrupted.
She had never before believed that places could have memories. This one does.
Metal bleeds away into stone and the path widens and somehow, though Rey has never been to this place before, never been to this planet, she knows that they are close. They may even have arrived. She is distracted by a sharp, pained gasp from behind her.
"Ahsoka, are you okay?" Rey asks when she sees that the other woman has fallen behind.
Ahsoka stops, shakes her head. Her hands shake as she looks around. "This place, the energy - it's awful." Rey nods, indicating that, yes, she feels it too. "It's full of ghosts." She whispers. Slowly, she looks up at Vader who has stopped just ahead of them. "You - you killed them. All of them." The words are angry, accusatory ones but Ahsoka's voice is too broken and raw for fury.
"Not all." Vader replies, seemingly unmoved by Ahsoka's emotion. "I was not alone."
"No," Ahsoka agrees with a mocking growl. "You had the clones, didn't you? Not that they had a choice. Not like you."
"Who are you to speak of such things? You were not here. You do not know my choice. You know nothing. Whatever choice I made is one I would make again."
"How could you?" Ahsoka's shoulders set as she paces the thin width of the tunnel. "You killed them here and hunted the ones who escaped for years. They trusted you!"
"No. They never trusted me." Vader returns, his voice venomous, rage prickling at the edges of his cold presence in the Force. "One of the last things Windu ever said to me was that if I was right about Sidious, I would have gained his trust - gained. After thirteen long years of servitude to the Order, their trust was something I still had yet to gain. It was at that moment that I realized that I never would. Nothing I could do would make them trust me. I was their soldier, yes, someone able enough to send out to fight their battles for them, a useful tool, but I was never a trusted member."
Ahsoka says nothing as Vader begins to mimic her movements, the two of them like prowling loth cats. Ben grabs Rey's shoulders and pulls her back slowly until his back hits the wall behind him and her back becomes flush to his chest.
"We don't have time for this," He protests, but neither of them pay him any mind.
"They loathed me. Detested me, even as a child. I never earned an ounce of their respect and yet they still expected me to fulfill their precious prophecy. The Chosen One. Some of them believed even that to be a mistake. Certainly, the savior could not be that boy, not Skywalker."
"They were your friends, your family!"
"No!" Vader's voice becomes suddenly thunderous. It shakes off of the walls. Ben pulls Rey tighter to his chest. "My mother was my family. Padmé was my family. The Jedi wanted me to forget about them, would have been content to see them dead, wanted me to rejoice their becoming one with the Force. My choice was my family or the Jedi. I would choose them again. Every time.
"You say they were my friends. They would have turned their backs on me the moment they learned of my relationship with Padmé, cast me out without a second thought for my attachment." Vader's grip around the hilt of his lightsaber tightens and Ahsoka responds in kind. The weapons that had once been ignited merely as sources of light gaining a new, deadlier purpose. "If I remember correctly, they were not your friends in the end either."
"That's different!"
"Perhaps to you –"
"Stop!" Ben roars, stepping out in front of his grandfather, lightsaber held securely in his grasp. Rey takes his lead and stands in front of Ahsoka, both of them creating a wall between the others. "We're short on time as it is. Stop – whatever this is. We need to go!"
"I know…" Ahsoka blinks. It's like a spell breaking. Her shoulders relax but the pain doesn't leave her eyes. "I – It's this place." She squeezes her eyes shut and a single tear streaks down her cheek. "I never imagined…"
Ben's voice has lost a bit of its edge when he speaks again. "We need to go."
Eevan Dootha stares at the screen in front of her in sheer disbelief. She must be misinterpreting the data or there must be some sort of error. A million scenarios and possibilities flood her mind and she tries to grasp one, to make it fit, to make what she is seeing in front of her make any sort of sense at all.
"Sir," she calls out weakly, her voice barely audible over the slightly panicked chatter that rests over the Imperial Palace's communications bay like a thick blanket of sound. "Sir!" She repeats, slightly louder this time. Her commanding officer approaches and stands directly behind her chair. She is glad he cannot see her face. "Lieutenant Scarov, you should take a look at this."
Her finger trembles very slightly as she points out the anomaly - what she hopes is an anomaly. The Lieutenant leans forward to get a better view. His head moves left to right and back again as he absorbs the data presented. He nods sharply once before standing upright again, hands clasped tightly behind his back, face unreadable.
"Sir, is this -"
"This data matches up with information we've received from other ships in the sector. Oh, stop your gaping!" He sneers. Eevan's mouth snaps closed. "Have you no faith in the Empire, Ensign Dootha? Do you truly believe these rebels capable of toppling our might? If you do, you might as well join them."
"No, Sir, of course not." Eevan disagrees quickly, shaking her head. She does her best to appear earnest but that is difficult to do when she feels like the galaxy is crumbling before her very eyes.
"In any case, the Emperor must be informed." The lieutenant waits a moment in silence, one eyebrow raised before Eevan understands his meaning. He means for her to inform his Imperial Majesty. It's not an order completely out of the ordinary for an ensign, like herself, but she's never even seen the Emperor up close, let alone spoken with him - and to have to deliver such terrible news?
"Of course, Sir." She says, standing quickly and dipping her head into a shallow bow before tearing from the room.
Eevan's heart pounds in her ears and her hands shake as she pulls out her personal comm. Anxiously, she waits for her wife to pick up but the comm goes directly to messages. She should have foreseen that, comm lines have been jammed since the first ships of the rebel fleet arrived in the system.
"Taila, hi Honey," she begins, her voice quickly betraying her nerves. "I just called to - please stay safe, Baby. I know you must be so confused, but get to my sister's house, bring your parents too. I love you so much. I'll be home -" Eevan bites back a sob, knowing deep in her heart that she might never be home, that today could very well be her last. "I'll be home as soon as I can. Just please stay safe."
Shoving the comm back in her pocket, she quickens her pace. She knows the route to the Emperor's throne room, even if she's never walked it before. Two red-armored guards stand sentry beside doors as tall as ten of Eevan combined. They say nothing as the doors open and she walks inside.
The throne room itself is huge, a cavernous room of black - from walls to ceiling to floor to the throne the Emperor sits upon. The only pop of color comes from the two banners on either side of the throne, both of them blood red and bearing the insignia of the Empire, that six-spoked wheel representing power and security for the whole galaxy.
The heels of Eevan's boots click loudly as she approaches the throne, the sound echoing around the black stone and metal that makes up the room. That and the sound of blood rushing in her ears are all she hears as she draws closer, the path from doors to the bottom rung of the dais the throne sits upon feeling no shorter than a lightyear.
Eevan has seen Emperor Palpatine in holos, in addresses to the galaxy, during rallies, and during the long parade-like inspections of those who work for him within the palace walls, but never has she been so close and never has she had his attention trained so firmly on her. His eyes, burning and almost unnatural yellow in color, bore through her.
"Your Highness," Eevan begins after the deepest and most respectful bow she can muster, given her current emotional state. "I have news from the battlefront."
"Oh, yes," The Emperor croons. Eevan takes great care not to gasp as the sound of his voice rolls through her, each word sharp and prickling with a power she cannot name or place. "Thank you, Ensign. What news do you bring?"
"The Rebels have gained re-enforcements and Lord Vader's ship has been destroyed." She answers quickly, deciding it's better to rip the bacta-patch off all in one go rather than draw this out. "We've had conflicting reports on whether or not he was on board at the time, but his TIE has not been seen in the system."
"That is troubling news indeed, but I have no doubt as to Lord Vader's fate." The Emperor responds, sounding calm and almost self-satisfied, as though the news he's received is not troubling at all. "He is alive, and I suspect we shall be hearing from him rather soon - but in more pressing matters, I am expecting visitors."
Eevan blinks dumbly for a moment, shocked into silence by the unexpected turn in conversation. "Visitors, your Highness?"
"Yes," he smiles wickedly. "The Princess of Alderaan and her brother will be arriving shortly. See to it that they are given a warm welcome and that no harm comes to them. They are to be my honored guests."