DXUN, 40 YEARS ABE:
Han had traded his vest for a sturdy brown nerfhide jacket, but it did little to ward-off the chill of Dxun. It wasn't the weather, which was moderate in a cloying, muggy sort of way; it was something about the moon itself, something deeper than weather, that sunk cold deep into one's bones.
No borrowed jacket could keep out that kind of chill-although in truth it was impossible to say whether the jacket he wore now had started life in his closet or in Lando's; despite how diametrically opposed much of their taste in fashion was, over the years the two men had traded clothes more often than ships. It might have stemmed from the "finders-keepers" pragmatism common to smugglers, or it might have just been a result of how often they did exchange ships and thus the contents of one another's wardrobes. Han had even borrowed a cape or two now and again, although he tended to play dumb whenever one of those stories was shared.
Leia had also liberated a jacket from the Lady Luck's closet, a more stylishly-cut one made of creamy tavella that was as likely to belong to Lando as to his daughter. Either way, it hung long enough on Leia to look more like a tunic than a coat. The sleeves were too long as well and she had had to fold them back to free her hands, exposing the iridescent ivory shimmersilk lining. She was still wearing the white gown in which she had meant to celebrate the long-awaited peace between the New Republic and the Empire beneath it, but during the journey to Dxun she had used a vibroblade to shorten its skirts. The fine gown now hung no further than her knees, its edges ragged. The borrowed beige leggings Leia wore beneath them had also been folded-up several times to accommodate her petite stature and they bulged out a little around the tops of her boots from the impromptu layering.
If she felt the same cold that made Han shiver, she gave no acknowledgement; hand on her lightsaber, Leia strode across the dry, crackling branches and did not stop until she reached the walls of the ancient citadel. "The entrance is here," she said, pressing her palm against the pitted ferrocrete surface.
"Uh...not seeing any sign of a door there, your worship," Han observed. He moved up to stand behind Leia, DL-44 in hand, his shoulders turned halfway back the way they had come in case anything suddenly lunged out at them from the desiccated treeline. He met Chewbacca's distant gaze across the carpet of dead branches and gave the Wookiee a thin smile.
"I know." Leia's voice was frustrated, her frown moreso. "But this is where the entrance is. I can feel it."
"Maybe 'feel' your way towards a nice door buzzer?" Han suggested. "Or better yet, a butler droid to welcome us in and show us around. Preferably with caf."
Leia snorted. "I'll let the Force know you prefer yours with nerfcream, no sweetener."
"Appreciate it."
Leia closed her eyes and widened the spread of her fingers across the ancient wall. She inhaled, held the breath for a moment, and then let it out in a long, slow exhale. The apparently-seamless wall groaned and cracked, and with a heavy grinding sound a rectangular section of wall roughly the size of an AT-ST jerked backwards, dust pouring like a dry waterfall from the sudden gap. It pulled back the length of a Wookiee's headspan, then slowly began to rise. The distant sound of gears turning and chains tugging put to rest any thought of power sources or repulsors; this door moved by old-fashioned pulleys...and the power of the Force.
Han and Leia stood and watched it in nervous silence, Han's blaster now pointed towards the deepening darkness within. Leia's hand was on the hilt of her lightsaber, fingers tight enough to bleach the skin of her knuckles white across their bones.
With a hollow, teeth-rattling boom the massive door locked into place. A fresh cascade of dust fell, shaken free by the shock of impact.
Nothing else moved. Nothing lunged forward out of the darkness to attack them.
After a long, tense breath, Han glanced sideways at his wife. "So...in, then?"
Leia tried to sound flippant, but for once her sarcasm fell flat: "It's either that or we go home and get used to wearing a lot of Imperial Gray."
"Would match our hair," Han observed.
Leia snorted and patted absently at her braid. "Thanks."
"Any time, your worship." He gave a little half-bow, although it was stunted by the fact that he refused to move enough to risk the nozzle of his blaster falling out of shot of the cavernous entrance. "After you."
"So gallant," Leia murmured, unclipping a glowrod from her belt. She took a deep breath and moved forward. Han raised his blaster to aim over her shoulder, ready for trouble.
Together, they walked into the dark.