Mara could count on one hand the number of social engagements she had attended for fun. Oh, she'd gone to the opera or the symphony, both of which had been favored getaways of hers during her time as the Emperor's Hand. And she and Luke had gone on a number of small events that normal people would have called dates. She had also gone to any number of social engagements for work: getting to know a target for later infiltration or interrogation, or to establish a personal link with potential assets, that kind of thing.

Going to Leia's for a private get together, however, was none of those things. She was not attending because there was some pressing business need (although, as the liaison between the Smugglers' Alliance and the New Republic government, staying in Leia's good graces was important). She also was not attending alone, as she had always gone to the opera alone. No, she was attending because Luke was attending. He'd slipped his arm through hers, kissed her on the cheek, told her she looked lovely and then whisked her away.

(She had unlinked her arm from his as they traveled past the Imperial Palace's unavoidable security cameras and potential sludgenews plants. So for the newsies hadn't yet picked up on their relationship, a fact for which Mara was grateful. She dreaded the inevitable moment when that stopped being true.)

They swept into the Solo family apartment together. Winter was positively glowing as she greeted them at the door, embracing first Luke and then (much more awkwardly, though Mara did hug her back) Mara.

Mara glanced around as Luke and Winter engaged in conversation. "We're still getting ready for the move," Winter was saying as she led them into the living room, offering them both a glass of Alderaanian spring wine. "There's also tea if you want to join me in the consumption of non-alcoholic beverages," she added.

"When are you due?" asked Luke.

"Three months." Winter grinned at him. "This is partially your fault, you know. The pool money went to the Benvevolent's Fund, but the winner got an all-expenses-paid trip to a vacation retreat of their choice." She rested her hands on her enlarged stomach. "Luckily, Tycho was able to take some vacation time of his own, and we decided to visit New Alderaan." Winter's expression became wry. "It seems some new beginnings inspire others."

Mara flushed. The reminder that Winter had been a party to betting on her love life, and had successfully guessed not only the year but the month (and the week!) that she and Luke would embark on a romantic relationship, was both baffling and embarrassing—especially since Winter had made her bet long before Mara had even begun to consider the possibility.

Thankfully, none of Luke's family had needled her too much about it. It simply was, and they accepted her with barely any hesitation. Mara found the entire thing deeply confusing, but was getting used to it.

It was … kind of nice, actually.

Luke was shaking his head with an amused smile. "Wedge authorized Tycho's leave, doesn't that also make it his fault? Also I'm pretty sure Tycho—"

"Please." Winter snorted. "I'm trying to make you acknowledge my solid insight. All I'm getting is the evasive farm boy caught out after dark."

However Luke had intended to reply to that, it was lost under a sudden flurry of movement. Mara's own danger awareness kicked in too late, and the missile struck her solidly in the leg—and bounced off.

"Ra-ra!" Jaina Solo cried in excitement, despite being puddled at Mara's feet and having some difficulty standing.

"Unca Wuke!" Jacen's own ambush had been more successful. Luke plucked him off the ground, lifting him up as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

"Hello Jacen!" Luke greeted energetically.

Mara knelt down and Jaina mauled her with tiny hands, grabbing at clothes or hair in her effort to get a grip. "Ra-ra!" Jaina repeated insistently. Swallowing, Mara lifted Jaina and hugged the tiny human creature back.

She could feel Luke watching her. She could feel Winter watching her. She could even feel Han distractedly watching her, from where he was standing near the entrance to his kitchen fortress, but the embarrassment at being caught hugging Jaina somehow never came. Jaina had such large emotions for such a tiny creature, Mara thought, and she was happy because Mara was here.

That was kind of nice, too.

Distracted as she was, she didn't notice as the room began to fill in around them. She jerked in surprise at the new voices. "Hey there, Rogue Solo," Wedge Antilles greeted Jacen, who waved his little hand at Wedge in return, offering a shy smile.

"Waj!" cried Jaina, waving both hands at him.

"And hello there, other Rogue Solo," said Wedge with a laugh. He offered Mara a polite smile; she felt the hint of blush start to grow. "And what's my fault?" he asked Luke.

Luke nodded at Winter, who had slipped into Tycho's arms with her usual subtle ease. "Don't worry," Luke said. "I don't think Winter's really too concerned about which of us set in motion the events that led them to this moment."

Wedge laughed. "Oh! No, probably not." He grinned at the couple, who was ignoring them. "Though I was the one who approved Tycho's request for vacation time."

"If anything," Han drawled, finally approaching from where he'd been half-monitoring the kitchen—the rich aroma of some kind of roast was now redolent in the living room— "It's Janson's fault."

Luke, Wedge, and Mara all stared at him, nonplussed.

"Hey," Han blustered. "I don't know what you were talking about, but if it involves fault, it's usually Janson. I even heard," Han said, leaning in closer with a conspiratorial whisper, "that sometimes, during the Zinsj hunt, Wedge would give him kitchen duty for no reason at all when things got too quiet."

"Usually that was followed by things becoming too loud," Wedge said with a laugh.

"I remember that," Han said, with a suspicious, almost predatory gleam. "Come here, General," he took Antilles by the arm. "My kids' future Aunt and Uncle seem to have taken over babysitting responsibilities, and I don't wanna distract Winter and Tycho. Threepio is busy at a Council meeting; some note came in a couple hours ago that sent Leia running. So I—" Han paused theatrically, "—am giving you kitchen duty until your better half arrives to rescue you."

Wedge's expression shifted from amiability to exaggerated horror, and Mara had to fight a smile.

It was only after Han and Antilles had vanished back into the kitchen that Mara fully registered what Han had said, but by then she'd been subjected to the heart-meltingly adoring gaze of dark brown eyes so similar to Solo's and her sudden panic was surprisingly muted.

Leia held the datapad like it was a precious object. And it was.

Mon Mothma's office was not particularly large. For a long time she'd been attended to by Malan Tugrina who, like Winter, had been an Alderaanian who possessed a perfect holographic memory. But Tugrina had died almost two years before, the victim of one of Warlord Zsinj's plots against the New Republic hierarchy, and Mon Mothma had never replaced him. Protocol droids came and went, never living up to her expectations—and never filling the hole in her heart where Tugrina had been.

The New Republic's Chief of State didn't need a lot of space on most occasions, but that meant Leia had no room for excited pacing after she handed the datapad off to Mon Mothma and waited for her to finish reading it.

There were any number of ways Mon Mothma could respond to the information on the datapad, but she responded in the way Leia had expected: with calm, studious consideration. "Grand Moff Kaine is coming here." Her blue eyes pierced Leia. "You did not invite him?"

Leia shook her head. "I had mentioned a willingness to meet, but I did not expect for him to volunteer to come to Coruscant—certainly not with such a limited entourage." She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "He would not be so bold if he were not serious, and if he did not think he had a good chance at success. He must have been laying the foundations for this for quite some time."

"Our Intelligence services did not pick up anything of the sort," Mon Mothma said skeptically. "And I know General Cracken has been attentive to this matter." She leaned back in her chair.

"We have to try," Leia encouraged.

"Yes, of course," Mon Mothma agreed, though she waited longer than Leia had expected to do so. "I would like a second opinion," she said suddenly, and pressed the buzzer on her desk. "Threepio, would you please find Councilor Bel Iblis and tell him to come to my office?"

"Right away, Madam Chief of State," Threepio's voice said over the intercom.

"Garm?" Leia asked cautiously.

Mon Mothma shrugged. "I know he's in, and he's likely to be more skeptical than most. If you can persuade him, you can persuade the rest of the Provisional Council—and myself."

That was a challenge, and Leia would rise to meet it.

Garm was skeptical, but in the end she persuaded him. "There is no reason not to try," Leia insisted. "They're allowing us to set the terms of the meeting and the security arrangements."

When Mon Mothma and Bel Iblis looked at each other, it was as if Leia could feel the weight of the years and struggle between them. They had founded the Rebel Alliance together, with her father Bail Organa. Bail's death had divided them, and Mon Mothma's singular charisma and leadership had pushed even someone as vital as Bel Iblis to the side. Now they were collaborators again, and the awkwardness was clear to everyone.

But that awkwardness was not obvious in the silent communication they shared before they both turned back to Leia. "Very well, Leia," Mon Mothma agreed. "I will have the diplomatic corps reserve a space where secret negotiations can take place. You may assemble your diplomatic team and give it a try." Mon Mothma's expression was neither enthusiastic nor skeptical, but bearing her typical calm reserve. "And for the sake of the Republic, I hope you can come to acceptable terms. If Kaine withdraws his Oversector Outer from the Empire as Eriadu plans to, it would be a decisive blow to the Empire's military and economic capacity. And having Muunilist return to the galactic market would be a boon to the New Republic."

Leia nodded.

Mon Mothma checked her elegant wristchrono and sighed. "I'm afraid I'm late for dinner with my daughter."

The blood rushed from Leia's face. "Oh no," she moaned. "It's the Anniversary of the Alderaanian Compact. I have company tonight."

"Yes Mistress, they would have arrived some time ago," Threepio said. "I tried to tell you we were running behind schedule, but—"

"I know, Threepio," Leia sighed. "Well, hopefully they started without us."

The flush of sorrow and loneliness surprised Leia and it took her a moment to pinpoint its source. Garm was in his seat, looking thoughtful, but through the Force Leia could feel the sudden sense of alone-ness.

"Han wouldn't," Mon Mothma observed. "Now go home and see your family."

The older woman had lost her son at Hoth, but still had her daughter Leida—the two were not as close as Mon Mothma wanted, due to the intensity of her work, but the Chandrilan kept making an effort and they were family. Leia had Han and Jacen and Jaina, not to mention Luke and their circle of friends. Garm had lost his family to the Empire, and had left his adopted family in the New Republic Fleet behind in space.

In her mind's eye, Leia could almost see the quiet, sparsely furnished flat that he lived in, Filled with legal documents and intelligence briefings, a sparse wardrobe, some holos, and maintained by droids without even the time to develop personality quirks.

"Garm, I'm—well, Han and Winter are—hosting a dinner tonight at my apartment. Wedge and Tycho are there too, if you want to join us?"

Mon Mothma paused, glancing at Garm without trying to be obvious about it.

Garm hesitated, and Leia offered him a reassuring smile. "I'm sure Wedge would want to see you again before he and Lusankya embark on their campaign," she prodded.

"If it won't be an imposition," he replied cautiously.

"Nonsense," Leia assured him, taking his arm. "Han always cooks enough to feed a regiment. Let's go, Threepio." She winced as she glanced at the chrono again. "Han is going to be furious."

He wasn't. He was concerned, which was somehow worse.

It was an odd sensation, Tycho thought. Being in Leia Organa's apartment, with his arm around his wife Winter—the closest thing the Princess had to a sister—watching Han Solo do the best he could to maintain some Alderaanian pre-meal traditions. The toast he'd offered when Leia had finally rushed in the door—with a very awkward looking Garm Bel Iblis on her arm—had been from the Alderaanian court, surely something Winter had taught him. Despite the etiquette classes at the Imperial Academy, Tycho suspected that standing on ceremony had never been a particular concern of Han's prior to his meeting Leia. At some point that had changed. Han looked and sounded painfully awkward, but his effort was real.

From the way Leia smiled at him, it was also appreciated.

The signing of the Alderaanian Compact had created Alderaan's last Constitutional government more than two thousand years before the world's destruction. It had been a minor Alderaanian holiday which had gradually gained significance as a moment for family and friends to come together and share a meal. Since Alderaan's destruction the holiday had, for years, gone uncelebrated—it had become a moment of pain, a reminder of all those who weren't there. But the Alderaanian Council had made a point of trying to bring it back, and the Candle of Remembrance had been added so that the dead could be remembered and present for the holiday.

Winter lit the single candle, taking the role of "Rememberer" and making a circuit of the table before passing it to Chewbacca, who, fur neatly brushed and expression solemn in his role as Family Guardian, growled a benediction before placing in the center of the large, overstuffed dining table. "We are daughters and sons of Alderaan," Leia said, while the others remained in respectful silence. The guests paid respect, but his wife sat with the quiet reverence of one who could relive her memories of her dead homeworld with a kind of clarity that Tycho both envied and was glad not to have. "We have come together in memory of Alderaan, so that while our world may be gone, its people will live on."

With the dedication done, the meal began. It was quiet but not somber, now that the dedication was done, and conversation ticked up as the Alderaanian dishes dwindled one after another.

Tycho rested his hand on Winter's back and enjoyed the warmth her presence prompted. The idea of living on bore new meaning for him now. When he'd been young, still in the Imperial service and engaged to marry Nyiestra, the plan had been to wait until he had served five years before they started thinking about a family. Then he'd never doubted that he would have children. But since Alderaan's destruction, and his dedication to the cause of destroying the Empire as thoroughly as it had obliterated Alderaan, it had never been something he'd considered even once. He and Winter had never even talked about having children—they hadn't even been married, and had no intention of becoming so until after the Empire was well and dead and the New Republic on stable footing.

Neither of them had expected either of those things to occur while they were young enough to have children.

He curled his fingers in her hair, stroking the back of her neck gently. She sipped some of her horrible green tea and offered him a perfect smile.

On the other side of the table, Kyp Durron and Garm Bel Iblis were having an animated conversation about the Empire. "—some recruits join the Starfighter Corps," General Bel Iblis was explaining. "I expect Solo has given you some training already?"

"We have a simulator on the Falcon," Kyp said. "But I'm not as good as he is."

"Not surprising, he's got a lot of experience." Bel Iblis nodded at Tycho. "Colonel Celchu here is probably the best fighter pilot left in the Corps, now that General Antilles—" Bel Iblis nodded across the table, at where Solo and Wedge were in close conversation with Luke, while Iella and Mara made amused faces while talking to each other in low voices "—has been kicked upstairs to command the Fifth Fleet." Bel Iblis looked at Tycho. "How's Rogue Squadron doing with all the new faces?"

Tycho put down his fork and knife. "It's taking some getting used to," he replied. "But the pilots are all exceptional and—" he hesitated only for a moment, hiding a wince "—haven't made themselves too difficult."

"Your new Hapan pilot hasn't made herself too difficult?"

The blunt skepticism of the question revealed the wince Tycho had previously hidden. Major Runamaren Vehourr was the squadron's new token Hapan, a veteran combat pilot with a long history of anti-piracy service. She had headed up one of Hapes' elite snubfighter squadrons, was a capable leader, and an excellent, experienced pilot.

She also instinctively treated males as subordinates, which had created a great deal of tension between her and the rest of the squadron. Corran found her so aggravating that he kept sending transfer requests to different units: the Wraiths, High Flight Squadron, anything with an X-wing. Wes had tinkered with her com so that when she spoke, her voice sounded like an underwater Threepio droid. Tycho had put her on maintenance after she'd contradicted him in a squadron briefing. Inyri—who had received Runamaren as her new wingmate after Plourr's departure, and had been sulking about it for weeks—had almost put the Hapan through a bulkhead when Runmaren spoke down to her as a commoner. But as trying as Runamaren was, she was getting better—and the Rogues were getting better at interacting with her.

"Not too difficult," Tycho lied, taking a cautious sip of the lamentable green tea that he had in lieu of a nice glass of spring wine.

"You're from Alderaan like Winter, right?" Kyp asked. There was an intensity in that gaze, Tycho thought. It was one he recognized, one Tycho had seen in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror for years after Alderaan. One he still saw before battle, sometimes.

Tycho nodded. "Yes, Winter and I are both from Alderaan." He turned towards Kyp, reluctantly taking his arm from around Winter's back to do so; she glanced at the conversation before returning to her chat with Leia, saying something about Grand Moff Kaine in hushed tones. "The Empire destroyed my home," Tycho continued. "It destroyed Alderaan, just as it destroyed your homeworld and a thousand other worlds. And those of us who survive—" he gestured at Kyp, then at himself "—we feel the need to fight back. To make sure that the Empire can never, ever do such evil again."

The Solo family's ward nodded.

"Take that passion," Tycho said, reaching out to tap Kyp on the forehead. "Hold on to it. But don't let it become hate. Hate makes you stupid and gets you killed. Make it into purpose, instead. Don't fight to avenge those we lost, fight to protect those who still live. Winter and I visited New Alderaan because it's not enough to destroy the enemy who took Alderaan from us, we have to rebuild what we lost." He gestured at the flame of remembrance in the center of the table. "If we just hate the Empire, that flame will go out."

The conversation on the other side of the table had stopped; Tycho glanced over and met Luke's eyes briefly. Luke nodded his agreement. "Tycho is right," Luke said.

Kyp's attention moved from Tycho to Luke.

"I know Kam has taught you about this too," Luke explained. "But the way of the Jedi, it's not just about those of us who have the Force. Anyone can be consumed by the Dark Side—by hate and the desire for revenge. Even some of the pilots we've flown with have been."

"Too many," added Wedge.

"Even some of us have," added Bel Iblis darkly. "For a time."

Wedge and Tycho glanced at each other, both wincing. Tycho remembered the months after his defection and his desire to murder every Imperial in the galaxy. He knew Wedge well enough to see the murder of Wedge's parents—and Wedge's subsequent revenge—flash before his friend's eyes.

Only Luke had never really fallen prey to it, Tycho thought. That was why Luke was the best of them. But I'll be damned if he hasn't been tempted now and again.

"So when we fight," Luke continued, "because we have to fight against something like the Empire and its evil, we need to make sure we do it with the right intentions, and in the right way. Otherwise we risk becoming the very thing we fight against." He held up a gloved hand and clenched it with a sigh.

Tycho saw Mara's arm shift towards Luke. She didn't look at him—her attention was on Kyp—but her instinct to comfort Luke was obvious.

Maybe I should see if I can move my bet on their engagement date up a few months.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!"

All attention was drawn to the kitchen, where Lando had swept into the room, his long cape fluttering behind him. Threepio followed, pushing a cart. The cart had a large tray atop it.

There was a new scent in the room. Tycho inhaled deeply, soaking it in as he wracked his brain. The scent was familiar, but he hadn't smelled its like in many years—not since—

Winter, who had turned to face him, set aside her usually controlled mein to grace everyone around them with a broad, genuine grin.

"If I may interrupt your festivities," Lando continued enthusiastically, "I have managed to procure the best possible dessert to top off our lovely time together. In memory of Alderaan, I have here—" Lando lifted the top covering the tray "—Alderaanian T'iil seed cake, with the ingredients fresh from Borleias, courtesy of the Smugglers' Alliance!"

The conversation about the Empire forgotten, dessert was a cavalcade of tears and memories, savoring the rich, sweet nutty flavor of an almost forgotten delicacy of a lost world.

Like the first dinner she'd ever eaten with the Solos, Mara unceremoniously nominated herself for the post-dinner collection of dishes and clean-up. That wasn't so bad, though, and it didn't take long to pile the dishes on the counter next to where Han was both working with them and trying to chase a very determined-looking Leia away from the sink. Mara glared at him, still not forgiving him for his earlier snark—though she refused to think about his comment beyond that—and left him to clean the dishes alone.

"Well, hello there," Lando greeted her at the door to the kitchen, "Don't look now Han, but the beautiful Lady Jade has decided to grace your humble galley with her elegant presence."

She lifted a wet dish off the drying rack and put it in his hands. "Solo needs your help drying the dishes," she announced as she slipped past him. "Thanks for the cake."

His amused laugh suggested he didn't take the dismissal personally.

Luke was deep in conversation with Iella, Winter, and Leia. The twins were gone—they had long ago reached their bedtime—and Mara found she felt a loss at their absence. There was something about their innocent affection that she liked. Liked quite a lot.

Rather than joining them she moved to stand by the window. The towers of the Imperial Palace dotted across, slightly obscuring the view of the Senate District, and the voluminous rows of airspeeders carefully making their way through the sky, directed by their on-board computers, a requirement in close proximity to the Senate Dome and the Palace. There she stood quietly and reflected on the remnants of toddler-style mayhem and adventure with a small, secret smile, until she felt a somewhat familiar presence focus on her and close in.

"Enjoying the view, Jade?" It was Antilles.

She turned to face him and examined the man more closely than she had when they'd entered, or when he'd sat opposite Luke and Iella. The New Republic general stood comfortably in a casual ensemble a few years out of date, with the light wear marks of something thrown on without much thought, for an evening among friends. He looked nothing like the commanding officer of one of the most powerful warships in the galaxy.

Clearly Leia hasn't performed as his style consultant, and Iella doesn't care about a man's suit as much as the man himself. That didn't surprise her, of course, but in the Imperial Court it had usually been the other way around. She offered him a small, confirming nod. "A bit, yes. Sometimes all the conversation can be a bit much, and everyone is much more familiar and direct than even my crews on the Fringe."

The Corellian smiled. "They do sneak up on you, don't they? The kindness, the solicitation, the food, it's a three pronged charm offensive." He sighed theatrically. "It can be a bit much."

Mara arched an eyebrow. "Now that you've softened me up, is this the part where you say: 'Luke is my best friend and If you hurt him I command an entire battle group and have lots of commandos who can expertly dispose of bodies?'"

Her own defensiveness surprised her. Truth be told, Luke's friends—X-wing pilots mostly, no strangers to combat—had taken his relationship in stride and hadn't sold that information to sludgenews. She'd managed to secure explicit commitments to silence from the Wild Karrde's crew as well, although she suspected that Chin's obedience had less to do with his fear of her than it did his respect for Karrde. Clearly she had some work left to do on him.

Antilles huffed a brief laugh. "No, those kinds of threats are for insecure paternal types. You're not likely to be intimidated, and Luke's more of an idiot brother who keeps rushing headlong into yet another scrape with death." His smile was wryly amused. "Besides," he added with a shrug, "I think you're good for him."

Her arched eyebrow lifted even higher. "You do?"

Wedge gestured at her with his glass of wine. "You know Luke pretty well at this point, right?"

Mara didn't answer that.

Wedge took her silence as an affirmation. "What would you say his biggest problem is?"

Mara thought about that. Luke, offering her a hand in friendship even after she'd threatened to kill him. Luke, kneeling down next to a man he'd just fought, who was still armed with a lightsaber, to offer comfort. Luke, who had walked into Imperial custody because he hoped he could convince his father to turn away from a lifetime of evil on the basis of little more than a gut instinct. "Optimism."

That elicited another laugh and a nod. "Exactly." Wedge took a sip of his wine, then put the glass down on the side table between the couch and the window. "The rest of the galaxy sees him as an unstoppable force, but the Rogues… we know better. He's a man, like any other, and he can't just hope his way through problems. He needs a bit of practicality, someone grounded." He gestured at her with both hands.

She pressed her lips together. "Hmm," she muttered.

"And you love him," Wedge said simply. "Love him. Not the Jedi."

She felt her cheeks flush. How was that so obvious to people when she still sometimes had trouble admitting it to herself? Not knowing what to say, she said nothing.

"So, instead of threatening you, thank you." Wedge retrieved his wine glass and took another sip. "But really, it's more of a thank you for guarding Iella than anything to do with Luke. And I mean this purely selfishly, I can assure you. I've been sleeping a lot better since the two of you started teaming up on jobs." He shrugged. "That and we—" he gestured at himself first, then Mara "—should be friends. I consider Luke one of my best friends, and Iella is one of your best friends and my better half. We've talked a little bit here and there, but social rules say we ought to be friends too."

"What are the rules for friends of friends getting to know each other?" Mara asked curiously.

Wedge tapped his wine glass. "Well, it's been a while since I cracked an etiquette primer, but I recall idle conversation is a good place to start. Maybe some basic questions… where are you from, what do you do for a living, although—" he shrugged "—the Rogues pulled most of that out of NRI's file on you after it became clear that Luke had a crush on you."

Mara wondered just how early that had been. After Wayland? Even earlier? She returned to slightly safer ground. "NRI? That's supposed to be classified," she said sharply, imagining the Rogues clustered around a briefing table, talking about Luke's crush as they read her intelligence file and tried to decide whether her being a former Imperial assassin was a pro or a con.

"I am a General, and I have some very unexpected connections. There have to be some perks of the job." He nodded at her. "As far as my history goes, I'm sure Luke has mentioned bits and pieces."

"Luke doesn't talk much about your background, but I know other than the Rogues and Iella you don't have much family."

Wedge sighed, leaning his shoulder against the transparisteel that separated the interior of the Imperial Palace from the cool air of a Coruscant evening. "Most of us have lost people. I lost my parents when I was a teenager." He nodded at her. "Did you ever come across Baron Soontir Fel while you were in the Imperial service?"

She frowned. The name was familiar. "The pilot?" Her frown deepened as she rummaged around in memory, groping for the right ones. "I've heard of him. They say he defeated Darth Vader in a contest of piloting skill. He was married to some famous HoloNet actress and defected to the Rebellion not that long after Endor. I haven't heard anything about him in a while, though."

"He went missing a few years ago, before we took Coruscant. We think Isard picked him up and we haven't heard anything since, other than a few warlords using his name and reputation as a recruitment device." Wedge drained his wine glass, his expression tired. "The famous HoloNet actress he is married to? Her stage name was Wynssa Starflare, but she was born Syal Antilles."

Mara froze, working the implications of that through her head.

Wedge continued, sounding exhausted. "She left home when I was seven," he explained. "She was much older than I was, talented and ambitious. Real star quality, whatever that is. When he was with the Rogues, Fel told me that she was safe, but he refused to say more. Then he went missing and I still don't have any idea where to even start looking."

"I'm sorry," Mara said, and meant it.

"After I took command of Lusankya, I felt like I was an actor playing the role of fleet admiral," Wedge admitted. "I would wonder what advice Syal would have had." He shook his head. "We've all lost people," he explained after the moment passed. "Even you." He went on, refusing to stop just because she had tensed and looked away. "Just because you can't remember the family you lost, it doesn't mean you didn't lose them. And maybe, someday, when you feel ready, that loss will be something you can mourn, too."

She wondered if Luke had talked to him about this, but even as the thought flashed through her mind she knew he hadn't. The flush of annoyed anger passed quickly. "Maybe."

The Corellian's lips quirked. "Sorry, that got a bit personal. But with all of today's remembrances of our dead… well, I guess I wanted you to know that someone other than Luke remembers that you've lost as much as the rest of us have."

The sudden swell of emotion surprised her. She turned back, looking at the dinner table, where the Alderaanian remembrance candle still burned—the memory of all that had been lost, and a reminder of how important it was to rebuild.

Mara didn't usually think about her own parents. All she really remembered, in the flashes of occasional memory and nightmare, was that they hadn't wanted her to go. Maintaining her calm and poise took a bit more effort than she usually needed. "You're a storied snubjockey. Everyone knows that they have no common sense." She gestured at Luke, still in conversation with his sister.

Wedge gave a smile, seemingly reassured that he hadn't stepped past some invisible line. "It's not all lasers and daring maneuvers. With the squadrons I've led I'm half-parent, half-morale officer and half-amateur psychoanalyst who works from an acceleration couch without an actual license."

"That's three halves. I thought Rebel pilots had to be half-decent at maths for astrogation."

"No, math is demanding and there's only so much of me to go around." Wedge winked. "That's what we keep our astromechs around for."

They shared a chuckle. It felt weird. Good. But weird. Wedge had casually been more aggressive than even Luke was at prodding at parts of her past and history—Luke tended to let her bring things to him when she was ready—but Wedge had identified a fissure in her shields and shattered them with a pinprick of precise pressure.

She was beginning to think she'd underestimated him and felt a bit foolish for it. He'd taken Lusankya from Isard. Then they'd given him Lusankya to command. He could keep up with Iella. Of course there is more to Antilles than a typical snubfighter thrillmonkey.

She took a slow breath, tracking back over the conversation.

"Next up for friends of friends after origins and occupation is hobbies," he said helpfully.

She tilted her head. "Do you sew? Partake in bad romance holodramas? Dance the Corellian Cheek-Step?" She blinked. "Read?"

"Why Jade," Wedge said with a laugh. "I do believe you just made a joke." He winked. "In order: scant resources and combat operations mean I've been known to sew, and Iella deems my dancing acceptable. But really I only have the one Hobbie, and I'm very glad I've been able to keep him in relatively good working order despite the Empire's best efforts. Now, my Janson on the other hand…"

They shared another laugh. It was starting to feel natural.

Across the room, Iella glanced at them from her place in the ongoing conversation with Luke, Mara, and Winter, and waved them over.

"I think we're being summoned." Wedge smiled—a casual smile, bespeaking comfort between friends. "Must be about time to get home." He sighed. "We only have a few more days before the Fifth Fleet will be setting out on the Bespin campaign."

Her returning smile wasn't quite as comfortable. It was subtle, unpracticed. But it was there. "Antilles," she said, with a hint of playfulness that she played up by adopting a slight Corellian lilt. She finally extended a hand. "Good hunting."

He couldn't quite match her easy shift of accent as he took the proffered hand, but he tried. "Jade," he said, with an attempted Coruscanti hauteur that was quite absurd. "Do try and keep the Boss in one piece."

Their guests trickled out, alone or in pairs. The room was empty now; the sound of Han washing dishes in the kitchen was one of the only ones left. Chewbacca was the one who took the Alderaanian remembrance candle and moved it near the window that looked out over the city, letting it burn down of its own accord.

"So you think Kaine is serious?" Luke asked Leia.

Leia shrugged. "I don't know. I think he wants peace, but I don't know how much he wants peace. The fact that he's coming here is a good sign."

Her brother's expression was not particularly confident. "I hope so," Luke said. He shook his head. "I feel… I don't know how to describe it. Like something isn't right. Like the galaxy is just out of balance, and everything is wobbling around me." He took a deep breath. "Kam wants to see me tomorrow. He said he thinks he found something important and we might need to take a trip off-world to deal with it, but didn't want to say anything else over comms."

"That's the trouble with our family Luke," Leia said softly. "We've been through so much that it's hard to tell new dangers from the usual background radiation of mortal peril we deal with daily. All the same, I'll be careful." She took his arm and squeezed it. "You should be careful, too."

Luke smiled. "I will." He nodded subtly back at where Mara was standing near the window. She and Chewbacca were near one another, both watching the candle flame, talking to one another quietly. "You have Han," he murmured. "And Chewie, and Mobvekhar and Cakhmaim."

"You have Mara?" Leia asked quietly, feeling her tension lift as Luke's own expression lightened.

"Yeah," Luke agreed, smiling more broadly. "We have each other."

Being a teacher of the Jedi arts was strange for Kam Solusar.

He could remember his youth: the time spent at the small Jedi Temple on Solon. He had never been a typical Jedi apprentice. Ranik Solusar has been nearly exiled from the order after he admitted having fathered Kam, and for his transgressions they had both been sent out to the edges of Hutt space, where Ranik could do some good keeping an eye on the cartels while Kam grew up. Kam's own status had always been ambiguous, despite his talents, but the Jedi Order had never needed to decide what to do when he came of age; the death of the Republic and the death of the Old Jedi Order had made all such decisions moot.

That had not made Kam's life easier. He flinched at the memory of Darth Vader's sudden arrival at their sanctuary, at the memory of the red blade as it rent through his father. After that, Kam had been twisted into a bringer of misery, a hunter of the fallen, a slayer of the living.

And then… he had been free.

After Palpatine's demise at Endor had loosened his bindings to the Dark, Kam had been truly lost. Through all the travails he had eventually, finally, come to Luke, and that had led him here.

"Feel the light on your skin," he encouraged Kyp Durron. "Feel the energy within." He watched as Kyp struggled. The young man, who had lived so much of his life in a darkness much more literal than the one Kam had survived, found direct sunlight disconcerting at times, but it also made him more acutely aware of just how much energy was in a simple beam of light. "Good," Kam encouraged as Kyp settled. "Now, reach out with your feelings. Think about the light on your skin, about the energy you feel there. Think about that energy, and search for the Force."

Coruscant was an interesting place to be a student of the Force, Kam thought. There was so much life there, so much sentient life, that it could be overwhelming. Places where fewer people and aliens lived were less energetic, but the Force in such places was also nearer to tranquil, compared to the almost manic energy of Coruscant.

Kyp's could not command the Force very well, yet. His uses were instinctive, without thought or even conscious intent much of the time, which was both impressive and dangerous. Kam was trying to let him feel the Force more intently, let him always know it was there, all the life of the universe bottled up small enough to hold and yet also omnipresent.

"It is life. It is light," Ranik Solusar said into Kam's memories. "It is love, and it is renewal. It is all, and it is one."

Kam had no idea if that was some kind of Jedi benediction, or just something Ranik had said once that he remembered. There was no mention of it in any of the Jedi records that Luke had recovered from Dathomir, and there was nothing of real value left in what Palpatine had left behind.

He doubted if there would be anything of real value in what Vader had left behind. The Inquisitors had been much too thorough at seeing it all destroyed. He had been much too thorough at seeing it all destroyed.

Kyp didn't notice Kam's bout of self-flagellation. He was breathing, quiet and still, the light from Coruscant's sun cascading down through the transparisteel over his skin, columns of light cast over and across him, dust motes glittering in the beams.

Kyp was a natural.

The door slid open, bringing Kam and Kyp's attention to it. Luke Skywalker, like Kam, was dressed in the robes that they had chosen for the new Jedi, cream-colored with a brown belt, boots, and cloak. Mara Jade followed him in, pointedly wearing a comfortable spacer's jacket over colorful shipknits, paired with a trim gun belt that had a hook for her lightsaber.

He had considered asking either Luke or Mara why she had not joined the Jedi order when it was so clear that she had both the ability and the inclination. He had not done so. Asking Luke seemed intrusive; asking Mara seemed like an invitation to expose oneself to withering sarcasm at best and vibroknives at worst, so Kam defaulted to his considered silence.

"Jedi Solusar," Luke greeted him. "And hello, Kyp. Don't let us distract you from your meditations—I could feel your focus from outside, I'm sorry to have disrupted it."

"Jedi Skywalker, Miss Jade," Kam greeted them in return.

"Oh, that's okay," Kyp said, waving his hand and sliding back out of the light.

Luke turned his attention to Kam. "You said you wanted to meet to discuss Vjun?"

"Vjun is not a particularly pleasant place," Mara said sourly.

"You're familiar with it?" Kam asked curiously. They had both been servants of the Empire, he knew, but he'd been under the impression that she had primarily served the Emperor—

"Only by reputation. Palpatine mentioned it a time or two, mostly in reference to where Vader was in any given week and to warn me never to go there without his specific orders."

"Vader would have killed you," Kam said with certainty.

"I have no doubt," Mara muttered.

Beside them, Kyp had an awkward, unhappy expression. Kam knew that Kyp hated being reminded of Kam and Mara's Imperial service history—or of Han's, for that matter, or even Leia's time in the Imperial Senate. Kyp's hatred of the Empire ran very, very deep; a fissure within which lurked the blackness of despair and resentment. It was healing, thanks to Han and Leia, but even once the fissure had faded to a shallower scar, its mark would remain for life.

"Why do you think Vjun is important?" asked Luke.

"I was sorting through the items and information we recovered from Vader's Palace here on Coruscant," Kam explained. "I found a datapad, one with information on various locations around the galaxy of interest to Force users. The only one I recognized was Vjun." He withdrew the datapad in question from one of the many voluminous pockets that his Jedi robes offered, one of the many perks of the new outfit. "I don't know why exactly, but I have this feeling that it is important that we travel there."

Luke took the datapad, examined it, then handed it to Mara. She reviewed it with a much more aggrieved expression than Luke had.

"I've meditated on it," Kam continued. "Every day for the last week. It's like I can … hear a voice summoning me there. Like I need to be there. I don't know how to explain it. It's not like anything else I've experienced before."

"Vjun was Vader's personal fortress," Mara pointed out. "It wasn't a pleasure resort. And even without Vader's presence, the planet's history is unpleasant to say the least. A more miserable world would be hard to find."

"Which is why Vader chose it for his palace," Luke murmured. "There are many things he might have left behind there. Things that it may be important for us to find. Or things that it may be important for us to prevent others from finding."

"Vader wasn't the kind to keep trophies," Mara muttered.

Luke's eyes were on Kam, blue and piercing. "What do you think, Kam?"

He shook his head. "I think I need to go and see for myself," Kam said. His voice quieted. "It has been a long, long time since I heard the Force this clearly," he added. "It wants me there."

They gazed at each other as Kyp watched them from his place on the floor. "I agree," Luke said.

"Can I come?" asked Kyp hopefully.

Kam turned his attention to his student. He and Luke shared a glance. "Not this time," said Kam. "We're not sure how dangerous this mission is going to be, and Vjun is strong in the Dark Side. It would be better for you to be fully trained before treading there."

"Besides," Luke added before Kyp's face could fall. "Someone needs to stay here and keep an eye on my niece and nephew."

The sudden deferral of responsibility to Kyp made the young man's disappointment transform into enthusiasm. "Okay," Kyp agreed.

Mara sighed. "I'll get the Tempered Mettle ready. We can leave tomorrow."

"You don't have to come, Mara," Luke pointed out. "This isn't a Smugglers' Alliance mission like Bespin was."

"You can say that all you like," Mara muttered. "You're still not going without me. If we're going to walk into Bast Castle, we're going to do it right: prepared for anything."