AN: Once again I'd like to thank everyone for reading and commenting and for being supportive of this series of stories. I just hope that you all enjoy the story as it moves along.

There is one more interlude after this one.

Disclaimer: As always the Star Wars characters and situations belong to Lucasfilm and Disney and the only profit I get from my fanfic is the fun I have.

Dark Times: Interlude 7:

Truth

"I am your master."

Leia opened her eyes as the whisper faded into the dark. She lay still, listening to the sounds of the Millennium Falcon, listening for the sly murmur that had awakened her. But all was quiet apart from the purr of the Falcon's hyperdrive and again she was left feeling unnerved and unsettled. Too many times now she had been brought out of sleep by something she could barely remember, a dream that fled from memory as soon as she woke leaving her with only the impression that something, somewhere, was terribly wrong.

The princess sighed quietly trying to dismiss the thought as she so often had over the last few weeks. Dwelling on the feelings got her nowhere, trying to follow the shreds of the dream led to frustration and, following Theriman's advice she was beginning to learn to let them go, to see them as nothing more than a subconscious manifestation of her grief for friends and family.

Alderaan.

Her father.

Luke.

Narra.

She closed her eyes. Hoth had been a disaster. So many lost to the Empire, so many left behind in the freezing wastes. She had recognized many of the names on the list of dead and missing.

Rieekan.

Sa'adaan.

Senesca

Haslam.

A General. A Captain. A Lieutenant. A Private.

So here they were again, a ragtag fleet limping through space trying to keep the Rebellion alive after so many losses and setbacks.

There had been a few days when she had thought that she and Han might not make it. They had blasted off from Hoth only to find themselves faced with Vader's Death Squardon – the same ships they had eluded at Horaarn. The chase had been frantic, fraught, and the failure of the hyperdrive had made captivity seem like a looming reality.

And then the Imperial vessels had dropped back, had regrouped and just disappeared into hyperspace leaving the Falcon floating alone in space.

Something had happened. Something significant enough for Vader to pull back and call off the dogs.

But what?

On regrouping with the fleet it was the first thing she had asked and no-one could answer. There was nothing on the holonet, nothing from intelligence, nothing reported anywhere that could explain Vader's sudden withdrawal from his pursuit.

It had unsettled her and she couldn't shake the feeling that something…. something significant… had happened.

"Dammit," she whispered into the dark. She was awake, frustrated but tired, wanting nothing more than to fall back into slumber for a few hours respite and she knew from experience that she would see no more sleep tonight.

However, she was reluctant to move from the warmth of the bunk, from the warmth of the man who lay spooned behind her with a heavy arm draped over her waist. She smiled into the dark of the bunkroom, ran a hand over Han's arm, feeling the hard muscle beneath and, without waking, he drew her tighter to him and she instantly felt better. No matter how bad things became, being held by Han always seemed to chase the encroaching shadows.

It was strange, Leia thought. It was strange that simple things once taken for granted could come to mean so much more. A hot shower and being able to shampoo and untangle your hair, a comfortable and warm room, a hot cup of caf handed to you by your lover…

She smiled at that.

She had fought against it for so long, had believed that her life had been dedicated to fighting the Empire and that love and a partner were something for after….

…after the Empire…. after Palpatine and Vader…

…but here she was with Han. Here she was being held and wanted by another, being loved by another and it was…

It was what? Leia sifted through her feelings, trying to identify how she felt, tried to compare the emotion to other times in her life that had given her a similar contentment.

She smiled.

It was happiness. She was happy with Han and she couldn't understand why she had fought against it for so long.

Because of Luke…

The thought sobered her. Was it because of Luke, that enthusiastic boy who had burst into her cell on the Death Star and breathlessly announced that he was there to rescue her?

His blond hair, his startling blue eyes, that little chin cleft, his clear tanned skin. There was no denying that he was cute, or that he was attracted to her.

That had changed over the two years since Yavin: since the Death Star and Alderaan. Luke still loved her; still looked at her with wide, adoring eyes, but war had taken its toll on him, on her... and their close friendship had never moved beyond anything but platonic. Despite the rumours on base, they were confidants and companions and nothing more.

But Han...

She grinned. Han was something entirely different.

Han was the spark to her tinder. Han ignited her, warred with her. Han could raise ire and arousal within her just with a look and she rose to him every time, taking the bait... all the while wondering how his mouth would feel on her lips, how his hands would feel as his fingers trailed a line down her chest between her breasts and down over her belly to dip…

Leia squirmed next to him and Han grunted in his sleep, shifted a little before settling back to sleep.

She lay still, not wishing to wake him.

Had she waited so long, because of Luke? Had she refused to accept the mutual attraction between herself and Han because she hadn't wanted to hurt Luke and, now Luke was gone…

…not gone… just not here…

…she was free to pursue what truly made her happy?

Had she allowed Luke to hold her back?

She closed her eyes at the pain that came with her thoughts. She was being unfair to Luke, she was being cruel when Luke wasn't here to defend himself and she had a feeling she was using Luke to deny her own culpability. Only she was to blame for delaying her own happiness with Han. Only she had fought against it and denied it with duty first. It had nothing to do with Luke and she knew her friend would have been angry with her, would have been upset for her thinking otherwise.

I miss you, Luke.

It was during nights like this when she couldn't sleep that she would get up and wander the base, or whatever ship they were on. She would usually find Luke also awake and either in the hanger working on his X-Wing or, if on the Falcon, sitting at the Dejarick board playing a game with Artoo Detoo.

They would drink hot chocolate spiced with tang bark and talk about everything or nothing at all.

Leia smiled, seeing Luke sitting on a crate in the hanger, his hands streaked with oil, his hair dishevelled, with a little blob on engine grease staining his cheek as he held the steaming cup of chocolate that she had brought for him. The smile on his face as he had accepted the cup, belied by the heaviness of his eyes.

"Is everything all right?"

He had glanced at her as he shifted over on the crate to make room for her.

"We lost two pilots today: Smenth and Triktar."

Too her shame, Leia hadn't known the names.

"Were they new?"

Luke had nodded, sadly. "Yeah…." he had breathed. "Replacements… They never had a chance."

"I'm sorry…"

It was the following morning that he had left with Red Squadron for Escaal and he had lost so much more there.

Sobered, Leia knew she was not going to be able to get back to sleep any time soon. Carefully, she moved the bedding aside and gently lifted Han's hand from her. She slipped out of bed and replaced the blankets over the sleeping Corellian.

Quietly, she drew her robe on.

"Wassup?" A deep, sleepy voice questioned.

Leia silently cursed. "It's okay," she assured him with a quick kiss, "I'm awake. I'm going to make some hot chocolate."

"Disgusting stuff," Han mumbled and turned onto his belly.

Smiling, Leia left the cabin and padded through the ship while tying her robe tightly around her waist.

All was still in the passenger compartment. Both See Threepio and Artoo Detoo were sitting by the Dejarik board, powered down to conserve energy and for a moment, for a split second, Leia was sure she saw Luke slouched over the game platform, trailing his fingers over the squares, absently marking out their edges with his thumb nail and deep in thought.

She blinked, chasing the image from her mind. It had been a clear image, highly defined, and she knew it had appeared simply because she had been thinking of him. She turned away from the board and the droids, determined to get her drink.

A small muted toot stopped her and she turned, smiling when she saw Artoo's photoreceptor lighting up.

"I'm alright, Artoo," she assured him. Since Luke had…. Well, since Luke… Artoo had been clinging to her, following her, fussing around her. It seem that the little droid felt as lost as she did in the wake of Horaarn.

Leia stilled, chilled, as the reassured droid powered back down.

Artoo.

How could she have forgotten? How had she allowed so many weeks to pass before remembering what the little machine carried within him?

"Artoo?"

The lights immediately appeared again with a hooted question.

Leia crossed the compartment and crouched before the little robot. "We need to talk."

The high pitched whistle was another question and it woke See Threepio.

"Oh, my," Threepio jumped, "Artoo, why are you making all that noise? You'll wake… Oh, your Highness! I do hope Artoo didn't waken you."

"No, Threepio," Leia said gently, glancing up at the protocol droid. "Can you translate what Artoo says for me, please?"

"Why, of course your Highness! Artoo had just asked what it was you wanted to…"

"No, not that," Leia cut him off. "Artoo," she said, her voice a little unsure, wary, but getting straight to the point. "Do you remember Horaarn?"

It was a stupid question, but both droids answered; Artoo with a despairing lament and Threepio with, "Of course, your Highness. Artoo's memory banks have the capacity to hold…"

"Artoo," Leia swallowed, trying to phrase her question carefully. Not really knowing if she wanted all of her questions answered, just knowing that she had to ask them. "When you were sliced on Horaarn, you said it had been through an authorisation code from a previous owner…"

Artoo warbled, began to move back and forth on his treads, clearly uncomfortable.

"I need to know who that was," Leia told him, firmly, reading reluctance in the droid's movements. "I need to understand how Vader was able to gain access to Luke's cockpit voice recorder."

The little droid tooted, mournfully.

"He says that he cannot give you that information, your Highness."

Frustrated, Leia sat back on her heels, regarding the little droid as she thought quickly. If the information had been protected, if she needed an access code to break into Artoo's memory, then this could be a lost cause. She would have to take the robot to the technical station on Home One, ask that they shift through Artoo's memories, that they slice through any encryption and….

…and then she remembered the Tantive and the harassed and hurried hologram recording, the placing of the Death Star plans in Artoo's memory banks.

"Artoo, do you remember the authorisation code given to me by Captain Antilles of the Tantive?"

A tooted affirmative that Leia didn't need translated.

"Voice code 'Epsilon Actual,' will that enable you to give me the information I'm asking for?"

The dome spun and Artoo let loose a string of whistles.

"Artoo Detoo, the Princess is asking you a very simple question!" Threepio admonished, before addressing Leia. "Your Highness, Artoo states that the code you have cannot unlock the information you seek."

Leia sighed, biting back her frustration. "Why not?"

There was a reluctant hoot in reply and Leia glanced up at Threepio for explanation.

"He says the memory you are looking for was not created by Captain Antilles, or the crew of the Tantive. It was created long before he was assigned to the consular ship…"

Another hoot…

"… and the information you seek is not encrypted."

Leia was confused, her question was directed straight at Artoo. "Then why did you say you couldn't give me the information?"

There was a long flow of chirps and whistles as Artoo explained.

"He states that he was asked not to tell anyone of his owner by General…." Threepio broke off and stared down at Artoo, and Leia could almost feel the droid's outraged disbelief. "Not that again! Artoo Detoo, you know very well that we only met General Kenobi when…"

"Threepio!" Leia burst, her heart suddenly hammering at the mention of the Jedi Knight. "What's he saying?"

Threepio turned to her. "Oh dear," he lamented. "He says that General Kenobi requested that he not divulge any information on his owner to anyone. However, General Kenobi did not have the specific command codes to encrypt the information as Artoo was not his droid. Artoo's ownership has never been officially transferred to anyone else, not even to the late Captain Antilles, or to Master Luke or yourself."

Leia could feel a surge of anxiety, of agitation. Did that mean Artoo still legitimately and legally belonged to that previous owner? "So he can tell me?"

More beeps and whistles, a long hoot.

"Your Highness, he says that in respect of General Kenobi's request that he would rather not say anymore."

Leia licked her lips, briefly torn by Artoo's loyalty to Obi-Wan Kenobi and his former owner from so long ago. But she had to know, she had to know how Vader got his information. "Artoo, I'm sorry, but this could be important for Luke."

For Luke?

Why was she thinking of him in the present tense? Luke was dead, how could this be important to him now?

Artoo shuffled and blooped, seeming to say the same as she was thinking.

"Artoo?" She pressed. "Who was your previous owner?"

There was a moment of long hesitation as Artoo seemed to consider her request. He beeped. Twice.

"Anakin Skywalker," Threepio announced without preamble, then he understood what he had just said. "Oh, my, isn't that…"

"Luke's father," Leia breathed, scarcely able to believe that the little droid who had served on the Tanitve IV under Antilles for so long and who had served Luke so well, had belonged…

… still belonged…

…to Luke's father. The odds for that coincidence must be astronomical.

The Princess licked her lips, hesitating to ask the next question. "Is Anakin Skywalker alive, Artoo?"

Another toot, a blown raspberry.

"Artoo Detoo! That is not an answer!"

"What did he say?" Leia asked dragging her eyes away from Artoo and glancing up at Threepio.

Threepio looked as exasperated as his frozen golden countenance and programming would allow. "He said that it depends on your point of view. A rather unhelpful answer, if you ask me, your Highness. I have no idea where he picked up that expression and…"

"Is he alive?" Leia pressed, waving Threepio quiet.

A chastised bloop and Threepio answered. "Yes."

Anakin Skywalker was alive! Luke's father thought lost was alive! So that could mean…. "While we were on Horaarn, where was Anakin Skywalker?"

Artoo screeched, his head turned and Leia's heart beat quickened, ziss-flies buzzed in her belly when Threepio answered. "Also on Horaarn."

"And was it Anakin Skywalker who sliced into your memory banks?"

A miserable whistle.

"Oh my," Threepio burst again, his logic circuits struggling to make sense of the conversation. "It was, your Highness!"

Luke's father was on Horaarn and yet he hadn't tried to contact his son, or help him. Instead he accessed Artoo Detoo and took the voice recording and gave it to…

She chilled, felt the blood drain from her not wishing to follow the direction of her thoughts, but this far in she had no other choice but to continue. She had to know.

"Artoo," her voice was a whisper. She was scared, anxious. "Where was Anakin Skywalker during Luke's court hearing?"

If Artoo had been able to hang his head Leia was sure he would be doing it right now. The droid was the picture of misery as he whistled and hooted and it pained her to do this to him.

"He was in the court room along with Master Luke," Threepio supplied, he was also subdued as though picking up on her emotions, but he still sounded perplexed and confused.

The room spun and Leia reached out to steady herself against the dejarik board, but she needed to know, had to know. After all, there was only one person in that room who could possibly have been Luke's father.

All the others had been Horaarn court dignitaries and security personnel.

She could barely say the words, could barely move her lips and tongue to shape the sounds. "Artoo, is Darth Vader Anakin Skywalker?"

Artoo's answer was mournful, doleful.

"Oh, my!" Threepio exclaimed, suddenly standing bolt upright, arms jerking, servo-motors whining. "Oh, my…. He is your Highness… but that means that Master Luke was…"

"Vader's son," a gruff voice stated from behind her.

Leia gasped. She had been so intent on questioning the droids that she hadn't heard Han enter the room. He stood casually within the doorway, fully dressed, thumbs hooked into his gun belt, his expression unreadable. He had obviously heard everything.

Leia stood, understanding sliding into place: understanding Vader's incessant chase since Yavin. It wasn't the Rebellion he had been pursuing: it had been Luke. It had always been Luke.

His appearance on Escaal. The attack on Ra'imarr. The bait of Cusrean. Luke being singled out and separated during the attack on the space station and almost caught by a tractor beam. The trap and trial of Horaarn. It wasn't just the pilot who destroyed the Death Star Vader was seeking. The Dark Lord had been trying to claim his son.

And now, more recently, he was trying to avenge his son's death at the hands of a Rebel soldier.

"Luke didn't know," she suddenly said aloud, turning to Han. It seemed important that she say it, that she acknowledge it. That Luke couldn't have known, that Luke wasn't something other than what he had always appeared to be; a farmer, a pilot, a trainee Jedi without a master. That this new knowledge did nothing to tarnish his memory. "I don't believe he knew. How could he know?" She turned to the droids, brows furrowed, trying to make sense of it all. "Did he know?"

Again a whistle, a small toot of denial.

See Threepio glanced up. "No, your Highness. Master Kenobi told Master Luke that Darth Vader had killed his father."

Leia nodded. That's what Luke had told her after the Death Star. His face had been tight with anger and loss, mourning his guardians, the elder Jedi Knight and a father he had never known.

Leia leaned against the gaming board, unable to look at Han or the droids. Her mind rambled, refusing to see what she had already subconsciously recognised. "It's a blessing then, that he never found out. It would have destroyed him. We can't let this get out, we can't let anyone know. We can't allow his memory to be tainted by this. Luke wouldn't want…"

Han cleared his throat, interrupting her, and merely said her name. "Leia."

She glanced over at him, saw the dark of his eyes, the grim expression on his face, his stance, the rising of his chest as he spoke her name and she knew it was no use. Han had understood the same as she had.

They had all seen the recording from Horaarn. They all knew Thecla's shot had landed true. They had all seen him lying bleeding in the snow with Vader by his side.

With his father by his side.

A father who had spent over two years chasing his son across a galaxy was not the type of man to then just allow that son to die and that thought, that knowledge, was unthinkable.

She had denied Luke his death, had fought against the grief and wished him alive and now she was denying him his life and wishing him dead; for she could think of no worse a fate for her friend than to wake up in an Imperial medical facility, to be gravely injured and in Darth Vader's keeping.

His father's keeping.

Dear Gods, where was he? What was happening to him?

"Luke's alive," she stated, whispering with horror, her eyes locked with Han's. "Somehow… He's still alive…."

ooOOoo

To be continued in "Creation."