AN: This is an edited, partly re-written, replacement chapter. I posted it on 9th May 2021.

Dark Times: Chapter 7

For Darkness Restores

Part Two

Thecla bowed her head to her master, deliberately keeping her eyes away from the figure lying on the bed; not yet having permission to look upon her master's new acquisition. "I am yours to command master," she spoke the words quietly, her voice still roughened with disuse during her weeks of incarceration.

After removing her from the cells, Vader had taken her straight to Palpatine. Weakened by weeks of solitary confinement and malnutrition, she had stumbled beside the Sith Lord, his grip on her upper arm unrelenting, as she tried to keep up with his marching pace. Her mind was still staggering from Vader's statement made within her cell…

"The patient is waking. The Emperor believes his recovery would be assisted if he woke to a familiar face."

… and she had immediately known of whom the Dark Lord spoke and, glancing at Rhovan, her jailer, she had seen that same unspoken understanding flare in the Major's grey eyes. No-one acknowledged their conclusion, not Vader when he had taken her arm in his grasp and pulled her from the cell, not Rhovan when he had stepped aside to allow them past and not herself when the Dark Lord guided her to a waiting turbolift that had taken her straight to the place prison's separate and secluded landing platform; the only way into Palpatine's private play pen.

Skywalker was alive!

She had failed.

She had failed her mission for her master. She had failed to keep father and son apart. She had failed Luke.

"Do it!" He had demanded, knowing…

knowing

…why she was there. Knowing exactly what he asked of her. Those blue eyes, vibrant, alive, and completely understanding of her task. He had accepted it. He had looked for it. He had wanted it.

He trusted her.

"Do it!"

And she had.

She had pulled the trigger. That one, abrupt, shot had caught him at almost point-blank range. It had sent him flying backward and down the ramp of the shuttle to drop from its side onto the deepening snow that had accumulated around the ship.

It had been a fatal shot. She knew it! Had felt it as soon as the bolt of light had left the muzzle, as soon as she had felt the kick of the blaster in her hand. She knew it had been a clean kill. She had been well trained, she had killed many times and she was well acquainted with death and yet, still she had failed.

Skywalker was alive!

Thecla had allowed the Dark Lord to steer her, her body moving automatically as he led her from the shuttle and into the depths of the pinnacle of the Empal SuRecon Centre, her mind stuck on those last few moments on Horaarn, playing them over and over in her mind.

Luke being escorted up the ramp, hands bound behind his back, legs hampered by shackles. The jerk of his head as he saw her, the flash of recognition, the relief that had filtered into his eyes. Then cold determination…

"Do it!"

Given no time to prepare, given no time to wash, to drink, to eat or even to come to terms with being out of that dark, rank, cell, Vader had taken her to the ante chamber of the Emperor's temporary office. Clamping her jaw, gritting her teeth, and with growing consternation she had struggled to stay on her feet, the weakness of her body threatening to betray her and more than once she had glanced to the empty reception chairs and eyed their comfort enviously as they waited to be summoned.

Skywalker was alive!

She had no idea of what that meant for her and her future.

The doors of the Emperor's office had parted and, again with Vader clasping her upper arm, his fingers digging hard into soft muscle, she had been dragged forward into her master's presence.

The desk was empty, the wide window behind was dimmed to a low tint to keep out the bright noon sun and it cast the office into grey subfusc shadow.

"Ah, my child," Palpatine's smooth voice came from behind her.

Vader released her and Thecla slid to her knees, in reverence and with exhaustion. She bowed her head, eyes staring at the weave of the expensive ruby-red carpet in the Emperor's private office. There was the sound of pouring liquid, the chink of glass, from behind as Vader also took a knee in the Palpatine's presence.

"Thank you, Lord Vader," Palpatine's tone carried a command; Vader was dismissed.

The large man rose and stepped back from Thecla. "Master," he intoned as he bowed his head in reluctant obedience, his annoyance at being dismissed unmistakeable.

Palpatine remained silent as the door to his office swept shut. His robes rustling as he moved, his footsteps heavy on the floor as he approached her.

Thecla trembled with fatigue, with fright, fighting the impulse to throw herself at his feet and beg for forgiveness for failing him. She swallowed the instinctive urge and gritted her teeth; determined to be His agent to the very end.

He had trained her. He had invested his time in her, taught her and guided her. She would not fail him again.

"I should hope not," his voice sounded humoured, as though he was delighted by her thoughts, her internal struggle and yet there was also a barb, sharp and piercing. He passed her, leaving her kneeling, and settled behind the large desk leaving another long gap of silence before speaking once more. "You disappoint me…"

A wave of guilt, of searing shame, swept through her, but she had held her tongue; knowing it was best not to speak until invited.

Minutes ticked, silence dragged, and the Emperor took a sip from whatever liquid he had poured into his glass. Thecla's throat clogged with thirst and she had to fight the urge to lick her cracked, parched, lips.

"…. your feelings for Skywalker are not unknown to me, even now I can feel them," Palpatine continued as though the preceding silence had not existed. He sounded disgusted, revolted by the notion that his agent may care for another. A rebel no less. "You did not attempt to kill him to fulfil my commands. You shot him to spare him from Vader… to spare him his fate. To keep him from me!"

Thecla wanted to argue, could feel her contentions and rationale of her actions bubbling just under the surface; she had tried to fulfil her duty, had tried to keep Vader and Skywalker apart as ordered. Had attempted to execute Luke as commanded to satisfy her master's wishes that should Vader's capture of Skywalker be unavoidable that the Rebel die. However, she knew that to voice them would mean her death. To voice them would be a betrayal of all Palpatine's trust in her; that he could sense her thoughts and feelings was proof enough of her disloyalty.

The simple truth was that she had cared, still cared, for Luke Skywalker.

"Hmmm," Palpatine pondered, taking another sip of his drink while she knelt on the floor, dehydrated, and exhausted. The glass was set down on the desk and still Thecla kept her eyes to the floor. "You have a chance to redeem yourself."

Thecla refused to allow the burgeoning relief she felt to give her hope. Her life was not assured yet. Knowing she was expected to speak, knowing her cue, knowing her master; barely able to make her voice more than a scraped whisper, she intoned softly. "I am the Emperor's willing servant."

"Perhaps you were once," The Emperor's tone was cold, biting. "Perhaps you will be again but be under no illusion; you have much to atone for and I will be watching."

Thecla stared at the carpet, stared at the threads of the weave and the rich, deep, and dark, colour still not daring to raise her eyes to her master, not daring to speak. The floor covering seemed new; it had no pile, no softness. It was hard and woven tight, warp and weft rigidly interlocking and yet… there… and Thecla had to crush her smile, hide her amusement… just there… there was a single thread pulling up, escaping the dense knit.

"…guards outside will escort you to an apartment within this facility," Palpatine was speaking again telling her of her next mission. Thecla focused on his words knowing her life depended on carrying out his instructions. "You will clean yourself up, take nourishment and report back to me in the upper medical wing."

Thecla cleared her throat; already knowing that she was to assist Luke. Vader's words had been quite clear…

"The patient is waking. The Emperor believes his recovery would be assisted if he woke to a familiar face."

…implicit that it was Luke who she was to go to. She was the familiar face.

Palpatine lifted his glass again, making her wait for excruciating seconds while her body ached in the kneeling position. He sipped at the liquid and placed the glass back down on his desk. "You believe that your target did not die and that you are to assist in his awakening. That is what Lord Vader has inferred, yes?"

Thecla swallowed, dryly, knowing not to lie. "Yes, Master."

The Emperor chuckled; his amusement genuine. He rose from his chair, walked around his desk. "Then Lord Vader is somewhat misguided. Your task is two-fold. It is true that the boy's body lives. He is emerging from a coma and the medics believe that familiarity will ground him. You are to sit with him, speak with him, read to him if you so wish. You will be his anchor in the waking world." Standing above her, he paused to consider his next words. "But he is no longer Luke Skywalker and there has to be no mention of his previous incarnation.

"I am shaping him. I am guiding him; creating what he must become, and you will reinforce all I design," his voice turned cold, malignant. "… and yet, remnants of Skywalker still exist in his mind. You, child, are also tasked in reviving those remnants, with bringing those snatches of Luke Skywalker to the surface."

Why?

The question was in Thecla's mind before she could quash it.

And the amusement was back, his voice carrying incredulity that she had not understood his intent. "So that I can remove them, carve them from him and leave his mind devoid. Mine to fill."

It was a chilling statement; to think that all that had been Luke Skywalker was to be pared away and a new persona implanted within his body and mind. Thecla had to wonder who this new person would be.

New persona…

A small hope rose within her, but it was quickly dashed.

"No," The Emperor stopped her thoughts before she could speak them. "He knows you as Thecla, and Thecla you will remain."

Thecla bowed so low her forehead almost touched the carpet. "As you wish, my Emperor."

She had obeyed him and followed the guards to her assigned rooms. She had stripped from the filthy prison clothes and showered; the water hitting her body hot and hard, the soap vigorously scrubbed into her skin as she removed the grime and stench of the detention centre. She had sat for a long time just brushing her hair and reminding herself to make arrangements to have it cut, while refusing to even glance in the mirror; too afraid of what she would see, too afraid to face herself and what she had done and was about to do at Palpatine's bidding. Then she had dressed in a simple jump suit, tied up her hair and ate a small plain meal; not wanting to upset a stomach more used to meagre prison rations.

Palpatine had sent an escort to bring her to Luke's room… it seemed his lack of trust extended to even this most simple of duties… and now here she stood in the threshold of the most private and most guarded of hospital rooms on Imperial Centre.

"Go to him," Palpatine ordered, "sit with him."

Still not raising her eyes to the figure on the bed, Thecla took a hesitant step forward, but Palpatine caught her arm, halting her and she had to fight her instinct to jerk away from his oily grasp, from his fetid breath.

He must have seen this, sensed this, for his grasp tightened. "Remember all I have said," he warned, "Skywalker is dead."

"Yes, master," she whispered in return to the implicit threat in his words and tone.

He released her and again she stepped forward to the man lying on the bed. Luke…

…for he looked like Luke and, no matter what her master said, she could not think of him as no-one or nothing…

…lay inclined on the air form mattress; a two-pronged oxygen cannula resting at his nostrils, a feeding tube snaked across his abdomen to disappear into an incision in his stomach and a peripheral intravenous cannula was fixed into his arm maintaining a steady flow of fluids and medication through lines that ran down from rehydrate packs hanging above and to the side of his bed.

He was slightly turned away from her, his blue eyes open and staring intently at the blank wall of his room. He did not respond to her approach, did not acknowledge her pulling a chair closer to the bed, did not react as she sat and reached forward and took his hand, entwining her fingers with his. They were warm, roughened from a life of hard work, first on a Tatooine farmstead, and then from working with the Rebel techs on his fighter and she was suddenly thrown back to the base on Ra'imar when Rhovan had brought Luke back to the Rebellion and she'd had tried to prise Wedge Antilles off the Imperial Interrogator after the pilot had seen the physical state of his friend.

Luke had been savagely beaten, tortured, and had been lying still and unconscious.

His hand twitched in hers and she was sitting in the ash fall on Adralii leaning against his shivering body and smiling as he had slid an arm around her. She had been one of many sent out to find him after he had attacked Rhovan and, unlike the others, she had known where to find him. The loss of the Cusrean space station by his own hand haunted him, and for a moment looking at him on this bed, in those white clothes, Thecla envied him. He no longer had those memories, was no longer haunted by deeds of the past and she wondered what that must feel like.

To have innocence back.

"His name is Ion," Palpatine stated from behind her.

She swallowed, nodded in acknowledgement, and licked her lips before hesitantly speaking. "My Lord," she addressed Luke, knowing, without needing to be told, his place in the Empire's hierarchy. She placed a hand against the warmth of his cheek and gently turned his head to her. She smiled as his eyes found hers, as confusion pulled at his brow and she tried not to despair at his lack of recognition.

"Ion," she greeted again, with a smile, "it is good to see you awake."

He stared at her face, seconds passing slowly, before his eye lids flickered and sluggishly closed and he lapsed back into deep sleep.

ooOOoo

Leia drew her knees up onto the co-pilot's chair and stared out at the twisting lights of hyperspace beyond the cockpit window. The engines of the Millennium Falcon thrummed steadily sending minute vibrations through the ship and causing small swells in the cup of hot chocolate that she held tightly in her hands. Lights flickered about her, blinked unseen as systems worked. A small arc sparked behind her from a panel and there was a shout from beyond the closed door, followed by the roar of a frustrated Wookiee.

The Princess lifted the cup to her mouth, feeling the heat, but not registering it, as it touched her lips. She breathed in deeply, taking in the aroma of the chocolate and the spice of the tang bark, briefly, almost unconsciously, wondering when and where Han had been able to replace his supplies of the drink. She knew why he kept the supply; she knew why she continued to drink it. It was Luke's favourite.

Luke…

She closed her eyes, the pain of him still able to steal her breath. She had believed him dead, had believed him at peace. Her grief for him had been pure, had stopped her for a while, stopped her in the stillness of horror and regret while the world moved on around her. She had slowly begun to come to terms with her friend's death, had slowly been pulled back into the world and hastened her steps to catch up with the events happening around her.

Han had helped. Han had been patient. Han had been demanding. Han had been as heartbroken as she and it was only when she began to emerge from her own fugue of grief that she had realised that.

Yes, that was why Han bought the hot chocolate. That was why she continued to drink it.

Luke…

Because he was alive! Because there was hope, because someday he may sit in this ship and drink hot chocolate beside her once more.

Darth Vader's son…

They had said nothing to the Alliance. They had not told anyone what they knew about Luke. Had not divulged that they suspected…

knew

…that he was still alive!

They said nothing of him being the son of the man they all feared and hated and fought. The man who had been relentlessly hunting them until a few months ago when he had abruptly pulled off from pursuing the Falcon over Crait and returned to the centre of Imperial power.

They had remained silent when the Alliance Command had speculated about the reasons behind the Emperor's long stay in the medical centre, ruling the Galaxy from the pinnacle of the EmpPal SuRecon tower. They said nothing when the reports began to trickle in that the Lord Vader had only fleetingly visited before picking up his search for the Rebellion with renewed vigour and brutality, and hope began to filter through the fleet and the personnel that perhaps…

just perhaps

…Palpatine's days were coming to an end.

Only they; Han, Leia and Chewbacca, knew that it was Luke who had drawn the Empire's ruler and his enforcer to the hospital tower and at once they were both heartened, that perhaps Luke was recovering from his devastating injury, and terrified for what their young friend was suffering at the hands of the Empire…

…but why had Vader then left Imperial Centre?

Why had he abandoned his son?

Had Luke perished after all?

No… no… It wasn't that. It couldn't be that.

There was something else happening here.

Leia drew in another breath, listening to the muffled sounds from beyond the cockpit; the muted grumbles of Chewbacca, the retorts from Han, Artoo's bleeping and Threepio's bleating, and Leia smiled briefly against her cup at the comfort of the familiar sounds.

To the Alliance Luke Skywalker was dead. To the galaxy he was already a fading name; a man who had briefly been a notorious criminal, a martyr to the Rebellion, but now, long months dead, he was no longer newsworthy. In the weeks and months following Horaarn the Galaxy's media had moved on as it always does and Luke Skywalker had been forgotten.

The occupants of this ship had not forgotten, nor had they abandoned Luke to his fate. They had discussed telling Mothma of Luke's heritage, of their suspicions…

their belief

their truth

…they had discussed gathering a small strike team. Had debated the pros and cons of going to the Imperial Centre and breaking Luke out. They had argued, fought, yelled and screamed at each other, each of them switching roles and switching sides of the debate, and each of them knew as well as the other that a rescue attempt was not yet possible.

That it was impossible.

After the Cusrean and Horaarn debacles, after Hoth, the Alliance agents on Imperial Centre had fallen silent, all of them feared captured and killed. She and Han suspected Luke was being held in the pinnacle of Palpatine's hospital tower, but they did not know precisely where he was, or what physical condition he was in. They had no schematics that they could use to make an informed decision about where he could be. They had no security codes to get past the planetary patrols to even reach the surface. Imperial centre was locked down tighter than the Banking Clan's vaults since Palpatine had moved his court to the hospital. There was no rescue team…

"… you, me, Chewie. We could ask Wedge, Jansen… and that new guy… whassis name... the blond kid, looks like Luke…." Han clicked his fingers, mentally grasping for the young pilot's name and failing. He frowned at Leia's shrug and equally blank look. "… anyway… the Rogues. They'd be up for it…"

…and to form one would mean telling the Alliance what they knew of Luke, of what they knew about Luke, because without that knowledge Leia knew Command would never sanction such a rescue for just one man; not even for Luke Skywalker.

But for the son of Darth Vader?

"Yeah, great idea, your worship, let's make the kid a target again! It wouldn't be a rescue team that would be sent out. It would be an assassination squad."

A rescue?

No, not for the son of Darth Vader.

Months of talking, months of arguing and they were no further forward.

Opening her eyes, the Princess took her first sip of the hot drink, letting the flavour run over her tongue, the sugar and spice igniting her taste buds as she swallowed the thick liquid. She smiled; it was good. She kept the brim of the cup against her lips, held the cup tight in her hands feeling the heat in her palms and breathed in the aroma.

Leia was tired. Achingly so. The negotiations with the Teth representatives had been long and arduous, spanning four days and nights with snatches of sleep and many cups of caff. She had been tempted to ask for a stim injection but, on recalling the side effects suffered by Luke and the other pilots after the Yavin evacuation and subsequent chase by the Imperial fleet, she had decided against it. Han did not need a paranoid, agitated and hyperactive woman on his ship on the way home.

The talks had been ultimately fruitful, and the Falcon was now hauling much needed rations for the beleaguered Alliance fleet with more promised to follow. She could only hope that Mothma had been successful in securing additional funding and supporters from her negotiations. They needed so much more to keep the fight going; more support, more donations, more volunteers, more ships, more weapons, more… more… more….

It wasn't that the people of the Galaxy suddenly had greater support for the Empire. If anything, the rumblings, and disgruntlement had increased since Vader's murderous rampage following Luke's assassination, but fear was good at silencing people. Fear was good at keeping people kowtowed and in their place and negotiating resources had become nigh impossible.

"The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers."

Another sip of chocolate. She still stood by her words to Tarkin, still knew… still felt it deep within her bones, that the Empire would one day face its day of reckoning and its grip on the Galaxy would be loosened and all those systems would tumble free from its grasp. It just wouldn't be today, or tomorrow or any day soon.

She sighed, drank a little more.

"Are you going to nurse that cup all night?"

She smiled and glanced up at the familiar voice as Luke slid into the pilot's chair beside her. "It's good she told him."

He's not here…

He smiled at her. That infectious grin that always seemed to lift her spirits, then it was gone, and his eyes were sad, troubled and he looked more like he had after Escaal. "I miss it."

"Hot chocolate?" She teased, lightly.

How can he be here?

His eyes glanced up, those intensely blue irises, looking at her through the fringe of his hair. "No…," he shrugged and turned away. "This. I miss this. I miss you."

"Luke, are you all right?"

You know he's not. You know…

He didn't answer, just stared in silence at the churning tunnel of hyperspace. The air felt thick and heavy in the cockpit and she had difficulty drawing a breath to find her voice.

"Luke, what's wrong?"

He turned to her, cocked his head and considered her, chilling her with the cruel smirk that now quirked his lips. He glanced up as a shadow fell over her and voice whispered, a voice she knew from her days in the senate, from the holonet, from her own brief encounters with the Emperor, "Princess Leia…"

A hand fell on her shoulder and she jumped, cried out, spilled the hot chocolate drink down her front as she turned to stare up and into the yellowed eyes of the foul creature Palpatine had become; the burn of the fluid inconsequential to the horror that…

"Hey, Leia?"

Leia jerked, pulled away from the hand on her shoulder, spilling more of the cooled…

It's cold! How can it be cold?

…chocolate milk over the edge the cup. She drew in a tight, fearful breath…

"Hey, it's okay… it's me."

"Han!" She gasped, confused and disorientated, as he moved quickly to lift the cup from her hands before more of the drink could spill. It was cold now…

but it was hot only moments ago!

…but if it got onto the instrument panel it could short out several systems and she was sitting right next to the life support controls.

"What is it?" he crouched before her, set the cup down on the deck plates and took her hands in his. Her fingers were chilled, and she was trembling. "What's wrong?"

Leia looked down at the spreading chocolate stain on her jacket. She was troubled, confused, breathless at the intensity of….

"It was a dream," she said to reassure him, to reassure herself. "Just a dream."

So why were her hands still shaking? Why did her stomach churn with deep unease? When had she fallen asleep?

"A dream, huh?" He smiled, waiting for her to elaborate.

"It… seemed so real. I don't even remember falling asleep," she laughed at herself, trying to chase away the lingering shadows, the creeping unease. "I feel ridiculous!"

Han waited, still cradling her cold hands in his warm palms, saying nothing; just waiting for Leia to speak, waiting for her to tell him what was wrong.

She sighed, tried to shrug off her restless disquiet, but she knew Han wouldn't budge until he was sure she was okay. "It was Luke," she told him, watching him nodded, watching the sadness and anger flare in his eyes. When he said nothing, she sighed in resignation and added, "he was here…. with Palpatine."

Han remained silent, looking up at her as she gazed down at their intertwined fingers. Finally, Leia lifted her eyes to his, she shrugged and smiled. "It was just a dream," she dismissed, "just my mind trying to make sense of everything. It's just…" she paused, trying to put her thoughts and feelings into order so that she could explain to Han. "… everything's a mess."

The corner of Han's mouth twitched, amused at her loss of words, amused that the few words she did express seemed to sum up perfectly the events of the last year.

She was right, everything was a mess.

Everything had spiralled from their control and Han, who had once bragged that he controlled his own destiny, now felt like a passenger as events dragged and twisted him from the path he had once so carefully mapped out for himself and it had all started in a Cantina in Mos Eisley.

But there was one thing that was as it should be. There was one thing that… apart from a chocolate stain on her jacket… wasn't a mess.

He wanted to ease her discomfort at her dream, ease her guilt…

and your own, Solo

… and pain at losing Luke. He let his lips form a grin.

"That bad, huh?" He stood and, still holding her hands in his, he pulled her to her feet. "Come on, your worship, let's get you outta that jacket and cleaned up."

"Is that what you're calling it now?" Leia teased and stood on her tip toes to plant a kiss at the side of his mouth.

"Hey, careful, your Highness I don't want to get chocolate on me…" Han protested, letting go of her hands and stepping back, careful not to knock over her abandoned cup on the deck.

"Then we'd just need to get you out of your clothes," Leia told him, her eyes dark and her voice low, husky, "and get you cleaned up, too."

Han's smiled widened knowing where this game was going as Leia pressed into him, wrapped her arms around him and he bent down to capture her lips with his own.

Leia felt her body enveloped in his embrace…

…this was where she belonged. This is where she felt safe and secure….

…felt the heat of desire rise, banishing her earlier unease… at least for little while, at least for now, at least until she stood alone in Han's cabin over the mussed-up bunk holding her jacket in her hands while staring at the dark, dried chocolate, stain spread across the white fabric with a name escaping her lips in a whisper.

"Luke…"

ooOOoo

To Be Continued...