I should reiterate once more that while there isn't any graphic or detailed description of torture, this chapter does contain it, so please avoid if that's not your thing.
When Luke woke up, he was confused for. . . multiple reasons. They all had the indecency to manifest at once, while he was still hovering between rest and wakefulness, and he felt dizzy when he finally opened his eyes.
He was in a cell.
He knew that, because he remembered Palpatine's last orders, and Palpatine's orders were always obeyed on Coruscant. But this wasn't a detention cell he recognised. Most of them were fairly standard, completely identical whether they be on a planet, on the Devastator or on the Executor. But this. . .
Well, it wasn't white, for one thing.
And he didn't ache, for another.
In fact, he was. . . not painless, per se, but numb. Nothing hurt, but he didn't feel quite there as he stretched his arms and wondered at how. . . unfamiliar. . . they felt.
Luke?
He whipped his head around. That had sounded like. . .
. . .sands, bright and burning, a cold hard hand clamped around his wrist and the hiss of a lightsaber; I won't let you take them, Darth, they're no children of yours. . .
. . .a memory half-dead.
Luke, you have to be ready.
He's coming for you.
Who. . .?
Luke didn't even finish the thought before the door swung open and Palpatine waltzed in, a kind smile on his face and a sick glint in his eyes.
"Ah, my boy." He smiled wider. "You're awake."
Luke got the sense this was intentional on his part. Maybe a gas. . .?
He frowned at him sceptically as he came to perch on the. . . bench, next to Luke. At least the cell was standard in that respect: the only furniture was a slab to sleep on, though even that was as strange as the rest of the place. The room itself was hexagonal, and the stone walls. . .
Well, he placed his hand on them and felt emptiness seep in.
"Where—" He swallowed, then tried again, loathe to let Palpatine see his weakness but knowing that it would be better to know, when the time came to escape. "Where am I?"
"In my private cells," came the reply. "You know I couldn't allow you to be incarcerated in the standard ones of the Palace. Nasty little boxes, run by nasty little people."
Yes, Luke thought, staring at him. Those people were far too little for Palpatine's tastes.
Down here. . . his personal dungeons. . .
Well. Nestled among the reworked parts of the Jedi Temple, in the heart of the darkness Coruscant was cloaked in, where the shadows crept thick and fast and smothered all light from above, there was quite literally no one to hear him scream.
He met Palpatine's yellow gaze.
Except one who would enjoy it.
He wondered, briefly, if Visz had seen within these walls before he died.
The attack had no warning but he'd been expecting it. Pain blared in his mind and he physically jerked back, on instinct, slamming into the wall and crying out again as new bruises flowered on his back.
But it was nothing compared with his mental torment.
With every slip of concentration he could feel Palpatine's. . . blaster bolt. . . burrowing deeper into his mind, splintering as it pierced, and images began to flash before he eyes—
—Wren, Biggs, Wedge, Hobbie's stunned faces as he flung open the doors on Skystrike—
—Ahsoka's shadowy figure beyond the chasm between them, growing larger as he jumped—
—Leia's anger and shock and relief—
—It wasn't treason! At least. . . not yet—
—and he grunted and shoved that presence back out, heart pounding, head shattering.
All he'd got was images, gone in a flash.
Even Palpatine could do nothing with images.
"I figured," Luke panted, screwing his eyes as tightly shut as he could while still glaring, "that you'd go for the persuasion first. I'd assume that's what you promised my father?"
"I didn't promise your father anything. You know he's very angry with you—and he just wants you to see sense as soon as possible." A bony hand stroked his face, half-fondly, and Luke yanked his head away in disgust. "But I do intend to start that way—we are perfectly capable of civilised discussion, aren't we? And I would hate to inflict unnecessary pain on you."
Uh huh.
"Then what was that?" he asked sweetly.
"Just a reminder." Palpatine lay a hand on Luke's knee and. . . pinpricks. . . shot through it. A reminder of the lightning he could and would spark, if Luke decided not to cooperate.
Luke had already decided not to cooperate.
"Of what?"
The hand constricted.
"That I am the most powerful person in this galaxy," he said quietly. "You are smart enough to understand—I know you are smart enough to understand—that it is not wise to make an enemy out of me lightly."
He thought, I don't do it lightly.
But he didn't say it.
He said, "My father is more powerful than you."
He actually gasped aloud at the bolt of electricity that shot through him, then—low voltage, harmless lightning, but it stung enough for tears to burn at the back of his eyes. From the look on Palpatine's face, it hadn't even been intentional.
When Palpatine spoke, it was through gritted teeth. "Your father. . . naturally has more raw power than I have at my command. But this is my Empire, and he serves me for a reason. He is bright enough to recognise what you, apparently, are not: I am stronger, more skilled, than your father will ever be." He smiled viciously. "Especially after that. . . tragic occurrence with Kenobi just before you were born."
Luke pointedly didn't think of the voice he'd heard before.
"My father—" he tried again.
"Is a great man," Palpatine said, "but I—as he knows, as everyone with sense knows—am greater." His hand moved from Luke's knee to stroke his cheek again; already shuffled back as far as he could go, Luke couldn't move away any further. "And one day, you will be too. I told you that already."
His voice hardened; his hand dropped. "But only if you heed my guidance."
The hand returned to his knee. This time, when Luke flinched at the mild lightning that barrelled through him, it was definitely intentional.
"Do you think you can do that, Luke?"
Luke shook his head. "I won't," he bit out. "I don't want to be a greater man than my father. I want to be a better man than my father."
The hand fell away altogether, and Luke closed his eyes. He knew that position, with Palpatine's hands poised in front of him, hovering before his chest—
"And you are convinced that betraying your family, the Empire you swore to protect, is the way to achieve that?"
Luke, teeth clenched against the onslaught that would be coming any minute now, only nodded.
"I had been afraid of that, my boy."
The expected onslaught didn't come.
After several long moments, Luke cracked an eye open to see Palpatine watching him, head tilted, a sadistic smile playing about his lips.
He reached for a comlink and said into it: "Come in."
Red guards upon red guards all filed in upon their master's command, masks as impassive but disdainful as could be, and Luke closed his eyes again. Real fear burned in his throat.
The screaming started a few minutes later.
Leia slept very, very poorly.
Pain, violet lightning flashing behind her eyes, screams that weren't hers yet burned her throat anyway—
She woke with the sun, though she'd fallen asleep long after it.
She was still utterly exhausted, but she didn't particularly want to fall asleep again after that.
So, stretching out with her senses to check that most of the base was still quiet save for the people on night shifts, she settled cross-legged onto her bed and started to meditate.
It. . . calmed her. Sort of. That gaping wound in her chest, the hole in her heart and it her mind, was still raw and flesh and bleeding. But she let the Force wash over it, and the dark side fed off of it, her pain vanishing and tingling in her veins instead as pure, unbridled power—
There was a knock at her door.
"Come in," she said without opening her eyes.
For someone accustomed to gargantuan Force presences like her brother, her father, Ahsoka didn't register that clearly. But she did register, and Leia had one of those gargantuan Force presences herself, so she was hyperaware of her every twitch and reach nevertheless.
And Ahsoka's light twitched and reached away from Leia's darkness.
The door hissed open, and that distaste was visible in the twitch of her jaw, the sharp bob of her throat, but her voice was diplomatically calm and neutral as she said, "Padmé's in a holo-conference with some of the members of High Command. They want to talk to you—hear the case for Luke's rescue from you."
Leia. . . thought she might know what that really entailed.
But her meditation wasn't gonna gain her anything more than sending up a flag for her location, so. . .
"Wait outside for a bit; I'll just get dressed."
She emerged a moment later, dressed in the plain Rebel fatigues that had been lying in her room when she arrived, without a rank sewn on. She didn't miss the way Ahsoka's eyes ran over her at the sight of them, or the slight smile that tugged at her lips when she saw how crisp her collar was.
She shook her head. "You're as meticulous as Padmé," she murmured. "Come on."
The conference was taking place in a room near the south end of the base, underground. It wasn't a big base at all—it only took them a few minutes to get there—and Leia had known that from the number of lives she could feel around them, shining in the Force, but it was stranger to think of it in terms of distance. Dantooine was an obscure farming planet; of course it would be ideal for setting up shop subtly, but only in smaller numbers.
Leia wondered where the rest of the Alliance was.
"It's much more decentralised than the Empire is," Ahsoka said, picking up on her thoughts.
Leia tried to smile, but honestly the lack of sleep and the dreamt-up agony, not to mention the pressure for what she knew was coming, was starting to get to her. Her hands shook slightly.
"I suppose that's the point," she quipped.
Then the corridor sloped down and they were in front of a door, actively guarded by two people: a muscled Sullustan, rank lieutenant, and a human captain, frizzy-haired under her cap. She glanced at Ahsoka, at the authorisation code she handed over, and waved them through.
Ahsoka gestured for Leia to go first. She did.
The room was small, as everything on this planet was, but it wasn't the bare walls, the spick-and-span floors, the low ceiling that caught her attention. It was the comm suite: the loose round table it embodied, and the people whose blue silhouettes hovered around it.
And what they were saying.
"Amidala, you chose to abandon your children fifteen years ago. We will not waste valuable Rebel resources simply because you want them back."
Padmé was perfectly opposite her—in clear line of sight of the door, and vice versa. Leia saw her flinch clear as day. . . and the hasty, incredibly loaded, nervous glance she shot her upon her entrance.
She didn't reply to that comment. She chose, instead, to say: "Leia Skywalker is here to plead her case herself."
A murmur of surprise—and, Leia was willing to bet and the Force verified—slight fear rippled around the circle. Padmé gestured for Leia to take her place, which she did. . . and instantly felt out of her depth when more surprise followed.
Some of the holograms—particularly a few of aliens—were shorter than her, yes. But she was young and in an unfamiliar playing field.
She swallowed and looked around. "As"—Leia didn't know what title to give Padmé, not here and now, so she gave her none at all—"she said, I am Leia Skywalker. I—"
"You're a child."
Leia tamped down on the usual flare of annoyance she felt at that phrase—this was not Tarkin's voice, full of disdain; this was a woman's voice, full of concern—and turned to the speaker. Sure enough: a human woman, dark-skinned and wearing a fine hood that might have been gold beneath the blue shimmer.
She nodded vaguely. "I'm eighteen. My brother—"
"You're one of Vader's infamous demon twins?" another voice interjected.
Leia gritted her teeth. "Yes. I—" was? Am? She was no longer a demon to these people, she hoped, but she would always be a twin.
She hoped.
"I am," she finished, choking the words out. "And. . . I'd like help to rescue my brother."
There was silence all around, then there was the rustling of a cloak as someone stepped forward, and Leia found herself gazing at someone she actually recognised.
Senator Bail Organa.
"Padmé has told us," he said gently—but sceptically. She could tell that much. "But we need a reason to first."
She swallowed again. "He's one of the most powerful Force-users in the galaxy—"
"And is being held by the two most powerful. Any rescue would be nigh-impossible." He interrupted her, but gentled it again with a smile. It didn't quench the fire burning in her gut. "Try again."
She did. "The knowledge that both Vader's daughter and his son have defected would be a major propaganda victory for the Alliance, but you won't have the proof to capitulate on it unless he's free and actively working with us—"
"That still does not change the fact that rescuing him is a suicide mission, Skywalker."
"It wouldn't be!" She wasn't sure where the vehemence came from—or, rather, she knew exactly where the vehemence came from; she didn't know why it hadn't come earlier.
This was her brother they were talking about abandoning, leaving for dead; their spy, one who'd worked right in the heart of Imperial power for them, not an average one, not someone like—
Her heart slowed.
Visz.
Visz had done the same.
And no Rebel rescue had ever come for him.
But they had tried to do what they could to help Andor and Erso—Leia had helped herself—so. . .
Hopefully. . .
"It wouldn't be a suicide mission. Coruscant is a heavily fortified, heavily protected planet, but I know the Empire. I know codes—or, if they've changed them, I know how to get them. I know my way around the place, where the Imperial patrols are going, what they're looking for. If I can get down there, I will get my brother out, and you'll have another powerful Force user on your side ready to take the Empire down." She ground her teeth. "I'm not asking you to commit troops or men or anything; just. . . some reinforcements, anything you feel generous enough to share, and I will make do with what I have, whether you contribute to it or not."
She took a deep breath.
Unclenched her fists.
Blinked back tears.
"I can do this," she said quietly, "but I cannot do this on my own."
Her gaze sought Padmé's, over the heads of the blue figures, and it met hers. She was reassured. . . but only slightly.
"Thank you, Skywalker," a man said curtly. His rank plate denoted him a general. Leia tried not to think about how odd—and yet how right—it felt to have now been addressed as Skywalker, twice.
Padmé came up to retake her place at the round table and Leia left, Padmé's brief squeeze of her hand a cold comfort.
She returned to her room to try and get some rest, but failed. It wasn't even the nightmares this time; it was the fact that every single inch of her was attuned to the verdict that was coming.
Sure enough, the base was fully starting to stir when Ahsoka finally got back to her, and her news was nothing unexpected.
No one had pledged their support.
The stump of his right wrist no longer hurt.
The rest of him did.
Red swamped his vision, and he wasn't sure if it was blood or the scarlet robes of Palpatine's precious guards or—
—he screamed—
—the crimson flash the Force showed him whenever he tried to look at his own pain.
He coughed, and felt blood speckle his chin.
"That's enough for now," Palpatine said.
It wasn't for the guards; the guards retreated immediately in a swirl of bloody cloth, and would have at a simple stop. The for now was for Luke.
The door slid shut behind them with a harsh click.
Palpatine tutted.
"Look at you," he said, kneeling down. "Look at the mess."
Luke got out, "I. . . wasn't the one who made it."
Palpatine reached out a long, crooked finger and pressed it against Luke's back—into one of the lacerations. Hard.
He screamed.
"No," he sighed, "but you're the one who got yourself into it."
Then he was up again in a flounce of black, and stalking to the door—someone else was coming in. Someone just as red as the guards, but clad in black like Palpatine.
Luke wondered how the Sixth Sister had got permission to remove her helmet.
Palpatine waved a dismissive hand down at him. "Get him cleaned up," he ordered. "And arrange for a replacement hand, we'll want him fully functional when he finally sees the error of his ways. And—"
He looked down at Luke. Shields or not, Luke knew he could tell what he was thinking. Hoping for.
Then again, it wasn't like it was obscure.
"And if you try to escape, boy," he hissed, "I will make the last two hours seem like a pleasant dream compared to what I will do to you."
He crouched back down in front of him again—he probably thought his intimidation wasn't sufficient if he was only on the other side of the (albeit small) cell—and yellow met blue.
One cold, clammy hand took Luke's chin inside itself.
"You are mine now—as you always have been, and you always will be. There is no use resisting."
Luke spat blood in his face.
Palpatine backhanded him. His head snapped to the side.
He saw stars.
"You will learn in time."
He stood again, and said to Mara as he left, "He does not seem to realise the severity of his situation. Feel free to impress it upon him."
Then he was gone. His presence just. . . vanished, in the Force, and Luke's heart sank as he computed what that meant.
Computed what a part of that severity was.
"A perimeter without the Force, huh?" he remarked to Mara as she knelt down and rolled him onto his front by the shoulder, surprisingly gently.
Then her hand contorted on his shoulder, and she was no longer gentle.
"You know that's impossible," she said instead. Very, very coldly. "Just a decent perimeter where no one can use the Force."
These were Palpatine's private dungeons, after all. Built to harbour Jedi, no doubt—or other such. . . personal. . . threats.
"Heh." He refused to flinch as she pulled out a cloth bathed in something he hoped was disinfectant but hells, when she swiped it over his back, his legs, it hurt. "You know that wouldn't stop me, Jade. He probably does too."
She scrubbed too hard and he did yelp that time. Her vicious satisfaction was evident.
"The several platoons of specially trained royal guards and stormtroopers between here and the only exit would, Skywalker."
He scrunched up his eyes against the pain again; it meant he didn't shoot her the startled, appreciative look he had no doubt he would have otherwise.
Skywalker.
"Then again," she said, shoving him to the side and eyeing the blood starting to dry up and flake on the floor. "Feel free to try. I could do with an excuse to run you through."
He swallowed.
"Jade, I—"
She shot him a look and he cried out when she shoved him a little too hard in the shoulder.
He fell silent.
Then— "Did you lose your helmet?"
She cut him a glance at that. He wasn't sure what was in that glance, but there was something there.
"I no longer require it."
"Regulations for Inquisitors have changed?"
"I am no longer an Inquisitor."
His eyebrows shot up.
She kept talking—if she had been anyone else, he would have thought she was gloating. "I was promoted in the throne room, just after your. . . escapade. Our master told me he saw that I was worthier than any Inquisitor, and that since he was currently lacking for two competent agents"—a smug smile and a glare—"he bestowed upon me a new rank. I am now his Hand. His personal agent. One he trusts above all others."
Luke narrowed his eyes. "I see." Trust was not something Palpatine had an abundance of.
"I hope you do. For your sake." Her tone turned venomous. "Because the moment he realises that you're nothing but a liability and a traitor, I'm going to take this new lightsaber he bestowed upon me and carve you into thin, smoking chunks."
"I'm flattered," he drawled.
Then—
Quietly.
"I was going to step forward, you know." Her hands stilled. "Whether Leia ordered me otherwise or not, I was about to step forward. I signed up willingly to put myself in danger, not you. Or anyone else."
She continued swashing her new rag over the floor. "You didn't do it earlier. You knew I was innocent, and you let me lie there and get—"
"Tortured by the man you now profess your undying allegiance to?" Luke offered. "Who knew you were innocent as well?"
She gritted her teeth and said nothing. Just reached for a syringe in the pack she'd brought with her.
Luke understood.
The bite of the needle against his neck, then he was being dragged down into a blissful slumber.
Skywalker was unconscious when she left, hands covered in blood and head ringing with accusations, both his and her own.
The Sixth Sister. . . no; the Emperor's Hand. . .
. . .Jade, he had called her. . .
. . .paused briefly upon her exit, taking a moment to study his face. It was more relaxed in unconsciousness than she had ever seen him when awake, though still tensed in a rictus of pain; he looked genuine.
As he had sounded genuine earlier, when he was in agony and trying not to show it.
She ground her teeth and reached for the code pad to lock the door. It hissed shut behind her.
As he had always seemed genuine, even when he was a Rebel spy. She was the Emperor's Hand, now; she could have no mercy to waste, and certainly not on him.
But she still hesitated briefly before locking the door, anyway.