notes: Look! A new chapter! Yay! I hope you all enjoy it. And I hope you cry :)

(many thanks to tumblr users absynthe-minded and princess-sansa-of-ithilien for all their help 3)

Also that anonymous reviewer: Yeah, this fic reminds you of that one because that is this fic. That was my fic. I'm rewriting it. Just so you - and everyone else - knows I'm not ripping off anyone else.


CHAPTER 3

"What is the meaning of this?" Bail demanded, voice hard and cold with barely contained wrath, dripping with imperious command. "How dare you threaten an Imperial Senator and the Prince of Alderaan?"

"You are a traitor, Senator and Prince," Twelfth Brother sneered. "You waived all immunity when you hid a Force Sensitive from the Empire."

No, Bail thought desperately. No, Mother, please, not this.

"What do you mean, Force Sensitive?" Bail forced himself to ask, praying that his voice came out strong and unwavering. "Leia's no Force Sensitive."

"Blood doesn't lie," Twelfth Brother said.

Too little, Bail thought. Too late.

"I don't understand," said Bail, arranging his expression into one of shock and confusion. "If she was Force Sensitive, we would have known…"

"You're lying," Twelfth Brother said. "You…" He trailed off. Then, with an expression of surprise, he said, "You are hiding your thoughts from me. But you are no Force Sensitive."

No, Bail thought. But I had Jedi friends. Obi-Wan had taught him long ago how to wrap his thoughts with fog and steel wire, how to hide his thoughts and emotions from all but the strongest and most adept Force user. The final lesson had come on the night Bail had taken Leia from Polis Massa.

"Leia's life now depends on your ability to hide your thoughts from the Emperor," Obi-Wan had said. He had sneered the final word, and Bail had been shocked at the depth of hate he had seen gleam in Obi-Wan's eyes. "Remember what I taught you."

"I will," Bail had promised.

And he had. He had kept his thoughts wrapped in mist and silver, even in the face of the Emperor himself. He had hidden the truth of Leia's parentage, had kept her Force Sensitivity secret from everyone but his wife. And as for Breha—he had taught her all the tricks Obi-Wan had taught him, until she could stare Emperor Palpatine in the eye and lie to his face just as well as he could.

They had kept Leia safe.

Until now.

"Who are you?" Twelfth Brother asked. Bail was shocked to hear hesitancy in his voice, some note of wariness that hadn't been there before.

Bail weighed his options.

First and foremost he had to get Leia out.

He would flee with her to Alderaan, and from there would disappear with her into the far reaches of the Outer Rim. He would have to contact Ahsoka, ask her to meet them somewhere—Tattooine, maybe; perhaps it was time for Leia to be reunited with her brother. He should contact Obi-Wan as well, if only to tell him that Leia had been discovered, and that they were now on the run from the Empire.

Eventually they might be able to return to the arms of the fledgling Rebellion. In the meantime, Mon would have to spearhead the Rebellion's formation; he would need to get a message to her as well, warning her of their flight, placing on her the responsibility of the Rebellion. He hated to do it, but at least for the next few years, it would be too dangerous for him—for everyone—to be directly involved with any organization in direct opposition to the Empire.

Money and transport would be no issue. Bail had enough of the crown's jewels at his immediate disposal that he and Leia would be able to live comfortably for the remainder of their natural lives, and they could take a ship from the royal hangars on Alderaan. It had been a long time since Bail had disabled a tracking device, but he still remembered how to do it; his days as a rebellious teenager were not so far gone that he had forgotten all of his tricks.

Bail blinked, and Twelfth Brother—and Leia, lying in her bed behind him—came back into focus. He felt the burn of the lightsaber humming a mere inch from his neck, heard the Inquisitor's breath rasping out from between his cracked lips. Then, faint at first but growing louder, as if through water, Bail heard Rebécca's voice.

"My lord?"

Bail's eyes flicked to the side, finding her in his peripheral vision. She was standing at the ready, sword drawn, face pale.

"My lord, what do we do?" she asked. There was bitter desperation in her voice and in her face, and her knuckles were white around the hilt of her sword.

"Yes, Senator," Twelfth Brother drawled. Whatever wariness and concern had been in his voice before was now well-hidden. "What are you going to do?"

"Abrothaar," Bail said slowly, careful not to move his mouth too much. He did not want to cut himself on the lightsaber hovering just below his jaw. "I need you to do what we talked about."

From the doorway, Abrothaar said, "Yes, my lord."

Twelfth Brother frowned. "Stop," he called out after Abrothaar. But Abrothaar was already gone.

He turned back to Bail, the frown stamped across his face deepening in the creases between his eyes. "Where did he go?" he demanded of Bail.

"I don't know," Bail said.

"Liar," Twelfth Brother said.

Bail smiled. "Obviously."

"Where is he going?" Twelfth Brother demanded again, louder.

"I would have thought it was clear that I wasn't going to tell you," Bail said evenly.

"Tell me!" Twelfth Brother all but screamed, stepping forward and grabbing Bail by the throat, lightsaber humming as, with a flourish, he brought it down and away from Bail's neck. Behind them, Bail heard Leia give a small cry of distress.

"No," Bail said, voice thin from beneath the cage of Twelfth Brother's fingers.

And he punched Twelfth Brother in the side of the head.

Twelfth Brother staggered, letting Bail go as he gasped with surprised pain. His lightsaber dipped toward the floor, and his booted feet dug for purchase in the carpet.

"Leia," Bail called, stepping to the side and reaching out toward his daughter. "Leia, come here—"

Twelfth Brother snarled and, having regained his balance, whirled on Bail, delivering a sharp kick to his upper thigh. Bail's leg buckled and he fell to one knee with a grunt, catching himself with his outstretched hand before he could topple to the side. He looked up, saw Leia half out of bed with one foot on the floor, her hands clenching the coverlet behind her; and between them, the Inquisitor stood straight and tall, turning toward Leia with one hand outstretched to grab for her, still climbing shakily out of bed.

"No!" Bail shouted, and surged upward. His left leg throbbed where Twelfth Brother had kicked him, but Bail pushed the pain away—he could nurse his bruises once Leia was safely away from the Inquisitor.

With a cry, Bail threw himself forward. He tackled Twelfth Brother, and both of them fell to the floor in a tangle of flailing arms and thrashing legs. The lightsaber flew from Twelfth Brother's hands, landing on the floor and skidding beneath Leia's bed.

"Leia," Bail cried, grappling for Twelfth Brother's wrists, "go to Rebé—"

A force like a fist smashed into Bail's chest, and he felt the air open its arms to embrace him. For a second there was nothing but the rushing sense of falling—and then he smashed back-first into the floor. His lungs spasmed, trying and forgetting how to draw in breath.

"Leia," Bail wheezed, desperately trying to force his lungs to obey the silent command to breathe. For an agonizing second they refused, and then in a relieved rush he dragged in a long, deep breath.

He sat up, biting back a groan. Get up, a voice screamed in his head, his blood, his bones. Get up, get up, GET UP! You have to get Leia. You have to—

Twelfth Brother stretched out his hand, and his lightsaber flew out from beneath the bed to his waiting palm. The smack of leather-bound metal against Twelfth Brother's hand snapped through the room.

Get up, Bail commanded his body. Get up before he can ignite it again.

Movement. And then Rebécca's cool, firm voice said, "Drop it."

She stood a pace away from Twelfth Brother, body angled sideways to give him as small a target as possible. And leveled at his unprotected throat, she held unwavering the tip of her ceremonial blade. "Drop it," she said again, low and dangerous.

Twelfth Brother smiled. "If you say so," he said, voice low and purring. He lifted his lightsaber, then let it drop.

"Leia," Bail said, stretching out a hand. "Come here."

Leia took a single shaky, tottering step forward, already reaching for him.

Three things happened at once.

Twelfth Brother spun to the left, away from Rebécca's blade, and reached out his hand; the lightsaber, lying on the ground at his feet, flew to him and ignited with a sharp snap-hiss; and Leia, halfway to Bail, let out a shriek as she was flung across the room by an invisible force. She struck the wall with a sharp crack and slid to the floor in a motionless pile.

"Leia!" Bail yelled, and scrambled to his feet.

Behind him, Bail heard Rebécca scream. He turned, feet still moving, just in time to see Twelfth Brother kick the her sword, and the hand still attached to it, underneath Leia's bed. Rebécca clutched the stump of her arm and screamed again, taking a single staggering step away from the Inquisitor.

"You shouldn't have defied me," Twelfth Brother snarled, following her. He seemed to rear back, drawing himself up to his full, black height. Then, with one fluid movement, he lunged forward—and stabbed Rebécca through the chest.

Bail watched in horror as the lightsaber tore through her back, as red as the blood she did not bleed. For a sickening second there was only stillness: Bail stood frozen in dismay, while the Inquisitor watched Rebécca's legs give out beneath her, a smile crawling at the edges of his lips. Then, with a single, deft movement he pulled the lightsaber free of her body. She fell to the ground and lay still.

Twelfth Brother looked up at Bail, smile still crawling up his face. "Your daughter is coming with me," he said, and took a threatening step forward, over Rebécca's still body.

"I don't think so," Bail said, placing himself between Twelfth Brother and his daughter, still lying at the foot of the wall.

"You can't stand against me," Twelfth Brother said. "I will take her, and you will face the Emperor's judgment."

Bail heard movement through the wall, out in the corridor—footsteps, dozens of footsteps running. It was his turn to smile.

"I don't think so, Inquisitor," he said, and looked at the door.

Fifteen Alderaanian guards, led by Abrothaar and his cousin Abretheer, poured in through the doorway and fanned out into a line, blasters drawn and ready. They took in the scene before them—Rebécca's body on the floor, Twelfth Brother standing with lightsaber in hand across from Bail, Leia lying by the wall—with the air of seasoned warriors, faces darkening with tightly-held anger.

Abrothaar had mustered the guard, just as Bail had requested.

"Stand down, Inquisitor," Bail ordered. "You've lost."

Twelfth Brother laughed, the sound harsh and brazen against the silence between them. "Do you really think you can stop me?" he asked.

"You're outnumbered sixteen to one," Bail said. He added, "We won't hesitate to kill you."

"Nor I you," Twelfth Brother replied. He looked over the guards, eyes roaming from one end of their fanned-out line to the other. "Do you hear that?" he asked them. "I will give you this one chance, and this one chance alone—leave now, or you will die."

Calmly, Bail said, "I would shed all the blood of my house if it meant keeping my daughter from your hands. Even my own."

"We're not afraid of you," Abrothaar added loudly.

"You should be," Twelfth Brother said.

He reached up to the side of his mask, and the faceplate slid down over his smiling visage. Then, he lifted a hand, and the lights went out.

There was a moment of panicked confusion. There were cries of question—"What do we do?" and "Sir?" and "Sire?"—and cries of alarm. And then, above it all, there came the screams of the dying.

The only light was that of the Inquisitor's lightsaber and that of Coruscant's night, bleeding in through the windows. Bail blinked against the darkness, against the flash of the scarlet lightsaber. In between its shifting shadows, he could just make out one of his guards—Cariaan, he thought—falling, a glowing line of burning cloth across her chest and stomach.

Leia, he thought, and turned. He hated to leave his guards to face the Inquisitor alone, but Leia was his first and most important responsibility. He had to reach her, had to get her out—though how he hoped to get her past the line of guards, and past the Inquisitor, without anyone noticing what he was doing, he had no idea.

Fumbling, he made his way toward where he remembered her falling, shuffling his feet so as not to kick her by accident, holding one hand out so as not to run face-first into the wall. His sight was an array of shadow and haloed light, making it nearly impossible for him to even guess at where anything was. He blinked furiously, and moved through the swashes of green and yellow afterglow, praying he wouldn't step on Leia. Slowly, they began to fade.

By the time he felt the smooth, painted surface of the wall beneath his fingertips, he could just make out the shadowy shapes of Leia's bed and bedside table. Looking down, he saw the lumpy form of his daughter still lying in a heap.

"Leia," Bail murmured, and knelt by her side. He reached out for her, still half-blind, and felt first the soft silk of her dress, then the softer silk of her hair. "Leia," he said again, shaking her gently. "Lelila…"

"Papá?" Her voice was soft and faint, barely audible above the humming and spitting of the lightsaber as it deflected blaster bolts, above the cries of Bail's men dying.

"I'm here, Lelila," Bail murmured. Then he said, "Can you stand?"

In response, Bail saw the shadowy form rise.

"That's my girl," Bail said, and bent to scoop her up into his arms. His hands were beneath her arms when, with the suddenness of lightning, he felt the same fist of invisible power wrap around his chest and, with a mighty tug, yank him away from Leia and into the air.

The ground rushed up to meet him, and Bail braced himself. For a second time that night his lungs spasmed and refused to breathe, and Bail was forced to claw his way to his feet with his head swimming and body crying out for lack of air.

"Sire!" Bail heard someone call— then there were footsteps, and a hand latched around his elbow, dragging him backward. Bail staggered, then turned, finally able to breathe, and found Abrothaar behind him, still pulling him toward the door.

"No," Bail said, faintly at first, then again louder. "No," he said, and tried to tug free of Abrothaar's hold. "Leia. I have to get—"

"My lord," Abrothaar said, and tightened his grip on Bail's elbow. He did stop however, and took a step toward Bail. Blaster bolts flashing past them lit Abrothaar's face with a shifting, hellish light. He looked as grim as Bail had ever seen him, eyes dark and lidded with shadow, mouth set in a firm, sharp line. "Getting yourself killed by rushing at the Inquisitor isn't going to save the princess," he said.

Bail struggled for half a second, fighting to break free of Abrothaar's hold. He was looking over his shoulder, blind and deaf to all but the shadowy figure that was Leia huddled by the wall behind Twelfth Brother. But then Abrothaar's words sunk into his mind and consciousness, and his struggling eased.

Sensing that his lord was listening at last, Abrothaar loosened his hold on Bail's elbow. "Come, my lord," he urged, standing close. "Let us rejoin the others. Then together we can kill this Inquisitor and save our princess."

Bail nodded, then realized Abrothaar may not be able to see him well enough to make out the motion. "All right," he said, and then allowed Abrothaar to direct him toward the door and the line of guards fanned out along the wall, still firing at Twelfth Brother.

The line shifted at Bail and Abrothaar's approach, folding them into it with graceful precision. Abrothaar guided him to the left, then pressed something hard and bound with leather into his hands.

"It's a knife," Abrothaar said when Bail looked down at it with confusion, unable to make out anything besides the flash of light off metal. "For just in case. And here," he said, and into Bail's other hand pressed a small holdout blaster. "It's not much, but it's something."

Bail nodded, and, after tucking the knife into a pocket on the inside of his robe, flicked the safety off of the blaster and lifted it to bear.

For the first time since it had begun, Bail took the time to actually observe the fight. As he had already noted, the Alderaanian guards stood arrayed along the door's wall, with Twelfth Brother standing opposite them. What he had not noticed was the flash of Twelfth Brother's lightsaber as he deflected the rapid-fire blaster bolts, or the smoke and smell of burning wood and plaster as the bolts struck floor, ceiling, and wall. Neither had he noticed the stench of singed hair and melted flesh. It was enough to make him gag.

There came a cry to his right, and Bail glanced over his shoulder just in time to watch the guard standing beside him fall, a glowing circle of plasma burned into his chest. That makes six down, Bail thought detachedly. Just ten of us left.

Bail turned back toward Twelfth Brother. The shots continued, ragged and without time or tempo, fired to be rapid rather than to be precise.

That's not good enough, Bail thought. We have to work together, or he'll pick us off one by one.

But how?

The answer came to him, as it always did in times of adrenaline and death, as wind before a hurricane.

"Cease fire," he cried, pitching his voice in steep command—in the way that Obi-Wan had taught him so many years ago on the battlefields of the Clone War.

His guards ceased fire.

"Don't tell me," Twelfth Brother said, returning his lightsaber to his side with a flick and flourish, "you've given up and are handing yourself in?"

"Fire on my command," Bail said, ignoring Twelfth Brother.

"Do you really think even that will stop me?" Twelfth Brother asked derisively.

"Fire."

Ten shots spat from the muzzles of ten blasters, red and sharp and fast.

Twelfth Brother was there, watching the blaster bolts speeding toward him—and then he was gone, somersaulting high in the air, legs tucked tight against his body, arms outspread, lightsaber humming in his hand. The blaster bolts struck the wall behind him with a sizzle and a snap, burning through the wood and plaster and leaving only dripping plasma in their wake. He landed lightly on his toes, and Bail imagined that he was grinning behind his mask.

"You'll have to do better that, Prince," he said, words dripping with a cruel laugh.

"On my mark," Bail commanded, "step forward."

"You can't kill me, Prince."

"Forward!"

The line took a step forward.

"Fire."

They fired.

This time Twelfth Brother ducked, landing and rolling on the floor, coming up three paces closer to the line of Alderaanian guards than he had been. He flourished his lightsaber threateningly, and ignored the drop of burning wood that fell and rolled off his shoulder.

"Forward."

Twelfth Brother laughed, high and hard. From behind the Inquisitor, Bail heard Leia whimper his name.

I'm coming, Leia, he thought.

"Fire."

Twelfth Brother leapt to the side, raising his lightsaber and deflecting two of the bolts that arced toward his chest. A third, however, found its mark, and Twelfth Brother cried out in pain, staggering back and reaching with his free hand to clutch his left shoulder.

He straightened. "You'll pay for that," he said.

"Forward."

Twelfth Brother watched them come, lightsaber humming at his side—waited silently, patiently, like a panther watching its prey.

"Fire."

Twelfth Brother dove forward, rolling over one shoulder and coming up inside the bolts. He hesitated, falling into the Vaapad ready stance—knees bent, lightsaber held out and behind, free arm rising up to form a counterbalance—and for one single second, he was still.

He was still, and Bail knew, in that frozen, eternal second, that they were doomed.

With a spring and a slash, Twelfth Brother attacked. Bail just had time to see the crimson lightsaber sear downward—and then pain. He screamed, his right arm shrieking with blinding pain, and Bail staggered to his knees, clutching for his hand.

There was nothing there.

A scream beside him, countered by the swish-hum of the Inquisitor's lightsaber. Dazedly, Bail looked over his shoulder—and watched as Abrothaar's headless torso quivered, then toppled to the ground a few inches from his severed head.

More screams. More swish-hum-shleck as lightsaber hewed through flesh and muscle and bone. Bail clutched at the stump of his right hand, and watched in bleary horror as Abretheer was flung to the ceiling like a rag doll, then plummeted to the floor already broken. Then Celthar, who lost both arms to the elbows before she lost her heart; Denia, who was cut in half; Bocki, whose head rolled into the hallway.

"No," Bail groaned, reaching blindly for the blaster still held in his severed hand.

Bostieen's hair caught fire, the top half of his head sliding off to reveal his burned and burning brain. Kestal fell in halves.

Bail's fingers closed around the butt of the blaster. He wrenched it free of his severed hand and brought it up.

Rian fell, the front of half of his chest charred flesh and bone. Nya died slow, speared to the lightsaber's hilt.

Bail fired.

The bolt hit Twelfth Brother's lightsaber and ricocheted off with a hiss. It struck Bail in the side. He crumpled to the ground, dropping the blaster as he reached for the new wound with a strangled cry, landing on his shoulder and hip.

Everything hurt. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't think. The pain was all-consuming, all-demanding, and Bail was helpless before it.

Footsteps. And then came the humming and the flickering shadow of the Inquisitor standing above him.

"You're no Jedi," Twelfth Brother said. "I had wondered…. But no. You're nothing more than a Prince." He sneered the last word, making it an insult.

Bail planted his hand on the floor and pushed himself upright. Slowly, painfully, he staggered to his feet, listing and swaying with every move. At last, however, he stood toe-to-toe with Twelfth Brother, and he looked him in the eye.

"You will never win," Bail said, fumbling with his robe, now singed and burned. "You may have won tonight, but you will never win the war."

Twelfth Brother spread his arms and laughed. "But don't you see?" he mocked. "I already have won. All your men are dead. You are maimed and dying. I will take your daughter, and she will be made in the Emperor's image, just as I and all my brothers and sisters have been."

Bail shook his head. His hand closed around the knife's hilt.

"You haven't killed the light," he said. "And you never will. It will grow even in the darkest shadow, under even the cruelest tyrant. You can't stop it."

"We will crush it just as easily as I crushed you tonight," Twelfth Brother retorted.

"Not so easily," Bail said, and drew the knife.

He stabbed for the Inquisitor. The knife sank hilt-deep into his stomach, and he jerked away with a cry of pain. Blood pooled and dripped from the wound, staining his black tunic a shadow darker, staining his glove-clad fingers scarlet.

"You," he snarled at Bail, and with a flourish of his lightsaber lunged.

Bail leapt backwards, stumbled, forced himself to his feet once more. Twelfth Brother lunged again, slicing the air a mere inch from Bail's face, sending him tumbling back. He backpedaled quickly, ducking a third cut from the Inquisitor's lightsaber. He clutched the knife hilt with a death grip.

The back of his legs hit something hard. Bail glanced behind him, and saw that he had backed into the window seat. Quickly he clambered onto it, then turned and faced the Inquisitor, who had come to a halt a few paces away.

He could just see Leia. She had crawled forward, out of the shadow of the wall, and was now a pale ghost lit by the windows' light. "Papá?" she asked, quiet and plaintive.

"What now, Prince?" he asked, mocking, reaching up and sliding back the faceplate on his mask. He was grinning. "You're all out of places to run. You're going to die here, and you and I both know it."

"Stay there, Lelila," Bail ordered. "And close your eyes."

Then, turning back to the Inquisitor, forcing the waver of pain from his voice, Bail said simply, "I may die," he tossed the knife, catching it by the blade, "but you will never take my daughter."

He lifted the blade to his ear, aimed, and threw. The blade flew straight and true.

Leia Organa would hardly even feel her death.

But the blade did not hit its target. It froze mid-air, blade glinting scarlet, and hung suspended a mere pace from Leia's heart. Twelfth Brother stood half-turned, one hand extended, fingers splayed, arm trembling. His eyes were a wide, gleaming yellow, and his lips were twisted into an ugly cry.

Bail sagged against the window to his right, the pain overwhelming the last vestiges of hope he had held.

There was a long second of surprised silence. Then, softly at first, then with growing surprise, Twelfth Brother said, "You would kill your own daughter?" His expression bled from shock to perplexion, to bitterness, to wild glee.

"If it meant keeping her out of your hands—out of the Emperor's hands—yes," Bail said.

"I see."

Twelfth Brother's eyes slid half-shut and he cocked his head to one side, as if listening. Then, softly at first, then softer still, until it was little more than a murmur—though one of awe or disgust Bail could not say—Twelfth Brother said, "The Force: it screams for her death—though whether in need or in fear, I cannot say."

Bail was silent.

A pounding on the door interrupted the Inquisitor's musings. Bail turned slowly toward the sound, his hand going to the wound in his side; it felt as if the flesh was still burning. He heard the gears in the door grind, the mechanisms struggle to work—but the door itself did not budge.

It gave a long, low groan, and then fell silent.

Twelfth Brother laughed, turning from the door and seeing Bail's confusion. "Do you really think I would have let anyone else come and interrupt?" he asked, derisive. He shook his head. "Not a second time, Prince."

Whoever was on the other side of the door pounded a second time, then a third. "My lord?" It was Dalia, one of the servants. "My lord, what's happening in there?"

Bail stared past the Inquisitor to the door—and did not answer. He doubted that Dalia and whoever else was on the other side would be able to breach the door—not with Twelfth Brother sealing it shut. And even if they did, Bail knew their chances of survival. Fifteen fully trained Alderaanian guards had failed to stop Twelfth Brother—had died where they stood at the tip of his blade; servants and footmen would stand no chance.

But all the same, what if? What if they were able to slow Twelfth Brother long enough for someone to grab Leia and run? What if they were able to get Leia from his hands? What if they managed to stall Twelfth Brother for long enough to let Leia escape?

There were too many what-ifs. Too many possibilities. He had said that he was willing to sacrifice his entire house to keep Leia from Twelfth Brother's hands, and he had meant it. Even though he was as good as signing their death warranties, Bail could not find it in himself to tell whoever was on the other side of the door to run. Not if there was a chance—even the slightest of one—that someone could save Leia.

"My lord?" Dalia called through the door.

"Are you not going to answer your servant?" Twelfth Brother asked.

"Dalia," Bail called, his voice quivering with pain, "there is a man in here trying to kidnap Leia."

There was silence on the other side of the door, then hurried footsteps. Bail wondered where Dalia was going—hoped that she was running to warn the rest of the staff of what was happening. He refused to call out to her again, though. The less Bail knew, the less Twelfth Brother knew—and the less that Twelfth Brother knew, the more likely it was that his staff would be able to surprise the Inquisitor.

Twelfth Brother watched Bail with eyes half-lidded, head canted to one side. "Very interesting," he said. "Your thoughts are still hidden from me. No matter how I press, they slip past my grasp." He was silent for a long, drawn-out second, and then he said, no question in his voice, "You were trained by a Jedi."

Bail remained silent, and leaned on the window beside him.

"Yes," Twelfth Brother said. "You were. I can feel it in you. That makes you as much a traitor as one of them. I am surprised the Emperor did not punish you for it."

Twelfth Brother turned at last away from Bail and towards Leia, still sitting in the swath of light from the window, still trembling, still silent with eyes closed. "Do you understand, little Leia? Your father," he sneered the word, "is a liar and a traitor—to the Empire, which he swore to serve," he paused for a weighty second, "but also to you." Twelfth Brother grinned. "He would even have gone so far as kill you in order to keep his lies safe."

Leia opened her eyes, long, dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks, and looked hesitantly up at Twelfth Brother standing over her. She start at him with brow furrowed and eyes as dark as the shadows behind her. Bail knew the look well—she was angry, and she felt righteous in her wrath.

"My father is not a traitor," she said stoutly.

"Oh," Twelfth Brother said, "but he is. He hid and tried to kill you, a Force Sensitive—and all Force Sensitives belong to the Emperor."

"I don't belong to anyone," Leia retorted with much of her usual fire. She still looked nauseous, though, and she gulped quickly as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

"You belong to the Emperor," Twelfth Brother snarled. "And your father's life is forfeit to him as well." Twelfth Brother turned to Bail. "Jedi sympathizer," he accused.

"You say that like it's a bad thing, Sith," Bail retorted, trying to straighten. A flare of pain from his side doubled him over again, though, and the effect was lost.

"And yet," Twelfth Brother said, lifting his arms out to either side in a broad gesture of amusement, "who has won the night?"

"You will never win," Bail said, voice barely more than a groan of pain.

"I already have," Twelfth Brother said.

Leia looked at the Inquisitor, and then very calmly said, "No. You're evil. You're cold, and black, and empty. You are blood and ash. I can feel it." Then, softly, she added, "You're a demonio—the demon that Papá told me about. And evil never wins."

Pride and fear warred for dominance of Bail's heart. My brave, faithful little girl, he thought.

Twelfth Brother laughed. "You don't know what you're talking about, little girl. There is no such thing as "good" or "evil". There is only power and strength. You think your father is "good", do you not? And yet your father just tried to kill you."

Leia looked at the knife still hovering in the air. She took in a deep, shuddering breath, and then looked away. "No," she whispered—but this time she sounded less certain. "No, I don't believe that. He would never hurt me."

"And yet he tried to," Twelfth Brother insisted. "Just ask your father."

Leia turned to Bail and looked at him with fearful desperation. "Papá?" she asked.

"Leia," Bail murmured, fighting to keep his voice steady and free of his own fear and pain, clutching the stump of his hand to his chest. "I love you, Leia. I will only ever do what is best for you."

Twelfth Brother smiled. "See?" he asked. "He doesn't deny it."

Leia looked at Bail. She was a phantom—a phantom of white against the shadows of the room, a phantom of uncertain fear shrouded by darkness—and her voice was weak and weakening, cracking and drowning in confusion. "Papá?"

Bail knew what she was asking. "I love you, Lelila," he said again. "I love you more than life itself."

"He doesn't deny it," Twelfth Brother said again. "He was trying to kill you, Leia. He's a liar and a traitor, a coward." And then, turning and smiling a panther's smile, Twelfth Brother added, "He's afraid of you. Of who you are. That's why he wants to kill you. Can't you see it in his eyes?"

Bail snarled and took half a step forward, wanting to lunge at the Inquisitor and punch him in the face but for the pain weighing him down. "It's not that I'm afraid of her. I'm afraid for her. Your master is a sick, twisted old man who has tortured and raped and killed for the mere pleasure of the power it gives him. What do you think he'll do to a child, my child, in order to enslave her to the Darkness you both serve?"

The inquisitor recoiled, thin, bloodless lips pulling back from his pointed teeth. His eyes flashed burnt yellow. "You misguided fool. You dare to speak of that which you do not understand?"

"I understand it well enough," Bail snapped, for a minute forgetting the pain in his body, the exhaustion in his bones. "It was the Dark you serve that gunned down a child on the very steps of the Jedi Temple. It was the Dark you serve that burned and buried democracy and freedom beneath blood and slavery. The Dark Side is a poison to those who drink of it, and I have seen the disaster which it begets."

"You fool," Twelfth Brother sneered again. "It is power. It is life."

"I would rather both my daughter and I be dead than let her fall to the Dark Side."

"Well," Twelfth Brother hissed. His voice was low and uncompromising, dangerous. "I can promise at least half of that will be true. And I will take great pleasure in it."

Twelfth Brother stretched out his free hand and clenched his fingers into a tight fist. The knife blade, still hovering mid-air, spun in a slow circle until it pointed straight at Bail's chest. The blade glittered in the light, sharp and promising death.

Bail stiffened in alarm, then took as deep a breath as his wounded side would allow, and forced himself to relax. His shoulders straightened and his chin lifted. "Leia," he said softly. "Leia, listen to me."

Leia looked at him, dark, dark eyes fixing on his. "Yes, Papá?" she asked quietly.

"Be strong," Bail said—commanded, begged. "Be strong, Leia, and don't forget who you are and where you came from. Remember what your mother and I taught you, no matter what they might do or s—"

The knife struck Bail in the chest with a wet thump. He grunted, the air driven from his lungs, and he staggered back a step. His hand drifted up, grabbed at the protruding hilt—but he did not pull the blade out.

"Leia," he gasped, lifting his eyes to his daughter's once more. She was silent, eyes wider still and painfully, horribly dry. "Lelila…"

Blood, darkened by the shadows and the night, spread in a black stain across the front of Bail's tunic and dripped slowly from the edge of his hand, clenched around the knife hilt.

"I love you, Leia."

"You hear that?" the Inquisitor mocked, turning his head just enough to look at Leia. She was frozen, knuckles white where she clutched at the skirts of her dress. It did not appear that she was even breathing. "He still claims to love you."

"Forever and always," Bail whispered.

Leia's lips moved. For a second there was no sound. And then, softly, terrified and horror-struck, she whispered, "Papá—"

The Inquisitor snarled, lifted both hands, and shoved.

The window behind Bail cracked, spider webs ribboning across the transparisteel. Bail grunted, collapsing to one knee, and clutched at his chest. On the floor, he heard Leia whimper. He dragged his head up just enough to once more meet his daughter's eyes. He poured every ounce of love and hope and faith that he possessed into that one, final look.

The inquisitor smiled, took a step forward, and pushed again.

The window shattered.

Bail had only had time for a single, surprised cry—and then the open air embraced him, and he was falling.

Leia screamed.

~oOo~

Leia was on her feet before she could even register moving. Blood rushed in her ears, the echo of her scream fading in falling decrescendos. All memory of her nausea and her weakness was gone, overrun by the tidal wave of fear and horror at seeing her father disappear through the window. The floor was hard and sharp beneath her slippers, and fragments of shattered transparisteel clinked against one another in the carpet as she passed.

If only she could reach the window, she thought—could reach the memory of her father standing on the window seat—maybe she could catch him. Maybe she could keep him from falling. Maybe, if she was fast enough, she could grab his hand and pull him back into the room. Maybe—maybe...

"No!" The cry was Twelfth Brother's. Leia saw him move ahead of her, saw him block her path. He reached for her, lightsaber hilt in one hand. She ducked beneath his outstretched arms and slid around him, eyes only for the window.

"Papá," she cried, and clambered onto the window seat. "Papá, I'm here. I—"

She leaned out over the edge of the broken window, uncaring of the fragments tearing at the front of her dress, or the way the transparisteel dug into her flesh and cut long, bleeding ribbons into her skin.

Her father was not there.

"Papá!" Leia screamed, looking down, down, down. "Papá, I'm here! I'm—"

And then she saw him.

He was lying in a rooftop garden two hundred feet below, surrounded by crushed tulips. The flowers bobbed and waved in the wind of his landing, red and orange and yellow, bowing their heads in a last homage to the fallen prince. He lay in a nest of glittering transparisteel, each shard reflecting the moon and the artificial lights of the city above. It looked, for a second, as if he was sleeping in a couch of light.

And then Leia saw the blood. It darkened the tulips' leaves and the blades of grass, dark red against the night. There was so much of it.

"PAPÁ," Leia screamed, and reached for him.

An arm circled around her waist and hauled her back into the room at the last second, just as she lost her balance. Leia thrashed against the arm, but the hold was as strong as transparisteel.

"Let me go!" Leia shrieked—and then threw up, the nausea that had abated for a moment returning with a vengeance. Twelfth Brother cursed and dropped her. Leia landed awkwardly on her side, then rolled onto her hands and knees and threw up again.

Twelfth Brother cursed again. He shook his hand, splattering vomit across the floor, and then kicked Leia in the side. She fell in a sprawl, yelping in pain.

"That'll teach you to throw up on me," Twelfth Brother growled, and then he stooped to scoop Leia into his arms. With a grunt, he hoisted her over one shoulder, and then turned toward the door.

"Let me go!" Leia yelled again, battering her fists against his back.

"If you don't stop squirming," Twelfth Brother warned, "I'll teach you a real lesson."

Leia did not stop squirming.

With another curse, Twelfth Brother stopped a few feet away from the door and let Leia fall to the floor. She landed on her back with a rush of air from her lungs. For a second she struggled to breathe—and in that second, Twelfth Brother knelt by her side.

He put his hand over her face, forefinger on her forehead, thumb and pinky on her cheekbones.

"Sleep," Twelfth Brother ordered.

A white fog descended over Leia's sight. She fought it, and fought the compulsion that followed in its wake.

"No," she said, striking out at the white fog clouding her eyes and dragging her down towards sleep. "No!"

"Sleep," Twelfth Brother said again.

The fog settled around her, clinging to her thoughts and creeping into her limbs. "Stop," Leia whispered.

"Sleep," Twelfth Brother commanded again.

And Leia slept.


end notes: Thoughts? Comments? Questions? Did I make you cry? Let me know!