A/N: TW: discussions of genocide (more alluded to than shown), some suicidal thoughts/ desires, and mention of punitive actions by the Empire toward LGBTQ beings. Luke's just kind of in a difficult place this chapter. So please consider carefully if you want to read.

OOO

Chapter 11: (Before the) Storm

(Luke Skywalker)

After collapsing from loss of blood, I entered a state of dream which only worsened with each progressive succession in the episodic series. Everything that I feared for others, everything that I feared for myself reared its hideous head, bleeding out onto the canvas of horror, leeching from me until nothing remained but terror in its purest form. I can't say how many times I saw Leia and Han die, saw Windy hung for Imperial crimes he didn't commit, saw Obi-Wan perish slowly and painfully by Vader's hand because he had protected me. Saw Biggs tortured terribly. Saw my mother cry out in pain as she perished in childbirth. Even young Padmé made an appearance, though I couldn't tell if my brain's images of her were factual or not, since I hadn't seen her but once in my life.

I thrashed in dream and I writhed in waking, the pain almost too much for the human mind to comprehend. It felt like the saber wound struck me by the last Inquisitor had grown out until it encompassed the whole core of my body, which blazed with intricate agony. Faintly I heard voices from time to time— difficult to treat, may die, sorry Your Majesty, severe wound, traces of plasma… but they barely registered. I only wanted the pain and the terrors to cease, for sleep brought no relief and waking only worsened matters. I wanted to scream, but some cool drug pumped into my system locked my voice inside my throat and so made me mute in my pleading for relief of any form—death or life—to come and cool me with its sweet embrace.

Only one thing beyond the nightmarish haze registered. A voice, girlish in its soprano, but with a distinct note of authority. Golden hands that moved about me and occasionally touched my brow. The same voice saying, " You'll be alright, good sir" in firm encouragement and " There there. You can do it. I know you can. This too shall pass." It wasn't said softly, exactly, more determinedly. The same determined voice occasionally broke through in reading something—it had princesses rescuing trapped lords from high towers, or once something about a warrior Queen who climbed a mountain considered impossible.

Finally, the haze receded alongside the pain. The sweet relief was blessed. I took some time to soak it all in, terrified that I may only be dreaming and that this illusion, too, might fade, returning me to the horrors of before.

But eventually, I realized, It's over. It's really over. I didn't know what to do with that, for now that the pain and the nightmares had left me, other horrible truths and memories reared within my mind.

When I opened my eyes, I found a young woman sitting by my bedside—an unfamiliar bedside, but not an unfamiliar young woman. "Princess Padmé," I said aloud. My voice sounded weak and raspy.

Her head came up, her hands unclasping. It appeared that she was praying. Praying for me , could it be possible? When she didn't even know me?

Her expression was jubilant. "You're up! What a relief! How do you feel, sir?"

Surprisingly good for having been cut by an Inquisitor's lightsaber. Quite bad for normal. But that didn't matter now. "I—I have to go."

I made to sit up, only to grimace in splintering pain. The wound remained dearly tender.

"Calm yourself." Her hand on my arm was firm, pressing me down. "You need time to heal from what has happened to you—"

" No ." The word tore from deep within. It was low, and hard. My niece blinked rapidly, hand stilling on my arm. I drew a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. I didn't mean to snap like that. I only…" know that you and your family—your whole planet—is in great danger. Even though I killed the Inquisitors who found me, someone still might realize who I am or what happened. Oh, Force. I never should've come here —

Yes. It would've been better to let myself die than expose Leia, her family, and Alderaan to this danger. I was quite certain of it now. But the shock, the fear, and the pain had driven me to desperate depths. Now, here we were, with no escaping the danger I'd plunged us all into. Unless, maybe, I left now. But how could I? Realistically I knew myself beaten by current immobility.

Yet Padmé didn't appear to need an explanation. She said with graciousness, "Of course you didn't. You have been through quite the ordeal. It's natural to be disoriented. I know. I have been here many times these past few days."

Somehow, I was certain she meant to flatter me by the mention of her presence. I managed a smile. "You're most kind, princess."

She preened, pride on her face and in her eyes, but with an admirable attempt at humility, she replied, "Not at all. It was into our home that those knaves threw you, and we must take care of you accordingly with all measures. It is only dutiful."

Knaves. Threw me. I wasn't aware exactly what this meant, but it seemed someone had come up with some sort of explanation for my presence in the palace and for the wound. Probably Leia. I knew a surge of gratitude.

Would it be enough, though?

"Right," I agreed, knowing I should say something.

Padmé smiled in reply. "Do you remember where you're from?" she inquired, straightening out the skirts of her long silk dress. It could've fed the people of Anchorhead for a year.

"Tatooine," I said before thinking. Kark. But too late to take it back now.

Her brow wrinkled. "I've never heard of it," she declared decisively after a pause. "It's in the Outer-Rim?"

"You're a good guesser."

"Not really. I recognize your accent."

Ah, that . Yeah. Through the course of my travels these past few years, I'd discovered something of a stigma about my particular brand of speech tonations. People from Core Worlds tended to talk really slowly to me, like I was a calf who couldn't understand Basic. Padmé was doing a little bit of that, too, but she was also peering at me curiously and with kindness. So I gave her the benefit of the heart, rather than the manner. She did seem like a kindly young woman, this niece of mine I'd only known once prior. (And that as a toddler who grabbed my hair and giggled delightedly when I winced.)

"Ah."

"But don't get me off task!" she chided lightly. "How do you feel?"

I didn't have a good answer to that, since that I felt could hardly be described. The Empire. They must know me, now. Maybe not my face, but they certainly knew me. Flashes of before raced through my mind, and a chill worked up inside me.

What would happen now? I'd known it was likely the Inquisitors would come after me some day. But somehow, after two years, I had fallen into something of a sense of… almost security…

And it was this arrogant complacency that had gotten me into the situation in the first place. "Lucky," I said at last. "Lucky to be alive."

And that was the truth, if only barely scratching the surface of the darkened scene. Lucky Luke , I thought with a mental sneer. Right . For as many Force-sensitive beings as I might have helped these past few years, as many beings had just been carelessly slaughtered by the Empire. Because of me.

Padmé soon headed out, promising to return at some point soon. I felt both saddened and relieved. As good as it was to see my niece—you know, not as a toddler—I needed time to figure out my situation and plan accordingly. (This proved especially hard given the pain that yet lingered inside me, and the shell-shocked aspect of my mind.) But I didn't get much time to do so. A few minutes after Padmé's departure, the doctor headed inside the room which seemed more like a bedroom than a hospital room. Of medium height and lanky build with a head of whitish-gray hair, he padded into the space holding some kind of device I guessed to be a medical scanner. The horn-rimmed glasses that framed his face gave him the look of an overgrown owl, but his blue eyes were kind as they regarded me. And Leia came in after him!

"Well, Mr., you certainly had a lucky break," the doctor remarked.

Leia shot him a look.

The man cleared his throat. "What I mean to say," he ventured, glancing at Leia, "is—uhm—that I always had full confidence in your recovery. Definitely. Tryn Netzl." He proffered a winkled hand.

The Force told me to trust this man. Though trust had grown increasingly difficult for me as of late, I offered, "Luke Whitesun. Thank you very much for your help, Doctor."

"Oh, no," he said.

"Beg pardon?"

"You shouldn't address me that way."

"—you aren't a doctor?"

"It isn't my profession," the man replied.

That was... not exactly comforting. But I guessed I felt fine... I mean, he had clearly saved my life, so—

"But of course he has a doctoral degree," Leia retorted, a hint of teasing in her voice. "As well as having been a professor, so 'doctor' would be right regardless."

"Well—research got boring," the man defended, frowning. "I had to find something to do."

I relaxed. Okay. So he was a doctor. He was just some kind of genius with multiple degrees or something. "Thanks very much," I repeated.

He peered at me kindly. "You're welcome, Luke. Now, let's have the droid check you over to make sure everything is healing alright. We'll return in a few minutes." A few minutes later, he returned, and doctor-not-doctor Netzl checked the readout. He gave a short nod. "Pretty good, for the circumstances. Though you will have to spend a few weeks minimum in recovery to let the stitches and your body heal."

He arched an eyebrow. "Care to tell me exactly how you got the wound you did? I've never seen anything like it."

Leia responded to my quick glance her way. "It's alright, Luke. Tryn is a friend." Translation: He's safe .

I'd have to trust her on this, and the Force. In the Force, I sensed no deception in the elderly man. While I rankled to trust anyone besides Leia right now, she was obsessive about trust, so if she trusted him… "I fought with some Inquisitors," I ventured.

Leia's eyes bulged. " Some Inquisitors? How many is 'some', Luke?"

"—three."

"And you lived to tell the tale?" Dr. Netzl's laugh was abrupt and boyish. "I like him, Leia." Gaze turning hard, he said, "I hope you got a good shot in on them."

Unsure what to do with this sudden bout of violence from what had previously seemed a perfectly mild-mannered if quirky perhaps genius elderly man, I responded with something super smart like, "Uhh... well... it didn't... uhm... go maybe as I'd planned, but..." I just stopped while I wasn't ahead.

"You're alive," he returned. "So I'd say it went a heck of a lot better than most people's experiences with the Inquisitors—or the Empire at large."

There was a quick but significant glance exchanged between himself and Leia.

Wait. Had he had a run in with—? No. That didn't make sense. Maybe... a sibling? Or someone he'd loved... His feelings betrayed his deep-seeded hatred for the Empire, even as Leia's also did. I knew I was missing something.

I offered rather feebly, "Oh. Thanks." Finally I decided to ask the question I'd been wondering since I woke up: "Where am I?" and why was Padmé here?

"You're at my home," replied Dr. Netzl.

"We couldn't afford to care for you in the palace. I'm sorry, Luke."

I shook my head at Leia. "How can you be the one apologizing? I'm surprised you helped me at all. I was so stupid to come here. I'm so sorry. Thank goodness you didn't take me anywhere public." But why does Padmé know?

"I'm glad you came here." Leia's voice was hard, booking no argument. She paused before venturing, "The Inquisitors… how did they find you?" Translation: Do you think they can find you again?

"It was a trap," I uttered dully. "One of the families I was set to transport must've talked, or something. I can't be sure. I'll never know. They're all dead."

"—the families or the Inquisitors?"

Both Leia and I regarded Dr. Netzl with pity, for he knew as well as we did. He just didn't want to believe.

"Sorry," he mumbled, flushing. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"All of them," I said, the words brittle. "The Empire wiped out the entire village for the sake of one Force-sensitive youngling. For the sake of me —"

"Don't blame yourself, Luke." Leia grasped my arm hard. "Don't go down that road again. You know it's not your fault."

"It is," I said. "And—it isn't . That's the trap the Empire puts us in, isn't it, Leia? We never meant for anyone to get hurt through this. We couldn't stand doing nothing, so we decided to do something. Now a hundred beings are dead, and the Empire knows there's still a Jedi around. Somehow, they make it feel like it's moral to just let them ride roughshod over us all, and be entirely passive. I know they have me wishing I'd died from my wounds."

"Don't say that."

"Okay. I won't." Out loud. But Leia hadn't seen what I had. She hadn't seen the bodies of the children, their youthful faces pallid with horror, unmoving as the village around them slowly smoldered. It had nearly been enough to make one believe no unifying Force existed in this galaxy. Then, the Inquisitors had come, having been waiting. For me.

And I couldn't help but blame myself for what had happened.

Tryn appeared to take an entirely different lesson from this horror. "You killed three Inquisitors?"

"Not before one almost killed me." It was no impressive feat like they appeared to think.

Leia sighed. "Well… you take care, Luke," she said finally, giving me a rather awkward pat on the arm. Comfort wasn't her specialty. "I'll come back later, maybe with Padmé." (For she had previously explained that, since Padmé had been witness to my collapse in the garden, which I didn't know—I must really have been gone by then—she could hardly dismiss her daughter's sudden concerns for me. "Quite attached" she said Padmé had become. Leia's explanation for keeping me here at Dr. Netzl's was the fact of the Empire Day celebrations occurring in the palace at Aldera, and some story she generated about how I must have been attacked by someone near or even in the palace. Since they couldn't afford such bad press, I would be taken care of here. But Padmé insisted on checking in on me often, sworn to secrecy as she was by her mother and Queen. It wasn't terribly comforting to have someone besides Leia and Netzl know, but what could we do but hope she stayed silent? Leia knew her better than I did.)

"Wait." There was so much more we needed to talk about. I needed to get off this world, just in case—

But Leia already knew what I was prepped to say. "You aren't leaving, Luke."

"You're in danger if I stay."

"Then we're in danger," she retorted. "No one could know you're here unless they tracked you, which I sincerely doubt since you've already been here almost a week now. You're as safe as you can be here with Dr. Netzl. We're all as safe as we can be."

I said simply, "You're wrong." Because now, the Inquisitors knew there was another Jedi. I had killed several of their number. And if the Inquisitors knew, it meant that Vader also knew. I knew the legends. Vader was like a dog on the hunt: severe and ruthless to the end until he captured his prey. What would he stop at to get me?

I knew the sickening sensation of an animal cornered. I'd just outlived one attempt. I… I didn't want to die just yet.

But maybe it wouldn't go so far. Comforting thought, if likely false. Maybe… the Death Star would track me here after all, and fire upon us before we really knew what was happening. I doubted this, but somehow the illusion of a quick and unknowing demise proved immensely comforting after the horrors of the past few days, of the village at Teeba, of the duel with the Inquisitors, of my wounds and my agony. Yet I couldn't countenance the risk of genocide of the whole of the Alderaanian populous. Oh, cowardly fool I had been to come here, and stubborn saint Leia was to keep me here! Even Dr. Netzl… why, what motive could he ever possess to treat me and keep me safe in his care?

"As long as the Death Star exists, we'll never be safe, Leia," I voiced.

She jarred as though shocked. "You—you know? "

"—know what?"

"That we may have a chance to destroy it."

Despite everything I rolled my eyes. When had my sister—pessimist of pessimists—suddenly become the incurable optimist in this group? "Of course, I recall that in theory we could," I said slowly. "But I don't see any way of breaking into the extremely secure compound at Scarif, somehow making our way out without the Empire knowing, and—oh, right—rallying enough support to help us actually make the run." Impossible. Heedless. — Tempestuous . I'd had a taste of vengeance on the Empire in slaying the evil Inquisitors for what they'd done, and a wolfish desire grew up inside me at the thought of something further, something dramatic and paralyzing to them.

But no . The Jedi didn't seek vengeance. We sought justice. I sought… Even if I didn't know what it could really be in this galaxy…

But Leia seemed to be in a world of her own. She glanced over at Dr. Netzl, then gave her head a shake at me. Her eyes shone as if in hope. "Not in theory, Luke. We'd never have to go to Scarif at all. Galen Erso is dying, and he wants to deliver the plans to you personally."

Oh, well. That definitely sounded like a trap.