Recovering from Bespin, a feverish Luke Skywalker lets slip his parentage, but what will the Alliance do with the son of Darth Vader? Their mistake proves monumental and delivers Luke into the hands of his worst nightmare. Destiny goes into an about turn where there's only one person who can save Luke from the darkside - his father

C h a p t e r T h r e e

Mon Mothma visualised the small packet of pain suppressants almost wistfully as she continued to keep a mask of indifference on her face.

The headaches had started barely a month ago, after a brief, and in retrospect foolish, trip to Coruscant in hopes of initiating peace talks. She should have known better than to believe Palpatine would even consider making concessions to the Alliance. But she hadn't been able to resist going and trying to soothe out relations between the warring parties. Nothing had been soothed – only a little pride ruffled, and she had ended up with a swift dismissal and a debilitating illness for her troubles. And the pain had steadily been beating a path through her sanity.

Mon had always been focused, always identified her target and never lost sight of it until she achieved it; the political gundark that never let go once it got a bite. That was not true anymore. Now she had such conflicting thoughts that sometimes she lay in the stark starlight of her darkened stateroom and felt like screaming in a very un-senatorial fashion at her contradictory, belligerent thoughts.

The four hour window for the suppressants was never enough, and the medics just shook their heads in bewilderment at her condition. It was bizarre, disturbing and left her lying in a darkened room clutching her head in pain far too often. Clutching it much as the young commander-turned-sithspawn did now under the ministrations of Onebee's truth serums.

Watching the slight, blonde-headed boy writhe and blink back tears of frustration did nothing to quell the pain beginning to form in the back of her mind, but it gave her surprising satisfaction to see him struggling as hard with his own errant thoughts as she was often doing these days. The pain was severe enough for him to express it audibly and she felt a twinge of twisted jealousy that she could do no such thing lest the Council realise something was wrong with their leader.

She focused again on his reactions; the flushed skin, wide blue eyes and shaking hands. Despite Princess Organa's attempts to get him treatment, he was failing miserably at refusing their questions. That, too, gave her a queer satisfaction that made her lips stretch across bared teeth into a small smile, feeling lustful revenge rise inside her where before there would have been pity. Oh, but it was good to see Vader fail at something. One Vader, or another.

She would have to have a stern word with that little firebrand of a Princess latter about the replacement of his hand. Or perhaps sooner, given the disappointing outcome of this little ask-the-traitor session. Skywalker apparently knew nothing. Nothing more than that single truth revealed after a brief but life-altering battle on Bespin. There was nothing to be gained here but ramblings of denial and pleas for help.

She tilted her head to one side and allowed her eyes to bore into him as Rieekan asked yet another question. He blinked red eyes and the thin sheen of sweat on a feverish brow gave his skin the pale glow of starlight. His stilted, choked voice told them nothing new and Mon knew she should bring an end to this.

But, oh, it felt so good to see him writhe under their questions.

That feeling both disgusted and intrigued her and if nothing else was to come of this than to acknowledge that she harboured these feelings of distaste for the boy then so be it. The outcome, whether for security of the Alliance or for revenge, would be the same no matter the motivations.

"General, I think that will be enough."

Rieekan did not reply, but Skywalker's eyes snapped open and fixed her with a feverish gaze, locking onto hers and holding them mesmerised. His lips curled up as he shook sweaty bangs away from those intense blue eyes and spoke in that pained voice.

"You en-joy-ed th-at."

She refrained from the grim smile she wanted to give him. He would be dead soon anyway so it mattered little what he thought of her. She affected a shocked stance and then feigned gaining control over herself again. It seemed to convince Rieekan.

"No, of course not Commander."

Of course not, Vader. I didn't enjoy it; I relished it.

His eyes blinked and for a second they burned clear and shed the misty look of a drugged, ill captive. They ripped right through her, dissecting former-Senator Mon Mothma as easily as could Palpatine and Vader. She shivered a little, involuntarily, and focused on her distaste for the boy, strangely finding it difficult to conjure it up amid feelings of misgivings.

"Y-ou nee-d to ta-ke ca-re in you-r own thou-ghts." He blinked again and the injured, subdued youth was back in front of her.

Snarling a little and wondering what he meant she turned on the medical droid. "Sedate him and-" Her commlink beeped insistently. "Mothma."

"Madam, we have exited hyperspace."

Mon regarded the general and the ex-commander with something akin to glee as the droid injected the hypo in Skywalker's arm. "The Imperial Fleet...?"

"We have no indication that they have tracked us, Ma'am."

She nodded in relief and offered Skywalker a glare as the indignation of being tracked for so long using one of their own wormed in her gut as a true, absolute, real-Mon-Mothma emotion. But he was already out of it, head slumped against the pillow, in no state to offer any more Jedi tricks or insights.

"Good, thank you. Hold orbit here." She flicked it off, the turned to Rieekan looking uncertainly at the sleeping youth. "General, prepare the shuttle for Commander Skywalker."

The tone was authoritative and if he had any doubts he neither voiced them nor let them show on his face. He inclined his head in acceptance as she turned on her heel and stalked from the small bay.

* * * *


Leia's head was in her hands when the doorway chimed once and opened. She didn't bother to lift weary eyes at the sound of small feet whispering across the floor, followed by the heavier strides of troopers.

"Princess."

Sighing inaudibly, she forced loose hair back from her face and let her gaze fall upon Mon Mothma, approaching slowly in a state of intoxicated indignation.

"Princess the council agreed that Luke Skywalker was not to be treated."

Took you long enough to find out. Truly, no one on the council wanted to face Luke Skywalker anymore, no longer their callow-hero-farmboy, but son of their worst enemy save Palpatine. How they must have whispered premonitions of the terror he would wreak if they allowed him treatment, and how they must have given that med room wide passage for those fears. Delicious, then, that those same fears that kept them away had given Luke privacy enough for treatment.

She allowed herself a small, mirthless smile and brushed the sleep from her eyes. If Mon wanted to believe she was wiping away tears, let her.

"I don't remember taking any vote on that."

She rose to her feet from the desk that was devoid of personal possessions, all of them lost on Hoth. Mothma held no sadness in those brown eyes that gazed back as hard as hull plates at the Princess, and her stance blazed with silent fury and expectation. It made Leia distinctly uneasy, her skin crawling in little ripples of confusion and disquiet.

"It was explicit," Mon spoke, her anger thick in the already tense atmosphere of the small room. There was something else there except indignation at having her order disobeyed... something like a mother scolding her child and Leia thought perhaps her righteousness was overtaking her sense of reality.

She batted the statement away with the wave of a hand. "Are you still going to question him again? I don't think we voted on that, either." Her tone was dusky with distaste.

Mon gave a bitter little smile that made Leia's mouth sting. "It has already been done."

Leia's big, brown, sad eyes widened in rage and she flicked a glance at the troopers, suddenly uneasy about their presence. They didn't acknowledge her and she was all at once aware of both her smaller stature and slighter build; feelings she got whenever preparing for a fight. There was more going on here than a battle of tongues. How she wished Chewie was here, that she hadn't insisted they leave immediately with Lando to track Fett.

How she wished they would answer her panicked calls.

"What?!"

"There was no time to-"

"Hutt spit! Don't give me that!" Incredibly, her finger was pointing at Mothma's chest in accusation. "Couldn't wait to see him squirm, could you?"

For a minute something passed over the older woman's features and Leia feared she had struck a little too close to the truth. The air seemed to close around them in anticipation and the room cooled perceptibly when Mon took another step into the dark. Leia shivered involuntarily as she looked into those suddenly shallow eyes and saw yellow flecks streak outwards like laser bolts.

"We needed answers."

"And you got none." She should really have tried to keep the hope out of her voice there. Some trained diplomat. But if Luke had known all along... she didn't know what she'd do. Probably leave him as she had earlier when he'd pleaded for answers. Left him... Oh Leia, what kind of friend are you? You weren't even there when they interrogated him.

She hadn't known! She hadn't! But... it would have been so easy to guess they would do this...

Mon didn't deny her statement and relief flooded into her like sunlight filtering into the cavernous halls of the Royal Palace of Alderaan that Luke's father had destroyed. Instead she leaned a little further towards Leia in a gesture that reminded of her someone else... someone...

Starlight played across those age-worn features and-

Starlight?

She twisted around to look out the viewport and her breath caught on her teeth. They had exited hyperspace.

"Where..."

Strangely, she cut off her words as the drive tail of a small rebel shuttle caught her full and absolute attention as it arced down to the planet turning at the medical frigates feet. It enraptured her, captured her gaze and chilled her mind. She felt the blood begin to drain from her face as Mon stepped closer.

Leia didn't even bother to ask. She didn't have to.

The feeling of anticipation grew around them like Chiparca roots entangling her and anchoring her feet to the floor whilst her mind was soaring high in panic and terror. A hand on her shoulder that was neither comforting nor supportive gripped in the exact same spot where Vader's glove prints still lay from the first Death Star and she had a macabre feeling of deja vu.

"Luke..."

It wasn't a question. Mon didn't answer her; she gripped her shoulder harder and held her in check as Leia tried to step towards the viewport. The troopers in her periphery never moved as Leia trembled in her own terrified anticipation.

Beyond the small transparisteel window, probably only a matter of a few hundred metres away, the shuttle winked out of existence in a burst of incandescent fire that was quickly extinguished by the cold breath of space.

It was strange, really. Had someone asked her not ten minutes ago what she would have expected to experience upon the death of her best friend, rebel commander Luke Skywalker, she would probably have suggested bright, brilliant explosions; horror personified into chaos; the fireworks of first love and first death. Something to match the terrible tearing she felt; something that gave substance to the ripping sound echoing in her ears and loosed in a wail of despair and disbelief.

In the actual moment though, all she saw was a small, quickly quashed explosion no brighter than a candle blowing out.

Her emotions fully matched her expectations however, and there were fireworks, loud and clear and blinding, in her mind.

"You... you..." What was the proper thing for the Princess of dead Alderaan, friend of dead Luke Skywalker to say right now? Perhaps she should regain composure, stand regally and offer something contrite about her disgust. 'You had no right to do that!' perhaps? How about, 'you've just made a very big mistake, Mothma.' ?

No... she had other things she wanted to say right now...

She let her anger explode brilliantly around her and whirled on the woman restraining her, hatred solidified by the small, thin-lipped smile she saw there. "You hutt-slime cold-hearted bitch!"

Her own heart was bursting and tumbling rapidly down through her ribcage to despair as the last embers of the shuttle flittered away in small, dying comets. Dying... dying... Too late! Already dead you mean!

The thought laughed so loud she was sure her sanity had walked out of the dark, oppressive room along with her last hopes for a good, old-fashioned happy ending; slamming the door to anything resembling happiness in her face. Another dear, desperately needed companion gone. Gone. Taken from her, ripped flesh-from-flesh like... like something she couldn't quite remember but that tasted of the past; of a mulling infant and a sad, brown-eyed face she called 'mother'.

Taken, like Mother, like Father... like Han...

Luke...

"Luke!"

The cry of his name came a little late but it didn't lack any emotion for that. Mothma forgotten, she rammed her fists against the transparisteel in desperation, caged. The jolt shocked her back to the stark reality of the here-and-now and she found her arms clawing for her revered Leader before she had any conscious knowledge of the intent.

Mon stepped quickly backwards from the tempest in Leia's eyes as she hurled abuse in a very un-Princess-like manner at the woman who had betrayed her friend. The troopers, grim faces unmoved, stepped forward to intercept her and Leia forcibly relaxed her muscles and her voice. Getting herself arrested would do Luke no good.

Nothing would do Luke any good now...

The first tears ran in fiery little rivulets down her cheeks and tasted of salt in her quieted mouth. Would everyone she ever loved be taken from her?

Loved...? Yes, loved. Whose son he was didn't (hadn't) matter (mattered). Whose genes he bore (had borne) didn't change who he was (had been). How had she ever begun to think they did?

That bitch, that cold, mean, betraying bitch finally spoke and Leia felt disgust in her throat along with the salt of her tears as her tone registered as triumph. "A regrettable accident," she cooed.

Leia's fingers raked neat little slits into the hand that tried to offer false comfort and Mon quickly snatched it back, shocked.

Why are you shocked? What did you expect - acceptance, understanding, thanks?

Mon's eyes flashed yellow in pain and contempt and she fixed Leia with a gaze touched by the sick loathing she had previously reserved for Vader's son.

Vader. Oh stars... Vader was not going to be happy about this.

She felt a cruel little smile of her own pass her lips and Mon startled for a second.

"You've murdered Darth Vader's son," she spat, hearing the grief colouring her words, shocked by the vehemence there. "We've all heard the tales of his vengeance."

For a second, a precious second she would cherish for a long while like a small child hugging a favoured toy in times of darkest trouble, Mothma looked truly disturbed as if she had not even stopped to consider that thought. Had she been foolish enough to think Vader would stop chasing the rebels when there was no Luke to latch on to?

"He'll chase you down all the harder now." She felt acid on her lips. Her tears tasted of guilt and pain but her voice tasted of revenge. She lashed out with words when the troopers restrained her from approaching further. "Oh, Mon, what have you done? He will not give you mere death now."

It gave Leia no comfort; couldn't begin to patch the gaping hole in her heart, but oh, the look of terror was pure ecstasy in a world suddenly devoid of light.

"Us." The caustic voice quivered a little and Leia offered another mirthless smile.

"You. I hereby resign from my post in the Alliance."

The world shook around her, trembling at the thought that princess Leia Organa could cease being a rebel. But this wasn't the rebellion she had fought and suffered for: this was a rebellion which made her suffer, taking from her a truly kindred, brother-spirit. The loss burned bright and painful and fuelled her muscles until she could stand straight between the rebel troopers as if they were escort guards. "I'm sure your guards won't mind escorting me to the docking bay. After all, what use will two troopers be against the wrath of a Dark Lord of the Sith?"

The pale, sick face of her former leader lost all expression and the eyes lost their yellow tint as fear settled neatly into them. She offered no resistance when Princess Leia of Alderaan walked in small, shaken but righteous steps from the room.

* * *


Aboard the rebel shuttle, hyperspace throwing facets of gold and auburn across the sleeping features of Luke Skywalker, the slim form in the pilot's uniform turned in her seat and stood swiftly, stalking towards the 'dead' Jedi. The deck plates hummed into the cold dark of the cockpit, the ship undamaged from the decoy explosion of shrapnel and plastisteel set off a bare millisecond before 'jumping. A small, pale hand checked the readout on the med bunk monitors and reassured itself that he was still completely unconscious.

The figure moved away and began to strip off the stiff olive-green shirt to reveal a thin black ship-suit underneath, the trousers similarly thrown into a heap on one of the monitors clustered around the two figures.

The last piece of her disguise, the cap lying neatly on her head, was removed. Smiling grimly to no one but herself in the pale backwash of hyperspace, she shook a long, fiery coil of red-gold hair to lie loose around her shoulders.