Author's Note: Okay, people, I'm really excited about this one. I would have had it up earlier -- but the internet wasn't working for, like two days. x.x
yellow-lily: ... Zap? xD
GreatOne: Lol, did you expect her to just bandon Syrmé like that?
Dovasary: Oh, that sucks. xD Halfway though writing 'No Reward Is Worth This', I minimized it for a moment, and then it wasn't there anymore. x.x I had to rewrite it. Leia tried to be diplomatic, but her patience is a little bit shorter when it's her daughter that's in question.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I have never fully appreciated that my mother is Princess Leia Organa-Skywalker.
I know she's a fighter, and strong. I know she was fearless in the days of the Rebellion. I heard it, but it sort of passed over me. Now I'm experiencing it firsthand.
She's in a pristine white, loose-fitting tunic and slacks. In high contrast to the white is a black blaster attached to her leg, and her flecked-gray dark hair is in a elegant, braided knot at the back of her head. She's so small, but the lightsaber in her hand seems to completely enlarge her. She handles it delicately, yet firmly, somehow.
But her face, her expression.
It's the same as it was when she was contacted; cool, calm, collected. But its even more intensely powerful with a blaster at her hip and a powered lightsaber in her grip.
It was a powerful enough of an image to make my assailers stop and stare. After a moment's pause, I was let go, and the shooting started.
Their random blaster bolts were easily deflected as my mother runs against them, a blue glow around her as the bolts were quickly deflected. I roll out of the way of the red lasers hitting the wall around me, effectively tripping one. Eventually, they are all on the ground, and slightly smoking.
Mom rushes up to me, powering down her lightsaber and pulling me into a tight, desperate embrace. My arms find their way around her, and I finally relax.
I realize that I hadn't relaxed since I ran away. But it's so easy now. Her hair smells the same, her arms feel the same, her breathe sounds the same. And it's comforting. Deeply comforting.
She finally pulls away, settling a kiss on top of my forehead.
"Come on. I've gotta get you out of here." she says quietly, grabbing my hand and pulling me back to the door where she came from. "Oh - " she paused, took something out of a small pouch near her blaster, and tossed it at me.
I quickly grab it out of the air, feeling a rough, small handle of a lightsaber meet my fingers. It's a much older model than Luke's or Mara's or my mother's.
"Whose is this?"
"Obi-Wan Kenobi gave it to your uncle, long ago. It's Anakin's."
"My grandfather's?"
"Yes. I'm giving it to you just in case we run into any more trouble."
I study it for a moment, then resolutely clip it to my belt.
"Where's Uncle Luke and Aunt Mara?"
"Trying to take control of the ship." she answers simply. "Hopefully Mot'n doesn't try to put up too much of a fight."
"Knowing him, he'll try to save himself and as many of his valuable slaves as he can." I answer grimly.
Then an image of Tyl comes into my head, and that makes me stop in my tracks. I remember his expressing his desire to escape, and his defiance in becoming slave again.
I can't leave him here. I don't want to leave him here.
Mom is giving me a weird, exasperated look.
"Syrmé, we can't stop now! Keep going!"
I look her in the eye. "Mom, we have to get someone. A friend of mine. Tyl Olos."
"…Honey, I promised Luke and Mara we'd meet them. They're worried sick about you, you have no idea what you caused – forget the tabloids – everyone's been stressed out since that little stunt of yours, then we find your abandoned ship on Coruscant and rumors – "
I sigh, and run a hand over my face.
"Can we discuss this later?"
"Of course. Because we have to meet your aunt and uncle." she replies firmly.
"Mom! C'mon, he's a good guy – sure he swears and threatens and is rude – but otherwise he's alright! I mean, you wouldn't like him – I didn't at first – but he's extremely honest – well, in a way - " I stop, attempting to organize my thoughts.
She lets out a breathe. "Listen, the ship is going to be in the Republic's hands shortly, and I assure that he'll be fine - "
"Mom! He might be taken by Mot'n if Mot'n tries to escape! The rest of the slaves are Ewoks!"
"Ewoks?"
"We were on Endor when we were taken."
"No. It's too dangerous. He'll be fine."
"What would you do if Uncle Luke, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Han Solo hadn't risked their lives to rescue you from the Death Star? Hell, Kenobi sacrificed his."
My mom opened her mouth, then shut it again, looking confused and angry.
"You'd better know where he is."
I beam at her, and let go of her hand and turn around, leading her along the corridor that she had initially come from. I hop over the collapsed door, over the bodies of the men, and down a few more corridors, my mother following my lead. I reach the cell block; the door coincidentally opens as I reach it. I'm about to step in, but my mother grabs my arm.
Wait.
The message in my head comes clearly, and I nod and stop just outside the doorframe. My mother takes the blaster off of her hip - I remember her saying it's her favorite in situations where an ambush is likely - and takes a tentative step in, then quickly retreats as bolts scorch the ground at her feet. She sends a small, mischievious smirk at me. I laugh lightly.
She then faces the doorway and starts firing rapidly. I hear grunts and thuds of people falling on the floor, and she runs in, me following her heel.
"Go get him!" she yells at me over her shoulder, still firing. I nod, jumping over a few bolts coming my direction, and land near the wall where our weapons are held.
Along with the tiny blaster that Tyl gave me and my own weak lightsaber is Tyl's blaster, so I pocket both of mine and take Tyl's into my hand. He's gonna need it.
My mother had been backing away in my direction, her blaster returned to its place and her lightsaber replacing it. Many more men had arrived at the door, and there were so many bolts that she had to reflect them. She takes a moment to glance at the heavy blaster in my hand.
"What's that?"
I pause in step.
"Tyl's blaster, he's going to need it in this." I reply, gesturing, a blaster bolt sizzling past my hand.
"DL-44?"
I inspect the blaster. "I suppose that's what it is. Why?"
She shrugs. "No reason."
Contemplating the necessity to have a conversation more worthy of discussion over tea at this time, I shrug as well, and make my way down the corridor until I reach my (old) cell. I press the pad next to the door and it opens.
Consequently, Tyl falls out (apparently, he was just pressing his ear against the door in an attempt to hear what was going on).
I drag him out of the doorway (the doors have a special mechanism in which they close automatically after four seconds, probably because they're for prisoners), and the door shuts. I bend over him, then drop his blaster on his stomach. He lets out an 'oof', and picks it up.
"Great." he smirks, then picks himself off the floor. "Rescuin' me?"
"You know it. We didn't need the plan after all; my family came and got us." I gesture at my mother, who is barely discernable through the shower of blaster bolts and the whizzing of her lightsaber. He nods.
"You guys need some help?"
"That'd be nice."
He positions his blaster, and starts shooting. I don't dare; I'm not nearly good enough with a blaster for my shots to evade my mother, who is blocking the tiny corridor with her body and the lightsaber. His bolts pass her rapid lightsaber easily, one by one bringing down our attackers. Between that and her deflection, the bolts against us lessened. It would have been done much more quickly if she were as experienced as Luke, who would have been able to deflect each bolt straight back at the shooter, consequently bringing them down.
One bolt slips past the rapid lightsaber, and with a curse Tyl pushes both of us down, looking flustered and angry as he stands back up.
"Stop godsdamn tryin' to deflect, take out your blaster and shoot!" he shouts angrily, earning a slap from me.
"It isn't that easy, laserbrain!" My mom screams from where she's standing, taking a step back as more reinforcements come to the front door. Tyls response comes quickly, automated, and easily.
"Well, pardon me, Pri - " he starts to spit at her, then stops; I watch as a wave of utter confusion passes over his features.