A/N: Trigger warning: torture scene - mostly implied and not overly graphic, but just know.

OOO

The fire is everywhere and nowhere. It burns my body, but I have no body. I roll to extinguish the flames, but no flames exist. I writhe, helpless, on black glass sand as flames chew upon my flesh.

And it never ends.

I'll answer anything, anything, to make it stop. To make it ease. Anything he wants! I don't care about keeping secrets anymore! I'll give him anything!

"Please! Please!" a voice cries, and someone is sobbing, sobbing wretchedly. Retching and convulsing in helpless agony. Oh… that voice is mine, isn't it? "Make it stop! Oh, stars, make it stop! I'll give you anything… anything…!"

The rumbling voice says, "Thank you."

And somehow, the pain increases—! Oh, stars, oh stars! And in that blazing moment I understand: he doesn't want anything from me. He wants only this pain. My pain. He doesn't want Uncle Luke and he doesn't want the rebels. He doesn't want the Peace Star plans. He doesn't want anything except my death—and my all-consuming pain prior to it. I can give him nothing to make this stop.

It will never end.

"Please… please…" And now all I beg for is death…

"You are pathetic and weak and deserve to die, and just like this. Stop begging!"

"Lord Vader!"

Suddenly the flame snuffs out—oh my stars… sweet relief… But something is wrong. I know it is. I know that voice… but cannot place it. And my heart is pounding, pounding so hard, like it shall burst from my chest… And I have things I want to say, things I want to do, but I just cannot get any of them out—only one—one thing—

"Uncle… Uncle…" I want Luke. I want Luke…

But it is another voice which answers me, after having a furious argument with Darth Vader that includes threats and courage on my behalf the likes of which I never expected from anyone. Anyone except Luke. But this… this isn't Luke.

"You'll be alright, daughter. I'm getting you help. Just hold on…" And Tarkin places his hand upon my brow, as if setting his will to this end.

But I know he lies. Because I am trapped in my head and I shall never come out, because I shall never leave this black glass sand while flames chew upon my flesh, and because Uncle Luke is not here to fix it… any of it… he isn't here with me…

OOO

Empire week was to be the grandest celebration of the Empire and all its manifold glories ever had. No expense had been spared. Exclusive invitations had been issued galaxy-wide (mostly with a focus on a few key core worlds). The press had been abuzz for months on end, covering every minutia of the affair, from the way the Imperial Eve ball might be constructed to the table napkins at different receptions. This was the fortieth year of the Empire, and Emperor Palpatine seemed determined to ignore the fact that a strong resurgent rebellion so much as existed.

And so Mother and I packed our bags and headed to Coruscant for five days of luxury and opulence at the expense of immense suffering on so many other planets in the galaxy. As the Mirrorbright, Mother's personal vessel, swooped in low over the intricate ribbons of traffic that crisscrossed the planet, I peered out the window at the city. Imperial banners fluttered crisply from almost every building, shining stark crimson in the daylight; it made the whole city center seem like a sea of blood. Traffic was even more congested than usual. And the city itself seemed to shine, as if trillions of polishing droids had been at work for weeks. Probably, they had.

Cantham House, the Alderaanian royal residence on Coruscant, as usual proved comfortable. All our security stayed downstairs, the better to give Mother and I some privacy—always appreciated. But I personally would have felt better with a few guards. Not that any guard could take on It if or when It came for me…

Soon, we had gotten ourselves settled in. I sent 3V off to do some shopping for me and Mother sent 3PO on a busywork errand, so we finally had a moment to talk. Out on the balcony, sonic neutralizers activated, we knew ourselves fairly safe. As safe as it ever got for us, at any rate.

"You did well, my daughter," she praised me, smiling. "They have all the information they need to destroy Chita Station and clear the path to the Death Star. We'll have it destroyed in no time."

Her praise warmed me more than I desired to admit to myself. I dismissed it as merely doing my part and then ventured with the question I'd been dying to ask ever since my father and my mother had reunited: "So—did Dad agree?"

Leia's smile shaded to a frown. "We… discussed things," she allowed. Then she smiled again, a determined nailed-to-the-mast smile. Laying her hand on my arm with all the gentleness she possessed, she vowed, "It will all work out. Don't worry. You've done your part. We can take care of the rest, now."

Dismissed. Again. Anger curdled within me, and I only just managed to continue the conversation pleasantly enough before getting the blazes out of here. Royal life as usual stifled. A night on the town was what I needed to clear my head.

Apparently, even after stealing the vital information about Chita Station right under the Imperial Heir's nose, I still hadn't earned the right to hear the whole of our plans. Or earned the right to know if my father would fly in the battle with the Falcon. No. I must be… what? Protected?

It didn't matter. I'd show them. I'd show them all.

OOO

But I ended up staying out of the town—or, rather, out of the cantina. The sheer crushing level of crowds precluded any hope of restoration through being alone. Now, I loved people and enjoyed being around them—but not around hundreds of thousands of them in the same square mile. And so, I instead ended up heading somewhere that I hadn't in six years.

The old senate gardens.

For some reason, while the senate had been torn down after its disillusionment, the gardens near them had never been demolished. Instead, they had been left to grow wild, and stayed, in my opinion, one of Coruscant's best-kept secrets. As a girl in the Young Imperial Leaders Coalition, I had come here. But then, Mustafar had happened, and I couldn't bear to return. Too many memories.

I finally felt like facing it this evening.

Unfortunately, I soon discovered that even here in this secretive place I couldn't be alone. Though the company could have been worse.

"Oh," I said, on seeing the redhead turn to look at me, "it's you."

"You know, I might take offense to that," he mused. "But knowing your gruff demeanor when casual, I think I must be making progress!"

I huffed out a laugh.

"You come here, too?" remarked Ray. He looked different today, dressed more nicely in a well-tailored suit with a burgundy-colored velveteen jacket that looked soft as fur. I wondered what that was indicative of - perhaps spywork for the prince?

"Sometimes," I dissembled. "Do you want to be alone?"

"…it's alright," he decided. "Sit down."

"Is that an order?"

"Of course not. What right would I have?"

None. I leaned against one of the trunks of a tall, overgrown palm tree that provided vast shade over the space. A mossy fountain near us played softly, somehow still working despite its derelict state. And Ray the manservant-spy met my gaze evenly, and we engaged in a little bit of an undeclared staring contest.

And then I blinked. Kriff it.

His lips twitched. "So," he started, "you're here early."

"I have diplomatic work to do. As does Mother."

"The infamous Queen Leia," he mused of my mother's durasteel-fisted repute. "What is that like?"

I raised my brows. "You're being rather rude to ask such a question."

"I… thought we were friends."

Stars. He looked so hurt. I thanked the Force for the shade of the trees, for then he couldn't detect my flush. But really? Friends? After a few encounters? No one could be friends after a few encounters and one conversation, even if they did call each other by name, or feel comfortable talking.

Right?

I decided to be honest for once. "I'm not too good at friends," I ventured slowly.

"Neither am I. So what does it hurt if we both kriff it up?"

There seemed sound logic in that. And so we ended up talking, rather casually, like friends who had nothing of enmity over opposite sides between them. (Though of course he knew nothing of that.) I never answered the question about Mother, and he never pushed on me to do so. Mostly we discussed Empire week's coming festivities. He got to brag.

"I'm going to be running point for the prince a lot, so you'll probably see me around."

I got the feeling, again, that this was meant to impress me. All I said was, "I see," which made him cock his head at me and look distinctly amused again.

"You know," he mused at the end of our conversation, which had ended up ranging from Empire week to my responsibilities as heir and effective de-facto viceroy of Alderaan to his life at the Imperial palace and what the court was like, "I'm glad to have run into you, Padmé. I was feeling… oh… a bit… down earlier. You've cheered me up. It was a lucky coincidence."

"I don't believe in luck," I admitted.

"What do you believe in?"

I smiled. "Credits."

"Well. That's wise as well."

Telling someone I believed in the Force was dangerous, especially these days. Best to say credits, another important staple of existence. But I got the uncomfortable feeling that Ray didn't believe my answer. More, I got the uncomfortable feeling that he saw me straight through.

I hated being seen.

Yet he reached out, reached right toward me, and then looped the chain of the treasured necklace I wore. Looped it right around his slim, spidery fingers. The ocean eyes examined it. "A polestar," he mused, no hint of shyness in him right now. "Lovely."

I managed, "Thank you."

"Who gave it to you?"

"—A friend."

OOO

"Hey, Padmé." Uncle Luke is back and he is smiling at me in his gentle way. Why does he come back? He's been here so many times and it hasn't made me better. Doesn't he get that I'm not getting better? Doesn't anyone tell him? "Hey," he continues.

Today, though, he holds a necklace. A necklace in the shape of a polestar. And the necklace itself has something beautiful and glowing inside of it. Uncle Luke says, "I'm going to put this around your neck, alright? Now, I want you to make sure and keep it on for me, always. Can you promise that?"

And I have to tell him. I must tell him. I can't fail him, Luke who is the only one who comes, the only one who believes in me. I try to think but my mind is a blur and jumble of sights and sounds and people and things and some are real and some aren't—

I crumple a piece of flimsi I spot, then push it toward him.

He breathes out sharply. He. Luke. Here. Now. He says, "That's great. Thank you. So, I'm gonna put it around your neck now, alright? Okay… There we go.

"Perfect."

And it is perfect. It is good. It gives me clarity. It grounds me a bit more. I almost feel like I comprehend reality again—though not quite—and I want to say something—some way to thank him—but then I am sucked back to the black glass sands and I don't wake for days…

OOO

What are your thoughts?

Also - did you catch that reference to the soundtrack name 'a friend' from the Mandalorian? I thought it was a fun way to refer to Luke.

Finally, what do you think the necklace Luke gave Padmé does? And why did it catch Ray's attention?

Thanks for reading and commenting! ️

Warm wishes,
Hope