The dead of night deep in the interior of the thick and uninhabited woodlands of Nalday, a remote planet far from the regular hyperspace lanes out on the distant edges of The Slice, wasn't what anyone would call the picture of cheerfulness and tranquility. What's more, their mission happened to fall on the planet's Festival of Spirits, the day when Nalday perfectly aligned with its two moons. It was said that on this night the corporeal realm was pierced, freeing the dead to walk the planet until sunrise the following morning.
It all should have made for an unsettling, eerie, even foreboding atmosphere. Instead, there was only a ubiquitous sense of triumph and merriment in the small Rebel encampment.
And why not? Their mission had been an unqualified success, more so than Leia had ever imagined going in. Not only were they walking away with the contract the Alliance so desired — truthfully, desperately required — but the province of Sudreara had additionally volunteered themselves as a steady source of fresh provisions for the Rebellion, beginning with an immediate supply that Chewbacca should, by now, have loaded onto the Falcon ready to take back with them.
By themselves, the provisions would have been quite a windfall for the fledgling Echo Base. A regular supply of much-needed fresh foods so that their cell of the Alliance would no longer have to survive on only rations and frozen provisions would bring a vital boost in both health and morale. The bounties of Nalday, a fertile agriworld, were a godsend to the frozen tundra of Hoth and generated an enormous cause for celebration all on their own. More valuable, perhaps, then even the fresh meats, fruits, and vegetables was Sudreara's vast harvest of premium caf beans, an essential commodity to fuel and energize overworked personnel. General Rieekan often joked that wars were won and lost based on caf supply.
But the real boon, the treasure the Alliance had come in hopes of, was the contract for cut-rate pricing on a recurrent consignment of nolynnium, an element native to Nalday and the central ingredient necessary for the production of synthetic bacta. The manufactured version of the healing substance wasn't quite as powerful or effective as its natural counterpart, but it would do in a pinch — and the ragtag Rebels were almost always in a pinch.
Tonight, however, was one of the rarer times when there was genuine cause for unmitigated revelry. They would be returning to their new base victorious, and they'd pulled it all off with zero casualties and almost no complications.
Of course in the heat of the moment it had felt like a very close 'almost'.
While, strictly speaking, Nalday wasn't under Imperial rule, as with nearly all planets that had anything of value, troopers maintained something of a presence in the larger cities and spaceports. Someone had tipped off those local Imperial agents to the Rebels presence in Sudreara and a subsequent firefight had broken out with a squad of scout troopers.
Luke — who was only there on Nalday because it was purportedly a hotbed of Force sensitivity, a rumor that had piqued his interest and brought a small segment of the Rogue Squadron along with him on the operation — had injured his leg during a hurried body roll for cover. Thankfully, he'd been able to use his lightsaber to deflect a well-timed blaster bolt or he would have a lot more than just a pulled muscle.
Beyond that, their team had emerged wholly unscathed, and with the help of the local townsfolk they had been able to escape undetected into the dense forest. Come the morning, they would trek the rest of the way through and out the other side to the Eangory cave system where their ships were hidden. The vast Eangory cavern, a naturally occurring geological feature in the Sudrearian province, had been used by the village's inhabitants since the fall of the Republic for the purposes of smuggling contraband goods and beings outside of the Empire's notice. It had offered the perfect safe house for the Falcon and two Alliance X-wings, and now their band of six need only make camp until sunrise, when they could safely continue the hike back to the caves.
Even making camp in an isolated forest wasn't exactly unpleasant. It was unscheduled, but the need to do so wasn't outside the realm of possibility so they'd been prepared, carrying basic supplies with them: bedrolls and a troop tent for shelter large enough to comfortably fit them all; when assembled it was tall enough for even Han to stand inside at full height.
At the moment, he and Leia were sitting side by side in the tent, utilizing the group's only two inflatable air chairs while Luke lounged across from them on his bed roll, where he could comfortably stretch out his leg. The others were outside, drinking around the campfire.
Leia had claimed a desire to rest up for the morning as her excuse to avoid what was sure to be a rowdy night. Han had come inside because she had — and he'd managed to snag them a couple bottles of Corellian ale, so as far as he was concerned in the tent was just as good as out there. Luke, on the other hand, just seemed to be nursing a depressed mood.
Han was commenting on the relative luxury of their current digs compared to the ditch he and Leia had to hunker down in on their last mission when Luke's sullen expression finally got the better of him. "You know, for someone who just helped the Alliance lock down a pretty significant contract, you don't seem very happy."
Luke shrugged off the praise. "I didn't do anything. It was all Leia."
"Usually is," Han acknowledged, sending a look her way that did things to Leia that both thrilled and disquieted. "But you did almost take a blaster bolt to the skull," he pointed out. "I'd say that's something."
"That had nothing to do with the contract," Luke dismissed. "That was just getting away."
"But you did help," Leia put in when Luke's frown persisted. "Before you even set foot on Nalday. The whole galaxy knows what you did at Yavin: how a farmboy from Tatooine destroyed the mighty Empire's greatest weapon," she recited Palpatine's slogan with mocking derision. "You're a legend, Luke, and an excellent recruitment tool. You had as much to do with Sudreara's cooperation as I did."
The princess's praise usually cheered the kid, but Luke seemed determined to brood. Even so, Han tried another go at it. "Yeah, Luke, you're a real tool."
Leia made a face at him, but the remark got no reaction from Luke.
Han went on anyway. "At least when she says it to you she means it in the nice way. That never happens with me."
"Do something nice and maybe you'll deserve it," Leia retorted smartly.
"I had a little something to do with destroying that Death Star too, if you recall," Han countered. "That don't count for nothing?"
"Fine." She held his gaze with a sweet smile. "Han, you're a massive tool."
He narrowed his eyes at her with smirking amusement.
Glancing over at Luke revealed the aspiring Jedi wasn't nearly so entertained, and Han inclined his head at the younger man. "Normally this is the part where you're ganging up and laughing at me. What's wrong? Something's buggin' you. Might as well have out with it now; we know we're gonna hear it eventually."
Luke was too frustrated to bother refuting Han's assertion. "This isn't the kind of mission I normally take. I'm a pilot, a gunner." He waved a hand vaguely at the opening of the tent toward the others out around the fire. "We're a Starfighter squadron. We run recon, seek-and-destroy, escort now and then. We don't get involved in espionage, undercover ops, procurement, recruitment — any of it. I came to Naldah for one reason," he confessed on a brooding sigh.
"Her Highness here wants the next words out of your mouth to be the Rebellion," Han asserted, "but I got a feelin' that ain't it."
"You heard the rumors," Leia established, a statement not a question. She'd known all along that was the driving factor for Luke's — and, by association, the other Rogues' — presence on a mission that really would have only required her and Han, plus Chewie to stay back with the ship.
Where Luke went Wedge often followed, but how Wes and Derek ever got Carlist to agree to let them tag along was a mystery to Leia. Possibly he just wanted them out of his hair for a few days. Han's lone caveat had been that they take their own ships. Two extra passengers are more than enough; if I don't draw the line somewhere, pretty soon I'll be carting the whole Alliance around, he'd groused.
While Leia had known that was Luke's motivation, she assumed he'd understood the chances of getting to the heart of those rumors on their short stay were nearly nonexistent. Not to mention that the rumors themselves seemed outlandish. "Surely you knew the odds of an entire planet being some sort of…Force magnet were slim."
"But I don't know that," Luke lamented. "I don't know nearly enough about the Force. Not without a teacher. And it's more than just the stories about Nalday. It's the Festival of Spirits, too," he reasoned. "They say the emotions of the night, along with the pierced veil to the other side, put Nalday's Force sensitivity at its highest. If ever there was a time when it could happen, it's here and now."
"What 'it'?" Han questioned. "What were you expecting to happen?"
"I don't know. Something. ButI haven't experienced anything out of the ordinary," Luke reported morosely, getting to the heart of his glum mood. "Not yesterday, today, or the day before that. No odd feelings. Definitely no spirits. Not even a vision. Either the stories aren't true, or I'm not strong enough in the Force. Either way, I feel like I've wasted my time. Like so many other parts of my training, I'm spinning my wheels and going nowhere."
Leia realized with an edge of astonishment, "You weren't just searching for the basis of these rumors. You were hoping they were true."
"You wanted to talk to the old man," Han guessed, his neutral inflection a sharp contrast to hers. "Help further your training."
Luke looked away from them both but quietly admitted, "That or….my father."
"Your father? Oh, Luke." There was a new tenor to Leia's voice now, largely pitying but with a tinge of something that hinted she felt he should have known better. "You'd hoped to talk with your father tonight?"
"Why not?" he defended; it wasn't nearly as absurd as her tone implied. "He was a Jedi knight. If there's a time when the dead can travel to our realm –– and on a Force sensitive planet — if there was any truth to that at all there'd be especially high odds that he or Obi Wan could appear to me."
"I thought you never knew your dad," Han observed.
Luke's eyes switched over to him, preparing for a new offensive. "I didn't," he granted warily.
"Well, if you didn't know him, how would you know it was him?" Han presented a valid point.
"I thought — I don't—" Luke fumbled. "I — I guess I thought he'd tell me."
"'Cos it's always a good idea to go around takin' the word of a ghost," Han gibed.
"Spirit," Luke corrected, insisting, "It's not the same thing. And I think I thought I'd just know. By looking at him. Or I'd feel it, through the Force or through our genetic connection, because he was my father."
"But, Luke, even if it were possible for someone to appear to you, through the Force or otherwise, how could you ever imagine that would be a good thing?" Leia rebutted.
He opened his mouth to answer in counterargument but she anticipated him.
"And no, I'm not talking about meeting up with malevolent spirits that you see in horror holos. I mean the nice ones, good ones — even people that you knew, like Obi Wan or your father. Their spirits are lost, Luke. They're gone. What good is there in trying to search them out? What could you possibly find in that, other than heartache?"
"Never mind." Luke shook his head as he rolled to his feet. "I didn't expect you to understand." He cast a disenchanted look Han's way too, and added, "Either of you" as he exited the tent.
Left alone with Han, for a while she said nothing. There was only the sound of the nightbugs, the distant crackling of the campfire, and an occasional boisterous guffaw from one of Luke's squad.
Distracted in her thoughts, Leia was at odds with herself. She felt guilty for upsetting Luke. She had a tendency — one her parents pointed out from childhood — to react overzealously when something struck a nerve with her. Since the Disaster, at times 'overzealous' could boarder on volatile. Now that the dust had settled, she worried her response had been too harsh.
Her voice small and remorseful, she finally said, "I didn't mean to hurt his feelings."
Han's gaze searched her face a moment before he answered evenly, "He'll get over it. Kid's just upset it ain't real."
"I wasn't trying to make fun of him for hoping," Leia swore. "I only meant that…"
She brought her eyes to Han's, and what she found there — kindness, forbearance, support, and acceptance— led her to continue. "I didn't, I don't, understand why Luke would want it to be true. He must not realize; he must not have thought it through. If it were possible to see your lost loved ones for a night, how could you….where would you even begin?"
She faltered, grappling with the enormity of it. "Where would you start? The goodbyes you never got to say? Last words? All the things you'd ever want to tell them for the rest of your life? There's too….I couldn't. It's too much."
It was almost an alive thing, a third living entity with them in the tent, the visceral and consuming pain that came from just considering it. Which was why Leia tried so hard not to. Why she strove to compartmentalize and tuck away as much as she possibly could the loss of her family and her world. It was necessary for survival.
Now that it was out there, though, it was almost irresistible, like a wound you keep picking at. Her expression grew pensive, utterly absorbed in the scenario. "Maybe you wouldn't talk at all. Maybe words would be of no use. Maybe all you would need is to touch their hand. Or smell their perfume; you know how scent is tied to memory. Or — or feel the softness of their cloak against your cheek just one more time." That had been a primal, plaintive need so staggering it had almost swallowed her up, vanquished to pure sorrow, in those first days after her father's death. "But…but that wouldn't be possible with a spirit, would it?" she recognized with sadness, thwarted even in these imaginary longings.
Leia's eyes were so wide and wistful, open and vulnerable and hurting — unshed tears shining in the lamplight — that it pricked Han's heart to the point of physical pain in his chest. He wanted to say something of comfort but knew better than to stop her. She needed to get these things out, needed to face them and feel them in order to ever truly alleviate her sorrow. He stayed quiet, wanting her to go on, but did his best to exude silent encouragement. She didn't seem to expect a response anyhow; he frankly wondered if she'd forgotten he was there.
"Even if you couldn't touch them, even if it was just their spirit or soul, it would still be them," Leia went on yearningly. "And having them back with you? Oh, there would be so much to say. So much to be felt and expressed, in such a limited time. It's overwhelming to even think about. How? How could you limit it to only one night? Just a matter of hours? How could that ever be enough? And then when it was over—"
She bit her lip to hold in the broken sob that all at once threatened to erupt from her. Once she regained the power of speech, Leia drew in an unsteady breath, shaking her head. "Gods, it would be painful. Too painful. Like losing them all over again. Reminding you of all you're missing. It would be much too hard. Awful, really."
She appeared to come back to herself then, actually seeing him before her and not the dream of her lost parents. Han watched her cheeks flush just before she looked away, brushing a kuvara leaf off her pant leg for something to do with her hands.
"That's all I meant," she finished in a subdued rush, embarrassed at having gone on in that way. "Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. Just let Luke believe what he was going to. Whatever made him feel better; whatever it takes to get by. There's no harm in that, I suppose."
"No, suppose not," Han replied. "But I see what you were saying." Now that she'd gotten her stopped-up feelings out, he was free to offer her solace and empathy. And he would, even if it cost him his comfort to do it. "After my ma died, I used to think about angels." He tempered it with: "I was just a kid then, five or six, I didn't know any better. Sometimes at night when I was trying to relax, you know…." He scratched at his jaw self-consciously. "…feel safe, I'd imagine her as an angel watchin' over me, brushing her hand through my hair to help me sleep like she used to do. Sometimes I'd fall asleep thinking it was real. Then I'd wake up and have to remember again. So I get it; not much good comes out of that kind of thinking."
Leia stared at him in fascinated consideration. "I don't know that I've ever heard you really talk about your mother before."
It would have been easy to be blasé, downplay the emotion, but Han forced away the impulse and instead held her gaze, unguarded as she had been. "Like you said, Sweetheart, some things are too hard. Better left alone."
Tears suddenly loomed again; Leia felt the telltale ache in the back of throat. She bent at the waist, pretended to fiddle with her boot to give herself the chance to, hopefully inconspicuously, swipe at her eyes.
She couldn't help it. There was something striking, profound and deeply needed, in making this connection. Experiencing a sense of common grief, knowing this was a shared experience. She was understood; she was not alone in this.
And that Han had been willing to disclose such a private, sensitive thing to her — she knew for her….
It felt something like relief, something like gratitude, and was nothing short of beauty, carrying with it a tide of intense, boundless affection for him. "I—" Leia began to try to express it, but thought better of it when she realized how it must sound.
"What? Can tell there's something," he gently coaxed.
She shook her head. "No, it's a terrible thing to say. To even think."
"Say it. Think it," Han urged.
"Are you sure?"
"You feel what you feel," he shrugged. "Nothing terrible about that."
"All right." With his reinforcement, she forged ahead, though she still considered it shameful. "I thought that…I was glad you understood. I know that's wrong, since the only way for you to understand is if you've had that loss yourself, and I could never be glad for that, for you to know that pain, but I—"
"It's okay," he stopped her, indicating there was no need for any further explanation. "I know what you mean. And it's not terrible, Leia. Everybody wants to be understood, to feel like somebody else can relate, that they're not just screaming into the void. That is a nice feeling."
"Yes, it is," Leia agreed, smiling softly at him, a look of unmistakable tenderness infusing her expression. She gave a cathartic sigh and her smile grew warm and cheerful — happy with the day's successes; happy with this surprising, bonding exchange; happy to be here, on a temperate and tranquil night with Han.
"Let's talk about something else, something lighter," she suggested. "We're having a night away, and on a holiday no less. Our mission was successful — we should be celebrating."
With a smirk, Han nodded in offering toward the open doorway and the men out around the fire. "Antilles is having a Terrifying Tales contest." He didn't bother to explain; he knew Leia would have done exhaustive research on the planet and culture before coming.
Nalday was a highly stalwart planet, a society that valued bravery, fortitude, and valor above all else. Theirs was a culture that looked down upon worry or anxiety of any kind. Over the years, the people of Nalday began to use the Festival of Spirits as an outlet of sorts: one night a year where fear was not only allowed but embraced, even celebrated. On the Festival of Spirits, the daytime was reserved for respectful reflection and remembrance, but the nighttime was for fun and frights.
There was a planetwide tradition of gathering around the fire pit in utter darkness and seeing who could conjure up the most terrifying tale, one that succeeded in affecting even the bravest warriors amongst them. At the end of the night, the winner — the author of the most fearsome tale — received a metim-tall chocolate Eangory leaf to honor the tree from which Naldaians believed all life derived and returned. Crafting the confection was something of an artform on the planet, as last year's winners made and presented this year's prize. Therefore, the better a person was at making the chocolate Eangory leaf the more it was perceived that they were a longtime champion in their village.
The Rogues had no chocolate, no prize at all, but looking for a chance to get drunk and blow off some steam they'd embraced the custom with a miniature match of their own. Leia had to admit she was interested to see what tales they would come up with.
"We could have a contest of our own in here," Han proposed. He waggled his eyebrows in mischievous temptation. "Wanna start telling stories? I'll go first."
