There was a finite supply of fear in the galaxy. A predetermined amount usually spread throughout an entire universe. But for one millisecond, every ounce that had ever existed poured into every fiber, muscle, and cell of Leia's body.
And it had only taken one sentence.
Five little words, and she couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't turn around, sprint to her bedroom, lock the door, and hide under her covers. Couldn't plod arrogantly onward and ask for her father's forgiveness or mutter a half-hearted apology to the Sith Lord for interrupting his duties.
Couldn't do anything other than exist...
If she could even call it that.
"I sense your fear, youngling." A breath, strangled and mechanic. Terrifying. "And that's good." Another breath. "Fear will make you strong."
More words. More terror. And Leia's heart skipped a beat. Then another.
Then her father's voice, paternally confident but somewhat shaky: "Leia, if you're there, sweetling, go to your room. I'll be along shortly."
There was desperation in his tone. Desperation and anxiety and an otherworldly, protective will that spoke volumes—danger. And Leia wanted to move, shuffle backward, and sprint through the halls...
But something unrecognizable pulled her forward.
One step.
Then another.
And another and another and another until she found herself inside the palace's main chamber, between her father and an overlarge man clad head to toe in black, face obscured by a demonic, black-crystalline mask. Chest emblazoned with a medley of buttons, functions unknown.
Standing there, before one of the galaxy's most feared entities, she couldn't help but tremble. Fingers fidgeted, lips twitched, and eyes flicked back and forth, unsure where to look, unsure if she was allowed to look. At Sith Lord Vader, at her father, even at the fashionably-decorated walls of her own home.
So she looked at the floor. Decided to take this particular moment to count each vein in the tiles underfoot. One, two, three…
"Leia." Her father's voice broke her concentration. "Sweetling, please go to—"
"One of yours, I presume?" A breath.
"Y-yes, Lord Vader. My daughter, Princess Leia."
Leia looked up, up, up. Up so far until she got to Vader's black-cloaked shoulders. Then up to peek at his face, where she noticed his unrelenting, insect-like and unblinking masked gaze. He did not turn away and refused to look elsewhere, and she flinched, eyes returning to the marbled veins on the floor. One, two, three…
Her father was at her side in an instant. He knelt and cupped her shoulder. Tight. Too tight.
Tight enough to make her panic, to make her think something was wrong. Horribly, awfully wrong. And Leia's gaze flicked to him.
"Dad," she whispered. Soft, so soft. "Why's he here? What's he want?"
"Not sure, Sweetling. But I'm sure it's something I can handle." Another tight squeeze, this one less painful. More reassuring. Then a smile, very comforting. "Why don't you run off and find Artoo? I'm sure both of you can get into plenty of mischief before dinner."
"But Dad—"
"Run along, Leia." Her father stood and adopted an authoritative stance, a commanding presence usually reserved for criminals and underlings. "Now."
With that, Leia fled. Down the hall and around the bend. Up two flights of stairs and into her room, where she pressed her back flat against the door. Her breath poured from her lips in rushed, uneven bursts, and she tried to steady it—
But then it happened.
She panted. Hyperventilated while thinking—knowing—what she'd just done.
"I just left him there," she said as she smacked her cheeks hard enough to leave red welts. "All alone and by himself. All alone. And by himself."
She whirled, trekked through the halls with a haste that left her bemused and breathless, tiptoed past guards, droids, and handmaids who were not where they should've been, then pressed on, deep into the palace she knew so well—too well. Until—
The tapestry.
Leia pulled it away from the wall and pressed her fingers into a minuscule groove. Something clicked, a panel opened, and Leia gagged.
There was...a smell.
The palace's secret passageways hadn't been used for centuries—since the time when servants, handmaids, and slaves were better unseen and unheard—and they looked it.
Cobwebs, insects, and rodents. Long-rotten corpses bursting with odors most foul as they permeated the surrounding air, then wafted up and beyond.
But Leia needed through.
So she covered her nose and swiped out her hand, then shoved through the menagerie until she reached her goal.
Then, she pushed.
The wall cracked open and revealed a slit-sized view of the palace's main chamber, where her father and Vader were still talking. Tersely.
They stood less than four feet apart with one towering over the other. Neither one was surrounded by their usual entourage; no troopers or guards, no servants or lackeys. Just her father, fists and jaw clenched, looking up even though he was standing on a small set of stairs. And Vader, robotically still and intimidating, looking down; a beast of unrealistic proportions.
Just the two of them. Alone. Like both wanted their conversation to be strictly confidential. Secret. Completely private.
But Leia couldn't help it. She eavesdropped. Broke her father's trust.
To protect him, she told herself. To make sure he wouldn't succumb to whatever vile plan Darth Vader had for him. To make sure he wouldn't face a Sith Lord by himself. All alone, defenseless, and unaided at a time he should've been surrounded by his best guardsmen and protected on all sides, even if it ultimately wouldn't help.
So she listened, knuckles whitening as she clasped the edges of the wall's secret door.
"I need those records, Viceroy."
"Like I said before," her father said as he crossed his arms, "you may have them when you come back with the appropriate paperwork. I'm not giving you a copy of our security log without the appropriate clearances."
There was a pause, intensity heightened with Vader's mechanical respires.
Then, "Whoever accessed your thermocycler is vitally important to the Empire."
Her father glared. "We haven't used that wretched device since the first day, when your installation team demanded we enter our staff, politicians, and criminals."
"Yet somebody did," Vader said. "Just last night."
Her father suppressed the surprise on his face with a fine-lipped scowl. "And why would you care?"
There was another lengthy pause. An edgy staring match that only ended when Vader finally answered. "Because the DNA entered maternally matched a very wanted individual. An individual suspected dead nearly a decade ago." A breath. "The Empire wants this person for questioning. Immediately."
Her father snorted. "And who is this person?"
One respiration, then another. "A direct relation to Padmé Amidala."
Her father's usually tan face drained of color. "Th-that's imposs—" He cleared his throat. "That's impossible."
"Yesterday, I believed the same thing. Today—"
"She died, Lord Vader." Her father's face turned dark crimson. "Scared and alone and pregnant. She died."
From her hidden passageway, Leia gasped and pressed her face closer to the slit. Her ears hurt from straining so hard, but the pain didn't deter her focus. She bit her bottom lip and powered through, because they were talking about her—about her mother—and she needed to know, needed to understand, why Sith Lord Darth Vader, out of everybody in the galaxy, was asking about her. About Senator Amidala.
Leia continued watching—continued listening—and gulped.
Because for the first time, Vader moved. His helmet slanted down and to the right, and his mask tilted toward her direction, like he'd heard her stifled gasp. She hissed and Vader's shoulders dipped. But almost immediately after, his posture returned. Head high and shoulders straight as he reached inside his cape and stopped, threat very clear.
"I need your recordings, Viceroy."
"Well go get the appropriate paperwork from our Emperor," her father spat. "Until then, consider your request wholeheartedly denied."
"You and I both know I can't do that."
"Exactly," her father said. "Because this isn't the Empire's inquiry. It's yours."
Vader withdrew his arm from the innards of his cape, but his fist was unexpectedly empty. He pointed. "I will get those records, Viceroy."
"Over my dead body."
Vader's hand loosened until his fingers were merely curled. "A poor choice of words," he said as he reached for anything and everything.
Leia didn't understand what happened next.
Her father dropped to his knees and clutched his throat. He was choking, mouth gasping and eyes popping. Face turning blue as he sucked frantically for any semblance of air. His eyes watered and he reached forward, desperation stretched across his face. "P-please—"
Leia didn't think. Didn't properly sort through the consequences of her actions. She just popped out of the wall, sprinted, and screamed, "LET HIM GO!" as she furled her fists at Vader's armored chest, hitting as high as she could reach. And when her efforts proved fruitless, she clutched his cape and pulled as hard as she could until he looked down, concentration broken. Then she kept hitting, kept pulling. Kept screaming, "Let him go! Let him go! Let him go!"
Then—
An intense pressure on her shoulders. An unidentifiable force pushing her down and away.
She collapsed onto her back, breathless and panting. Eyes welling with tears but smiling since she'd been ultimately successful.
"Leia!" her father screeched.
He rushed to her side and clenched tight around her waist, pulling, pulling, pulling until she was in his lap. She shook from the pressure of whatever held her. Trembled with the memory of being so helpless. Unable to move or breathe or blink or speak or think.
"An Organa if I ever saw one," Vader said, insect-like eyes glossing over her flushed face. "Reckless and where she shouldn't be." His gaze shifted to to her father. "You should be proud."
"He is," Leia growled, struggling against her father's grasp. Vader's gaze returned. "And you're a jerk." She wriggled—hard—and her father let go. She stood, and though her head only reached Vader's waist, her hazels glared up at him. Angry, so spiteful. Filled with so much contempt. "And you should be disgusted with yourself—"
"Leia!" her father screamed, reaching for her mouth.
She batted his hand away. "Choking my father because he denied you something—"
"Leia!" Her father tried again, but Leia stepped forward, closer to the Sith Lord and out of her father's grasp.
Vader took an involuntary step back.
"And shoving me, a little girl, just because you didn't get what you wanted. Deplorable! Disgusting! A horrible abuse of whatever station you've managed to scrounge up!"
"Leia!"
"And another thing—" She pointed at the Sith, face scrunched with rage. "Just who do you think you are? Coming to my home, demanding—Urmph!"
Her father finally succeeded, and Leia screamed through his fingers. But even though her words were loud, they were unintelligible, and she quieted, fuming. She didn't stay still, though; she wiggled fervently and tried to break free as her gaze bounced between Vader and her father.
"Incorrigible," Vader said after a silent moment, fists reflexively clenching. "And highly disrespectful. A—" He stopped and took a breath. Then another as his fists loosened. "Your eyes are…" Another breath as he drug out his next word. "…familiar."
"Commonly brown," her father said, letting go. Leia squirmed away from him, face flushed and arms crossed.
Vader stepped forward and knelt. He inhaled and reached out. Slow, so slow. And Leia didn't flinch away, didn't move a single muscle. Not because she was scared, but because she was angry. Filled with a form of malevolence she couldn't explain.
And while she remained still, Vader placed one hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Gently. More gently than she dare believed he could. His other hand cupped her chin. Tilted it left. Then right.
"And your face—"
"I'll show you the blasted footage," her father snapped. "Now get your hands off my daughter."
The heated moment intensified until Vader grudgingly let go. He didn't look away, though; no, he continued scanning her entire body before resting his gaze on her face. "Let's go," he said after a fair bit of reflective silence.
Her father motioned for her to stay behind, but Vader grabbed his arm and squeezed. Hard. "All of us."
"This is grievously irregular," her father snarled, struggling to escape Vader's grasp. "My daughter will stay where she is. She doesn't need to be involved with this."
"And yet," Vader said, "she is."
"My daughter will remain—"
"Is she yours, Viceroy?" A breath. "Truly yours?"
Her father blanched, then looked down and bit his tongue. "You'll find all the proof you need within our security holos." He took a step and looked back. "And after you've viewed them, I demand that you leave Alderaan. Immediately."
Vader bypassed them like he already knew the palace's layout. "The contents of your logs will determine my departure. Now come, you're only delaying the inevitable."
Leia followed the Sith Lord, eyes focused on the expanse of his billowing cape. And when they walked through areas of the palace teeming with people, she looked around and expected horrified expressions and fear-filled gasps.
She expected outright chaos.
But nobody moved.
Or noticed.
Or cried out, or trembled, or gulped.
It was almost like they were invisible. Eerily, horribly undetectable.
Nobody bothered her father for signatures or his vocal approval. Nobody chastised Leia for being out of her classes far too early. Nobody noticed the Sith Lord's floor-shaking footsteps plodding unpleasantly forward.
"Um," Leia said, reaching for her father's hand. "Dad…?"
Fingers wound around hers. "A dark mind trick," her father said, expression grim. "He doesn't want to be seen."
Leia's gaze shifted, but her father didn't look down. "How come?"
"Because he's not supposed to be here. And he knows it."
"Dad—"
"Shush, Starshine. We'll talk later."
The rest of the jaunt through the palace passed relatively quick, and even though it was a short trek, Leia noticed her father withering with each step. Face growing gaunt as the Sith Lord trudged through the palace without guidance or assistance. He didn't even need top-level security passcodes when he entered the royal family's private apartment. The doors and elevator shaft just opened at his gesture, letting him inside to wreak whatever havoc he desired.
It was impressive, galling, and terrifying all at once. Even as a minute display of his power.
And Leia wondered—just wondered—what he would do when he realized it was her DNA that had prompted this whole exploit. Her DNA he sought. Her being the target of his queries.
She blinked.
Lying had never gotten her anywhere. Somebody always found out. Somebody was always watching or knew. And she realized that it was in her best interest to come clean.
Because maybe then, Vader would be less mad. Maybe then, he'd spare her and her father's life.
She nodded, resolute.
"Dad—"
"Shush, Sweetling."
"But Dad, I need to tell you—"
"Not now." He squished her fingers. Hard, so hard. Hard enough to make her wince and sputter, then drift into silence.
And while Leia was rendered speechless, miserable for keeping a secret that had caused so much strife, the door to the royal family's private database whooshed open.
They walked inside, and a series of beeps told them they weren't alone.
Her father let out a deeply-held breath. "Artoo," he said, forcing the droid to shift its crimson eye away from the dark figure in the room, "could you open the security holos from last night?"
Artoo jolted forward, ready to act on the command. But the moment it passed her, it paused and stared at her as only it could. Leia stared back, face a wretched and identifiable mess. And after a second, Artoo careened to the side of the room where it could access the telecommunications port. It twisted the port left. Then right. Blurp blurp.
"To the holopad, please," her father said.
The circular pad in the middle of the room burst to life; it revealed fuzzy blue forms in the midst of private conversations, droids hobbling to and fro, servants performing their daily duties, and the royal family preparing for bed.
Vader immediately took command at the control panel. He turned a dial, and the fuzzy images blurred beyond recognition, fast-forwarding. He stopped when he got to the time he was looking for, then stared at the single blue person traipsing the halls.
Leia.
The living and breathing Leia could feel Vader's glossy gaze through the projection's blue haze, and she gulped, unnerved, until he looked away. Then she continued to stare at the damnable evidence.
Her blue form waltzed to the living room and sat. It gazed lovingly at a well-worn holoprojection and sat there for minutes, silent and contemplative. And just when Leia—the real Leia, the one watching from behind the tears welling in her eyes—knew she would get up and tread lightly to the database—
She didn't.
Instead, a fuzzy, blue Artoo rolled forward, chittering at her, and she responded in kind. "Not yet, silly droid."
Artoo's image bleeped at her.
"I can't sleep."
Another beep.
"Stop keeping track of my sleeping patterns. It's unsettling."
Vader fast-forwarded the conversation to the point where she and Artoo got up, then watched pointedly as Leia's fuzzy form drifted down the hall—the wrong hall.
"There must be more," Vader said, turning the dial and speeding through the remainder of the recording.
"Afraid not," her father said after the images morphed into the present.
Vader collapsed the hologram and pointed a threatening finger. "Somebody accessed your scanner last night, Viceroy."
"Perhaps we were hacked?" A shrug. "I hear the Rebel forces are gleaning significant information from databases across the Empire."
"Gleaning, yes. But inserting information?"
Her father cocked his head. "I'm afraid that line of questioning is beyond me. I have no idea what the Rebels want, nor do I care. Alderaan is a peaceful place. We don't get involved in unnecessary wars. Now," he turned to Artoo, "Artoo, could you make sure Leia gets to her room while I escort Lord Vader off our lovely planet."
Weereeeeee!
"Thank you." Her father stepped toward the door and gestured. "After you, Lord Vader."
With that, Darth Vader disappeared into the hall.
Leia followed, but stopped at the doorway. Her father continued down the hall, but she remained behind, staring at Vader's back. Focusing on the sinewy black cloak clapping furiously against a pair of polished boots.
She couldn't take her eyes off him. Couldn't take her eyes off the man who'd murdered her mother and high-tailed it across the galaxy the moment a semblance of said woman's DNA resurfaced.
Padmé Amidala.
Why was Vader so keen to find a direct relation? And why did he care? What more could he want from a corpse? Or from her?
And to travel so far and return empty-handed. To leave without argument, without another word.
Especially after examining her closely. Tilting her head just so and resting his hand against her shoulder, uncharacteristically gentle.
It made her uneasy. Horribly, irrevocably uneasy.
And curious.
Vader and her father disappeared beyond a corner, and Artoo beeped. It ripped her from her thoughts.
"Thank you for changing the footage," Leia said, biting her lip. "You really saved me back there."
Artoo chirped, then rotated its head and started rolling down the hall. Blururuuuur.
"No way, Artoo. We're not going to my room."
Artoo stopped and turned back around. Blick blurk bleep?
The droid's question was so simple—Where are we going?—but so hard to explain. And after a lot of careful thought, Leia nodded, knowing exactly where she needed to go. Knowing exactly what she needed to do.
Because, she concluded, taking one step forward, if nobody else would tell her about Padmé after nearly a decade of asking—even non-verbally—maybe...
Well, maybe he would.
Blick blurk bleep?
Artoo repeated its question, and Leia looked at her oldest companion. "I'm going to the hanger. You're going to my room."
Wer weeeeeee!
"I'm serious, Artoo. I've got to do something, and I've got to do it now before I lose my only chance."
Blerp bleep?
"I'll tell you later, when I get back." Leia pushed a panel on a nearby wall; it popped out, and she held her nose, disgusted with another wretched smell. She entered and turned back around. "For now, I need you to stay behind and keep Dad distracted. Can you do that?"
The droid wiggled back and forth, then chirped.
"Excellent," Leia said. "I'll see you in a bit."
OoOoO
It was a bad idea. A horrible, terrible, no-good, very bad idea.
But she was going to do it anyway.
Leia bit her bottom lip and scanned the hanger, eyes peeking atop a multicolored variety of supply barrels.
She mouthed a curse.
The coast wasn't as clear as she would've liked. There were two of her father's armored guards standing watch by the shuttle's lift, then two more on either side of the hanger's main door, blasters at the ready and alert. Prepared for whatever command her mother or father decided to unleash, even if it meant their deaths.
And even though it was her own people guarding the Sith's ship, she knew she'd never get past. Not without a decent distraction.
So she cursed again, slumped against the barrels, and mumbled incoherently until she heard it.
The telltale beeps of a droid.
Familiar beeps.
Leia peeked above the barrels and smiled at the astromech pitter-puttering across the hanger floor, toward the nearest pair of guards. Another droid was tailing it, stumbling unnaturally forward with one golden arm raised like it was in the midst of an argument.
"Artoo," Threepio said, gaining ground as its cohort rolled to a stop, "this is against protocol."
Bleep blurp wurggle.
Threepio gasped. "Oh! Such foul language. You really should get your chips checked." Threepio paused and looked around with its white-shaded eyes. "Now, why have you brought us to the hanger?"
"We'd like to know that, too," a guard said as he approached, holstering his blaster. "Under strict orders, nobody's supposed to be here right now." He folded his arms across his chest. "Droids included."
Artoo frantically beeped out a curious story as another guard approached. Threepio stared, bewildered, then began relaying the information.
"My friend says that Princess Leia is causing trouble again. And that this time—oh my!" Threepio leaned forward. "Are you sure?" Artoo beeped and Threepio's gaze returned to the pair of guards. "And that this time, she's in mortal danger!"
The guards turned, regarded each other, then looked at Artoo. "You serious?"
Bleep blurp bleeeeeeep! Whurgle whurgle whurgle.
"Okay, okay. Sheesh. There's no reason to get your wires in such a twist. We'll check it out the moment Vader's gone."
Weeeee wruuuuuu!
"Okay, okay. We're going, we're going." The leader of the four-man team hailed the remaining two guards over, then they disappeared into the hall as a squared unit, footsteps clanging against the metal floors.
Threepio trailed after them, shouting, "This way, this way!" even though he was significantly behind.
And when everybody was long gone, Leia stood from her hiding place. Artoo chirped.
"Artoo," she whispered, watching it warily, "what're you up to?"
Blerurur.
"Helping me?" She frowned. "Well I don't need your help, you silly droid. I'm perfectly capable of doing this by myself."
Werweeeeeee!
Leia scoffed. "I would'a got past them! You didn't even give me a chance!" She folded her arms and stepped onto the incline of Vader's shuttle.
Bleep bleep.
"No way, Artoo. You're not coming along. You're staying here, remember? Somebody's got to keep Dad distracted."
Blur weee.
"Threepio can't—"
The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway made her tremble.
Vader was coming. Quickly, too.
She bolted up the ramp with Artoo at her heels.
She couldn't argue with the droid anymore, so she shoved it into a utility closet and crawled in beside it, silently cursing its near-constant chitter.
"Shush up, Artoo. You're going to get us caught."
Bleep blurp blerururur.
"This is not a terrible idea." She hit the droid. Hard. Hard enough for the sound to resonate and hurt her hand. Then she hissed. "He knew her, Artoo. Knew all about her. So maybe if I tag along and get him alone, he'll tell me what he knows. Ya know, without Mom or Dad getting in the way this time."
Whurrrg ururrrrg ururrrrg.
"Ugh. Stop saying that. This is foolproof—not terrible." She rolled her eyes. "And we're not gonna die."
Weer weeeee!
"Well you didn't have to come along! I would've been fine by myself."
Bleep bleep blepp.
"Keep it up and I'll scrap you the moment we get back. Mark my words, Artoo. Mark my words." Leia shoved the droid into the closet wall. "Now move. You're crushing my ankle."
Bleep blurp bleep.
"Apology not accepted." She paused as heavy footsteps reverberated through the steel floor. "Someone's coming," she whispered. "Now shush up; for real this time."
The footsteps got loud, then stopped. And for a moment, Leia expected the door to whoosh open. She anticipated being drug from the closet, kicking and screaming as Vader's menacing, vice-like grip clutched her collar and shoved her out.
But when the footsteps suddenly receded, she let out a breath.
She felt the shuttle stir and lift. And then, just like that, she was leaving Alderaan.
In Sith Lord Darth Vader's ship.
