Chapter One

Six months earlier, onboard the Mon Remonda

General Han Solo sat on the edge of the medical cot, resisting the urge to drum his fingernails on the metal edge as he waited impatiently for the Mon Calamari medical officer to peruse his medical records. Although he was loathe to admit it, Han Solo was genuinely afraid. He'd been undergoing test after test for months now, and every result had mystified the medics. Han being Han, he'd kept all this a secret from everyone close to him, Chewie and Leia included. Although keeping it a secret from the Princess had been fairly easy, since she was busy on a diplomatic mission to the reclusive Hapan colonies. It was hard to believe it had been over a year since Endor and the victory over the Empire, and in all that time, Han had seen his Princess for perhaps six weeks in total.

After a few minutes, Han spoke up, trying to sound confident. "You can fix whatever's wrong, right, doc? I'm just over-tired, that's all." His complaints, taken individually, were small. Dizziness, tingling in his fingers, blurry vision, headaches. But together, they added up to a lengthy, and worrisome, list.

Doctor Barric coughed nervously, rolling his bulbous eyes toward the human. "I don't know quite how to tell you this, General Solo…"

"Just give it to me straight. Whatever it is, I can deal with it once I know what the problem is."

"I'm sorry, but there isn't any easy way to say this. You're dying, General. And there is no cure I can come up with for a disease I've never seen before."

Han was alone in quarters, debating his limited options. Doctor Barric had given him six to eight months to live. It seemed surreal to the ex-smuggler that, after everything he'd already survived, he had been handed a death sentence just as his life was finally something he could be proud of, and after he'd gained a career that was respected. The Mon Calamari had guessed that Han's disease, which involved some complicated explanation involving his blood cells not reproducing, had been brought on by the Corellian's time frozen in carbonite. But it was just a guess, since Doctor Barric confirmed he couldn't be certain. His advice was to seek out more specialists, since perhaps, somewhere, someone could find a cure. He didn't sound optimistic about Han's chances though, and further recommended that blood transfusions might delay the inevitable.

There was no easy way Han could think of to break this news to either Leia or Chewie. Leia had already lost so much, and he agonized over adding to her personal losses.

The first thing he'd have to do would be to resign his commission, or Doctor Barric would be forced to inform the New Republic Council about his condition.

The next day

Han sat stone-faced as he watched his Princess accept the sixty gifts from the Hapans. When the foreign Prince offered himself to Leia, and the audience broke into applause, Han rose from his seat and calmly left the room, aware of the stares of spectators waiting for his reaction. General Solo would not give them the satisfaction of seeing the gut-wrenching hurt and betrayal he was experiencing.

Later, in Leia's apartment

The Princess looked over at Han, who was uncharacteristically very quiet. He looked so pale and drawn, and it was apparent he'd lost a great deal of weight, as well. She handed him a glass of ale, then sat beside him on the sofa.

"I've resigned my commission," he said suddenly.

The news startled her. "You're just tired. I'll ask Rieekan to change it to a leave of absence…"

"No," he said brusquely. "It's my decision. Just like marrying that Prince is yours." They'd just come back from having dinner with the Hapan Prince, who spent the evening alternating between ignoring the Corellian, or speaking to him like he was nothing more than a servant. Maybe that's what he truly was to Leia, he thought dourly. Either that, or a temporary place-holder for someone better, like Isolder. Could he have been mistaken all this time, believing that her love for him was real?

Leia's face flushed. "I didn't know he was going to do that. And I certainly haven't made up my mind to accept his proposal." The last part was a blatant lie, and Leia could tell she wasn't fooling Han.

"Yes, you have," Han said hoarsely, wanting nothing more than to take her far away, make her come to her senses and realize she still loved him. Han wanted to take her far enough away that there would be no Princes, no High Council pressuring her… no diseases. Nothing but the two of them, living happily ever after. But fairy tales were for Princesses, not smugglers. In a strange way, it was as though the Force was giving him a strange present – he could fade away from the scene, knowing Leia would be happy. His death would not be causing her endless grief, and for that he felt he should be grateful. Instead, he felt bitter and cheated out of what rightfully should have been his. He felt the next words would surely choke in his throat. "Do you love him?"

"He's… nice."

"You like nice men."

"I suppose I do," she answered, rubbing her fingers together nervously.

Han stood, fighting down a surge of anger at the injustice of what was happening. "I hope he makes you happy." That part, at least, was true. If he couldn't spend the next thirty years with Leia, and he knew he couldn't, then she needed someone else in her life.

"And I hope you have a nice life, Han," Leia said, her chin trembling. A small voice in her heart was crying out, telling her she was making the biggest mistake of her life. But I can't think of myself, or even about Han. I have to think about the future of the New Republic.

The Corellian nodded, his face flushed and his heart hammering. It took all of his will-power not to breakdown, to have his voice not crack when he spoke the words, "Thanks, Princess." And with that, Han Solo turned and walked out of the Princess's life forever.

The Millennium Falcon came to a stop over the city planet of Corucscant, and Chewie watched his partner staring down at the sparkling lights far below.

*Why did you not fight for her?* the Wookiee asked softly.

"She's a Princess," Han replied, his throat tight with grief. "She'll be happier with him than with me."

*You know that is not the truth,* Chewie chastised lightly, worried at his long-time friend's physical and emotional state. *You've been upset for quite some time. Something is the matter, and do not try to deny it again. You would never quietly step aside for this vainglorious prince under normal circumstances.*

Han swiveled his seat toward the Wookiee, the Corellian's face paler and much thinner than Chewie could ever recall. "I'll tell you after we make the jump," Han promised, wanting to put off giving his partner the terrible news for as long as possible.

The two pilots turned their attention back to the controls, and silently watched the stars blur as the battered old ship leapt into hyperspace.

Six weeks later….

Hapes

Princess Leia sat on a small pink velvet divan, looking out over the beautiful royal courtyard. Even from her window several stories above the ground, she could smell the sweet scent of the various flowers mingling with the cool, evening mist. She stared down at the beautiful and costly engagement ring that she'd accepted from Isolder. It seemed surreal to her that her wedding was being planned, and she was going to marry a man she didn't love. But it's for a good cause. A righteous cause. I'm doing what's best for the galaxy.

Why was it so very hard to convince herself?