Operation Citadel

Chapter Four

Cracks in the Foundation

As you can imagine, Bail Organa was terrified when he heard about our meeting with Vader. At the time, it was odd how paranoid he sounded. He demanded to know absolutely every word that was said, and a detailed play by play on how Vader had treated Leia.

Of course, years later, she and I would come to understand his anxiety. That had been the very first moment Leia had ever spoken to her birth father. I can only imagine the distress Bail Organa had been under when he was trying to determine if Vader had figured out he had sired the mouthy princess in front of him.

As you can also imagine, Bail Organa was impressed with my little maneuver to protect Leia. Who knows what would have happened if I hadn't stepped between Vader and Leia? I remember Bail's reaction to the news that I had protected Leia. He smiled that warm, supportive, fatherly smile that I would never get from my own father, and simply said, "You've got the job."

So, I spent the next two years as Leia's assistant. I traveled frequently between Coruscant, Alderaan, and a dozen more planets. She didn't make the trips as a Senator; Leia wouldn't make her actual bid for Senator of Alderaan until she was fifteen, and I was long gone to the Rebel Alliance. Instead we spent that time studying Bail's politics, making political allies, and generally coming to understand how the galaxy worked.

And as I travelled from planet to planet, I started to see the cracks form. Yes, I was still a die-hard Imperialist, but as I matured I started to see another perspective. I remember having to constantly ask Bail to explain situations that seemed lack common sense. Why were there so many homeless people on such a thriving planet like Naboo? Why did the Senate vote on issues when the Emperor had the final say? Why was the most encouraged career path for young men and women to join the army?

Though the Organas were Rebels, they never revealed that to me. Sure, they would hint at it from time to time, usually accompanied by a mysterious smile and carefully worded response to shift the treason from themselves (see my earlier conversation with Bail regarding the bust of the Emperor.) Yet they never said anything directly to me. I still loved the Empire too much, and ergo, could not be trusted. But ever since I stepped between Leia and Vader, the Organas decided that somehow, someway, they were going to bring me over to their side.

It wasn't exactly ethical how they did it… at least not how they meant to do it. As I stated previously, Brendan's death would be the catalyst for my defection, but originally the Organas had a different plan. Essentially, they tried to win my loyalty through gifts and praise.

As Princess Leia Organa's personal aide, I had an image to portray. They gave me the finest clothing to wear when I accompanied Leia in a public capacity. They presented me jewelry and accessories that cost far more credits than I was worthy to wear. (Although maybe that's just a Skywalker and/or Amidala thing. You would not believe how much I pay for the insurance on the engagement ring Luke gave me.) On trips, I stayed in the finest rooms of the finest hotels and palaces, though they usually had a connecting door to Leia's chambers. We dined at five star restaurants, attended exclusive events, and Bail even hired the very best tutors for me to get my schooling (my father had worked out with Bail that I would receive a proper education and I had my lessons whenever Leia had hers.)

In other words, I had a very glamorous life between the ages of fourteen and sixteen. Far more glamourous than maybe a teenager should have, and I'm sure it did corrupt me in some areas. That, however, started to backfire as the Organas showed me the best of the Empire, making me think that it was a wonderful place with no issues whatsoever. So they doubled down on their other method of conversion.

It wasn't just through physical objects that I started coming over to their side. Bail Organa gave me something Father never would; unconditional love and support. At home with Alaric, praise was reserved for the finest achievements, criticism came with every conversation, and opinions were only given when requested. Perhaps that is why Brendan and I became so sarcastic; it was the only way we could speak our minds. It must also be the reason that now as an adult I do not put up with anyone's nonsense. If you are doing something stupid, or wrong, or evil, I will call you on it.

Bail praised every single one of my accomplishments, gave me constructive feedback only when I truly needed it, and constantly asked my opinion. I started to find my voice, and I started to find myself. Not some silly little girl who rambled like an idiot in front of important people and adored the Empire. I still didn't know who I was, but I was learning who I was not.

I had a strong bond with Leia. I never really got along with women for some reason, and I still don't, but I think that might just be because I've spent most of my life around men. Yet things were different with Leia. She had lost her mother the year before my hiring, and as such I found her looking up to me as a sort of big sister.

Despite our differences, we learned and matured together. We learned how to do our hair and makeup and how to dress for events, but we also learned politics, self-defence fighting, and how to stand up for ourselves. In an interesting reversal of our future roles, I was the one who often told Leia to back down or knock it off when she was getting herself in too much trouble, or even when she was just beating a dead horse.

We started fawning over boys around the same time, though certainly not over the same boy. Fun fact: Leia's first crush was my brother, Brendan. I can't blame her, he was tall, strong, handsome, had brown hair, blue eyes, an easy-going attitude, and a killer smile. But unlike Leia, nothing incestuous ever happened between my brother and I.

Much to Leia's pleasure, Brendan spent quite a bit of time with us. Whenever we were on the same planet together, Brendan would stay with us. Even when we were on Coruscant, Brendan and I would hang out with the Organa family rather than our father (though he was rarely on Coruscant at that point.) I would tease Brendan that he returned the crush Leia had on him, but he would laugh and point out that she was seven years younger than him and it would never work with that age difference (cue Leia later marrying a man ten years her senior.)

Even though I couldn't figure out the reason, I knew Brendan was getting restless. He wanted as little to do with Imperial business as possible. I thought he was just tired after his tours of duty and wanted to distance himself from work on his time off, but it was so much more. I can't imagine the horrors Brendan was forced to not only witness, but commit as a Stormtrooper. One looks at those white armored people and see nothing but faceless oppressors. But not me; every time I see a Stormtrooper, I'm reminded that each one of those men and women were people like Brendan who were loved by people like me.

How many lives was he forced to take? How many brave acts of Rebellion did he stamp out? How many people did he harm for standing up for themselves?

As I travelled the galaxy, revelling in the glamour of the Empire, Brendan was wading in the hideousness of it. Starving people, homeless people, oppression, abuse, evil; and he was forced to do it to them. He would come home to me each time a little more dead inside. A little quieter, the bags heavier under his eyes, his smile drooping a little bit more, and looking me in the eyes a little less each time.

I couldn't understand why he was so sad. Wasn't the Empire enough?

But my father knew the truth; he knew the horrors of the Empire as well as Brendan. But Alaric didn't despise them as his son did, in fact he took joy in creating more.

Now, please don't get me wrong; I do not think my father was a sadist. He did not see the construction of the Death Star as "yes, I love watching millions of people die horrible deaths and take pleasure out of it." Alaric saw it as a necessary evil, that a small sacrifice of millions was allowed on behalf of the betterment of trillions.

But I cannot share with you his thoughts and reasoning for what he did. I can't tell you how he justified to himself building that atrocity they called the Death Star. Father and I never gained closure on that issue. I never asked him for his perspective on the matter, and I have spent so many sleepless nights wondering about it.

I loved my father, but he wasn't a good father. As we spent more time apart, I became more of an object to brag about. "Oh yes, that beautiful, poised, respectful young lady who accompanies the Princess of Alderaan is my daughter." He loved the image of me as this richly dressed, refined, sophisticated, Imperial loving, figure of power. Image was everything, especially as he climbed the ranks of Imperial power.

He didn't dare imagine I would ever embarrass him, and he certainly never imagined that I would betray him.

And I wouldn't.

He would betray me.

My relationship was my father started to fail the day I turned sixteen. Brendan was off on a tour of duty, and the Organas gave me the week off to celebrate on Coruscant however I wanted. My father was on-world, so using my connection to the Organas, I booked a table at one Coruscant's finest restaurants and told my father that I was going to take him out to lunch. I was earning a nice wage from the Organas and I was proud to finally be able to buy my father a nice lunch. He had been working very hard lately, and I thought he deserved a treat.

Father agreed that we would go for a nice lunch on my birthday, so that day I dressed up extra nicely. I wore a nice dress Leia had gotten me for the Naboo festival of light a few months previous. It was a little bit lowcut, but nothing that should have caused a problem. After all, I am not exactly a large chested woman, but I do noticeably have breasts, even if they're smaller.

"How do I look?" Felicity asked coming into the living room where her father waited. It had taken her over an hour to get ready, but she was extremely proud of how she looked. She had spent so much time and effort into getting her hair, makeup, and outfit just right. "Don't I look great?"

Alaric's eyes immediately went to the dress's neckline, "That's a little lowcut."

Felicity blinked, unexpecting the answer and looked down, "Oh, I guess. Sorry, I thought since my necklace is so large that it would cover enough."

Alaric said nothing but slowly walked over to his daughter. The scrutinizing expression on his father made Felicity straighten her posture and put her hands behind her back so he could properly examine her. Alaric frowned as he reached Felicity. He hooked two fingers under her necklace and lifted it to take a closer look.

It was a rule Felicity always despised. In the Rhiaon household, Alaric was allowed to touch his children however and whenever he wanted. He would never do it in a sexual manner, and he never struck them, but neither Felicity or Brendan could revoke consent. Alaric could, and had, adjust their appearance however he wanted. He pushed on their spines to straighten their posture, lifted their chins to make them look him in the eye, pushed down on their shoulders to force them to sit, and thrust up their jaws to close their mouths and make them stop talking. He took off their coats, jewelry, and accessories. He undid the styling of their hair, and wiped off Felicity's makeup if he though she was wearing too much. He removed and unloaded Brendan's blasters, and put on his army issued jacket whenever Brendan wore his civilian clothes.

Image is everything, he would tell them, and they would be the image of whatever Alaric wanted.

Years later, Luke Skywalker would ask Felicity why she had chosen to get her four tattoos. She would tell him that the letters FN-2187 on her wrist was to never forget her failure to save the child she attempted to rescue from the First Order. The Alliance starbird on her right shoulder had been forced on her by Imperials to brand her as a rebel. But the rest – the altering of the starbird into the crest of Luke's Rogue Squadron, the word Brendan on her right ankle, and the words Rey of Light over her heart – had been her way to gain agency over her body.

Agency her father disallowed.

Felicity bit her lip as Alaric analyzed the necklace.

"Where did you get this?" Alaric asked. "The Organas?"

Accusation riddled his voice. It never did sit right with Alaric when Bail Organa bought Felicity things Alaric couldn't afford. That wasn't to say Alaric didn't earn a lot of money, he had a more than decent paycheck. But what was the salary of an Imperial Technician (even if it was the highest ranking technician) next to that of royalty.

"I bought it with my own money," Felicity reported, choosing next to acknowledge her father's jealousy.

Alaric arched a brow, "And how much did you pay for it?"

The question behind it was clear; had she wasted thousands of credits on one piece of jewelry when she should be saving it for important things?

"Fifteen credits," Felicity answered. At her father's shocked expression, Felicity explained, "It's paste."

"Paste?" Alaric questioned.

"Costume jewelry," Felicity clarified. "Fake. Not real diamonds."

"I see," Alaric said coolly.

"I know, Leia would kill me if she found out," Felicity laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

Alaric made no response.

"So," Felicity looked down at the ground. "Is it okay?"

She felt a hand lifting her chin and she was forced to look in her father's eyes.

"What do we do during conversations?" Alaric prompted.

"Always look the person you're speaking to in the eyes," Felicity recited.

"Correct." Alaric removed his hands from his daughter and walked over to the closet to grab his coat, "You are allowed to leave the house looking like that."

"Thank you, Father," Felicity bit her lip. She wished he had said she looked as nice as she felt… or at least had felt a minute ago.

"You're welcome, but next time-"

"I will run my outfit by you first."

Felicity caught her father's look.

"And I will not interrupt you," Felicity said quickly.

"Good," Alaric nodded. "Now, come. And wear your blue jacket, not the red one."

"Actually, I was going to wear the black one." Felicity caught his look again, "But if you like the blue one better…"

"I do," Alaric's answer was short.

He watched as Felicity carefully put on her jacket under his watchful gaze, and immodest black jack hanging hidden away in the back of the coat closet. There was nothing inherently wrong with the jacket, but the cost and suggestive cut of the coat had always made Alaric despise it. It was far too tight for his daughter to wear in public, and frankly Alaric didn't even want to know how much Bail Organa had spent on it. Honestly, if it hadn't been a gift from a prince and part of Felicity's uniform, Alaric might have just burned the thing.

"You're going to love this restaurant, Father," Felicity was saying. "It has the best roast leek soup in the galaxy."

"I didn't know you liked roast leek soup," Alaric's voice was as dry and disinterested as ever. It was always hard to tell if Alaric was genuinely disinterested or just had an odd tone of voice.

"I didn't until Bail took me to this restaurant and ordered it for the table. I'm not even kidding, I would trade my firstborn for a bowl of this stuff."

"I see."

Actually that statement would become hilariously ironic years later when I was pregnant with said firstborn. Between the third and fifth months of my pregnancy with Rey I craved that soup so badly, the entirety of Temple Village pooled their resources to bribe the restaurant for the recipe and make enough batches to feed an army for a year just to get me to shut up about it.

… Although that may have been because I threatened to used my power as architect to exploit the weaknesses of the buildings in Temple Village, and collapse (or at least cause some damage) to a few of those buildings.

I don't think they took that seriously, though.

I hope.

"Do you think it's very professional to refer to your employer, especially a man which such power as yours, by his given name alone?" Alaric helped his daughter into her coat.

"I suppose not," Felicity admitted, not daring to admit that Bail had insisted she call him that. "But honestly, Father, this soup is very good."

"Then you'll have to ask for it the next time Senator Organa takes you. However, we are not dining in that restaurant today."

"What?" Felicity exclaimed.

"I canceled the reservation," Alaric said flatly. "My daughter will not be paying for her own meal on her date of birth, and the restaurant is not in our budget. I've made reservations at another restaurant, just as fancy, but with reasonable prices."

Felicity looked at her father in heartbroken loss, "But… this was my treat to you. I saved up for this. I wanted to show you…"

"Show me what?" Alaric prompted when she trialed off.

Felicity shook her head, "Never mind."

"Then let's get a move on. A Rhiaon is never late, not even for a lunch reservation."

Defeated, Felicity sighed and followed her father out the door without putting up a fight.

She didn't dare tell Alaric that she wanted to show him she was finally good enough.

It was a hollow thought: she would never be good enough.

Tensions had been raising increasingly with my father over the years, and my birthday lunch was only one of many times he broke my heart. But it was also the predecessor to the event that would finally break the bond between us.