She dreamed the night the second Death Star blew.

She dreamed of music, soft, rising in the air like embers. Lilting melodies, full, harmonious. A breath in her ear, warmth on her skin. Like silk against her palm but in fractals of sound: comforting. Songs that she knew, from Alderaan, from the Alliance. The thoughtless hum as a pilot worked on his ship. One musical movement with thousands of parts, one for every single being in the galaxy, alive or dead. Enormous and intimate, the most beautiful sound.

In daytime she awoke to starkissed skin, the warmth of a familiar set of arms, the muffled murmur of her name against her ear. Vivid green eyes peeked from a nest of eyelashes, the hint of an upturned lip, a basement-low rumble against her chest: don't have to be up yet, Princess. Go back to sleep.

So she went back to sleep. And her dream-eyes saw colors, bright and muted, a full spectrum: a balanced color wheel. And her fingers touched corporeal things, the textures and weight and shapes soothing against her skin. And her ears heard peaceful melody, soft and calming, full and glorious: exultant.

In daytime she freed the galaxy, tore the shackles of corruption and greed. And in her dreams, Leia had peace.


Author's Note: Written for Erin Darroch