A/N: Many, many thanks to both DiplomaticPrincess and DigiSpright for beta reading this chapter!
The overnight shift had been tremendously dull. Leia knew that no news was generally good news when it came to hearing from Home One, their soldiers out on missions, or their contractors, but it also made for a boring time in the Command Center. She'd spent the night monitoring incoming reports with a singular communications officer — Toryn Farr — and a sleep-deprived ensign who Leia chose not to wake when he nodded off halfway through their shift. The only thing of interest that occurred during the night were reports that one of the two freighters set to deliver supplies that day would most likely be landing shortly after Leia's shift ended, which was convenient, since she'd planned to meet them as soon as they arrived regardless.
She always met the Millennium Falcon when it landed. If she was on-duty, she met any freighter that happened to arrive to go over shipping manifests and rally ground crew or any pilots who had recently complained of boredom to unload supplies. The Falcon was the only ship she tended to board even long after her shift had ended. She worried about Han and Chewie when they were gone, especially during long or complicated supply runs. She'd been on a few runs with them herself, and those experiences hadn't made her less nervous for their safety.
"Nothing from Home One," Leia told Carlist during her end-of-shift debrief. She glanced at Toryn every so often as they reviewed her notes from the night.
"No news from our scouts on Pothor?" Carlist asked.
She shook her head, again glancing at the communications officer. "Nothing yet. A couple of our ships on supply runs are set to come back today. One this morning, one this afternoon."
"I take it the Millennium Falcon is the one slated for this morning?"
Leia bit her lip and nodded. "Yes." How did he guess?
"—Falcon, you're cleared to land."
Leia looked from the communications officer back to Carlist. "I can check in with Captain Solo and make sure supplies are unloaded," she offered. "I've still got a couple of minutes on the clock."
The general smiled gently. "You're off the clock, but if you're headed that way anyway and want to rally a team to unload, Janson and Klivian have had far too much energy for pranks lately."
Leia chuckled. "Noted."
It was pouring down — no lightning, no thunder, just relentless rain and dreary gray skies. Leia pulled the hood on her jacket over her hair and headed toward the clearing in the woods that served as a small landing pad for the contracted ships. The Falcon had landed — apparently within the past minute or two because the ramp was still up and Leia could hear the engines winding down. She stood at the edge of the clearing, intending to use the trees as partial protection from the rain for as long as possible.
It took longer than usual for the ramp to lower and Leia stared at the spot where she'd see Han's boots appear if all had gone as planned. Boots meant he was walking, which meant he wasn't injured — or at least wasn't injured badly. And though there had been no calls for medics to meet them, no indication that the mission had been anything other than successful, Leia still caught herself holding her breath, waiting to catch sight of his boots.
Han's voice on her comm startled her. "Will you get in here? It's pouring out there."
She smiled and walked calmly to the ship and up the ramp, grimacing when she noticed the muddy boot prints that trailed behind her. "It's not any worse than any other day on this planet," she said as she walked through the entrance.
"Yeah, well, I'm havin' a good hair day. Don't wanna ruin it," Han called from somewhere in the ship.
Leia pushed her hood down and debated sliding her boots off — they were covered in mud — but reasoned that mud would be tracked throughout the ship while unloading anyway. She kept them on as she moved toward Han's voice.
He was in one of the lower cargo holds with Chewie, digging through a crate. "Got 'em!" Han said, hoisting a bottle triumphantly above his head.
Leia peered first at the bottle of sparkling wine, then inside the crate where there sat dozens more exactly like it. "You found some," she said in surprise.
"Just in time. Not the best quality, but it was in budget," Han said, handing her the bottle for approval.
She inspected the label — it was a cheap Andoan wine Leia knew to not be particularly strong — and nodded. "It'll do for a New Year's toast. I doubt anyone will complain when they've been drinking jetjuice all year. Thank you."
"You just clock out?" he asked, sliding the lid back on the crate. "Coulda sworn I heard you on the comms a coupla hours ago."
Leia nodded. "Worked an overnight. Told Carlist I'd check the shipment out for him, make sure it gets unloaded."
[We can handle this, Princess], Chewie said. Leia caught concern in his tone. [You should go enjoy your off hours.]
She furrowed her brow and tilted her head slightly in confusion. "I am," she said simply. She liked being with them; liked hearing their banter and feeling as if her presence was desired; she even liked the ship, despite how much she teased Han about its general state of existence.
"Got somethin' else for later, but it's a secret," Han said mysteriously. He tilted his head slightly, indicating she should follow him. Intrigued, Leia trotted a couple of steps to catch up and followed him into the lounge.
He pulled two bottles from a cabinet. "Looked for that fancy teal wine you talked about but didn't see it, and people are startin' to get more cagey when I ask about Alderaanian goods."
Leia furrowed her brow. "Toniray wine? Han, you do not need to look for that. I don't even like it that much, and it was expensive before."
"Keeping an eye out for it costs nothin'. Anyway, this ain't wine at all. But considering you and Antilles keep drinkin' my whiskey, I thought I'd pick up some decent quality stuff."
She looked at the bottles and nodded with a small smile. Han's comments, per usual, were mostly bluster. She and Wedge had attempted to chip in for the whiskey they'd consumed on multiple occasions and had only been successful twice. Both times had required slipping credits secretly to Chewie.
"I've got a secret," she said in a near-whisper. "I like whiskey better than most wine anyway."
Han scoffed. "Figured that out all on my own believe it or not."
Leia touched the seal on one of the bottles absently, brow furrowed. It took her a moment to fully process what Han had said about Alderaanian goods. "People are reacting poorly to mentions of Alderaan?"
His hesitation was confirmation, but Leia still wanted context. Han nodded slowly. "They're startin' to get kinda strange about being associated with Alderaan. At least the legal sellers. Black market's a whole different situation, but even then, I've had some warn me to be careful who I'm asking."
"Is being Alderaanian…" She wasn't sure how to finish the sentence. Outlawed? Can they outlaw the diaspora? She knew the Empire had blockaded the spot where Alderaan once sat — what some called the Graveyard, though Leia could not bring herself to refer to it as such. She'd heard rumors here and there, whisperings that appearing Alderaanian was risky, but Leia had spent such a large portion of the ten months since the Death Star on Outer Rim outposts attending to Alliance business that she wasn't sure what was just rumor and what was reliable information. She learned about Alderaanian-related news along with the rest of High Command. She hadn't mustered up the fortitude to do any special research, and she did everything she could to not linger on the fact that she was so disconnected from those she was supposed to lead.
"It's a tense topic on the outside."
She wanted to ask Han what he meant by tense, to find out what was affecting the remnants of her people who weren't in hiding. Are there any? If it's a tense topic, if appearing Alderaanian is a problem, are they all in hiding in one way or another?
How disappointed her mother would be that Leia didn't know the answers to any of those questions.
I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry, she thought. The silent apology did nothing to lift the burden of her failure.
Leia brushed her thumb over the label on the whiskey bottle. It was Corellian, that much she could work out, but she knew nothing of quality or type when it came to hard liquor. "This looks good," she said, handing the bottle back to him.
"Ain't million-credit teal wine, but it's better than what I normally have on hand. I think you'll like it."
Leia rolled her eyes but shot him a smile. "I'm sure I will. I'll go grab a few hands to help unload everything."
Han waved her off. "Let me an' Chewie get it. Don't want any of them getting wind of the wine early. They'll start begging us for samples."
Leia chuckled and had to speak through a yawn. "All right, then."
"Get some rest, Highness." He patted her shoulder.
Leia didn't argue. She didn't want to leave, but she knew she'd regret it in the evening if she avoided sleep. Satisfied with Han and Chewie's finds and safe return, she made her way to her quarters to try to get a few hours of rest before she was expected in the mess hall. She was off the clock until the first of the New Year celebrations started, at which point she had to at least make an appearance. The majority of the galaxy would be celebrating New Year Fete for the entire week, and while the Renatasia outpost was restricting itself to one event per shift, Leia had organized all of them. She had promised Carlist and Jan that she would show up for at least a portion of each party.
She collapsed on her bunk without unpinning her hair or even undressing completely, and when she woke hours later, her head ached badly. Leia pulled pins out of her braids, the loosening of strands releasing pressure on her scalp. Studying herself in the tiny mirror that hung on the wall next to her bunk, she tried to decide on a hairstyle for the evening.
She had worn some version of her most practical crown braids since enlisting, which made sense considering the amount of running around she had to do. But, sometimes during her off hours on days when her parents felt very, very far away, when the protective, numb coating that kept her moving forward settled over her long enough to feel permanent, she would try to recreate some of her mother's more elaborate styles. No one else saw them; Leia had used the practice to keep her mother and people close to her heart. Following her earlier conversation with Han, following the guilt she felt for not being as aware as a Corellian smuggler was about the state of her people, Leia wanted to do something that made her feel Alderaanian, at least for the night.
At home, her attendant droid, TooVee, was often tasked with braiding her hair for events, but Leia had many memories of sitting at her mother's feet while Breha carefully untangled her hair before arranging it in intricate styles. She closed her eyes and tried to remember which style her mother had chosen the last time she had braided Leia's hair. It hadn't been that long ago — she had been home for New Year Fete Week, so only a year. Leia had fallen feverish the night after their largest event and extended her stay in the palace until she was no longer ill. Her father was called away on Alliance business immediately following the holiday week, and in his absence, Breha told Leia to sleep in their bed so she could keep an eye on her.
"I'm really okay, Mom," Leia said, though her muscles ached and chills racked her body. "Probably just a flu. I can manage with TooVee in my room."
"Or you can humor your ancient mother and let her look after you," Breha said, dark eyes sparkling.
It took little persuading for Leia to settle into her parents' bed, hair damp from sweat. She was glad for the fireplace in her parents' room, glad for her mother's hand brushing over her forehead and cheek, and glad that Breha understood how dull it was, being too ill to do much but well enough to remain awake and bored. She knew the feeling better than Leia did. Breha had spent a lot of time under constant medical supervision when her pulmonodes had first been put in.
"Celly would braid my hair when I had to stay in bed and was in too much pain to do it myself," Breha said as they sat in front of the fire one evening. Leia had chosen a spot on a fluffy floor cushion next to Breha's chair with hopes that her mother would brush through her hair for her. Her head ached and Breha's touch always seems to make it better.
Leia rested her cheek against her mother's thigh. "Will you braid mine? It's sticking to my neck."
Breha stroked Leia's hair gently. "Of course, sweetheart."
The memory took over Leia's mind, but details slipped away. She knew her mother had braided her hair that night, knew she'd put it up in some sort of four-strand braid, but she couldn't recall the details. She wasn't sure how many braids had made up the style or what occasion it was traditionally worn for. Breha had told her as she'd brushed and braided Leia's hair, but Leia only remembered the feel of her mother's dexterous fingers weaving her hair into something far more complicated than seemed possible and the satisfied smile she'd worn when she viewed her completed handiwork.
"You should wear it like this to the gala." Leia heard Breha's words echo in her mind as she tried to recall the style. After many minutes spent with eyes closed and brow furrowed, attempting to visualize the brief glimpse she'd had of the style in her mother's hand mirror, Leia was forced to admit defeat. She opted for a much less elaborate style she knew well, allowing herself to cry over memories both pain-filled and lost to time as she worked her hair into two looped braids and a simple bun. Leia wiped her tears and suppressed any remaining sobs as she looked over the results. The style wasn't one that most on base had seen — it was hardly appropriate for running drills, but it was considered festive and would work just fine for showing her face at a party. Most importantly, it felt undeniably Alderaanian.
She emerged from her cramped quarters right as the first of the celebrations was set to start and made her way through pouring rain to the mess hall. Leia had a rule for these sorts of things — she stuck around for a quarter of the length of the entire event. She needed to look friendly and pleased to be celebrating for one hour this time.
She made her rounds, collecting and then losing Shara and Luke as she went and making mental notes to check up on any soldiers she saw wearing particularly weary expressions. Leia might not talk to them herself — it depended on her relationship with them — but she'd find a way to make sure they were okay.
After nearly an hour of forcing herself to mingle and smile, she spotted Han lounging near the south side of the mess hall, his back against the wall in the spot where they usually met once they were both done with the crowd. Leia made her way to the smuggler and settled in next to him, her hands resting between the small of her back and the wall. Han shifted his weight and his elbow brushed against hers. He lowered his head toward her ear and Leia tilted her head slightly to hear him better.
"Like the hair."
Leia smiled, pleased that someone had taken notice that it was different, though she doubted Han knew the significance of any Alderaanian hair traditions. She had never shared them with him at least. "Thank you. I used to wear it like this to parties sometimes in my former life."
"Suits you." She wasn't sure how to respond to that proclamation, and Han didn't wait long for a response before changing the topic entirely. "Was thinkin' of heading back to the Falcon for that whiskey here in a few. Already told the kid and Antilles and Bey."
Leia nodded before checking her chrono. "I need to stick around for thirteen more minutes."
Han shook his head and she looked up just in time to see the end of an eye roll. "Kriff, Princess, they really timing how long you stay at a party?'
She snorted. "No, I planned to stay for an hour. You don't have to wait for me, you know."
"I'm not waitin' for you. Just making sure you don't end up needing rescued."
It was Leia's turn to roll her eyes. "I think if we've learned anything, it's that I'm perfectly capable of rescuing myself."
"Oh, sure, unless a blizzard's involved."
She glared at him. The subject wasn't so sore that she couldn't joke about it, but Han was venturing onto thin ice. "One time." She shook her head at his lopsided grin. "Well, I'm making it my New Year's aspiration to go on more off-world missions this year, so I guess we'll see how often I actually need rescuing." She had decided in a hasty moment of penitence as she braided her hair to make gaining a better understanding of what was happening to her fellow Alderaanians her aspiration, but that would require more off-world missions, so Leia counted what she said as mostly true and didn't bother explaining the motivation.
"New Year's aspiration?"
Leia tilted her head, unsure if his question was genuine. Alderaan was hardly unique in adopting the tradition of making goals for the following year during New Year Fete Week. Han's expression was borderline unreadable, and Leia got the distinct feeling he was trying to solve his boredom with the party by baiting her into a sparring match. She decided to treat the inquiry as serious regardless.
"Yes, we usually take the time to make a few goals for the upcoming year, and as much as I'd like mine to be burn the Empire to the ground, I'm trying to be realistic." She arched an eyebrow. "Have you never made a goal for the new year?"
Han shook his head and stepped away from the wall. "Nah, we did New Year's bets." He took a step toward the exit, touching her elbow as he passed by, the idea that Leia might need rescuing apparently no longer a concern.
Leia raised her eyebrows. "New Year's bets?" She'd never heard of such a tradition, but it sounded…positively Corellian.
Han glanced back with a mischievous smile. "Tell ya on the ship," he said before walking away.
She looked at her chrono. She still intended to stay for a few minutes, and decided to spend those minutes rounding up Luke, Shara, and Wedge. Chewie was with the three pilots along with several officers whose jaws seemed to tighten in Leia's presence. She managed to pull Luke and Chewie away with promises from Wedge and Shara that they'd join them shortly.
Once they were aboard the Falcon, Leia headed straight to the lounge and picked up the conversation where Han had left it. "New Year's bets?"
Han handed her a glass of whiskey without answering. "There's that ale you like in the conservator, Luke."
Luke grinned. "Thanks!"
Leia stared at Han until he finally looked at her, tilting his head toward the booth. "Have a seat, Worship. Stay awhile."
If Leia had learned anything over the past ten months, it was that, when Han Solo dramatically dragged out an explanation, the topic itself was utterly banal. She likely could guess what New Year's bets were — the name was self-explanatory — but the very fact that he had ignored her requests for an explanation only made her want him to explain more. And he knows that, she reminded herself. He's just trying to be annoying.
Leia slid into the booth behind the dejarik table and took a sip of whiskey before setting the glass down. It was smoother than the liquor Han usually stocked, and she pursed her lips, considering whether or not she wanted to give him a hard time about obviously going out of his way to buy drinks they would enjoy. She decided to let the kindness slide.
Luke sat on her right while Chewie made himself comfortable on a nearby bench. Han sat across from Leia, setting the open bottle of whiskey on the holochess table that separated them. He sipped at his own glass and still didn't answer Leia's question.
She turned to Luke. "Did you make New Year aspirations on Tatooine?"
Luke furrowed his brow and shook his head. "Not aspirations, no. We were usually just thankful to have made it through another year."
"As you should be in that place," Han muttered.
Leia glared at him and squeezed Luke's arm gently. "Go on, Luke. Ignore him."
Luke shrugged. He still smiled at her, but seemed slightly deflated. "It wasn't really anything more than that. We made lists of what we were thankful for that year and shared them with family."
"I think that's nice," Leia said. She took a moment to think, wanting to participate in Luke's tradition somehow. The year had been full of heartache and dreadful, awful events, but she knew there were things to be grateful for. "I'm thankful we destroyed the Death Star," she said. "And that we haven't had to move in six months."
Luke took a sip from his bottle of ale, his movements tense as if he wasn't sure he wanted to join in.
To Leia's relief, Chewie spoke up. [I am thankful we have been given a chance to fight for something good. And that I have been able to speak to Malla and Lumpawaroo more often this year than in the past.]
Leia smiled gently. Chewie's wife and son seemed to be painful topics, so she was glad any time he felt comfortable enough to mention them. "I'm sure they're thankful for that, too," she said.
"I'm glad I was able to talk to Ben about my father, about being a Jedi," Luke said. "Even if…" He trailed off and stared at the ale bottle he held before looking up, his gaze bouncing between Han, Chewie, and Leia. "And I'm thankful I met all of you."
Leia squeezed Luke's arm again and focused her gaze on Han. He raised an eyebrow, opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of whatever it was and refrained.
"What about you, Han?" she asked, her tone light, but her eyes shooting daggers.
Han finished off his glass of whiskey and poured another. "It stopped pourin' for a good hour earlier today," he said. Leia raised an eyebrow. Really? He shifted uncomfortably. "Pretty glad we've been able to keep the Falcon in good shape. Work's been good, too." He punctuated the statement with a long sip of his drink, clearly conveying that he wouldn't be saying any more.
"So," Leia began, focusing on Han again. "New Year's bets?"
He chuckled and shook his head. "You have really built this up in your head."
She scowled and kicked at his shin lightly. "You're the one who said something cryptic and immediately walked away from me."
Han gestured to himself, an expression of insincere bafflement on his face. "Who, me? That doesn't sound like somethin' I'd do." He paused just long enough to cross into melodramatic territory before saying, "They're exactly what they sound like. We all pick something we think will happen during the year and place a bet on it. Can't be anything you're in control of, though."
"And the bets are for money?" Leia asked.
Han shot her an easy, relaxed grin. "What else?"
"You expect to still be hanging around here in a year to collect?"
He shrugged carelessly. "How 'bout this: if I'm not, you can have whatever I win."
If I'm even here.The thought hit Leia out of nowhere. She hadn't given much thought to the future outside of ensuring missions were well-planned and likely to succeed. A full year out…I'll probably be dead.
"You're assuming an awful lot," she teased. "Didn't know you could see the future."
"I bet we'll have the Empire beat," Luke said suddenly.
"These are bets, not wishes," Han said dryly.
Luke bristled. "We're starting to move into the Mid. It's only a matter of time."
Leia's chest tightened hearing of Luke's trust in their mission. She didn't have the heart to verbalize her much more realistic assessment of the situation. They were moving into the Mid Rim, which was a promising endeavor. They'd made a lot of headway since the destruction of the Death Star. But the Empire was stronger and more insidious than most realized — even many in the Alliance weren't fully aware of how thoroughly they'd captured the allegiance of some worlds. And Luke hadn't seen the years and years of painstaking work that had led to the Death Star's defeat; he'd come in right as things were ramping up. He could never fully understand just how much time and effort went in to getting the Alliance into a favorable position.
"Ain't no way," Han said, and Leia glared at him for what felt like the thousandth time that night. "Took you two decades just to get where you are now. No way it's all done in a year."
"Way to have faith, Han," Luke muttered.
"Never claimed to, kid," Han said, tilting his glass in Luke's direction briefly before taking another sip. "Bet twenty the princess gets real tired of havin' all that hair and cuts it."
Leia shook her head. "Might as well pay up now, Solo."
The corner of his mouth turned up in a crooked smile. "We'll see. You're impulsive. Never know what you might do that surprises you."
She scowled, more annoyed by how accurate his assessment of her was than anything else. "I'm not impulsive about my hair," she said, offering no further explanation.
"Why's that? You're impulsive about everything else."
She rolled her eyes. "I am not."
Han raised a hand and began ticking incidences off on his fingers. "Garbage chute, vandalizin' my ship—"
"Oh, I put a lot of thought into that one," Leia interrupted.
"Doubtful. That target practice with Coy—"
"You weren't even there for that."
"Everyone heard about it. Literally every mission you've volunteered for, leaving the shelter in the middle of a snow squall, running toward a kriffing wampa—"
"You didn't see that, either," Leia said, eyebrow arched.
"Don't I know it. I heard you hireddozens of refugees on a whim a few years back to get them to a safer planet because the Imps wouldn't let 'em leave unless they were employed on your ship."
Leia felt her cheeks heat up, any playfulness she'd felt quickly evaporating. That incident had occurred when she was sixteen, on a mercy mission to Wobani. Her impulsivity had caused headaches for her parents, Mon, and the people of Wobani in general. It had likely cost lives.
It definitely did. Some of the refugees had chosen to live elsewhere, but the majority had settled on Alderaan. They were gone.
She stared at the glass of whiskey in her hand and responded quietly. "I won't be impulsive with my hair. Hair is important in Alderaanian culture. Braids, too."
"Oh." Han's tone was oddly sober all of a sudden. "I'm walkin' that one back, then. Didn't know it was a culture thing."
The beat of silence that followed lasted far too long. Leia felt the need to break it, to make things less tense. "I don't think that should be allowed." She looked at Luke and Chewie. "Do you?"
[Absolutely not.]
Luke shook his head solemnly. "Nope, definitely not allowed. Once you make your bet, it's set."
Wedge and Shara entered the lounge. Leia waved at them, but Han paid them no mind. He looked from Leia to Luke indignantly. "This is my tradition—"
"Which is why I know walking back bets isn't allowed," Leia interrupted. "There's no way you Corellians let everyone make adjustments after their bets are made." She looked at Wedge as Shara took a seat next to her. "New Year's bets — if you find out information after placing your bet that changes your mind, do you get to backtrack?"
Wedge snorted. "Hell no. Solo, what're you trying to pull?"
Han pointed at Wedge, said a Corellian word that Leia had been previously informed meant "traitor, but far more offensive, sweetheart", and poured him a generous glass of whiskey.
Leia took small sips from her own glass while Han, Wedge and Chewbacca bantered about New Year's bets — past bets won and lost, bets they almost made that would have surely changed their lives but they changed them at the last second. She settled back between Luke and Shara, watching the animated exchange, and tried to think of a suitable bet for herself.
They were bets, not wishes, as Han had said, and she was so certain she would lose that she didn't dare say hers out loud.
I bet we'll all be together this time next year.
The day was fast approaching and Leia could do nothing to slow the passage of time, forever reminding her of just how little they had accomplished, just how much was left to be done.
A year. An entire year since Scarif. An entire year since she'd sent two droids in an escape pod to Tatooine. An entire year since her capture and torture and…and…and…
An entire year since Alderaan had ceased to exist.
There was supposed to be a memorial — not just for Alderaan, but for the lives lost at Scarif and Yavin as well. Leia could not bring herself to plan it and, telling herself that it would be cathartic for them all, enlisted the help of some of the more willing battle survivors. She gathered from whispers around base that there would likely also be quiet celebrating — not for the vacuum left by lost lives, but for the victory they'd seen with the destruction of the Death Star.
Leia felt sick at the prospect of having to sit through any of it.
She'd been racking her brain for a reason — any reason — to be off-planet the week of the anniversary, some reason that made sense for her and Luke to go. He didn't want to be around celebrating rebels any more than she did, and had told her as much when she'd tried to recruit him to help organize the memorial. After all, mere days before Alderaan, days before her rescue, he'd lost the only family he'd ever known.
She knew Tycho and Evaan and Carlist would likely also be miserable, but Leia couldn't fix everything for everyone, much as she wanted to. She listened for possible mission opportunities and worked through reasons she and Luke might need to go on a mission together. When Mon Mothma informed her that some contacts on Gatalenta wanted to meet with Leia personally to discuss donations and supplies, she allowed herself to believe in destiny again for a singular moment.
Gatalenta was a Core world, one that had remained resistant to the Empire's involvement in their citizens lives. Prior to becoming the Empire's most-sought-after rebel, Leia had been there many times as the guest of her friend and fellow senator, Amilyn Holdo. Though Leia hadn't seen Amilyn in person since shortly before her capture above Tatooine, she had known her for years. The request to meet with Leia in particular wasn't a suspicious one, though General Dodonna seemed to think otherwise.
"Are we certain this isn't a trap?" he asked, gaze focused entirely on the hologram of Mon.
Always on the lookout for traps, Leia mused, though she knew it was part of all of their jobs. Jan just seemed especially sensitive to them when it came to Leia's involvement.
"They are contacts who Amilyn Holdo personally vouches for," Mon Mothma assured them.
"I trust Amilyn's judgment," Leia said firmly. "She wouldn't put me or the Alliance at risk. If these are her contacts, we can trust them."
"She is very young," Jan countered.
"We're the same age, General Dodonna," Leia said mildly, scrolling through the sparse documents regarding the request that Mon had sent her on her datapad. She turned her attention back to Mon. "I'd like to leave within the week and I'd like Lieutenant Skywalker to accompany me."
"Lieutenant Skywalker doesn't have a suitable ship at his disposal for traveling to the Core," Dodonna objected.
Leia raised her eyebrow. "I never said who would be flying. And he has access to every ship any of us have access to."
Carlist stepped in, clearly sensing how close the conversation was to unraveling into an argument. "Many of our smaller ships are recognizable, Your Highness. It's too risky to send them into such a highly patrolled area," Carlist said. "And we can't part with the larger ships for a mission of this nature."
Leia frowned. What he said made a frustrating amount of sense. "Is the Millennium Falcon recognizable in the Core yet?"
"Probably, but I don't think by the Empire," Jan said dryly.
"I can check with Captain Solo," Leia said. "See if he'd be comfortable flying to Gatalenta."
"Word it like that and he'll view it as a challenge," Carlist said in amusement.
Han did, in fact, view it as a challenge. "Am I comfortable flying into the Core?" He pressed his hand to his heart and shook his head. "Princess, you wound me."
She'd found him buried waist-deep in the hyperdrive casing, but Han had paused whatever work he was doing to drink caf with Leia while she pitched the job to him. He had cleaned as much grease off his hands as possible, but Leia hadn't pointed out the smudge running down the middle of his nose.
"You know what I mean," she said. "Do you think you can get me to Gatalenta without interference?"
Han pointed a finger in her direction. "That I never promised. Can't control who interferes when, but I can getcha there. Who's on the team? When do we leave?"
Leia laughed softly. She didn't think she'd ever seen Han quite so eager to take a job before. "It's just me and Luke, and three days from now if you can swing it, four at the latest." She paused and inhaled the scent of caf in her mug, eyes closed. "Really, I'm the only one that needs to go, but I told Command I wanted Luke to come because…" Leia shrugged and opened her eyes, her gaze immediately pinned by Han's.
"Because it's been a year?" he guessed, his voice soft.
She nodded. "I don't think either of us wants to sit around for whatever they have planned. Even with the memorial, I just…" Leia shook her head. "I can't."
"You sure Luke wants to go? He's got his squadron here and everything."
"We talked about it a couple of weeks ago," Leia said. "He wants to go."
"Three days," Han said.
"Four at the latest," Leia added.
Han and Chewie had the Falcon ready to leave in two-and-a-half days. Leia felt an immense sense of relief when she walked aboard the ship with her pack on the morning of their departure, ready to get away from the outpost as quickly as possible. She dropped her bag in the crew cabin and went in search of Han or Chewie. They were both in the cockpit looking at a holographic star chart of the Core.
Leia stared at the projection. She hadn't opened Han's Core star charts in awhile. This one had apparently been updated with Alderaanian Graveyard splashed over a section much larger than the planet itself had covered.
"—blockade starts all the way out here," Han said, pointing to the edge of the cloud of asteroids that stood in Alderaan's place. "We need to steer clear—I don't even want to be in the same solar system—"
Chewie apparently heard or smelled or somehow sensed Leia because he interrupted Han and looked back at her. [Good morning, Princess.]
Han whipped his head around and switched the star chart off. He forced a tight smile. "Hey, Leia."
"You don't have to hide a star chart, Han," Leia said softly, unwilling to admit how startling it was to see her once-whole planet depicted as a cluster of debris. "I know they've changed. I was there."
He nodded. "'Course. Was wrapping up anyway."
Liar, Leia wanted to say, but stopped herself. She just wanted to get the trip started.
"Where's your stuff?"
Leia jerked her thumb toward the corridor. "Stuck my bag in the crew cabin."
"Oh." Han hesitated for a moment. "You can take mine like usual if you want."
She shook her head and smiled at his consideration. "Thank you, but it's just Luke and me. I can manage the crew." And maybe, maybe if I start to have a nightmare, Luke can wake me up.
Luke arrived, appearing nearly as emotionally wrung out as Leia felt. He didn't say much, but Leia thought he seemed relieved once they were all strapped in and asking for clearance to leave.
It would take two days to get to the Core, after which the timing of their arrival on Gatalenta largely depended on what sort of Imperial presence they encountered. Leia held her breath and dug her fingernails into her collarbone the way she always did as Han positioned the Falcon to enter a hyperspace lane, exhaling only when they successfully made the jump to light speed.
Luke and Leia played quiet games of dejarik to pass the time, switching to sabacc when Han or Chewie were able to join them. The first day of the trip was smooth, pleasant. Leia focused on the few immediate tasks she had: planning what she would say to the Gatalentan dignitaries who had requested she personally contact them, beating Luke at dejarik, putting her sabacc bets at risk in order to draw out games longer. She kept herself occupied, kept her thoughts off the memorial happening on Renatasia, kept herself from thinking about Scarif and the Death Star and Alderaan at all.
Luke seemed to want to talk about his home, his aunt and uncle, what few memories he had of Ben. He told stories about the trouble he and Biggs got into as young teens and kept Leia's mind off of her own memories. She let him talk as much as he wanted, feeling a pang of envy that he could discuss those he cared about so freely and with such affection without breaking down.
Leia delayed going to bed the first night, even after both Chewie and Luke had turned in. She knew Luke was there, that he would likely wake her before a nightmare got out of control, but she still hesitated to sleep. Despite her best efforts to remain busy and distracted, Alderaan weighed heavy on her heart and mind. She had no doubt it would find a way to bleed into her dreams.
She sat in the cockpit with Han, curled up in Chewie's usual spot, staring out the window in silence while Han read from a datapad. Her eyelids felt heavy along with her limbs and chest and head, but she couldn't bring herself to retire to her bunk.
"Plannin' on sleeping tonight?" Han asked after an extended period of quiet.
Leia shrugged. "Eventually, I'm sure." She closed her eyes, bit her lip, tried to shake Alderaan from her mind, but it seemed as if everything reminded her of the looming anniversary.
"Everything all right?"
She shook her head, unsure of what she wanted to communicate. "You know, Chewie sometimes lets me use your charts so I can find home when we go on missions closer to the Core."
"So you can find Alderaan's old light in the sky, you mean?"
Leia nodded. Depending on the planet they were on, she could often find Alderaan's bright light without much assistance, but some of the charts helped when she wasn't sure. "I just like reminding myself that it was there. That it mattered."
"'Course it mattered," Han said. His response was quiet but quick, and Leia appreciated how obvious the concept seemed to him.
"I haven't been acting like it."
"What're you talkin' about?"
Leia shook her head again, unable to articulate what she meant. She had been so Alliance-focused, so worried about the rank's opinion of her and Command's opinion of her, so consumed by missions and supply orders and calibrating medical droids that she wasn't even sure where the remnants of her people were. She wasn't even sure that the remnants of her people existed. "I miss my home, Han," she croaked.
"Can't imagine, sweetheart," he responded gently.
She didn't say anything more, didn't want to admit to the agonizing pressure that filled her chest if she allowed herself to think about her negligence as a leader. Her admission of missing home felt too simple in light of everything that had happened, like she was a small child who didn't possess the words to explain what she was actually feeling, but saying anything more at that moment would cause her heart to shatter, she was certain.
Leia heard Han rummage through a drawer or a compartment or something but didn't bother looking at him. After what felt like a long while, he murmured her name. "Leia." She opened her eyes and examined his soft expression. "Got somethin' you might want."
She looked at him curiously as he pressed a small puck in her palm. It was surprisingly light. The few buttons she noticed at the top of the puck told her it was some sort of holo. Leia touched one of the buttons and a projection appeared: a star chart of the Core worlds, an old one. She stared at Alderaan on the map, her heart swelling.
"It's the outdated one, you know? I can't use it to navigate anymore so I thought—"
Han was cut off by Leia launching herself out of Chewie's chair and throwing her arms around his neck. She bit the inside of her cheek, determined not to cry, though when Han wrapped his arms around her in a firm hug, she nearly gave into tears. Leia kissed his cheek quickly without thinking and whispered a shaky thank you.
That night, she fell asleep with a projection of her home illuminating her bunk.
As they approached the Core, Leia felt as if she could cut the tension on the ship with a knife.
Han said he wasn't worried, Chewie said they would be fine, Luke said he had a good feeling about the mission over all, but Leia knew all three of them well and they were all lying to themselves and her.
She made her way to the lounge to start the kettle for tea after five straight minutes of unbearable silence in the cockpit. Should I be worried? she wondered as the water heated. She couldn't decide. Nothing had happened, no one had seen or heard or felt anything to indicate they were in danger, but they were all so tense, it was difficult to ignore.
Han wandered into the lounge after a few minutes. "We're okay," he said, assuring no one in particular. "I'm not worried."
Leia looked him over, making note of the worried-looking creases in his expression. "You're doing an excellent job of pretending like you believe that," she said dryly.
Han scowled. "We'll be fine."
"So you've said." She left her mug and tea sachet next to the kettle and walked closer to the captain. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm not concerned," she said, placing her hand on his arm reassuringly. "I'm sure we'll be—"
Leia's words were cut off as she was thrown into Han all of a sudden. His back hit the bulkhead and her heart began to pound despite her vote of confidence only seconds earlier. The ship shuddered to a near halt and Leia's eyes went wide. She had felt this before; they'd fallen out of hyperdrive.
Your Highness, I'm afraid the hyperdrive is malfunctioning. We've been reduced to sublight speed.
All calm collectedness abandoned her mind entirely, and Leia found herself frozen in place, nauseous and trembling. Han pushed her shoulders lightly to right her before running up to the cockpit. Leia followed him, dazed. Before she could reach the cockpit, Han and Chewie ran past her in the corridor.
"Did the hyperdrive stop working?" she asked, voice shaky.
"We'll get it back up," Han said as he passed. He turned back around briefly. "Leia." She looked at him. His brows were furrowed, but he exuded calm confidence. "We'll get it back up. Soon."
Leia nodded without saying anything. Her head felt too light, her skin not quite right. She needed to be…somewhere…somewhere else.
She didn't remember dropping into the lower gun turret, but she was there, staring out at a seemingly infinite number of stars and planets. If they were moving, Leia could hardly tell.
There were no other ships nearby, nothing to block her view of the depths of space. Her attention was drawn to a curious beam of green light, a sickening color that caused everything within Leia to turn to ice. The green light enveloped a star for a few seconds before both were extinguished.
The ship lurched, the star flickered back into view, the green light devoured it, and Leia again stared at the void left behind when the star went dark. Her stomach churned. That green…she'd seen it once before. The prick of light it devoured wasn't a star; it was…it was…
"—she at?"
Alderaan. It was Alderaan.
[—cabin.]
They must be about a lightyear away, skipping along in the opposite direction and halting just quickly enough to see it again.
And again.
And again.
And…
"Found her!"
An arm slid around her shoulders. Leia jerked away and looked at Luke for a moment before allowing him to pull her to her feet and into an embrace. "Where are we?" she asked, eyes closed and cheek pressed to his shoulder.
"We're headed to Gatalenta," Luke said, misunderstanding her question entirely. "We dropped out of hyperspace a few minutes ago."
Leia shook her head. "No. I—No." She didn't know how to word what she meant and gave up after a moment, burying her face in his shirt.
"She means wherein space, Luke," Han called. "We're way too close to the Graveyard for comfort, Sweetheart. Chewie an' me found the problem, though. We're gettin' outta here soon."
"C'mon," Luke said softly, directing her toward the ladder.
Leia twisted away from his arm to watch the green beam again. Maybe it's something else. He said we're close to the Graveyard. Maybe we're too close to see it and it's something else.
But…no. The green was an unnatural shade, a shade she saw in her dreams over and over again. If it wasn't the Death Star, if this wasn't the past playing out repeatedly at the speed of light, Leia didn't know what it could possibly be.
"Leia," Luke said gently. He caught her wrist and tugged, breaking whatever spell the green beam seemed to have her under. She looked at him and Luke tilted his head toward the ladder. "Let's go back up, okay?"
Leia nodded and followed him to the ladder, allowing Luke to push her in front of him to climb up first. When she got to the top of the ladder, she stood, frozen in place, unable to think through her next moves.
Luke cleared his throat. "Leia? Can you move a coupla steps?"
She jerked to attention, looking down in the direction of his voice. Luke was still hanging onto the ladder, unable to climb all the way to the top with her standing in the way. Leia nodded and stepped aside.
Han walked by, seemingly on a mission, and doubled back, concern etched on his face. "We got it figured out and we'll be back in hyper in just a few minutes."
Leia nodded wordlessly.
"Maybe—You wanna strap in for the jump in the lounge, Princess?"
She nodded again.
"Luke—"
"Yeah, I got her."
Leia looked Han in the eye. "Was it really the…The beam was that color."
He swallowed but confirmed nothing. "Let's talk about it once we're back in a hyperspace lane, okay?"
Leia nodded.
She was in the lounge, crash webbing fastened, Luke's hand gripped in her own. She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said.
"You didn't do anything, Leia," Luke said gently.
"I thought if we went away during the anniversary, things would be better."
"They have been," Luke insisted. "This has been way better than trying to act like we're in the mood to celebrate."
Leia didn't respond. She didn't think he was right, but she wasn't certain she was, either, and she didn't have the mental capacity to process through it right then. After a few moments of silence, Luke squeezed her hand.
"I know it's hard—"
"You don't," Leia snapped without pausing to think. "You don't know. How could you possibly?"
Her eyes were still closed, but she didn't need to see to know Luke was wounded. The hurt feelings emanated off of him in waves.
"I lost my entire family, too, Leia," Luke said softly. "I can't go back home—"
Leia's eyes snapped open and she dropped his hand. "No, you're choosing to not go home, Luke! You still have a house and a farm and a kriffing planet to go back to if you decide you want to. I—I have an asteroid field surrounded by an Imperial blockade. It's not the same!"
Luke's face crumpled, blue eyes shining. His entire being seemed to exude injury for a few moments before Leia felt an icy barrier slide into place between them. He stared straight ahead, jaw set.
"I don't even know how you could possibly compare the two," Leia spat. The words poured out of her before she could think enough to temper them. "Nearly everything I own is Alliance-issued. My clothes, my bed, my job, my friends. Everything from my life before is gone. Everything—Everything I've ever loved—Everything I was—Everything is dead. Everything!"
The lounge fell into uncomfortable silence. Every last one of Leia's nerves seemed to hum. She didn't realize she had sunk her fingernails into her collarbone until the Falcon jumped into hyperspace, the movement of the transition forcing her to sway away from her own hand, flooding her skin with relief.
Luke unlatched his crash webbing and stood. When his eyes met hers, the intensity of his gaze caused Leia to look down after a few seconds. "I wasn't trying to win a competition, Leia," he said darkly. "I was trying to say you aren't alone."
He stalked from the lounge toward the crew cabin, leaving Leia very much alone.
Leia sat in the dimly lit lounge, unable or perhaps simply unwilling to seek out the company of anyone onboard the ship. Luke hadn't emerged from the crew cabin, and aside from a brief interaction with Han during which he confirmed what she guessed earlier — they had been about a lightyear from Alderaan — she hadn't spoken to anyone.
Her heart ached, buckling under the weight of Luke's hurt, of her own shock and disappointment. It was overwhelming, too much. Leia felt herself edge toward the precipice of stark numbness — the mask that helped her keep moving on days when nothing else could. With shaking hands, she worked and reworked her hair into four-stranded braids, trying, trying to get the placement right; trying, trying to conjure a spark, a sliver, a speck of memory, to draw her parents near to her again and dispel the vision of sickly green light enveloping her home from her mind's eye.
"You should wear it like this to the gala," Breha had said when Leia last sat at her feet, feverish and clingy and glad to have her hair braided for her.
Leia shook her head slightly, noting with a bit of wonder just how secure the braids felt without adding to the ache in her head. The gala — a formal Senate event — was a month away and she was already dreading it. "I don't want to go," she said, burying her face in Breha's skirt and feeling very much like a small child.
"You'll feel differently when you're not ill, sweetheart." Breha circled her hand on Leia's back as if she were soothing a fussy baby. She sort of is, Leia thought wryly.
"I felt this way before illness was involved," Leia protested. "None of them take me seriously except Amilyn, and no one takes her seriously, either. They like her better because they think she's less likely to make waves, but they don't take her seriously."
"They're underestimating Amilyn Holdo if they think she's less likely to make waves," her mother murmured.
"I think some of them believe her to be easily led astray by that shrill Alderaanian princess," Leia said wryly.
"I still want to know who called you that," Breha said, pausing to allow Leia to answer. Leia shook her head again, the soft cloth of Breha's skirt brushing against her cheek. There were multiple senators who had used the word, none of them particularly relevant. "It's important for us to not to invite conjecture about our private lives, Leilei, especially right now. You need to make an appearance."
"I'm going to," Leia said resignedly. She knew Alliance activity was ramping up. News confirming that the planetkiller was nearing completion had caused a great deal of upset within Alliance leadership, and everyone needed to attract as little attention as possible while they decided what to do. Leia couldn't miss a formal Senate event; her absence would be noted as either suspicious behavior or an attempt to make a statement, and she couldn't afford conjecture in either direction. "I'll even look happy to be there. Been practicing that for nearly twenty years." Breha chuckled softly. Leia lifted her head and looked her mother in the eye, chin resting on her knee. "They used to accuse me of being a princess playing dress-up and these events just feed into that narrative. Going to galas decked out in finery and answering questions about dress designers while Outer Rim citizens are fighting for their lives seems beyond frivolous. I haven't even contacted any designers, and it's a bit late to commission something custom." She gave Breha a wavery smile.
Her mother seemed to consider everything Leia said for a moment before cupping her cheek in her hand. "How is my reputation in the Senate these days?"
Leia laughed softly. "Oh, they love you. Some of them have all but said they wish I were more like you."
Breha shook her head. "If only they could read my thoughts," she mused before turning back to the subject of Leia's gala outfit. "I have some of the dresses I wore to senatorial events I attended with your father. We can have one altered."
"They're still going to ask me about the designer instead of anything important."
"At which point, you will tell them they probably remember the dress and designer from when I wore it and explain that you've been so busy on your mercy missions to the Outer Rim that you haven't had time to devote to fittings and design sessions for anything new."
Leia perked up. She liked where her mother was going with the idea. "And that the thousands of credits I'd spend on a new dress are better spent feeding and clothing people," she added, lifting her head to look at Breha.
Her mother shook her head, her expression grave. "I know it's tempting, but you'll be inviting speculation as to whether you intended to call everyone in a new dress wasteful or selfish."
"Fine by me," Leia muttered.
Breha tipped Leia's chin up with a finger. "You have more political and social capital than you think, Leia. Spend it wisely."
She considered her mother's warning briefly and didn't press the issue. "I want something they'll remember was yours, then. Something that stood out."
Breha pursed her lips before laughing softly. "Your aunties may kill me, but I think I know just the one."
The dress was infamous for all the wrong reasons — primarily because Breha's collarbones had been visible. She hadn't been making any particular statement. It had been a gift from a designer who made their home on an Outer Rim planet that had suffered a great number of natural disasters at the time. They had needed aid beyond what the Empire was willing to offer, Alderaan had stepped in with that aid, and the designer sent the dress along with many letters of thanks months later. The piece wasn't in a traditional Alderaanian style and Leia's aunts had been scandalized by the lower-than-usual neckline of the dress when Breha had worn it. The idea of further traumatizing their well-meaning but oft-misplaced sensibilities only made the piece more appealing to Leia, though she didn't verbalize that motivation to anyone.
She hadn't worn her hair in the braids Breha had proposed; she knew she wouldn't be able to accomplish such an intricate style without help, and time had gotten away from her the day of the event. She hadn't even made an attempt, falling back on something far simpler and less traditional in her hurry.
She couldn't remember the style, still couldn't remember the style after two months of attempting to picture the reflection of her hair in Breha's hand mirror. The dress and everything surrounding it was seared in her memory. It had felt defiant and purposeful and mildly mischievous, so of course she remembered everything about it. Breha telling her about the braids she wove was so typical, Leia hadn't bothered filing the details away, assuming she could always ask about them again later. And now there was no one to ask.
Leia closed her eyes, working to recall the movement of her mother's hands for what had to be the thousandth time, but it was to no avail. She finally arranged her hair into a messy three-strand braid and tied off the end, her only comfort that she need not admit her failure to anyone else.
Tears slipping through her lashes, Leia drew her knees to her chest and rested her forehead against them. Another piece of her culture, her heritage, had been lost, and she didn't know if she'd ever get it back.
I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry.
Thank you for reading! I plan to have the next chapter posted on July 7, 2023.