Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alesk Mondragon prides himself in a job well done. He's been a bounty hunter for years, and he's only had a disappointed client twice-- and one of those was the fault of Jedi interference (kriffing Vos ) so he figures he really can't be blamed for it. His record is very nearly flawless. He is not about to let that be ruined by the fact that the new Empire’s spies and informants have failed to notice something that should really have been obvious, in Alesk’s humble opinion.

(It was almost pitifully easy, to get into the med center, to find what he was looking for. It was annoying, to discover the intel had been wrong, to have to make an unexpected decision because apparently spies can't count . But it was barely a challenge to get out with his prize.

“I'm so sorry,” he said, handing the for-all-appearances-dead child to the man who’d come running when he hit the alarm. Alesk recognized him as a Senator, though the man's name escaped him. The Senator was quiet, mourning silently until Alesk spoke up again. “Shall I take her to be prepared for funeral rites?”

“I-- Yes,” the Senator said, handing the baby back.

Alesk had to slip credits to a worker on his way out, to ensure a suitably convincing decoy would be buried or burned in place of the newborn, but then he was out, and soon he was back on his ship and in hyperspace.)

“It's fine,” he says now, not sure if the words are directed at himself or at the infant in his arms. “We just have to keep a secret. You're very good at that, aren't you?”

The baby blinks at him. “You’re very awake for such a tiny thing,” Alesk says. “How old are you?”

He pauses, shifting to free one of his hands, gently grabbing the baby’s hand so as to read the identification tag around her tiny wrist. It’s got a date of birth, and a first name, no last. “Just about a week. You were born almost the same time as the Empire. How ‘bout that?”

The baby yawns, wide eyes scrunching shut. “Let’s you and I make a deal,” Alesk says. “We just won't tell Vader that you had a twin. Alright? You were the only baby there. Yes you were. Just like the intel said. That sound good, little Leia?”

Leia only blinks again, and Alesk nods like that's an agreement. “Good.”

Padmé wakes-- properly-- after twelve days.

“Where are my girls?” she asks first. Her companions share a sorrowful glance, and her heart drops.

“Lukka is here,” Obi-Wan says, going to a crib in the corner of the room that she hadn't seen before. “Leia… didn't make it.”

Padmé grieves, and holds her surviving child close.

When she eventually asks, Bail informs her that she's woken up before, but not been lucid until now. Obi-Wan informs her that they've moved med-centers twice already, and were about to do so again the next night. Bail tells her she's missed her own funeral. Apparently she was further sedated, dressed in heavy garments and covered in flowers so any sign of movement could be written off as petals in the wind, and quickly hidden from public view for the latter part of the ceremonies, at which point her family wished her well and sent her off. Just as would be expected of such a service, save for a few significant details. Among the flowers and tokens and other appropriate offerings, someone or someones had slipped a cloak, dark and comfortable and inconspicuous, into the casket. Someone else placed an old tooka doll of hers, lovingly mended. Now, holding both on her lap, letting Lukka admire the doll, Padmé sends silent thanks to her family.

“And Anakin?” she asks.

“There are only rumours, yet,” Obi-Wan neatly evades answering, and for the moment, Padmé is too pained and exhausted to call him on it.

It's dangerous for any of them to be seen together. It's also dangerous for the baby to stay with Padmé; she's still weak, still healing, unable to fight, to run, if she had herself and Lukka to worry about. Bail takes Threepio and Artoo, and returns to Breha, returns to Alderaan and the old-new Imperial Senate and his life. Padmé dons her dark cloak and boards a ship headed to a backwater moon in the Mid Rim. Obi-Wan takes Lukka, with promises to send word of their location to Padmé once he knows it's safe.

Paila Dalaem hops planets and moons for months, finding odd jobs to pay her passage through the Outer Rim, and regaining her strength. She sends a communication to Bail with her new name, knowing he will pass it on to Obi-Wan. And at the end of those months, she gets word. A datastick, delivered by a smuggler. It only has a set of coordinates and a single document on it, both unencrypted.

Paila,

We have settled comfortably on Tatooine, with moisture farmers who once knew your husband. I await your arrival.

Your brother,

Ben

So she goes to Tatooine.

Luke grows up loved. By his aunt and uncle, who keep him fed and safe, and by his mother, who leaves often but always comes home eventually, bringing credits and stories and trinkets from across the galaxy.

He grows up Lukka Ekkreth , a Skywalker, because it was his father's name. His mother's name is Dalaem, but as he gets older-- old enough to keep secrets-- she tells him others. Naberrie, Amidala.

She tells him stories of queens and monsters and knights with swords made of light. Luke grows up with these stories, as well as Tatooine’s stories of tricksters and grandmothers and slaves who free themselves. He grows up knowing both sets of stories are true, if sometimes in different ways.

Leia grows up, kept safe. By the nursemaids, who raise Force-sensitive children to be Inquisitors for their Emperor, and by Lord Vader and a few Inquisitors, who take interest in her talent, and don't see it as a threat.

She grows up without names. She earns Sixth Sister, then First Sister when the previous holder of the title meets an unfortunate end, and Leia is a close-guarded secret, a tiny medcenter bracelet she doesn't know how the nursemaids overlooked.

The older Inquisitors tell her stories of their hunts, their kills. Leia grows up knowing violence, and anger, and the Dark. She grows up knowing strength and power and how to acquire both for herself.

When Luke is nine, his mother tells him that he is a twin. Or, was a twin. She’s talked about this before, in passing, Luke realizes, but now he is old enough to understand it, old enough to remember and comprehend the story. She tells him that his sister, Leia, died just after they were born. When Luke sees tears gathering in the corners of his mother’s eyes, he nuzzles close to her in an attempt at comfort. She holds him tight.

Luke recalls the saying Aunt Beru whispers sometimes, recalls the way runaways say it as if it’s a prayer, while Beru removes their transmitter chips and stitches them whole again. Dukkra ba dukkra. Freedom or death. Perhaps his twin sister found both.

When Leia is ten, the Grand Inquisitor’s lightsaber comes down inches from her hand during a training exercise, Darth Vader’s blade extending to block it at the last possible moment.

“Replacing prosthetics as she grows would be an expense I doubt you can afford,” Vader rumbles, and the Grand Inquisitor gives half a smirk as he steps back, moving on to work with the next trainee. “Get up, youngling.”

Leia does, grabbing her saber and getting back into one of the defensive stances she’s supposed to be learning.

“Bend your knees, and don’t root yourself so firmly,” Vader instructs, almost gently. “Lowering your center of gravity and staying light on your feet will make it harder for an adversary to knock you off balance, and easier for you to launch into an attack.”

“Yes, Lord Vader,” Leia follows his instructions, shifting her stance, and he nods, apparently satisfied.

When Luke is eleven, Old Ben Kenobi invites him for tea, and sits him down, and he shows Luke a lightsaber.

“It was your father's,” Ben says. “The weapon of a Jedi Knight.”

And Ben tells him about his father, the Jedi, more stories like the ones his mother tells him. Ben tells him of the Force, Light and Dark. Ben-- Obi-Wan-- tells him of the Clone Wars, and their ending. And he tells Luke of how Anakin Skywalker was killed. Dead by the hand of Darth Vader, at the rise of the Empire.

(“Why did you tell him that?” Padmé asks later, after Luke comes to her about it.

“Because from a certain point of view, it's true,” Obi-Wan says. “And I'm worried that if he knows the whole truth, he’ll go looking for Light he won't find.”

“What, so instead he should go looking for vengeance that doesn't exist?” Padmé asks.

“We should wait until he's older, at least.” Obi-Wan sighs. “Old enough to understand .”)

When Leia is twelve, Lord Vader dismisses the other Inquisitors after giving them their orders, but he tells her to stay. Fourth Brother spares her a curious, almost wary glance, but she ignores him, and after a split-second of stillness, he hurries out after the others.

“First Sister,” Vader says, a thin thread of… amusement, maybe, reaching her through the Force before he catches it and reinforces his shields. “A moment.”

He leads her to a room where all security has been disabled. Wary, ready for whatever test he is about to throw her way, she sits in the chair he offers.

“Leia,” he begins, and her throat grows dry, hands tightening briefly on her saber hilts at the realization that he knows the name she has tried so hard to keep secret. “What do you know of your parents?”

Of course she's wondered, now and again, who her parents might have been. If they tried to fight, when she was taken. But it's never mattered, so she's never cared.

“Nothing, Lord Vader,” she replies honestly. He is silent a long time.

“Leia… I am your father,” he says at length, still and unreadable through the Force. She's stunned, for a moment.

“You?” she asks, because it's the only word that comes to her.

“Yes.” Vader lets his shields down, just a little, just enough that she can sense the truth in what he's telling her. “The Emperor would not allow me to raise you. He feared the power of attachment, feared that I would attempt to kill him, take his place, and take you as my Apprentice.”

“Would you have?” Leia asks. Vader doesn't answer for a while.

“Possibly,” he admits eventually. Leia smiles, sharp and pleased, at the prospect. Then a thought occurs to her.

“Who was my mother?” she asks.

After a tense, silent moment, he tells her. He tells her of Padmé Amidala. A queen, a senator. Dead by the hand of a Jedi named Anakin Skywalker, at the rise of the Empire.

(It’s true, from a certain point of view.)

When Luke is thirteen, and expresses wanting to attend the Imperial Academy like his friend Biggs intends to, his mother tells him about the Rebellion she is part of-- has been part of. He listens closely, hears her explanations, and then asks eagerly to join her.

“Not yet,” she tells him. “It's too dangerous.”

She doesn't think she can keep him safe forever, but she has seen the burden war puts on children-- and tensions are slowly rising, the Empire becoming harsher, the Rebels growing bolder and more organized as their numbers increase. There will be a war.

When Leia is fourteen, her father assigns her to assist the Grand Inquisitor on Stygeon Prime. She is eager to prove herself.

“I'll handle the Jedi,” the Grand Inquisitor tells her. “You get rid of his friends.”

She tries. The Jedi, his Padawan, and their ragtag crew manage to escape, if only just. The Grand Inquisitor is told to keep tracking them, alone, while Leia is sent after a new target.

The Force is anticipatory, restless with echoes of things yet to come.

Chapter Text

When Luke is fourteen, he meets Ashla.

She's a Rebel, waiting for Paila Dalaem. Luke returns her code phrases with the replies he’s been taught, tells her Paila’s his mom, and invites her to wait inside the house, where Beru and Ben are making dinner.

Then Obi-Wan’s arm meets Ashla’s fist.

“I thought you were dead!” the Togruta exclaims, pulling Obi-Wan into a crushing hug.

“I thought the same of you!” he replies. He catches Luke's confusion in the Force, and turns toward him. “Luke, this is Ahsoka Tano.”

“Does Bail know you're here?” Ahsoka asks, barely sparing Luke another glance yet, too excited.

“He's known since the beginning,” Ben confirms.

“Remind me to punch him, too, then,” Ahsoka says. Luke isn't sure if she's joking. “Now, who's this again?”

“Luke Skywalker,” Luke introduces himself. Ahsoka goes still, eyes wide. It takes her a moment to collect her thoughts.

“Obi-Wan,” she says, “who did you mean by ‘ we ?’”

“Myself, Luke, and… his mother,” Obi-Wan answers, “the contact Bail sent you here to speak with.”

When Leia is fourteen, she hunts rumours and whispers, searching for Force-sensitive younglings. She tracks one set of rumors to Tatooine, to a child in the slave quarters of a sand-coated settlement. She tries to intimidate the gangster in charge of the place into giving the kid up, with no luck. Without being able to take the child by force, due to their transmitter chip, Leia is forced to wait for Fourth Brother to come with the credits and firepower to get what they want-- by whatever means necessary.

She’s distracted from the moment she steps foot on the barren planet, something in the back of her head, some echo in the Force, but she ignores it. Whatever is out there, whispering, it’s irrelevant to her mission.

Padmé does not get a punch, when she comes home. Just an over-exuberant hug.

They talk of the Rebellion, of the fifteen years past, and-- when Luke bugs Ahsoka long enough-- of Anakin Skywalker, of their adventures together during the Clone Wars.

“How much time do you have?” Padmé asks, after a while.

“Just tonight,” Ahsoka says. “Our intel puts the inquisitor’s backup nearly a week out, but I don't want to cut it too close.”

Obi-Wan has gone home, by now. Beru and Owen are asleep, and Luke is keeping himself awake through sheer force of will, sitting with his mother and Ahsoka. He wants to ask what an inquisitor is, why Ahsoka is here, now, but the air is heavy, tension and stress radiating from both women at the table. He stays quiet.

“Here’s the names you need,” Padmé gives a datastick to Ahsoka, and Ahsoka nods, slips it away.

“I'll be gone tomorrow,” she says.

Leia keeps close watch over the youngling and their family. It wouldn't do to let her prey escape after so much trouble. The first four nights are uneventful. On the fifth, she feels a slight disturbance in the Force, and breaks her now-usual patrol route, rushing to the child’s home.

They have the name of a surgeon for their chips, a meeting with the surgeon within their radius, and paid passage off-world. In a perfect universe, the family’s escape would go smoothly, with such preparations in place. Of course, smooth had always been outside the Force’s vocabulary, in Ahsoka’s experience.

“Hey!” A young voice and a surge of untempered rage projected through the Force, and Ahsoka sighs, deeply. “Keep moving! I'll handle this,” she tells Tenu, who nods, hurrying his three younglings away. Ahsoka turns to face the oncoming Inquisitor.

The girl-- because she is a girl, human and pale and barely Luke’s age, by the looks of it-- already has her double-bladed lightsaber ignited. She holds it low at her side, apparently relaxed, waiting for Ahsoka to make the first move.

Ahsoka unclips her own sabers from her belt, but doesn't ignite them yet. Darksiders tend to be impatient, she's found.

“Well?” she prompts, and sure enough, the Inquisitor scowls and rushes forward. Ahsoka ignites and raises her lightsabers in one motion, red meeting white in a shower of sparks as the girl reaches her.

“You'll regret getting in my way, Jedi,” the Inquisitor says, taking another swing.

“Not a Jedi,” Ahsoka corrects casually, blocking it. “But I've beaten Inquisitors before. You think you're better than them?”

The girl’s scowl turns into a vicious grin, a darkly determined glint in her eyes.

“I know I am,” she responds. She swings high, careful to keep the spinning of the blades guarding her front so Ahsoka has less opportunity to strike in the opening the girl’s wide movement would give her. Ahsoka tries anyway, swinging one blade up to deflect the high strike, the other down toward the Inquisitor’s legs, where it’s swiftly blocked. It goes this way for a little while, each of them blocking the other's attacks, never gaining ground-- but the Inquisitor is young, and patience has never been a virtue of the Dark Side. She starts to get bolder, making wider and wider strikes, looking for an opening that Ahsoka works not to give her. Ahsoka starts making faster attacks, pushing the girl back, forcing her to go on the defensive, also a common weak point of Darksiders.

When Leia has to jump back from one of the Jedi’s swings, unable to block it, she knows she’s out of her depth. She has little chance of winning this fight. She keeps fighting anyway. She gets more aggressive, trying to regain the upper hand, but the Jedi doesn’t relent, doesn’t falter. Leia grits her teeth, swings her sabers in a quick horizontal spin-- only to be blocked and pushed back. Already off-balance, Leia’s caught off guard by the Force push the Togruta sends her way. Her back slams into the hard clay wall of her prey’s now-empty house, and she slumps forward, pained and angry, saber hilt no longer lit but still closed firmly in her hands.

“Stay down, kid,” the Jedi says, sounding… tired. Something in the Force curls around Leia, telling her to listen, but she brushes it off and stands, breathing through the pain. The Jedi shifts from her casual stance to a defensive one, but Leia doesn't give her a chance to settle into it, attacking the moment she's back on her feet.

Ahsoka counters the Inquisitor's attack, swiping out with the lightsaber she isn't using to defend herself. She finally lands a hit, barely, the blade grazing the Inquisitor's side before the girl manages to leap away. The girl snarls, dropping one hand off her saber on instinct to press it to the burn in her side. Ahsoka uses the opportunity to press further forward, a string of swift attacks that push the Inquisitor back, and another Force shove that sends the girl flying backward. Her head hits a wall, and she falls to the ground in a heap.

Ahsoka hesitates, reaching out with the Force, and she’s glad when it becomes clear the girl isn’t dead, only stunned. The Inquisitor groans, moving sluggishly, barely conscious but trying to get up again.

Without a glance back, Ahsoka turns and runs.

Fourth Brother is standing by her side, when Leia wakes in the medbay of a Destroyer.

“You let the target escape,” the Mikkian says flatly, arms crossed across his chest, disapproving.

“They had help,” Leia replies, shifting, then sitting up, touching lightly at the bacta patch stuck on the back of her head. “A Jedi.”

Surprise flicks behind his eyes, then jealousy, annoyance--

“You need to get better at shielding,” Leia informs him, smirking, and the tendrils around his head flick in irritation. He reinforces his shields.

“You’re expected to report back soon,” he tells her. “I hope Lord Vader is feeling apologetic today.”

Leia knows that, regardless of the tone of mockery in Fourth Brother’s words, he’s being as sincere as either of them dare to get. They grew up together, trained together. They were among the first younglings raised in the Inquisitorius. Most of the others in their age group are dead now, only one other, low-ranking Sister remaining, so there’s… a sort of bond between them. A rapport, at the very least.

“I’ll be fine.” She rolls her eyes. She stands, clipping her lightsaber back onto her belt when Fourth Brother hands it to her, and leaves the medbay. She has a report to give, and her father expects punctuality.

🟂 🟂 🟂

When Luke is fifteen, he meets a few more Rebels; friends and allies of his mother, passing through on missions, or passing information through Luke to Padmé. Ben, and Ahsoka, sometimes, teach him how to use the Force; how to feel things out, how to levitate objects, how to shield his mind and emotions from others, how to meditate. Luke asks if he can learn how to use a lightsaber, and his mother interrupts Uncle Obi-Wan’s thoughtful “maybe” with a stern “not yet”.

When Leia is fifteen, she hunts down a Jedi. Unarmed and resigned, the old woman isn’t any kind of challenge, isn’t any kind of impressive kill, but Leia is congratulated for it, nonetheless. The Grand Inquisitor dies not months later, leaving a power vacuum in the Inquisitorius that everyone is eager to fill. Leia’s father offers her the position, so she takes it.

She knows other Inquisitors see her as too young, too weak, too inexperienced to take the lead. But she finds herself fitting quite neatly into the position. Dissent in the ranks keeps her on her toes for a while, but no one dares act on their anger, not when they know Lord Vader personally decided she was best to fill the Grand Inquisitor’s shoes.

When Luke is sixteen, he helps Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen around the farm more than ever, because his mother is gone more than ever. Obi-Wan’s hair is starting to go grey, rather quickly, in wide, elegant streaks. Owen tells him he’s getting old, and Ben scoffs.

Aunt Ahsoka disappears, presumed dead. Padmé doesn’t come home to break the news-- she can’t, too much is happening, the Empire is too determined in their efforts to force the Rebellion down. Luke isn’t even supposed to hear it, he’s meant to be helping Aunt Beru clean while his mother talks to Ben, but he hears anyway, “Ahsoka is gone,” his mother’s voice tight and wavering, her meaning clear. Luke leans heavily against the wall, careful to keep his mental shields in place so Obi-Wan won’t hear his racing thoughts, or sense the sharp pang of loss Luke feels.

He listens to the report his mom gives, all that she was told about what happened.

“It wasn’t strictly a Rebel mission,” Padmé says, voice crackly through the communicator. “More of a Jedi one. Apparently… Vader was there.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t so much gasp as sigh in reverse, drawing in a controlled breath before replying. Luke can feel only a little of what Ben is feeling, but that little is enough. Pain, anguish, and a deep, resigned sorrow beneath that.

“I assume he…” Ben trails off.

“Ahsoka fought him to allow the others to escape,” Padmé confirms.

Luke feels sudden, harsh anger at Darth Vader, the man he's never met, the man who's taken his father and now his aunt from him. In the next room, all goes still, then Ben emerges, sees Luke against the wall. As Luke's anger fades to pain and he begins to cry, Obi-Wan-- slowly, hesitantly, as if he isn't totally sure how-- pulls him into a comforting hug.

When Leia is sixteen, they lose three Inquisitors in one day, to Jedi on Malachor. The ranks are getting annoyingly thin. The next time she sees her father, his mask is perfectly shiny, brand new, and there's an uneasy kind of rage in his presence that Leia's never sensed in him before.

“What happened?” she asks, expecting him not to answer.

“An old friend,” he says, bitterness dripping off every word. And that’s the end of that.

When Luke is seventeen, Uncle Obi-Wan leaves. This isn’t odd in itself; he has his own home, after all, and he and Uncle Owen do tend to get on each others’ nerves if Ben sticks around too long at a time. What is odd is the distracted, far-off look in Ben’s eyes, the solemn way he tells Luke to be careful and stay close to home, before he goes. Luke agrees, and Obi-Wan nods, once, before riding off into the desert.

He doesn’t come back for nearly a week.

Luke gets word from his mother not too long after that, encrypted six times over to avoid the communication being detected or traced.

Base compromised. Moving on and laying low.

I love you.

She doesn’t say where she’s going.

When Leia is seventeen, she, Fourth Brother, and Twelfth Sister are assigned by Vader to return to Inquisitorius Headquarters, to oversee training. They find fewer and fewer Force-sensitive younglings and Imperial cadets every year, and as more and more prove inadequate or uncooperative, the ranks thin even further. Currently, there are only four trainees at Headquarters. Two humans, a Twi’lek, and a Mirialan, all between the ages of nine and fourteen. She and Fourth Brother put them up on a platform over a two-story drop, and pit them all against each other, watching eight red saber blades clash, again and again.

“Makes me think of our training,” Fourth Brother comments, watching the Mirialan come inches from being pushed off the platform. “Focus more on offense. Defensive fighting may keep you alive, but it won’t help you win ,” Fourth Brother calls, and the kid spares him half a glance before throwing themself back into the fight.

“Keep your concentration balanced,” Leia tells all four trainees. “Don’t become so focused on one target that you fail to notice the second one sneaking up behind.”

Fourth Brother takes his cue to jump down onto the platform, igniting his blades mid-air, swinging forward and down in a smooth diagonal arc, and nearly cutting the Twi’lek into uneven halves. The kid moves just in time.

“Work together,” Fourth Brother instructs. “Some missions require us to work in pairs or teams; always be prepared to fight alongside your Brothers and Sisters, not only in competition against them.”

The younglings quickly team up, surrounding him, but they’re young and inexperienced, still, and the space he takes up on the platform is enough that they’re all pushed closer to the edges. Leia watches the younger of the two humans go over first, using the Force to cushion her fall somewhat, but still ending up winded and off her feet. The Twi’lek is next, sticking the landing. And then it’s only the older human and the Mirialan, circling Fourth Brother, attacking from different angles. Trying to keep him off-balance.

Leia watches from above as the Mirialan launches a quick series of attacks, form sloppy, but good enough to keep most of Fourth Brother’s focus. The human uses the distraction to go for a downward strike that catches the tips of a few of Fourth Brother’s head-tendrils before he can dodge completely.

Fourth Brother curses, whirls on the human, sweeping a leg under the kid’s feet to knock him down before moving in for the kill. The kid hurries to get out of the way… and rolls right off the platform. He rolls into the landing and ends up back on his feet, uninjured. The Mirialan is still holding out, but Fourth Brother makes short work of forcing the kid back, until their foot falls on empty air and they’re down.

“Get yourselves cleaned up, then report to Twelfth Sister for your next lesson,” Leia dismisses the trainees. Once they’re gone, she leaps down onto the training platform, kicking her toe at the tips of Fourth Brother’s tendrils that are still squirming uselessly around underfoot. “What was that about being reminded of our training?”

“You’re hilarious,” Fourth Brother deadpans, apparently unbothered, but a few of his tendrils, shorter than the rest for seven years now, flick irritably. Leia smirks.

“You’ll get me back someday,” she assures him, patting his shoulder condescendingly.

“Someday,” he ehoes. He looks at the wriggling tips of his more recently injured tendrils, and makes a face of disgust before stepping on one, grinding it under his heel.

Chapter Text

When Luke is eighteen, he finally convinces Obi-Wan to teach him how to use a lightsaber. There’s a lot more to it than Luke anticipated, different forms, stances, movements. Luke dutifully practices everything Ben teaches him; it’s more exciting than his normal chores, at least.

He doesn’t hear from his mom often, but she sends word every now and again, letting them know she’s still safe.

When Leia is eighteen, she ends up back on Tatooine, tracking rumors of a Force-user traveling through the Outer Rim. Normally, a bounty hunter with a lightsaber wouldn’t be cause enough to send an Inquisitor out, as sabers could easily be scavenged or stolen, but witnesses swore up and down the hunter also threw a man into a wall “with her mind”, so here Leia is, chasing down gossip.

She doesn’t find her bounty hunter. She does find something interesting, though, the same whispers and subtle threads she remembers feeling the first time she was on this forsaken rock, stronger and brighter now than before. It’s less like she’s feeling any specific presence in the Force, and more like the Force is telling her there’s something there, trying to lead her somewhere without telling her what’s at the end of the path. It’s not the Dark side, but it doesn’t feel particularly Light either, and that alone is enough to pique Leia’s curiosity.

She resigns herself to having to explain why she went off-mission to her father, and she follows the Force’s path, taking her speeder further into the desert.

Luke is halfway back from a run at Beggar’s Canyon with his friends, when he feels it. Not the approaching sandstorm, he’s been sensing that for half the day, but the way the Force is centering in on something out in the desert, trying to draw him further away from home. He hesitates, but the storm feels a long way off, yet, and Luke’s curiosity manages to get the better of him.

She finds a house, a moisture farm, abandoned or ravaged, she doesn’t know. It’s long empty, in any case, sand coating every surface, a few belongings here and there but nothing to indicate what sort of people lived here. And certainly nothing to indicate why the Force would bring her all the way out here.

It leads him to a familiar old farm, abandoned nearly as long as Luke’s been alive, rumored to be haunted. He and Biggs had snuck out here once, as kids, but hadn’t found anything that interested them. Luke lands his skyhopper, grabs the small pack he’s taken to carrying his father’s lightsaber in, and hops out, curious when he sees a speeder bike sitting outside. It looks like a recent model, and a recent arrival to Tatooine, the layer of sand covering it still thin and new.

The whine of an engine alerts Leia to another presence on the empty homestead, and she peers out to see a skyhopper landing close to the house. A figure dressed in the loose, light clothes of a desert worker climbs out of it, hiking a satchel onto their back. They step up to examine her jumpspeeder, running a hand over part of it, dislodging a thin layer of sand. Leia watches them look up toward the house. She ducks away from the open window she’s been spying through, and as she hears and senses the newcomer walking closer to the farmhouse, she realizes she’s only got a few options. Pulling her saber from her belt, she holds it behind her back and heads to the door.

The wind is picking up quicker than Luke anticipated, sand blowing in waves and already hitting as high as his knees as he approaches the house. He knocks on the door.

“Hello?” he calls, but there’s no reply from inside. The wind is getting more intense, and-- Luke runs around the side of the house to look-- the storm is visible on the horizon, getting bigger by the second and blowing in from roughly the direction of home. He won’t be able to make it back before it reaches him, and he won’t be able to fly in it. Luke curses softly. “Hey, can I come in? There’s nothing else around, and I don’t wanna be caught in the storm.”

After a moment, the door opens a few inches, revealing a girl no older than he is. She’s not really dressed like she expected to find herself out in the desert, her clothes too tight, too dark-colored, not light enough material. She looks out at him with obvious suspicion.

“Who are you?” she asks.

“Luke,” he says. “Luke Skywalker.”

Her expression does a funny thing, shifting through emotions faster than Luke can place them, but she doesn’t comment on his name, and after giving him an appraising look up and down, she opens the door to let him in.

“What’s your name?” Skywalker asks as he hurries to shut the door behind himself, then quickly goes around the small house, shuttering all the windows. He’s obviously much too young to be the Jedi who killed her mother, but the Force must have led her to him for a reason, Leia thinks. A son, maybe?

“That’s none of your business,” she replies. He doesn’t even really glance at her in his scramble to shut up the house, which gives Leia time to clip her lightsaber back onto her belt.

“I guess not,” he replies amicably. “These shutters look like they’ll still hold, but we should stay away from the windows, just in case.”

“Scared of a little sand?” Leia asks.

“You’re new to Tatooine, huh?” he shoots back, already closing up the next window. “Bad enough storm can strip your flesh from your bones faster than a pack of womp rats.”

When Leia doesn’t answer immediately, surprised and mildly impressed by the raw power he’s describing, Skywalker finally turns, whatever he was about to say quickly lost under a half-strangled sound. “You’re Imperial,” he says, clearly blurting the first words in his head. Leia follows his gaze to the white insignia printed on each shoulder of her uniform.

“And you’re not too bright,” she replies. Skywalker looks offended, but says nothing. He gives her a wary once-over before going back to making sure all the shutters are sealed.

Luke doesn’t know what to think. The girl has to be some kind of officer; she’s clearly not a stormtrooper. But why would an Imperial officer be on Tatooine, out in the desert all alone? And why would the Force bring him here? His mind is racing as he finishes closing up the old house. It’s too far above ground, and it’s got way too many windows, Luke thinks. No wonder no one’s lived in it for ages. The storm hits not long after he’s done, the familiar roar quickly surrounding them. The Imp looks disturbed, walking closer to one of the windows than Luke thinks is smart.

“It sounds like an animal,” she notes, listening uneasily to the wind outside. Slowly, like she isn’t thinking about it, her hand goes to a strange circular contraption hanging off her belt.

“My family usually tells stories to drown it out,” Luke tells her. He isn’t sure why. He feels a connection with her that doesn’t make any sense.

“Absolutely not. I vote we say nothing, ignore each other, and when the storm’s over we can go our separate ways,” Leia says, sitting down at the house’s kitchen table.

Skywalker shrugs, settling cross-legged on the floor, back against the wall with his pack on the ground next to him.

They sit in silence. Leia gets bored after an hour, and starts pacing. Skywalker is sitting stone-still with his eyes closed, and she starts to wonder if he's fallen asleep like that. When Leia moves for the door, though, he opens his eyes.

“Only thing out there is sand,” he points out. “We’re not going anywhere.” Leia scowls, but he’s right and she knows it.

“How old are you?” she asks, boredom overriding her original decision not to make conversation. She still has yet to determine if he’s related to Anakin Skywalker, after all.

“Eighteen, almost nineteen,” he says. “Born in the first week of the Empire. You?”

“The same,” says Leia.

“Same week?” Skywalker asks, surprised, and Leia nods. “Huh. What's your name?”

“...First Sister,” Leia responds this time.

“Interesting name,” he says, giving her a strange look. She reaches out with the Force, trying to determine what he's feeling, and she gets… appraisal. Like he's sizing her up, adjusting his estimations of her.

“I earned it,” Leia explains. It's way too easy to talk to this guy. “It's a rank and a name.”

“...Do you have a name of your own?” he asks, and now he seems sad , sympathetic. Leia glares at him.

“Yes. Save your pity for someone who needs it.”

“I'm not--” he sighs. “If you don't wanna tell me your name, I get it.”

So she doesn't. They lapse back into quiet. After another hour or so Skywalker sighs again, opening his eyes and slumping out of perfect posture into a deep slouch.

“I can't wait to get home,” he says.

“And where would that be?” Leia asks, flat. Bored, still.

“My aunt and uncle are moisture farmers,” he says, which is about what she expected. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere, not much better than this. What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah,” Skywalker says, “where do you live?”

“Wherever I'm sent.”

“Do you get to visit your family?” he asks, curious.

“I don’t… yeah, sometimes,” Leia admits. She doesn’t know why she’s still answering his questions. Something about him makes her feel oddly at ease. Probably just the knowledge that she can kill him before the storm ends, if she needs to. Yeah. That's got to be it.

First Sister is a strangely fitting title for the Imperial, Luke thinks. Ikkelta, Elder Sister, is one name of the dragon who roams the desert skies, whose roars can be heard in the wind of sandstorms. Coincidence it may be, but if anyone he’s ever met could be described as dragon-like, it would be the person sitting in front of him. She has power and fire in her, under her skin, obvious even without the Force to help him see it.

“Skywalker,” she says eventually, not addressing him so much as rolling the name around in her mouth, feeling the edges of it. “Do you know an Anakin Skywalker, by any chance?”

The near-silent whispers of warning in the Force are enough to put Luke on edge.

“He was my father,” he answers anyway.

“‘Was’?” First Sister asks.

“He was killed before I was born,” Luke explains.

Leia feels vindictively glad, but also somewhat disappointed, to hear that her mother’s murderer is already dead. Her father had never commented on the Jedi more than to tell her his name, now she wonders if Vader had been the one to kill him. If he had already gotten revenge, and simply never told her. But why wouldn't he tell her?

“Was your father a Jedi?” she asks, just to be certain, just to be sure, and the wariness in Skywalker's eyes is replaced, briefly, by honest fear, which is more than answer enough. If she can't get revenge on Anakin Skywalker himself, then… well. His son will have to do.

Leia stands, stretching her arms above her head, and she sees the boy inching his hand toward the bag at his side. If he's got a blaster in there, Leia thinks, this might be faster than she'd like. She grabs her lightsaber and ignites both blades in a fluid motion, as Skywalker pulls from the satchel-- not a blaster, but a saber of his own. Leia grins.

As First Sister leaps across the room toward him, Luke scrambles out of the way, igniting his father's lightsaber. He hurries to his feet, barely blocking an attack from First Sister's blade. Blades. Her saber is double-sided, spinning, red as Tatooine's third moon. She's relentless, and clearly much more practiced than Luke, and he's slowly forced back, back, until he stumbles over the step up that disconnects the kitchen from the rest of the house. He ends up flat on his back in the doorway, nowhere to go, lightsaber knocked out of his hand and rolling to a stop halfway across the room.

He puts up a decent fight, but it's not enough to save him. He falls, effectively cornered in the kitchen doorway. His saber goes rolling. Leia moves forward quickly, putting out one blade of her own weapon, so as to swing the other down in a clean curve toward Skywalker’s throat.

Chapter Text

She has her lightsaber at his neck, barely a finger’s width away from the skin. The blade is sizzling, starting to burn him superficially the longer she holds it there, but she… can’t kill him. She can’t . The Force is screaming in her ears, Light and Dark indistinguishable in the clamor. Leia wants to strike down this would-be-Jedi, but she’s completely frozen, taken off guard by the Force so strongly denying her.

Skywalker is barely breathing, eyes wide as he stares up at her, and after a tense, silent moment, he summons his lightsaber back to his hand. In one fluid movement he ignites it, swings it in a tight motion to shove her blade away from himself.

Despite herself, as he pushes to his feet, pushes her back, all Leia feels is relief that they're on even ground again.

Luke doesn't know what made First Sister hesitate, but he uses the chance to get back on his feet. In her distraction, he manages to push her back a little, but he knows he won't be able to keep it up. He's trying to think of what he can do when one of the nearest window shutters slams open, sand blowing in at high speeds. First Sister and Luke both curse in surprise. She backs up, and he takes the opening to run, out of the kitchen, away from both her and the now open window. When she follows, she's rubbing sand off her face, trying to avoid getting any in her eyes, lightsaber held at her side.

Luke, across the main room, gives it barely a moment of thought before shutting off his own blade, and First Sister looks up at the sound, watching warily as he clips the saber to his belt.

“I don't think the Force wants us to fight,” he says earnestly.

“Why else would it lead me here?” First Sister asks, angry, circling slowly around the room toward him.

“I don't know, but it led me here too,” Luke pauses, remembering Ben and Ahsoka’s stories of the Clone Wars, of the Jedi-- and of their enemies. “Are you… are you a Sith?”

“I'm an Inquisitor,” Leia corrects. At Skywalker's blank look she rolls her eyes and explains, “we hunt down Jedi.”

“Oh,” he seems uncomfortable with this knowledge. “So you were here looking for my father?”

“...No,” Leia admits. It’s still too easy to talk to this boy. “I'm on Tatooine for someone else. When I heard your name, I just thought… I could get revenge.”

Skywalker looks puzzled.

“Revenge for what?” he asks.

“Anakin Skywalker killed my mother,” Leia says. “She died right after I was born.”

Luke is taken aback by the accusation, but he doesn’t know whether he can dispute it. He doesn’t know much about his father’s last days, the memories too painful for Ben; Luke’s never wanted to pester him about it.

“Who was she?” he asks instead, backing up a step as First Sister stalks ever closer.

“She was a senator, and a queen. I remember her, just a little, impressions mostly. But she was kind, and beautiful.” Leia spins her saber lazily as she moves in, but still, Skywalker doesn’t reach for his saber again, just backs up another step, out of reach of her blades. “Her name was Padmé Amidala, and your father killed her.”

“What?” Luke asks, completely confused. “That’s impossible.”

“Why?” First Sister demands. “Because a Jedi wouldn’t kill an innocent?”

“No, because she isn’t dead ,” Luke says.

“...What?” Leia asks, sensing the earnesty in Skywalker’s claim.

“Just, let me… I can show you,” he says, with the eagerness of a youngling about to show off a new trick they’ve learned. He steps forward, glancing between her face and her still-ignited lightsaber, and against her better judgement, she lets him. He grabs her hand, and she bares her teeth, about to wrench away from him, but all he does is completely drop his shields, pushing images at her through the Force. Memories, warmth and comfort and love Leia has never experienced. A woman, kind and sad and beautiful, just as Leia's own faint memory paints her. Leia sees her through Luke's eyes, telling him stories, bringing home ingredients to make pastries from Naboo, talking to Rebels or runaway slaves in the quiet midnight desert, pointing them toward shelter and safety.

“Padmé Amidala is my mother ,” Luke says. “And she’s alive.”

“That doesn’t make sense ,” Leia protests, pulling her hand away from his grasp, but the truth of it is staring her in the face. “I don’t… why would he lie ?”

Luke doesn’t know who ‘he’ is, so he can only shrug in response. First Sister puts her lightsaber away, finally, her expression becoming one of intense thought, her forehead wrinkling in a familiar way, and oh . Luke’s mind is racing, but, the pieces are coming together, now. He looks closely at the girl in front of him; her dark hair and eyes, the shape of her nose. First Sister. Elder Sister, Ikkelta , the Mighty One. Leia .

“ Leia !” Luke yells. Leia startles, both at the sudden volume, and the sound of the name she hadn't told him.

“How did you--”

“You're my age, I can't believe I didn't-- you're my twin sister! You're Leia,” Luke is essentially vibrating in place, and he reaches for her hands again, both this time, but doesn’t seem bothered when Leia scowls and pulls away. “You're Leia! You aren't dead! Mom will be so happy--”

“I’ve never told anyone that name,” Leia says, and Luke’s energy goes down a little, more under control, softer.

“It’s the name Mom gave you,” he says. Mom . Padmé Amidala. Padmé the Rebel, according to Luke’s memories. Father has some explaining to do, Leia thinks. But wait… her father…

“We can’t be twins,” Leia says. Leia, his sister, his twin, alive and here and Luke is so happy he could sing.

“What?” he asks, her words catching up to him. “What do you mean we can’t ? We are!”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Because if we’re twins, then my father lied to me.”

“If we’re twins, he might not be your father at all,” Luke blurts automatically, and Leia glares at him. “What?”

“Maybe your family’s the liars,” she shoots back. Luke opens his mouth to protest, but… he feels a hint of doubt. Maybe she’s right. Would his family lie? He can’t fathom why they’d have reason to.

“What’s your father like?” he finds himself asking, a sidestep change of subject.

Leia thinks a moment on what to say. What to tell… her twin. Her brother. Maybe. It would certainly explain their quick connection, though it would raise a number of questions. She feels off-balance, unsure about… anything . How many lies has she been told?

“He taught me, sometimes,” she answers finally. “Helped train me to be an Inquisitor. He’s strong in the Force, ruthless. But he… cares, about me. He’s not a bad father.”

“He’s an-- an Inquisitor, like you?” Luke asks.

Leia opens her mouth to correct him, but, then hesitates. As off-guard as she is, she still recognizes the importance of keeping her father’s identity secret. Inquisitors aren’t allowed to have family. She just nods, and if Luke catches the lie, he doesn’t say so.

“Why… why would he only steal you?” he asks instead.

“What do you mean steal me?” Leia demands.

“Mom thinks you died as a baby!” Luke defends. “He must have stolen you, but why?”

“I’m his daughter ,” Leia emphasizes.

“That’s my point! That would make me his son, so why wouldn’t he take me too?”

That’s… an interesting point. The two of them, thoughtful, fall into silence.

Silence . The sound of the storm has faded, and they hadn’t even noticed it go. Leia realizes this about the same moment Luke does, and she gives him a pained, almost apologetic glance before heading for the door.

“Wait!” Luke hurries after her. “Don’t you want to figure this out?”

“I don’t think we’re going to,” Leia replies, not looking back. “Not without asking someone.”

“You should talk to Mom,” Luke says, just hoping to get his sister to stay.

“No,” Leia says solemnly. She whirls on Luke, jabbing a finger at the middle of his chest. “Don’t say anything. Don’t tell her you met me.”

“ What ?”

“Promise,” Leia orders. “I won’t tell Father, and you won’t tell P-- Mom.” She stumbles over the word.

Luke looks hurt, conflicted.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because in case you’ve forgotten,” Leia gestures to the Imperial insignia on her shoulders, “we’re on opposite sides, Luke! No one can know we know each other.”

“You can’t just leave ,” Luke protests, as Leia turns away from him and gets on her jumpspeeder, shaking loose some of the sand that now coats it after the storm. He puts his hands on the front of the bike, standing firmly in the way of her departure. Leia glares at him, and he stares back, expression determined.

‘ You’re very annoying,’ she thinks.

“Hey!” Luke protests.

And then they both freeze, as they process what just happened. What they just did.

‘ Can you hear me?’ Luke asks, never opening his mouth. Slowly, Leia nods, and Luke grins, excited.

“We have a Force bond,” Leia realizes. Their connection makes more sense now, and this certainly adds to the credence of the twin idea, but…

“This is perfect!” Luke says, which isn’t quite what Leia was about to say about it. ‘ Now we can communicate, but still in secret. Just like you wanted.’

‘...I guess,’ Leia deadpans. Luke’s grin gentles into a kind smile, one Leia thinks he must have gotten from his-- their mother.

“Be safe, Leia,” he says aloud. It strikes her that no one’s ever said that to her before. Not in so many words. Fourth Brother and her father have come the closest, but even they dance around saying anything that would make it too obvious that they care.

“You too,” she finds herself replying. Luke steps back from the speeder bike.

She gives one last look over her shoulder, once she’s on her way, and sees her brother standing there, just where she left him.

Luke watches his sister (his sister! ) shrink into the distance. Only once he can’t see her anymore does he go back to his skyhopper, dusting thick layers of sand off before opening it, and dusting thinner layers of sand out before climbing inside.

(Something in the Force settles, rippling out through the galaxy. Few feel it, and fewer still think anything of it. The Force is never static, after all, always in flux.

But in a swamp somewhere, an old Jedi Master feels the Force shift, just a little bit, back toward balance, and he smiles.)

Chapter Text

When Luke is nineteen, Biggs comes home from the Academy, comes to Tosche Station, only to tell Luke he’s defecting, joining the Alliance.

“The Rebellion? ” Luke demands, excited, and Biggs quickly shushes him, worried someone inside the station will hear. “I’m quiet, I’m quiet, listen to how quiet I am, you can barely hear me,” Luke whispers, and Biggs fights a smile.

“My friend has a friend on Bestine who might help us make contact,” he continues.

“You’re crazy,” Luke replies. “You’ll be wandering around forever trying to find them.”

“I know it’s a long shot.” Biggs shrugs, “but if I can’t find them, I’ll do what I can on my own!”

He goes on, asking if Luke’s going to the Academy next season, and Luke shakes his head, making up excuses, unsure whether to tell Biggs anything about his own connection to the Rebels. It’s not like he has any current contacts, codes, any way of helping Biggs out, so it doesn’t matter anyway.

Then Biggs says he’s leaving tomorrow .

“Guess I won’t see you, then,” Luke says, disappointed.

“Maybe someday,” Biggs replies. “I’ll keep a lookout.”

“Yeah,” Luke says. And then he makes up his mind, and adds, “if you see my mom out there, tell her to let me come fight, will ya?”

Biggs hesitates, clearly a little startled.

“ Paila ?” he asks, laughing incredulously, and Luke grins.

“Take care of yourself, Biggs,” he says, offering a hand. “You’ll always be the best friend I ever had.”

Biggs grabs his arm in a firm handshake, still laughing a little at first, but quickly growing more serious, giving Luke a smile that’s almost sad .

“So long, Luke.”

When Leia is nineteen, there are only the smallest handful of Inquisitors left, and nothing for them to do but chase gossip and shadows. She and Fourth Brother, stuck at headquarters more often than not, mostly keep busy by sparring.

Leia has also entertained herself, the past year, by speaking with Luke, when she can get away with it. Opening her mind to their bond opens the bond to potential detection, so she’s careful-- keeps her shields up unless she’s somewhere on assignment alone, far from the Imperial Center and far from her father. (She still hasn’t asked her father if he’d lied to her. She doesn’t know how, doesn’t think she could confront him without the anger in her bubbling up.)

Luke looks forward to the times when he can slip away into the desert and talk to Leia. He can’t risk connecting to their bond around Obi-Wan, less because he doesn’t want Ben to find out, and more because if Ben finds out, it won’t be a secret from Mom anymore, and then Leia might not keep speaking to him at all. They hardly ever get to talk as it is, he doesn’t want to break the first-- and thus far, only-- promise he’s ever made her.

( “Commander, tear this ship apart until you’ve found those plans.” )

( “Inform Lord Vader we have a prisoner.” )

(“ That’s funny. The damage doesn’t look as bad from out here.” )

“Help us, Obi-Wan, you’re our only hope,” the man in the hologram speaks in a tone that might be called pleading, if it wasn’t so calm and dignified. Luke freezes, hands dropping from the R2 unit. The hologram plays on a loop, clearly incomplete, and clearly important.

Obi-Wan isn’t here; he’s back out in the desert, staying at his own home for awhile, after getting into another argument with Uncle Owen. But there’s not enough daylight left to go out there now. As much as Luke hates to delay, he knows the droid’s message will have to wait until morning.

( “I have placed information vital to the survival of the Rebellion into Artoo’s memory systems. My wife will know how to retrieve it. You must see the droid safely delivered to her on Alderaan.” )

( “Alderaan? Uncle Obi-Wan, I’m not going to Alderaan. I’ve gotta get home, it’s late. We can contact Mom to help you.” )

( “We will then crush the Rebellion with one swift stroke.” )

( “If they traced the robots here, they may have learned who they sold them to, and that would lead them back... home.”)

Leia’s in the middle of a spar with Fourth Brother when she feels it: fear, so sharp she falters, her strike going wide. It’s quickly followed up by pain, anguish, anger, Luke’s emotions reaching her across the galaxy but she’s never felt these things from him. Luke is everything Leia knows as Light , he’s happy and hopeful and resolute. She blocks a blow from Fourth Brother, reaches back along the connection, feels Luke latch onto her presence with such ferocity that she gets imprints of sensation, new memory. Smoke against a blue sky. Wind blowing sand against skin. The smell of flesh burning.

They’re gone, he thinks at her, across their bond, and there’s a thread of accusation in the words, an association there that he can’t help but make, Leia realizes, as the obvious truth hits her: the Empire did this.

“Distraction will kill you,” Fourth Brother’s voice brings Leia back to herself just in time to avoid his saber again.

I’m sorry, she sends to Luke, with all the sincerity she can, because it’s all there is to say.

She shuts the connection off firmly.

( “...I want to come with you to Alderaan.” )

( “These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.” )

( “Chewie here tells me you’re looking for passage to the Alderaan system.” )

( “I think it is time we demonstrated the full power of this station.” )

( “Chewie! Get us out of here!” )

( “Senator Organa, before your execution, I would like you to be my guest at a ceremony that will make this battle station operational.” )

Luke and Obi-Wan both feel it, the disturbance, the pain and terror, so suddenly silenced, in such magnitude that it makes Luke nauseous, wondering what might have caused it. Obi-Wan looks pale, a deep frown settling on his face.

Leia and Fourth Brother both feel it, the disturbance, the pain and terror, so suddenly silenced, in such magnitude that it makes Leia lightheaded, the harsh tilt the Force takes toward Darkness.

“It’s finished,” Fourth Brother says, and neither of them have heard of the weapon in more than passing rumors, but they’ve heard enough to put the dots together. Somewhere, out in the galaxy, a planet may just be gone . Despite herself, the thought is enough to make Leia feel sick.

( “Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side, kid.” )

( “Looks like we’re coming up on Alderaan.” )

( “That’s no moon.” )

( “They must be trying to return the stolen plans to the Senator.” )

( “The Force will be with you, always.” )

( “I can’t see a thing in this helmet.” )

( “Had a slight weapons malfunction, but, uh, everything's perfectly all right now. We're fine-- we're all fine here now. Thank you. ...How are you?” )

( “I’m Luke Skywalker, I’m here to rescue you!” )

( “Obi-Wan is here.” )

( “Shut down all the garbage mashers on the detention level!” )

( “I’ve been waiting for you, Obi-Wan.” )

They get away, barely. Luke, Ben, Han, Chewie, R2, 3PO, and Bail Organa, the haphazardly-rescued viceroy, who, now that the adrenaline of their escape has worn off, just seems deeply tired. Luke can understand that; he’s only lost his aunt and uncle, not his whole planet, and yet the same heaviness of grief settles over both of them, without distinction or contest. Obi-Wan is injured, badly, after his fight with Vader-- the plan is to get him into a bacta tank as soon as they get where they’re going. Luke carefully doesn’t think about what may happen, if they aren’t fast enough.

They get away, barely. Leia, Fourth Brother, and a young Zygerrian trainee without a rank, the only other they’d been able to find alive on the way out. The attack came without warning, stormtroopers pouring into Headquarters in unmatchable numbers (and the Force ripples in echo of screams past, other soldiers and other betrayals and another dead order on Coruscant, all by the Empire’s hand, by the Emperor’s hand).

The message was loud and clear: the Emperor has no use for you anymore. Not now that his weapon is complete, not now that the Jedi are all, supposedly, dead, not now that the Inquisitorius provides more threat than benefit. Leia knows they need to get off the planet if they want to survive.

She thinks, briefly, of her father, of whether he’d known about this, but she shakes the thought away quickly.

She doesn’t want to know.

( “We’re approaching the planet Yavin.” )

His mother is there, at the base, with other Rebel leaders, and she freezes in momentary shock when she sees Luke, but then she rushes forward, wraps him in a close hug.

“Lukka,” she greets, and he can’t break down, he can’t cry now, not with so much still going on, but he hugs his mom for as long as he can before stepping back.

When he does move back, look around again, he sees Bail embracing a woman, her long hair loose down her back, and a faint orange glow visible at her neckline.

“I shouldn’t have left,” the woman says, quiet, broken.

“If you hadn’t, I’d have lost you too,” Bail says emphatically. Another Alderaanian, then, Luke thinks; Bail’s wife, Queen Breha, maybe. Luke looks away, back toward his mother and the others, to let the couple have a moment.

( “A precise hit will start a chain reaction which should destroy the entire station.” )

( “This will be a day long remembered. It will soon see the end of the rebellion. ”)

( “Red Five, standing by.” )

( “We’ll have to destroy them ship to ship.” )

( “It’ll be just like Beggar’s Canyon, back home.” )

( “Great shot, kid!” )

( “I knew you’d come back!” )

They have to leave Yavin quickly, they all know. The Empire won’t let a blow like this go unpunished. But there’s time enough, even in the scramble, for celebration. And for mourning.

Luke thinks of Beru, Owen, Biggs. He thinks of the other pilots who died up there, people with names he never learned. He thinks of Alderaan, reduced to little more than a meteor shower, out in the dark.

He tries to reach Leia, through their bond, but she’s still shutting him out.

Leia puts her shields up, shutting herself off from the Force completely, in an effort to stay hidden. Fourth Brother and the youngling do the same.

They’ve hopped a freighter headed all the way to the Outer Rim, some backwater planet Leia’s never heard of that’s sure to have barely any Imperial presence. Well, hopped is a gentle word. More like they’d used a combination of threats and mind-tricks to intimidate the captain into giving them a ride, and now they’re in hyperspace glaring at anyone who gets too close or starts whispering too much.

“We’ll have to ditch these clothes, and maybe our lightsabers,” Leia says quietly, as much as she dislikes the idea.

“We need names to go by, too,” Fourth Brother adds. “We can’t stand out.”

“Cowards,” the youngling hisses, meeting their glares defiantly when they turn to her.

“The Empire’s betrayed us,” Leia replies, voice still low. “So for now, we survive. We hide.”

The kid looks as if she’s about to protest, so Leia puts a hand on her shoulder, a comfort and a warning in equal measure. “And then , when it’s time, we go back .”

There’s a promise of violence, revenge, retribution, in her tone, and the youngling seems satisfied by that, content in the fact that they aren’t just running away.

“We need names,” Fourth Brother repeats.

“Later,” Leia says. “Clothes and credits first.”

After leaving Yavin, they eventually decide to recenter their headquarters on Hoth. Despite being the exact opposite of a burning desert world, it reminds Luke of home in the strangest ways; the unlivable temperatures, the vast stretches of empty landscape, the wind and storms that demand a healthy respect.

He spends time with a recovering Obi-Wan. He spends time with his mother, with Han and Chewie, with Wedge, with Bail and Breha. He spends time getting to know people, getting to know the Rebellion he’s finally part of.

He keeps trying to reach Leia.

She only gives him silence.

Chapter Text

Atravis is a tiny Outer Rim planet, named after a sector it isn’t even in , and Leia took that as a warning signal as to what the place would be like. From the youngling’s bristled fur and Fourth Brother’s wrinkled nose, neither of them had had the same foresight.

“Stay close,” Leia orders, as they disembark from the freighter. She scans the small port, and what she can see of the unimpressive town beyond. The Force whispers like fabric shifting against itself, a counteractive, clumsy attempt at going unnoticed. Leia stops walking, and spins on her heel to glare down at the youngling.

“I told you to leave those on the ship.”

The girl has an extra bag slung over her shoulder, and she scowls.

“What if we need them again?”

“We won’t.” Leia’s tone is cold. Final. Leia carries their lightsabers in her own bag; those they might need. Their uniforms, not so much.

“Grand Inquisitor--” the youngling begins to argue anyway, biting back the rest of her sentence when Fourth Brother drops a harsh, silencing hand onto her shoulder. The Force is quiet; no one around seems to have heard the child’s slip-up, or cared, but Fourth Brother raises a single eyebrow in Leia’s direction: a silent, annoying ‘I told you so’. Leia rolls her eyes, but she has to concede his point.

“Call me Leia,” she says, after a few moments of pretending to think about it.

“What kind of name is that?” Fourth Brother asks.

“I heard it on Tatooine,” she says. It’s not a full lie. “It’s the name of a dragon.”

“I want a name too,” the Zygerrian girl says. Demands , really.

“We’ll find one for you,” Leia says. Raises her gaze to Fourth Brother. “Both of you.”

“Veli,” he shoots back without pause. At the girls’ questioning stares, he bares his teeth, tendrils flicking sharply. “What? It’s a common Mikkian name, it won’t bring attention to us.”

Leia could ask where he heard it, why he’s picked it-- but she doesn’t. It’s simpler to let him have his secrets, so long as he lets her keep hers.

“Leave them,” she orders the youngling, who hisses more literally this time, but lets the bag fall to the ground with a flump of heavy fabric.

Mosais Tin is… fine, as Outer Rim towns go. Quiet, mostly. Small and out of the way enough not to be important to anything, but not so small that every single citizen knows each others’ name and business. Exactly the kind of place someone could disappear in, if they wanted to.

Leia does not want to. The quiet had started grating at her before the first month was out, and what little work she and Fourth-- Veli-- have found isn’t enough to support them in the long term, even if they had any reason to stay. Shoan, as the youngling recently decided on being called, has seemed to like the place so far, but that might just be because she enjoys terrorizing the local children.

Leia keeps an eye on the port in most of her free time, waiting for… something. The Force tells her to be patient, and so Leia grits her teeth, and watches.

After a few days, it pays off. A ship lands, and a woman steps out-- a bounty hunter, maybe, from the dangerous way she carries herself. There’s a curved lightsaber hilt hanging at her hip, partially hidden by a long coat.

Alright, Leia thinks to the Force, feeling it urging her on. I can take a hint.

“How much for passage offworld?” she calls to the woman, who gives her an irritated look as Leia approaches. “For myself, and two others.”

“Move along,” the woman sneers. “This isn’t a passenger shuttle.”

“No, it isn’t.” Leia gives the ship a look-over. “It looks like a TIE Reaper to me… an old one. Did you make those modifications yourself?”

The woman doesn’t answer, still watching Leia with open suspicion, trying to figure her out. “My father taught me a little about ships,” Leia goes on. They never had much time to spend alone together, but her father-- if he ever was, if that wasn’t a story to buy her loyalty-- seemed to have an interest in all things mechanical. Leia remembers hours spent going over the schematics of ships, and weapons, and droids. Days spent in pilot training, and learning to make repairs to her TIE. She remembers being a child, when she was first given the uniform red sabers of an inquisitor, and Lord Vader muttering disdainfully that she should have been allowed to build her own, something of higher quality.

“If only he also taught you not to bother strangers,” the woman deadpans.

“He taught me not to give up, when there’s something I want,” Leia says.

“And what do you have that you think I’d want?” the woman asks. Gives Leia’s dirty clothing a look up and down. “Not credits, by the looks of things.”

“Kyber crystals,” Leia answers simply.

A flicker of interest, curiosity, in the hunter’s eyes, and Leia knows she’s won. Even if the woman hadn’t been carrying a ‘saber-- the crystals are rare, now. Expensive.

“I need to resupply, before we go,” the woman says, giving Leia another look up and down, more appraising this time. She raises her hand to speak into her wristcom: “Stand by; we might have passengers.” Clicking the link off before anyone can respond, she gestures for Leia to follow her into town. “Walk with me.”

(“Mistress Padmé is wondering about Master Luke. He hasn’t come back yet. She doesn’t know where he is.”)

The bounty hunter refuses to give them her name, but she accepts three kyber crystals in exchange for passage to her next stop. Leia, Veli, and Shoan are now down to one saber each, the other halves dismantled and the empty pieces left behind in their lodgings.

“Welcome aboard,” the woman drawls, when they all get back to her ship. She makes an after you gesture, and, wary, Leia leads the others into the small ship.

There are two others already here, also armed (though, not with sabers) and carrying themselves like bounty hunters. One is a Kiffar man with a yellow stripe tattooed across his face, who waves to them with a rakish smile that seems too practiced to be genuine. The other is a human woman, who only nods. She’s familiar, which explains how the hunters got ahold of a TIE Reaper.

“Th-- oof, ” Veli shuts up abruptly when Leia elbows him in the stomach.

Third Sister narrows her eyes. Leia remembers being eleven years old and newly-ranked as Sixth, younger than any other Inquisitor had earned such a number, when Third Sister disappeared without warning from the Inquisitorius. She was declared a traitor to the Empire, and declared dead within a single cycle after that. Leia remembers listening to Lord Vader, a few mornings later, telling them all that he had handled the traitor personally, that ‘this is what happens when you allow weakness to consume you.’

“Asajj only said she found us passengers,” says the man lightly. “Do you have names?”

“Leia.”

“Veli.”

“Shoan,” the youngling introduces herself proudly.

“Good to meet you,” the man grins. “You can call me Quin, and that’s Reva.”

Leia looks at Third Sister. Third Sister looks back, and says nothing. Leia doesn’t know for sure whether Reva even recognizes them; they were only children, when she ‘died’, after all.

Leia breaks eye contact, looking back to Quin.

“Nice to meet you,” she echoes.

(“Good morning! Nice of you guys to drop by!”)

(“Echo Base, this is Rogue Two. I’ve found them.”)

“That’s two you owe me,” Han says, lighthearted, and Luke smiles.

“We’ll send you off with some credits, when it’s safe for you to leave,” Padmé deadpans, and Han feels like the woman is teasing him. Or maybe testing him. He returned to Yavin for Luke, stayed with the Rebels this long, for Luke , and the only person on this damned base who doesn’t seem to have realized that yet is Luke himself. Padmé most definitely knows it-- every time she speaks to him, Han gets the feeling that she doesn’t think he’s good enough for her son.

“Uncle Obi-Wan, I saw something, out there,” Luke says, leaning forward in his seat, and across the room Ben does the same, only wincing slightly when the movement pulls at one of his half-healed injuries. “Some kind of vision, I think. There were all these voices-- they told me to go to the Dagobah system, and find someone named Yoda.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows raise. He hums thoughtfully, stroking his beard.

“Yoda was the grandmaster of the Order, before the Empire rose,” he answers eventually. “If he's still alive out there… It may not be a bad idea, to have him take over your training. At least until I have had more time to recover.”

(“It’s a good bet the Empire knows we’re here.”)

(“That is the system. And I am sure Skywalker and Kenobi are with them.”)

Vader almost considers… but, no. It’s impossible, certainly. Leia is his child. He’d been sure to verify that as soon as the bounty hunter brought her to him, all those years ago. And Skywalker is a common enough name on Tatooine-- if one knows where to look.

It does sting , in a way. A new thread of bitterness woven into all the anger Vader already feels, at the fact that his former master has, for all appearances, replaced him.

(“General, there’s a fleet of Star Destroyers coming out of hyperspace in Sector Four.”)

(“Make ready to land our troops beyond their energy field, and deploy the fleet, so that nothing gets out of the system. You are in command now, Admiral Piett.”)

(“That armor’s too strong for blasters! Rogue Group, use your harpoons and tow cables!”)

“Are you alright?” Han calls, across the half-collapsed command center.

“What are you still doing here, Captain?” Padmé shoots back, barely glancing at him.

“All due respect, ma’am, I could ask you the same thing!”

The Organas are still here too, giving orders, organizing the evacuation even as the room shakes with another blast impact. Han counts his lucky stars that at least old Kenobi was too injured to bother arguing, when Padmé ordered him onto the first transport.

“Imperial troops have entered the base!” someone alerts them over the comms system.

“Come on!” Han says. Bail gives Padmé a look.

“Give the evacuation code signal, and get to your transports!” Queen Breha orders the last remaining command crew. She grabs her husband’s hand, and unholsters a blaster on her other side. “Captain Solo, lead the way.”

“Oh, wait for me!” Threepio calls after them, as they all make a run for the hangar.

The Organas pull ahead before a blast separates them, leaving Han and Padmé on the wrong side of a wall. Han’s communicator crackles.

“Han, are you both alright?” Bail asks, the sound of his voice echoing dimly from past the debris as well.

“We’re alright, Senator. You’d better get to your transport and take off, we can’t get to you. I’ll get her out on the Falcon.”

(“I think we’re in trouble.”)

(“If I may say so, sir: I noticed earlier the hyperdrive motivator has been damaged! It’s impossible to go to lightspeed!”)

(“We’re in trouble.”)

(“Asteroids do not concern me, Admiral. I want that ship, not excuses.”)

“Let go, please,” Padmé orders coolly, and Han readily helps her get her balance back.

“Don’t get excited, ma’am,” he deadpans.

She scoffs, the sound clearly amused, but not quite a laugh.

“You know you don’t always have to call me that,” she says. He shrugs, unconcerned.

Truthfully, Han just doesn’t know what else to call her. Her name feels too informal. She doesn’t seem to go by an official rank within the Rebellion-- just like the Organas. But, unlike them, he doesn’t think he can just go for variations of ‘your majesty’ and call it a day. And he’s pretty sure neither ‘Mrs. Skywalker’ or ‘Ms. Dalaem’ would go over well.

(“Away, put your weapon! I mean you no harm!”)

None of them speak much, for most of the journey. Leia is sure Luke would find it funny: six Force users, all flying in tense silence rather than acknowledge each other. Quin tries to make small talk at first, asking light-hearted questions about their plans, but he gives up after the third time Leia and Veli stonewall him with non-answers.

Leia meditates, in the quiet of hyperspace; something she did not do, so much, before meeting Luke. She pushes the thought of her brother away harshly-- he’s safe, on Tatooine, far away and getting further.

“There she is,” Quin breaks the silence from the pilot’s chair, and Leia opens her eyes, leans forward in her seat to see better as they come up on their destination, lit up impressively by the planet’s sunrise.

“Cloud City.”

Chapter Text

(“We have a new enemy. The young rebel who destroyed the Death Star. I have no doubt this boy is the offspring of Anakin Skywalker.”)

(“How is that possible?”)

(“Search your feelings, Lord Vader. You know it to be true. He could destroy us.”)

(“...He’s just a boy.”)

(“The Force is strong with him. The son of Skywalker must not become a Jedi.”)

The Force sings with the truth of it. Luke… his child. Leia’s brother-- her twin. It’s the only thing that makes any sense.

Vader strongly wishes that it didn’t.

“If he could be turned, he would become a powerful ally,” he offers, a slim chance, but one worth asking for.

“And what of our young Inquisitor?” There’s something amused, in the Emperor’s tone. A joke Vader hasn’t been let in on, but the Force slides bitter and sharp through the back of his mind, at least letting him know that the mockery exists. “You would replace her so easily?”

“No,” Vader tries very hard not to snap. His fists tighten until the gears creak, machinery grinding together.

His master smiles, and Vader hates it, hates him, hates--

“The boy would indeed be a great asset,” the Emperor allows, thoughtful. “Can it be done?”

Two questions disguised as one, and Vader, kneeling, replies to both, the answer he knows is expected of him.

“He will join us or die, my master.”

(“Will you finish what you begin?”)

(“I won’t fail you. I’m not afraid.”)

(“Oh, you will be.”)

(“Yeah, that’s what I thought-- a mynock. Chewie, check the rest of the ship, make sure there are no more attached.”)

“The Empire is still out there! I don’t think it’s wise to--”

“No time to discuss this in the Senate, ma’am,” Han interrupts, rushing past her toward the cockpit.

“I’m not exactly a Senator anymore, Captain Solo,” Padmé snaps, only sounding slightly bitter about that fact.

“Anger, fear, aggression-- the Dark side of the Force, are they! Easily they flow, quick to join you in a fight. Once you start down the Dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny,” Yoda says, and Luke thinks, fleetingly, of Leia. Pushes the thought away with a twinge of hurt-- she still hasn’t spoken to him since before he left Tatooine. “Consume you, it will, as it did Obi-Wan’s apprentice.”

Vader.

“Is the dark side stronger?”

“No, no… no. Quicker, easier, more seductive,” Yoda explains. Luke has heard a little of this before, from Obi-Wan, from Ahsoka, but Yoda seems more willing to answer questions.

“...And people can’t come back from it?” Luke asks.

“No,” Yoda replies brusquely, hitting Luke with his cane for about the hundredth time today. Luke frowns as the Force shifts, like sand falling along a dune: lie. But he doesn’t want to upset the old master by pushing the topic further.

The cave gives him a vision of Darth Vader, and Luke’s own face stares back at him from within that dark helm. His thoughts are in disarray. The Force-- the Dark side-- feels heavy in the air here, oppressive, and it feeds his emotions back to him, intensifying his fear.

There’s something just on the edge of his awareness. He can feel it, can sense the pieces trying to form together. Luke leaves the cave with his heartbeat pounding through his skull, and the dreadful certainty that he’s missing something important.

(“There will be a substantial reward for the one who finds the Millennium Falcon. You are free to use any methods necessary, but I want them alive. No disintegrations.”)

(“As you wish.”)

(“They can't have disappeared. No ship that small has a cloaking device.”)

(“Bespin. It’s pretty far, but I think we can make it.”)

Leia freezes, the second she feels it. That familiar, burning Dark, like a thick blanket wrapping heavy over her shoulders.

“Lord Vader is here,” she tells the others.

“It can’t be,” Veli hisses. “We haven't even been here a week.”

“It’s him,” Leia reiterates.

“Why would he be here?”

Leia’s first, hopeful thought, is that Vader’s here for her. Come to take her back with him, back into the fold and the life she’s always known.

Her second thought is that he’s after all three of them, hunting down loose ends now that they may pose a threat to the Empire.

Neither feels true, in the Force, and relief and disappointment flow through her in equal measure. She closes her eyes, checks that her emotions are carefully blocked off. The others, Vader probably won’t recognize, won’t care about. But she can’t let him sense her presence.

“Gra-- Leia,” Shoan interrupts herself, fur bristling. “What do we do?”

“...We keep our heads down,” Leia says. “I don’t think he’s here for us.”

It hurts more than it should.

“Nothing to worry about. We go way back, Lando and me,” Han says, and Padmé sighs.

“The more you tell me not to worry, Captain Solo, the more I think I should.” She pauses. “Call me Paila, while we’re here. It probably won’t matter, but… better safe than sorry.”

Han glances at her.

“Yes, ma’am.”

(“You must not go.”)

(“But Han and my mom will die if I don’t!”)

(“No one has seen or knows anything about Threepio, and he’s been gone too long to have gotten lost.”)

“You look absolutely beautiful, Miss Dalaem,” Lando says, openly flirting. Again. “You truly belong here with us among the clouds.”

“Thank you,” Padmé replies with a smile. She raises her eyebrows at Han, over her shoulder, wondering if this is what he’s like, too, with other people.

Han meets her eyes for only a half-second before running an embarrassed hand over his face. Interesting .

Lando invites them to join him for refreshments. Padmé considers his easy grin. She considers Threepio, sitting in scraps behind her.

“One moment,” she says, matching Lando’s cheer with a politician’s smile of her own. “I’ll make myself presentable.”

She goes to the closet of new clothes they’ve been given access to, and chooses a cloak with a veil that can cover all but her eyes. She misses the custom mask she uses on Rebellion missions, sometimes, when it’s pertinent to keep Imperial facial recognition from seeing her. But that mask is probably buried in ice somewhere on Hoth, now, and something is better than nothing.

“I’ve just made a deal that’ll keep the Empire out of here forever.”

The door slides open, and Padmé is suddenly very grateful for her paranoia.

Han starts shooting, as if a blaster will do him any good. Padmé takes the moment of distraction to use the meditation technique Obi-Wan taught her, clearing her mind, reigning in her emotions. She visualizes a roaring waterfall between her mind and the rest of the room, unpassable. She may not be Force sensitive, but she can do this much, and with any luck, her husband will not take enough notice of her to push past it, will not recognize her.

(She’s both relieved and enraged, when he actually doesn’t.)

(“Vader’s agreed to turn Paila and Chewie over to me. They’ll have to stay here, but at least they’ll be safe.”)

(“This facility is crude, but it should be adequate to freeze Skywalker for his journey to the Emperor.”)

(“Chewie, this won’t help me! Hey, save your strength. There’ll be another time.”)

“Just tell Luke--” Solo cuts off as Stormtroopers grab him, pull him away.

Padmé hasn’t dared to tempt fate by speaking in front of Vader, but she makes eye contact with Han, and nods.

I will.

(“Reset the chamber for Skywalker.”)

A second familiar Force signature approaches the City, as bright as Tatooine’s suns, and Leia’s stomach sinks. So that’s why Vader is here.

(“Lukka, don’t, it’s a trap!”)

Halfway across the galaxy from Bespin, Obi-Wan Kenobi meditates in the middle of a busy Rebellion base, and pretends he isn’t ready to crawl out of his own skin if the Force gives even one more tiny ripple. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to get to them in time to make any difference, he prays desperately for the safety of his remaining family.

(“The Force is with you, young Skywalker. But you are not a Jedi yet.”)

“I had no choice!” Lando chokes out.

“What are you doing?!” Threepio demands, still in pieces on Chewie’s back. Padmé puts a hand on Chewbacca’s arm.

“Let him go, Chewie,” she requests firmly. “I know you’re angry, but he was doing what he thought was best for his people. …Plus, we need him.”

Thankfully, Chewie listens.

(“Put Captain Solo in the cargo hold.”)

(“Your destiny lies with me, Skywalker.”)

Vader’s moves are slow, at first, every swing of his lightsaber projected full seconds before the strike would hit. Even as Luke continues to hold his own, Vader only matches his skill, never actually trying to deliver a serious blow.

Luke knows when he’s being patronized. He doesn’t like not knowing why.

(“Attention. This is Lando Calrissian. Attention. The Empire has taken control of the city, I advise everyone to leave before more Imperial troops arrive.”)

“We need to go,” Veli says curtly, and Shoan nods. A sentiment shared, apparently, by most of Cloud City’s population.

“...You two find us a ship,” Leia orders. “I have something I need to do.”

“What?” Veli asks, but Leia’s already off at a run. “Leia!”

“Get them to the Falcon,” Padmé instructs Lando, pulling off her cloak for a better range of movement. “Take off if you have to, but stay as close as you can.”

“What about you?” he asks.

“I have to go find my son.”

“There is no escape,” Vader says. Luke fights to regain his breath, forcing himself to focus past the pain tunneling his vision. He holds the cauterized stump of his wrist close to his body. “Don’t make me destroy you.”

Why don’t you want to? Luke thinks, and doesn’t ask.

“Luke, you do not yet realize your importance,” Vader continues, an edge of something nearing desperation in his tone, under the mask. “You have only begun to discover your power. Join me, and I will complete your training. With our combined strength, we can end this destructive conflict, and bring order to the galaxy!”

“I’ll never join you!” Luke practically spits. Dukkra ba dukkra, Aunt Beru’s steady voice whispers in the back of his mind. Luke doesn’t look down, at the endless fall he knows is beneath him.

“If you only knew the power of the Dark side. Obi-Wan hasn’t told you what happened to your father.” With every word Vader speaks, Luke’s heart sinks lower, the truth slowly settling in his body just as deeply as any wound.

“...He doesn’t need to,” Luke replies.

‘A young Jedi named Darth Vader. … He betrayed and murdered your father.’

‘Anakin Skywalker killed my mother.’

‘Padmé Amidala is my mother. And she’s alive.’

‘If we’re twins , he might not be your father at all.’

‘Maybe your family’s the liars .’

‘He’s strong in the Force, ruthless .’

‘Much anger in you. Like your father .’

“Luke,” Vader starts, leaning toward him. Luke takes a breath, prepared to fall, when--

Leia follows both their presences down into the depths under the City. She sees them, above that endless drop, Luke unarmed and Vader, reaching out to-- no… offering a hand. Offering help. Leia freezes, unsure now of whether to interfere. Why would Vader-- unless he knows, about Luke, about Padmé, about all of it.

Then why offer Luke his hand? Why not just kill him? If Vader knows Luke could destroy his lie about being Leia’s father-- but, it was never a lie. Leia knows that, in this moment. Knows it with a certainty like a burning star. But that could only mean--

Padmé almost gets lost, until she sees a young woman with a lightsaber run by. She follows the girl as closely as she dares, down through the levels of the City, and when they emerge Padmé sees Luke, hanging on for dear life above a drop into open atmosphere. And she sees--

“Anakin!”

Chapter Text

Vader freezes, and his lightsaber turns off in his hand, at the sound of that voice. Her voice.

Impossible, he thinks, shock pushing every other thought from his head. But the impossible seems to have been happening a lot, lately, and sure enough, when he turns, there she stands. Much too solid, and too old, to be a ghost or a hallucination. When she haunts him, she is always the age she was when he killed her. Now, she stands before him with new lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes, regal threads of gray at the front of her hair, the edge of a faded scar visible on one of her hands, some old harm he wasn’t there to protect her from.

“Padmé,” he says. Her name is barely more than a breath, but his helmet makes the syllables loud, harsh.

“Anakin,” she repeats, moving forward onto the catwalk, tears in her eyes. Someone else moves to grab her shoulder and is quickly shrugged off; Vader is even more confused as he registers that the second figure is Leia , who should be stationed safely in the Inquisitorius.

“Mom, don’t!” Luke cries out, but Padmé doesn’t listen, running right up to Vader-- and shoving him in the chest with all her weight behind it. His body is too heavy, too sturdy, to be truly knocked off balance, but it takes him by surprise, and he steps back, just once. He feels his back hit the rail behind him.

“How dare you?” Padmé yells. “How dare you!”

“Padmé--”

“No,” she snaps, voice low, authoritative, the way she used to speak as Queen. Still staring up at Vader with fury in her eyes, she addresses their son. “Luke, let him help you up. He won’t hurt you again.” A promise, and a threat they both know she has no power to make.

Vader, still stunned, turns wordlessly back to Luke, and once again reaches out a hand. Luke hesitates, looking between his parents with fear, uncertainty. “Lukka,” Padmé prompts again, still not looking away from Vader.

Luke takes a breath in, and grabs Vader’s hand. Vader quickly pulls him back over the rail to safety, where Padmé wraps the boy in a tight hug, holding him upright when his knees falter.

“Luke!” Leia calls, running up to them. Vader might be angrier at the fact his daughter already knows Luke and didn’t tell him, but such a complex thought is a bit beyond him, right now. He’s too busy staring at his wife, trying to push down the raging turmoil of emotions whirling through his chest, as he re-memorizes the lines of her face.

“Leia!” Luke pulls back from Padmé, leaning his weight carefully against the rail. Padmé makes a small, pained sound, and Leia stops just shy of running into them both.

“Leia?” Padmé repeats, eyes wide with grief and hope as she turns.

“...Mother.” Leia looks intimidated, almost frightened, tensing when Padmé reaches up to cup her cheek with a gentle hand. 

Ah, Vader thinks. Padmé didn’t know either. It seems their children have been keeping both of them in the dark.

“Oh, my girl,” Padmé says, tears falling down her face as she draws Leia into a hug as well, then Luke again, holding both her children close.

Vader stands as still as stone, in the background of their tearful reunion, and ponders exactly how angry his master will be about this.

Lando and Chewie are keeping the Falcon in a loose orbit around Cloud City, waiting for any word from Paila, or any sign of her. It isn’t long before they spot another ship with a similar idea, hovering in place near the city. It’s a small, flat-winged vessel that Lando recognizes.

Chewie roars, and Lando isn’t fluent enough in Shyriiwook to catch all of it, but he recognizes the sounds of a few words: tyrant, ship, and blast.

“No, wait!” Lando says, as Chewbacca starts to get up. He puts a hand on the Wookiee’s arm, immediately pulling back when Chewie side-eyes him. “I know that crew; she’s not an Imperial ship.”

Chewie gives a skeptical growl. “I can prove it,” Lando assures him.

He hails the ship. “ Millennium Falcon to Redlight, this is Lando Calrissian. Quin, are you alright?”

“Yeah, man, we’re fine,” Quin’s response comes through with a slight crackle of static. “We’ve got a passenger still on the city.”

“Same here, we-- hey!” Lando frowns at Chewie, who roars back and lightly smacks Lando’s hand away when he reaches to hail the Redlight again. “I told you, they’re not Imperial! Quin’s a friend of mine.”

Chewie roars again; Lando hears a phrase of comparison, the tone of a question, and Han’s name. He hesitates.

“Well, not exactly like Han.”

Chewbacca rolls his eyes.

“Hello? Lando?” Quin frowns.

“We’re not being jammed,” Reva confirms.

“He cut the call,” Asajj murmurs, squinting suspiciously at the Falcon through their viewport as it makes another slow loop around the city.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Shoan mumbles to Veli.

“Come with me,” Vader orders, or asks, he isn’t even sure, so off-balanced as he is.

“Anakin,” Padmé starts, reaching a hand out, before hurriedly pulling her arm back in against her chest. Her tone is familiar, pleading--

“Anakin Skywalker is dead,” he intones, almost reflexively, the Force around him curling Dark and solid and strong. “I killed him.”

“If that were true, then both of my children would be dead as well,” Padmé says, standing firm, and something in him shrinks away from the bright pain of those words. “Anakin--”

“Stop!” Vader snaps, fury building thick in his chest until it could choke him, if he was breathing on his own, and only growing further when Padmé looks at him with pity.

“Lord Vader, then,” she says, expression perfectly neutral, half a politician’s grace, and half the impenetrable will of a spy, learned long ago and refined over time. His name in her mouth is a judgement, a sentence to be carried out. “...I can’t follow you. I will not be your prisoner. Or the Emperor’s.”

No. He would not expect her to.

The commlink in his helmet beeps with a message from the Executor , and he ignores it. Piett can wait.

Vader looks at the twins-- Leia, unsettled, drawn in on herself both physically and in the Force. Luke… barely conscious, half-slumped with his uninjured arm slung over his mother’s shoulders, as the adrenaline begins to fade and the pain comes flooding back in.

“Leia,” Vader starts. “...Why did you come here?”

“The Inquisitors have outlived our usefulness,” she answers curtly, her shields opening just to push a storm of rage-betrayal-panic at him, the heavy beat of armored marching, barked orders to hold your ground , the screams of younglings, the whir of lightsabers and the firing of blasters, treachery and fear and the stench of cooking flesh… for a moment her memories mix with his own, making him dizzy--

Luke whimpers, and Leia’s shields slam shut again with such intensity that her presence nearly disappears. Vader’s breath stutters, much too obviously, before he can steady himself.

“I…” he is overcome, by a moment, by the all-encompassing anger he feels toward the Emperor for even attempting to harm her, Leia was his--

“You didn’t know,” Leia says, a realization as much as forgiveness, which cuts through the wrath, making Vader flinch at the thought that she hadn’t known if he could be trusted, if he would hurt her.

Vader has always done his best to protect his daughter. From the worst the Inquisitors’ training had to offer. From missions and fights she wasn’t yet ready for. From his master’s interest.

It’s hard to have the reality thrown in his face: it wasn’t enough.

He cannot be angry, he realizes, suddenly and sure, the Force a settling pressure weighing him down. In this moment, in front of his daughter, in front of his family-- he will lose them all, will lose Padmé again, if he loses himself in this.

He lets the silence stretch, his breathing the only sound above the wind, and the incessant beeping of his commlink inaudible outside of his helmet. He lets his emotions settle. Not gone, not released, but pushed down to deal with… later.

“...Go,” he tells his wife, “and take Leia. She will be safer with you.”

“What about you?” Padmé asks, already stepping back, placing a guiding hand on Leia’s arm.

“I will go back, and explain my failure.” There was no other option. There never would be. “I will face… my master.”

He feels a burning Light latch onto the last word, latch onto the old tangle of hatred and pain and rage that comes spilling out with it--

“Depur,” Luke spits the word, and Anakin tenses. Again, his anger rises, and a brand new betrayal, because a child born free should not know the weight of that word, and a child raised in Padmé’s rebellion would not. He knew Luke was registered in the Imperial database as a citizen of Tatooine, but he didn’t realize the boy was actually raised there. Why would Padmé-- why would anyone--

“Father,” Leia warns, and Vader can count, on two hands, the number of times she’s felt confident enough to refer to him as such aloud. He grits his teeth, reels his emotions in once again, nodding to her in acknowledgement.

“Go,” he instructs them again. Padmé starts to step back, but Luke digs his feet in, shaking his head.

“Luke?” Padmé asks, looking him over with worry. The boy straightens up, bolstering himself with the Force, still unable to stand on his own but raising his head, eyes bright and clear as he looks, unwavering, to Vader.

“I’ll go with you,” Luke says.

“What?”

“No!”

“Absolutely not,” Padmé’s firm pronouncement somehow drowns out Vader and Leia both. “You’re hurt.” Her self-control is too good, to let herself glare at Vader, but he knows she deeply wants to.

“Father can help me,” Luke insists, resolute. “And I can help him.”

Padmé wavers. Vader waits; she knows their son better than he does, will know what to say, how to talk Luke down--

“Alright,” she says.

“What?” Anakin demands.

“We need to get out of here,” Lando says, eyeing the Star Destroyer now visible in orbit above them. Chewie growls, and Lando is hasty to add: “Not without Paila, I know!”

“Oh, I do hope she and Master Luke are alright,” C-3PO frets, from where he’s been propped up against the wall of the cockpit.

They keep a wary eye on the Destroyer, but no fighters come down from it. It’s like it doesn’t care about them at all.

“There!” Lando points to a landing platform, where Paila’s running out to meet them, followed by a young woman. Chewie churrs happily, bringing the Falcon down, and almost colliding with the Redlight as the other ship swoops in toward the same platform. It’s a near miss. Chewie breaks off again, circling away from the landing pad with a roar.

“Whoa, hey!” Lando hails Quin again, and Chewie doesn’t try to stop him this time. “That’s our passenger!”

“And ours,” Asajj answers. She sounds like she’s sneering; Lando can practically see it.

The Redlight zips in for a landing, and there’s a short conversation between the two women on the platform before both board together.

A commotion on the Redlight that reduces the call quality to static, and a question from Chewie, tossing his hands up incredulously.

“Hang on, hang on. Hey, Quin,” Lando says, “let me talk to our friend--”

“We need to get moving,” Paila can be heard, immediately, through the comm. “Quin, was it? I’ll make sure your crew is reimbursed when we get back to my people. Chewie, meet us there; you have the codes.”

Chewbacca gives a low trill of agreement, then a growl of warning, side-eying the Redlight one last time as he brings the Falcon around and finally turns away from the city.

The connection cuts out, and Lando grins.

“She’s really something,” he says.

He knows just enough Shyriiwook to catch Chewie’s “don’t start.”

Captain-- no-- Admiral Firmus Piett, is nervous. He doesn’t know why Lord Vader ignored his comms for such a long time, only then to answer and bark out a sharp order for Piett to meet him in a private docking bay. There’s no one here with him, no officers or troopers or even so much as a mouse droid. It’s just Piett, and his own spiraling anxieties, waiting for Vader’s shuttle to land aboard the Executor.

“Lord Vader!” Piett steps forward in a hurry, as the ramp of the shuttle begins to lower. “Sir, we disabled the rebels’ hyperdrive, as you ordered; if we send the fighters out now--”

“No,” Vader says, and Piett freezes in place, watching Lord Vader step out of the shuttle carrying a person . “We have other priorities.”

“Sir?” Piett asks, glancing down at the young man in Vader’s arms. The boy is unconscious, face pale and drawn with pain, blond hair plastered to his forehead by sweat. One of his hands… isn’t , the wrist ending in a clean, bloodless line that nonetheless makes Piett a little nauseous. “Is that Skywalker, my lord?”

“Yes,” Vader answers. And then he pauses. His head tilts to the side, just slightly, and Piett can feel the man’s eyes on him, even through the dark lenses of the helmet. Piett tries very hard not to be afraid. “Can I trust you, Admiral?”

“...Sir?” Piett asks again. Then he thinks better of trying Vader’s patience, and straightens his posture, hoping to channel confidence. “Of course, Lord Vader.”

“Call the medics to prepare a private treatment room, then have one of the spare officers’ quarters made up.” Vader sweeps past him, cradling Skywalker against his chest with more care than Piett had assumed the man capable of. ‘Spare’ is an odd word choice, considering that those quarters are only empty because their inhabitants have since… spontaneously choked to death, but Piett does not make this observation aloud.

“Yes, my lord,” he says instead, moving to contact the medbay.

“And, Admiral?” Lord Vader stops, just shy of the door. “As of right now, only you and I know that Skywalker is aboard this ship. I would like, as much as is possible, to keep this development confidential. If anyone asks, I returned to the Executor alone.”

“Shall I inform the medics of that as well?” Piett asks.

“Yes.” Vader is still standing in the doorway, and now he turns, belatedly looking back at Piett over his shoulder. “If anyone asks, Admiral.”

Piett wonders, for a split second, if he’s expected to parrot Lord Vader’s orders back to him like a first year cadet-- and then the stressed word hits.

“...Yes, my lord,” he replies, mouth suddenly dry. Vader nods, and strides out of the docking bay, leaving Admiral Piett behind with the dreadful surety that he has just agreed, if the situation arises, to lie to the Emperor’s face.

Chapter Text

Luke stretches his hand open, fingers spread, palm up. Clenches his fist, and watches all the little gears and servos move. The prosthetic is wired into his nervous system, and it keeps sending the occasional misfire of pain, every now and again, as it adjusts to his body and vice versa. It’s discomfiting, seeing machinery where his hand should be. Where his brain is telling him his hand is.

“It doesn’t feel like it’s... mine,” he admits.

“It will,” his father replies, shifting back on his heels. “In time.”

Luke opens his fingers again, watching all the pieces turn in sync. The prosthetic doesn’t have the same level of sensory input as his left hand. It probably never will, even if he decides to put synthskin over it. But it’s impressive, delicate work, and he feels… grateful. Angry, bitter, and maybe a little hysterical, still, but grateful. He knows that this hand, the attention to detail that went into it, is an apology. He takes a breath, looking up.

“Now what?” he asks.

“I have already made my report to the Emperor,” Vader says. “Luke Skywalker escaped capture. I will be picking up a batch of new recruits from the Academy, before hunting down Skywalker and his rebel friends. You will need a name, by then.”

It’s smart; the recruits will assume Luke’s been here, and the existing crew will assume he’s new. He won’t have to stay hidden in one set of rooms, anymore.

“And after that?” he asks, because he has to. Because Vader feels... different, in the Force, since Bespin. Off-balance, somehow; just as Dark as he’s always felt before, but not the focused force of nature that almost killed Obi-Wan, that asked Luke to join him, that haunts the Rebellion’s nightmares. Vader now feels... unmoored, a Darkness less like a black hole and more like the sprawling vast of space, unsure of where its edges are.

“...The Emperor wants me to bring you to him,” Vader says. “For the same reasons he only allowed Leia to be raised within the Inquisitorious. For the same reasons he would have seen her destroyed, there.” Fury sweeps through Luke’s chest, hot as dragon’s fire, only some of it his own. “Your power... threatens his.”

“I don’t understand.” Luke frowns. “There are other Jedi out there who are more skilled than me—”

“More practiced, yes,” Vader interrupts. “But not more powerful. Not in the ways my master covets. He would turn you to the Dark side, and control you. Like Leia. ...Like me.”

“I will not kneel to the Emperor,” Luke says. I will not kneel to anyone, he thinks, with significantly less tranquility. “And I will not turn. If you bring me to him, you’ll be forced to kill me.” The words ring strong and true, in the Force, and his father turns away from him, staring at the wall.

Vader’s mechanical breathing is a harsh sound, in the small space.

“I must obey my master,” he says, and the weight of the desert lives in those words. The weight of chains, of blood spilled in the sand. Luke feels it, and lets it anchor them both, steady upon bedrock.

“What will you do?” he asks.

“I will continue the search for Luke Skywalker, and the rest of the Rebel Alliance,” his father answers, his tone dry, even through the vocoder. “It may be quite a long time, before I find them.”

“We can’t pretend forever,” Luke says. Warns, really, because he can feel how much his father would prefer to do just that. There’s a flash of anger that fizzles into annoyance, before Vader turns back to look at him.

“No,” Vader agrees. “Not forever. Just long enough to complete your training.”

The base is still being set up, and it’s busy, everyone running to and fro, ships still coming in... The energy is not unlike a hive of insects, the activity around him convalescing into a low buzz in the Force. Having been aggressively discouraged from over-exerting himself, Obi-Wan is leaning against a railing with his eyes closed, letting the base’s collective energy wash over him. He flinches when a familiar mind brushes past his own, but forces himself to be still.

“What are you doing here, Ventress?” Obi-Wan asks lightly, opening his eyes. He hasn’t heard any word of her in twenty years, and her Force presence has… softened, in that time. Become less the sharp and jagged thing he once knew.

“I was hired,” she says, giving him a look up and down. “You’ve aged terribly, Kenobi.”

“Living in the Tatooine wilds will do that,” he agrees, at ease enough to drop his hand from his ‘saber. “Who hired you?”

“Amidala.” Ventress scoffs, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest, dark synth-leather coat draping behind her. He must admit, she pulls off the ‘Outer Rim bounty hunter’ look very well. “Swanned onto our ship like she owned the place.”

“Our?”

The hair on the back of his neck stands up, not a warning of danger, just a once-familiar, buzzing heads up, and Obi-Wan turns, eyes wide, just in time to be drawn into a crushing hug.

“I knew you had to still be out there, you old bastard!”

“Quinlan!” Obi-Wan gasps, returning the embrace before Vos pulls back, holding Obi-Wan at arm’s length to look him over, still grinning.

“You’ve aged terribly, Kenobi,” Quinlan says brightly, and Obi-Wan laughs.

Luke has only met a few of his mother’s former handmaidens. Sabé, most often, who visited Tatooine with Padmé whenever the Rebellion could spare them both. Dormé only a couple of times in passing, over the years, and Moteé only once, and only since Luke became a Rebel himself. He knows the others only through stories, either because they died, or went missing, or were in hiding or undercover.

So, he doesn't know the impassively stern face of the woman standing outside his rooms, but her surface emotions flare with relief-affection-familiarity when the door opens, when she gets eyes on him, and there are only so many possible reasons for it.

Her hair is pulled back into a severe bun, not a single strand out of place. She’s wearing a grey technician’s uniform, with a small badge that indicates which specific branch of the military she works under, but Luke hasn’t been here long enough to memorize all of them. He does recognize the larger pin on her chest that marks her as a Colonel, and he wonders just how long she’s had to be undercover to climb that far in the ranks.

“Ensign Whitesun?” she asks. (Vader had vetoed the alias ‘Lars’, as well as ‘Dalaem’, and Aunt Beru’s was the only other name Luke could think of that he would actually remember to answer to.)

“That’s me.” He smiles, trying not to look too sick. He isn’t sure he succeeds.

“Colonel Erra Birinnet,” she introduces herself.

“Nice to meet you,” Luke says honestly.

“...It’s nice to meet you, too,” Eirtaé replies, cold mask never slipping, but a thread of sincerity in her voice, nonetheless. She clears her throat. “You put in a request to transfer from Logistics to Engineering?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Actually, he’d complained to his father that he didn’t know what a Logistics officer was supposed to do, and Vader had agreed to handle the paperwork.

“You’ll be working under my division,” Colonel Birinnet says. Luke nods, relaxing despite himself, despite their surroundings. It’s a relief, to know he’ll have someone else here looking out for him.

“Thank you for your continued cooperation, Leia. We’ll speak again tomorrow.”

“Wait!” Leia orders—and it is an order, too hard an edge in her tone to take it as a plea. Queen Breha stops with a hand on the door panel, eyeing Leia’s flung-out hand with gracefully-concealed caution.

“Yes?”

Leia says nothing, at first. She just listens to the queen’s breath, that almost-familiar rasp of a respirator system, accompanied by a slow pulse of orange-gold light not quite hidden by Breha’s dress collar. It’s different from the rhythm of Father’s breathing, but only just. Something in the queen’s cadence, maybe, or something about the rest of Father’s suit and helmet, amplifying what could have been a softer sound.

“Does it hurt?” Leia asks, gesturing to her sternum, to clarify her meaning. (She frowns, as her hand hovers over the control plate centered on his chest. She pulls back when he shifts in place, a tiny, uncomfortable fidget made conspicuous by his suit.

“...Not always,” her father answers. She almost doesn’t catch the lie.)

“...Yes,” Queen Breha answers. “When it gets like this.”

Leia inclines her head, understanding. It must be hard to schedule medical maintenance out here, on the run from the Empire.

“Did you really only want to ask about my lungs?” Queen Breha asks, eyebrows raised.

“No,” Leia admits easily. “I want to see the others.”

She may not be Grand Inquisitor anymore, but she’s still responsible for Shoan and Veli. She hasn’t been given any information about them since they arrived here, since they were all asked to come with us, please, and taken in different directions. She has her mother’s assurances that they’re alive, Queen Breha’s assurances that they won’t be harmed for no reason. She has not been told what would count as a reason, and she hasn’t wanted to show weakness by asking.

“...I think that can be arranged.” Breha smiles; it isn’t joyful and bright, like Luke’s, or deep and sad, like Mother’s. It has the same warm glow as the pulmonodes in the queen’s chest, and Leia finds herself relaxing despite herself, comforted by it.

“Lieutenant Ranovad?” Bail Organa’s voice calls, his Alderaanian accent pulling the vowels just slightly off-target. “I have someone here I want you to meet.”

When Korkie looks up from his comm station, a familiar Jedi he’s never met is standing next to Organa in the open doorway.

“Su’cuy,” Korkie greets, because his brain has just completely short-circuited, and he can’t think of anything else to say.

“Su’cuy,” Kenobi returns, with better pronunciation than Korkie expected from him. Then he hesitates, brows raising. “‘Lieutenant Ranov’ad, was it?”

Child of secrets. An interesting statement, he knows, to those who understand Mando’a. Not quite a full denouncement of his previous name and aliit, but it suits him better, he thinks, and draws less attention in the Rebellion than his Clan’s name would.

“I had… a disagreement, with Bo-Katan,” Korkie admits. (A ‘disagreement’ which had left him with bruised ribs and a vibroblade stab wound in his thigh, and his aunt with two broken fingers and a dislocated shoulder, but that’s their own business.) “I denounced her House.”

“I see,” Kenobi says. He doesn’t seem sympathetic, which is refreshing.

“I kept my first name, though.”

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you.” Kenobi smiles. “...Satine talked about you, on occasion, and I thought perhaps…” he trails off when he sees Korkie tense. The Jedi takes a breath, glances at Bail and the other rebels in the room, and smiles diplomatically, a mask only slightly strained. He must be out of practice. “‘Korkie’ is an interesting name, by Mandalorian standards.”

“It’s a Basic adaptation, more of a nickname,” Korkie replies, angry despite himself. He doesn’t actually want to talk about this, but he didn’t take his mother's Jedi for a coward. “My name is Ca-Rukyr.”

Kenobi’s expression furrows, a question flicking through his eyes, there and gone again, before his face softens.

“The night has ended,” he translates, and Korkie nods in confirmation. Kenobi hesitates once more, longer this time. There’s a heaviness standing between them, a truth unacknowledged, and Korkie waits in silence, to see if the man is strong enough to ask. “...Satine and Bo-Katan never had any other siblings, did they?”

It’s an obfuscation, a careful dance around the real question, but he can accept that. They are, technically, in public, after all; Organa’s still standing half a step behind Kenobi, and Korkie’s not dumb enough to think the others are actually listening to incoming transmissions, rather than eavesdropping past their headsets. No one gossips quite like communications officers.

“No, they didn’t,” he answers, drawing himself up to full height. Kenobi looks upset, pained, but ultimately unsurprised.

“I’m s—”

“Don’t,” Korkie interrupts him, blunt. “She didn’t tell you, and what’s done is done.” Kenobi’s brow furrows in an… annoyingly familiar way, but he nods, accepting.

There’s another silent moment, the tension between them settling with a whisper.

“How did you know?” Obi-Wan asks. Bail looks as sheepish as he ever does—which is to say, not at all. Breha doesn’t even look up from the reports on her datapad, but a smile tugs briefly at one side of her mouth.

“He was on the same transport as us, coming from Hoth,” she says. “He’d grown out a beard. I commented that he looked quite a bit like you, and next time I saw him, he’d shaved.”

Obi-Wan suppresses a wince at the pointed blow, but he knows Breha isn't to blame for it.

“We weren’t completely sure,” Bail adds. “But I’m sorry I didn’t warn you, my friend.”

Obi-Wan waves off the concern.

“I was never sure either,” he admits, with a self-recriminating smile. “Not until speaking to him.”

Breha finally looks up, mildly surprised, and reaches up to squeeze his shoulder before handing her datapad off to Bail, and pulling Obi-Wan into a full hug. It's a welcome comfort, but a strange one—he's never known her as well as he has Bail, and besides that it’s a slip in decorum neither of them would have allowed themselves in the past, as a Queen and a Jedi. He hugs her back, grateful, and meets Bail's smiling eyes over her shoulder.

“Ensign!” Someone snaps, and Luke bites back a sigh. His false name was only for paperwork, it seems, because in the last six weeks, not a single person here has yet bothered to try and learn it.

“Yes? Sir?” he adds belatedly, turning toward the Captain addressing him. His failure to stand at attention earns him a scowl.

“Lift 3529 is malfunctioning; go. Now.”

Droid work, part of him grumbles, but most of his work here has been. And if he’s doing it, he can make sure it’s done the way he wants it. Luke nods, and moves to pack up his tools.

(“We do what we can,” Aunt Beru says, as the sonic in the kitchen flakes blood from her hands. The man she sang for tonight is sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the chip she dug out of his leg, as if he can’t believe it’s done. Luke, carefully sanitizing each of Beru’s tools, smiles when the man glances up at him.)

(“We do what we can,” Uncle Owen says, making sure the hunting rifle in his hands is fully charged and clean of grit, making sure Luke’s packed enough rations for a trip to the next settlement. Uncle Owen buys new rifles often, always excited to see a new model in the shop; to everyone who doesn’t know where the old ones go, it seems like a frivolous expense.)

We do what we can, Luke thinks, as he carefully wires a recording device into the control panel of the lift, and makes sure it’s transmitting to the encrypted comm code Eirtaé gave him. Imperial officers, like most people, tend to talk more openly when they think they’re alone.

We do what we can, Luke thinks, as he reprograms mouse droids, and plants bugs, and fixes things slowly, or fixes them wrong so that they break again worse in a week and have to be replaced, which takes even longer. As he gathers information, and gets to know his father (and argues with him, often). As Eirtaé carefully, slowly, introduces him to others—not many, but the Empire is vast and its fangs are bloodied. Among the Executor’s crew of nearly fifty thousand, Luke is sure there are more spies, even, than the few he’s been allowed to meet.

When he helped the Rebellion destroy the Death Star, he had the chance to be a wrench in the gears, to do something big, and flashy, and fast. Now, he’s fallen back on older habits, and the patience of the desert. (Beru’s steady hands, as she sang, and cut people free. Owen’s steady voice, as he invited patrols and bounty hunters into the house, confident there would be nothing left for them to find.)

Sand will stop any machine just as surely as a wrench, given enough time. And right now, time is something Luke Skywalker has plenty of.

“It must have been terrifying,” some pilot comments, at evening meal, “growing up with Vader always looking over your shoulder.”

Leia pauses, fork halfway to her mouth. She glances across the table at her mother, but Padmé’s expression is calm, her emotions held tightly, unreadable.

“He didn’t pay that much attention to most of us,” Veli says, and Leia sends a sharp look his way, only to find him already staring at her. Calculating.

He knows something, she thinks. Or he thinks he does.

There are plenty of rumors and half-truths, whispered among the Rebellion where they think Leia can’t hear. Some of them have to do with Padmé, and her clear protection of Leia, and the similarities of their faces. Some of them have to do with her loyalty, and that of her fellow former Inquisitors, the rebels’ distrust of them clear. It’s been nearly two months, and in that time, very few people have spoken to Leia at all aside from her mother and the Organas. She understands, but understanding doesn’t stop her from missing home, missing the certainty of knowing exactly where she stood, knowing who was likely to betray her, and how, and when.

Veli’s suspicion shouldn’t hurt more than anyone else’s, but it does.

“Still.” The pilot shakes his head. “What’s he like? When he’s not, y’know, slaughtering our friends.”

His tone is deceptively light, bitter grief under the humor, and a waver of fear underneath that. Padmé looks up from her meal—looks at Leia, awaiting the answer just as intently as the pilot.

“Why were you raised on Tatooine?”

“Obi-Wan was convinced you’d never look for us there. Now I understand why.”

He knows Vader catches the unspoken judgement. Luke lets his father’s anger crash over him, the Force howling around them like a sandstorm.

“He should not have let you stay there. That planet is—”

“My home. Yours too, once. You’ve only forgotten.” Luke knows he’s twisting the knife. Knows that Vader’s eyes are burning, behind that mask. Knows that if Luke were anyone else he’d be dead by now. But Luke is not anyone else, and his father will not kill him. This, he knows with certainty. “I was safer with Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru then I would have been with Mom, and we all knew it. Plus, they gave her a home outside of the Rebellion, too.”

Snap. The pressure of the storm breaks, right on cue, like a scurrier stepping into a trap; Vader’s anger wavers, then dissolves. Luke looks up at him, but carefully doesn’t smile yet.

“Tell me,” Vader says, as softly as his vocoder will allow, “about your mother.”