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Chapter Text

Usually pride is the emotion to accompany victory, however at the moment Admiral Piett is feeling mostly relief.

Five years. Five bloody years of chasing the boy and his cohorts from one end of the galaxy to the other. Piett's first trial as admiral had been to guide his fleet into an asteroid field after the lot, and matters had not improved much since then.

He's currently sitting across from where Skywalker himself sits flanked by troopers with binders on his wrists and his head hanging down.

Considering the apparent skill Skywalker seems to have in evading capture, and escaping once captured, Piett had felt it was prudent to remain in the shuttle's cargo hold where he could keep an eye on him. Not that he'd be able to do much in the event Skywalker reneged on his bargain, but he couldn't imagine letting the young man out of his sight until he was safely stowed in Lord Vader's quarters aboard The Executor.

It was only by coincidence that they had caught scent of Calrissian's trail two weeks prior. Lord Vader had been attending to business elsewhere in the galaxy at the emperor's behest, and thus Piett had overseen the ambush and capture of Princess Organa and Bespin's former baron administrator. Like an obedient loth-wolf, just as at Bespin, Skywalker had come running to the aid of his friends. Piett had been worried their ploy would fail, assuming that Skywalker would have learned from his previous experience. Apparently his worry had been unwarranted.

He studies the surprisingly small form of the man across from him, the black attire and the mop of dark blonde hair, and wonders why the princess and the hero of the rebellion reduced themselves to associating with the likes of Solo and the baron. Both men of the dishonest, thieving ilk, lacking the (fervent, if also misplaced) moral fiber that fuels rebels such as Leia Organa and Skywalker. If they had not associated with them, he thinks, they never would have found themselves at Bespin, or Skywalker in his current predicament. Perhaps Piett ought to find a way to send a token of his gratitude to Calrissian—

Such is the direction of his thoughts when the ship is hit, and fire blooms around them.

*

The first thing he is conscience of is the throb of his head and the crackling of flame.

He sucks in a breath and scrambles to his feet, immediately dizzy for his efforts. Glancing around he sees that the shuttle broke apart on impact, having crashed back to the planet and slid quite a long distance, leaving a line of downed pine trees and displaced earth in its wake. Most of the crew are dead, now only bodies in Imperial grey strewn about the wreckage. The handful of officers and troopers that remain are attempting to rally, two of the troopers pulling Skywalker's limp form from under a durasteel beam—

"Admiral! We're unable to make contact with The Executor."

He glances at the lieutenant, at the laceration cut across her face. Without answering he turns back to where the troopers are checking Skywalker, and sucks the blood off his split lip. Thinking.

That had been no warning shot. Someone would be coming after them shortly to ensure that they'd been finished off. Hells know who that someone might be, though Imperials might have sacrificed a compromised operative the rebels were far less likely to have shot their jedi out of the sky as a precaution. The Executor would send help after them soon enough, but they would be too late—

"…Admiral, you're bleeding."

Piett spares the officer another glance, irritated by the interruption. Then his brain catches up with her words and he notices the gleam of red in his vision— a wound to his shoulder. He flexes his fingers, and the hand attached to said shoulder still responds. Not an immediate concern then.

"Thank you, lieutenant—"

"Sir, what do you want us—" He sets off towards Skywalker, and she follows. "Sir?"

"Take this," He unhooks the databrace hidden under his sleeve and holds it out, not even looking at her. "And set off south-east with all the other survivors. Expect pursuit. No, leave him." He waves off the troopers which, having heard his order, had both stooped to pick Skywalker up between them.

She is silent for a moment, then, with confusion evident in her voice says, "Sir, how will they locate you without—"

"Now lieutenant!" He barks, and she enough sense left in her to flinch and take off at a jog, the troopers following.

He kneels and manages to maneuver Skywalker onto his uninjured shoulder. Again he scrambles to his feet, and again his head spins with the effort. Skywalker is barely any taller than him, and barely any heavier than him too, or else he might have had to concede that this impromptu plan was untenable.

Heading mostly north and a bit west he moves into the cover of the tall trees and undergrowth as quickly as he dares. His short-lived relief has soured into fear, and he has to forcibly push away the guilt he feels at having knowingly sent the shuttle crew off as lambs to slaughter.

*

Ten minutes later he hears the whir of approaching engines, ducks for cover behind a series of tree-trunks and drops to his knees in the brush, one arm wrapped securely around Skywalker's legs keeping him in place. Despite knowing that it makes no difference, he cannot help but hold his breath as the ship passes overhead.

Due to the cover of the needled canopy he isn't able to get a look at it, but the engines sound like those of a small ship. Likely a fighter.

This time the dizziness doesn't return as he stands and continues on. Small mercies.

The clay dirt is soft from recent rain, but thankfully not too slick. He's careful of rocks and moss in his path that might cause him to slip or fall. He's beginning to feel the wound in his shoulder.

He carries on for another ten minutes or so. The ground growing steeper and the trees closer together, and he's beginning to worry over how he'll manage it when Skywalker finally stirs.

The young man has been out cold for over twenty minutes at this point, which is worrying. It indicates the possibility of a bad concussion. Piett can only hope that Skywalker possesses some shred of the same inhuman stamina as Lord Vader does. He's seen the dark lord walk off injuries that would have left most men dead on the battlefield. Carrying him in this manner, with his head down, likely isn't helping matters, but there'd been no other option.

After a few more minutes of half-awake muttering and squirming the man comes to his senses properly, and Piett feels him twisting to glare at the back of his head.

"What are you—"

"You'll be pleased to know that we crashed." Piett comes to a stop, not expecting good news as he asks, "Can you walk?"

"…Well I guess I won't actually know the answer to that until you put me down—"

Piett bends at the knees and maneuvers Skywalker to his feet. Skywalker's legs hold him, but unsteadily, and he pitches forward against him for a moment, stumbling into him, as his hands are still locked in binders behind his back.

On reflex Piett steadies the other man, upsetting his wound in the process. He bites back the hiss of pain. Skywalker straightens and looks at him apologetically with those unsettling, too-bright eyes, apparently sensing the distress he inadvertently caused, and apologetic for it. Unusual, considering how accustomed their opposing sides are to reveling in the other's misfortune. Piett dismisses the man's concern with a wan smile.

They don't have time to tarry. Piett sets a hand at Skywalker's elbow and directs him onward, hoping that perhaps the young man will have enough sense not to run off and get himself killed by their pursuers, or that between the concussion and Piett's firm hand he might just accept his authority for the moment. Wishful thinking, perhaps. Piett bears no illusions over how little control he actually has over their current predicament, or the jedi.

Skywalker doesn't try to run. For the few first kilometers the young man stumbles now and again, might have even fallen if not for Piett steadying him. Eventually they come to a game trail they must pass single-file, and Skywalker falls in step behind almost obediently.

A few minutes later Skywalker's voice drifts up from behind him, seeming sincere. "Thank you for carrying me."

Piett looks back at him with a cocked brow before facing forward again. "Didn't have much of a choice, did I?"

"Somehow I'm having trouble imagining most Imperial officers I've dealt with hauling anyone through a forest, much less a prisoner of war."

"…True of other admirals perhaps, though I like to imagine the majority of my officers are better men than that."

Skywalker makes a contemplative noise behind him. "Right. Where are we trying to get to? What happened to the rest of your crew?"

"You should be able to guess by now, Skywalker: someone gunning for your head. Again. Missiles this time. Most of the crew died in the crash, I sent the rest off as decoys."

Something in the air chills at the last remark, and Piett casts a wary glance back over his shoulder again. Skywalker, for all his power, feels like something completely different than Lord Vader and yet simultaneously the same. He's familiar with that chill… But nothing comes of it.

He continues, after a moment. "They'll be looking for you, obviously. The best course of action I could think of was to get as far away as possible, preferably somewhere they'll have trouble landing a ship." With a wave of his hand he gestures to the ever rockier and steeper mountainside around them.

"Then what? Wait for your destroyer to send another shuttle?"

He doesn't answer that immediately. Skywalker is cooperating for the moment, however Piett isn't certain how wise it would be to share his suspicions— or who exactly he's waiting on now. His silence, however, ends up answering for him.

Skywalker's voice turns tight. "I'll take that as no. You're waiting for him then. Who do you think is after us?"

"Might be best for all parties if you didn't trouble yourself with that."

"You're going to wish you'd told me when I end up having to fight them off." Skywalker quips back.

Piett stops for air, panting, shoulder aching and burning, and irritation brewing beneath his composure. Irritation borne out of fear.

"The same sentients that have been pursuing you since Bespin."

"Your men are the ones that have been pursuing me since Bespin." Skywalker says as he comes up beside him again.

Piett looks at him as wind rustles the through the trees around them, and answers, darkly, "No, they haven't."

Skywalker's brow knits in confusion. He hesitates before following, as Piett sets off once more.

Chapter Text

Night begins closing in around them. The ground grows more treacherous. Large rocks and boulders litter the mountainside, and smaller ones under their boots are doing their best to slip them up.

Skywalker has been silent since prodding him over their pursuers. As they continue on up the ever steeper incline Piett senses when the man is about to speak again before he does. One of those strange little premonitions that even mortals like him are graced with surprisingly often. Some animal intuition, or echoes of the force? Impossible to know, and it would make no difference either way.

"What if they have scanners? We're going to stick out like a rancor on an island up here."

"I suppose you have some better suggestion?" Piett huffs, and then nearly looses his footing on another patch of gravel.

The other man gives an exasperated sigh, striding up across the treacherous footing easily and seemingly paying it no mind at all.

"I'm just trying to help. I don't want whoever it is to catch up anymore than you do. There's gotta' be a better option."

Over the next fifteen minutes, the rain he had worried about begins rolling in. Not a heavy downpour, but enough to be thoroughly unpleasant. The other man comes up along side him instead of following, perhaps tired of having to dodge the rocks and gravel that Piett's dislodging.

If Lord Vader takes longer to arrive than he's expecting, which is still at least several hours, then they might be caught in the cold with rain and go hypothermic. Even if Skywalker might manage to survive that Piett would prefer it if he were also to survive this blasted affair—

Just then Skywalker's head whips round to the west, left of their heading, as if he's heard something. The terrible heat of dread fills Piett's gut once more, and he's already moving well before he actually hears anything himself.

He grabs at Skywalker's upper arm again, none to gently attempting to drag him towards a stand of particularly large boulders a dozen yards away.

Skywalker balks, surprised, "What—?"

"Hurry!" Piett barks at him lowly, unable to override the instinct towards quiet whilst attempting to remain undetected, though it will make no difference.

"They're going to see us!" Skywalker hisses behind him, as if it were his fault.

Piett drags him towards the side of the boulder facing towards the approaching engines, pulling him into place and ordering him to get flat against the rock. Skywalker glares at him, barely visible in the dark, still unconvinced. His heart hammers in his chest. He knows this is their best shot, but it's still a gamble. If they aren't using thermal imaging, but spotlights instead—

The ship passes by, nerve-wrackingly close. Then, second by second, the noise of the engines grows distant and finally fades entirely.

Skywalker sighs in relief.

"How?!"

"The rock face holding heat from the day, and the rain. Was enough for us to blend in on their thermal imaging scanners."

He turns away and starts off again, picking along carefully.

Skywalker's voice turns sheepish. "I never learned about that."

Piett makes a disapproving, incredulous noise in response. Even he had thought the rebels more capable!

"In my defence we always have thermal blankets with us. Sure would be nice right now with the cold too."

Unseen, Piett grimaces. Imperials have them as well, of course (better ones), but naval officers don't carry such kit on their persons. Piett would have grabbed whatever he could if anything had been at hand after the crash, but he hadn't the luxury of time to search. A bit of gear and some med-supplies certainly would have gone towards making the next few hours much more pleasant.

"I trust you won't use such valuable information against us, will you?"

Behind him, the young man chuckles.

*

The way grows more perilous. They are running out of ground. The paths grow narrow and rocky, and they have to double-back from a dead-end more than once.

Piett knows they are merely biding time. They may have evaded detection temporarily, but their pursuers will not simply give up. When they realise they've missed their quarry they're likely to guess at his logic.

Finally they come upon a proper cave. A rather imposing black triangle cut in the side of the cliff face, the opening about four metres tall.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

Piett looks behind them, up at the sky and the clouds. The rain had let off for a bit, but the wind is now quickly picking up.

"'Bad feeling' as in there's probably vermin and carnivorous plants in there, or 'bad feeling' as in it's probably home to a long forgotten sacrificial shrine and malevolent spectres?"

Skywalker gives him another glare in the dark. "In part it reminds me of a bad memory. Other than that, it feels like trouble."

"I don't disagree, but being caught out here with our backs to a drop-off is even worse trouble by my reckoning. Come."

They make their way into the cave. At first they go by feel, staying close so as not to be inadvertently separated. Their luck holds, and soon their way is lit by luminescent lichen.

The rock walls are pale with darker streaks, the exact colour difficult to tell due to the purple-turquoise gradient cast by the lichen. It descends quickly, weaving around before opening up into proper caverns. He's relieved they'll have somewhere to run, if they have to, though shaking a tail will be difficult with the echoes reverberating off the stone. Here in the larger, open space, the lichen is accompanied by glowing fungus as well. Capped stalks nearly a metre in height, growing out of the floor and out of the rocky spires that reach up to the ceiling.

After glancing around the place he looks back to Skywalker, whom seems quite awed by the spectacle. A childish wonderment incongruent with the man's history and great deeds.

Skywalker catches him looking and offers a smile.

"I don't suppose you'd know if any of these are edible?"

Piett blinks at him, fairly certain he's joking. Somewhat concerned that he's referencing hallucinogenics or mind-altering substances, or worse, is entirely earnest.

"I make it a point never to eat anything that glows," He says, gesturing to underline his words, and then throwing his hand up in exasperation.

"Isn't some glowing food considered a delicacy?"

"Those especially," He responds, disgusted.

*

After scouting the immediate area and finding a secluded spot with a good get-away route, they go to sit down on the rocks to rest.

Before Piett sits Luke asks, "I guess it'd be pointless for me to ask you to remove the binders."

Piett walks over to where Skywalker is already sitting, taking out one of his code-cylinders from the breast pocket of his tunic, wincing with the movement it creates in his injured shoulder. Another second and the binders click open. Luke moves his hands in front of himself, working out the kinks and rubbing his wrists.

Piett hooks the binders onto his belt and walks back to sit across from him, on a similar rock, arm hugged against his chest.

Skywalker looks at him consideringly. "Why wait to do that, if you were going to? Why not when we were trekking up the mountain?"

Piett offers him a mirrored look. "I didn't see the need, considering you could have removed them yourself at any point. I was curious when you would ask."

At that Skywalker only blinks at him.

Piett is tempted to give his injury a more detailed inspection, but he can see how the blood has stained his tunic in large splotches, and can feel where it's soaked his undershirt clear down his chest and ribs. The friction of the fabric over it had been painful, initially, but now that it's glued in place he'd rather not disturb it. And there really isn't any point. He has nothing to clean or bandage it with, he'll either be dead or off-planet by the time infection were to set in.

The other man interrupts his musings. "Normally at this point we'd swap names, but I already know you're Admiral Firmus Piett, and you already know I'm Luke Skywalker."

Piett doesn't answer.

Skywalker quirks a brow at him. "May I call you Firmus?"

He gives a clipped nod. Curious if the young man's efforts are as sincere as his voice sounds, or if this is the usual method of attempting to cosy up to one's captor. Probably both. Skywalker is genuine but he isn't stupid. "You may. No mention of your own rank?"

Commander Skywalker chuckles at that, bowing his head, and for a moment looking very much as he did in the shuttle before they crashed.

"I don't expect I'm going to get the chance to be a commander again."

Something in Skywalker's tone bothers him. It sounds almost as if the young man has given-up. Such a development should please him, would have pleased him, were circumstances not what they are. However with the situation being what it is it's… concerning.

"You might have had the chance. You could have run, earlier. You could run now. Why aren't you?"

The same chill passes as when Skywalker had silently objected to him sacrificing his men as decoys.

"My position is no different than when you took me into custody. I refuse, Leia, Chewie and Lando die."

"They were released as soon as you were loaded on the ship, I ensured as much myself. As we agreed."

A answering frown. "Lando told me about Vader going back on their deal."

"Calrission is not a man worthy to be bargained with…" A pause as a suspicion of his strengthens, then he says, "I don't believe you."

Skywalker seems… perturbed by that. It would have been more prudent not to say it (even more prudent not to speak with the prisoner at all), however Piett is of a mind that it will make little difference.

After a pause the young man asks, dumbly, "What?"

"I do know a small bit about your powers, Skywalker, enough to know that you were likely aware of the fact that your friends were long gone by the time we crashed. So, why didn't you run?"

Luke's eyes dart over his face, quietly calculating. Then the boy drops his gaze and seems to shrink, withdrawing.

"I'm done running."

Piett watches him as the following silence lingers. Surprised. What might have been interpreted as an admission of defeat to any other Imperial rings differently to him. Certainly Luke is referring to Vader, perhaps he has finally made the decision to join his father, he thinks—

Slowly, Skywalker blanches. Head un-tilting by degrees and blue eyes nearly glowing for their intensity.

"You know," he says. Incredulous, accusatory.

Dammit…

The air around them is suddenly thick and stifling. Piett doesn't flinch from his gaze. He'd not meant for Skywalker to realise what he has, but it's already done now.

He swallows and answers, "Yes."

Skywalker continues staring at him for a long moment. His eyes dart across Piett's face again, but he doesn't pry further, thankfully. After long moment his gaze settles on the ground and then wanders around the cavern. For the first time Piett has the sense of him wanting to flee. And yet he remains, held here by some massive weight.

Something about his discomfort seems strange. When the young man meets his eyes again he appears unnerved and… relieved.

For an instant it seems as if Skywalker might attempt to make light of it, divert the conversation, but then he steels himself and says calmly, "I haven't told anyone."

Piett blinks at him, thinking. Skywalker sighs.

He doesn't know what to say to that. It'd be easier if they had gear to fuss with, or a fire to tend to. As it is they sit in silence for a time. In the end Piett takes his blaster off his belt and checks the charge before refitting it into its holster. An unfortunately short-lived diversion.

Skywalker's strained chuckle breaks the reprieve. "Well, I guess I know why you bothered carrying me now."

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, a sad smile falls across the young man's face. Realising the lack of humour in suggesting that Piett had only saved him in an effort to save his own throat. It doesn't sit well with Piett in the slightest.

"That's not why I did what I did, Skywalker." The other man looks at him with a quirked brow, unconvinced. Piett takes a deep breath, and continues, caution thrown to the wind for better or worse. "I respect Lord Vader greatly. You and I might never have met before, but my loyalty to him extends to you. I would have gone to whatever lengths needed to ensure your safety."

"You respect him?" Skywalker's confusion is evident. As well as his distrust, and outright disapproval.

"Yes—"

"Admiral, he's not here. He's never going to know. If we're going to discuss this then I'd prefer it if you didn't lie to me." The last sentence leaves the man's tongue with the sting of a energy-lash.

Piett has to make an concerted effort to curb his temper. It's clear that was the wrong answer according to Skywalker.

He presses on, resolute. "I respect him— greatly. More than any other man I've ever served with in fact."

Skywalker mutters in huttese under his breath, shaking his head. "You know for some reason on the walk up here you struck me as a decent person. How can you— how can any of you respect him?! How can any of you be a part of it—" The man gestures, uselessly. Attempting to outline the unending list of atrocities perpetrated by the Empire. "Why are you loyal to a monster? I get it, with most of the Imperials we've dealt with. Either they're just following orders or they're in it for the power— but why men like you? Or is that why? The power?"

"I joined the Empire because I thought it would succeed where the Republic had failed. Axxila—my home-world—benefited from the security it provided. Many worlds did. I wanted to see the stars and serve the galaxy, protect it, protect its sentients." Piett pauses, taking care with the rest. Voice turning low and thoughtful. "I've heard many men call Lord Vader a monster. It's so simple, isn't it? But in war we're all monsters… he's just better at it than we are."

*

They sit in silence for a long while. Skywalker meditates. Piett tries to rest without falling asleep or letting his guard down too much. He ends up walking around the cavern, though never wandering far enough to loose sight of Luke still sitting in meditation. They must be ready to flee at a moment's notice, should their pursuers find them before Lord Vader does. And what will we do then? He wonders—

A cursed thought. Luke's head suddenly jerks up in the direction of the way they came in. They share a glance and then both hurry carefully and quietly towards one of the possible exit routes they had scoped out earlier.

Skywalker ducks close to his ear and whispers, "Want to tell me what to expect now?"

Piett shushes him. Skywalker asks if they are force-users and Piett gives a sharp nod in the affirmative, hoping to shut him up.

They come to another cavern. When they stop to listen the sound of footsteps from the tunnel they just came down is audible. Piett inwardly curses.

There might be another way out of the cavern, but their time has run out. The only hope now is for Luke to flee, so either Piett makes his stand here or a short distance ahead in the tunnels. He prefers it here in the open. Steeling himself, prepared to pay the same price for his diversion as his officers and troops had earlier, he pulls his blaster from the holster on his belt. He ignores the pain of his wound, and his grip is steady enough.

He answers the confused look Skywalker gives him with only, "Go." Skywalker hesitates. The footsteps from the tunnel speed into a run and grow quickly nearer, they heard his voice! "Now!" he barks, in a vicious whisper, readying himself to meet their pursuers and aiming his blaster.

Still, Skywalker does not move. Then he says simply, with the same earnestness, "Play dead…"

Piett glances back at him, confused.

"What—?"

Suddenly the blaster is yanked from his grip to land in Skywalker's waiting hand. Before he can comprehend what has just occurred two shots ring out, red light streaking across the cavern. One hits him squarely in the thigh and the other goes wide.

He collapses, landing on his bad shoulder. This time the combined pain of both injuries is enough to stun him. His groan is airless, the wind knocked out of him from his impact with the floor.

As their pursuers come into view he realises what Skywalker had said to him, what he'd intended. He does as instructed, going limp on the cavern floor and eyes only open in slits. He's thoroughly unhappy with the situation, but there's nothing he can do without a blaster. They might kill him if he stands but he won't be able to serve as a meaningful distraction to allow Skywalker to escape as he'd intended.

Boot-steps sound, and a female voice cuts through the cavern in a tongue sharp enough to make him wince, alien and unknown to him. A male voice cuts in. He holds his breath—

The black and grey clad inquisitors run right past him, the both of them carrying pike-like weapons of some sort. He hazards turning his head enough to watch as they press in towards Skywalker. The boy waits until the last second, then flips backwards away from them, over a deep crevasse that cuts across the cavern. Piett's seen Vader move and jump in impossible ways before, but not quite like that.

With both the inquisitors thoroughly distracted Piett army crawls to better cover, leg and shoulder screaming their protests for the entire four metres. Veers is going to have a laugh at him when he tells him. If he ever tells him…

He watches as Skywalker continues his acrobatic dodges, leading his attackers around the cavern in circles, back and forth across the chasm and careful not to to bring them closer to Piett's hiding spot.

After a bit of this the inquisitors grow quickly frustrated—

"Akida moja yunoks ctahyunr!" The male yells. Piett winces at the sound of the language again. Odd—

Luke pauses, and then pleads earnestly, "You don't have to do this! let me help you—"

"Ctahyunr," the man says again, laughing. "Fine, in basic: give up. You have no weapon and you cannot evade us for—"

He's interrupted by the woman bellowing, "Enough!"

They had moved out of Piett's view, but he hears what sounds like one of the pikes swinging and crashing against the floor of the cavern, presumably Luke narrowly missing one of their swings—

Then they are back in sight, Luke ducking under another swing, and lifting his hand. His intention isn't apparent at first, but then the male inquisitor is hit in the back by a force-thrown rock and overbalanced, screaming as he falls into the crevasse.

The woman charges, speaking that language again as she does so (cursing, if Piett had to guess)—

Something moves in the corner of Piett's eye. Living shadow. He whips his head around to find Lord Vader standing between him and the entrance to the cavern.

Chapter Text

The dark stands still and silent, observing the fight. The sound of the respirator is absent, in whatever sort of stealth mode it has.

Then the mask turns to pin him under its veiled gaze. Apparently the dark lord had sensed or noticed his staring. The snout of the helm tilts downwards, the man seeming to consider the state of him, his injuries. Piett offers an apologetic expression, skin crawling with embarrassment for the mess he's walked into on his watch.

This interaction takes merely a few seconds, and Vader's focus quickly returns to his son and the inquisitor.

All at once the force-pike is wrenched from the woman's grip, flung away, and the inquisitor is picked up and and thrown hard against the nearest wall where she hangs there, straining uselessly against the incorporeal hold, gurgling. The sound of ominous breathing fills the cavern.

Luke is startled by the interruption, apparently surprised by the dark lord's sudden appearance, but as Lord Vader begins to curl the fingers of his raised hand Skywalker throws his own hand up and shouts, "Don't!"

The dark lord stops, fixing a glare upon his son. Between the man's reaction, the tilt of the helm and his own intuition Piett would say that he is quite incredulous of Skywalker's reaction.

"Did you not just kill the other one, Skywalker?" Vader asks, reproachingly, as he strides further into the cavern past Piett and nods towards the chasm.

Skywalker shakes his head imploringly. "Yes, but—"

Pointless, and too late. Lord Vader's fist closes. The body of the inquisitor compresses against the wall for moment with a crunching sound, and then falls to cavern floor like a broken doll.

Skywalker seems to… deflate, and drops his hand back to his side.

Ridiculous boy, Piett thinks—

Then Vader turns his back on Skywalker, stalking back towards Piett's hiding spot as Piett himself unsteadily makes his way to his feet with the aid of his one good hand on a stalagmite.

Vader's cloak whips about Piett's legs as he comes to stand in front of him. "Can you walk, admiral?"

With a growing sense of trepidation Piett experimentally weights his injured leg, face twisting at the pain before he catches the reflex and smooths over his expression.

Biting back a sigh, Piett grits his teeth and swallows his pride, guessing at what's to come of it. "I'm afraid not, my lord."

Even as he says it he sees the wry tilt of the helm, and grimaces—

"I'll help him!" Skywalker calls out, somersaulting once more across the chasm and summoning Piett's blaster to himself (previously cast aside), his voice betraying his concern.

They both turn to glare at the boy. Then, turning back to him, Vader smoothly stoops to hook an arm under his knees and around his back, and picks him up.

His vision goes white with pain as pressure is placed upon the blaster shot to his thigh; given that the shoulder and leg injury were on opposite sides Vader had been forced to choose which one to put towards himself, and had chosen the later. Gratefully, as jostling his shoulder probably would have set it bleeding again.

He glances back at Skywalker, now jogging to keep up as Vader glides back through the tunnels that had led to the secondary cavern. Apparently the young man really had been concerned that Vader would leave him in the cavern, judging by his shocked expression.

The thought hadn't even occurred to Piett. He'd seen Lord Vader hold the line single-handedly to allow his men safe retreat, and Vader had even rescued troopers that had been abandoned by their own squads on occasion. Piett wasn't thrilled that it had required him being picked up, of course, but at least the dark lord hadn't been forced to sling him over his shoulder out of necessity as Piett had been forced to carry Skywalker earlier.

Vader continues on with precision and speed, seeming to glide across the uneven stone of the cavern floor. Belatedly, Piett realises that the man is hurrying, and his stomach drops. He's expecting more of them then.

Eventually the glow of the lichen fades as they pass into the dark part of the uppermost tunnel, and Vader has to duck sideways through the triangular crack out the side of the mountain.

It's still night, and still raining half-heartedly. Difficult to tell what hour, exactly, and Piett doesn't recall how long the day-night cycles are on this particular planet. At least the moon is out, though only a sliver of it, and through the cloud-cover.

Vader pauses until Skywalker comes to stand beside him.

"Whatever your intentions may be, I warn you that it would be unwise to try and escape. They are a threat."

The unsaid 'You are in danger,' hangs in the air.

Skywalker shakes his head, drawing himself up to his full height and looking at the much taller man squarely. "I'm not running anymore, father. I'm coming with you."

It is only by virtue of the fact that Piett is in this absurdly unusual position that he's able to feel the dark lord tense. He doubts he would have even been able to see it. He's caught off-guard when Vader wheels around again and sets off into the dark. Head swimming with the quick movement.

"So, you have accepted the truth." Vader says, not bothering to slow or turn back towards his son.

"I have accepted the truth that you were once Anakin Skywalker—"

"Whatever your reasons," Vader cuts him off, tone sharp, "I trust you will not announce the fact to the remainder of my crew."

The air chills. Piett cannot tell which of the other men is responsible. Perhaps both.

"Wait…" Luke says, plainly confused. "You didn't tell him?"

Vader does not slow, but his head pivots towards his son for a long, tense moment. There's no hope that the man somehow misunderstood the implication.

"There is no time for this now." Vader states, refusing to elaborate.

Piett, however, has the impression that he has made note of the comment and will certainly be cross-examining Piett himself over it at a later date. Well I shan't be looking forward to that…

*

They wind around the mountain, Vader and Luke quickly traversing perilous footing that Piett never would have managed at such speed, Luke often forced to run or jog to keep up with Vader's much longer stride.

Eventually it seems that they have descended somewhat, coming to a small, grassy basin, a game trail leading over a rise on the far side. Vader stalks up to it, one foot at the start of the rise when he stops. It's a rather steep incline, perhaps a metre taller than Vader with him standing at the bottom. But Piett's quite certain it's not the grade causing the man pause…

"What's wrong?" Luke says, stopping just behind them. With Piett in his position his eye-level is a bit above Luke's own, and they share an awkward glance.

Vader steps back completely off the slope, a slow and deliberate movement.

Piett guesses his intention, and immediately finds his feet when Vader lowers him to the ground, managing to stand without bobbling. Piett leans on him for only a moment, and Vader withdraws his hand from Piett's upper arm (the good one, mercifully) the helm pivots to Luke and then nods towards another slope that rises out of the basin and its peak beyond.

"Go. Both of you. Await my signal."

Of course the dark lord does not wait for his orders to be acknowledged, instead simply making his way up the incline without looking back. The black of his cloak and armour immediately dissolving into the surrounding night.

Piett and Luke spare each other another glance before doing as instructed, Luke offering his shoulder and Piett limping along beside him.

*

He's half-expecting the immediate sound Vader's ignited blade and fighting to reach them, but all remains quiet save for crunch of gravel beneath their boots. This way had been deceiving: requiring a much larger detour than it had initially appeared to. A ridge one side of them and slope on the other dense with brush.

It's entirely too quiet. Piett is troubled by a premonition that the entire situation is about to go arse over tit, as if it hadn't already.

"You still have my blaster, don't you?"

He doesn't look at the boy, still helping him along with an arm around his waist and Piett's own arm slung over his shoulders. Regardless he catches Luke's surprised look in the corner of his vision.

"I need a weapon. I don't have my saber anymore."

Piett does look at him then, brow quirked. "Well so do I. Rather moreso, I think. You seemed do to quite well without one."

Luke gives him a wry smile, but makes no move to return the weapon—

Suddenly noise carries over the ridge beside them, yelling in that terrible language and the electric hiss of lightsabers being ignited and crossed against one another. His blood thrills both with fear and with the usual awe inspired by displays of the dark lord's power, and despite the pain of his injuries he finds himself rather dissapointed the situation is such that the fight isn't visible, and that even if it were they are still in far too much of a precarious situation—

"Get down!" Luke yells directly in his ear.

He doesn't have time for it to compute, but that matters little since he collapses on his bad leg as soon as Luke pushes him aside, only barely managing to keep from landing on his face when as he hits the rocky ground.

Luke had immediately pulled the blaster and started firing into the brush on the slope below them. Initially Piett can't see what he's firing at, but then he sees a figure lunging between the bolts, illuminated by their orange glow. He's about to try and make a mad scramble away on his belly when the shots finally begin to connect, and after a short series of them the figure reels back and then falls, tumbling headfirst back down the slope into the brush. Part of the dry mountain foliage catches fire from the embers of the bolts, smoke rising up in thin tendrils.

As he breaths a relieved sigh Luke is already returning to him, and helps him to his feet.

They continue on.

After a minute Luke whispers, "They probably heard us talking."

Piett grimaces. "Yes, I gathered that."

*

The noise of the fight beyond the ridge continues, distant. However, Piett slowly becomes cognisant of the fact they have rounded on it.

He pauses, and Luke looks at him anxiously.

"Are you alright?"

Piett nods towards the ridge. "Do you think we can make it up there?"

Luke follows his eye-line, and then gives a shrug.

Somehow they manage it, Piett loosing his footing to slide down the slope a metre or two only twice. Once near enough to the top they both drop to their elbows, cresting the ridge and peeking over the rock.

It turns out that making this unlikely detour was a stroke of luck: the valley they'd been circling is now spread out before them, Lord Vader wheeling and slashing with his red blade against a dozen others some distance off, and a small freighter just before them on the other side of the ridge. If they had continued on the path they'd been taking they'd probably would have come out with the pursuers between them and the ship.

Around the ship there are another half-dozen bodies. Piett hazards a guess that Vader dealt with them and then manoeuvred the fight more to his liking, perhaps counting on the fact that they would manage to come out in such a position—

Without warning Piett feels two taps. Two deep thuds in the hollow at the base of his skull, at the very top vertebrae. There's no mistaking it, and it's not the first time Vader has communicated with him in this manner anyway. 'Await my signal'…

"It's time to go, we've got to get to the ship."

Luke whips his head around to stare at him in the dark. "What? I thought he said—"

"I just received word." When Luke's stare doesn't abate Piett waves his hand at him, in a vague gesture. "Telepathy, or telekinesis or somesuch— we don't have time for this now!" He grits out the last, feeling the urgency of the situation. Leg throbbing. "Did you expect him to bellow at you to come down and help?! With no saber?!"

The young man flinches. "Alright! Will you be able to run—?"

"We don't have a choice."

With that they simultaneously both get to their knees and scurry inelegantly over the top of the ridge, sliding down the opposite face for some distance before getting to their feet and taking the rest as quickly as they dare, Luke again with his arm around Piett's waist to aid him.

Vader is encircled by no less than five enemies with melee weapons of some sort, a few force pikes, other weapons and one with a proper lightsaber. The rest all wield blasters or rifles, and as Piett and Luke make their mad dash to the ship they are spotted, the two nearest to them charging with force-aided speed as they fire at him and Luke.

Skywalker ducks to the side, pulling Piett along with him, and throws a hand towards them, knocking one of them over to tumble across the gravel and dry grass. The other gives a war-cry and sends several more shots directly at them, and this time instead of ducking Luke deflects them with the force, sending them careening past them close enough to feel the heat of the bolts—

Suddenly the remaining blasterman falls forward, pummelled into the ground as if by a heavy blow from behind. As they near the ship its ramp begins lowering of its own accord, and Piett's gaze darts to the dark lord as the wraith makes a clawing gesture and the sentient is dragged backwards by one ankle held aloft in the air, Vader still slashing one-handed arcs with his saber to fend off the strikes of his melee combatants.

The man is screaming as Piett and Luke make it to the safety of the ramp and the hold, momentarily blinded by the bright light of the interior.

After this latest effort Piett's leg threatens to give out again entirely, and he leans against the nearest wall as Luke releases him to fiddle with the nearby control panel—

"Leave it down."

Luke glances up at him incredulously, energy still heightened by the danger just beyond the ramp. "What?!"

Piett jerks his head towards the cockpit of the small freighter. "Leave it! Go and get the ship up," Luke grits his teeth as he charges off, but does as instructed before Piett has even finished speaking. Piett calls after him, "Fly over top of them!"

With the ramp still down he grips the nearest safety-hold as tightly as he can as the ship rises, banking sharply as Luke quickly maneuvers them into position. With the ramp still lowered Vader and what remains of the rest of them come into view, only a handful of them now, those with blasters still harassing the dark lord, the two melee fighters and the one with the saber.

They all look up, and Piett flattens himself against the wall as more bolts singe past him into the ship to leave nasty holes in the wall across from the ramp.

Another scream. He hazards peaking back over the edge of the ramp in time to see the dark lord coil and lunge towards the ship, moving more like some aquatic mammal hurtling through water than any land creature. Deflecting one last bolt before extinguishing his saber as he moves. Then he jumps—

Luke had intuited Piett's intentions, and manoeuvred them rather well, but he'd still been descending. He needn't have bothered, as Vader clears the eight or nine metres from the ground with the ease of a felinx leaping up to the top of a bookcase. The man catches the edge of the ramp, and then cleanly hoists himself up over the edge to pull himself aboard. Never mind the hundred pounds or so of prosthetics, armour and cloak.

As Vader maneuvers from kneeling to standing they glance at each other, but before either of them addresses the other the ship is rocked by a much larger bolt, certainly from another ship. Anyone else would have been thrown from the ramp, especially as Luke sends the ship speeding out of the valley and down the mountain over the treetops, but Vader only catches his balance and hurries the rest of the way into the hold as Piett punches the control panel and the ramp closes behind him.

As Piett turns he sees Vader pause to glare at the scorch marks on the wall, melted circles like oversized cigarette burns. Then the man stalks off towards the cockpit, agitated gait making it clear he is perturbed.

Piett snorts as he limps after him, still balancing against the wall, and then winces with the fresh pain in his ribs.

*

Though keen to be in the cockpit—both out of an admiral's compulsion to be apprised of the situation, and to observe further interactions between the dark lord and his guileless offspring—he diverts to the first alcove he finds with a medkit and a conveniently placed bench.

No need to be in the cockpit apparently, as he hears Vader ask for the positions of the enemy vessels and Luke respond.

He listens as he tends to himself. Stimpak first, then his belt and tunic off and one suspender strap unhooked so he can haphazardly maneuver a bactapatch into place over his shoulder injury through the neck-hole of his undershirt. He wouldn't have bothered, except that between climbing over the ridge and running to the ship the wound had been set bleeding again. His once white undershirt is now rather horrific looking.

They are hit a few more times, the sound ringing through the interior of the vessel. Vader's snarling bass carries through the halls of the ship as he and Luke verbally stab and parry. After a handful of seconds the ship accelerates, floor thrumming with the energy of the finely-tuned engines. Indicating that Vader took over the controls.

He's unfamiliar with the model of the ship, beyond it being some variant of light-freighter. Probably an antique. Rather pretty, and apparently the dark lord thought so too given his irritation with the interior damage earlier—

Luke jogs down the corridor, but stops short when he sees him. Taken aback by the bloody mess that had been hidden by the tunic. With them across from each other again Piett is suddenly reminded of the same scene in the shuttle some hours ago, as they sat a across from one another. He smirks.

"Are you alright?" Luke asks. Then, tacking the rest of it on awkwardly, "I'm sorry I had to shoot you earlier."

Piett's brows go up at the apology. Before answering he finishes righting his suspender strap, and pointedly drives another stimshot into his left arm before replying, lightly, "Quite well, now. Thank you. And no matter," he adds, waving off the apology.

He means it as a dry bit of humour, but Luke blanches, bright blue eyes too wide, lips thin and face pale. Piett is just about to reassure him when Vader's booming voice echoes down the corridor again.

"Eight fighters port-side. I trust you can locate the turrets."

Skywalker shoots a glare back towards the cockpit, but quickly wheels and continues down the corridor. Piett stands and hurries after him, no longer feeling his injuries but momentarily confused by the ungainly response of his limbs and his leg in particular before he recalls the reason for it.

The pair of turrets on this vessel are accessed from the corridor and not via ladders, thankfully, expediting his hobbling to his seat. He can already hear Luke shooting by the time he's seated, and it takes some seconds for the turret to warm up. That gives him time to don the headset and spot the enemy fighters, at least.

Once the turret is warmed up he does his best to make hits, the handles of the turret vibrating in his hands with every shot. The bolts make a satisfying, deep 'ping' sound as they leave the turret and bolt across the empty black towards their targets.

Unfortunately between whatever force powers the pilots possess and his own meagre abilities he quickly realises he won't be able to do much damage. Again and again the fighters swoop and roll just before his bolts can hit their marks. He's a good hand in a brawl, particularly with a knife, and a decent shot with a blaster or rifle, but not for the first time he regrets not spending more time in the turret sims.

A wincing snarl curls his lip. He is unaccustomed to being ineffective, and frustrated with it. Pausing as he waits for another shot so as not to waste ammo.

"Admiral, I'm going to push them to you, fire at eleven in five, four…" Luke's voice crackles across the headset, and Piett manages to work out what he's said by the time Luke's countdown finishes.

He shoots, and the fighter goes up in a pale explosion, fuel igniting almost instantly.

Before there is time for another thought Vader's voice rings in his ears: "Two more incoming. Wait for my counter maneuver."

Enemy bolts whizz past, glancing off the shields with a terrible noise, and then the ship lurches and rolls. The g-forces enough to remind Piett of his ribs with another wince—

Before they are fully righted Skywalker is shooting again, and two more fighters explode.

The battle continues in the same manner for some minutes, a back and forth rapport developing between Vader and Skywalker. Piett only listens and does what's instructed, harassing the fighters when he can, not keen on distracting either of them and guessing that they are already ahead of whatever he might point out.

Given that common sense would dictate it more prudent to simply flee the fight and jump away he expects that Vader has reason to want to all the fighters and their pilots eliminated, if possible.

When they are suddenly down to the last ship it decides to put its exhaust ports to them. Just as the flare of the hyperdrives becomes visible Skywalker rains more bolts upon the vessel, and it too explodes.

With a smirk he sets the headset aside, and gingerly gets to his feet. He finds Skywalker waiting for him, offering him his shoulder again. Piett refuses the offer.

The dark lord is still attentive at the controls, apparently watching the readouts for signs of more ships leaving the planet. Bulk perched atop the relatively small pilot's seat and cape and tabard cascading over the edges of it.

Any comradery that had materialised between father and son during the battle has evaporated by the time they've made their way to the cockpit. Piett stands aside for a moment, behind the co-pilot's seat, but when Skywalker makes no move to take it and remains lingering in the doorway he rounds it and takes it.

"I suppose there's no point in asking where we're going," Luke says, breaking the brittle silence after a half-minute.

Vader's helm pivots towards him, and then away again. Vader makes no other acknowledgement. After a beat Skywalker gives Piett a taught glance and exits the cockpit, stalking back down the corridor.

Beside him Vader's attention finally leaves the readouts as the man deftly prepares them for the hyperspace jump. Then the ship springs forward and the stars stretch out around them.

*

After a few minutes, finally in the safety of hyperspace, the adrenaline abates. Piett allows his eyes to fall closed as he lets out a breath—

"This has been an eventful excursion for you," Vader drawls sarcastically.

Piett cuts his eyes at him at that, huffing derisively in equally sarcastic response. Formality frayed by exhaustion and privacy, he falls into the more casual rapport he and the dark lord maintain as co-conspirators. "Oh yes, very eventful," he shakes his head, and then asks "What now? I take it this ruins everything."

A modulated, staticky snort from the vocoder. "Indeed. Palpatine will soon be aware of my subversion."

Despite Lord Vader's continued nonchalance a spike of fear stings in Piett's chest at the confirmation. Though Vader has been plotting Palpatine's overthrow for years (Piett assisting him for the past few) to be tumbling over the tipping-edge of the coup so unexpectedly is… frightening. Moreso given that they had hoped to put specific plans into motion in time to have the element of surprise. Much of that will be lost now—

"Luke must go to Bast, I will leave him there and rendezvous with Grand Admiral Thrawn. We may still maintain the upper-hand. So long as Mitth'raw'nuruodo does not betray us," Vader says the last of it as if it is an amusing thought.

That does little to assuage Piett's concern. However, Vader seems almost… cautiously optimistic. It's not a term Piett has ever put to him before, another instance of him assuming quite a lot from little more than a general impression and years of being around the man. Perhaps he's mistaken, but he doubts that.

The original plan had been for Luke to be stowed aboard The Executor where Vader would have the easiest access to him, but with the inquisitors obviously being aware of him it is too late to do that in secrecy. Palpatine must have at least a few eyes aboard Vader's flagship, and even their lady cannot fend off the entirety of the Imperial Navy if it were brought against her. Vader's stronghold on Vjun—Bast Castle—is the obvious alternative.

He sucks in a breath and states, bluntly, "I cannot return to The Executor."

"No…"

Piett nods, not looking at the other man. It would be far too suspicious for him to be the sole survivor of the expedition, safely returned to his post while Palpatine's supreme commander absconds with Skywalker, a trail of dead inquisitors left in his wake.

He recalls Skywalker's earlier assertion that he may never enjoy the opportunity to be known by his rank of 'commander' again, now finding himself in the same position. He chuckles quietly to himself in melancholic amusement.

"I would ask that you remain with the boy on Vjun," Vader says, interrupting his musings.

Piett's brow knits as he glances at him. 'I would ask'? A request instead of an order? He wonders. "Well if I'm not to return to The Executor, m'lord, I've certainly no pressing matters to attend to elsewhere— though I doubt I'll be much use in keeping Skywalker there by myself, if that's what you're hoping for."

"Your presence alone might be enough. The boy has already developed an affinity towards you. We must hope that will be enough for him to stay of his own accord until I return."

Piett quirks a brow. Certainly the youngster had been relatively friendly to him, but he wouldn't have assumed that that would make any difference. The lines of the helm do not answer him.

They fall into silence for a time until finally the dark lord asks, "How did you discover who the boy is?"

'How did you discover he is mine?' Piett fidgets in his seat, not fearing any retaliation but uncomfortable with being found out regardless. He glances at him again, boldly meeting the lenses of the mask.

"In short, it was Thrawn's doing."

The helm tilts. Then Vader turns away to gaze out into hyperspace.