Chapter Text
The battle for the fate of the galaxy was waged on four fronts.
The first took place on the forest moon of Endor, where Rebels and Ewoks fought against Imperial forces to take down the shield generator protecting the Empire’s greatest weapon.
The second was in the space above the ground troops as Alliance ships dodged TIE fighters and darted around Star Destroyers, waiting for the moment to strike.
The third was on the Death Star itself, between a lone Jedi and the darkness that threatened to consume him - a war for the very heart of the Force.
And the last was within the soul of one who many said was more machine than man, where the one spark of goodness that was left grappled with the evil that had engulfed him for more than two decades.
The future of the Empire, the Rebellion, the entire galaxy, hung upon these battles.
And when it was over, a lone ship set off for the moon of Endor, silently carrying its cargo.
The pyre burned.
The body of a former Jedi rested upon it. The fire licked at the limbs, mechanical and flesh; it curled the black clothing that had encased it, turning it to ashes; it took the lightsaber he had used to cut down so many enemies. Before long, the entire form was wreathed in flames, no longer recognizable.
Leia Organa stood vigil, tears streaking silently down her face. At her side, Han Solo wrapped an arm around her, face wracked with grief as he pressed her close to him, supporting her in the midst of his own sorrow. Beside him, the Wookiee Chewbacca hung his head momentarily before lifting it in an ululating howl that echoed through the woods. Lando Calrissian stood with his head bowed as well, as did all of Rogue Squadron, all the Rebels that had survived the ground battle. Even the droids and the Ewoks were silent, mourning in their own way.
Apart from the crackling flames and the dying echo of Chewbacca’s call, all was quiet in the clearing. Yet the same could not be said of Leia’s mind. Her thoughts twisted and tumbled upon themself, conjuring up last memories, whispered words, and long-kept secrets. Alternate scenarios reared their heads, each more painful than the last, because they always ended the same way: with her staring at the body of her best friend and newly found brother, staring at the reality that engulfed all of them.
Why, she kept thinking, why did it end this way? Why was he taken just when I learned who he was to me? Her head refused to remain silent, no matter how she tried, and her eyes burned with each failed effort. Why did he do it? Why did he go to him? Why is Luke dead when he is still alive, why was my brother taken and not him?
She did not even know who she was asking: fate, destiny, the galaxy… or perhaps the unknowable, inscrutable, and merciless power called the “Force”.
Luke Skywalker’s body burned, and as it disappeared, so too did all the hopes of the Jedi Order.
All too soon, the galaxy moved on. The loss of one man, hero or not, Jedi or not, was insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
It was too soon for Leia. For once, the relentless energy that had allowed her to push past all the other griefs, had burned itself out. She wanted nothing more than to lie down, to burrow into some hidden retreat and not emerge until her emotions were spent.
But they had too many other matters to attend to. The Empire survived. The Rebels took planets and lost some, received diplomatic overtures and fought through betrayals. They looked to her, as they always had. Unwillingly, she bent her head and continued their work; placed one foot in front of the other even if she knew not where she went; mouthed the same idealistic phrases and diplomatic passages, though they had long since lost meaning for her.
She carried on.
Time passed. The Rebellion and the Empire continued to splinter the galaxy with their war.
And Leia Organa, having buried her brother, now buried herself in her work.
It was on an unnamed crystalline planet that looked as brittle as Leia felt, that the first of what she described as the “incidents” occurred.
Their base had been discovered by the Empire. That was a cause for concern but not for panic; as members of an ostensibly terrorist group, they all expected this to happen, to every one of their bases. Everyone planned for it; everyone knew their role. So when there was a report that the Executor had been sighted within the system, people fell into their expected positions and continued about their work otherwise. But when they felt the first tremors of orbital bombardment, that was when people really began to move.
The first few transports that had gotten away and the starfighters accompanying them reported to those remaining below that the bombardment was relatively light, seemingly designed to contain and trap the rebels, not destroy them. But on a world as fragile and breakable as this, even the slightest quake threatened to bury them all under miles of rubble.
Han’s voice crackled over her comlink. “Princess, last I checked you were supposed to be here five minutes ago!”
“I know, Han,” she clipped her blaster to her belt, “I’ll be there in just a minute-”
“That’s what you said five minutes ago!” Han roared. “Get to the Falcon, Leia, before I have to dig you out!” Based on his use of her actual name rather than his more playful nicknames, Leia judged him to be truly frightened. Chewbacca’s panicked roar in the background only added to the effect.
She spared a moment to send a last all-call throughout the base, even as the tremors grew stronger. Crystals of purest clarity clattered from the ceiling, shattering on the floor and spraying - thankfully harmless - shards around her boots.
“The base is under attack!” she exclaimed into the comm unit. Another, larger crystal detached itself from the wall as the floor shook beneath her, hard enough to make her stumble. Steadying herself against the console, she said once more, “I repeat, the base is under attack! Get to your transports immediately!”
She shut down the comms and grabbed her things: a small bag of what few possessions remained to her and her padded jacket. The room had emptied out some time ago and as the ground shook yet again, harder than all the other times before, she caught herself on the edge of the chair. Her ears rang with the sound of dozens of tiny crystals fracturing from the ceiling and walls, chittering along the abandoned machinery.
At last, the shaking passed and Leia rebalanced herself and spun for the door.
Only to find Darth Vader standing in the entrance, the sound of his respirator filling the room.
For a blank, frozen second, the two stared at one another.
Then her mind caught up to her, and before she could even think, her blaster was out and aimed at his chest plate.
Does he know?
That one singular question filled her head, now that she had space for thought.
Does he know who I am?
Luke had told her what he was to her, what she was to him, but not, before he left, whether Vader knew. She had not thought to ask… and by the time she did, Luke was… gone. Taken from her the same day they had taken the second Death Star from the Empire.
She judged the death of Luke to be much greater than that of the Death Star, body count be damned.
And it had not mattered anyway, when the Emperor had survived.
Vader had survived.
Vader had lived and Luke had not - she and Han could only count themselves lucky that they had even received Luke’s body - and as she stared at Vader for the first time since Endor, the unfairness of it threatened to unbalance her all over again. That he should be standing before her when Luke would never -
She had lost Luke, her friend, her brother, and gained only a -
No.
Nothing. She had gained nothing.
He was nothing to her.
More seconds passed, though it felt like an age to her. The ground gave another shake, rattling the instruments on the machines. As if spurred on by that, Vader at last began to move. He advanced into a room that suddenly seemed airless.
“Princess Organa,” he rumbled, and that mechanical voice was the same flat monotone as ever and for a second she thought, hoped: He doesn’t know.
But then: “Leia.”
She had not known that he could infuse so much emotion into his voice.
The realization drove her straight over the edge.
Leia aimed the blaster and hissed one word: “Don’t.”
He halted.
She placed her finger on the trigger. At this distance, she could not miss. She would hit him right in the chest plate and, if that suit did what she thought it did, he was done for. Of course, that was assuming she would hit him at all. Leia had heard plenty of stories of him whipping out his lightsaber to block an absolute volley of shots. She had even personally witnessed him knocking away blaster bolts with just his hand - and then yanking said blaster from the shooter for good measure.
But at that moment, she knew, with that same surety that told her he was fully aware of their relationship, that if she were to shoot he would not try to deflect it. That if he could, he would walk straight into the blaster bolt willingly.
Vader. Luke’s father.
And hers -
No.
Not hers, and certainly not Luke’s.
Luke’s killer.
For a moment, they remained locked in that standoff.
And then, in a move so bizarre Leia thought she must have either imagined it or lost her mind, Vader stepped back.
Darth Vader, who feared no one save, perhaps, the Emperor, stepped away from her.
Then he turned - and he took another step, and then another, until he was outside the door, and only when he moved his head did Leia hear the tramp of many, many boot steps coming towards them, the hard-footed, uniform thud of stormtroopers.
Imperial troops have entered the base, she thought inanely, wondering what exactly they would do to her if she was impertinent and stupid enough to actually announce that over the nearby comms unit. Then her mind caught up to her.
Stormtroopers. Capture.
A tiny, narrow prison cell - the whoosh of the door opening - a dark form looming over her and the hum of a droid -
No.
Her hand tightened on the blaster as she forced away the memory - forced herself to focus only on the here and now. The stormtroopers would have stun bolts ready, and no doubt had orders to take her alive - but she would take as many as she could before she went down. And perhaps if she put up a good enough fight, they’d decide she wasn’t worth the trouble. It wouldn’t even have to be a head shot - as if the stormtroopers could even manage such accuracy. A hit in the chest or the torso would be enough, particularly if she managed to resist any attempts to get her to a bacta tank. It was unlikely, given the astronomically high bounty the Empire had placed on her capture, not to mention the media coup de grace her imprisonment and publicized execution would bring, but still… She spared just one sorrowful thought of Han, and how crazed he’d be on hearing of her death. It was only lucky that they had not gone any further in their relationship.
But now the boots were directly outside the door and the only reason she could not see the stormtroopers was Vader’s massive form blocking the door. She refocused, tightening her grip on the blaster.
Vader spoke, his rumbling voice audible even with his back to her. “This area has already been searched,” she heard him announce. “Secure the rest of the base. I want any Rebels found to be captured alive and brought to me personally.”
“Yes, Lord Vader!”
And within seconds, the sound of dozens of men leaving the area had faded and was gone, leaving Leia, still with blaster in hand, wondering what in the hell had just happened.
Had Darth Vader told them to go?
The idea was so foreign, so insane, that she immediately dismissed it. Darth Vader was the right hand of the Emperor, scourge of the Rebellion, oppressor of democracy, liberty, and freedom everywhere. He had hunted the Rebels for years, implacable in his pursuit. And at that moment, he had her cornered like an animal in a trap.
He wants to take me himself.
That made much more sense - a personal capture - and Leia tensed herself again in readiness. Vader still had not moved from the door - he appeared to be watching his men leave. She found herself examining his back, the folds of the cape that flowed down it. She had been taught not to shoot someone with their back towards her, but she would make an exception for Vader. She just had to wait until she was in the clear. If she fired at exactly the right moment, she could take down Vader without the stormtroopers hearing her, then flee to Han with the sure knowledge that she had taken down one of the Rebellion’s worst enemies.
As if sensing her intention, Vader turned slowly to stare at her.
Damn. She gripped the blaster tighter. She’d missed her chance…
He gave her one last, lingering look.
Then he simply walked out the door, closing it behind him - and leaving Leia standing there, almost foolishly, aiming the blaster at the empty air.
Where in the world -
Had he just left?
She had the absurd notion of opening the door again and peeking down the corridors to check.
There was no way that he would simply let her go.
Yet when she finally dared to lower her weapon and, yes, open up the door to glance around the base, she saw them empty. In fact - once her brain got working - she recalled that he had ordered everyone away from this entire section. He had left her a way straight to the transport.
That was the moment Han’s voice roared over her comlink. “Leia! Get to the Falcon now!” And then, voice shifting like Han was speaking away from the receiver, “Something’s happened, Chewie, I’m going after her.” A protesting roar. “Don’t you come with me! I need you here so we can take off once we get back! Hand me that blaster and don’t you even think about-”
“Han, I’m on my way!” Leia snapped into her comlink before Han came raring down the base in search of her. She grabbed her pack and jacket and began running down the corridor. “Stay where you are! I was.. Delayed, but I’ll be there in just a few minutes!” And she shut it off before Han could ask her any other questions.
She met no one on her way to the Millennium Falcon - in fact, encountered no obstacles or even another quake of the base - until she plowed straight into Han, right at the entryway.
“There you are!” he shouted, with the anger borne of worry that he had been showing more and more since Luke’s death. “Come on before this whole place comes down on us!”
He hurried her up the ramp, barking orders at Chewbacca to take off. Leia threw herself into a seat, breathing hard from her run. Artoo whistled a question and Threepio came bustling over. “Mistress Leia, I am so glad to see you made it here on time! Why, Captain Solo was about to search the entire base for you, and then where would we be?”
Artoo blatted a reply.
“He did so say that, Artoo, however much he might deny it-”
“I made it, Threepio, that’s all that matters,” she said wearily, strapping herself into her seat - and then pressing back against it as the ship accelerated out the hangar and into the planet’s atmosphere. As they entered space, she forced herself not to look around, not wanting to see the Executor out there… to wonder if its commander was still on the planet’s surface…
“If I might ask,” said Threepio, “why did you take so long to catch up with us? Artoo calculates that the distance between your given location and the Falcon is only a four minute run, for an average human, and your last message indicated that you were on your way almost ten minutes ago.”
Yes, why indeed?
Leia shook her head.
It was nothing.
Nothing at all.
All it was, was a fluke in Vader’s usual methods. Perhaps that vaunted suit of his was malfunctioning and had addled his brains.
“Don’t worry about it, Threepio. I’m here. That’s the important thing.”
Leia had never questioned Darth Vader’s relentless pursuit of the Rebellion after the destruction of the first Death Star.
Why would she? The reason was perfectly obvious. It was right there in the last part of the sentence. The Death Star: the Empire’s perfect weapon, their secret project for two decades, the thing that would have closed their vise grip on the galaxy - and it was blown up by a couple of hotshot pilots in a matter of minutes. She had not been surprised to hear that Vader survived that battle, only felt a certain grim satisfaction. It must have been the most humiliating moment of his life, limping back to his precious Emperor to report that twenty years of work had been blown to smithereens and that he had personally failed.
So it was only natural that Vader had been obsessed with tracking down the Rebellion after that - especially Luke Skywalker, one of the aforementioned hotshot pilots and directly responsible for the Death Star’s destruction. Leia had also, more than once, caught Luke playing with that lightsaber of his, clipping it faithfully to his belt even if he only ignited it on rare occasions. After his one-in-a-million shot, there had been more than a few rumors going around that Luke possessed some of those vaunted Jedi powers - who else could make that shot? And with his targeting computer off? And though Luke had always denied being a true Jedi, he had been quite open about the fact that his father was one - proud of it, even - and that he aspired to be like him.
Proud of him. Of his father. They were some of Leia’s sharpest memories of Luke, the way his face shone with reverence for Anakin Skywalker.
How she hated Vader for taking that away from him.
Leia had not envied Luke. Reeling from her own recent loss of her parents, she could barely comprehend the hole in Luke’s life from never knowing either, though she knew he had a loving upbringing with his aunt and uncle. That had been yet another connection between them: Luke knew recent grief, the upheaval in a life that had once seemed so sure. But Anakin Skywalker as a progenitor… if anything, it had only brought to mind the histories she had read of the Jedi Purge and Vader’s role in it. It was yet another motivation for Vader’s uncompromising pursuit of Luke.
It was not until the eve of the Battle of Endor that an entirely different one had been brought forcefully to her attention.
He’s my father, Luke had told her, face distant and eyes haunted.
And she had thought, So that was why he chased us so hard, for so long. And more: that was why Vader wanted her and Han alive. That was why he set the trap on Cloud City, why he had tortured Han and Chewbacca. Lando had even said that it was all for Luke, but she had only concluded, it’s to capture a hero of the Rebellion, to make an example of him.
Now there was another reason, a completely different reason.
Father.
Then Luke was gone, just hours after telling her his darkest secret - and hers. And though they had destroyed the second Death Star, humiliated Vader and Emperor once again, made the Rebellion a greater threat than ever - somehow the pursuit of them had slackened. Yes, they were still leaping from base to base, keeping their activities a secret, sometimes reduced to hitting a lone Star Destroyer before fleeing into hyperspace - yet the iron hand that had clutched them so tight for so many years suddenly felt… looser.
For three months Leia had thought: He doesn’t know. Perhaps it was more accurate to say that she hoped he did not know; that Luke had kept it hidden from him (the way Bail Organa and Obi-Wan Kenobi had hidden it from her…). Surely Vader did not know she was his biological daughter, otherwise he would have pursued her with the same efficiency as he had Luke. There had been comfort in that. If he did not know, if the only ones who knew were her and Han, well… that was so secret as to mean nothing. If nobody else alive knew, then it was as if it had never happened. As if it was not true.
Now, Leia lay in her bunk in the Falcon, curled next to Han, and felt that entire theory break to pieces.
Vader knew.
And he had let her go.
And some terrible, traitorous part of her was confused by it. If he had pursued Luke so obsessively because Luke was his son, why was he not doing the same with her?
She rolled over, resisting the urge to punch her pillow; Han was a heavy sleeper but she did not want to risk him waking and asking questions. She had barely managed to bat away his questions for why she had been so late getting to the ship, and the stubborn look on his face told her he did not consider the matter dropped.
No, there was a more likely reason for Vader’s actions, and it was simply that he was a violent, unreasonable man who did not care for anyone or anything, and she just happened to get lucky. He had pursued Luke for his own ends, and now Luke was gone along with whatever motivations Vader had for chasing after him. The fact that they were related meant nothing to him, as it meant nothing to her beyond being a horrible twist of fate. He had captured her, tortured her, tortured Han and Chewbacca, forced her to watch as Alderaan was blown up, killed her brother…
He cared nothing for her.
And she cared nothing for him.