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Chapter Text

Tufts of red and orange moss peeked through the cracks in the uneven floor, punching strange fixtures in the mosaic tile. His every step was a thunderclap, heel to stone, and the high vaulted ceiling bellowed back at him mockingly. Sunlight seeped in through the collapsed roof, trickling along the blue and green seaglass beneath his feet and setting the moss afire. He gingerly kicked a disembodied piece of rock, sculpted and worn, and the whole building seemed to rattle as it skittered across the floor.

Truth be told, Luke was not sure what he was looking for. The text he'd found the coordinates of this temple in had been badly damaged, and now that he was here, it was not hard to see why. This place was ruins. The walls bore scorch marks, carbon scoring from wars long passed, and the slopes and divots in the floor made exploring a bit hazardous. R2-D2 would never have made it, and it was a relief that Luke had made the right decision to leave him with the ship. This was not the worst condition he'd ever found a building in, but he'd traveled a very long way for a pile of rocks and some pretty moss.

Sighing, Luke wondered if he should turn back. The atmosphere of this planet did not agree with him— it was too humid, but not very warm, and it made his hair curl across his forehead and fall into his eyes when he was trying to maneuver around particularly large pieces of rubble.

The worst part, maybe, was not the condition of the temple, but that Luke was exploring it alone.

Leia had duties to attend to with the New Republic, things he had tried to listen to but had not been able to keep up with, much to his embarrassment and frustration, and Han was with Chewie, helping with some sort of reconstruction on Kashyyyk.

He could not blame either of them. They were doing important work! They were all doing very important things to help rebuild.

Yet, standing here among ghosts and ruins, ribbons of light soaking into his sun-starved hair, he felt inexplicably lonely.

Weaving between the limestone columns, Luke found himself stumbling into a yawning antechamber lined with looming statues. Each one had a hand in a different position. Each one bore no face. Just dips and crevices, crags where some crude weapon had bashed in the skull of the poor temple guardian.

Luke stood at the edge of the chamber, eagerly trying to discern the pattern in the hands. Was it some sort of sign language? He had been trying to learn the various galactic dialects. Leia was better than him at it, but he knew more trade languages than her, so it balanced out.

There was no moss on the chamber floor. The sea glass glinted and winked, despite its dull simplicity, and Luke leaned heavily against the parapet beside him as he squinted down at the floor.

It was some sort of symbol. A glyph, maybe? It was not in any language he knew. He fumbled for his journal and squatted on the balls of his feet, scribbling the glyph fast on the unreliable flimsy. He didn't have any ability to erase it, so he just hoped he got it right on the first try.

"Huh," he said, his head drooping to the side as he examined his handiwork. "Okay. Not so bad."

It was then he felt a shift in the Force. It was not quite imminent danger, per se, but more like a funny tickle in the back of Luke's throat. Like he had something to say, or needed to laugh, but there was no rhyme or reason for it.

Then he felt the danger. Acutely.

"Oh!" he gasped, sliding backwards sharply as a glint of a vibroblade briefly blinded him. It whistled through the air where he had been a moment earlier, and he gaped for a moment at the absurdity of that fact. "What? Sorry, who—?"

The figure was cloaked, so Luke did not get a good look at him before he was once again being attacked. Said attacker moved incredibly fast, much to Luke's dismay, and it took every instinct and a little bit of the Force to slip out of the way in time to keep his shoulder in check. Wild-eyed and confused, he snatched his blaster from its holster, not too keen on letting this newcomer in on the Jedi secret yet, and he backpedaled as he aimed for the figure's knees.

Two bolts, one after the other in quick succession, and Luke was certain the figure would be neutralized.

Incredibly, the figure whirled away, quick as smoke, and Luke had to blink for a moment before the reminder of danger, danger, quick, beside you, seemed to overwhelm his senses. His head snapped to the side, and he gritted his teeth as he threw his prosthetic arm out to block the vicious swipe from the stranger.

The durability of the metal clearly shocked the man. And Luke knew now that it was a man. He was quite a few inches taller than Luke, and a scruffy black beard was visible beneath the veil of his hood. The thing that surprised Luke the most was the strange ripple of shock that he could feel in the Force.

Luke peered up at the man curiously, his metal arm quivering under the pressure of keeping the knife from piercing his collarbone, and he tilted his head.

Before he could open his mouth, he was kicked very hard in the chest, and his back collided painfully with the mosaic floor. He slid along it, dragging his fingers and ripping up orange moss, before his head knocked against a parapet, and he was forced to scramble to his feet.

"Hey!" Luke gasped, his fingers dragging along the column as the man chased him around it. "Stop! I don't want to fight!"

He heard a very pronounced scoff, and he pushed off the parapet and jerked back when the man lunged forward. Gritting his teeth, he thought very fast, and then as he stumbled into the antechamber, he whirled around and blocked the vibroblade with the barrel of his blaster.

The knife was imbedded there for a moment. The man stood there, stunned.

"Can't we talk?" Luke asked, a little desperately. Maybe.

The blaster was torn from his hand, and he blinked as the man tossed both his knife and the blaster over his shoulder.

"Don't need 'em to beat you," the man said, more than a bit haughtily, and Luke's eyebrows shot up.

"Is that what you think?" Luke almost smiled.

Almost.

The man went in for punch. Feinted. Luke saw it coming, left, feint, right— Luke was not fast enough to dodge, so he pulled in his arms tight and hid his head beneath them so they took the brunt of the punch. Then he circled the man, catching his next swing and attempting to pin his arm behind his back.

Weirdly enough, this guy was stronger than him. Go figure.

Instead, Luke decided to kick off his back, flipping and landing easily. He eyed the vibroblade with some consideration. The man's leg whirled over his head in a high arc, and Luke only realized he'd dodged it when he saw that he'd dropped to his knees.

While he was already on the floor, Luke swept his feet, kicking the man's legs out from under him. This was a dirty fight, and Luke's chest rose and fell in irregular rhythms as he launched himself at the man, pushing his knees into his ribs and listening to him gasp in pain.

That shouldn't have hurt. Was this guy injured? Luke suddenly felt very guilty.

That did not stop him from taking the man by the shoulders and pinning him hard against the sea glass tile.

"Now," Luke gasped, blinking through stinging sweat and the curls of his hair, "will you listen to me?"

The man's hood had fallen back, and Luke found himself looking into a very youthful face. It honestly shocked him. Beneath the scruffy beard was a square face, with round, deep blue eyes staring up at him tiredly. He might be even younger than Luke. Not a teenager, but maybe close. His long, dark hair was swept back, and he had scars— two on his cheek, one mangling his right ear— that stood white against his skin.

Luke felt the man's chest rising and falling beneath him. His shoulders were tense under Luke's fingers, and he was glaring up at him defiantly.

"Nah," the man said, his fingers gripping Luke's hip, and suddenly his whole equilibrium shifted, and it was Luke who was being pinned to the floor, a body heavy upon his chest, knees digging into his sides.

Oh, and a lightsaber to his throat.

His lightsaber, to be exact. The green glow of it blinded him for a moment, and the familiar hum made him feel secure. Strangely, he did not feel any danger here.

He trusted the Force. This man would not harm him.

"What?" Luke asked, lifting his chin so the plasma's heat was a bit closer to his skin. He knew how haughty it looked, but hey, this guy was just as cocky. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Haven't decided yet," the man said with a frown. "I'm not one to pick on thieves, but rule of thumb, buddy? Steal what you need. Stop coming to sacred places. You owe it to the person you stole this from."

"Thief?" Luke found himself genuinely confused, but a bit delighted. He couldn't help but laugh. "What, me? Really?"

"Uh, duh!" The man was irritated. He jerked the lightsaber in a sharp gesture, and Luke watched the green blade. "Where else would you get a lightsaber?"

"I made it," Luke said defensively.

And oh, that did something, didn't it? Luke felt it in the Force, the change, the odd trickle. It was like the sunlight peeking in through the collapsed roof. Tentative. Warm.

"What?" the man uttered, shock oozing into the Force.

"It's mine. I made it."

The man blinked rapidly. He sat there on Luke's chest, holding his lightsaber in his hands, and then he looked down at it. His mouth opened and closed.

"No," he said firmly, "you didn't."

"I did," Luke insisted.

"You're telling me," he said, looking suddenly very unsure, "that you're supposed to be a Jedi?"

That made Luke squirm a little.

"Not supposed to be," he said. "I am a Jedi. And I think you know that already. Please, can I have my lightsaber back?"

"Who trained you?" the man demanded.

Luke sighed. "Obi-Wan Kenobi. A little. Then Yoda. A little. Could you at least get off me?"

It seemed to hit the man just what position they had landed in, and he pressed his lips together thinly before turning his face away and slipping off Luke. He laid there a moment, trying to gain his bearings, while the man examined his lightsaber.

"Who are you?" Luke asked, propping himself up on his elbows. "Do you… guard this temple? You're not a vision, are you?"

The man laughed. It was a bright, sharp laugh, but a genuine one. It made Luke smile.

"No way," the man gasped. "I'm just a traveler. Like you, I guess."

"Oh." Luke dragged himself upright. "This planet's pretty close to the Unknown Regions. I didn't expect to find anyone out here."

The man stiffened a bit, just enough that Luke had noticed, and he shrugged.

"I have to guess you're here for a reason," Luke sighed. "And you said you're not a thief, which…"

"Now," the man said, rolling his eyes, "I never said that."

"Oh, my apologies," Luke said briskly, "I just assumed, given you were about to cut my head off for said crime not five minutes ago."

"No need to get so defensive," the man said with half a grin. He extinguished the green blade, and wiggled it between his fingers. "I still have your lightsaber. You should be nicer."

"It— you—!" Luke took a deep breath. This was not becoming of a Jedi Knight. Whoever this guy was, Luke could take him. Not that he really felt like it would come to blows again. "Listen, I don't want to fight. Could you just tell me your name?"

The man's eyes flashed wide a moment. His shoulders rose, and they fell, and he looked drawn, like he wanted to disappear into the mosaic.

"I'm sorry," Luke said awkwardly, realizing he'd said something wrong. "You don't have to say. I mean, I haven't told you my name yet."

The man rolled Luke's lightsaber in his palms. His brow pinched uncertainly.

"It's Ezra," he said quietly.

Luke relaxed a bit. Okay, so he had not entirely messed this up. Good! Great, even. Shit, he was tired.

"Nice to meet you, Ezra," Luke said. "My name is Luke."

Ezra nodded, perhaps not really even hearing him. He was still rolling Luke's lightsaber in his palms like it was some sort of comfort to him. The more he fidgeted with it, the more Luke realized how uncomfortable Ezra was.

"Are you really a Jedi?" Ezra asked him, his eyes flashing up to meet Luke's almost desperately. It was strange after the ferocity of that fight to see this man look suddenly so vulnerable.

"Yes," Luke said. He'd gotten this question half a hundred times in the last few months alone. "And... what are you?"

That startled him. He shrunk a bit, and once again he seemed to try to become one with the floor.

"Sorry," Luke said sheepishly. "You don't have to answer that."

With a small grimace, Ezra shrugged. He dragged his fingers through his hair, loosened it so that the long black strands fell in fluffy tufts around his head. His scarred ear was covered up. Then he began to redo it, pulling his hair at the back of his head.

"You know at first," Ezra said, tying off the bun, "I thought you were an Imperial."

Luke could not imagine what his face must have looked like, but it made Ezra smirk, so he imagined it was comical.

"I've been told I'm a little short for that business," Luke said. He relaxed when Ezra laughed. "Also, not really good for my health, you know. Being a Jedi and all."

"No, I'd imagine that might be a little bit of a dark mark on your permanent record."

"Thank goodness I never enlisted. Could you imagine?" Luke rubbed his cheek. "I'd be dead in a week."

Or, Luke thought numbly, in the hands of my father, which might have been worse at that point.

"I can see my error, yeah," Ezra said, smiling at him with such openness that Luke was a little dazzled. "They'd eat you alive."

"Uh. Thanks?"

"Yeah, that's a compliment. Eat it up."

Studying Ezra curiously, Luke noted that the scar on his ear was uneven. It looked painful, like someone had started trying to hack his ear off. He could not tell what the twin scars on his cheek were from.

"What?" Ezra asked, sounding self-conscious. He turned a bit, and Luke felt very guilty for letting his eyes linger on the scarred ear. "You wanna know what happened?"

"Uh…"

"Bad business," Ezra said simply.

"Oh."

Ezra shrugged. "I'm a hot commodity," he said. He sounded a little bitter. "Especially in these parts. Plus, my… uh… business associate, he's not super well liked. By anyone. I think I might be his only friend." The way he said that made Luke think that maybe this guy had said this a lot, which made Luke feel bad for this so-called friend.

"Don't tell me someone did that to you to get back at someone else!"

"Ehh…" Ezra's head bounced from side to side. Then, he grinned. "You should see the other guy!"

"I'm not sure I want to."

"Yeah, he's dead, don't imagine too hard."

Ezra laughed while Luke gaped at him. To be fair, Luke was not surprised that this was the result, though the bluntness did alarm him. Something about the way Ezra seemed to brush off danger reminded Luke of Han. It was endearing.

"What?" Ezra asked. "What is it? The guy had it coming."

"It's not that," Luke said, shaking his head furiously. "I mean, it's definitely not that. I grew up in Hutt Space, so—"

"Oof, okay, point taken."

Luke found that he was now very warm. Embarrassed, maybe. He looked down at his hands.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I'm just surprised, I guess. You know, that you can talk about it so flippantly."

"Is this flippant?" Ezra's eyes narrowed. "Hm. Tell me about your metal arm then, Master Jedi."

Something about the way Ezra said that made Luke feel very small.

Used to this type of mocking from Leia, Luke found himself rising to the bait and utilizing a tactic that almost always worked on her.

Pity.

"My father cut it off," Luke said. Flippantly.

He let the pity wash over him, and he thought, good. That'll teach him.

"Sorry," Ezra said, gaping a bit. "I— wow. Um… did you get back at him, or…?"

"He's dead now," Luke said. Strangely, it didn't hurt to say it this time. He just felt empty. "It's fine. We… weren't close. It doesn't matter."

"Okay… if you say so…" Ezra tilted his head. "So why exactly are you here? Did the Force lead you or something?"

"No," Luke said. "I found the coordinates in a book. Thought I might as well come check it out. I'm trying to rebuild the Jedi Order."

Ezra's mouth fell open. He gaped at him for a bit too long, before he settled back and blinked a few times.

"Good luck with that," he said hoarsely.

"Thanks." Luke timidly thought about asking him if he would like to join him, but he was still a bit wary of this man. "What about you?"

"Huh?"

"Why are you here?"

"Oh." Ezra looked down. He shrugged. "It's not… I don't know how to explain it. My, uh, friend— the business associate?"

"The one who has many, many enemies?" Luke offered.

"Yes," Ezra sighed, rolling his eyes, "the one and only. I'm helping him with something."

"That's nice of you." Luke was anxious. He wanted to ask Ezra if he'd think about becoming a Jedi. He could feel Ezra in the Force, and that was not something he was familiar with. It felt almost like how Leia felt, but… obviously very foreign. Leia was a sun. She orbited him, his twin, hanging in the sky above him and waking in the morning to pull him higher and higher. He did not know how he'd ever lived without her, what he would do without her.

This man felt like a reflection of that sunlight. Something new.

"Yeah, well, I'm nice like that." Ezra smiled sheepishly. Suddenly there was a beep, and Ezra hissed something in a language Luke was not familiar with. He pulled a comm from the pocket of his trousers— Luke realized that though his cloak was tattered, it was a ruse. His clothing beneath it was tailored to fit him.

Luke sat and listened to Ezra speak irritably into the comm. The language was completely foreign. Luke could not hear a single familiar word.

A woman's voice spoke back. Ezra sat with a scowl. He drummed on his knee as she continued to speak.

The conversation continued like this for about five minutes. Ezra hung up in the middle of the woman talking.

"Ugh!" Ezra groaned. "These people! I'm just one person— even I get tired out!"

"Um… sorry?"

Ezra waved him off. He stood up, tossing Luke his lightsaber, and brushed past him.

"I gotta go," he said. "Duty calls, or whatever…"

He got to the edge of the chamber. His footsteps echoed eerily. Luke sat on the floor, watching his back with unspeakable sadness.

Then, without warning, Ezra whirled around and rushed to Luke's side, dropping to his knees beside him.

"Hey— hey!" Luke squirmed as Ezra reached into his pocket and retrieved his journal. He was dismayed with the glyph he had drawn was torn out and tossed onto the floor. "What are you doing?"

"Shh!" Ezra's finger brushed Luke's lips. Then, Ezra took Luke by the head and shoved him away. After a few minutes, he considered the journal, and then squeezed his eyes shut.

He shoved the journal into Luke's chest and jumped up once again.

"I need you to bring that to someone," Ezra said, looking very eager and very nervous. "She might be hard to find, but you have to do this for me, okay? I wrote her name and a list of ways to get in contact with her on the last page. Just— please? I'll owe you one. If we ever meet again."

"Oh." Luke blinked. "Promise?"

Ezra grinned down at him, backing away with a bounce in his step.

"I'll do whatever you want!" he gasped. "You have my word— Jedi!"

His laughter was captured on the vaults of the ceiling as he left.

Luke sat there for a long time. He turned the pages of Ezra's note, trying not to read it, but finding himself catching words like miss you and sorry and safe and worry. The last page is what surprised him.

"Hera Syndulla?" he uttered. "Like, the General?"

That was weird. What was some random guy from wild space doing trying to contact General Syndulla?

Whatever. Luke would figure it out later. He got up, hooked his lightsaber to his belt, and then paused. He summoned his busted blaster and the vibroblade into his hand. It could come in handy later. Maybe.

As he exited the chamber, he found himself gazing up at a statue.

Briefly, he wondered if that hand had always been pointing down.

"Rabri!" The little girl's big red eyes turned to him in excitement, and her relief was palpable as he unhooked his cloak and tossed it over the nearest chair. That earned him several dissatisfied looks, but he could not find it in himself to care. The atmosphere on the bridge was fairly neutral in comparison to how it usually was when Ezra showed up late.

Wasting no time, Ezra strolled up to the child, scooped her up into his arms and balanced her on his hip while ruminating in the absolute irritation and disapproval that rolled around him from officer to officer.

"What is above?" Ezra said, the Cheunh words coming out smoothly, even though the translation of the idiom was pretty awkward, from what he understood.

Lieutenant Vah'nya, as usual, was amused, but was too conditioned by her surroundings to show it.

"Navigator Bridger," Vah'nya said, her hands clasping delicately behind her back, "what did your examination of the surface of Melinoë bring you?"

Ezra was seized by a sudden fear that Vah'nya, weak as her Force abilities seemed to be now, would catch him in a lie. The child in his arms, Eud'ora, turned her round blue face up to him confusedly. Unfortunately, the thing about nurturing the little navigator's Force abilities to strengthen what the Chiss called "Third Sight" was that Ezra was unwittingly building a decent foundation for the girl to sense other things as well. Like his discomfort. Or lies.

Oh well. What were they gonna do? It wasn't like they could seriously incapacitate a resource like him.

"Nothing," Ezra said, hoping his bluff would settle as easily as it felt leaving his lips. He met Eud'ora's eye, and he smiled at her as her brow furrowed uncertainly. Yep. She sensed the lie. "Not that I exactly had time to look thoroughly. Thanks a lot."

"It was not my decision to pull you from the surface."

Ezra clicked his tongue off the roof of his mouth. Figured. He smoothed Eud'ora's hair back and shot her one last encouraging smile before setting her down. She was six standard years old, and very shy. She rarely spoke to her caretaker, or anyone else for that matter, except for Ezra and Vah'nya.

And sometimes Thrawn, but Ezra did not care to analyze that mystery any time soon.

"Hey," Ezra said in Basic as he turned around to face his old adversary with a smirk. "Miss me?"

He had no idea how long Thrawn had been standing there, but he had to pray it wasn't long. If anyone was going to catch him in a lie, it was Thrawn.

Ignoring Ezra's boldness, Thrawn passed by him, focusing upon the window. The blue sphere of Melinoë twinkled like a sapphire in the distance. Ezra doubted the young Jedi Luke had noticed the Chiss ship from where he had landed, but now Ezra feared that the opposite was not true.

"I imagine you dealt with the interloper swiftly," Thrawn said, every bit the pompous asshole Ezra had grown accustomed to.

"Sure."

"I see."

Ezra folded his arms across his chest defiantly. Everyone on the ship had this idea that Thrawn and Ezra hated each other. And they sort of did. But they'd also braved the ugly reality of Wild Space together, and they owed each other enough life debts to serve an army.

"Just say it," he sighed. Still in Basic. The only person on the bridge familiar with it was Vah'nya, and only a handful of useful phrases at that.

"You have lost your blade."

"And?" Ezra arched a brow, daring Thrawn to continue. When Thrawn remained silent, Ezra decided the best course of action was to dig his heels in and be annoying. "What else?"

"Your loss of your weapon could, perhaps, indicate that you lost the fight." Thrawn turned to face Ezra, and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Yep. Ezra had been caught. "You let the interloper go?"

Pursing his lips indignantly, letting all sense of carefully constructed propriety fall away with a puff of his cheeks, Ezra waved his hands at Thrawn in a vague gesture.

"That is not an answer, Bridger."

Ezra mocked him syllabically, using simply whiny little noises, so the whole crew knew what he was doing.

Only Eud'ora seemed amused.

Thrawn switched to Cheunh as punishment.

"What did the interloper want?" he asked. Demanded, really, but only someone who'd been around Thrawn for a long time could pick out his impatience.

"He was just exploring," Ezra said defensively. Responding in Cheunh. It was not his strong suit. "Keep your cool, okay? I did not find anything useful, anyway, so I doubt he did."

"Do you believe he suspected you?"

Ezra thought briefly of Luke's eager eyes and kind smile. The way the Force wrapped around him like a warm halo.

"What was there to suspect?" Ezra offered a grim smile. He switched to Basic quickly. "Nobody knows what we are doing. Not even your crew, really."

Thrawn's eyes narrowed even more.

"Come with me."

Ezra rolled his eyes while Thrawn breezed past him. He waved at Vah'nya, who had a pensive expression, and turned his head to make a funny face at Eud'ora. She grinned and gave him an enthusiastic two-handed wave. That was something she'd picked up from him. He was proud of it, because it annoyed some of the other officers.

"You gonna eat that?" Ezra asked, not waiting for a reply before swiping the dried fruit packet from Thrawn's desk.

It delighted Ezra that Thrawn did not even blink, let alone address it as he tore into the tough, chewy yellow strips.

"I would be very appreciative," Thrawn said, in his weird Thrawn way, when he was trying to appeal to Ezra as if he was a child, "if you gave me a thorough and accurate report of your experience on Melinoë."

Ezra hopped on Thrawn's desk. That did make his eye twitch a little.

"Well," he said, beaming, "if you'd be so appreciative, I guess I could spare a few details."

Thrawn sat down in his chair and turned a holorecorder at Ezra. This was not abnormal, at least for how the last few missions had gone. He explained how he had landed on the planet, taken a slight detour so he could hike from the beach up the mountain. The view had been beautiful, and it had reminded him of home. He did not look at Thrawn when he said this. Still, though, he could feel the man stiffen a bit.

Ezra thought it was funny when he made Thrawn squirm. The minute Ezra had realized the weird Imperial officer that had basically hounded them for years was actually an awkward dude with a conscience, Ezra leapt at any chance to make him feel guilty and did not look back.

It had benefited him in that Thrawn seemed to dislike seeing Ezra sad.

Ezra was not one to read too much into that.

He continued, going into as much detail as possible about the temple's façade, the infrastructure, the ruins, the sea glass mosaics and the limestone columns.

"There was a lot I didn't get to explore," he admitted. "Our little… what'd you call him, an interloper? He appeared not too long after me. I assumed he was a thief, or an Imp, and hid before attacking. He was actually pretty good. Not as good as me, but good."

Thrawn bowed his head in acknowledgment. He never praised Ezra, but he had acknowledged that he was physically superior. Thrawn had credited it to, apparently, Ezra's youth, training, and Force abilities. Which Ezra had not been able to refute, making the compliment pretty null and void.

"We fought a bit, he got my knife, I got his— weapon…" Ezra winced. Yep, that was that. He'd gotten Thrawn's attention. "We ended up just having a nice conversation, alright? He wasn't a thief or an Imperial, just an explorer."

"What was this… 'weapon?'" Thrawn asked with curiosity practically oozing out of his wormy lips. Ezra scowled at him. Bastard.

"Does it matter?" he asked weakly.

"Bridger."

"Ugh," Ezra huffed. "Why am I not allowed to have my secrets? You have yours!"

"From you," Thrawn said, "there is very little I keep secret. You know this."

"You still got 'em, though! You still got secrets!"

Thrawn leaned back in his chair, observing Ezra pensively. He briefly drummed his fingertips against the edge of his desk. He then turned off the holorecorder.

"Was this interloper Force sensitive?"

Ezra flinched. Then he wished, very much so, that he did not have such an open face, because of course he'd given it away. This is why he couldn't keep secrets from Thrawn.

It was times like these where Ezra wished he'd just left Thrawn for dead on Seliha that one time. Or let the native giant birds of the unnamed planet they'd crashed on four years ago after escaping from some very unhospitable pirates just eat him. Or had just not unlocked the chains keeping Thrawn at bay in said pirate vessel. Or any of the other times Ezra had saved this guy's sorry butt.

"Ah," Thrawn said, maybe rubbing it in that he'd guessed right, but more likely not even realizing he'd made Ezra uncomfortable. "I see. You kept this a secret from me because you believe… what? That I will hunt the boy down and drag him back to the Ascendancy?"

"Can you blame me?" Ezra muttered. He trusted Thrawn, sure, but that was only because he trusted that Thrawn weighed Ezra's usefulness over his general lack of decorum. Though Ezra had begun to suspect over the past year that Thrawn thrived on the chaos that ensued when Ezra had to interact with any powerful Chiss.

After all, Ezra was a rare gem. A sky-walker whose abilities far outreached any of the young navigators, and one willing to impart his wisdom on the young Chiss girls. Eud'ora was the test. He had been working with her for a year, and though she could not move anything with her mind, or connect with animals, she could sense Ezra anywhere in the ship, and he suspected she was beginning to forge a bond with him that would extend to telepathy— or Second Sight, as Thrawn called it. Though Thrawn warned Ezra that two navigators with Second Sight should never use it on each other. Ezra thought Thrawn was exaggerating.

Ezra could count on his hand the amount of people in the Chiss Ascendancy who actually enjoyed his company. Eud'ora, clearly. Vah'nya, who reminded him of Sabine sometimes, which made him less inclined to be around her. Thrawn didn't count. Oh, and some random human Ezra had met all of twice who worked with Admiral Ar'alani.

Ar'alani did not like Ezra.

Sometimes Ezra thought that Thrawn let Ezra loose around her just to see what would happen.

Thrawn observed him with the sort of unreadable quality that always had Ezra feeling like a fool. He ducked his head under the intensity of his gaze.

"You are aware," Thrawn said, a small wrinkle appearing and disappearing upon his forehead, "that you are not a prisoner here, are you not?"

Ezra's knee bounced idly. He avoided Thrawn's gaze, and he tried to smile.

"Would you like to leave?" Thrawn asked.

The question hung in the air, piercing Ezra's skull and rattling along inside his head.

Pushing off the desk, he turned to face Thrawn and offered half a shrug.

"I promised you I'd help you," he said firmly. "I won't go home until this is done."

Thrawn blinked. Once, twice. He inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"I do not need to remind you, then," he said quietly, "that this quest may last for years to come."

"Yeah. I know. Can I go now? I want to play with Dora before she goes to sleep." He held up a hand and waved Thrawn off before he could question him. "Yes, I'll navigate us back, you don't even have to ask. I don't get sick, remember? No sparkle-vision, or whatever."

This was why the Chiss, who were naturally distrustful of outsiders, allowed his presence. Ezra was not only a Navigator, a skill he'd picked up very quickly during one of his and Thrawn's various escapades through Wild Space, but he was also a good one. He never wore himself out. He made it very clear his abilities were not going anywhere. He was willing to serve the Ascendancy and teach their navigators how to hone their gift (and maybe do a bit more, but he was still not sure if that would work).

"Yes." Thrawn nodded. "I remember. You are not tired from your fight with the unknown sky-walker?"

"I wouldn't call him a sky-walker," Ezra laughed uneasily. "But I'm fine. Really. And that guy won't bother us. He's just… looking for answers. Not anything dangerous at all."

"His presence has disturbed you."

"Nothing is disturbed," Ezra argued, offering his arms out with a short laugh. "I'm good! I'm here! I'll be your Navigator until you no longer need me."

That's what you want to hear, Ezra thought bitterly, right?

A ghost of a frown graced Thrawn's lips. Ezra backed away slowly, his smile tightening as he went.

"Also," he quipped, "I need a new vibroblade."

"I will buy you a new one."

"Thanks!"

Ezra hit the button on the wall and bounced out of the sliding doors.

The crew was pretty wholly loyal to Thrawn. Most of them were transfers from the Steadfast, and as weird as Thrawn and Ar'alani's relationship was, there was mutual respect and trust there. So everyone had adjusted more or less to Thrawn's… eccentricities.

"Navigator Rabri," an officer greeted him briskly.

"Sowli," Ezra said, watching the man's expression crack a bit when Ezra intentionally left out his rank. They were not friends. "What can I do?"

"Lieutenant Vah'nya is asking for you."

"Stars," Ezra drawled, "I am just so popular."

Sowli rolled his glowing red eyes, not bothering to rise to the bait. The man had grown used to Ezra, as had the rest of the crew, but that did not mean they really approved of him. He often got compared to Ar'alani's human, Ivant, because apparently he was a downgrade.

Ezra trailed after Sowli, grinning at Eud'ora when she perked up upon his entry. He crossed the room to Vah'nya, who did spare Ezra a small smile.

"How was it?" she asked in Basic. Sowli's gaze flitted between them before he went back to his station. She lowered her voice and switched back to Cheunh. "You shouldn't test him, Bridger."

"Do not worry," Ezra said. "I am fine. He likes me."

"Somehow."

"I am very agreeable," Ezra said with a short scoff. "Right, Dora?"

Eud'ora nodded eagerly. The nickname was not traditional to how Chiss did things, Ezra didn't think, but she seemed to like it.

Vah'nya sighed. She looked very tired, and Ezra wondered if she and Thrawn had spoken while he had been gone. Like many others in the crew, Vah'nya was a transplant from the Steadfast. She was one of the few people in the Ascendancy who knew what Thrawn's actual goal was.

"I am putting Eud'ora to bed," Ezra said, kneeling down and opening his arms. The little girl flung herself at him eagerly, her arms tight around his neck. He hefted her up. "Do not, with that face, please. I am fully able to navigate."

"I didn't say anything."

Ezra readjusted Eud'ora so she was balanced against his side, her head drooping onto his shoulder. He was not sure she had even heard him. The journey here must have done a number on her.

"You all expect me to get sparkle-vision," he sighed, "or collapse from sleepiness. I am not a child."

"You do not need to tell me that," Vah'nya said firmly. "I know exactly how you feel. However, that does not mean I can't worry about you." She switched to her thickly accented Basic quickly. "Are you alright?"

"Come on," he said, also in Basic. "Give me some credit."

She did not understand him, he knew, so he repeated what he had said quietly in Cheunh. The translation was… rough.

"Do you know what you just said?" she asked, giggling into her hand.

"Uhh…"

"You said: 'Give me some money.' Money, Bridger, like to pay with."

"Yeah," Ezra said confusedly, "like, credits?"

"I don't know what the equivalent phrase would be in Cheunh," she said, smiling at him warmly. "But it was funny. Thank you."

"Yeah, well…" He offered a shrug with the shoulder that was not being used as a pillow. "I live to serve."

That made her smile falter a bit. She studied him for a moment.

"If you're not doing well," she said quietly, "please come to me. I can help."

"I am fine." He shook his head. "Why must we always have this conversation? You doubt my ability to keep going— I have tired myself out before, you know, and it is nothing like navigating. I can do this forever."

"I thought so too," Vah'nya said, her voice a soft warning. "Just… talk to me, won't you? Even if it isn't about navigating. I am more than just a former sky-walker, you know."

He felt a bit ashamed at that, and he inclined his head in acknowledgment. He left the bridge without another word, heading toward the Navigator quarters. Halfway there, Eud'ora wiggled out of his grasp, and he let her down.

Her small hand slipped into his, and they walked at a steady pace.

"You shouldn't keep lying," she said quietly.

He nearly tripped.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Her big red eyes peered up at him. She squeezed his hand tightly.

"Rabri," she whispered urgently, "you're not fine. Why do you keep telling Vah'nya and Thrawn that?"

"I—" Ezra scowled. He hated being backed into a corner. "And how do you know I am lying, then? Hm?"

"I can tell."

"Of course you can," he sighed. "Well, that is fine. Please, though, do not tell Thrawn when you know I am lying."

She squinted up at him. "Why?" she demanded.

"He is…" Ezra licked his lips. "Already very good, ah… at, you know, telling when I am not being truthful. If I manage to fool him, I would like to keep it that way."

"He is the captain," Eud'ora said, her brow pinching confusedly.

"So?"

"I— well—he—!" Eud'ora stared up at him. She gaped for a moment. "You have to listen to him!"

"You have seen him and I together," Ezra laughed. "Is that true?"

"Well, I have to listen to him! So you should have to too!"

"Maybe so." Ezra shrugged heavily. "Not sure about that, but I do know that when I say I am fine, I usually mean it."

Eud'ora's eyes settled upon his face as she jerked to a halt. She tore her hand from his, and she scowled.

"You're lying again!" she gasped. "Stop it! I don't like it!"

Ezra winced. That wasn't good. He knelt down so they were eye-level, and he offered out his hands plainly.

"I do not know how to make this better," he admitted. "I will not lie to you, Eud'ora."

"Then tell me what's wrong!" she gasped. "I can help."

"No," Ezra said gently, "you cannot. That is fine. You are not meant to help me. I am meant to help you. You see?"

"No." She frowned. "I don't! What is it? What happened on Melinoë? Why are you so— so sad?"

There it was. She had reached into him and pried his feelings from his chest, and now she held them out to him and said look! Look at yourself! Is this who you want to be forever?

"I am…" Ezra parsed through the words he knew in Cheunh. None fit right. "I have a longing for my home. I miss my family."

Eud'ora's eyes sparkled suddenly. "You have a family?" she gasped. "Other Ezr's?"

"No." Ezra sat down in the middle of the corridor, and he smiled at her weakly. "We have different names. But we are family, still."

"Different names?" Eud'ora was in awe. "But wait… where is your family? Can't you go see them?"

Ezra shook his head with a heavy sort of resignation. He had thought about this long and hard the past few years. They had managed to make it to the Chiss Ascendancy almost two years ago. Ezra had… not been well. A series of mishaps, including the incident that had nearly cost him his ear, had happened in a quick succession. Ezra did not remember navigating the ship. Thrawn did not tell him how it had gone, what had happened, only that he had done very well. He remembered being carried at one point or another. Then he had woken in a medcenter, confused and bandaged, with a Chiss doctor babbling at him in a language he did not know well.

Later, Thrawn had told him that the Ascendancy would escort him home.

Ezra, at that point, had already met Ar'alani's sky-walker. Then he had met Vah'nya. He learned about how their abilities faded, and he wondered about the logistics of it. After all, they were technically untrained.

Some probing had yielded surprising results, and Ezra had found himself offering to help Thrawn in what could very well be a fruitless search.

But Ezra figured it didn't hurt to have Thrawn really owe him, right?

And, also, as much as Ezra hated to admit it, he felt a weird obligation to help. To help Thrawn, to help the Force-sensitive navigators, even to help the Chiss themselves. After all, they had saved him. They had not needed to.

Now, nearly two years later, he felt anxious about what was happening at home. They got news of the Empire, yes, but it was slow and it trickled through the cracks irregularly. Ezra had not learned of Alderaan's destruction until he was in the Ascendancy for two months. He had nearly left at that, actually. The only thing that had convinced him to stay was Thrawn's insistence that he was no longer loyal to the Empire.

"I had a friend from Alderaan," he'd told Thrawn, maybe a year ago now. He had been drunk. Thrawn had just given him news that the weapon that had destroyed Alderaan was gone. Had been gone for years. The Ascendancy was wary with Thrawn, and so for a while they had not given him information they had gathered about the Empire. News of the war came very slowly, and in many pieces. "She was really kind to me. Brave, too. She's probably dead, huh?"

Thrawn had been silent.

"Rabri?"

Eud'ora had his face in her hands. Her red eyes searched his face in horror.

"It's okay," she said, "don't cry."

Ezra pulled back from her abruptly. He used the black sleeve of his uniform to scrub away the tears.

"Sorry, sorry," he gasped, laughing a little. It was strained. "I am fine!"

"No," Eud'ora said softly, "you're not."

She climbed into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. Ezra sat there and let himself be hugged and comforted by this incredibly intuitive six year old, and he felt like he might start sobbing. She squeezed him tighter.

"It is time for you to go to bed," he said, picking her up and finally getting her to her room. "I must return and navigate."

"I could've done it."

"No." Ezra scowled down at her. "Dora, what have I told you? It is no good to over work yourself."

"But you do it," she argued as he set her on her bed. "All the time!"

"I am bigger than you."

"So?" Eud'ora scowled right back. "I'm a better navigator!"

That was technically true, but it was kind of rude, so Ezra frowned at her.

"You better learn some…" Ezra struggled for the right word. "Manners, little one."

Eud'ora stuck out her tongue, and Ezra mimicked her. He was banished from the room soon after by Eud'ora's caretaker.

"Rabri!" Eud'ora called as he reached the door. Her caretaker was setting out her night clothes. "Be careful when you sleep!"

That struck him as odd. Even for a Force-sensitive child like Eud'ora.

"Okay," he said with a short laugh. "Goodnight, Dora."

He took a little bit of time in the Navigator corridor alone. Just to breathe. Gain his bearings. He slid down the wall and let his head fall into his hands.

What a mess.

To his dismay, he was found like this by Vah'nya. He looked up, startled by the sound of her footsteps. It did not surprise him that she was the one to come look for him. Both of their quarters were in the Navigator section of the ship.

"Hey," she said, sliding down the wall beside him. "We need to go. Do you think you can do this?"

"Of course I can," he scoffed. "I told you already—"

"Bridger," Vah'nya said gently, "I may not be able to navigate anymore, but I can feel you. I know you are not fine. It's dangerous to navigate without a clear—"

"I know!"

"You know," she said, her red eyes narrowing sharply, "yet you will not listen to me. I am just concerned!"

"Don't be!" Ezra jerked to his feet. "I can handle this! I am a—"

The word Jedi died in his throat.

His eyes prickled. His chest felt tight. He sucked in a deep breath.

"I am a Navigator," he said steadily. "I can do this. Please, Vah'nya. Believe in me."

She looked up at him. Her brow furrowed, and she looked unsure. Yet she nodded, and lifted herself up off the floor.

"Okay, Bridger," she said softly. "Okay."

When they returned to the bridge, Thrawn was there. Ezra tossed playful gesture at him, grinning when Thrawn merely turned away. Walking up to the helm, Ezra took a deep, measured breath, and began to piece together his desired location. It did not take him very long.

"Ready," he said steadily. He tried not to think of the Jedi, Luke, who carried with him a little bit of Ezra Bridger, a Jedi lost to Wild Space.

"Proceed," Thrawn said.

The pretty jewel of a planet, Melinoë, disappeared into the shivering lines of hyperspace. Ezra closed his eyes, and he navigated.

Navigating like a sibling of the precognitive ability to predict the next blow in a fight. They were close, but the difference was in how prolonged it was, how much thought and effort it took to steer them along through the lanes, choosing carefully, sensing the imminent dangers all around them. He was no longer quite himself, but an extension of himself. The ship could not contain him.

He understood how this could be entirely draining for children to do over and over. The immense pressure of everyone's safety, of the unknown, it sank into him each time he did this task, and he was a grown man. This was why he often put himself in Eud'ora's place. The longer she navigated in a single day, the more likely it was she would get sick. Ezra had seen it too many times already. And Ezra never got sick.

But something was wrong. He felt it halfway through their journey, the strange tingling threat that seemed to seem deep into his skin. It was attaching itself to him like a parasite. He could not shake the sudden chill.

Yet he had to keep going. There was nothing he could do, not until they reached the nearest Chiss occupied planet. He had not felt this way in a long, long time. It was something akin to how he had felt when he had touched the mind of the mother fyrnock when he'd first started training with Kanan. It wasn't the dark side, but it left him feeling uneasy as the journey continued. He was shaken, confused, but mostly determined. The nausea hit him in the last third of the journey, and he was so tense that he was not sure who was near him, or where he was for the last hour. All he knew was his destination.

He was wrenched from Third Sight with a terrible gasp, his body hitting the floor of the helm painfully. The residual ache from his bruised ribs hit him hard now, and it felt like a great beast was sitting upon his chest and pushing its claws into his eyes.

"Bridger! Bridger, can you sit up?"

The Cheunh words were not translating right in his brain. They were garbled and confusing. His brain was on fire.

Was this what Eud'ora felt like when it overwhelmed her? What all the Chiss Navigators dealt with? Ezra wanted, in that moment, to raze the Chiss hierarchy to the ground.

"He needs Somnia. Vah'nya, let go of him."

It was said in Cheunh, and then in Basic. Ezra groaned, trying to pry out a thank you, but he could not speak. There were little stars grinding up his teeth and burning up his tongue.

Ezra was bundled up in something— a piece of fabric, careful of his skin— and scooped off the floor. The pressure made him cry out, and squirm a bit, because he really did feel like he was on fire. He could not see anything, but he saw stars.

Sparkle-vision, he thought numbly. Oh, Force, this is awful.

He shivered violently. Every time he gasped for breath, it felt like a brick added onto his chest.

"W-what—" he managed to choke out. He was lying down now. He still could not see. "Where…?"

"Bridger. Can you hear me?"

"Y-yes…"

"Good," said the strange voice. Ezra recognized it— he did— but who— "I need you to go to sleep now. Can you do that for me? Nobody will touch you. You will be entirely cut off from your senses. But it will be for the best. When you awake, you will be better."

"Okay…" He swallowed very hard. "Okay…"

The world fell away from him with a shudder and a blink.

Chapter Text

Luke woke up with a start. He felt vaguely ill. His stomach was in knots. In the back of his mind, he felt like he had been in pain, or had dreamed of pain, white-hot and intense, a great star crushing his chest.

The first thing he became aware of, after the horrifying phantoms of pain whirling around him, was the fact that he was swathed in linen sheets. He was in a bed. Not just any bed, but an enormous featherbed. He was sinking into it, like he was lying on a cloud. He could not remember ever being in a bed so soft.

The second thing was the recollection of his previous night. He had trekked back down the mountain, returned Artoo to the nose of his X-Wing, and then had noticed the intensity of the great red sunset and had decided to go for a walk along the deserted beach. He'd peeled off his boots and waded in the water, letting its icy foam crawl up his calves, and he had watched the blooming pink sky as it pooled into a delightful red horizon, meeting the sea like old lovers reuniting.

Luke had stood there, entirely too content, before he had started to feel a bit sick.

Deciding that was probably a sign he should sit down, he walked back up to his X-Wing. By the time he got there, he felt more than a little whoozy.

"I'm okay, Artoo," he'd gasped, clutching his chest. "I just— I might rest my eyes for a bit—"

And next thing he knew, he was waking up in this luxurious bed.

He laid there, sunlight filtering in through a large floor-to-ceiling window, and a warm breeze tickled his cheek. He sat up, holding his aching ribs, and he kicked back the heavy silver duvet, beaded embroidery clinking as he struggled to his feet. His soles clapped softly against the cold tile as he crossed the room and came to a halt before a wide balcony.

It overlooked a lush green field, and the most breathtaking view he'd ever seen. Waterfalls, tall and proud, dotted the horizon, frothy water and mist visible even from this distance. A large lake sat just outside, sunlight scattering diamonds upon its clear blue surface, and he could hear songbirds of unknown origin near his window tittering away while distant waterfowl squawked.

This was definitely not Melinoë. At least not the part he'd landed in.

"Oh, good," a sweet, mild voice said, "you're awake."

Luke whirled around, gripping the gold frame of his window to steady himself, as he gazed at the woman who had strolled in. She was petite, her brown hair pulled severely back from her angular face. She wore simple pearl hair pins to keep fly-aways from falling into her wide brown eyes, and a blue crushed velvet housecoat that was left untied to reveal a pale nightgown beneath.

"Um…" Luke struggled to compose a thought. This woman looked very tired, but also incredibly elegant. "Hi?"

The woman smiled at him warmly. "Hello, Luke," she said. Her smile fell a bit as she turned away. "You need to get dressed. Your father will be arriving soon."

All at once, the world seemed to shift. The ache in his chest was forgotten. The oddness of the situation melted away from him. He gaped at the woman in absolute shock.

"My father?" he echoed incredulously.

The woman blinked. Her brow furrowed together, making her look much older and highlighting the lines on her face. The wistful atmosphere, the calm and natural stillness of it all, seemed to fall away with the loss of her smile, and Luke felt it acutely. He felt her worry, her sadness, her confusion. Yet all her face seemed to show him was uncertainty. She frowned at him.

"Yes," she said gravely. "What's wrong? You knew about this."

"I…" Luke raised his right hand to his forehead and grasped at his hair, trying to make sense of it all.

Then, with dawning horror, he realized he could feel his hair.

"Wait—" He looked down at his hand, flexing and unflexing it. He pinched it. It hurt. "What?"

"Luke," the woman gasped, suddenly at his side. She took his hand in both of hers, and she searched his face worriedly. "Darling, are you okay?"

Her soft hand brushed beneath his hair, pressing to his forehead in a gesture that made his stomach do a little flip. It felt like something Aunt Beru had done, long ago, and that filled him with an aching sort of sadness. Longing, or nostalgia maybe. The room, which was airy and bright, filled with warmth and love, felt suddenly too cramped for him. If he closed his eyes now, he was certain he would open them and find himself in his kitchen on Tatooine, his tiny legs swaying absently as his aunt kissed his hair and told him to go lie down.

"I'm just confused," he admitted, sounding breathless. Feeling breathless.

"Is it because of your father?" The woman's expression was pained suddenly, and her hand smoothed his hair back before sliding down and cupping his cheek. "I know it's hard, but it's for the best. You belong here, with me. And your father... he loves you. He does love you. You know that, right?"

Luke merely stared at here, unable to speak, trying to piece together the meaning of her words. She sounded like she was trying to convince him of this, but he did not need her to. He felt his expression must be just as pained, just as desperate, but more confused.

Who are you?

"As long as we all behave," the woman said quietly, "this weekend will be relatively painless. And I am trusting you to behave."

Mutely, Luke nodded. Something had occurred to him, but it simply could not be true. It was impossible.

Yet something else, a whisper, told him it was true.

"I'll leave you to get ready," the woman said, her fingers sliding from his cheek. She swept away from him, an ethereal beauty, sorrow trailing at her feet.

Beautiful, but… sad.

His heart seemed to want to punch out of his ribs and follow that sorrow to the ends of the earth.

"Mother?" he called, his breath hitching in his throat.

The woman paused in the doorway, turning to face him with a radiant smile.

"Yes, Luke?" she asked, bright as a beacon in a sandstorm.

The world stood still a moment. He stared at her, absorbing every line of her face, every wrinkle, every mole, every quirk of her lips. She was growing blurry as his throat tightened.

He managed to throw on the most disbelieving, wondering smile he could, and it was real.

"Nothing," he gasped, his hands shaking as he squeezed them at his sides. "Nothing at all."

She tilted her head uncertainly. Her eyes were alight with amusement.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her tone gentle and teasing.

"Yeah." Luke was choking on his words. "Yeah— I just—" He heaved a deep breath. "I love you."

The woman— his mother— merely laughed. Her eyes squinted in a beautiful way, like she was looking at the sun, and she shook her head at him.

"Get dressed," she said, waving him off. "You can flatter me later."

And suddenly Luke was alone. Luke was alone, and the world was entirely new.

Luke did not understand it. How could his mother and father be alive? Where was he? Why had this happened? How had this happened? He needed to find answers, but he did not want to worry his mother by asking her any questions. Especially questions that had answers that he should know.

Doing as he was told, Luke rifled through an ostentatious wardrobe, alarmed by the sheer volume of clothing he seemed to own. The different fabrics, the cuts, the styles, it all varied. The color palette seemed to be made up mostly of blues, grays, and blacks, which suited him fine. He struggled to pick out an outfit though. What if he was too plain? Too fancy? What if it was something that the Luke his other knew would never wear?

He was going to explode, there were just too many options!

"Ah," Luke gasped, tearing a pair of tailored black trousers and an unassuming white cotton blouse from the wardrobe. "Screw it! This is fine."

He got dressed quickly, surprised by the waistline of the trousers. They were very high, and fitted specifically to his hips. The shirt was very airy and loose in comparison. He tried not to think too hard about it, his mind wandering to the impossibility of it all, and quickly donned a pair of socks and boots, cuffing the ends of his pant legs.

The Force, he told himself, works in mysterious ways.

When he was done, he was not sure what else to do, so he went snooping. He started at happily un-orphaned Luke's vanity, finding it very amusing that a version of him would ever have something like this, and he found a bunch of elaborate bottles and tins. He sniffed them curiously. There was an assortment of creams in the tins. What for? The bottles had liquids. They smelled nice enough, but he had assumed they were decorative at first. When he pulled out the vanity drawer, it was filled with loose clips, pins, combs, and jewelry. Luke touched his hair and then he turned his head in the mirror a bit violently.

His hair was in a bun!

Tearing it down, Luke gaped at the long dirty blonde waves that fell below his shoulder. No wonder he'd kept it up! He touched the waves in wonder. They were soft and thick, not like the hair he was used to, which was sun-damaged and weak from lack of proper nutrition. If he had grown out his hair like this in his own reality, it would be limp, thin, and ugly. 

All of these things, he realized, were because of money. That was something utterly unthinkable to him. He'd realized how poor he had been growing up gradually throughout his adventures, but it had never occurred to him that it might matter. That money would have changed anything. Apparently it could change some things. Like the health of your skin and hair. Or your taste. He thought the man who lived in this room might have more in common with Lando than Luke Skywalker, nephew of Owen and Beru Lars.

Somehow, this version of Luke did not look horrible with long hair. He still had a strange urge to start hacking it off, though. Perhaps he'd wait so he did not frighten his mother.

My mother, he thought numbly, feeling the need to lie down again. What was he supposed to say to her? He was so confused, but he knew he could lie if he had to. He could make this work until he sorted out what was happening.

He spent too much time wrangling his hair back again, settling for a low ponytail and frowning at how weird it looked. Then he got up from the vanity and started tearing through the drawers. Clothes, clothes, more clothes…

"Aha!" Luke held up the shiny new datapad triumphantly. He flopped onto the fluffy bed with a satisfied smirk. "Tell me your secrets."

It was locked.

"Damn it," he muttered, rolling onto his back and scowling. "Of course."

He tried Anakin and Leia as passwords, but no dice. He would need to get a slicer, probably, and he didn't have time for that.

Suddenly he had an idea. It was a dumb idea, but it was something.

Luke lifted the datapad above his head and smashed it upon the tile.

Then, lifting it up gingerly, he noted the shattered screen, and he nodded approvingly. Proper destruction. What a thrill.

He left his room and found himself a bit awed as he wandered through the house, because this place was absolutely enormous. The hall outside his room was massive, yawning out before him in multiple directions. It led him to the staircase, which was stone, with ornately carved flowers inside the banister and risers. The flowers were stained a burnt orange color with some kind of fading dye. When he finally got to the ground floor, he nearly dropped his datapad for a second time.

"Mother?" he called, passing through the open foyer, taking in the earthy tones of the walls and tile. There were pillars inside his home. He felt like he was standing in a temple, but it was a house, and that did not make sense to him. He glimpsed paintings, landscapes similar to those outside his window, portraits of people he did not know, a portrait of a somber young girl in white makeup, and a portrait of two children. It was clear to him, peering up at the blonde and brunette who wore matching white outfits, their hands clasped together tightly, that he was looking at a young version of himself and his sister. That thrilled him. Looking into their eyes, though, he could sense something... off. Something was simply off here. And yet, everything smelled like flowers. He was overwhelmed.

"In here, darling!"

Luke followed the sound of his mother's voice. The dining room was wide open, floor-to-ceiling windows on every wall, and fresh-cut flowers sat at every corner in tall vases. She had removed her housecoat and thrown on a simple blue gown that cinched just beneath the bust. When he walked in, she did not look up from her own datapad. Instead she merely nibbled on a piece of fruit.

"Um," Luke said, gripping his datapad awkwardly, "I had a sort of accident."

His mother's eyes flashed toward him so quickly he was struck breathless. Fear washed over her, and he saw the concern in her face before her gaze fell to the busted datapad, and she visibly relaxed.

"Oh," she gasped, clearly trying to hide the emotions that he had very clearly witnessed, "what happened?"

So they were not going to address her reaction then? That was interesting.

"Dropped it," he said weakly, setting it gently on the table. "Any way we can save the data and transfer it to a new one?" They were, after all, presumably wealthy.

The way her shoulders relaxed when he sat down was not overlooked by him. He noted how relieved she seemed.

"That doesn't seem too difficult a request," she said amusedly. "Though your father might be able to replace the screen when he gets here."

Luke's smile was very tight. "Oh," he said. "You think so?"

"We can get you a new one if you need one," his mother said, avoiding his face as she examined the damage more closely. "I'll call Sola and see if Ryoo is still working tech."

"That'd be great." Luke had no idea what he was supposed to do with this information. "So when is, uh… my father… supposed to arrive…?"

"He was in Theed about an hour ago," his mother said, spreading a soft cheese onto a square of bread and biting into it thoughtfully. It was then that Luke realized she was wearing makeup, because he could see a bit of lip-stain flake upon the bread. He watched her as she chewed, the way she leaned against one hand lazily, her big brown eyes flickering to his. She pushed her plate toward him. "Here, eat some."

"Oh." Luke stared at the strange assortment of fruits and cheeses, not really sure what any of them were. "Okay. Thanks."

He took a bit of the fruit, and it had a nice snap when he bit into it. The meat of it was almost sour. It was refreshing.

His mother studied him as he ate, nibbling at her bread with a pensive expression. When he looked up, she licked her lips and set aside her breakfast.

"Is something wrong?" she asked him.

Freezing, Luke found himself entirely on the defensive. "What do you mean?" he asked weakly.

"You just seem…" She frowned deeply. "I can't place it. Something's off."

"I'm fine," he said, a bit too quickly. His mother's eyes narrowed.

"I know you are not happy with him," she whispered, leaning forward, "but this is for the best. Just... make polite conversation. Try not to test him. This is safest for you, Luke. Don't you see that?"

Luke did not like the sound of that. Safe? What did he need to be safe from? He was living this idyllic life, with two parents that were entirely alive, and yet there was still danger somehow?

Finding himself staring at his mother confusedly, he managed to smile through it.

"I know," he said. His voice was strangled. "I see it. Don't worry, Mother."

Leaning back, his mother studied him with a frown. "Maybe that's it," she said. "You never call me that."

"What?" Luke croaked. "Oh. Sorry. What do I usually call you, again?"

His mother blinked rapidly. Then she laughed, though it sounded nervous. "Mama, obviously. Luke, what is—?"

A signature so incredibly familiar in the Force crashed down upon him. He had been so busy trying to maneuver his way through this conversation with his mother, he had not quite realized that Anakin Skywalker was standing a few feet away. Luke looked up eagerly, expecting the suit, the mask, the uneven breathing… and instead, he found himself staring at a man.

Just a man. He was handsome, younger than Luke expected, with the same wild dirty blonde waves that sat upon Luke's own head. They were cropped close to his scalp, parted neatly. There was something about the eyes, the chin, recognition from looking at his own face for two decades, but something else. Luke had not been looking for Leia in their mother, too busy absorbing every bit of her face for who she was, but their father…

Leia had his nose. His lips. His stern gaze.

"Father," Luke gasped, jerking to his feet and rushing to his side. Unable to quite contain his overwhelming joy, he rushed up to the man and flung his arms around him. He was tall, but not as tall as Vader. That was strange to think about. And for some reason, he stiffened within Luke's embrace.

When Luke pulled back, his father was frowning at him. A faded scar beneath his right eye pinched as his gaze narrowed.

And when he looked back at his mother, he saw that she had jumped to her feet as well. Her expression was difficult to read, something of shock, something of horror, but mostly confusion and fear. She gripped the edge of the table with white knuckles.

"Lord Vader," his mother greeted in a very stilted manner. All the warmth and joy had been drained from her. Luke found himself backing away from his father slowly.

Vader, his mother's voice echoed in his brain. Vader, Vader…

Oh no.

His father's expression was taut, and there was an awkwardness here that Luke simply could not interpret. His parents stared one another down, waiting for the other to move. Finally, his mother gathered up her plate and lifted her chin high as she brushed past him.

Luke watched his father lift a hand and catch one of the pale blue ribbons flitting at the back of his mother's dress as it danced past him.

"Padmé…" he said quietly.

The ribbon slipped from his fingers. And Luke's mother was gone.

Solemnly, Vader turned his attention to Luke. His frown turned into a scowl.

"What was that?" he demanded. "What kind of act are you playing now? You've upset her."

Luke stood, frozen, considering his father's words and finding they only made him more confused.

"Uh…" Luke scratched his head. "No, I think that was you."

There was no way he could have missed the spike of rage in the Force. Go figure. Vader is still kind of the worst, suit or no suit.

At least my mother is alive, he thought.

"I would appreciate if you did not play games with me," Vader sighed, dragging his hand down his face. "I have been very stressed at work, and I cannot deal with your… well, you."

It was not the worst thing Vader had ever said to him, so Luke did not even flinch.

Still hurt though. Yep, it still hurt.

Taking a moment to regain some sense of composure, finding that this man's presence was odd in the Force. It was not exactly like Vader, or at least the Vader that Luke had known, but it wasn't... not that either? It was all very hard to understand, but if nothing else, Luke knew one thing for sure. He wasn't about to let Darth Vader, any Darth Vader, think he could just insult him without consequence.

"Please do elaborate," Luke drawled, drawing out a chair and sitting down. "I am all ears, Father. Tell me about work!"

Vader's eyes narrowed, and it was daunting to see the look that Luke just knew he had probably received dozens of times and never known it. It transformed this man, who was very youthful and handsome, into something a bit horrifying.

"Your impudence is unfathomable," Vader hissed. "If you were not my son, you would be dead. Do you understand that? Why must we do this every time, Luke? I cannot understand you!"

"It seems to me," Luke said, lifting his chin defiantly, "you don't seem to even try."

A flare of the nostrils, a ghost of a sneer. Simmering rage. He felt all the familiar wildness of Vader's emotions, but with facial expressions to drive them home. Luke was scared. He was gripping the table and smiling, sweat pooling beneath his loose cotton shirt.

"This is why," Vader huffed, waggling his finger at Luke. "This is why you will never see your sister again. You leave us no choice!"

The dawning horror of it all hit him. Luke sat there, utterly shocked, and it seemed his shock melted into Vader's very being, because his face crumpled a bit. Perhaps he felt Luke's sudden, bleak sorrow and fear.

"Leia?" he uttered faintly. "You have Leia?"

The shock subsided quickly, and he realized that he had made another mistake. His father's face contorted, pure incredulity in his eyes, and he dragged his hand through his hair.

"This act," he said, drawing a circle in the air around Luke with his finger, "it's not cute. I will not feed into your eccentricities."

"Then why come here at all?" Luke demanded. "If you hate me so much, why visit? Go back to your precious Emperor!"

Vader bristled. His eyes darted away from Luke's face, and he stood up a little straighter, like that might help mend whatever wound Luke had reopened. Fine. Let him bleed for all Luke cared. All he was concerned about now was Leia.

"Is that how you feel?" Vader asked. He sounded very small. "Truly?"

Luke did not know how to respond to that. He just stared at the man blankly.

A shaky exhale through his teeth, and a feral little smile, and Vader rolled his shoulders back.

"Fine, then," he said. "I will give your sister your kind regards. Not that you seem to have any for her."

"No!" Luke jerked to his feet, his panic overwhelming him. Vader had only half turned, and he peered over his shoulder. It was then that Luke realized his eyes were wrong. Were they yellow? Or were they blue? "Please… I… I would like to see her. If that is possible."

Vader arched his scarred brow. He folded his arms across his chest and gave half a snort.

"Perhaps," he said. "But you must learn to behave. And quit your childish trickery. Sometimes I think I raised a desert demon, rather than a son."

"Would have to be raised in the desert for that," Luke said cheekily.

At that, Vader looked at him with a strange sort of alarm, curiosity and wariness flashing in his gaze. He frowned at him.

"Well," Vader said coolly, "perhaps your isolation is a bit like a desert, hm?"

Then Vader whirled away, his lightsaber bouncing at his hip.

Pain radiated from the base of his skull to the backs of his eyelids, prickling like needles. It was a slow, uneasy waking, like being hefted out of deep water and the depth of the sea weighing him down with tendrils of silk and waterlogged wool. Then, he was roused all at once, hands on his shoulders.

"Eud'ora," he mumbled, blinking through the strangle trickle of stars that flitted in and out of his vision. "Stop. I'll be up in a minute."

"What'd you say, kid?"

The familiarity of the voice had him bolting upright, and his forehead nearly crashed into the ceiling. For a moment, Ezra just sat there, bracing himself against the wall, feeling a bit too big for his bunk. Then he turned and blinked through the strange twinkling imbedded in his eyes, and he gaped.

"Zeb?" he gasped, jerking away from his old friend in shock.

There was something different about him. A scar ran up his fuzzy purple cheek, and he looked forlorn and weary. Yet his brow did shoot up at the exclamation, his head cocking to the side as he rested his arms on Ezra's bunk.

"Yeah?" He sounded worried, and his eyes trailed along Ezra's face. "You don't look so good. Can whatever this is wait until we're clear of Imps?"

The words were sliding off Ezra like rain.

"Imps," he echoed, lifting his hand shakily to his head. Then he froze. His hair was… short? He drew his fingers down his face. No beard, except a bit of morning stubble. Even more shocking was that his ear was no longer mangled. What was going on? "Zeb… am I… on the Ghost?"

A flash of wild shock and fear flitted through Zeb's face as he gaped at Ezra. Then the Force prickled around him, and Ezra launched himself at Zeb, his arm thrown around his neck and his hand fumbling for the nearest handrail. The enormous crash sent them buckling, and Zeb nearly slipped backwards, but Ezra's grip on his collar kept him upright.

Swearing softly in Cheunh, Ezra steadied himself as the shields held up and the explosion was dampened. Still, he could feel the damage it had done to the ship. He leapt off his bunk, nearly toppling over as the ghostly claws of a pain he was beginning to forget tore at his chest and brain.

"Ezra!" Zeb gripped his shoulders. "Karabast! Listen, maybe you should sit this one out—"

"I'm fine," Ezra hissed, the echo of his lies to his fellow Navigators shivering on his tongue. He blinked rapidly, and then when he saw Zeb's face, the hurt and worry there, he managed a small smile and patted one of his massive hands. "Sorry. I'll explain after we get out of this mess, kay?"

Zeb's worry did not dissipate, but he did manage to smile as he patted Ezra's head. The gesture made him tense up, surprised and a bit delighted at the sensation. No one had patted his head in a long, long time. After all, the Chiss weren't exactly the most affectionate. His reaction was not unnoticed by Zeb, he knew, and he also could tell it only added to his acute concern, but Ezra, brushed that off and wandered out into the corridor.

"You go help Hera," Zeb said, shoving him lightly toward the cockpit. "I'll handle the guns."

Ezra nodded faintly. He knew this ship like it was the map of his own mind, and as he hurried through the corridor he began to fear that it was his own mind. Was this a dream? Was this the result of the sensory overload? That scared him. What scared him more was that he was not sure that he wanted to wake up.

Slipping into the cockpit, he found himself gripping the wall as they were jerked to the side, evading a blast from a stray TIE fighter with expert control. The moment he steadied himself, a familiar, tinny sound garbled out at him, and he looked down at the little astromech in surprise and delight.

"Chop!" he gasped, nearly swooping down to hug the droid.

"Ezra!" Hera's voice was like being splashed with cool water. He froze as he stared at the back of her head, her green lekku fluttering as she twisted to glance back at him. "I need you on the auxiliary guns. Now!"

Ezra, used to being ordered around, but at this point pretty much completely out of practice actually listening, had to take a moment to process what she was telling him to do. Then, feeling the imminent danger, Ezra jumped into the co-pilot chair, swallowed his unease, and began to track their enemies with the Force.

"Three," he murmured, feeling Hera stiffen beside him. "No, four. And the Star Destroyer, but you already knew that."

Hera eyed him without turning her head, and her fingers flexed against the yoke of the ship as she nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the remnants of the sparkle-vision and pushing off the co-pilot chair to slide down the ladder into the gunner station below. It felt familiar, and almost safe as he adjusted the nose of the front-facing guns.

The guns went off smoothly, blaster-fire flitting through space, and he leaned into the bolts with the Force so they hit home. When he opened his eyes, he found with a dawning horror that the three blaster-bolts had not done a thing despite crashing directly into the window of the ship.

It has a shield, he realized, his heart sinking.

"TIE defenders?" he blurted, sinking low into his chair. This was bad. This was very bad.

The ship was zipping in and out of fire, barely scraping by. The damage they had taken earlier must have been worse than Ezra had realized if Hera was flying like this. She did not seem to even hear him.

"Turn around," Ezra called up to her.

"Excuse me?"

He felt a TIE closing in behind them. There was no way for him to tell if it was a defender or not. Zeb could probably hit it, but if it was a TIE defender, what could they do? They needed to jump to hyperspace or destroy the remaining enemies, and Ezra knew how good the shields of a TIE defender were.

"Get between them."

Hera was silent. The anxiety was creeping up on him. He could not understand what was happening. It felt like the past five years had been a dream. Like he'd been thrown backwards, and now it was Lothal and Grand Admiral Thrawn, the evil Imperial, all over again.

Suddenly the Ghost jerked upward, sailing in in arc. Hera had whirled them around, and did not seem happy about it.

"You better have a good plan, Ezra!" she shouted.

He offered her a weak laugh. "Trust me," he said, hoping she heard him, and sinking a bit in his seat. He tried to speak louder. "When I tell you to move, move. Don't hesitate. Okay?"

It was clear that she did not understand immediately. She did not respond to him, but he had to believe in her just as he trusted her to believe him him. The weight of it all was crushing. It had been a long time since he had felt like this. Like he needed to be better, like the whole world was going to fracture in two if he didn't try to keep it together with his own two hands.

This was the feeling of a Jedi. Not a Navigator.

Once they were facing their other enemies, Ezra could see the situation more clearly. There were two TIEs and two TIE defenders. The TIE defender behind them was locked on them, Ezra knew, so he made the quick decision to throw himself on the guns again.

"Left," he gasped, eyes closed, feeling out in the Force. Zeb now had to deal with the TIE defender behind them. "Left, Hera!"

The volley of shots he took hit their targets, and he felt the multiple explosions with some degree of satisfaction. He did not let himself get too cocky, though, because the TIE defenders were still zipping through the air, and the one behind them was going to hit them at any moment.

"Come on," he murmured, bracing himself. His eyes hurt from squeezing his eyelids shut so tightly. "Come on…"

The prickling feeling of danger, danger, up, up— it became an all-consuming sort of shout, and he channeled it into a strangled gasp, "Up! Go up! Sharp, and— now!"

He was pushed back into his seat very hard, the pressure of the incline throwing him back. His breath was stuck in his chest as he stared up into the mass of stars, unfamiliar territory, thinking to himself that he could lead them out of this faster than a navicomputer.

The explosion was sharp and it bloomed in the Force, something horrific and steady, something that should not have happened but did. Ezra took a deep breath.

The two TIE defenders had not detected each other. They had been going too fast. Ezra had done it. He'd tricked them into crashing into each other.

"How are our shields?" Ezra called up to Hera.

"Bad," Hera replied, sounding a bit breathless. "Where do you need me?"

"Out of here," Ezra gasped, "preferably! Can't we jump?"

"Not until the Phantom is back!"

That made Ezra groan. Of course. He supposed it had to be Sabine off on a mission, though who know how badly it had gone wrong or what unpleasant surprise she'd return with. He supposed it couldn't be worse than the TIE defenders.

"Well," Ezra gasped, "tell Sabine to hurry up before they send more ships at us!"

Even as he spoke, he saw more ships getting deployed. Worse, they were all TIE defenders.

"Sabine?" Hera echoed, sounding very confused. "Ezra, what—?"

They were hit. Ezra was launched forward, his chest smacking against the console in front of him, and he gasped, his phantom pains returning tenfold. They spiraled for a moment before Hera jerked them back around, and Ezra forced himself to start shooting uselessly at the TIE defender, blind from sparkle-vision.

Who was he kidding? He couldn't navigate them like this. He could barely sit upright.

Some sort of alarm was wailing above.

"That felt bad," Ezra gasped. "Was that bad?"

"Shields are down," Hera replied, her voice thin and tense. "If we're hit again—"

He would not let that happen. Sensory-overload or not.

"Left," he shouted. "Up, up, left— keep going, keep— yeah!"

It was difficult to tell how long they went like this, Ezra talking Hera through the imminent strikes of the TIE defenders. He could not think of the implications of it all. It was too much right now. So he just led them through each motion, step by step, another moment alive. It was familiar. He was home.

So why did everything feel so wrong?

Suddenly, something changed. A ship had come off the Star Destroyer— a shuttle— and Ezra realized exactly what it was. He nearly relaxed, but he understood the danger that was still here, so he continued to shout directions at Hera, feeling more and more anxious as the Phantom sailed toward them.

It docked.

"Jumping to hyperspace!" Hera cried.

Ezra braced himself, and when the lines of stars grazed his vision, he wondered if he would ever care for them again. How on earth did Eud'ora and Vah'nya bear hyperspace travel after sensory sickness? He found himself feeling for the ladder with his eyes closed.

When he got back up to the cockpit, he was shaky. Hera was slumped a bit in her chair, looking more drawn and exhausted than he had ever seen her. Yet she glanced at him, and she lurched to her feet.

"What's wrong?" she demanded, gripping him by the shoulders and leading him to the nearest chair— the co-pilot's chair. "You look like you're going to be sick."

He grimaced. Too on the nose.

"I'll be fine," he said, smiling at her wanly. He sank a bit, leaning into her touch when she smoothed his hair back from his forehead gingerly. "Thanks, though."

Hera's eyes seemed puzzled, but she smiled at him all the same. Her smile turned into a frown quickly as her fingers grazed his forehead.

"Do you have a fever?" she murmured. She crouched down so she was looking up into his face. "Was it from using the Force?"

"Uh…" Ezra laughed nervously. "Maybe something like that. I don't really know how to explain."

That only seemed to worry her more, yet all Ezra could do was stare at her. She looked the same. Big green eyes, soft green face, gentleness beyond words, and he could stare at her forever and feel content. Sometimes when he dreamed, the face of his mother and the face of Hera amalgamized, and he awoke in dull horror at the thought that he had no mother at all, just a phantom face of two lost women.

Unable to bear that thought, Ezra flung himself at Hera, tossing his arms around her and burying his face in her shoulder. She did not hesitate to return his embrace, cupping the back of his head and rubbing small, soothing circles against his back.

"It's okay," she murmured. "I'm here. If you need to talk about it, I'm here."

"Hera," he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut, "I really don't know what's going on."

She blinked down at him curiously. There was a question in her eyes. That question nearly formed on her lips, but it was cut off by the sudden arrival of Zeb in the doorway. He looked frenzied, and a little giddy. That made Hera leap to her feet, her fingers bracing against the back of her chair.

"Is it…?" she uttered, her back as straight as a pin. There was some strange hope glinting in her eyes.

When Zeb shook his head, Ezra could feel the weight crash upon Hera's shoulders. She nodded thrice, her gaze growing far away as she turned upon the lines of hyperspace and sucked her lips between her teeth.

"It's something just as good, though," Zeb said eagerly. "Promise. Hera, you've gotta see this."

With one more nod, she lowered her head and said softly, "Give me a moment, Zeb?"

"Oh. Yeah, sure. Let's go, kid."

Ezra moved to get up. Hera's hand caught his shoulder, and he slipped down further into the co-pilot chair.

"A moment," Hera repeated, "please."

Ezra met Zeb's eye frantically. It was nice that they were still able to nonverbally communicate an array of surprise, confusion, amusement, and horror in a split second of a glance.

"Alright, then," Zeb said, backing away, "but you better get to the cargo hold quick. Our new guest isn't exactly, er— well— patient."

"Noted."

When they were alone, Ezra watched with blossoming sorrow as Hera gripped the dashboard controls and shifted her weight onto her arms, hanging her head as she took deep, unsteady breaths.

"Don't cry," he whispered, his hands hovering over her shoulders desperately. "I… I don't know what's wrong, but please, Hera…"

"I'm not crying," she said, her voice strangely hard. "I'm angry. How could we go through this, and we didn't even get him?"

Ezra's eyes slid from her anxiously, not knowing exactly what to say.

"Um…"

Hera whirled on him. Her jaw was set, and her eyes were glassy in a cold sort of way.

"I know you won't reach out to him," she said, her voice quivering. "I understand. I know what happened last time. But you are using the Force again. You could contact him."

Ezra sat there, his arms drooping, and he felt more and more lost with every word she spoke.

"Huh?" he asked, utterly vacant.

Hera shook her head. She turned from him sharply, and she began to pace back and forth, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"If you're expecting it," she breathed, "it shouldn't hurt as badly, right? I'm not going to ask you to do it, but I am just saying— you could. If you wanted."

"What?" Ezra shook his head, dazed and unsure. "Do what?"

Hera slid to a sharp halt, and she looked down at him with pain glinting in her eyes. She looked like she might actually burst into tears.

"What do you mean, do what?" she gasped. "Contact Kanan, Ezra! That's what!"

And just like that, it dawned on him. The impossibility of it all. The phantom pains, the sparkle-vision, the sensory sickness. The lack of scars, the lack of Chiss, the unfamiliarity and familiarity. The inconsistencies.

He was in a place he did not know. Was this a vision, or was it a curse?

"Ezra?" Hera sounded worried as she sank into the pilot's chair and stared at him. "I'm sorry. This… this is wrong. I shouldn't have said anything. I know that. You should do what you think is right."

Ezra blinked rapidly. There were tears in his eyes, and he struggled to shake them.

"Hera," Ezra whispered, "I think something's really wrong with me."

There was a strange, sharp inhale from Hera, and her nostrils flared a bit as she shook her head and reached out to grasp his hands.

"No," she said firmly. Her voice was thick. "No, don't say that. You are wonderful, Ezra. You saved our lives today."

How did he explain to her? How did he tell her that he thought he was either in a Force vision, or some twisted version of his own reality.

"Hera," he said, taking a deep breath, "I don't know what's going on. I… don't think I'm the Ezra you know."

That did not seem to be the right thing to say, because it only made Hera's eyebrows furrow. She tilted her head at him expectantly.

"What Ezra are you then?" she asked, her voice clearly light and humorous. If a bit nervous.

"Um…" Ezra smiled sheepishly. "I don't know how to explain. Is this a vision from the Force? I can't tell. I don't know how I got here though."

If nothing else, that had gotten her attention. She blinked rapidly, and he could not catch all the range of her emotions, but he knew this did not please her in the least. Not that he could really blame her at this point.

"I don't know how to respond to that," she sighed, dragging her hand over her face. She peeked at him through her fingers. "Really? You don't know?"

"Uhh… no." He shrugged. "Either this is a vision, another world, or I've lost a whole lot of memories."

And gained a whole bunch of other ones, he thought amusedly. He did not think he would mention working with Thrawn, if they decided to believe him. If they were fighting TIE defenders regularly, he did not like the implications of that.

"I'm not going to touch that," Hera sighed, holding up her hands in defeat. "That's a problem for Ahsoka, not me."

Ezra found himself looking around him wildly.

"Ahsoka?" he laughed in disbelief. "Really? She's here?"

Then he felt out with the Force, and he was delighted that the warm, breezy glow of her Force signature was in fact present. 

"Yes?" Hera frowned at him. "You aren't joking, are you, Ezra?"

"This would be an awful joke," he mumbled, lifting himself hesitantly from his seat. "I'll explain what I can. If Ahsoka is here, she might know what happened to me, and… I don't know. Maybe this is all for a reason?" He offered Hera a small smile and a shrug. Then he gestured forward. "After you?"

With one last uncertain glance, Hera strode forward through the cockpit and into the corridor. He watched her descend the ladder into the cargo hold, and took a moment to reorient himself.

Was this really happening? Was he really living in a strange other world where Kanan was somehow still alive? Where Ahsoka had not disappeared? Where Ezra was, apparently, not using the Force? Not to mention his questions about where Sabine was. And the nagging discomfort about Thrawn.

Taking a deep breath, Ezra decided he would take whatever wrench this world threw at him, and he descended the ladder.

The cargo hold of the Ghost was very much the same. Crates lined the walls. The open space. The rayshield cage.

Wait, what?

Ezra gaped at it for a moment. Okay, so that was new.

"Wow," Hera said, striding up to the gray-clad figure that Ezra immediately recognized by the montrals and signature pattern of her lekku. "Now that is something you don't see every day. The Imperial princess in chains. You've outdone yourself, Ahsoka."

"Glad to be of service," Ahsoka said in a flat, almost bitter voice. Ezra peered at her, and he felt that she was shielding her emotions from him.

Approaching the cage hesitantly, he saw that the it held within it a girl about his own age, and the Force toiled around her like a storm surge.

Her brown eyes met his, and she sneered.

"Oh, goodie," she spat. "Another half-baked Jedi. How cute."

It took him a moment to really recognize her, but it was the condescension in her voice that really got him.

"Leia?"

Chapter Text

Fighting all his instincts to rush forward and find a way to disable the ray shield, Ezra stood there awkwardly, gray light shivering around him as his old friend glared at him, her shackled hands flexing as she edged as close as she dared to the end of the shield. She was older than he remembered, with a much slimmer, gaunter face, and eyes that frightened him.

For a moment, the way the light had hit them, Leia's brown eyes had looked yellow.

He took a small step back in alarm, and he watched her sneer turn into a feral grin.

"Scared, Jedi?" she mocked. "Never seen a Sith before?"

Ezra blinked rapidly, feeling Ahsoka close in near his shoulder, moving as if to intervene. He found himself pushing aside his confusion and the dull ache of sensory sickness, if not just as a point of pride.

"Oh," he said, matching her tone pitch-for-pitch, "I have. When I see one, I'll let you know."

She did not react as intensely as he expected, no anger coiling in her feral little body, but he saw her face twitch a bit. He knew he'd at least gotten a little bit under her skin. Which was fine, because Ezra could annoy people all day. It was a gift, really.

"Enough," Ahsoka said, her hands falling on his shoulders and pulling him behind her. "You understand your situation here, don't you? If you don't cooperate?"

"Ooh," Leia drawled, rolling her eyes, "you'll kill me? How do you think my father will react to that, Fulcrum?"

Ahsoka did not bat an eye. She folded her arms across her chest and let Leia's words splash uselessly off her. The entitlement and condescension seemed to crawl back to her, because she shrunk a little.

Now Ezra was worried. Was Bail Organa no longer part of the Rebellion? Wait, what did this mean for Alderaan? He was so confused! He needed to get Ahsoka alone.

"There are worse things than death," Ahsoka said after a minute of allowing Leia to ruminate in the ugly silence.

"Can't imagine that," Leia said dully, her shackled hands hanging before her. "You know the instant this shield comes down, you'll figure that out the hard way."

"I beat you once, little one," Ahsoka said amusedly, and Ezra watched as Leia bristled. "And unfortunately for you, Princess, you are now a liability in the eyes of the Emperor. But you knew that already."

Ahsoka steered Ezra away from Leia, and he craned his neck to peer around her arms, staring at Leia with wide eyes. She had a vacant expression, and he could not feel her emotions in the Force.

Wait. This meant that Leia was Force sensitive, right? Had that always been true?

Something inside Ezra confirmed it, recalling the radiating warmth he had felt when she had comforted him after the death of his parents. It was a far cry from whatever this monstrosity of a Force signature was. She was wearing black wool layered over red silk, and the way her eyes flashed to him, he felt a bit like prey shrinking beneath a tree.

"Hera," Ahsoka said dully, "your prisoner, your rules. Do with her what you want."

They left the cargo hold, Ahsoka's hand on his shoulder almost the entire way, but he just kept looking back at Leia, sadness burning a hole inside him. He felt sick.

When they reached the deck, Ahsoka uncurled her fingers from his shoulder and wandered to a nearby cupboard. She retrieved two glasses, and a bottle of Sorrenian wine. He knew from the label. Thrawn did not drink cheap alcohol unless he was hiding something. Ezra did not say a word as she poured him a drink and slid it across the table. He took it in both hands, and frowned.

"Something's happened to you," she noted after a few minutes of silence.

Ezra took a long sip. It turned into a gulp. Hesitantly, he sat down in the booth, his eyes turned upon his glass with fear and apprehension. Whatever was happening, it had to be the will of the Force, right? So should he tell Ahsoka the truth?

"I can feel the change in you," she said, offering him a dim smile. "You feel… different. Have you been using the Force again?"

Ezra set his glass down, turning to look up at Ahsoka with wide eyes.

"Why did I stop using the Force?" he asked quietly. "Why would I do that?"

The response he got was clearly puzzled, and Ahsoka held her glass limply in one hand before lowering it from her lips. She had an odd expression, like she might truly know that Ezra was all wrong, but could not place why.

"What do you mean?" Ahsoka asked very cautiously.

Ezra chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. How did he explain this? He was not even sure what was happening to himself, and now he had to give Ahsoka the rundown of his whole life? This was all so strange.

"I don't know what happened," he sighed, "or how, or why, but… I'm not the Ezra you know."

Ahsoka's white brow-markings flew up, and then furrowed in disbelief. Then she straightened up, setting her wine aside, and he allowed himself to be fully present with the openness that he had once had with Kanan. Her eyes fluttered closed, and he did not feel her probing around him in the Force, but he knew she must have been doing so.

Her eyes opened very slowly. She did not seem shocked, which is what he had expected, but instead very pensive and unsure. Leaning back in her seat, she studied him a moment, and then shook her head.

"You do feel different," she said. "The Force moves strangely around you, but… not in a way that is unlike Ezra. You are saying you are not Ezra?"

"No."

"Then," Ahsoka pressed him, her eyes narrowing, "what are you saying?"

He winced, and he shook his head furiously. "I don't know!" he gasped. "I don't know what happened to me! I… I think I might be in a vision or something. Is this real?"

Ahsoka blinked. She nodded very slowly. That did not make him feel better. He would prefer it if this was a vision, but he supposed it did not make any sense to have a vision of events that could not come to pass.

"What makes you think this isn't real?" she asked him. Very, very gently.

He swallowed very hard, and shot a nervous glance in the direction of the cargo hold. Ahsoka followed his gaze, and he tried to look away fast, but it was clear she already knew what he was thinking about.

"The princess," Ahsoka said, enunciating very carefully, very clearly, like she was afraid of getting the word stuck in her throat. "Did you see something? A vision? Could it help us save her?"

"No… well, I don't know." Ezra sighed, dragging his hands frustratedly through his hair. "I didn't even know she was Force sensitive! When did she become an inquisitor?"

"An inquisitor?" Ahsoka echoed. Now she looked very concerned. That didn't exactly inspire much confidence, but at least it was a start. "Ezra, Leia is the heir to the Empire."

That took him a minute to really sort of digest, because he honestly thought he'd heard Ahsoka wrong. He squinted at her, and then he laughed. Disbelief, confusion, and a little desperation coiled up inside of him.

"Really?" he gasped, blinking wildly. "Oh, now I know this must a different world. The Leia I knew would never agree to that."

"She didn't really have a choice," Ahsoka said quietly. "The way she was raised… well, it's not important."

"The way she was raised?" Ezra tried to think about what could have changed to make Alderaan side with the Empire. The Death Star, maybe? "I don't understand. Why would Bail Organa give up his ideals and his daughter? It doesn't make any sense! Your world is all backwards!"

The way Ahsoka's expression morphed from concerned to alarmed was the reaction he had honestly been anticipating, and he looked into her eyes just to watch the shuddering uncertainty and shock form there. She sat up straighter, frowned deeper, and shook her head very, very slowly.

"Bail," she echoed him, eyeing him like she did not quite trust him in that moment. "Daughter? My world? Okay, I'm not following."

"I'm not your Ezra," he said insistently. "Something's wrong! This is all wrong! I think the Force must have sent me here for some reason."

Sitting in silence for a minute or so, making Ezra squirm a bit, Ahsoka took this time to really look at him. He was not particularly pleased about it, but if he could get her to believe him, maybe he could sort out what was going on.

"You think you're in a different world," she said, pursing her lips as her fingers drifted toward her wine and then twitched down to the table midway. "Okay, Ezra, I'll bite. Why?"

He sat there for a moment, trying to formulate the right response. Then he was struck by a sudden revelation.

"Did you ever fight Vader in this world?" he gasped, looking up into her face eagerly. He watched her eyebrow markings shoot up, and a bit of a pained look flickered in her eyes.

"Unfortunately," she said.

"Okay!" He nodded eagerly. "Right, and it was on Malachor, right?"

"What?" Ahsoka glanced at him very apprehensively, and she shook her head. "Ezra, why would I go to Malachor? I fought him on Nur."

He was not actually sure where Nur was. He had to recalibrate his brain to find a way to properly bring the topic of her near death experience up.

"Did he nearly kill you," he asked, "and then I saved you by pulling you through a portal? Did that happen here?"

Ahsoka managed to keep her face utterly blank, which frightened him more than any concern or alarm ever could.

"Ezra," she said, "what are you talking about? What kind of portal?"

He bit back a curse in Cheunh and settled for, "Karabast." Then he flung his head back and groaned. This was making his headache so much worse! It wasn't exactly that he wanted to go back to the Ascendancy— not if Kanan was alive— but he also did not know what to do. Was this good or bad?

"Okay," he said after Ahsoka had given him a few minutes to stare at the ceiling glumly. "Basically, I'm from a world where you fought Vader on Malachor when I was sixteen, and you lost. We thought you were dead for a long time. We had to leave you there because Kanan had been blinded by Maul— oh, is Maul alive here?"

"You met Maul?" Ahsoka said in a very low voice. It was something he did not know how to respond to, so he just shrugged.

"Not a big deal," he said, scratching his chin. Right, no beard. Fun. "I mean, it sucked for Kanan, and I was miserable for a bit… messed around with a Sith holocron, but it could have been worse, ri—"

"You what?" Ahsoka's scandalized expression was a shock to him. He tried to smile sheepishly, but it came out like a grimace, and he tugged his glass close to him and took a big, long gulp. "Ezra, what could have driven you to do that? You should know better!"

"I was sad," Ezra mumbled, "and a little desperate, okay? You were gone— dead, for all it was worth, and Kanan wouldn't talk to me. Would you rather I didn't use the Force at all?"

"Yes!"

Ezra rolled his eyes. That was funny. He wondered if that was what had gotten this version of Ezra in this situation, where he didn't use the Force anymore.

To Ahsoka's credit, she seemed to hear herself, and she settled down with a small sigh.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"I stopped using it," he assured her with a short wave of his hand. "The holocron, I mean. Kanan started teaching me again, it was fine, no lasting damage. But… in my world, you know, you were gone. Kanan died." She stiffened at that. "I was alone. I didn't know what to do. I ended up in the Lothal temple, and there was this portal— a world of portals. It was like I had access to… points in time, and space— I saved you. That didn't happen here, I'm guessing?"

He waited patiently, already knowing the answer, as Ahsoka snatched up her wine and took a long drink from her glass. They sat there, wide eyed, staring at the table.

"You're telling the truth," she murmured.

Ezra shrugged. He did not know what to say, what to do, but if Ahsoka believed him, that would make convincing Hera and Zeb much easier.

"My world is similar," he said, "obviously. But there must be other worlds. The portal realm proved that to me."

"Then would taking you to the Lothal temple fix things?" Ahsoka asked, her eyes wide. "Would it bring back our Ezra?"

He scratched his head, wondering how that would work when the Lothal temple was very much gone in his world.

"If it still exists," he said, "maybe? But honestly, Ahsoka, I was nowhere near Lothal when this happened."

"We can at least try." Ahsoka's eyes flickered down to her wine. "I'm curious about this portal realm. You said it can change the past?"

He stared at her, and he realized how thoroughly the question disturbed him. Worse, he found that he no longer was looking at Ahsoka the same way. This was not his Ahsoka. Yet he could not blame her for asking.

"You want to save someone," he said softly. "I get it. Maybe you might succeed where I didn't. But, Ahsoka, that portal is dangerous. If no one has found it yet, I don't want to disturb it unless we absolutely have no other choice."

"You've just said that it could be the key to all of this."

"I did not say that," he sighed, "you are saying that. Think for a moment. You're not looking at this rationally."

Ahsoka seemed irritated, but she did take a deep breath, and frown into her cup as she took another long sip.

"The Lothal temple, if it is still there, shouldn't be touched," Ezra said firmly. "I am not physically here, anyway. My body…" He remembered the navigation mishap, the sparkle-vision, hitting the deck of the ship's helm. He remembered, vaguely, Vah'nya.

He remembered, vaguely, Thrawn.

"Okay," Ahsoka breathed. "Right. We need to send your consciousness back to your world. Any ideas how, beyond the time traveling temple?"

"Literally no."

That seemed to amuse her. She hid a smirk in the inside of her palm, shaking her head.

"Well," she said, "what were you doing before you got here?"

"I woke up here," he said simply. "I fell asleep there. I—" He cut himself off, wondering about the threat of revealing he was close with Thrawn in his world. No, it was really best if no one knew about that. "I had a bit of a mishap with the Force. Sensory overload sickness?"

"Well that explains a few things," she murmured. "How'd you manage that?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "It's never happened to me before. Well, it happened once, but I was using the Dark Side then."

"Okay." Ahsoka looked briefly disturbed by that, but perhaps knowing about the Sith holocron made her a bit more forgiving. "What about before that? Did you do anything before getting sick?"

"I was exploring a Jedi temple—" He stopped just in time to meet Ahsoka's eye. "No. No way, nothing weird happened there!"

"Where was it?" Ahsoka sighed.

"Um… Melinoë?"

Ahsoka blinked at him. "I don't know where that is," she said, looking and sounding a bit shocked. "What were you even doing?"

"I was helping a friend out, okay?" he sighed, sinking into his seat. "Nothing happened, though! It was completely normal!"

Except for meeting that Jedi, Luke, but he doubted that was important.

"We'll check it out," Ahsoka said, "once we deal with Her Imperial Highness downstairs."

"Oh! Right, Leia!" Smacking his forehead, he set his glass down and looked up at Ahsoka expectantly. "What's up with her? Why is she, like, evil? In my world she's really nice. Well, a little bossy, but mostly really nice."

Or, at least, she was really nice. Ezra decided it was also for the best that he did not mention the Death Star. He already had very limited information about the weapon, and if it existed here, or had existed here, he doubted he'd be any help.

"That must be nice," Ahsoka said with a small, sad smile. "She's been brainwashed by the Emperor. And her father."

That was just too weird. But he supposed things could have changed for Bail Organa to side with the Empire.

"That's rotten luck," he said. "She's dead in my world."

A shiver of sorrow became known to him, in her eyes, in the Force, and she locked that up tight behind her expert shields why he sat there frowning, because he could not imagine what the girl in the cargo hold must mean to Ahsoka for her to feel this way about her.

"Unfortunately," she sighed, setting her glass down, "she isn't the only one. Ezra, about Kanan—"

"What about Kanan?"

They both turned their heads to look at Hera, who had appeared in the doorway with a deep frown. The weariness in her face had only seemed to grow in her absence, like perhaps the evil Sith version of Leia Organa had drained her of whatever life she'd had left. She moved to the table, her gait not quite a stride, but more of a steady amble.

Ezra glanced at Ahsoka desperately for help. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, she provided.

"Ezra's lost his memory," she lied through her teeth.

"Oh," Hera said flatly, "is that all?"

Luckily Ezra was used to playing along with bold faced lies, because otherwise Hera would have known immediately that Ahsoka was lying. He sat there, staring blankly at Hera, and she glanced at him tiredly.

"Do you really not know what happened to Kanan?" she asked softly.

His eyes flitted from Hera's face to Ahsoka's. He could almost feel Ahsoka nudging him along. Maybe she was, really, with the Force.

"No," he said quietly. "Could you please tell me? I'm really confused."

Hera's posture seemed to change. A muscle in her jaw jumped, and she turned her gaze away from him. It did not take long for Ahsoka to step in.

"A few years ago," she said, eyeing Hera carefully, "Kanan was caught by an Imperial and taken to Nur. He was tortured and forced into service."

Ezra's heart sank. There was no getting around it, the strange logic of it all. Hera's desperation in the cockpit, her hesitance to speak now. The pain in her eyes as she looked away from them.

Kanan was not dead here. But there were things worse than death.

"Oh," Ezra said softly.

Hera took a deep, shaky breath. She lifted her head high and composed herself.

"The princess was not part of the plan," she said, her voice melting into its familiar authoritative tone, "but we might be able to use her as a bargaining chip. If Vader is willing to comply, we can barter for Kanan's release."

Ezra sat there, thinking to himself that this was a bad plan. Vader would not trade prisoners. Moreover, trading an inquisitor for an inquisitor, when one was a princess with political sway and the other was a former rebel and Jedi who might not even be on their side anymore was a tactical mistake. He knew that. Yet he was praying that Hera did not leave the decision up to Rebel Command, because if she did, they were going to see the flaw just as fast as Ezra did.

And they were not going to be as sympathetic.

He thought that Hera must know that too. But they could not keep Leia in that ray shield forever, and the Rebel base would have cells to contain her, Force sensitive or not.

This was really very tricky.

"And what if Vader isn't?" Ezra asked hesitantly. "What do we do with Leia then?"

Hera glanced at him. Her expression was hard, and she merely shrugged. "I don't care," she said. "She can rot in a cell, or she can die. It makes no difference to me."

With that chilling note, she whirled away, her lekku swinging around her head, and she stalked into the cockpit leaving Ezra to gape after her.

"Oh," he whispered, "what the hell?"

He was sitting on the wide marble edge of the balcony, his back pressed up against a pillar. Pink flower petals drifted around him as he meditated. Plucking each individually, he imagined shapes with them, letting them shiver in the air like bird's wings. The loss and confusion he felt from landing himself in this strange new world where his mother and father were alive, and he had been raised by them… it was not exactly doing wonders for his concentration.

Wishing he could talk to Ben, he felt his focus shudder. Someone had appeared at his side.

When he cracked open an eye, he was a bit surprised to see his mother, even though it made sense that she had come to check on him. Padmé. Her name was Padmé. She was lovely, and she was full of insurmountable sorrow.

"Hi, Mama," he said, blinking up at her. "Are you angry with me?"

Her expression, which had already been very mild, softened considerably. She lifted the hem of her pale blue dress and slid upon the balcony beside him, her eyes lifting toward the ceiling.

"You know I can't be mad at you," she said softly, reaching up and brushing a stray fluttering pink petal with the tips of her fingers. "Whatever that was before, I can't blame you for it. I did tell you to behave yourself."

"And then I didn't," he reminded her.

She smiled at that. "Well," she said, her eyes sliding to his face mischievously, "we can't all be perfect."

Luke found himself grinning back at her. He scooted a bit closer, and he gathered the petals delicately in the Force so each individual one slipped into Padmé's hair like half a wreath of pink and purple flowers. She blinked, raising a hand to graze it, and she laughed in delight.

"Oh!" she gasped. "That was lovely! Where did you learn that trick?"

Luke tilted his head, wondering how it was possible that this version of himself could not do something so simple with the Force when he had his father all his life. Even if that Father was Vader— actually, he'd think Vader would be more inclined to make use of Luke's Force abilities.

"Picked it up here and there," he said breezily. Better to lie than explain an inconsistency. "Not as good as Leia, huh?"

Padmé's eyes darkened. She folded her hands in her lap, and Luke watched as she wrung them anxiously.

"Don't compare yourself to her," his mother said firmly. "You do not need that stress in your life."

"She's my sister," Luke said, slumping a bit. "It's not stressful if she's better than me. It's just… is she okay?"

The sunlight bathed Padmé in a warm yellow light, touching her soft face and casting light on the shadows of her eyes. She watched him for a moment, and then smiled down at her hands tightly.

"Don't worry about her, Luke," she said quietly. "She can take care of herself. She's proven that much to us, hasn't she?"

"I don't know." Luke's eyes narrowed at his mother. "Has she?"

Padmé glanced at him sharply. "Don't," she whispered. "You know how she is. If you couldn't stop her, how could I have done anything? Besides, this is what she wants."

"She wants to be with Vader? And not with us?" Luke scoffed at that. "That doesn't sound like her."

That earned him a strange look. Well, he thought, it didn't! And anyway, it wasn't Leia, not really. He probably would need to get used to that, because he was beginning to suspect he and this version of his sister might not get along. Which was ridiculous, because they had probably actually grown up together! It was unfair! These two stupid Skywalker twins probably didn't even know how good they had it!

"What Leia does and doesn't want is a mystery to me," his mother said primly. "That is your father's domain. I am mainly concerned about you."

"Well, don't be," Luke said with a roll of his eyes. "I'm not the one stuck with that asshole all the time."

His mother tried to cover up her smirk, but he saw it. He couldn't help but beam at her. She quickly composed herself, shaking her head before reaching out and taking his hand. It was strange, having his right hand be completely flesh and blood again. He had to fight the urge to pull her into a hug.

"Be grateful," she whispered, her voice very low. "We are very lucky to be where we are. We must play our parts, remember?"

He glanced to the side, wondering if Vader could hear them. He nodded quickly, feeling out in the Force for Vader's presence. He was somewhere else in the house. Perhaps he was sleeping. After all, he did not need to worry about removing his suit to do so.

"What if I want more than to play my part?" he whispered back to her, searching her face for an answer. "What if I'm not content with this?"

Not that he didn't love this place, with its marble walls and floors, its great green fields and massive lakes, its distant waterfalls, its warm, mild air… it was the complete opposite of Tatooine in every possible way. And yet, he did not feel like he was accepted here. On Tatooine, he always felt in his heart that he was made from something else, and this was it. But because of that, he did not think he would ever be able to be fully content with just this, or just that.

That was the thing about Luke. He was always left wanting.

"Luke," Padmé said, squeezing his hand, "now is not the time."

Oh, his mother definitely harbored some rebel sentiments. How much though was up in the air, and Luke could not tell what he could and couldn't get away with. So he nodded unhappily, and his mother sighed as she slipped her hand from his.

"You're such trouble," she said. It was clearly fond, and she smiled at him gently. "Play nice with your father. He's already in a mood, and I'm not sure if he'll be out of it before dinner."

"Are we actually going to have dinner together?" Luke asked eagerly. Dinner! With his parents! And entirely dysfunctional too! It wasn't what he'd always dreamed of, but he'd take it!

"We'll see how much work I get done before then," his mother said, patting his hand. "Take your medicine, alright?"

She got up and drifted away from him, leaving him smiling after her.

Then it occurred to him what she had said.

"Well, shit," he mumbled. "What medicine?"

Hopefully it wasn't too important.

He found himself wandering around the house, drifting past where he knew Vader was and surprised to find the bedroom was open. He peered inside, gazing at the wide bed with lace curtaining the swirling frame like a tent. The mattress was fluffy and soft looking, a plethora of little stuffed animals decorating the soft blue and purple bedding. A velvet blanket was thrown over the end of it. Practice swords lined the wall, ranging from generic sticks to ornately decorated, but blunt metal.

At the desk, which was white trimmed and too small for the man who sat there, Vader was bent over and tinkering away. Luke saw the toolbox on the floor. It had an assortment of stickers and childish scribbling on it.

This was Leia's room.

That thought made him want to melt into a little pool and die.

"If you must observe me," Vader snapped, "do not hover!"

Luke, more than a little frightened of Vader, even out of his suit, rushed into the room. He stood there a moment, baffled, and then sat very gingerly at the edge of Leia's old bed. There were no posters on the wall, but something about this room felt very juvenile. He had to wonder when Leia had left.

He sat there and listened to Vader work. It was a familiar sound, tools chiseling away, then silence, then more tools. It was hard to tell what he was doing.

There was something about this Vader that was inexplicably sad. Similar to how Luke pitied his father in his own world, but here it just was strange. This man had everything! And yet he was still miserable.

He wondered if his whole family was miserable in this arrangement, really.

He supposed that was the trick of fate, huh?

So… did he get to go home now? He'd figured it out, right? Nobody was happy in his dream world! He was selfish for wanting it.

He was selfish for wanting to stay.

So now he had to go home, right? He would fall asleep and wake up and find that this was all a weird, but somewhat nice vision. Even if everyone was miserable, at least they were alive. Right?

Though he did not like the implications that he seemed to be the same age as before he'd gotten here, and the Empire was still going strong.

He supposed it did make sense. If this Luke Skywalker wasn't part of the rebellion, that probably meant the Emperor didn't die on the second Death Star.

Oh, he thought, tensing up at the sudden dread that hit him. Does that mean the first Death Star is just… out there?

He'd have to find a way to fix that, if so.

Even if it meant maybe ruining this Luke's life. Hell, the Force had sent him here, right? He might as well do some good.

"Here," his father said, tossing whatever he had been working on at him. Luke caught it with ease, blinking down at his own reflection in the very much unshattered screen of his datapad. "See if it works. I had to disable your lock and security settings, so just make a new password."

Luke blinked from the datapad to his father and back. Then he merely stared.

Vader, wearing the face of a man Luke had never known, scowled down at him.

"Do not look at me like that," he hissed. "I did not snoop through your private documents."

Luke had not even considered that. And the fact that Vader was saying this made Luke think he had, or at least had in the past.

Yet all Luke could do was smile.

"Thank you," he said softly, tapping the datapad and watching it light up. He entered a new password— Millenium Falcon, something nobody in this world would ever guess— and felt content when he saw the home screen flash before him.

Vader stood there stiffly, looking down at him in an assessing way, like he suspected Luke was up to something. When Luke said nothing else, Vader's brow furrowed, and he shifted awkwardly.

"Did you need me to fix anything else?" he asked after a short silence.

Our family?

"No."

Luke found himself in the portrait section of the datapad. There were logs of videos and voice recordings and written out documents in a folder called "Legislature Garbage." Another folder seemed to be entirely photos of Padmé. Luke began to slide through them with a small smile. There was nothing of Vader, but that did not surprise him.

Vader stood there, watching him, and Luke could tell that he saw the content of the photos. He could tell because Vader felt sad.

"You love her," Luke said quietly, "don't you?"

Of course Vader immediately went rigid in absolute defense. Because why would he act normal?

Though maybe it was an insensitive question. Luke had no idea.

"What is this game?" Vader demanded.

Luke glanced up from the datapad, blinking up at Vader confusedly. "What?" he gasped. "What do you mean?"

"Whatever this is," Vader said, gesturing wildly to Luke, "stop it. I prefer you when you are petty and cruel."

"I can be cruel if you want," Luke said, tucking a stray blonde curl behind his ear, "but I would rather not to be."

With that, Luke tucked the datapad under his arm and walked out the door. He longed to sit and talk with his father, for an explanation, for a hint of a reason why things were the way they were, but Luke wasn't out here trying to start a physical fight. His mother had told him to behave, after all.

He returned to his own room and kicked off his shoes. Flopping onto his bed, Luke began to search the holonet for any and all mentions of Darth Vader.

Pretty normal stuff. Terrifying heir to the emperor, the disciplinary force behind the Empire, formerly Anakin Skywalker. Only the latter surprised Luke, as he had not realized the mask would make such a difference regarding Vader's identity, but it seemed like Vader was treated like a title rather than a name. He was called Anakin Skywalker in a lot of sources.

A snippet of an article caught his eye.

The Imperial princess, Leia Skywalker, has joined Grand Admiral Thrawn in his blockade of the Jedha system.

Luke had to take a moment at the implications of this sentence. It seemed not only was Leia working willingly with Imperials, but also, if the date of the article was correct, did this mean that Jedha had never been attacked by the Death Star?

When he searched for the Death Star, there were no articles that matched what he was looking for. No coverage of Jedha, of Scarif, or of Alderaan.

Did that mean it had just… never existed?

If Luke had been considering stealing this Luke's life, now he was really after it. This guy had everything!

Well, plus the Empire. It did suck that the Empire was still around. But Alderaan still existed! Jedha and Scarif weren't scarred and ruined! Millions of people were probably still alive.

He was jealous of himself, certainly. More than that, he just wished for more. He wished his family wasn't so fractured. He wished Leia wasn't in such a weird predicament, and he could just see her. Even if she worked for the Empire, she was still Leia. And he would always understand Leia.

Unsurprisingly, there was little information on the holonet about the Rebellion. Mostly propaganda, some vague headlines here and there about the growing threat of terrorists in the Outer Rim, but really nothing concrete. Luke was not surprised. Their exploits had hardly been widely publicized even at the height of their rebel activity. Only Leia had seemed to garner that kind of publicity, and that was because she was a former Imperial senator turned alleged-terrorist, and the lone survivor of a dead monarchy to boot.

He decided to turn his attention on this Leia. Looking her up, he found countless articles, and it took a bit of time to scrape through them. He switched positions on his bed numerous times, growing more and more uncomfortable.

Leia Skywalker was, apparently, not only Vader's heir, but also a fearsome weapon. It seemed that she was portrayed in the general media as some sort of watch dog ready to be released on any unsuspecting insurgents. Most of the articles were tales of her exploits, or rather her bloody successes, and Luke felt more and more nauseous as he read through it all. His sister was terrifying. He found himself gazing at photos of her, and not really recognizing her in the cold, stiff woman who was often plagued by shadows. She would stand at Vader's side, at a man Luke recognized as Tarkin's side, at an unfamiliar blue alien's side, and all the while she seemed to melt away from him like a mirage.

If this was a vision, it was one that he decided he did not like anymore. Parents or no parents, this was a version of Leia that he knew his sister would have personally loathed, and would rather have died than become.

Curiously, Luke searched the name Padmé. It did not take long for him to find his mother's face in the searches.

Padmé Amidala. That was his mother's name.

Unfortunately, there was not a lot of recent information. His mother was either very private, or the Empire did not want her to be in the spotlight. Which, as he quickly realized, was probably because of her political history as a staunch supporter of the Republic and democracy.

How his mother had come to be involved with Vader of all people, Luke could not begin to guess. At least he could grasp why she was so miserable now, at least.

The most recent interview she had given had been from ten years ago, apparently. Luke was quick to open it, finding his mother just as enchanting in the holo as he did in real life. The interview appeared to take place in this very house, if Luke was right in recognizing the ornate swirls of the balcony. Padmé's hair was in a simple bun, and she wore a crescent moon headpiece to hold it in place. The top of her dress, which was all that was visible, was a delicately beaded sheer undershirt, cross-embroidered with shiny thread of either deep silver or gold with puffy sleeves, and over it a dark velvet frock that told Luke that his mother was very elegant.

"Going from being a queen to a senator to a stay-at-home mom was not an easy transition," she said, and Luke had to pause to try and figure out when his mother had been a queen. Then he realized that his mother was from Naboo. His mother had been a queen of Naboo?

It occurred to him that he must be on Naboo right now.

"Honestly," his mother confessed, "it was very difficult for me to adjust. I was very lucky to have my mother and my sister by my side to help me sort out just how to be a mother, and it all ended up quite well in the end, I'd say."

"Your son and daughter, the Imperial Prince and Princess, are a highly speculated topic in the Imperial Broadcast Service," the interviewer said. She sounded like a young woman, with a slight accent. Rylothi, perhaps? "I understand that you prefer your privacy, but your daughter, Princess Leia Skywalker, has become a bit of a public figure recently due to her introduction at the Aldera Intergalactic Cotillion, and her subsequent service to the Empire under Lord Vader's tutelage."

His mother, bless her, smiled pleasantly. Her eyes held a warning, though.

"Leia is following in her father's footsteps," Padmé said calmly. "What she chooses to do with her life is her choice. I support her in her autonomy to make her own decisions regarding her future."

"Your support for the Empire," the Rylothi interviewer said, "is, as always, appreciated, Madam."

There was a brief pause, like Padmé and the interviewer were allowing an inside joke to register, before the interviewer continued.

"You have begun working again recently," she said. "You have teamed up with your old associate, Viceroy of Alderaan Bail Organa, to provide service and aid to war-torn, impoverished planets. How has working on philanthropic projects changed since your time as a senator?"

Padmé seemed to relax a bit, her smile softening on her lips. This was more her element, it seemed. Luke could not blame her for being uncomfortable when talking about Leia. Their mother clearly did not approve of her taking after their father.

"It has been difficult," she admitted. "Many of the channels I would usually have gone through to funnel aid, support, and funds have collapsed in the decade and a half I've been away. I am very lucky to have Bail, who never faltered in his charitable work even during the most tumultuous parts of the Clone War and the transitionary period. His daughter has also been an outstanding help in this matter, as she often puts herself on the frontlines to deliver relief to systems that are still feeling the impact of Clone Wars era legislation that simply locked them out of economic growth, and many of those systems have fallen into disrepair because of various skirmishes that were left to bloat and fester in the aftermath of the war, creating what I would call a gangrenous limb of our so very great Empire that could be very well healed with the right steps and efforts, but our Imperial senate would rather sit on its thumbs and wait for it to rot so badly that it would be easier to just cut it off."

Luke gaped at the image of his mother, who skirted so openly around the idea of treason that it seemed to him to be more of a flirtation and less of an outward avoidance. No wonder she had not been interviewed after this. Someone must have caught a whiff of her placid defiance and decided to shut her up.

"Do you believe that the Imperial senate is ineffective in providing Imperial citizens with proper care?"

Padmé's smile was tight and almost secretive. She shook her head, primly pressing her hand to her chest.

"I am no longer a senator," she said. "What the senate does or does not do is not up to me, and to be quite honest, it is not within my current paygrade. What concerns me is that I see the realities of Imperial neglect every day, and I am not pleased. I gave most of my life in service to the people, and I will continue to live for the people, as their servant, until I die. Certainly that is the role of a civil servant, but I cannot speak for those in the senate today, as I have long since left that post. If they cared an ounce about the people affected by their restrictive legislations, they would provide aid. But they do not. Former senators, now civilians, such as Bail and myself, we are the ones cleaning up the messes that were made on the senate floor. Perhaps that is our penance."

Her eloquence and poise were so enchanting to Luke, he forgot that what his mother was doing had probably put her in danger. Yet he was just so delighted, because when he listened to her, he could almost hear Leia's rousing speeches, feel her turn the tide of morale with a few galvanizing words.

"Penance?" the interviewer asked.

Padmé nodded, relaxing her shoulders as she spoke.

"The Clone Wars did irreparable damage," she said. "I was a senator at that time, and so was Bail. We could have done more to prevent the catastrophes that happened…" Her eyes drifted away from the camera, growing dazed and faraway. "Perhaps many more people would be alive today if we had been a little bit better, a little bit smarter. But truthfully all that we can do is continue to help people, and hope that we are preventing the mass-tragedy of the Clone Wars from ever happening again. If I have done anything in my life, I wish to be able to say that I worked hard to help people, not to harm them. That is all."

Suddenly a woman Luke did not recognize came rushing into view. She whispered something in Padmé's ear, and his mother's eyes flashed wide momentarily.

"I'm so sorry," she said, "I must cut this short. It was a pleasure to speak with you, Dia."

The broadcast ended abruptly. Luke sat there, wondering what could have driven his mother to such a frantic dismissal. He rubbed his face tiredly, setting the datapad aside to fall back onto his fluffy bed and stare at the domed amber vaults of his ceiling. What a life this was. Everything was different. Luke was a prince. Not in any way that really mattered, but he could not imagine growing up in luxury like this. Wanting for nothing.

Yet he did not have everything. He did not have his sister. That had been stolen from him, if Vader's words from earlier were any indication. He wondered if this version of himself held rebel sentiments, as his mother seemed to. That would make sense, considering he could already tell that he was her favorite, while Vader… strangely favored Leia.

So Luke got everything he had ever wanted, but it was all backwards. Great.

He supposed the answer would be to go to the Melinoë temple again and try and figure out what had happened to him. It had to be that, right? There was really no other explanation.

There was a knock at his door. He jumped to his feet, standing at attention instinctively, and the woman who walked in blinked at him. He realized it was the same woman from the broadcast. She had dark hair, dark eyes, and a diamond-shaped face. Something about her was a bit reminiscent of his mother.

"Are you alright, Luke?" the woman asked, sounding very gentle and very concerned.

"Fine," he said, a bit too brightly, because the woman merely frowned at him. "What did you need?"

"Dinner is ready," she said, and he realized that the room was quite a bit darker than it had been before. Had he really been reading all day? "Your mother asked me to come get you, as you're usually… a bit more punctual."

"Oh. Sorry." He smiled sheepishly at her. "Let's go, then. Will my father be joining us?"

The woman's mouth twisted in an unpleasant way as he passed by her.

"Who's to say," she said. "I pray he doesn't. It is so much more peaceful when he doesn't."

"Ah."

Luke remembered the way down to the dining room from that morning. The smell of sweet, brazed meat wafted toward him before he even entered the room, and his stomach seemed to groan in response. He could not remember the last time he had eaten.

"Hello, Mama," he greeted cheerfully, dropping down into the seat across from her. The woman stood in the doorway, watching him sit. He wondered if she would join them. "Did you have a good day?"

Padmé smiled at him gently. She had her own datapad in hand, and seemed to still be working. There was a stylus tucked into her hair that Luke was not sure she knew about.

"As good as it can be," she said, which was not a nice thing to hear, "how about you? I assume you avoided more conflict, as I didn't hear screaming."

"We avoided each other for the most part," Luke said quietly. "For the best, I guess."

"Yes." Padmé's eyes trailed toward the door sadly. The woman there merely shook her head. "If you would like to sit with us, Dormé, we seem to have an open seat."

Dormé looked vaguely amused. "I would rather not die today, my lady," she said. The way that "my lady" came out of her mouth sounded like half a jest, half an instinct. "You have fun. I'll take my dinner with the groundskeeper, thank you."

She turned away with a swirl of her cloak, a plain brownish-red thing clasped at her neck with a floral broach. Luke did not know what she wore under it.

"Should have expected that," Padmé sighed, helping herself to a slice of the roast… whatever animal that was. Luke rarely had fresh meat like this, too used to space provisions like ration bars and rehydrated bread. The closest he'd had to this roasted animal was indeterminate bovine jerky a few days earlier. "At least it was Dormé this time and not Sabé."

"Ha ha," Luke said faintly. "Right."

That earned him a puzzled look. He quickly lifted his plate to the roast and helped himself to two slices. There were tuberous vegetables in a bowl, glazed with a buttery, peppery sauce, so he helped himself to a spoonful of that as well.

"Goodness," Padmé laughed after he'd placed his fork down and realized he had essentially consumed his whole plate in less than five minutes. "Did you eat anything today?"

"Uh…" He quickly wiped his mouth on a cloth napkin. Cloth! And it was so pretty, too! Luke looked at the grease stain he'd left upon the cream fabric mournfully. "I was doing research. Got distracted. You know how it is."

"Certainly," his mother said, her smile fond and gentle. "What were you researching? A new project?"

"Um…" He had to think for a moment. What would an Imperial prince do if he was trying not to get caught harboring rebel sentiments, but wanted to help the rebels anyway? "Something like that. Hey, I was wondering… is there any way I could help you at work?"

Padmé's smile fell. Fast.

"No," she said firmly.

"What?" Luke blinked at her. "Why? I'm not exactly a child. I'm an adult, I should be able to help. Like… Like Bail Organa's daughter!"

Padmé shot him a sharp warning look. Her eyes slid to the door as she leaned forward and spoke very low.

"Are you the Princess of Alderaan now? No, I don't think so." She shook her head firmly. "You cannot do what she does. You understand that. We've talked about this, Luke."

"Why not?" Luke demanded. "What if I want to help people too? What is so bad about that?"

"Nothing!" Padmé winced, clearly not meaning to shout. "Luke, please. You can help me work, but you… you will have to do it from home. Okay?"

That was frustrating. This was like when his uncle had smothered his creativity and independence, stifling Luke until he had felt like he would never amount to anything. How could Luke have the complete opposite of the life he had lived on Tatooine, and still be in the same position?

"So the princess and Leia can risk their lives," Luke said, making a mental note to look up information on the Princess of Alderaan, the girl who replaced Leia, "but I have to sit here and do nothing?"

"Not nothing!" Padmé shook her head furiously. "You're always working on something! It's just… best for you to be here. We can monitor you here."

"Monitor me?"

Padmé shook her head, looking sad, and she opened her mouth to respond, but Luke found himself looking at the door with a grim expectancy. She clamped her mouth shut and began to push the buttery tubers around her plate with a frown.

His footsteps were not as heavy without the suit, but Luke still felt them. He also felt Vader's anger, the way it swarmed around him like buzzing flies, festering and ugly and rooted deeply within him. Luke watched him as he marched up to the table, his yellow eyes flashing viciously to Padmé.

"Yes?" Padmé asked tiredly.

Vader's jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed at her.

"You have gotten your wish," he said in a strange, thick voice. He sounded… frightened? "I will be departing tonight."

"That was not my wish," Padmé said. She was offhanded and matter-of-fact about it. It most certainly was.

"Save your lies for someone who will listen to them," Vader snapped at her. "Do you have a heart at all? Your daughter is missing."

Luke froze, the coldness of those words holding him hostage in his own body. Leia could not be dead. Even in this backwards world, he would have felt that, right? He tried to reach out to her, but of course she was too far away, and Vader's presence was not exactly doing wonders for Luke's concentration.

Padmé looked at Vader with a frighteningly blank expression. She blinked up at him, her eyes passing through him like he was glass.

"And whose fault is that?"

Oh, the rage. It swelled, and Luke leapt to his feet, ready to throw himself between his parents and take the brunt of Vader's anger without a second thought.

"She is your daughter!" Vader cried. "Does Obi-Wan's poison still have a grip on your heart that you cannot feel love for her?"

The silence that followed fell upon each of them without mercy. It clawed up Luke's heart and brain. Obi-Wan echoed in his head, and fell at their feet like glass shattering.

"It is not Obi-Wan who made me this way, Anakin," Padmé whispered, eyes narrowed, shoulders squared, and chin tipped up. "Invoke his name all you'd like, but you will never bring him back from the grave, and that is the burden you bear. I have enough of my own, thank you."

That seemed to cripple the man before them, and Luke could hardly catch the flurry of emotions that flooded him when Padmé spoke of Obi-Wan. It almost hurt.

"What if she dies?" Vader demanded. "You will regret this, Padmé. You know you will."

"What is another regret?" Padmé said coldly. "I have not seen my daughter in ten years. This is the path she chose. Let her die on it."

Luke's eyes flashed to his mother in utter disbelief. He felt unbearably cold and sick, realizing that though this hurt Padmé more than she let on, she was speaking the truth.

"You can't mean that," Luke gasped, searching his mother's face. She avoided his gaze, and instead glared up at Vader with the iciness of a woman with nothing to lose. "Leia… even if she's done terrible things, she's still Leia!"

"Sit down, Luke," Padmé murmured.

"No!" Luke shot a furious glance between his two parents, sick and frustrated to death by this strange waltz of loathing and bitterness. "How dare you. Both of you! I don't care what's happened in the past, but using your daughter's disappearance as a weapon to hurt one another is— it's just cruel! Leia's actually missing! She's in danger! And you two are just playing a game of who can hurt the other worse?"

These two people, these two utter strangers, turned to look at him in shock. Then they both frowned.

"Stay out of this," his mother said.

"Silence, boy," his father said.

Luke thought he might tear his hair out and scream into the night.

"I will not," he declared, scowling at them. "I won't sit here and pretend I don't care about Leia, not when it seems to me that I might be the only person here who truly does!" He looked up at Vader, holding his hand up and mustering all of the calm authority he wielded when he decided to play up the wise Jedi Knight angle. "I am not done talking, Father. You would do well to listen. If Leia is in danger, I want to help her. I don't care what that means."

That made his mother's perfect mask of indifference crumble, and the horror in her eyes broke his heart.

"Luke," she said, her voice cracking painfully, "no—"

"You would join me?" Vader demanded.

Luke hated the way that sounded. All the aching familiarity. The voice was different, but the tone was the same.

"To save Leia?" Luke folded his arms across his chest. "Yes."

Padmé leapt to her feet, reaching as if to get between them. "Anakin, you can't— he can't—!"

Vader already had a grip on Luke's arm, and the ensuing struggle was more Vader blocking Padmé from getting to him than anything else.

"He will not be doing anything too strenuous," Vader said, batting Padmé's arms away. "I will watch over him quite closely. Truly, I only need his connection with Leia—"

"A connection he hardly uses!" Padmé sounded pained, angry, and desperate. "Please! Don't do this to me! Don't take him too!"

Luke felt the immensity of her sorrow and pain, the intensity of her emotions, and his eyes began to water. He twisted to look at her beyond Vader as he was yanked toward the door. His mother was gripping the back of a chair, her face white and her lips parted as a grief-stricken veil fell over her face.

"I'll be okay!" Luke gasped. "I promise, I'll come back— Mama—"

He was torn from the room and shoved up the stairs. The next twenty or so minutes passed in a haze. Under Vader's supervision, he began to stuff things into a small bag, not really knowing what he would need, knowing that this tiny suitcase held more possessions than Luke had ever had in his life. He packed the datapad last.

When the bag was shut tight, Vader gripped him by the shoulder and wheeled him from his room.

At the veranda, they were stopped by Dormé. She stood there, looking up at Vader defiantly in the gray dusk, lamplight illuminating her pale face.

"Forgetting something, Lord Vader?" Dormé asked. She was holding a box.

Vader stiffened at Luke's side. He was glaring at Dormé in such a way that Luke feared the woman might die.

"Give it to me, handmaiden," he said coolly.

"Certainly." Dormé tucked the box beneath her arm. "Shall we go?"

"Excuse me?"

Dormé's smile was almost frightening, it was so venomous.

"Luke needs me to administer the medicine," she said.

"No, he doesn't," Vader said with a scoff. "He self-administers it. You cannot trick me."

"You are never home, my lord," Dormé said insistently. "His condition has gotten worse. I must administer the medication. His fine motor skills have deteriorated since you last visited."

Luke did not understand any of this. Medication for what? Why was this all so important? None of it made sense to him.

"We don't have time for this," Luke gasped, looking up at Vader. "Just let her come! What's the big deal?"

"She is one of your mother's spies," Vader hissed.

"Who cares?" Luke shook his head. "We're just going to get Leia. Then we'll come back here. Why is everything such a battle with you?"

Vader was glaring at him now. Great. Luke shrugged his hand off his shoulder, and he nodded to Dormé.

"C'mon," he said, brushing past her. "Let's just get this over with."

He did not miss Dormé's smirk as she followed him down the steps.

Chapter Text

Ahsoka had explained her reasons for lying, but Ezra did not like it. She thought that Hera would react badly to the idea that there was another world out there where Kanan was dead. This Hera, who had watched her version of Kanan get dragged away and warped into something else, was a terrifying shadow of the woman Ezra knew. She did not care about Leia's life. And part of Ezra could not blame her, because Leia seemed to represent the very thing that Kanan had been stolen to create.

When Ezra had finished explaining all he could of his world, avoiding the last five years by vaguely mentioning that he and a friend had ended up separated from the Ghost, but that friend did not exist here.

Ahsoka assumed that it was Sabine.

"Is Sabine not part of the Ghost crew?" Ezra asked, shocked and dismayed.

With a short shrug, Ahsoka sipped her new glass of alcohol. Ezra was not going to complain, as he'd also developed some unhealthy drinking habits in the last five years.

"Never heard of a Mandalorian named Sabine Wren," she said. "But Mandalore is… not doing too great. It could be that your friend decided to stay home and help the war effort from there."

Ezra did not like the sound of that. Considering Sabine's history, and her family... Well, Ezra was not pleased with how things were going at the moment, and he could imagine they might get worse if he kept digging.

Then Ahsoka assumed it was Kallus.

"Is Kallus not a Fulcrum agent here?" Ezra asked, alarmed.

Ahsoka blinked, and then she laughed. "Agent Kallus," she said, "died years ago. Fighting for the Empire. He was one of mine, then?"

Ezra did not think Ahsoka had ever actually met Kallus in his world, so he just shrugged. Another shitty thing about this world, and Ezra didn't even care that much about Kallus.

"Why don't we talk about Leia?" Ezra asked eagerly. "My shift is coming up soon, after Zeb. I should know what I'm dealing with."

That made Ahsoka uncomfortable, clearly, and Ezra wished he knew why.

"You seem to know her in your world," Ahsoka said, smiling weakly. "You said something about Bail Organa?"

"Oh, right!" Ezra gasped, blinking up at her curiously. "That confused you, didn't it? But Leia's the Princess of Alderaan, right?"

Ahsoka's eyes blinked so wide, she had to lean back a little. He could see her doing mental calculations, and her expression merely fell into a confused twist.

"How did your Leia end up the Princess of Alderaan?" she asked, setting her glass aside to steeple her fingers with a frown.

The question hung in the air for about a minute, and Ezra ran it through in his brain, trying to figure out if she was trying to trick him. Eventually, he gave up, and slumped in his seat.

"I'm confused," Ezra admitted.

"Well, so am I, little one."

Ezra shot her a dull look. "I'm not little," he objected. "I'm very tall, you know."

"Littler than me," Ahsoka said, rolling her eyes. "Ugh, I cannot figure this out. So in your world, Leia is the daughter of Bail and Breha Organa?"

"Yes?" Ezra groaned, sinking even further into his seat. "I don't get it, how could she not be here? Parents don't just change!"

There was another bout of silence, this one worse than the last, as tension gathered between them. Ahsoka's eyes were fixed upon her hands, her lips twisted into a tight grimace, and there was nothing in her eyes but pain and exhaustion.

"They do if you're adopted," Ahsoka said quietly.

Ezra perked up. Now that was new information. Good information. Information that made this strange question of Leia suddenly shift.

"I'll bite," he said. "Why do you think Leia would be adopted?"

"Because," she sighed, "Bail and Breha's daughter— their daughter here, in our world— was adopted when she was six. I don't know the details, but Bail told me when he adopted her that he and Breha couldn't have children."

"So… Leia..."

Ahsoka stared at him, and her expression softened.

"Oh," she said. "You really have no idea."

He sat there, blinking at her, until she took pity on him.

"You will need to know all of this, so pay attention," Ahsoka said. She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Her name is Princess Leia Skywalker. She is—"

"Skywalker," he repeated, nearly speaking in Cheunh and feeling utterly baffled. He had thought about Ahsoka's master briefly when he had learned the translation of oozly-esehembo, but truthfully he had tried not to think about it too hard because he had not wanted to talk to Thrawn about it, and that man had a way with knowing when Ezra was avoiding talking about something. "Wait, so she's related to your master then?"

Ahsoka looked down at him, and she sighed.

"Let me finish," she said. "She is the daughter of Darth Vader." She held up a hand before he could object. "Vader is the Sith Lord formerly known as Anakin Skywalker. So, yes. She's related."

He could not keep himself from gaping at her. The way he had to do mental gymnastics to get his brain wrapped around what she was saying was making him feel insane. Because if this was true for this world, which was not all that different from his in terms of origins, did that mean that his Leia… that Leia Organa, Alderaan's princess, who had presumably died in the Death Star explosion… that she had been Darth Vader's daughter?

That Anakin Skywalker was Darth Vader?

Had Vader killed his own daughter?

"Oh," Ezra whispered, sinking low into Zeb's bunk, practically lying down. His glass balanced precariously. "Oh no."

"What?" Ahsoka asked cautiously.

Ezra shook his head. "The fight! On Malachor! You must have known then, didn't you? That's why you sent me away. You wanted to face Vader alone to talk to him. Because he was your master."

With a small frown, Ahsoka swiveled in the desk chair, her fingers drumming against the glass the rested on her knee.

"I am not her," she reminded him. "I can't know why she did the things she did. But if she is anything like me, she would have recognized him."

"He was in a massive suit of armor," Ezra said flatly, "but I think she must have known. Force signatures are hard to hide."

"Do I even want to know about the suit of armor?" she groaned.

Ezra scratched his chin. "Dunno, actually." He offered a small shrug. "Vader's like, an enigma. Nobody knows where he came from, only that he's evil, and the Emperor's dog, essentially. I assumed it would be the same here, but…"

"It's not." Ahsoka frowned deeply. "I don't know what changed between our worlds, but there must have been some jumping off point… one major change that caused ripples across the galaxy. Here, Anakin… Vader… he's cruel, and vile, and he has done terrible things, but I do believe he loves his children. And his wife."

The sadness that clouded her made Ezra nearly stand up and throw his arms around her. He resisted the urge, knowing it might make things worse. So he rubbed his face tiredly, and he too wondered what had changed in this world to make it so different from his own.

"What about you?" Ezra whispered, knowing it was not the right thing to say but needing to say it anyway. Because maybe, just maybe, he was fearing the reality that he might have to face Kanan the way that his version of Ahsoka had once faced Anakin Skywalker. "You were his student."

"Yes." Ahsoka leaned her head back. She shrugged. "I was his student. And, apparently, too much like a Jedi. He wanted me to join him, I wouldn't…" She waved at him offhandedly. "Don't worry about it. It's a whole mess."

"It sounds like you might need someone to talk to," Ezra said gently. "I don't mind. It sounds like this Ezra is kind of in the same situation."

Ahsoka grimaced. "A similar situation," she conceded, "but for Ezra it's worse. I thought Anakin was dead for almost a year while I was in hiding. By the time I had realized what he had become, I'd already mourned him enough that I resigned myself to his treachery and moved on. Ezra… you watched Kanan get dragged away. He was saving you. You never forgave yourself, and your use of the Force became… shaky at best. It's not that you cut yourself off, not really. I think maybe you lost sense of yourself, and the more you tried to use it, the worse it got. You eventually stopped using it altogether when you met Kanan again and he was…"

"An inquisitor," Ezra sighed. "Okay, yeah. I can see how that'd do it."

Ahsoka studied him with a small frown.

"Don't take this the wrong way," she said, "but you don't seem that upset."

He really tried not to be too offended, but it did hurt. When he offered her a small smile, it was completely fake.

"For me," Ezra said, speaking very softly, "Kanan has been dead for over five years. I… have been very, very far removed from a lot of this stuff. The Rebellion, the Empire, the Sith. It feels like I'm talking about someone else's life, even when I'm talking about my own."

Ahsoka nodded, still frowning, and he supposed she could be thinking about how she had felt when she had thought Anakin Skywalker had been dead, only to find that he had actually destroyed the Jedi Order.

Their chrono began to beep, and Ezra frowned deeply. He was definitely not prepared to go sit with the evil Leia Organa for two hours, but it was necessary. Rising to his feet, Ahsoka caught him by the arm as he crossed the room.

"Be careful," Ahsoka said quietly. "If she's too much for you, call for me in the Force."

"We don't have a Force bond," he pointed out.

"I'll sense your distress," she sighed. "Don't worry. Just… do not let her in your head. Don't talk to her at all, if you can help it."

"Thanks for the heads up," he said, "but I think I can handle it."

He was, unfortunately, used to it.

"Don't underestimate her," Ahsoka warned. "She's good. Better than my Ezra. Maybe better than you, too. She's not just an Inquisitor, Ezra, she has been..." Ahsoka looked drawn and far away for a moment. Her eyes flitted away from his face. "She has been training for this her whole life."

"Then maybe this will be a humbling experience for her!" Ezra scoffed, tugging his arm back from her. "It's only two hours. And plus, Zeb did it, right? He's not Force sensitive."

"Zeb also has experience being a guard," Ahsoka said. "You… do not."

"Guess that's true." He shrugged, and then he waved at her. "See you in a few hours, then. Don't drink anymore. You have the shift after me, remember?"

"Oh," Ahsoka said with a short sigh, "I know."

Ezra wandered through the Ghost, unable to shake a strange wave of déjà vu, and hoping he did not run into Hera. If she started probing him about his memory loss, it could get weird. It was already weird that it seemed to be so selective, but it could get worse, and he'd like to avoid it. The quicker they could get Leia to the Rebel base so he and Ahsoka could sort out his Force bullshit, the better.

When he climbed down the ladder into the cargo hold, he found Zeb sitting on a crate listening to music while Leia was sitting on the ground, her legs crossed. She was clearly meditating.

"Your watch is up, buddy," Ezra said, clapping Zeb on the shoulder. He bounced his head along to the tune of the rock song on Zeb's radio. "Go eat something."

Zeb glanced up at him, and he nodded, though there was clearly a question in his eyes. He supposed Zeb was wondering about Ezra's alleged memory loss, but did not want to bring it up in front of Leia.

"Alright," Zeb said cautiously. "Call if you need anything. Got it?"

"Sir, yes, sir," Ezra said, shooting him a mock salute. He took Zeb's place on the crate, meeting the eyes of the Imperial Princess Leia curiously. When he looked up at Zeb again, he looked unsure. "I'll be fine! Seriously, go eat."

"Just be careful with this one, kid," Zeb said, shooting a glare at Leia's tiny form. "She's a devil."

"So am I," Ezra said, stretching up his legs and shrugging. "What a pair we'll make."

"In your dreams," Leia said coolly. Nothing about her changed. Not her posture, not her position, not a twitch of a cheek, not a bat of an eyelash. She was ethereally calm.

Ezra shot Zeb a grin. Zeb looked even more apprehensive, if possible, but also exasperated. He shook his head as he turned away.

"Maybe you should just let her kill you," he said. "Might be easier."

"Less fun, though!"

Zeb made a sour face as he climbed the ladder, leaving Ezra and Leia alone. He turned down the radio a bit, though he did tap his heel along to the song.

After a few minutes of silence, Leia tipped her head up at him, and she smiled.

"You'll regret this," she said.

Ezra nodded, not really concerned.

"I'm not scared of Vader," he said.

Then you'll die braver than most, he heard deep in the recesses of his brain.

"I'm not talking about my father," Leia said passively. "I will kill you with my bare hands, padawan. We don't need anymore inquisitors. They're all useless anyway. Killing you will be my reward for discovering the Rebel base."

Ezra smirked. Okay. He could play this game.

"Oh, sweetheart," he said, watching her smile slide off her face at that, "we're not taking you to the Rebel base."

Leia's eyes sparkled with curiosity. Yep. Hook, line, sinker.

"Where are you taking me, then?" she demanded.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he teased her, because if he was going to fool her, he needed to make her think he was trying to keep information from her.

Manipulation wasn't his strong suit. He usually allowed Thrawn to play these games, and watched with amusement before he inevitably got roped in because Thrawn used people like pieces on a gameboard, and Ezra had been his favorite weapon for about five years.

It was hard not to pick up a thing or two when you were constantly flung into those things.

Leia rolled her eyes in response, which made him smile. When she noticed, she glared at him.

"You seem eager to talk to me," she said, tilting her head. "A glutton for punishment?"

"Nope," Ezra said. "I just think you're sad."

And Leia bristled, her rage a bit palpable even through her impeccable shields. She frowned at him, perhaps assessing him and his words, before she slowly rose to her feet and glowered at him through the ray shield.

"I know what you're doing," she said. "You think you can make me feel bad? Do you even understand who I am?"

"I've got a basic grasp on it, yeah," he replied, shrugging. "So you're a princess. Big deal! I've met princesses before. Met Sith before too. You're a pretty poor shadow of both, but I can give you some points for effort!"

Oh, now she was angry. He nearly laughed. Sometimes, when Thrawn was busy, and the Chiss needed to interrogate someone, Ezra was sent in to annoy them until they talked or Thrawn was able to take over and almost immediately get the information they needed. Sometimes Ezra thought Thrawn planned it that way.

"Oh," Leia drawled, "so you want to die. You're one of those kinds of men."

"You don't know what kind of man I am," Ezra said, resting his chin in his palm and smiling at her. "But you're welcome to find out. If you can get out of there. Which you can't, so…"

"Death," Leia said, "is too good for you. Perhaps I will hand you to my father and watch you suffer."

"Promises, promises," Ezra sighed. "And now we're back to your father, that's cute. For a second I thought maybe you were independent, but turns out you're actually just an emotionally stunted little kid who probably never got hugged enough because her father's an evil bastard."

"Shut up," Leia hissed. And oh, did it feel good to hit a nerve! "You're insufferable. Who even are you? Some fool of an upstart from nowhere?"

"I think you know exactly who I am," Ezra said. "It's not exactly a secret, and Jedi aren't exactly in large supply right now."

"You," Leia laughed at him sharply, "are not a Jedi."

Ezra inhaled very sharply. And that was a mistake. Because even though he had been expecting it, it hit a little too close to home, and he had lost his footing because of it. Now she was gaining momentum. Now she felt like she could win.

"It's so cute," Leia mocked him, matching his tone, easing into her position as the predator here, moving as close as she dared to the ray shield, "that you think you matter. The galaxy isn't going to thank you for all of the chaos you've wrought in the name of "freeing" it. You will die without anyone ever knowing you existed."

"Maybe," he said. "Better than dying with the knowledge that people all over the galaxy will celebrate the day and curse my name, leaving a stain upon history that children will make jokes about for generations to come." He snapped his fingers delightedly. "That's it! You're just a big joke!"

She bared her teeth at him, and he thought she might actually run into the ray shield, but instead she just paced, her eyes never leaving his.

"You think you're funny, huh?" Her yellow eyes remained unblinking, so he stared back at her steadily. "How about a duel, Bridger?"

"And here I thought you didn't know who I am," he said. He offered her a small shrug. "Maybe someday, Leia."

The way she flinched, it actually surprised him.

"Why," she hissed, "do you keep calling me that?"

His eyes flitted away from her face and then back confusedly.

"Um," he said, "because it's your name?"

"You know what I mean!" Leia scowled at him. "You are not my friend, Bridger. You are an obstacle. A small one, at that."

"And you," Ezra said, "are a very misguided person who is pretending to be much more grown up than I think she actually is."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Ezra grinned at her. "Come on, you still threaten people with your father. Who cares if your dad is Darth Vader, show some spine. You're just scared that he's gonna think you're a failure for losing to some Rebels, and maybe you should be. After all, Leia, you're trapped here. You lost. And you're losing right now, because while I just got a wealth of information about you— that you're very volatile, and sensitive, and probably insecure—"

"That's not true."

"—You really don't know anything about me."

Leia inhaled very sharply. Then she exhaled.

"I know about Kanan Jarrus," she said coolly. She was watching his face for a reaction, and was probably annoyed when she got none. "I know how he cried whenever you were mentioned, how the Inquisitors would use you to break him. I know that even the sound of your name makes him go into a fit now."

Pushing down that very disturbing information deep into the recesses of his mind where Vader's mocking voice resided, Ezra watched Leia with a blank expression.

"So?" he asked, watching her mouth fall open in surprise before she quickly composed herself. "That's stuff you already knew before you got captured. Just face it, Leia. You failed. You're no better than an Inquisitor… and maybe your father knows that. Maybe he's not coming for you at all. It'd be a good lesson."

Leia sneered at him. "That isn't going to work," she said. Yet he heard the slightest quiver in his voice. He thought if Thrawn were there, he'd be proud that Ezra had picked it up, but he'd never say it. "I know what you're doing, and it won't work!"

"Okay," he said, "then stop listening to me."

"I can't," she snapped, "because you're holding me prisoner."

"Well, you've got your little three-foot cage, princess," Ezra said. "Meditate. I'm gonna listen to music, if you're done."

She glowered at him, but he knew he'd won when she eventually sat back down and stared straight ahead of her in silence.

Vader's ship was still the Executor, which was good because Luke could at least feign familiarity. He was pleased that Dormé was with him, though he was also terrified for her safety, and he wondered what his mother would do without him and her dear friend. It wasn't really that hard to figure out that his mother had sent Dormé to go with them in a panic.

Then there was the nonsense about Luke's fine motor skills. To be honest, he probably would not have understood what that meant if he hadn't done rehabilitation for his right hand, and to be even more honest, his fine motor skills for that hand were garbage. But that was because it was a prosthetic hand. This Luke had two perfectly fine flesh hands!

When they arrived on the ship, Luke was immediately sent to a cabin far away from the helm. Dormé had decidedly busied herself with unpacking his clothes.

"You don't need to do that," he said, sitting awkwardly on his bunk.

"Nonsense."

Luke sighed. Maybe Prince Luke had never had to clean his room before. Maybe Prince Luke had never worked a day in his life.

Once Dormé was done, she sat down on the bed beside him and held out her hand. Luke took a moment to study her face, finding it difficult to trust this woman that he did not know. With his mother and father, it had been simple. Even at his worst, Vader had still been Luke's father. This woman was a complete and total stranger, and the only thing he knew about her was that his mother seemed to trust her.

That should be enough, right?

Hesitantly, he took Dormé's hand. She flipped it over and tugged up his sleeve.

Sitting there with absolute apprehension, his body tense, he watched Dormé's eyes graze over his forearm, seemingly decide that it was up to her standards, and push his sleeve back down.

"I'll have to administer your medicine," she murmured, "just to make it convincing. I'm sorry."

"It's no trouble," Luke said, absolutely troubled. "My mother sent you, didn't she?"

Dormé was fiddling with the box she had brought. She glanced at him amusedly, and he wondered if she assumed he was joking.

"You really upset her," Dormé sighed, popping open the box. Inside there were an assortment of needles and vials filled with a strange blue liquid. Luke had seen the set up before, but only in the large medcenters on various planets. Never on Rebel bases, and never used on him. "I've only seen her like that a few times in my life, and… it was entirely unpleasant. Why did you do this?"

Luke blinked rapidly. He had assumed it would be clear that he just wanted to save his sister, but apparently not. Beside him, Dormé was pulling on gloves.

"Leia needs my help," he said simply.

Dormé exhaled a bit shakily through her mouth, and she shook her head as she began to assemble a syringe gun.

"That girl does not need anyone," Dormé said bitterly. "She will not thank you for it, and you might end up getting hurt or killed in the process. You realize this, don't you?"

Luke wished he could delve into his other self's memories to figure out what had gone so wrong with Leia.

"I'm an adult, you know," Luke said. "I can make my own decisions. And I've decided to save Leia."

Dormé eyed him suspiciously, and Luke wondered if he and his sister were really so at odds in this world.

There was no way for Luke to deny the medication without acting suspicious, so he sat while Dormé rolled up his sleeve and tied a tourniquet around his bicep so she could see his vein better. The needle was just a pinch, but he did grimace. He'd never liked needles. As a child, he hadn't been inoculated against any disease because, quite simply, Tatooine didn't really have doctors like that. There were people who practiced medicine, nice people, and Luke had vague memories of sitting upon a cool slab of rock in a warmly decorated hut, chewing on a candied fruit peel while a woman applied a cool salve to a cut he'd gotten while playing in a junkyard.

He had not been given any sort of vaccine until he was with the Rebellion, and Leia had found out that he hadn't gotten any shots ever.

Truthfully, he'd been a little offended. It wasn't that his aunt and uncle hadn't taken care of him, it was literally just that nobody on Tatooine had access to the kind of medical care that many others in the galaxy did. So Luke had gotten all of his shots all at once, and it had been very unpleasant.

When Dormé was done, she disinfected everything and disassembled the syringe gun.

"We'll have to be on our best behavior," she said, clasping the box closed and setting it on a little box at the foot of his bunk. "We are very unwelcome here, and for both our sakes we should keep our heads down."

He did not like that at all. It was not in Luke to be quiet and simply take things. Dormé must have seen the look on his face, because she sighed and touched his shoulder gently.

"Luke," she said, "we can do a lot of good. But not on an Imperial flagship. Alright?"

That was borderline treason, and she knew it. He knew she knew it because her voice was very soft and quiet, and her grip on his shoulder tightened a bit.

"I can think of no better place but on an Imperial flagship," Luke said innocently.

Dormé glanced at him, sighed very deeply, and shook her head.

"Let's avoid death and arrest, shall we?" she said with a tight grin.

"Sure." Luke thought now that sounded more like a normal day for him.

"Goodnight, Luke."

He watched her move toward the door, and he smiled faintly at her when she glanced back at him.

Then, suddenly, he was alone. It was all a bit disheartening, trying to keep this experience from totally driving him insane, because he just could not understand this world. His mother was almost certainly doing some sort of work for the Rebellion… she worked with Bail Organa! Which, now that he thought about it, explained a whole lot about why Leia had been given to the man. When they had been split up, Bail Organa must have been the closest person to his mother at the time. But now his mother was almost in open Rebellion, his father was still Darth Vader, just confusingly less so, and Leia was maybe an agent of the Empire.

Or worse, a Sith.

He did not want to think about that.

Also, Luke needed medication for something. Something that, apparently, might affect his fine motor skills.

He decided, for the first time, to search for himself on the holonet.

Strangely enough, not much came up.

Luke Skywalker was certainly mentioned in conjunction with Padmé Amidala, Darth Vader, and Leia Skywalker, but it seemed to him like he hardly existed at all here.

All the times Luke was mentioned, it seemed to be brief and vague.

That was incredibly worrisome.

As he was researching his own life, the door slid open. Luke had sensed the man coming, and so he did not lift himself from his lounging position on his bunk, and instead continued to stare at his datapad.

"Don't you knock?" he asked. Even his uncle had been considerate enough to rap twice on his door before entering, and Uncle Owen was hardly the paradigm of mutual respect.

"This is my ship," Vader said stiffly.

"And this is my room within it," Luke said.

Vader muttered something in Huttese that sounded suspiciously like an old prayer that Beru used to say. Something about ancestors relieving him of his burdens.

"Am I a burden?" Luke asked curiously.

Vader's eyes slid sharply to Luke's face, momentarily shocked, but he was still Vader, even if his face was visible, so he composed himself very quickly.

"Where did you learn Huttese?" he demanded.

Uh oh, Luke thought, his gaze flying back to his datapad. Didn't think about that.

"Holodramas," he blurted. It was the first thing he could think of.

The absolute distaste and disgust that warped Vader's face was kind of worth it.

"You should not watch that filth," Vader said stiffly. "It is unbecoming of a prince."

Luke sat up, wondering if it even mattered, since no one seemed to know who he was anyway. Sitting upright, he turned to face Vader with a blank sort of look, because honestly he could not understand what this man might want. He was similar to the Vader that Luke had known, but something was off. And it was not the lack of the suit.

Maybe it was Ben?

Of course, Luke wasn't suicidal enough to find out. Yet.

When he watched Vader expectantly, the man simply stared at him. Then, abruptly, his attention turned to something else. Maybe anything else. He looked upon the bedside table, and nodded once.

"Dormé has administered your medication, then," he said. "Good."

"Oh. Yeah." Luke still did not know what it was for. "I feel fine."

Something in Vader's face changed. It seemed to soften, and his eyes… they were not quite yellow in that moment as his posture relaxed, and he gazed at Luke in an indeterminable way.

"Do you?" he asked, sounding relieved. Luke's eager nod made him slump a bit. "That's good. Hopefully this will not be too strenuous, then."

Nothing about that sentence inspired any sort of hope for Luke, and he sat there with a looming sort of dread as Vader approached him. A thousand different fears attacked him all at once, but Luke took a deep breath, and he sat very still and very straight until Vader halted.

"What is it?" the man demanded.

Luke blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You seem afraid." Vader frowned deeply, and he shook his head. "Something is wrong with you. Just come out with it."

"Nothing's wrong," Luke gasped.

He tried not to flinch when Vader's anger swelled up, and he stared up into the man's strangely youthful face as he jerked a finger at him accusingly.

"I can tell you are lying," he hissed.

"It doesn't matter! I— I'm just…" Luke thought very fast. "I'm worried about Leia."

It was like saying a magic word. The anger dissipated, and Vader blinked down at him with a strange sort of disbelief. He shook his head very slowly.

"You really mean that," he said quietly.

"She's my sister," Luke replied. He said it with as much conviction as he could. "You won't let me see her. Maybe if I can help her…"

"You know this will not change anything," Vader said quietly.

Actually, no. Luke did not know that. He tried not to look too confused while he sat there, frowning. He wanted to object, but he honestly did not know enough about his family history in either worlds to refute Vader. It was frustrating.

"However," Vader sighed, "your help would be… appreciated. I recognize this may be difficult for you, but I need you to try and contact Leia through your bond."

Luke could not figure out how that was supposed to be difficult, except for the distance. But he and Leia had faced much worse odds.

"Sure," Luke said. "I'll have to meditate though. And it might take a while."

Vader nodded, flexing his gloved hand as he frowned. He was awkward as he waited, and Luke realized he was going to stand there while Luke tried to get through to Leia.

"Maybe," Luke said in a gently, coaxing way, "you can tell me exactly what happened to Leia. Where she was, what she was doing, who we think kidnapped her. It would be helpful."

Vader scowled at that. He looked as though he wanted to scold him, but in the last second decided against it. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he took a deep breath and sighed.

"She was on a mission specifically from the Emperor," he said, a bit too tiredly. "I was not informed until she was already gone."

"What did you think she was doing?" Luke asked, not particularly surprised that Palpatine would prey upon Leia, not liking the implication of that, but genuinely shocked that Vader would sit by quietly while Palpatine tried to cut him out of the equation.

"She was supposed to be with Grand Admiral Thrawn," Vader sighed. "I think he was being sent to deal with a skirmish in the Myto sector, or the Raioballo sector, and he requested Leia's expertise due to the sensitivity of the matter."

Luke wondered if he was supposed to know who Grand Admiral Thrawn was. With a position like that, he was kind of surprised he didn't.

"And Leia did not go with him?" Luke asked, trying to follow Vader's explanation with a frown.

"No," Vader said, "she went with Admiral Sloane, who I have already spoken to, and will be punished severely for her oversight with the Rebels. She has had little success in eradicating the rebel threats, while Thrawn continues to get results. I do not know why the Emperor relegates him to insignificant Outer Rim skirmishes when…"

Vader paused, glanced down at Luke, squinted at his face, and quickly veered away from the topic without much decorum. Perhaps he had realized who he was talking to. That made Luke sad for his counterpart.

"The Rebel cell we are looking for," Vader continued, "is one that has evaded my ire for too long. This will be their last taste of victory. I will bleed them dry."

"Okay," Luke said, trying not to sound too uncomfortable at that. "So… Rebels kidnapped her? That's not so bad, then."

The withering look Vader shot Luke was probably enough to make grown men quake with fear. Luke managed fine just shifting uncomfortably.

"But," Luke said, hoping he could salvage something of the conversation, "obviously we'll get her back! I just mean, you know, the Rebels are…" A weak, vacant smile pulled on his lips uselessly. "Cowards?"

"Explain," Vader demanded.

"Just that they probably won't hurt her!" Luke waved his hand encouragingly. "Like, worst thing is that they'll throw her in a prison or something, which shouldn't be difficult for you. The worst part will be getting the information."

And, Luke did not add, because he was very bitter about it, you're you, so you'll probably torture it out of some poor Rebel soldier who didn't even realize their life was in danger.

Vader merely frowned at him.

"The Rebels are not the kind, generous fools you think they are," he said briskly. "They are organized, and they are dangerous. I do not know what meaningless garbage your mother has been allowing you to read, but it is all propaganda."

Luke could not help but laugh, because it was just so outrageous! Sure, the Rebellion had people who spread anti-Imperial information, and by some definition he could probably call that propaganda, but coming from Vader's mouth it just sounded so ridiculous.

"Are you trying to make me angry?" Vader asked in a low tone.

"No, no!" Luke shook his head, swallowing the rest of his laughter. "I just think you're funny."

Vader merely stared at him. So maybe that wasn't the right thing to say, but Luke didn't regret it.

"Anyway," Luke gasped, hoping this did not end with something painful because Luke did not know how to talk to his somewhat evil father, "so Leia's with the Rebels?"

Vader glowered at him, clearly not forgiving his laughter, but it seemed like he did not have the time to keep focusing on it.

"Fortunately," Vader said, "if we can find her quickly, we may be able to retrieve her and discover the location of their base."

That was, for all it was worth, terrible. He did not know how he could warn the Rebels of Vader's arrival without completely compromising this Luke's life. But he also was here specifically to rescue Leia. From the Rebels.

He only just realized the irony of it all.

"We'll see if I can contact her at all," Luke said, suddenly very apprehensive about the whole ordeal. "As you said, it could be very difficult."

Vader just stared at him expectantly. So Luke sighed, slipped off his bunk and onto the floor, crossing his legs and closing his eyes.

After an uncomfortably long time, Luke opened his eyes to find his father was still standing there.

"Can you leave?" Luke asked, blinking up at him. "It's difficult to concentrate with you hovering over me like that."

"I need to be sure you do not overexert yourself."

It was unclear what kind of look Luke was giving Vader, but clearly the man did not like it, because he bristled and shook his head.

"This is not negotiable," Vader said huffily. "You must be supervised in case you have another episode."

"Episode?" Luke repeated, feeling absolute dread creep up on him. "I can use the Force fine. You just need to give me space."

"What if you have a seizure?" Vader demanded. "What if you slip into a coma again? This is the only way. I will stay here until you are done meditating."

The words seizure and coma slid over him like an oozing slime. Like perhaps an egg cracking upon his head and melting into his brain. He was freezing up, thinking about the medicine, the strange behavior of his parents, the lack of information about him anywhere, and to be quite honest, he was beginning to panic.

"Then I'm done," Luke said, pushing off the ground and scowling. "Leave."

Vader's eyebrows knitted together, and he opened his mouth to object. Luke shot him a chilly glare, and he pointed toward the door emphatically.

"Go!" he gasped. "I don't want to see you right now. Just leave!"

It took a moment. It was a bit like watching a coin on its side. He did not know whether Vader would fall to rage or regret.

With a sweep of his cape, and whirled away, marching out the door without another word.

Regret, then.

Luke was left shaking, standing in the middle of his cabin and looking down at his two flesh hands with apprehension. He wiggled them. They moved fine. He paced the floor. His legs worked. He was mobile, he could count to a hundred, he could read, he could do a handstand… everything that he would assume might be inhibited by some kind of sickness seemed to work fine.

Yet there was no mistaking it. Luke Skywalker, this Luke Skywalker, was ill. Perhaps not deathly ill, but ill enough that he was considered… what? Too weak and fragile to use the Force?

It made no sense to him.

Something must have happened to Luke here for this to be his reality. Or, if it was something natural to him, it could not be that extreme, because he had never noticed.

He sunk onto his bunk and stared at the ceiling. He felt fine. So what was the big deal? What could possibly be wrong with him? And why would the Force exacerbate it?

These questions swirled around his mind incessantly before he remembered that he still had the issue of contacting Leia.

Maybe he could rescue her himself.

Actually, he thought, yeah. That'll work.

He just had to get away from his father somehow.

When Ahsoka came to relieve him of his guard duty, Leia had been meditating for over an hour.

“Any trouble?” she asked.

Ezra glanced at Leia, who may or may not be listening, and he shrugged.

“She might kill me later,” he said, “but I think it could have gone worse. She’s funny.”

The look of disbelief that crossed Ahsoka’s face made him grin. Probably because Ahsoka had been so worry about how he’d handle being around her. Ezra had really faced worse than some entitled girl raised to be a Sith Lord who thought she could make Ezra cry just by being mean. Because Ezra could be mean too.

“Want me to stay?” he offered, smiling weakly. “I have nothing better to do.”

Ahsoka smiled back at him appreciatively. “You should go eat,” she told him gently. “And also, maybe talk to Hera. She’s worried about you.”

Ezra was about to ask why, but then he remembered that they’d both lied about his memory loss and honestly, he was not entirely keen on dealing with the repercussions of that. It wasn’t that Ezra did not want to see Hera, exactly… just not this Hera.

“Okay,” he said, trudging toward the ladder. “Call if you need anything.”

It was still all strange and new to him. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do, but he knew that he could not stay here. From what he remembered, he hadn’t been doing too hot when he’d fallen asleep, and part of him still believed this was an elaborate Force vision.

Somehow, the knowledge that Kanan was alive here did not make him want to stay. Quite the opposite, actually. If Kanan was alive, with the caveat that he was an Inquisitor, Ezra was terrified. He did not want to leave the man who had trained him, who had cared for him, who had loved him like a son, to be rotting in some Imperial hell, but also, Ezra was a little bit selfish, and the thought of facing a Kanan who was not Kanan…

Maybe it was just better if Ezra left quickly. After all, the Leia and Kanan of his world could not be saved. They were already dead.

And thinking about that, Ezra realized just how much of an asshole he would be if he didn’t at least try to help.

“Hi, Hera,” Ezra said, his mouth full of a ration bar as he plopped down in the co-pilot’s chair. Zeb was probably in their room, which meant that there was no buffer, which meant Ezra felt a little trapped.

“Ezra,” Hera greeted. She looked unbearably sad as her eyes drifted from the lines of hyperspace to his face. “Ahsoka told me your memory loss is because of the Force.”

And of course, she sounded skeptical. Because Hera wasn’t stupid.

“For right now,” he said gently, “it doesn’t matter why I don’t remember some things. It was the will of the Force, one way or another. What matters is…” He had to make a split second decision, and it hurt him immensely. “I’m going to help you get Kanan back, Hera. I’m gonna save him. Maybe I’ll save Leia, too.”

Hera blinked rapidly, and she barked a disbelieving laugh.

“You can’t save a monster, Ezra,” she said, reaching out and smoothing back wisps of his hair. “It’s very sweet of you, but that girl is beyond help.”

“Nobody is born bad!” Ezra gasped, finding himself leaning away from her touch and scowling. “What if Leia can be reasoned with?”

Not that she would listen to Ezra now, considering the things he had said to her.

“She’s the daughter of Darth Vader,” Hera said in her you-better-listen-to-me-because-I-know-better voice. “There is no way in nine Corellian hells that she can be reasoned with. She may not have been born evil, but evil made her. Why do you suddenly care so much? I know you’ve lost some memory, but you cannot pretend like you don’t remember what Vader has done.”

Well, yeah, Ezra had some ideas about Vader’s misdeeds, but he was pretty positive very few of them lined up with this world’s version of Vader. He was still wrapping his head around Anakin Skywalker, the man whose lessons had kept him going during a really rough patch in his life, was also the man who had sliced his first lightsaber to bits and mocked him before nearly murdering his former apprentice.

“I feel bad for her,” Ezra said quietly.

Hera sighed. She rubbed her forehead tiredly.

“Next,” she murmured, “you’re going to tell me you feel bad for Thrawn, or something.”

Ezra was very glad she was not paying attention to his face in that moment.

“We shouldn’t even have her,” Ezra sighed. “What are we going to do, just hand her over to High Command and let them deal with her?”

“That was the plan.” Hera arched an eyebrow at him. “You got a better one?”

It was his instincts, or maybe just the Force that had him looking up at her with widening eyes.

“It is too dangerous to let her know where the Rebel base is,” he said.

“She won’t know. How could she possibly know? She’ll be locked in a cell before she has time to register where she is.”

Something just did not sit right with him. As he shook his head, he felt a disturbance in the Force, and he turned his head to stare back beyond the cockpit.

“Hera,” he said quietly, “please trust me.”

To his relief, Hera’s face softened, and she gave a small nod.

“We’ll take the Phantom and rendezvous with someone who will hear your concerns,” she said gently. “Until then, we’ll keep her on the Ghost. I suppose if she’s a danger to anyone, it might as well be us.”

“No better place to keep a fledgling Sith than a ship with two fledgling Jedi onboard,” Ezra said, relieved that she was listening to him. “By the way, do you happen to know where I, um… left my lightsaber?”

Something in Hera’s eyes gave way, and she looked back toward the hyperlanes sharply. Then, she nodded, pushing herself from her seat and gesturing for Ezra to follow. He did so, eagerly, falling in line behind her and finding himself a bit overwhelmed by how small she seemed beside him. He did not remember her being short.

When they came to Kanan’s room, Ezra thought he might be sick, but he put on a brave face, as Hera did, and they both stood there a moment staring at the dim interior.

“I miss him,” Ezra said, finally. The inescapable hollowness of it all, the grief that had rubbed away at parts of his heart, leaving him worn and patchy in places, it was all encompassing here. He was utterly consumed by it. Nothing was going to make it better.

Hera pressed her lips together, closed her eyes, and nodded. Then she walked into the room and moved to a small, familiar compartment. Lifting it up, Ezra saw with a constricting throat that Kanan’s lightsaber and his own remained untouched beside one another. He reached for Kanan’s first, holding it in his palm and weighing it against how he remembered it feeling when he had first picked it up a decade ago.

It felt lighter now.

Clipping it to his belt, much to Hera’s alarm, Ezra then reached for his own lightsaber, nearly laughing at the old design. It was the blaster-lightsaber combo he had created at age fifteen, utterly convinced that if he had to fight in close combat forever he would be dead before his sixteenth birthday. It seemed that without Vader’s intervention, Ezra never would have had the courage to ditch the design.

It worked, though, because the blaster did provide a bit of an edge in battle. Nobody expected a blaster to be a sword or vice-versa.

“This is so bulky,” he gasped, turning his lightsaber over with a short laugh. “What was I thinking when I made this thing?”

“I think you were thinking that you wanted to stay alive,” Hera said amusedly. She moved to replace the door of the compartment.

“Wait,” Ezra said. He stared down at the last artifact in the compartment, and he realized something very important. “Oh. I have an idea.”

It wasn’t a very good idea, but it was better than nothing. Hera eyed him uncertainly, and then eyed the object in his hand.

“I don’t like where this is going,” she said, frowning a bit.

“You,” he said, “don’t have to. She’s still in a cage, it’s not like this will do anything.”

Standing in Kanan’s old room did not make him feel great. He’d hardly gone in here after Kanan had died, feeling that the residual presence of him was just too much to bear. And then Ezra had been gone, lost to Wild Space, and now… what? It wasn’t like Ezra could not have gone home at any point. Thrawn had made it very clear that he did not care whether Ezra stayed or went. It was Ezra who was dragging his heels.

Now Ezra was standing in the Ghost, and he hated it. He hated all of it. He did not like this world, and he wanted to go home.

Taking a deep breath, trying to shield himself from the world around him, Ezra shook his head and left Hera standing there. She was a stranger to him, wasn’t she? Did it really matter, anyway?

Of course it did. Ezra felt guilt and shame upon walking through the Ghost, and when he stopped and waited for Hera to catch up, he was disappointed when she didn’t. Making his way to the cargo hold, he jumped down from the ladder, giving Ahsoka a little wave as she stared at him from her place by the crates.

Leia did not stir as he approached. She seemed deep in meditation, which Ezra thought might end up badly for them, maybe.

Ahsoka’s eyes trailed from his hand to the lightsabers on his belt, and she shook her head.

“Whatever you think that’s going to do,” she said, “it’s not going to work.”

“How do you know?”

The look Ahsoka shot him was a warning. Clearly she wanted to speak to him about the fact that she knew this world better than he did, but that only made Ezra frown and grip the Jedi holocron a bit tighter.

He knelt before Leia, placing the holocron between them, and he took a deep breath before closing his eyes. Meditation had never been his strong suit. He’d always felt a bit too impatient to fully appreciate it. Kanan and Ahsoka had helped with that, when they had both been around, and when Ezra looked back he probably had their combined tutelage to thank for his ability to meditate now.

Sitting there, he felt the Force whirling around him— the odd energy that emanated from Leia, both repressed and utterly wild, and Ahsoka’s gentle breeze beside him. She had also gone to her knees and begun to meditate.

He did not know how long he sat there, but he felt Leia stir, and her untamed presence in the Force— smoke and flame left unchecked, razing tall grass anxiously, knowing the rains would come any moment to quiet it— vanished. Ezra cracked an eye open, surprised by the strength of her shields, and he blinked when he saw that she was scowling at him.

“Hi,” he said.

“What,” she hissed, “do you want?”

The animosity was venomous. She would have killed him in that instant if she could have, but that did not bother Ezra. After all, he’d had many civil conversations with people who had every intention of killing him, and for the most part he’d ended up unscathed. He understood that he had dealt with Leia all wrong earlier. He had gone into the conversation with the expectation that Leia would try to hurt him.

But Leia was just like a wounded animal. She was scared, so she lashed out.

Perhaps they were the same.

“All I want,” Ezra said, “is to apologize.”

Ahsoka, who sat between them, parallel to the holocron, made a face that was a little rude, but Ezra could ignore it.

What he couldn’t ignore was the way Leia laughed in his face.

“Really?” she gasped, her odd yellow eyes flickering from his face to the holocron between them. “And what’s this? A peace offering? You’re so juvenile.”

“Maybe,” Ezra said, his smile tight. “But I shouldn’t have said those things to you. So, I’m sorry.”

Before she could respond, Ezra waved his hand, and the corners of the holocron turned and dispersed. That made her shut her mouth, a glimmer of wonder in her eyes as she leaned forward and watched the bluish, flickering form of Anakin Skywalker appear with a bright smile and a sheepish wave.

It seemed this Ezra Bridger really was fortunate enough to have never met Maul.

“I know I promised to teach you all in person,” he said, offering a slight shrug, “but the war effort is wearing me a little thin lately. So let’s learn about Form IV, little ones!”

There was something about Leia’s face in this moment that convinced Ezra that this was worth it. In the light of the dim blue holocron, the yellow tint in her eyes seem to fade into something softer, and she stared at the image of her father as he happily talked them all through the stages of Form IV. It was clear that she was enrapt, enchanted, and engrossed in the recording.

Beside him, Ahsoka sat very straight, her eyes on Leia.

When it was done, Anakin beamed at them. Then, if possible, his eyes lit up even more.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin gasped. Both Leia and Ahsoka reacted this, Leia’s head shaking furiously, like she was being awoken from a dream. Ahsoka merely flinched. “Come here!”

The thing was, Ezra had seen this recording a hundred times. He’d memorized it. He could mimic Anakin Skywalker’s voice and cadence and posture. Nothing about this surprised him. But he’d always turned it off after Obi-Wan showed up.

“Here’s a treat, younglings,” Anakin said, mischief gleaming in his eyes while he dragged a very tired looking Obi-Wan Kenobi into view. He was younger than the man Ezra had met on Tatooine, and somehow even with the exhaustion lining his features, he looked younger than the man who had sent out the distress message at the end of the war too. He smiled, leaning into Anakin’s firm hold on him, and inclined his head respectfully. “Master Kenobi is gonna teach all of you some super cool Form III techniques!”

At that, Obi-Wan’s serene expression slid away into distress.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said exasperatedly. It rolled off his tongue like a ritualistic plea. “Really? We haven’t the time to—”

“No time for the younglings?” Anakin pouted down at his master, and then grinned when Obi-Wan shrank a bit, glancing at the holorecorder with a frown. “Master, honestly! And you call me rude!”

But it was all said in jest. It was a playful back and forth, a comfortable teasing. Obi-Wan was smiling now, shaking his head as Anakin gently shook his shoulder.

“No need to strong-arm me, Anakin,” he said, patting Anakin’s hand gently. “I am properly humbled. Of course I will provide some instruction to our favored youths.”

“And of course,” Anakin laughed, “you make it sound so boring!”

Anakin stepped back, out of the frame of the holo, so Obi-Wan had room to demonstrate his techniques. Ezra, who had learned Form III from Kanan, who had learned mostly from his own master, Depa, and from this holocron, had already known the tricks Obi-Wan had demonstrated here.

But it appeared to him that Leia did not, because her eyes watched hungrily as Obi-Wan talked her through a series of complicated blocks, explaining in detail the origin of each movement, citing the mynock’s wings as the inspiration for the form. Then, when the blocks were done, he twirled his lightsaber in one hand.

“Do we have time for more instruction?” he asked absently. It surprised Ezra. He sounded like he had been enjoying himself.

Anakin’s voice floated from beyond the holo. “We’ve got a meeting in ten, but I can lie for you if you want.”

Obi-Wan looked off in the distance with some consideration before he seemed to realize he was being recorded.

“No, no,” he said, extinguishing his lightsaber and bowing. “That is quite enough for now. Stay safe, younglings. May the Force be with you.”

The holocron blinked out. The three of them sat in relative silence, Ahsoka sinking into herself, building up her shields so neither Leia nor Ezra could feel her sadness. But Ezra knew better.

Leia drew her hand over her mouth, concealing the frown she wore as she stared at the holocron.

“That was Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she said.

Ezra nodded. He closed the holocron before Obi-Wan’s message could begin playing, and he cradled it gently in his hands.

“That doesn’t make sense,” she said, blinking rapidly. “Kenobi hated my father. He tried to kill him!”

Ezra did not know how to respond to that, because he only really had Ahsoka’s stories of the duo’s exploits to go off. He heard her inhale very sharply.

“Perhaps,” she said gently, “it seemed that way to your father. But I knew both of them for a long time, and though they bickered sometimes, I never doubted for an instant that they loved each other.”

Leia shook her head. “Don’t lie,” she said darkly. “You… you took Kenobi’s side. Over my father’s. You betrayed him! That’s what happened, wasn’t it? Kenobi was jealous of my father’s power—”

“Believe what you want,” Ahsoka cut in furiously, “but do not accuse me of betraying Anakin. I was younger than you are now when the clones, my friends, tried to kill me. I wasn’t even a Jedi. I had nowhere to go, and I was alone in the galaxy because your father decided that the Jedi had to die. But he had loved the Jedi once. He had loved me and Obi-Wan once. So do not speak to me about betrayal, little one, because you know nothing of it.”

It was said so fiercely that Ezra expected Ahsoka to get up and walk away. She didn’t. She merely glared at Leia, daring her to refute her.

“Even my mother agrees that Kenobi tried to kill him!” Leia glared right back at Ahsoka. “You think I’m a fool, fine. That makes you the fool of fools. Obi-Wan Kenobi was a traitor, and so are you.”

Ahsoka was very quiet as she stared at Leia, their eyes meeting, and something passing between them that Ezra could not quite read. He wished for the intuitive gift that might help him parse it out, but that was not one of his talents.

“Your father was a Jedi, remember,” Ezra said, searching Leia’s face as she tore her gaze from Ahsoka and frowned at him. “He betrayed them first.”

“They betrayed the Republic first,” Leia argued.

“You’re spouting Imperial rhetoric that makes no sense,” Ezra gasped, trying to remember what his parents had said about the nonsensical transition from Republic to Empire. “If you care so much about the Republic, why do you serve the Empire?”

“The Empire exists because of the Republic’s flaws,” Leia said mechanically. “There is no other way—”

“The Republic and the Jedi existed long before Palpatine, so try again,” Ahsoka said coolly. “You know that this is all a sham. The Empire is creating chaos, not mending it.”

“You are the ones who cause all the problems,” Leia argued, though Ezra could see her conviction faltering. Because Leia, he knew, was very smart. Logic was her greatest ally. And she was thinking about this logically. 

“The Rebellion wouldn’t need to exist if there was justice in the galaxy, but there isn’t,” Ezra said tiredly.

“People who hurt others in the name of a government that no longer exists are not exacting justice,” Leia said. There was something vacant about the way she spoke now, like she was choosing her words carefully.

“But hurting others in the name of the Emperor,” Ahsoka scoffed, “is perfectly fine? Don’t be a hypocrite, Leia. You’re smarter than that.”

Seeing that she had backed herself into a corner, Leia scowled. She did not look happy, but Ezra could see her brain working behind her eyes.

Leia shook her head. She sat there for a moment, frowning.

“You must be really desperate,” she said. “I’m not falling for this trick.”

“It’s not a trick,” Ezra said, pulling the holocron closer. “I just thought you might want to see a recording of your father when he wasn’t Darth Vader.”

“What do you know about my father?” Leia snapped. “Nothing. You think this matters? You think a little cube and a memory can sway me?”

“I think you’re not as comfortable with the Empire as you pretend you are,” Ezra said, completely bluffing, but satisfied with the strange flutter of rage and confusion that flashed in Leia’s face. Maybe fear, too, but he had less of a read on what that might look like. He stared at her a moment before shrugging, pushing himself to his feet. “We have nothing to gain by being mean to each other.”

Leia scoffed, but said nothing. He met Ahsoka’s eye, and he smiled while she sat there, her brow furrowing, and he took the holocron with him as he made his way up the ladder.

They came out of hyperspace before he made it to the cockpit. He heard Hera swear very loudly, and he rushed in hurriedly, listening to Chopper’s disgruntled shouts as he spun in a circle, waving his little arms around irritably.

“Oh,” Ezra gasped, stumbling up to the pilot’s seat and gripping the back of Hera’s chair. “Shit!”

They had jumped from one Star Destroyer to two Star Destroyers. And, much to Ezra's absolute horror, he could see the familiar design of a twisting beast at the underside of one of them.

Somehow, they had jumped right below the Chimaera.

Chapter Text

The desert yawned before him, familiar and beseeching. When he walked, the sand skittered beneath his feet, and he watched it move and shudder, alive in some way beneath him, as the earth itself seemed to speak to him and tell him to start running. So he did. He ran, his soft-soled boots sinking into dunes, tumbling forward with a gasp as he tripped and his hands and knees scraped the dust.

Then he began to sink.

He flailed, dragging himself up, but his feet were being sucked back down into the abyss. His fingernails clawed long trails down the dune, a shout stifled by a great wailing wind, and sand gathering in his throat and pouring from his lips.

The sinking of his legs grew faster, and he felt phantom fingers slide around his ankles. When he looked down, he lurched back in horror as a skeletal hand, charred bones and gnarled brown joints, clung to the hem of his tunic, pulling him down, pawing at him desperately.

Please, he wanted to say. But the sand would not let him. Please, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't save you!

His arms were snatched from the depths of what he imagined might be hell, and he grasped at the arms that saved him, kicking and stumbling into a young woman as they both went sliding down the dune with doubling shouts. The twin shrieks hung upon the air, caught in the haze.

Sitting in the blazing suns, her brown hair lit gold by the intense rays, was his sister. He found himself staring at her as she huffed, shaking the sand from her immaculately pressed and tailored black cloak. It was layered, made of a natural fabric, and tossed over her right shoulder primarily. It was clasped at her left with the shiny metal Imperial gear glinting at him madly.

He did not think he had it in himself to care at the moment. He flung his arms around Leia anyway, feeling her stiffen as he buried his face in her shoulder.

"Thank you," he gasped, clinging to her cloak. Even though he was not physically with her, he felt her, and it made him feel safe. "Thank you…"

She sat there a moment, arms open, not quite returning the hug but not shoving him off her either, and there was a brief point where Luke truly forgot his situation. He allowed himself to forget about the Imperial gear, forget that her black garb was too ostentatious and frivolously pricy, forget that her hair would never be so short or lackluster.

All Luke had wanted, all Luke had needed in that moment was his sister. And his sister had come.

Yet when she finally pulled back, she studied him coldly. Her stare was calculating. There was very little affection in those big brown eyes, and yet she still held onto him. Her fingers dug into his biceps too tightly.

"You've certainly chosen a grand time to be having one of your episodes," she said. Even her voice was different. Somehow, he expected this patronizing little jab to sound like her usual teasing, light and airy, mocking to nip and bite like a kitten desperate for attention. The way this woman spoke, she was a stranger poking holes into him with a needle and peering through each one with endless curiosity.

Luke blinked at her, and he thought this was torture. To have his sister right here, to hug her, yet she looked at him just the same as Vader did.

Like he was a burden. No, worse than a burden. An obstacle.

"Is that any way to talk to your brother?" Luke asked, his mouth dry. Not from the sand, not from the suns. Just from feeling overwhelmingly anxious.

With soft snort, Leia rolled her eyes. Her fingers slid from his arms, and he could not help the way his hands drifted toward her as she turned from him. She plucked herself from the sand, dusted herself off, and glanced around them with a frown. Her black clothing stuck out sorely in the endless expanse of pinkish, orangish landscape.

"Where are we?" she huffed, shaking out her cape.

It surprised him that she did not know. After all, Anakin Skywalker had raised them in the world she lived in. To think that he had not returned to Tatooine once…

Well, he was still Vader. Luke had to acknowledge that.

"Dunno," Luke decided to lie. It was easier that way. "Minds work in mysterious ways. What does yours look like?"

The odd look that crossed Leia face made him bite his tongue. Her eyes had slid down to him, sharp and probing, and he wondered if he should even know how to recognize the fabric of his own mind, the way he could build upon his own experiences in the Force to reinforce his shields.

Almost definitely not.

"If this is your mind," Leia said dryly, a hint of familiarity there as she eyed him, "I'm rather glad I don't have to live in it."

It was something of an insult, he knew, but also something… gentler than that. Something softer, more teasing. It must have been a test of some kind to. He could sense the pitfalls around her, the way she eyed him, baited him.

If there was anything he had learned, it was that very few people could outwit, outthink, or outstubborn Leia.

He had always left that trouble up to Han.

"I'm sure you live in a palace in your mind," Luke said, smiling at her. "Why don't you show me?"

At that, Leia's suspicion and curiosity faltered into concern. She glanced around them once more, at the stretch of desert, the endless turquoise sky, the white-hot trim of the horizon. Shaking her head, she dragged her hands over her eyes.

"This isn't safe, is it?" she asked him quietly. "You shouldn't be contacting me like this."

Again, Luke was hit with the low blow of being utterly disappointing. So his whole family believed that he was too weak to use the Force. Whatever was wrong with him seemed to inhibit his abilities. But Luke was holding onto the Force bond with his sister just fine.

Irritated, but naturally curious about this strange version of his sister, with cold eyes and an Imperial insignia proudly gleaming on her breast, he merely shrugged. Of course he knew how he would have reacted a few years ago, or even just before Bespin, with stark frustration and desperation to prove himself, but the fact of it was that Luke had nothing to prove here. The Luke Skywalker that existed here had everything, yet everyone seemed to treat him like he was nothing.

"Father asked me to," he said. He said it as casually as possible, his eyes flickering from her face so it seemed more authentic. Because if their family relationships were as strained as they seemed to be, Luke figured it would be an awkward thing to admit.

"Father?" Leia uttered, sounding properly shocked, and more than a little disbelieving. She stared down at him until he hesitantly brought himself to his feet. Then she just stared up at him, her eyes narrowing. "That's ridiculous. Why would he ask you to do something like this?"

Well, Luke was not about to admit that he had actually insisted.

"Maybe he just loves you," Luke said with a bright smile that he realized was just a bit too tight, and made Leia look at him with even more scrutiny. "Does it matter, Leia? We're going to rescue you."

Or, rather, Luke was going to rescue her. Alone. Against all odds. It felt very nostalgic.

"Is that what this is about?" Leia sighed, smoothing back the fly-away hairs behind her ears and shaking her head. "Luke, Father is overreacting. I do not need to be rescued at the moment."

"No?" Luke found that suspect, but he smirked at her anyway. "You think you can face the Rebels all by yourself?"

"I think I can probably get information we need," Leia said, poised and authoritative as ever. It made him feel small. "If I am the Rebels' captive, they might loosen up around me. Say something they shouldn't. And I believe they'll bring me to their base, which is a win we desperately need. I can break myself out when I feel I've gathered significant intel."

Sounded like a Leia plan alright. He wondered how she was acting around the Rebels to get them to loosen up. If this woman was anything like his own sister, then he imagined she was not being a very good prisoner, and she was making a fuss about being captured to throw the Rebels off the fact that she was perfectly content with being a prisoner if it meant getting information.

"They might not bring you to their base," Luke said, trying to remember what they'd done with political prisoners in the Rebellion. They rarely were brought before a tribunal, and instead were often tossed into a Rebel-operated prison. It was possible that without Leia's influence in the Rebel Alliance, Sunspot was still operational. He suspected Leia would be sent there, but there was also a chance that her rank and visibility within the Empire would prompt some rules to be broken. Leia might be taken to a Rebel base before transported to either Sunspot Prison, or something similar to it.

"I'll take that chance," Leia said casually. "Besides, it's not like they'll kill me. Father's old apprentice is with them."

Luke had been nodding along, in agreement that the Rebels rarely executed prisoners of war, until he processed her last sentence. He squinted through the haze of Tatooine sunlight, finding himself unsure of what sort of act to put on at the idea of his father having an apprentice.

"Oh," he said, hoping he had covered up his confusion fast enough. By the steadiness of Leia's cold gaze, he had not. "Are they?"

Luckily, Leia merely shook her head. "I suppose he's never spoken much about her with you, has he?" She looked at him, and he wanted to walk away from her in that instant because of how pitying that look was. It bordered on condescending. "Don't worry too much about it, it's really not something you need to know. But this woman will not kill me. I can tell."

"Well as long as you can tell," Luke muttered, scowling. "If the Force is telling you that she is trustworthy, why not trust her?"

There was a brief moment where Leia's expression betrayed her shock. Then, she locked herself down, walled herself up, and withdrew herself from him fully. And now Leia's eyes were absolutely scathing.

"I did not say that," she said, taking a step back from him to glower. There was something off about her. The way she stood, the way she glared. Perhaps it was just because of how off this version of Leia seemed to be in totality. Like his sister was wearing a mask of herself. It was uncanny. "The apprentice is dangerous. She is still aligning herself with the Jedi, even after everything they did to her. It's honestly quite sad, the way she's been brainwashed."

Luke just bit his tongue and forced himself to nod, ignoring the urge to laugh in her face and say: Ironic, don't you think?

When he did not reply, Leia just sighed.

"Really," she pressed him, "I'm fine. Tell Father I said that I am fine. I don't need anyone to come save me."

"Yet," Luke said cheekily.

And that made her glare at him again. The look was familiar, but not one he received often. Anymore. Usually that look was reserved for Han.

"If I truly need help," she said, "I'll find a way to let Father know. Now stop straining yourself! We are not children anymore, you know. Stepping into each other's minds is just an unnecessary risk."

"It's not," he insisted.

Her jaw jumped. She glared at him, and he felt how utterly far away she was. Not just physically, but emotionally. Leia did not want Luke's affection. He did not have a place beside her here.

"Go home, Luke," she said. Even her voice was distant. "I am not going to encourage your foolishness."

And just like that, she was gone. A strange flutter, a mirage, a wave of heat radiating off the sand, and he was alone.

He stood there, in the wastes of his childhood, his home creeping at his back, until he turned slowly and found himself staring at the domed white clay house he had grown in and the charred skeletal remains that rested there in the entrance, reaching out for him.

"Please," Luke whispered, his eyes squeezing shut. "Please, I'm— I'm sorry, just leave me alone."

There was a chance that without him, his aunt and uncle might be alive in this world.

The thought made him feel so sad he felt sick. What if he was the reason for all of their hardships? What if they were not only alive, but so much happier without him? Maybe they had their own child. One who never wished for anything more than the bright suns and the endless sands. One who was grateful and content.

Luke awoke to a feeling unlike anything he'd ever felt before. It was a sinking feeling, a bit like how he felt when he was flying and avoiding laser fire. It was like when he knew Vader was approaching. Danger, it seemed, had a way of making itself known. But this was a different kind of danger than guns or dark lords. It was digging itself into his muscles, causing him to tense up as he drew himself upright, cautious and unsure. He felt around his bunk, reaching out with the Force, but there was no one else in the room. There was nothing about his environment in the immediate vicinity or outside it that screamed danger to him.

Kicking back his blanket, he tried to assess what it was exactly that made him feel so strange. The feeling was sinking, yes, like a pearl made of pure gold had been forced down his throat and now it sank through his esophagus and into the pit of his stomach. It seemed to him like it might break down. It might just explode and leave gold shrapnel to puncture his insides.

He turned the light on, inhaling deeply, exhaling, feeling a bit dazed as he sat there and tried to think on his dream. It had not been his intention to connect with Leia, but it worked in his favor. Leia had not revealed much about her location except that apparently their father's former apprentice, a Jedi rebel, was with her. That in itself seemed wildly inconceivable, as no such person existed in his world.

Luckily, he could provide his father with the information Leia had given him and be utterly open and honest about contacting her. Once he knew where she was, he would go find her.

He stood up, reaching for his datapad and holding it in his hands. He found himself staring at it for a bit too long, realizing he was having difficulty focusing in on it. Thinking it could be the light, he squinted a bit, but that did not help, so he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm, hoping to cast the sleepy scales from his vision.

This did not help either. The screen was still a vague sort of glowing square in his hand.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, the brightness contributing to a headache he now realized he must have awoken with, he moved back toward the bed.

All at once, an acute fear hit him. His heart began to race, and he felt… he did not know how he felt. A bit of panic rose in him, flooding his senses, and he stood frozen trying to sort out just why he felt this way, like he was stuck in this position, all his thoughts enormous and jumbling, a chaos of a crowd trying to speak all at once and cramming itself into a small corner while knocking viciously at the front of his skull, begging to be let out.

He had dropped the datapad, and was only vaguely aware of it as he stood locked in this position, his hand that had held the datapad still gripping the air. He blinked rapidly.

When he tried to speak, to shout, nothing about his jaw seemed to imply that it was hinged, let alone capable of speech.

When he tried to move, he found himself growing tenser and tenser.

When he blinked, he realized he was too lightheaded to really think.

Father, he called into the Force, desperate and confused.

And then, very suddenly, Luke knew nothing. He knew nothing, and it was overwhelming. Like a light had gone out. Certainly that could have happened. If he could think, he would be convinced of it, but rather than form coherent thoughts, he waded in the dark and existed and did not exist simultaneously.

The next thing Luke knew, he was startled awake by some shivering sort of force, dragged to the surface and broken through with a strange horror sinking into his bones. Everything ached. Everything. The soreness started from his head, which was truly about to roll off his shoulders from heaviness, to his toes, which were curled and tense against the cold durasteel floor.

He was on his side, he realized, and he found himself struggling to turn onto his back. A hand gingerly slid beneath his head and propped him up gently. He realized he was being cradled against someone's knee.

As his vision cleared, he saw the face of a man hovering over him.

"Who…?" Luke struggled to form a coherent thought, let alone a word, let alone a sentence. Blinking rapidly, he thought about struggling to his feet and running, but that would not work. And something told him that no matter how strange he felt, no matter how awful, he was safe.

A warm hand pressed to Luke's cheek. Then it swept through his hair, smoothing it from his eyes.

"It's alright," the man said. His voice was foreign too. Yet when he spoke again, Luke began to suspect he must have heard it once. Somewhere. "It's just me. It's just me."

Luke stared at the man blankly. Well that was no help at all.

"But," Luke struggled to say, "who… are you?"

There was a flash of something in the man's face. His eyes squeezed closed, and he shook his head. Then, very carefully, he picked Luke up off the floor as though he weighed nothing, and brought him over to a bunk. Was Luke on a ship? Was this man with the Rebellion?

No. That was not right. His memory was slowly trickling back to him. Something was wrong here. He could not mention the Rebellion. He had to be very cautious.

"Don't worry about it," the man said, a small, tight smile on his face. It made him look… young. Luke studied him, the sharpness of his features, the cleft in his chin, the shape of his eyes. The color of them. They were an achingly familiar blue.

"I know you," Luke uttered, the words pouring from his mouth like sand, and his hand drifted, hovered, and fell, "I know you… how do I know you…?"

The man hushed him, and the sound was soothing. He sat upon the edge of his bunk as Luke's fingers twitched.

"Don't strain yourself, little one," the man sighed. "Just… rest. You'll be better soon."

That only made him feel worse.

"What…" He could not quite form the sentence. The words were not the right shape for his tongue. He struggled, and struggled, and found himself hitting the side of the bunk in anger, or frustration, surprised at his own outburst and tears in his eyes.

"Stop," the man ordered, sounding suddenly too familiar. Luke froze. "If you hurt yourself you will need to be admitted to the medbay, and frankly that is just not an option. The crew is already curious about you, and the last thing we need is for this to…"

Sighing, the man lowered his head into his hands.

"What am I saying," he murmured, "what am I doing?"

Luke stared at him with wide, glassy eyes, trying to figure out if he was afraid of this stranger-maybe-friend or if the confusing feeling that was overpowering his loss was love, or forgiveness, or curiosity, or all of the above.

Turning to look down at Luke, the man offered a smile. It looked almost real.

"You'll forget this later," he said, reaching over Luke and wiping his chin with his sleeve. Luke realized, embarrassed, that it must have been drool. "Thankfully. Honestly, you can be such a handful. You didn't take both doses of your medicine today, did you? And Dormé expects me to believe you don't self-administer it normally. Only you could be so careless as to forget to take it."

Luke squinted at the man. He was having difficulty processing exactly what he was saying, but he did understand the word medicine, and none of this made sense to him. Maybe this man thought he was someone else?

But then, with a sudden welling of anxiety, he realized he knew something crucial.

This was not his world.

That fact made him sink into his bunk, his eyes darting to the ceiling fearfully.

Had he had a dream… about Leia? His sister had looked odd, now that he thought about it, and he did not like the way this was all unfolding. Bits of their conversation began to bob to the surface of his mind, the recollection of it all becoming more and more like a horrible nightmare.

"I should take you home," the man muttered. "This cannot continue. Not if you are having seizures again."

"Seizures…?" Luke managed to repeat, struggling to sit up.

"Lie down," the man snapped. It was terrifying. Luke was very still as he stared at him, until he collapsed onto his back due to the inability of his aching muscles to sustain his weight. "I am much too out of practice with your nonsense to be dealing with this. Perhaps Dormé's presence will not be such a nuisance after all."

The man pushed off Luke's bunk, and he stood there, a shadowy presence that chilled Luke with its familiarity.

"If this happens again," Darth Vader said, shooting Luke a cold stare, "call her instead of me."

His eyes, Luke saw with dawning horror, were now yellow.

When he turned sharply and marched toward the door, Luke bolted upright. The action was so painful he gasped, a shudder falling through him and making him nearly topple onto the floor again.

"Father," he croaked, finding himself unable to actually reach out for the man.

Vader turned to look back at him expectantly. When Luke was unable to form the question he wanted to ask, his father merely sighed and exited the room.

What is wrong with me?

Luke sat there, panic welling up inside him, because he really did not know.

The lapse in his memory made him worry that maybe he knew exactly why Vader was no longer in a suit— no, wait, Vader was dead, wasn't he?

Collapsing onto his back, Luke thought he might be ill.

He was asleep before the nausea could fully overwhelm him.

The woman in question was awake when he stormed into her cabin. Her long brown hair was loose over her right shoulder, and she was sliding what appeared to him to be a mother of pearl comb through it. Its various colors were muted by the ship's artificial light, but Dormé's wide brown eyes were as bright and quick as ever, too similar to Padmé's to be good for her. Vader's hand flexed instinctively.

"You know," Dormé said, utterly nonplussed by his sudden entrance into her personal space, "some people would consider entering a woman's quarters at oh-five-hundred hours very rude."

When he did not immediately reply, Dormé simply sighed and returned to her combing. She was sitting upon her bunk in a pale pink dressing gown, simple and light. A pair of space appropriate trousers and a plain blue blouse were folded at her side, and Vader imagined it was for the upcoming day.

"Do not act coy," he said sharply. She was, unfortunately, too used to hearing him yell. So this little bit of brusqueness did nothing to her. She barely glanced at him. This would not do at all. He strode up to her towering over her until she lurched back in alarm. "I know you are not needed here. You should have stayed with Padmé, handmaiden. Safety in numbers."

After the initial shock of his proximity seemed to fade, Dormé settled down, and she straightened up to peer at him.

"Is that a threat, Lord Vader?" she challenged him.

Vader glared at her. He saw her lip twitch into a frown. She was scared, and he could feel it, but not an ounce of that fear bled into her features. Damn Padmé. Damn Naboo worse for training these women. Nothing could break them.

Well, almost nothing.

"You understand," Vader said, "that if you do not prove yourself useful, I will dispose of you, do you not?"

"You have always made your resourcefulness abundantly clear, my lord."

Vader thought this one might be a bit smarter than the rest. At least smarter than Sabé. Her cheekiness was almost amusing next to Sabé's cold, probing gaze that always seemed to dare him to threaten her so she could slink off the Padmé's ear like a little snake and tell her that he was a vile, horrible man. There was a reason Dormé had taken up residence at Varykino while Sabé remained in Theed. Vader hardly had a reason to remain long in Naboo's capital city, and in recent years he and Sabé saw very little of each other.

Setting her comb aside, Dormé tossed her hair over her shoulder and rose to her feet. She was taller than Padmé, but they had a similar build and similar enough features that, if necessary, Dormé could still step in as a decoy at any given point. Age had not softened any of the handmaidens. Though Vader rarely saw the other women, he knew they lurked in the shadows of his home, probably conspiring at best and committing open treason at worst. He never trusted them.

Dormé, at the very least, seemed to care about Luke.

"I find your behavior to be off-putting, to put it bluntly, Lord Vader," she said, eyeing him with a frown. "If Padmé wishes for me to remain at Luke's side, I will do so, gladly. If that puts my life in danger in one way or another, then I accept that. Now." Her jaw clicked a bit as she closed her eyes, hiding a glare that he had managed to catch. She folded her hands behind her back. "What is it that you need from me?"

Vader scowled. Her voice was different, yes, lower and less melodic for whatever reason, but the thing about the handmaidens was that they all sounded like Padmé in some strange way. Even when they did not mean to.

"Luke has just had a seizure," Vader said, watching with some satisfaction as Dormé's eyes snapped open, horror striking her features like it had backhanded her. He relished in the sight of her looking utterly terrified. "Perhaps if you had taken more care in ensuring he is well— which I do not need to remind you is your job— then I am certain this would not have happened."

"Did you leave him alone?" Dormé whispered, looking past Vader toward the door. "Why did you come here rather than simply call me?"

She was already moving toward the door. Vader snatched her by the bicep, and she jerked to a stop, tensing up under his tight grip.

"From now on," he hissed at her, "you will answer to me. Not Padmé. Any change, even the slightest bit of odd behavior from Luke, will be reported to me first and foremost. I want you to give me exact times, exact dosages, how he reacts to the medication— I want all of that, and your personal assessments on his behavior."

Dormé's gaze flickered up to his face. There was that defiance again, clear as day, bright as a star.

"That is not a problem, Lord Vader," she said, moving her arm in such a way that he knew she was waiting for the right moment to wrench it from his grasp, "yet I must wonder why it only took you twenty-four years to start caring about these things."

"I have always cared," Vader hissed, dread sinking into him and blooming fast into rage, because how dare she— how dare she imply—!

"You have had a rather strange way of showing it, I think," Dormé said, giving her arm a surprisingly hard tug. Her sleeve slipped through his fingers, and he stood there as she rushed out the door.

Standing there, Vader thought about how strange Luke had been acting the day before. How he seemed to have strange lapses, how he seemed constantly, utterly confused. Was his condition truly worsening? From what he could remember, it had only been very recent events that had prompted Padmé's personal physician to prescribe two doses a day. What those events had been eluded him. He and Leia had been dealing with the new Inquisitor at the time.

If Luke was getting worse, that meant they were running out of time.

Though, perhaps Padmé was already aware of that. That thought hit him very hard as he tried to understand how she could sit pretty with that knowledge rolling around in her head, perfectly content to watch their child waste away in a paradise.

It was utterly barbaric. How had he let this go on for so long?

One thing was certain, Vader knew. Padmé would not be Luke's prison warden any longer. It may hurt him— it would certainly hurt her— but Vader knew they would both thank him when he returned Luke home utterly healthy and with many years left ahead of him.

Before leaving Dormé's cabin, Vader rifled through the woman's things as carefully as he could before finding her datapad. He did not have the time to slice it, and whatever other communicative device Dormé had, it was either well hidden or currently on her person.

He was chimed not long later with the alert that they would be arriving to their destination soon, and were about to exit hyperspace.

Putting Dormé's things back where he found them as best he could, he exited her quarters and headed to the bridge.

After waking up from a disruptive, awful sleep, Luke remembered a few crucial things. One, he was definitely in some other world. Two, his father and mother were, somehow, alive, and so he and Leia were stuck with the Empire. Three, something was gravely wrong with this version of himself.

Four, he really needed to get out of here.

The woman who came to him to give him some sort of injection, Dormé, was not someone he immediately recognized, but as she held his shoulder firmly and helped him drink water, something he had sorely needed, he began to recall the strange haze of events of the previous day. His mother and this woman were friends.

"I'm sorry that he was the one who found you," Dormé was saying, setting the canteen aside while he fumbled to wipe his lips. He was still having trouble with moving his fingers, like his muscles and joints knew what to do, but were just a little too late. This would make fighting in any capacity tricky.

Was it a bit masochistic that Luke was eager to find out just how far he could push himself?

"It was fine," he said, his mind swimming with the strange vision of his unmasked father tenderly cradling him. He had difficulty remembering what the man had said, though. "It wasn't bad at all, really. He was… nice."

Until, Luke thought numbly, he wasn't.

Dormé snorted softly, and she took his chin between her light fingers and began tipping his head from side to side. He frowned, but he realized quickly that she was looking for something when she seemed satisfied and moved on to his hands.

"Looks like you've evaded death once again," Dormé said with a smile. "No scrapes, no cuts. A little bit of bruising on your right arm, but I think you must have fallen on it."

Luke tugged the sleeve of his right arm down self-consciously.

"You should stay in bed for today," she said, rising from his bunk and nodding. Something about her was warm and inviting. It reminded him of the woman from yesterday. His mother. "Yes, bedrest will do you some good, I think. I'll tell Lord Vader you cannot greet the Grand Admiral."

Having felt the shift in pressure between hyperspace travel and non-hyperspace travel, Luke moved eagerly to push his legs over the side of his bunk.

"No, no!" he gasped. "I want to be there. If it can help Leia—"

Dormé had caught him when he'd stumbled to his feet.

"You need to help yourself, Luke," she said sternly. "I know you are concerned about your sister, but honestly!"

"I'm fine," Luke said firmly, knowing it was not true but not really caring. "This happens… right? You know. The… the seizures, they happen."

That caused Dormé to frown at him. Not in a suspicious way, thankfully, just in a disbelieving way.

"Just because they happen," she said, "does not mean we should treat them lightly."

"Look!" Luke pulled himself back from her, and he wandered around the room, albeit a bit shakily. "I'm good! I can walk fine. Let me go with my father."

That earned him a deeper frown. Dormé was not pleased with his behavior, but he was a little desperate. There was nothing he could do to help anyone sitting in bed, and honestly if he was up and about meeting Imperials, at least he could get a grasp on what this world really was.

"You really should stay in bed," Dormé said tiredly.

"But you're not going to make me do that," Luke said, finding himself smiling at her as sweetly as he could, like he was trying to bait Leia into doing something insanely stupid, "right?"

It worked. Wonderfully, in fact. Dormé sighed, leaned her head back, and smiled a little.

"Don't make me regret this," she said.

"Thank you!"

He wondered if it would be appropriate to hug her, since he felt that his other self would be very much inclined to do so, but because he felt she was a stranger he held back.

"Get dressed," Dormé said, shaking her head. "I'll be going with you."

That surprised him a little bit, but he was not about to question anything if it seemed like it might be totally ordinary. Except maybe the fact that he regularly had seizures, and had to take some kind of special medication to fend them off. Whatever was wrong with him, he had to hope it was minor.

She left him to it, then, and he was struck again by how much he just did not understand his other self's sense of fashion. What were these capes? Who wore capes regularly, except Lando? And, he supposed, Vader. That thought made him less than enthusiastic about them.

Black trousers again, since they were unassuming and basic. He picked up a deep red satin shirt, studying it confusedly. How did he even get this thing on? Realizing he did not have the time to dawdle, Luke stripped out of his pajamas and found that the red shirt had pearl buttons at the side of the high collar that followed the line of his shoulder. It was very slippery material, and it felt uncomfortably like liquid on his skin.

The trousers were normal, at least.

Dormé returned not long after, having changed from her pale dressing gown to a deep navy ensemble. He saw the cuffs of her own trousers, some light embellishment there, but otherwise she looked very plain with her dark cloak fastened tight to her, and her hood cowling her face, shadowy and dim. Her hair was completely covered.

"You need a jacket," Dormé said, absently fixing his collar and then frowning at his hair. "What is going on with this? Put it in a bun at the very least."

"Oh." He tugged sheepishly at a loose strand. It was rather messy. "Okay. Sorry."

Patiently, Dormé offered him a small smile, and she spun him around. "I'll fix it," she said. He stood there while she nimbly parted his hair and braided it expertly into a swooping bun at the back of his head, pinning it in place with clips that appeared from seemingly nowhere.

"There," she said, "that'll do. Now, when Grand Admiral Thrawn addresses you, be polite, but distant. From what I remember, he has a way with just…" Her nose wrinkled. "Knowing things. It's best if his attention is focused on Vader."

"Okay."

Yeah, he had no idea what he was getting himself into, but hey! Maybe he'd get some answers. At the very least about what Leia had been up to before she had been captured.

Dormé turned toward the door. "I'll meet you on the bridge," she said. "Don't forget a jacket!"

Luke did not have any jackets. He did, however, have capelets.

He was very glad Han and Leia were not here to make fun of him as he fastened the dark fabric together.

Hurrying from his quarters and almost immediately getting lost, Luke found himself shrinking away from stormtroopers and Imperial officers, overwhelmed but the foreign feeling of being on a Star Destroyer and not needing to run for his life. Nobody seemed to think twice about his presence.

"Uh… Prince Luke?"

Luke whirled around. He'd gone a bit too fast, and nearly toppled over. The man before him was in all black, a black stormtrooper helmet with white Imperial gears on each side on his head, and he managed to catch Luke before he crashed into a nearby wall. They were similar heights, so Luke didn't have to crane his neck to look up at the trooper, and he managed a weak little laugh.

"Thank you," he said, backing away from the man with a tight smile. "Sorry about that."

The trooper tilted his head. Luke got a better look at his suit, and realized it looked a bit like a flight suit, which worried him.

"It's fine," the man said. The helmet made his voice tinny, but there was something very familiar about it. Luke stared at him anxiously. "Are you alright, though? You probably shouldn't be down here."

"Where is 'here,' exactly?" Luke asked with a little laugh. He tried to look sheepish and ditzy, like a prince might, but he realized quickly he did not need to pretend. There was no questioning that he was out of his depth.

The trooper, at the very least, seemed amused.

"Your Highness," he said, "this wing of the Executor leads to the TIE hangar. Where did you mean to be?"

There really was something about his voice, it was just… off. Luke was so busy focusing on it, he had not heard the question.

"Sorry, what?"

The trooper sighed and shook his head.

"Do you need me to escort you back to the bridge?" the man asked. The laughter in his voice made Luke freeze up, because he knew he knew that voice.

He swallowed the name that rose up in his throat like bile or vomit, and he nodded. When the trooper turned around, Luke studied his posture, his gait, everything about him really, but nothing matched up. It did not feel right at all. This man was all Imperial.

When they found themselves in a lift, Luke stood a bit stiffly, his eyes trailing to his companion with curiosity and anxiety all rolled together.

"So, um…" Luke fiddled with the hem of his capelet. His fingers were moving better. "You're a pilot?"

The man inclined his helmeted head. The way he moved, Luke thought he wanted to say something, but had probably decided against it.

"TIE fighter pilot," Luke said wistfully, "that's cool. That's cool."

The pilot looked at him, a short laugh stifled as he watched Luke amusedly.

"Really?" he asked. "The Imperial Prince thinks my job is cool?"

Something about his tone, through the tinny vocoder in the man's helmet, sold Luke on his theory. It made him a little ill. Under this man's stare, he flushed a bit, trying to smile but only feeling very small.

"Flying is cool," he explained quickly, his eyes flashing away from this man's helmet. His heart was in his stomach. "When I was small, I thought I might join the Imperial Navy, become a pilot…"

"You're the prince," the man pressed him. "I'm certain you could have— you probably wouldn't have even needed to apply. Maybe you still can."

Luke merely shook his head. His eyes flickered down to his fingers, which still twitched every so often. With whatever was wrong with him, it was no surprise that his family treated him the way they did. Like he was very fragile. Because, Luke was beginning to realize, he was a bit fragile. This was not the body he had grown up in.

"What Academy did you go to?" Luke asked curiously.

"Skystrike."

Luke smiled, and it was very tight. "I see," he said, turning his eyes forward and feeling the man beside him stiffen in reaction to Luke's sudden change in attitude. "That's incredible. Skystrike is pretty elite, huh?"

"I guess so."

"You must be an amazing pilot," Luke murmured.

There was a strange pause as the man peered at him. The lift shuddered open.

"Are you alright, Prince Luke?" Wedge Antilles asked him, tilting his head as he spoke, the familiarity strangling Luke as he took a deep breath.

"Fine," he said, blinking ahead of him and stepping off the lift. "It's just been a while since I was on a ship this big. Can you please direct me toward the bridge?"

"Of course."

Wedge Antilles had left the Empire a few years before Luke had arrived on Yavin, Luke knew. There was no way for Luke to know how his friend could have possibly stayed long enough to reach his station here, on Vader's Star Destroyer, and part of him hoped that Wedge was just here as a spy. But, given his own circumstances as prince of the Empire itself, Luke strongly doubted that possibility. It seemed like everything in this world was backwards.

If Wedge of all people had remained with the Empire, what did that mean for the Rebellion? Luke shuddered to think of the state of it, with pilots like himself and Wedge aligned with the Empire.

"Are you sure you're alright? Ah, I mean, Your Highness?"

Luke blinked up at Wedge, and he managed to smile. Genuinely.

"I'm okay," he said, massaging some feeling into his fingers and flexing them. He did not like how stiff they were. He needed to spar with someone. Preferably not Vader. "Please, call me Luke."

Wedge's steps faltered a bit, and his helmet tipped toward Luke in an inquisitive way. Laughing sheepishly, Luke rubbed his warm, flustered face.

"I mean," he gasped, his hand waving fast in Wedge's face, "if you want to, that is! I'm not really anything special, trust me."

At that, Wedge completely halted. He turned fully to stare at Luke, and it was frustrating that his face was not visible. Stupid Imperial helmets did nothing but dehumanize, Luke decided. He'd really never thought about it before, but it was probably a blessing the stormtroopers he had killed in the past had been faceless to him. Now he hated it.

"What?" Luke asked, forcing himself not to shrink, not to let his voice crack, not to do anything that might betray the truth of his upbringing. He was no prince. Right now, he was not even sure that he was a Jedi.

Wedge shook his head slowly. He turned away and started walking again.

"Sorry," he said as Luke quickly caught up to his hurried step. "It's just… you're really nothing like your sister."

Startled, Luke blinked at Wedge curiously. It was not the first time someone had told him that he and Leia were very different, but the circumstances intrigued him. He had some recollection of meeting Leia in a dream, and he remembered how utterly off she had felt to him. How unlike his sister she had felt.

This should not surprise him, but it did.

"You know my sister?" Luke asked weakly.

Wedge laughed a little. It was sharp in the echoing vocoder.

"Everyone here knows Her Imperial Highness," Wedge said. It sounded like an inside joke that Luke could not get. "She's really something else. I guess you'd know, though."

"Right…"

"You're much more…" Wedge seemed to toe the line here, Luke noticed, between honesty and loyalty. "Nice."

"Thank you?"

Wedge laughed. "It's a compliment!" he gasped. "Definitely. Will you be staying on the Executor, then?"

"Um…" Luke thought about his mother, and the way her face had been stricken with grief and horror as Vader had dragged him out of the dining room. "I'm not entirely sure. I guess that stuff is up to Va— my father."

Luke was still having trouble wrapping his head around the idea that the tall man with a handsome face was his father. He supposed he did align more with what Luke had imagined as a child, and he did look like the vision he'd had on Endor of Ben, Yoda, and the unknown man that Luke had not been able to speak to.

"Well, I hope you do," Wedge said.

Glancing at him in surprise, Wedge just laughed.

"A fresh face is always good," he said. "You seem like you've got a steady head on your shoulders, Prince Luke."

"Luke," Luke corrected quietly, "please."

"Sorry," Wedge said, "don't want to lose my head for a little slip up like that. But it was nice meeting you."

Luke realized they had reached a door, and that their conversation was effectively over. That hurt him more than it should have. Something inside Luke was aching. The understanding that he was not happy in this world where he had everything, and that he would do just about anything to hug this man and laugh with him, have a drink with him, go out and fight with him.

It was too much all of a sudden.

"Prince Luke?"

Blinking through the open door, Luke forced a smile onto his face and he pulled his arms behind him to resist the urge to clap Wedge on the back.

"Thank you," he said, slipping into the room and feeling the acute anxiety of walking into a pit of serpents. "You were a great help, W—" Luke tightened his smile, blinked rapidly, and whirled to face his old friend once more. "What was your name?"

Wedge stiffened a bit. "My callsign is TIE SS-2-5," he said, sounding a bit confused.

"I asked for your name," Luke said gently, "not your callsign."

A hand fell on his shoulder, light and inquisitive, and he did not need to look to know it was Dormé. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her assessing Wedge with some degree of distrust, which would have been appreciated if not for the fact that Luke knew this man very well.

"Um," Wedge said, clearly distracted by Dormé's presence, "it's, uh… Wedge. If it's alright with you, I should get back to my station."

"Okay," Luke said, smiling at him. "Yeah. See you around, then, Wedge?"

Wedge paused, half turning, and Luke wished he could see his face so he could understand what had made him pause this way. With a curt nod, Wedge disappeared back into the bowels of the ship, leaving Luke feeling unbearably alone.

Even with Dormé next to him, it was not the same. Luke would take the Imperial versions of his sister and friend over strangers any day.

"Are you alright?" Dormé murmured, her fingers tightening on his shoulder as he stared after Wedge. "You took a long time."

"Got lost," Luke mumbled, shrugging Dormé off. He eyed the Imperial officers as he stepped onto the bridge, noting how they all seemed both curious and distinctly closed off. The sea of faces, mostly middle-aged men with few exceptions, blurred together. "Father?"

His father was at the helm, speaking heatedly with an officer, and his eyes flashed coolly to Luke before he seemed to catch himself. Maybe Luke had reacted poorly to the look. He was not sure. Vader's face softened a bit, and he waved the officer off.

"Go, Veers," he said. "I will speak to the Grand Admiral personally to sort out this issue."

"Yes, sir," the man, Veers, said, his chilly gaze sliding to Luke suspiciously. Luke stood as poised as he could, hoping he gave off an air of tranquility, as he had when Vader had taken him to the second Death Star a few months earlier.

As Veers stalked away, Vader sighed, his shoulders sagging a bit. Then he turned his attention to Luke, his brow pinching a bit.

"You look better," he murmured, his voice so quiet that Luke suspected no one but he and Dormé would hear it. "Are you certain you are up for this?"

The genuine concern shocked Luke. This was not the Vader he knew, and that terrified him, because if this man had the capacity for love and kindness then how could he still be Vader? It seemed impossible.

It seemed to Luke that maybe Vader and Anakin were not so clear cut as he had once thought.

"I am," Luke said firmly. "We're here to find Leia, aren't we?"

At that, Vader grimaced. He glared out the viewport, his reflection ghostly in the window, and Luke stared out with him. There was another Star Destroyer there, enormous and concerning. A planet was beyond it, out of reach, a small, soft sphere of light in the stretch of space.

"Unfortunately, we've run into some issues on that front," Vader sighed. "Your sister might have to wait."

"Wait?" Luke echoed uncertainly. He wondered if he should bring up seeing her in his dream now. "Why?"

Vader pinched the bridge of his nose, and he scowled.

"We've got a different sort of rebel problem," he said, glaring at the Star Destroyer. "You might have a conflict of interest in this case, Luke. If you interrupt my interrogation, I am sending you straight back here, do you understand?"

Dread trickled through him as he nodded vacantly.

"Yes, Father."

Chapter Text

There was nothing particularly different about the Star Destroyer they boarded, which his father called the Chimaera, only the general atmosphere which felt just a little bit less stilted for some reason. The officers, Luke noted, were a bit more diverse. Essentially, there were more than just middle-aged men in the corridors as they passed. Not that it really mattered in the end.

"Do remember your manners," Vader muttered at Luke, straightening his dark robes as they approached the bridge.

"Only if you do, Father," Luke said cheekily, earning him a well-deserved glare.

Oh well. It was worth it.

They walked through the door, Vader marching forward first with all the authority and bravado that Luke was more than accustomed to, while Luke flanked him at a short distance. Dormé was forced to remain by the door, something he was warned about on the shuttle over.

"I'll be right there if you need me," she had reassured him. Luke had not missed the disdain that had crossed his father's face while Dormé took his hands gently in her own. "If anything happens, if you feel like you need to rest, just give me the signal and we will return to the Executor."

The bridge of the Chimaera, like all Star Destroyers, it seemed, was vast and open. Luke was not sure what to expect from all the chatter about the Grand Admiral who did not seem to exist in his own world, but it was not the tall alien man who turned at his father's approach, red eyes glowing eerily in the artificial light.

Luke was not sure he had ever seen a non-human in the Imperial ranks, so he did stare at the man quite a bit, trying to puzzle out what species he was, exactly. Perhaps Pantoran? He had never known a Pantoran to have red eyes, but it wasn't like Luke was an expert. Pantorans rarely came to Tatooine, and the Rebellion was hardly their style either, with a few exceptions.

"Lord Vader," the man said. His voice was accented, something Luke could not quite figure out. It was not like any accent he had ever heard before, something very soft in the way his consonants were rounded. Generally, the man's voice was just… utterly soft, like a strange, lulling whisper leading you into the den of krayt dragons. "How kind of you to join us."

It only became clear to Luke that he was staring when the man's red eyes slid to his, meeting his gaze with the intensity of a hungry predator. It frightened Luke, briefly, and he hoped the man did not notice.

"I see you brought a guest," Thrawn said. The way he spoke, Luke had to wonder if there was any sort of inflection that might betray what he was actually thinking or feeling. He spoke in a casual, crisp sort of way. Matter-of-factly.

"You remember my son, Luke," Vader said, waving at Luke without looking at him. It was only then that Luke noticed the only woman in the room not wearing an Imperial uniform. She was standing by the helm watching them. Watching Luke, to be more specific. Something about the way she held herself was familiar, but Luke had trouble with her face. It was round and pretty, but her eyes were hard and cold.

"I do, in fact," Thrawn said, and Luke found himself unable to stand still under the dual intensity of his red eyes and the woman's pale ones. It was hard to tell from this distance if they were blue or green. "You have grown quite a bit since we last saw one another, little prince."

The moniker surprised him, and he stood there with his mouth open for a moment before closing it and nodding quickly, knowing that it was no use asking any questions. It would just be suspicious. He just had to assume that this Luke had strange connections to strange Imperials, and call it a day.

Thrawn stared at him for longer than Luke felt comfortable with. The woman at the helm was also staring. It was wholly disturbing, but Luke had asked for this, hadn't he?

"He's still rather small, I think," his father said, not even looking at him.

"A trait he shares with his sister, then."

"That might be the only trait he shares with her," Vader muttered. Thrawn's eyes slid sharply from Luke to Vader, and they narrowed a bit as they watched Vader avoid his gaze. It was fascinating to watch, because though the man's expression had not changed, it was clear to Luke that Thrawn had caught something in Vader's tone that Luke had not, and he was judging him for it.

"Perhaps it would be prudent to discuss Princess Leia after we have dealt with the problem at hand," Thrawn said, bowing his head to Vader respectfully. It was a wonder to Luke how Vader did not catch the way this man was pointedly changing the subject for Luke's benefit.

"Right," Vader sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. He took a deep breath and spoke very quietly. "This is going to be ugly, isn't it?"

"Only if she is guilty."

Vader sneered at Thrawn, his lips pulling back from his teeth like he meant to snarl.

"You know she is," he hissed, lowering his head so it was difficult for even Luke, a foot or two away, to hear it. "The only problem is proving it."

"That is a problem," Thrawn said, not a word out of place, not an eyelash batted, "to be sure. Prince Luke, you are well acquainted with the Princess of Alderaan, are you not?"

He stood there, utterly shocked, as Thrawn's eyes were once more boring into his skull like laser-fire. The starlight outside, the sickly artificial light of the bridge, it was conflicting, and it only contributed to his headache. The words Princess of Alderaan rattled in his head, and the longer he took to respond, the more Thrawn's eyes seemed to lock in on his face, reading his uncertainties. Vader glanced at him.

"Luke," he said gruffly. "Answer him."

"Um," Luke said faintly, his eyes darting to the woman at the helm, "yes?"

Thrawn's eyes remained trained on him for just a moment too long, just enough time for Luke to feel like he suspected something, before he turned away. The woman at the helm was standing stiffly, her gaze fixed upon Thrawn as he strolled across the bridge to the viewport, his hands folding placidly behind his back as he gazed upon the faintly twinkling planet outside. She was dressed, Luke supposed, as Leia might have been dressed in this situation. A long white dress, straight and shapeless, cinched by a silver belt that appeared to Luke to be an odd mixture of chain-links and jewels. Her sleeves were long and fitted, and trails of white silk framed her shoulders, fluttering down to her knees, and clipped to her dress with the same chain-and-jewel embellishing as her belt. Around her neck was what appeared to be a detached piece of pale blue fabric, the same color as the functional, space appropriate leggings visible beneath sizable slits in her skirt.

Her hair was done in a way Luke now recognized, as Leia had often thrown her hair into this thick, twisting braided bun. He had not thought about it, but it made sense that it would be Alderaanian.

The woman pursed her lips when Thrawn merely stood there, staring out the viewport.

"I am not sure what you think Prince Luke's presence will accomplish, Grand Admiral," the Princess of Alderaan said, her voice surprising Luke. She had a higher voice than Leia, very sweet to hear, yet with a frightening bite beneath that saccharine surface. The thing that really confused him, though, was her accent. Leia had a problem with falling into a strangely inflected core accent from her time in the senate, usually when she was saying something incredibly backhanded, but there was no mistaking her natural voice was very non-descript. Alderaan was a core world, but their accents drifted more toward Middle-Rim.

This woman had a startlingly crisp core accent. If Luke did not know any better, he would suspect that she was the one in charge, and Thrawn, with his clearly foreign face and voice, was the suspicious one.

"Do you not appreciate the company of a friend, Princess?" Thrawn asked her, sounding curious.

The princess frowned. Her eyes flickered, briefly, to Luke. Then she looked back at Thrawn with a small shrug.

"Luke and I have not spoken in a long while," she said levelly. "It is difficult to make it to Naboo these days. What is it you really want? I told you already, I am on a relief—"

"Yes, yes," Thrawn cut in, not really looking at her. "Your relief efforts are widely reported and acclaimed. Well done, Princess."

The woman scowled at that, bristling in a way that was distinctly ready to go on the offensive at any second. Perhaps she and Leia would have gotten along.

"Thank you," she said, her smile tight, "but my work is praise enough."

"Can you please give me a precise approximation of the goods you planned to share with the Lah'mu?"

Luke watched the way the princess seemed to adjust to his interrogative style, retreating from offensive to defensive with her posture, with her eyes. Her jaw was tight. She stared at Thrawn's profile while he gazed at the distant planet. It was too far to make out its colors, but it was bright in the dark.

"Approximately three months-worth of rations for three-quarters of the population," the princess said mechanically, like she had rehearsed this, "several dozen crates of saplings and seeds, and nutrients for the soil that has been ravaged by Imperial growth accelerants."

Beside Luke, Vader scoffed, but Thrawn's head tipped toward the woman curiously.

"Imperial growth accelerants?" he echoed. "I did not realize Lah'mu was an Imperial agricultural colony."

"It's not supposed to be," the princess said, her voice quiet. "The people of Lah'mu live very humble lives. It is sparsely populated, even more so in recent years as the Empire has occupied land and injected chemicals into the earth that reduce portions of the farmland to uninhabitable wasteland. My father and I have been trying to give aid to Lah'mu for years, but there has always been so much red tape, due to its…" Her eyes trailed to the dot in the sky. "Location."

"You cannot blame the Empire for taking up a small portion of a planet that, as you said, Princess, is sparsely populated," Vader said harshly. Luke looked up at him in surprise, noting how defensive he seemed to be. It was not entirely unlike the Vader he knew, but he supposed the mask and vocoder had helped to mask how impudent his father was. There was no reason for him to snap at the princess like this.

The princess did not balk, nor did she rise to the bait. Her expression was calm and clear as she turned to address Vader.

"The Empire had no permit to farm on Lah'mu," she said in such a sure tone, that Luke knew she had been anticipating this fight. She had prepared for this. "I am not sure what happened, but several years ago Imperial ships appeared without going through the proper channels or informing the population of their intentions. Many local farmers were put to work."

"Lah'mu is a large planet, is it not?" Thrawn cut in, much more delicately than Vader. "I understand the environmental concerns you have, but you also must concede that the planet is large enough that there was no need for the planet to devolve to such violence."

"Are you about to lecture me on the ethics of violence, Grand Admiral?" the princess asked with such sharp cheekiness that it was like a slap.

Thrawn was silent a moment, and Vader shook his head. Luke heard him mutter, "We don't have time for this."

The bridge officers were all watching this exchange with equal curiosity. Luke noted a man at the edge of the bridge, watching the exchange with a pinched expression, like he wanted to object. It seemed as though he felt Luke's stare, because his eyes flashed to Luke, and there was something there in his gaze that prompted Luke to step forward, rounding his father and hoping he could fake his way through this discussion.

"What exactly is the problem here?" he asked, looking directly at Thrawn. "If the princess is bringing supplies to the farmers, who clearly have been victimized here, then why are you interrogating her?"

The officer Luke had been watching relaxed a bit, while the princess merely stiffened. Maybe it was the wrong thing to say, but Luke had never been good with politics. Being blunt and focused on what was really going on rather than talking in circles around the issue was for the best.

Thrawn's attention was drawn from the princess to Luke in a moment, and the acute understanding of how baring his gaze was made Luke want to hide behind Vader's cape again. The fact of it was, this Princess of Alderaan may not be Leia, but she must have served the same cause as her. On the rare occasion that Leia felt like speaking about her parents, she always praised their cause, the way they never gave up hope after the Republic fell. He imagined this princess felt similarly.

"The problem," Thrawn said, "is the rebels."

The princess bristled, her shoulders stiffening, and she shook her head fiercely. There was something about her that was rougher and more callous than Leia, innately, and it surprised Luke when she spoke.

"I've told you," she said sharply, "more than once, I have nothing to do with the rebels on Lah'mu!"

Though Thrawn's red eyes had been fixed upon Luke, his body was turned to the princess. Finally, he tore his gaze from Luke and glanced at her.

"No?" Thrawn nodded once. "I see. Commodore Vanto?"

The officer who had gotten Luke's attention stepped forward, and something in Luke sunk a bit at the word Commodore. It meant that this man was very high up the chain of command here, and perhaps Luke should not be sympathizing with him.

"Sir?" Vanto asked, his gaze fixed on Thrawn. There was something pinched about his face, and Luke wondered if he was once again trying to speak without a word. If Thrawn noticed, he ignored it.

"Please bring in our…" Thrawn's eyes flitted over the princess's face. "Guest."

Luke could see a muscle in the man's jaw jump as he watched Thrawn, inexplicably hesitant and somehow reading as disapproving as his dark eyes moved from Thrawn to the stony face of the Princess of Alderaan.

"Yes, sir," he said, his eyes dragging back to Thrawn's face. Luke thought there was an accusation in that "sir," but not one that he could fully parse out the meaning of.

Vanto crossed the walkway in a few long strides, brushing past Luke and Vader with his head high. Luke turned to watch him go, and he jumped when Vader's hand dropped upon his head and physically turned his face back to the viewport.

"Vanto is settling into his new position well," Vader remarked, pointedly ignoring the tension in the room. Thrawn blinked. Maybe he was confused, or caught off guard, for some reason? Luke was trying very hard to catch everything he could, theorizing his brain out of his skull so maybe he might feel somewhat adjusted to this world.

"He has been commodore of the Chimaera for well over a year now," Thrawn said very cautiously.

"A year?" Vader sounded surprised. "Already? Interesting. And your old commodore, what was her name…?"

"Faro," Thrawn said with the patience of a stone, "was assigned her own command, and now presides over the Lothal sector."

"Your replacement," Vader remarked, sounding mildly amused. "Did that never anger you?"

Thrawn's eyes narrowed a bit, and Luke had to wonder if his father realized he was plodding arrogantly into dangerous territory.

"Vice Admiral Faro is a talented strategist," Thrawn said, "who worked alongside me in the Lothal sector. I applaud her success."

Luke felt the unbelievable need to laugh at Vader's expense, so he turned his head aside, and covered his mouth with his fist, stifling the snicker. Whatever Vader was fishing for, Thrawn had happily stolen the bait and burrowed back into the safety of the sand almost mockingly.

When Luke looked up at his father again, he noted that he did not look pleased. An awkward silence followed, and no one seemed willing to fill it. Not his irritated father, not the stone-faced Grand Admiral, and certainly not the sour princess.

"So, um," Luke piped up, utterly without shame, "what's happening with the rebels on Lah'mu?"

Everyone, and that meant really everyone, on the bridge turned their eyes to Luke. He managed to keep a steady smile. He wondered if Dormé was cursing him right now.

"Do you not know?" the princess asked, sounding incredulous. Her accent made it feel like she was mocking Luke, and he felt a bit warm as she laughed. "Ever since the Empire showed up there have been skirmishes on the surface of the planet. Retaliation, I suppose."

"Terrorism," Vader corrected her sharply.

Thrawn was silent, glancing between the two of them as they glared at one another. Then he turned his attention to Luke.

"The rebels have mounted coordinated attacks on Dantooine, Erminial, Caton, Ashe 003-2, Velias's moon, and Lah'mu in the past three months." Thrawn did not blink once as he spoke, his words measured and calm. Luke digested this information with surprise. "What do you think that means for the rebels?"

If Luke was surprised before, he was even more surprised by the question, and he felt the tension on the bridge shift. It seemed that everyone was still looking at him, but with curiosity.

"You don't have to answer that," Vader said to him, sounding annoyed. "He's just trying to trick you into saying something stupid."

"Or," the princess said, cutting Thrawn off when he opened his mouth— probably because his back was to her, "maybe, Lord Vader, you merely misunderstand simple analysis."

Thrawn's mouth simply closed.

Oh, yes. This girl would have gotten along with Leia nicely.

Before Vader could lash out, Luke cut in, thinking very fast.

"They're drawing your attention to the Raioballo sector," he said. "They've organized coordinated attacks because they are trying to lure the Empire here."

Thrawn dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Yes," he said. "Good."

Luke allowed himself to relax.

"And what," Thrawn said, causing Luke to tense again, "does that mean, if the rebels have mounted multiple attacks on four planets, a moon, and a satellite in this amount of time, do you think?"

Luke wondered now if he really was trying to trick him.

"They must have a base nearby," Luke admitted, feeling incredibly uncomfortable, like he had been rolling around in sand for a few hours, revealing such a thing to an Imperial. Yet it was clear that Thrawn already knew this. He was only testing Luke. "On one of the planets, or the moons."

The princess was watching him dully.

"That is possible," Thrawn said. He sounded thoughtful. "Entirely possible."

Luke remembered what this man had said. About Lah'mu being a large planet. Largely uninhabited. And, by the distance still between them, Luke surmised there were no direct hyperlanes to the planet itself. Meaning even with Imperial occupation, it was remote.

Lah'mu was a rebel base. A dangerous rebel base, but a rebel base all the same.

Of course, Luke was not about to say it out loud, but from the way Thrawn was staring at him, it was clear. Thrawn had seen Luke figure it out. And, beyond that, Thrawn already knew.

This day was getting worse and worse.

The door behind them slid open, and Luke turned to look at Commodore Vanto as he strode up the walkway, trailed by a middle-aged man in a dark tunic, a farmer's garb if Luke had ever seen one based on the level of looseness, wear, and dirt. He was poised as he walked behind Vanto, slower strides marking his serene entrance. His graying hair was tossed into a loose knot at the back of his head, scraggly strands framing his sunken, skull-like face. He had severe features, and Luke did not know if this man was frightening or magnetic.

Luke was so busy staring at the man, he'd forgotten all about the princess. When he looked back at her, something about her had changed. Something in her posture, maybe. Her eyes? She seemed different now. Somehow even more closed off than before.

Vanto took his place at the edge of the bridge, looking plainly unhappy.

The man before them was shackled, Luke realized. He had a pair of binders slapped on his wrists, but the way he had walked in, Luke never would have guessed.

His eyes flitted around the room. Carefully, the man's gaze drifted over Vader and Luke, never betraying more than minor curiosity. He had pale eyes of an indiscriminate color. Blue or green? Brown, even? When his eyes fell on the princess, his back straightened.

"Princess Organa," Thrawn said, facing the young woman fully, "have you ever had the pleasure of meeting the esteemed Dr. Galen Erso?"

Something about that name struck a chord with Luke. He could not immediately recall why.

Princess Organa blinked twice. She wore more makeup than Leia did, specifically kohl around her eyes. It made them even more striking. Those eyes seemed fixed for a long time upon Galen Erso's face. Luke counted the seconds, feeling the tension mounting.

Then the princess's eyes flashed back to Thrawn's face. She shook her head.

"I have not," she said.

The silence that followed was deafening, and Luke could not be sure why. He felt the shifting tide of the Force, he felt the obvious wrongness of the situation, but he could not pinpoint why or how. The bridge was so quiet, if a single officer exhaled too loudly, the whole room would look upon that officer with scorn.

Galen Erso had not budged. He merely stood there, staring straight ahead. Not at Thrawn, not at the princess, but at the viewport. Not even out. At.

When Luke looked up at Vader, he was frowning. He looked unsure, like he was trying to do catch up. That made Luke feel better.

"Should I have?" the princess asked, her gaze remaining fixed upon Thrawn's face. Luke could not see it, but he imagined he was not pleased.

Thrawn was quiet. The silence stretched on and on again, and Luke found it all very draining. He flexed his fingers instinctively. They felt fine. He felt fine. Perhaps the night before had been a fluke.

"I am under the impression that we've caught a rebel leader," Vader said, crossing his arms stubbornly. "Would you like to share your thoughts, Thrawn? Or would you rather stare at Princess Jyn?"

That was her name, then. Luke watched her, amazed at her decorum as she stood under the weight of both Thrawn's and Vader's stares. It was easy to see her as the Princess of Alderaan, even though it was a title that had seemed to be made to be worn by his sister. Somehow, it was different on Jyn Organa. Less somber and poised, and more like a poisonous animal that had been well groomed and fed, giving it the illusion of benignity.

"Yes, Grand Admiral," Jyn Organa said, tilting her head, "I am very curious. It appears to me that you've arrested a farmer. Bravo."

"Well he did call him a doctor, Jyn," Vader said amusedly.

"Lord Vader," Jyn said, "we are not friends. Call me Princess Organa, or call me nothing."

"Okay," Vader said, bristling, "nothing. This man is a doctor, not merely a farmer, as you attest to, so do be quiet if you know what is good for you. You!" Vader rounded Galen Erso, glaring down at his face. "Erso, was it? What are you a doctor of?"

Erso was as poised as ever, even with Darth Vader breathing down his neck. He did not even flinch.

"Crystallography," he said levelly. After a beat, he added, "My lord."

Vader made a strange face. He glanced back at Thrawn, an eyebrow raised. Thrawn had turned to glance at him.

"Crystallographers," Thrawn elaborated for Vader's (and Luke's, not that he'd ask) benefit, "study crystals and their natural formation. Dr. Erso's specialty was kyber."

Vader's head snapped back toward Erso. His eyes narrowed.

"How interesting," he said darkly.

Luke did not like that one bit.

"Um, excuse me," Luke said, "has this man actually done anything wrong? Or are you just going to list his credentials like this is the worst job interview ever?"

The only one who smiled was Commodore Vanto. The rest of them just stared at him, even Jyn, who looked like she might bite his head off if he got too close to her.

Vader sighed. "I'm sorry," he said to Thrawn. "I'd say he's not usually like this, but…"

Thrawn held up a hand. "Your son has always had a natural curiosity," he said calmly. "I do not mind questions. He raises a good point."

Did he? That surprised him. Generally, Luke felt like this man was dangerous, but he also could not help but wonder why he was not a part of his own world. Surely someone as renowned as Thrawn would have come up.

It was also interesting that Thrawn and Vader were on such good terms that Thrawn seemed to know both Luke and Leia well. Maybe the fact that his mother was alive meant Vader actually had friends? Probably to compensate for the fact that Padmé seemed to hate him.

Thrawn turned to address Luke. His hands clasped at the small of his back while he stared down at him.

"Dr. Erso's personal ship has been clocked leaving the atmosphere of Dantooine, Caton, and Velias's moon, all within days of rebel assaults."

"That," Luke pointed out, "is not proof!"

Thrawn didn't really have much in terms of eyebrows, just odd protrusions, but one of them raised anyway. The intensity of Vader's gaze is what made Luke shrink.

"Luke," Vader warned, "if you will not behave yourself, you will return to the Executor."

Luke, who was a full adult man, just glanced at his father incredulously.

Decidedly ignoring Vader, perhaps to tempt fate, Luke continued. "I expect you have more than that?" he sighed.

"A warrant to search his homestead," Thrawn said. Behind him, Luke noticed Jyn stiffen visibly. She was staring at Thrawn's back. Luke tried to keep his eyes on Thrawn so he wouldn't turn around. "Incendiary devices are not an average farming tool."

"Depends on what planet you're on," Luke quipped before he could stop himself.

Something about Thrawn's eyes made Luke think maybe he had said the wrong thing, even with the slight smile on his thin lips.

"That is fair," he said before Vader could speak. "Lah'mu is not one of those planets, however."

"If you only have circumstantial evidence," Luke said, folding his arms across his chest, "you should let him go."

Vader, it seemed, had heard enough.

"Dormé," he called sharply. Luke was surprised when the woman was suddenly at his side, quiet and attentive. "Bring Luke back to the ship. He clearly cannot handle this."

"Excuse me?" Luke scoffed. "You know that this isn't fair! This man studies rocks for a living, he's not a criminal mastermind!"

"Luke," Dormé murmured, her hand landing gently on his shoulder. "Please don't get worked up like this."

Luke glared at his father pointedly. He was glad they had an audience now, because he wanted to embarrass this man. He wanted to make them all feel how out of touch Vader was.

"What was the incendiary device for?" Jyn asked, sounding irritated.

Erso's head snapped to her, and though his back was still to Luke, it was clear he was surprised. He stared at her for a long time. Maybe a bit too long.

"Rocks," he said simply. He had a soft voice. Gentle. Serene, even.

Luke suck in both his lips and bit down on them to contain his laughter. Dormé's fingers tightened on his arm, and he glanced at her. Her dark eyes were very wide, very pointed, and he realized that she was frightened.

And she was right to be. Something in the room had shifted. Luke felt it, the strangling sense of dread, something he knew from his own past. His palms began to sweat, as he itched for a weapon, any weapon, as Vader's stark yellow eyes turned fiercely upon Galen Erso.

Suddenly Dormé was pulling him, her grip surprisingly strong, toward the door. The darkness swept over him, sickening and cold, and he stumbled a bit while Erso's shoulders tensed, and a strange gargling sound drifted in the silence.

He realized what was happening, and he yanked his arm from Dormé's grip.

"No," a small voice gasped when Galen fell to one knee, doubled over with his fingers twitching at his throat.

Luke realized, after a moment of scrambling forward, much to Dormé's dismay, it had been Jyn's voice.

The thing was, the entirety of the bridge had shifted. Instead of complacent fear, there was stark horror on all faces present, especially Commodore Vanto, whose expression was something between fear, horror, and absolute rage. He looked squared up to physically tackle Vader, which made Luke falter. Did he go for Vader, to try and stop him, or did he stop Vanto from getting himself killed?

"Lord Vader," Thrawn's voice seemed to boom across the bridge, louder and clearer than it had been in any instance before this. "That is enough."

But Vader did not stop. Luke saw Jyn start forward, only to be halted by Thrawn's arm. Vanto, too, was subdued by a sharp look from Thrawn's cold red eyes. Then those eyes flickered to Luke. Strangely, he dipped his head, and Luke realized it was a signal to do whatever it was Luke was about to do. Maybe Thrawn thought Luke had an actual plan to subdue his father.

He did not, but it's not like that would stop him.

Luke thought about saying something, but this was Darth Vader, and even if he seemed to care for Luke, that did not mean he would listen.

So Luke decided to speak a language he knew Vader would understand.

He supposed this Luke Skywalker would not be incredibly powerful in the Force, given that it took a lot of meditation and trial and error to do things, but it was not the body that did the work. Luke barely rose his hand before Vader was cast off his feet, thrown to the ground with an abrupt thud.

The silence stretched for a moment before Luke wobbled a bit, briefly overcome with a strange sensation, like a rush of water over his head, and then rushed to Erso's side. The man's whole body shuddered with violent coughs, and Luke knelt beside him, pressing his hand to his back. His fingers were trembling, which was not a good sign, but Luke took a deep breath, exhaled, and managed to smile.

"Are you alright?" he whispered. Erso's eyes flashed up to Luke, shocked and confused. It was a relief to see them full of life. He noted that they were hazel.

Erso stiffened beneath Luke's fingers, and the shadow cast over them was enough that Luke merely sighed before looking up.

"Father—"

Luke stifled a gasp as he was yanked by the collar of his capelet, rather painfully, and dragged across the bridge. He was shoved out the door before he could even speak, and he nearly fell over from the force of it. Luckily Dormé was there to catch him.

"Take him back to the ship," Vader barked at her.

Dormé gripped him tightly, half-shielding him from Vader as the doors slid closed. It was only when they were more or less alone, in the presence of a single stormtrooper, that Luke realized he was shaking.

It was far too soon that Dormé noticed. Her arms drifted across his shoulders, gently guiding him from the door.

"Why," she murmured, "would you do something so foolish?"

Allowing himself to be led through the corridor, Luke wondered what that must have looked like to an outsider. Luke, the lesser known Skywalker in this universe, blatantly disrespecting his father and using the Force against him.

He knew, though, that was not what Dormé was talking about.

"I'll be alright," he said quietly.

Dormé's dark eyes flashed to his solemnly. Her grip somewhat tightened, and he took a deep breath. It was not so bad. He had only felt briefly dizzy, and the shakiness… he chalked that up to fear of Vader. Allowing himself to be led was not hard, though he was annoyed that he had been thrown out of the room so easily.

Halfway to the hangar, the lulling voice of Commodore Vanto came over the intercom. A nearby officer and two stormtroopers halted while Dormé and Luke kept going.

"The ship that has just entered realspace is a VCX-100 light freighter," Vanto said.

"Ah," one of the troopers sighed, "shit. Syndulla again. I thought we were done with her."

"Far from home, though, huh?" the other tooper asked.

"Please ready positions for incoming fire," Vanto said. "Shoot to incapacitate."

"As always," the officer said amusedly, tapping her chin. "This might get messy. It's always this bunch of rebels, isn't it?"

"You'd think after we got the Jedi it would be enough," the first trooper huffed, "but no! Guess we'll see if we can actually catch her again this time."

Dormé had halted a moment to listen, and by the time she had realized what was happening, it was too late to scurry past. The stormtroopers looked at her, squaring up, and the officer blinked between the two of them with a raised eyebrow. She was a petite, her black hair cropped at her chin, and her wide-set brown eyes narrowing at him.

"You lost?" the woman drawled.

Dormé waited for Luke to respond, though he did not realize that until she spoke.

"No," she said simply. "We merely are making our way to the hangar so we might return to the Executor, Lieutenant."

Briefly, he wondered how she had known the woman's rank, but then remembered that some people actually knew how to read the Imperial military ranking blocks. Of course Luke could have, at some point, learned, but he was petty by nature.

"Well," the woman said, "you can't be doing that."

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he and Dormé shared a look. This was going to be irritating.

He imagined it was because of General Syndulla. It had to be her, right? Luke had only met her a handful of times, the most recent being on Endor just after the battle. She and Han had gotten into numerous debates throughout their prolonged stay on the moon, which had always ended in Syndulla winning, much to Han's misery.

"Well," Luke responded, copying the woman's tone, "Lord Vader ordered us to leave. So what are we supposed to do?"

The woman pursed her lips. Then, she shrugged.

"Guess you'll just have to test the wrath of Darth Vader," she said cheekily.

"Fuck," Ezra gasped, lurching to his feet at the sight of the Chimaera. The massive ship was relatively close, and he had full view of the twisting beast emblazoned on its underbelly. He had not anticipated this. In his mind, he had thought he might be able to solve his issues and get this Force dilemma solved before he ever had to face Thrawn.

It seemed like maybe the Force had other plans.

Hera was frozen in the pilot's seat, her eyes wide and unblinking as she gazed at the two Star Destroyers before them. Retreat was their only option.

"Hera?" Ezra gripped the back of her chair and leaned over her. "We gotta go! Now!"

In response, Hera blinked up at him, stunned. She nodded, her hands working fast over the console, flicking switches above her with nimble fingers.

"What's happening?" Zeb shouted, stumbling into the cockpit as Hera swerved the ship around. His face fell as he lingered in the doorway, staring at the two Star Destroyers with horror and shock. "No way. How did that happen?"

"Bad luck," Hera said through gritted teeth. "We might get blown out of the sky, the way our shields are right now… Zeb, I need you on dorsal again."

A small red light flashed near the co-pilot's chair. Licking his lips, knowing it could not be good, he glanced at Hera, who was pointedly ignoring the flashing light.

"Incoming message," Ezra pointed out, hoping she would continue to ignore it.

Hera's jaw was tight as they made loops around the approaching TIE defenders. Every TIE was a defender, actually. Typical Thrawn.

"Answer it," she said quietly.

With a grimace, Ezra dropped into the co-pilot's chair and hit the button.

"General Syndulla," a vaguely familiar voice said, "Grand Admiral Thrawn extends an offer of mercy, and a request that you return the Imperial Princess safely to us."

Ezra turned the message off immediately. The silence settled as Hera continued dodge and zip through a volley of bolts, her eyes fixed ahead of her.

"Are we giving up the princess?" Zeb asked, sounding shocked. "We can make it out of this, can't we?"

"We can't give up Leia without surrendering," Ezra said, feeling his nerves begin to creep up on him. He was trying to think fast, evaluate how Thrawn might handle this situation. "There's no way Thrawn would kill us immediately. He's going to capture us alive, or try to."

"They'll capture us," Hera said, her shoulders sagging.

Both Ezra and Zeb stared at her with wide eyes. The horror of it all, the defeat, the understanding that Hera was about to give up, was crushing. Of course Ezra knew the odds, how badly this situation had gone, especially without shields. The TIE defenders were not easy opponents. Hera did not have time to calculate the jump to hyperspace and dodge fire. They needed a distraction.

"I'm taking the Phantom," he said, backing out of the cockpit, his brain short-circuiting a bit as he realized his whole body was about to collapse with the pressure from the Force practically screaming at him that he was making a bad decision. "Keep dodging, okay? The minute you can jump, jump."

"What?" Hera gasped, unable to tear her eyes off the viewport. "Ezra, wait—"

"I'll catch up to you!" he gasped. "Yeah? It's okay. Trust me."

"Kid," Zeb said, his gaze heavy, "don't do this."

"I'll be fine," Ezra lied, thankful that the only person who might be able to sense that lie was in the cargo hold, far away from him. "I'll be right behind you. We'll just be splitting their attention! At least the Phantom still has shields, right?"

Hera grimaced, half turning her head, but her eyes were still cast upon space, flitting wildly as she tried to outmaneuver Thrawn's best pilots.

He had no doubt she could, but without shields, they were trapped.

Within a split second's decision, he saw Hera regain her confidence, her drive, and she straightened up in her chair.

"Take Chopper," she barked at him. "Meet us on Fest."

He wanted to laugh at that. Fest? He would have to look up the coordinates for it, even if he somehow made it out of this unscathed.

"I don't need Chopper," he said, knowing the poor droid would get scrapped or wiped in the Empire's hands. "I'll see you in a bit, okay?"

"Ezra!"

He did not let her finish.

This felt familiar. The startling fear, the realization he was unlikely to see these people again, the threat of Thrawn creeping up on him. A sacrifice had to be made, right? And Ezra had done this before. He was not afraid of Thrawn, not in the slightest.

He was, however, afraid of losing his family all over again.

This is not my family, he reminded himself, his heart aching as he drifted toward the ladder connecting the Ghost to the Phantom. The reality of his situation, the understanding that he was giving this all up once again, was settling inside of him, and he felt ill. But… they feel like my family. Even now. Even after all this time. Even with all the differences.

He did not have time to talk to Ahsoka. He was already in the Phantom by the time he remembered she was there, and he could have asked her for help. But that would mean alerting Leia to the issue, and Ezra did not think that was wise.

Settling into the cockpit, Ezra got the engines hot, his nerves shivering into something more exciting. Like adrenaline. When the Phantom disengaged from the Ghost, Ezra quickly realized his issue was that he was the pilot, and the Phantom was not made for a single gunner.

Luckily, the guns were within reach. He did have to stretch, though.

It had been a long time since he had been in the Phantom. Not so long, at least, since he had flown a ship. Ezra was not the greatest pilot in the galaxy, but Hera had taught him a thing or two, so he wasn't too shabby. He was certainly well known in the Ascendancy for his resourcefulness, as he seemed to consistently surprise them with the litany of talents he possessed. He hated to brag, but he enjoyed being a big deal sometimes.

Now was not one of those times.

Ezra was taking hits left and right. The Phantom's shields were not as robust as the Ghost's, and the hammering of laser-fire from most directions was no surprise. It was just as Ezra had half-planned. The attention was off the Ghost and on him.

Did that mean Thrawn had taken the bait?

It was a logical jump, to assume that the Phantom had been deployed to carry the captured princess to the Rebellion quickly. But it had always been a 50/50 gamble, and Ezra could have easily been wrong. Even now, with several TIE defenders on his tail, Ezra wondered what had convinced Thrawn to go against his instincts. Because he knew Thrawn well enough to know that Thrawn had thought about it carefully, and saw through the ruse.

Suddenly the Ghost was gone. A blip, a little streak, and then Ezra was alone.

It did not take long for the TIE defenders to lure him into the tractor beam, but of course, Ezra had already anticipated this outcome.

He wondered if Thrawn really believed he'd go down without a fight.

Chapter Text

Ezra was gonna get caught. It was not that he had planned for it, it was just a fact of his reality right now. He was going to be in the clutches of the Empire, but somehow, right now, he found that moderately easier than dealing with Hera and Zeb. There was no way the amnesia bit would last long. Obviously Ezra was not acting like someone with amnesia, and Hera had been pretty open about her suspicion. He just wished that she hadn't told him where they were headed, in case he got tortured.

Hopefully it wouldn't come to that. He had been tortured before, and it was not a pleasant experience.

At least it was an enemy he knew. As terrified as he was, he would take Thrawn, even an evil counterpart of him, any day.

It was confusing that Thrawn was still a part of the Empire. Ezra would have figured the man would have been dead by now, having outlived his usefulness at some point or another, but Thrawn was nothing if not resourceful. He must have found a way into the Emperor's good graces again and again, probably to his detriment.

That worried him. He'd been told about the Ascendancy's issues around the time that Thrawn had just about lost his damn mind on Lothal.

Sitting now in the lull of the tractor beam, Ezra thought back on that instance. Thrawn had, of course, been reluctant to talk about it, but Ezra was nothing if not persistent.

It had been about half a year after they had been stranded on an unknown planet, the terrain horribly dense and mountainous and the native fauna particularly unfriendly. Ezra had spent the better part of what he imagined was a few months, but in reality was probably just a few weeks, given the planet's day was rather long by his standard, learning about the habits of the wildlife around him. The only reason Thrawn had bothered with him in the first place was the blatant fact that Ezra was very good with animals.

They had been huddled around their fire, the durasteel frame of their makeshift shelter rattling in the winds from the valley, and Ezra remembered that he had been stitching a grotesque opening in Thrawn's shoulder closed with the last of their medical supplies. After that they had made do with bandages made of Ezra's old jacket, which he had outgrown by that point.

"It is not important," Thrawn had said. He had a needle in his back, and was bleeding badly, yet his voice had hardly faltered.

"Remember when you said the Emperor had it out for you?" Ezra had retorted. "How is that not important? When are you gonna start…" He'd scowled, pulling very hard on the filament and causing Thrawn to buckle a bit, a small noise startling in his throat. "Trusting me?"

Perhaps it had been silly. After all, they had more or less been cohabitating for a few months at that point. But where Thrawn was concerned, Ezra never knew where he stood. He had not been sure if Thrawn actually liked him until they had been safe in the Ascendancy, and even then, it wasn't like Thrawn knew how to show it.

Thrawn had relented, of course, after some awkwardness, and explained the whole mess. Well, not all at once, but over five years it's easy to gather the pieces of a puzzle and put it all together. Ultimately, the problem was that Thrawn was not human. The Emperor had always viewed Thrawn as a tool or a weapon, albeit a very useful one, but still disposable, in the end. The minute Thrawn made himself even a little bit of a liability, his end was spelled out for him.

"If you knew," Ezra had said, on a much different occasion, swiveling in a barstool in a crowded cantina on Thill, "why did you do it? Why did you agree to the Emperor's plan for me?"

Thrawn had nursed his own drink, not meeting Ezra's eye while the shuffling of people, the cacophony of laughter and foreign languages danced around them. The sting of that last fight had faded by now, leaving Ezra feeling mostly confused.

Then, Thrawn had said, "I believed, at the time, that if I could prove my worth, then I would be indispensable. I knew what was at stake. I was desperate. I was not thinking about what he would do to you."

"And," Ezra had added bitterly, "you didn't care."

Thrawn, ever the socially inept, had bowed his head in acknowledgement.

"I did not," he had said, not a wink of irony or malice.

Ezra had gotten up from the bar and crossed the room to get as far away from Thrawn as possible. A Zabrak man had ended up sitting with him, and though he was generally charming, it had not ended well. Thrawn had gotten Ezra out of more than one sticky situation just by being incredibly… Thrawn about things.

Now the Phantom settled in the hangar of the Chimaera, and Ezra felt his two worlds colliding. Hera's influence and Thrawn's influence intermingled in this moment. What lies could he tell? All he needed was to buy some time.

Regardless, Thrawn would have to speak with him. Or, more aptly, Ezra would have to speak to Thrawn.

He was, honestly, terrified.

Unbuckling himself, he pushed off the pilot's chair, his fingers falling to the lightsaber at his waist. Kanan's lightsaber. It felt just as heavy as it had when he had first gotten his hands on it a decade ago. His fingers flexed around it, his brain glitching out, and the startling realization that he had royally fucked himself over in this instance was starting to settle in him. His body was reacting badly to it. Fight or flight. It was a thief's natural instinct to bolt, but Ezra had nowhere to run.

He knelt at the edge of the cockpit, crouching by the entrance and holding his breath as he listened to the rattling, tinny voices of distant stormtroopers, their heavy footsteps giving away their position as they swept the ship. Ezra had been in positions like this before, both in the Rebellion, in the years traveling with Thrawn, and even in the Ascendancy. Yet nothing had ever felt so certain as his impending doom.

Of course, he'd felt the same when he'd cast himself and Thrawn into the throng of Wild Space, and they'd come out mostly intact. Ezra had basically lost an ear, but aside from that…

His heart was thudding in his throat, and all he knew was the steady approach of footsteps. His fingers trembled against the hilt of Kanan's lightsaber. It had been a long time, huh? A long time. Unable to find an appropriate replacement for a lightsaber, Thrawn had gifted Ezra a vibroblade after presumably murdering some people. Ezra was not entirely sure. He'd never asked.

The first stormtrooper came sideling in, blaster raised, his steps measured and careful as his head moved from left to right.

Ezra almost felt bad as he quietly slipped behind him, thumbing over the ignition of the lightsaber and flexing his left hand as the trooper behind him gave a warning cry. Easily, maybe too easily, Ezra snatched the stormtrooper by the exposed black cloth separating his armor and helmet, and he yanked the man around, sliding behind his back and ducking as the barrage of blaster bolts collided violently with the man's breastplate. He convulsed as Ezra held him there.

Jamming the button of the hilt, Ezra pushed forward, watching the blue light cascade through the cockpit and fill the corridor as he flung the body of the dead trooper into his friend, causing the man to backpedal and crash into the wall. The Phantom was the size of a shuttle. It was not large at all, just a cockpit, a corridor, and a hold. Moving with a measured, even gait, Ezra yanked the gun from the fallen trooper with the Force, and as he brushed past him, he flicked his wrist. The shocked cry of pain was not enough to make him look back.

"Jedi!" the remaining stormtrooper cried, raising his blaster and opening fire. Ezra knew, as he easily deflected each bolt, three small movements and the stormtrooper was down, that he was relaying this information to the bridge.

So it began.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Ezra plucked his old lightsaber from his belt and rolled his shoulders. This would be interesting, wouldn't it?

Stepping down the gangplank, he deflected several blasts, feeling with the Force and shooting blindly to his left. He took down, by his approximation, about five men in the span of maybe ten seconds before he made it down to the hangar. Then he began to focus.

Eyeing three stormtroopers approaching him from behind, Ezra tilted his head and shot at them, watching one dodge as the other two fell. He deflected three more blaster bolts, hearing the frenzied shouts as troopers began rushing him, darting forward without a care in the world. He dodged one, sliced through another, and met the last two head on, dropping down and kicked the legs out from one while using the man's own arm to gun down the other.

The tension was building as Ezra was surrounded.

Okay, then. He could be surrounded. That was fine.

There was an uneasy moment where he stood there, glancing around at the array of blasters pointed at him, and he offered a half-hearted shrug.

"You guys don't wanna do this," he said, already preparing himself for what he was about to do.

The single officer who had managed to order this maneuver, which was, to the man's credit, very smart, but Ezra would expect nothing less from a guy who worked for Thrawn, eyed him from a safe distance.

"Fire!" the officer barked.

The bulky hilt of his old lightsaber flipped in his hand, and the second blue blade slid into position as Ezra let himself be utterly taken by the Force, his arms flying as he measured every hit, every deflect, every whir of the blades as if they were a part of him, an extension of his limbs. The light blinded him, but that was okay. There was no need to see. There was no need to fear. He felt sure that he was perfectly fine, his feet sliding easily into old, familiar positions, his muscle memory reacting violently to the twists, the flicks, the careful blocks, the trickery of a Form III specialist who had probably learned from watching Obi-Wan Kenobi move through each stance with precision.

And then they were all dead.

Ezra stood there a moment, his shoulders hunched as he drew himself from a measured crouch, and he took a step forward. Then another. He stepped over a few dead stormtroopers, and banished his second blade, reverting back to shooting the nearby stormtroopers who were locked in their spots in utter shock.

Pointing the blaster at the officer, Ezra cocked his head.

"Sorry for the mess," he said. "I did warn them."

The officer's eyes flickered from the blaster to Ezra's face. He was, admittedly, very calm about the whole thing.

"You have no idea," the man said coolly, "just how much you will regret this, Jedi."

"Yeah, yeah," Ezra said, rolling his eyes. He shot the man, deflected another few blaster bolts, and looked around the hangar with some consideration. Sure, the Phantom was grounded— no way to dodge the tractor beam there. But could Ezra possibly steal a ship?

Maybe he could avoid Thrawn altogether.

Ezra was three-quarters into a haphazard plan, and halfway across the hangar to his targeted TIE defender when a nearby door slid open. Instinctively, he lifted his blaster.

He froze.

No way, he thought, his eyes widening in shock. Why?

His blaster was still raised, still level, and matching the stance of his adversary as she stepped toward him, a familiar glint in her wide-set brown eyes. If she shot him, he knew she would not miss. And he would not block it, either.

"Do yourself a favor, Bridger," Sabine Wren said, her voice shattering his heart, "give it up."

Whatever his face looked like, it was enough to give Sabine pause. Ezra thought maybe… maybe he could switch the blaster to stun, and then continue on his merry way.

Except suddenly, the Force was crashing upon him, the shifting tide of his luck bearing down on his shoulders, and he felt the danger of it all. Acutely. He whirled around in shock as a foot came crashing into his chest. He was sent stumbling back, his stance broken, and he blinked at the man who had assaulted him, noting he was smaller and slighter than Ezra. The man's face was visible briefly, light brown hair, almost blonde, framing his features before a cloth was flung over Ezra's face. The move had been dirty, not fair at all, and Ezra had to drop his blaster— his lightsaber— to tear the fabric from his face. It was light, like linen or silk, and it slid between his fingers as gently as water.

But the man was already in front of him. Ezra blinked down at him, reeling back to kick this guy in the jaw, only to find something had snared his leg. When he glanced down, Ezra saw, with utter horror, this man had snaked his foot behind Ezra's ankle. Suddenly, Ezra was toppling onto his back, and a bit of pressure fell upon his chest.

The whole thing was a bit too quick, and Ezra wondered what the hell had happened. Then, feeling the heat of a lightsaber to his throat, he realized.

He was staring into the face of the bright-eyed Jedi that he had maneuvered into this same position on Melinoë.

The once brilliant pink, purple, and blue blooms had dried out. They crumbled beneath her fingers, fluttering away beyond the balcony, drifting toward the lakes. The day was warm, but there was a sense of unease to that warmth. An undercurrent of a chill, a caveat of the looming winter.

Padmé's fingers wound around the stems of the potted plant, and she tore it from its pot by the roots.

It joined a plethora of siblings in a waste bin. Flowers, dead and alive, overflowed from it. Dirt and wilting petals scattered the once pristine tile, and it all seemed to scream at her as she drifted from corner to corner, pacing her empty home and tearing apart every living thing she could get her hands on.

After all that was done, she did not feel any better.

In fact, she only felt worse.

So she dragged a chair from the dining room along the corridors, and systematically removed every painting she could find. The process took a while. She was exhausted, prying heavy frame from the walls, nearly toppling over a few times. Her old jumpsuit, fraying a bit around the hem-seams, was streaked with little caches of dust. Categorizing the paintings, she felt, was simple enough. To the attic or to the fire.

It was all very simple. Casual destruction had become a part of her routine.

It might have felt freeing, if she could feel anything at all.

"Padmé."

She was slouched in an armchair, the window wide open so the cold night air could seep into her bones, and the smoke from the fireplace had another place to exit politely. A glass of wine dangled from her fingers while the fire's light made shadows dance and skitter on the burnt orange tile. This sitting room, like the rest of the house, was filled with unkempt memories. She was spilling over, her body was so full of them. Maybe, she thought, she was a glass, and all the little moments that had accumulated over the years were too much for her to hold. They rattled and shivered, wept and rasped, and she was just a vessel for them. A vessel that was starting to crack.

Luke had taken his first steps in this room. Toddled uncertainly toward the window, reaching up for something that Padmé had not seen. A bird, perhaps. Or maybe it had always been the sky that had called to him.

When she had been eight, Leia had almost entirely dismantled Threepio out of spite, and had taken his body parts and hid them around the house. He had been more or less aware of the whole thing, which had made it worse. She had sat in the very armchair Padmé now sat in, Threepio's head in her lap, while she'd plucked at a loose string in the upholstery and completely misunderstood why Padmé had been angry.

On their second birthday, the twins had fallen asleep, curled into one another's sides, on a chair that no longer existed. Padmé had done away with it when Leia had left.

When Luke had been four, he'd had his first seizure on this very floor.

It was strange how time escaped her. How long ago was that? Twenty years? It felt like she was still living it.

"Padmé."

The lamp in the corner flickered on. It caused her to blink rapidly before she squinted up at the intruder.

"How," she murmured, "the hell did you get in?"

The woman before her was taller than her. In this shadowy light, with her willowy frame and loose updo, she could be Padmé. The obviousness of a ruse that had never really ended almost made her smile. She hid it behind her glass, drinking long and swallowing hard as she gazed up at her old friend.

Sabé's gaze was as even and sharp as always. She did not seem amused.

"Threepio," she said simply. She gestured to the fire without looking at it. "Redecorating again?"

"Felt right."

"Padmé."

Her eyes flashed harshly to Sabé's face, a warning look, one she had reserved for the most vital circumstances, and she sat up straighter. The sleeves of her housecoat pooled around her, dark silk gathering at her sides. There was an absence here, a cavernous oddity in her house, and who would she be if she did not address it?

"Did Dormé send for you?" she demanded. "I am not in the mood for polite conversation. Call on me tomorrow."

Of course, if Sabé had already come all this way then she would have to stay the night. Who knew when the nearest riverport would have a ferry back to Theed. It wasn't like Padmé could simply turn her away. Not Sabé, not now. It was cruel, the way that the woman seemed to know Padmé's every weakness. She was like Anakin in that way.

Tough to love, tougher to leave.

Sabé plucked the glass from Padmé's fingers, her eyes speaking in the firelight, expressive and bright. They were both much older now than they had been when they had been able to swap clothes and laugh at how easy it was to fool people into thinking one was the other. It was no longer possible for Padmé to throw on a pair of trousers and mess up her hair, or for Sabé to drape a velvet cape over her shoulders, and for people to just completely overlook their features and assume who they were. Yet there were still phantoms of their similarities. Their noses. Their eyes. Their cheekbones. It was the jaw that gave it away, but even then, even in this light, Padmé could blink and feel acutely like her reflection had crept out of the mirror and now presided over her haughtily.

"We can have a not so polite conversation," she said, taking a sip from Padmé's glass and dipping to her knees, her long legs sprawling across the carpet as she draped herself over the arm of the chair. She sat her chin in her arms while she peered up at Padmé, her eyes searching for something in her face that perhaps might answer all of her questions.

"I am not in the mood," Padmè said, "for any conversation."

"Then would you like me to talk?" Sabé's lip quirked up, a barely concealed smirk. "I am very good at talking."

"Don't I know that," Padmé muttered.

Now Sabé was smiling. It was almost infectious, and Padmé hated her for it.

"I know you are worried," Sabé said, after Padmé had clearly relaxed a bit in her presence, "but he's got a good head on his shoulders. If nothing else, you made sure of that."

Pinching the bridge of her nose with both hands, Padmé tried not to snap at her. She was really trying to be helpful, and she could not know just how bad this could get. The reality of it was that her daughter was missing, and her son was putting himself in very real danger trying to retrieve her. And on top of that, Anakin would be there possibly trying to heal his wounded relationship with Luke, when that was the last thing any of them needed.

"He's going to get himself killed," Padmé said bitterly.

"He won't." Sabé's voice was easy. Steady. She had a way of soothing Padmé's nerves, the way she spoke so matter-of-factly. She could say that down was up and up was down, and Padmé would believe her. She'd still argue with her, but she would be already swayed in the midst of the argument. "He's survived this long, hasn't he?"

"Because I've raised him in a bubble," Padmé huffed, glancing at Sabé with contempt. "I trust him to keep quiet, to gather information as he goes, but honestly? He is too kind to be on Darth Vader's ship!"

"Perhaps," Sabé said soothingly, "you should trust him more."

Padmé bit back a claim that she knew Sabé would easily dispute. That she trusted Luke with her life. And she did. But she also sheltered him, which had left him rather ill-equipped to deal with the outside world. He had spent his whole life drifting between these very walls, nose stuck in a book, ears always listening, always absorbing every little hitch of the voice, evaluating the few people he regularly interacted with in such a bizarre, keen fashion that it was always startling to recall that he should not know nearly as much as he did.

He was a liability in the hands of Darth Vader. Sabé knew that.

Yet Padmé had not fought nearly as hard as she should have. Worse, she cared less about the Rebellion's secrets and more about her son's safety. Vader might claim to love Luke, but his actions spoke louder than any claim he could make. And it was quite obvious that he found his son to be rather weak, helpless, and otherwise a nuisance.

"What do I do?" Padmé uttered, feeling suddenly very small as she sunk into her chair and stared into the fire. "What if I lose him?"

Sabé's eyes remained trained on Padmé's face, and of course she had no answer. The handmaidens were a comfort, but they were not omniscient. They never had the ability to save Padmé, even when at the most dire, and instead they had decided to gladly lie in the pretty tomb she had made with her, waiting for the end of the world like they might stop the rage of time with a word or a knife.

Drawing herself back, her former decoy pulled her shoulders out of their hunches and up to her full height. She had always leaned into a more streamlined aesthetic than Padmé, with her trousers tucked into sturdy boots, her collar lightly embroidered with a vague pattern of petals high on her neck, and a pale vest with an assortment of pockets that held various tools she might need.

"What is keeping you here?" Sabé demanded suddenly. The wine glass was gripped in her right hand, and her shoulders squared as she eased herself into the role of a queen. Something that Padmé had shaken, in her time as a senator, but poor Sabé could not. Her training would not permit her. She was lost, it seemed, in her duty from decades ago.

"What do you mean?" Padmé asked. She was exhausted.

Shaking her head, Sabé set aside the wine glass. She then began to pace, crossing the fire thrice before whirling on Padmé.

"This place is a prison," she said heatedly, "and you no longer need to stay here! Have you ever considered that perhaps Luke is giving you a gift?"

Something inside her seemed to snap in that instant. A bout of unkempt rage, wild and vicious, fell over her as she found herself rising to her feet.

"A gift," she echoed coolly. "Do you think it is a gift that my son, who is gravely ill, is now being dragged all across the galaxy without any sort of care? That my daughter, Force help her, is missing and almost certainly lost her way as she has been warped beyond recognition by my former mentor? That my husband is a shell of himself, bending to the whims of a tyrant, unable to see that he has already been replaced and that he destroyed the whole world for nothing."

"He destroyed the whole world for you," Sabé countered.

It felt like a slap, and Padmé knew she meant it to. One thing about Sabé? She would never hurt Padmé unintentionally. This was a calculated attack, and it was a stake in her heart.

"And I would have gladly died to prevent that!" The rage was here now, and she was grateful she did not have the same proclivity for tantrums that Anakin and Leia had. The room would be dust if she did. If she had even a fraction of their abilities, she would have brought this house down years ago. "What is this life worth if I am complicit in genocide after genocide? I sat here, very aware of Anakin's misdoings, raising his children, all while the world burned! I could have—"

"No," Sabé said firmly, "you couldn't have. You know that."

"I could have stopped him," Padmé continued, ignoring Sabé, feeling overwhelmed by her grief. "I could have helped."

"You're helping now."

"Barely!" Padmé had to laugh. Her fingers drifted toward her hair, but she flung her hands to her side, lifting her chin up in a sort of stubborn motion. There was nothing she could do but wait, she knew. "I would be much more use if I was on the front lines. If I could work with the cells, organize…"

"Then go," Sabé said simply.

"I can't," Padmé replied, glaring at her. "You know that."

Sabé's eyebrow arched inquisitively, and there was a brief silence between them that Padmé despised. It forced her to look away, feeling foolish, because it was true that nothing was stopping her from leaving right now.

Technically the Emperor had never threatened her life. Not really. But Padmé had known Palpatine long enough to understand that for everyone's safety, she would be best left on Naboo. Bail had offered more times than she could count to spirit her and the children away. She had nearly taken him up on the offer more than once.

She probably would have, if not for Luke.

"You'd rather destroy this place," Sabé observed, "little by little, until you are the queen of ashes?" Gesturing viciously behind her to the fireplace, the haphazard grave for the paintings she had decided not to keep, she held herself with the towering grace of someone who had never stopped fighting. Not for an instant. Not even when Padmé herself had thought about giving up.

"That's just life," Padmé said.

"Not yours," Sabé said coolly. "Your life is not over. You still have work to do."

It felt like yet another a slap, because of course she still had work to do. She'd never not had work to do. Only now she was alone. And the enormity of the work undone was swallowing her up whole.

"What do you think will happen to Luke if I am incriminated?" Padmé demanded. "We have been careful, no paper trails, but you know that Anakin suspects—"

"Do you think he'd hurt Luke?" Sabé, who hated Anakin, who had known him since he was a small child, who had known him since he had become a monster, sounded shocked.

"He hurt me," Padmé said bitterly, "remember?"

The look that Sabé shot her was hard. Sharp. Laced with a distinct feeling, a jab of irritation, or rage, maybe. Of course she remembered. The handmaidens had been barred from seeing her as she'd recovered. There had been a point where the doctors had not been sure if she would make it. It was difficult for her to remember, but she had not been able to see her children for... well, they'd been able to sit up, crawl... Leia had been talking and Luke had been walking before she had even been allowed to hold them.

She still was not sure what Anakin had done during that time, but she did know that Palpatine had been around a bit too much for her liking.

"You won't incriminate Luke," Sabé told her calmly. "Regardless, Dormé is with him. He's safe."

"Dormé," Padmé sighed, turning away abruptly, "is as strong as any of us, but that does not make her suited to go up against Darth Vader in a pinch. I sent her alone because I was desperate, not because I believe it was a good idea."

"Then why don't you just go get him?" Sabé demanded.

Padmé glanced at her, utterly dismayed, and she scoffed.

"I couldn't!" she gasped.

"Nothing is keeping you here," Sabé retorted, taking a step forward. She was taller than Padmé. Thinner, but just as poised, just as regal. "This place makes you miserable. You are not a prisoner, Padmé."

The words settled upon her shoulders like a blanket of snow. That blanket turned to ice, heavy and tight, and she shrunk beneath it.

"Aren't I?" she murmured, her eyes turning toward the fire dully.

Without realizing it, Padmé had backed herself into a corner. This house had been both her paradise and her prison for so long, she had forgotten that there were no real barriers keeping her in. Just the ever-looming threat of the Emperor, a phantom hand on Anakin's shoulder as his presence decreased over the years, his patience for Luke crumbling as his focus turned to Leia's prodigious skills and silver tongue. She had always wondered how much of that interest had been Palpatine whispering in his ear. It was not as though Luke was not special. He, too, had a quick wit and a talent for fixing. He knew more languages than Leia, had a knack for slicing. He was better at sums. He knew the battles of the Clone Wars, the tactics used, what Jedi Generals were assigned where, better than she did. And she had lived it.

Anakin would not know that, though. He had distanced himself from Luke once he became unwell.

But Luke was not here. No one was here. It was simply Sabé and Padmé, and the ghosts of who they had been. A queen and her confidant.

Nothing was stopping her from leaving. Nothing except, perhaps, her fear.

After a long silence, Sabé spoke again.

"Would you like help packing?"

It was obvious to him that he had made a mistake before he had even made it, which he was not sure what that said about him, but of course he did it anyway. The recognition was instantaneous. Before Luke had even stepped into the hangar, he had felt the man's presence. It had been just as it had been in the temple on Melinoë. The draw was just there, and Luke felt like he was outside his skin, observing his body as he bolted forward, unclasping his cape as he used as much strength as he possibly could to kick the man in the chest.

He found, irritably, that it was not much strength at all.

Flinging the cape over the man's head, he tried to get a grasp on his own movements. His body did not move the way it should, and it locked when he tried to move fluidly into a combination of kicks. Deciding against that, Luke regrouped, thinking fast, and found himself sliding close to the man, his foot hooking behind his ankle.

Luke was rather stunned at his own ability, pinning the man to the ground, wrenching his lightsaber from his fingers, and pushing his hand to his chest while he gripped the blade. He was strangely out of breath, his brain a fog, as he stared down into the man's face in mild shock.

Some things were different. His skin looked healthier, less worn, and there was no longer a vicious scar stretching along his ear. He had both ears, and his hair was far shorter, but his eyes were just the same.

This was Ezra. This was the man from the temple.

As Luke held the man's weapon to his throat, noting the shock and disbelief in Ezra's blue eyes, he was certain that the Force had brought him here. Brought them both here, to this moment.

Were we meant to meet?

The thought settled inside his mind, inside his heart, and he was overtaken by the immensity of the realization. It felt so obvious to him now that the outlier had always been Ezra. The oddity on Melinoë had been Ezra. The Force was leading him to Ezra. But the details, the details, they simply eluded him. There was nothing concrete, nothing tangible, except for the fact that Luke had found this man by chance before his entire world had flipped on its head, and here this stranger was again.

Once was chance. Twice was fate.

It seemed that they were both too shocked to speak, because by the time Luke had noticed Ezra's mouth was open, the way the Force moved around them had shifted, and they both looked toward the door to the hangar fearfully.

Luke was peeled off Ezra, rather gently in comparison to the way the stormtroopers swarmed the man, dragging him to his feet and smacking him hard in the face with the butt of a blaster.

"Hey!" Luke gasped, tearing himself from the Imperials' grip, ignoring how Dormé had moved closer to him and gripping the lightsaber in his palm a little tighter. He could feel Vader as he entered the room, and instinctively Luke's eyes flitted to the remaining lightsaber on the floor. He whisked it into his palm with the Force and stuffed it under his discarded cape, tucking it under his arm while his father approached.

Vader's yellow eyes flickered violently from Ezra to Luke. They lingered on the lightsaber, still lit in Luke's hand.

"Report," Vader demanded.

Luke stood there, frozen. Those yellow eyes were staring through him. When he anxiously glanced around him, he realized that everyone was staring at him. Even Ezra, whose head hung limply, his eyes fixed upon his face with disgust and intensity, as vicious as they had been when he had first attacked him on Melinoë. It was strange, knowing this version of the man was a Jedi.

"Me?" Luke managed to choke out. The lightsaber in his hand whirred as he gesticulated briefly, and Vader reached out and snatched him by the wrist.

"Give me that," he snapped, wrenching the blade from his fist. He gave it a glance, grimaced at its bright cerulean hue, and extinguished it. Then his gaze snapped toward the officer that had led Luke and Dormé into the hangar. "You. Lieutenant. Report."

The Lieutenant stared at him for a moment, and her eyes slid beyond him. Luke followed her gaze and saw that Thrawn was hanging back, watching this exchange with Jyn Organa frowning at his side.

"Yes, my lord," the woman said, her voice a bit clipped. "From what I gathered, the Jedi was in the ship we hailed, and all of the destruction you see here was him." The woman gestured vaguely around them, and Luke realized, with mild horror, that there were a lot of dead bodies. He never really got to see the aftermath of his own destruction, so seeing it laid out for him now made him feel a bit small and guilty. "When we arrived, the Jedi hesitated. Um, the... the prince, he seemed to have taken advantage of the moment, and he took him down."

"The prince did?" Vader asked, his eyes once against flashing to Luke's face heatedly. This time in disbelief.

"Don't sound so shocked," Luke replied rather snidely, feeling the tension in the room at that snippy remark. His brain was still foggy as his eyes trailed curiously the Ezra's face, and he saw that his eyes were wide. He was staring at Luke in a way that made him feel uneasy.

Surprisingly, Vader did not rebuke him. Instead, he studied Luke's face with narrowed eyes, as if searching him for a lie, and Luke rolled up his cape a bit tighter and hugged it to his chest. He lifted his chin up at him defiantly, watching him as he watched Luke.

Turning his attention suddenly on Ezra, Vader glanced at the man, and he frowned.

"This is the Jedi who gave you so much trouble?" he scoffed. It took Luke a moment to realize he was speaking to Thrawn. "That does not look favorably upon you."

Thrawn stood there a moment, watching Vader's back, before he cautiously approached. Jyn stayed behind, looking solemn, and like she would rather be anywhere else.

"He is only an apprentice," Thrawn said, glancing at Ezra, who stiffened when he spoke. This surprised Luke, as the idea that this man had been actually... trained by someone baffled him. Yoda, perhaps? "And I am hardly an expert on Jedi. My lord."

Vader bristled, glanced at Thrawn, and shook his head.

"Well," he said, his voice very low and very cold, "that is obvious by your mishandling of Jarrus's case."

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ezra flinch. When he looked at him, he saw that the blood had reached his chin, and was dripping onto the floor. The collar of his deep, burnt orange vest was soaked nearly black.

Vader's attention also turned to Ezra. His gaze was very intense, and Luke found himself even shrinking a bit even though he was not the one beneath it.

To his immense surprise, Ezra merely met that gaze. Purely defiant.

Luke found himself a bit desperate to know him. Who he was, how he had become a Jedi in this world when Luke had not, and why Vader did not scare him.

"I will ask you once," Vader said, something very dangerous tumbling beneath the surface of his voice, his eyes, his face. He was a storm that had already brewed and was coming to crash down upon all of them. "Where is my daughter?"

Ezra, to his credit, merely blinked at Vader. His thick eyebrows furrowed, and he cocked his head to the side.

"Could you be a bit more specific?" he drawled.

It was all Luke could do not to laugh, mostly out of nervousness, because the rage that was rolling off his father was unparalleled. He had to take a step back, alarmed by the way he shifted in the Force, even darker and more oppressive than before. More like the Vader Luke had known. A strange, burning man in the dead of winter, roaring in the night.

The choking sound alarmed Luke. He watched the man's knees wobble as he tensed up, his eyes widening and his chin tipping up, his bloody lips quivering as he tried to breathe through the Force winding around his throat. Ezra seemed to stand up to the threat better than the rebel back at the bridge. He lifted his eyes, wide as they were, to Vader's face, and he glared at him.

"Don't," Dormé hissed in his ear, catching his arm when he took a step forward. "We cannot do this every time, Luke."

Luke glanced at her in disbelief. "He's killing him!" he gasped, wrenching his arm from her grasp. He nearly dropped his cape in the process. "Stop it! What is he going to do for any of us if he's dead?"

And at that, Vader frowned. Thrawn, who had been standing to Vader's right, looking on at the scene with an inscrutable expression, tilted his head.

"The boy has a point, Lord Vader," he said.

With a small, quick snarl, Vader dropped his hand and whirled on Thrawn. His eyes were blazing, and there was something about the look of him that made Luke feel a bit thankful that the Vader he'd faced had always been locked behind a mask.

As Ezra heaved a deep breath, the rattling of his lungs heaving uneasily making Luke shift uncomfortably, the room felt unsettled. Like something was coming for them all, something worse than even Vader.

Vader glanced back at Ezra. He straightened up, seeming to compose himself, or at least remember that he was trying to get information, and he jerked his chin at the small battalion of troopers holding Ezra down.

"Have the Jedi taken to the Executor," he said, tugging at his sleeves in a way that Luke had never seen him do, like he was wiping them clean. "I will interrogate him personally on our way to Nur."

That seemed to have woken Ezra up from his pained, Force-driven stupor. His feet jerked wildly as he was dragged from them, his body reacting to Vader's words viscerally, like they had lit his blood on fire. He now seemed utterly maddened, his eyes flashing back as he twisted and writhed under the grip of the stormtroopers. Worse, Luke was overwhelmed by his panic as it hit the Force as mighty as a gale of wind, whipping and lashing through his bones and rattling like an unstable lung.

"Wait," Ezra gasped, twisting to look behind him. "Wait!"

And then he shouted something unintelligible. A garbled, foreign sound, something that rose above their heads and floated like foam.

Luke realized, confused, he must have been saying something. Just something that Luke could not understand.

"What did he say?" someone asked the officer who had brought them in. When Luke glanced at the woman, he saw that she looked stunned.

"No idea," she said faintly.

The stormtroopers were halfway across the hangar when suddenly Thrawn turned around. He raised his hand.

"Bring him back," he called.

Luke did not miss the way Vader's eyes swiveled dangerously to Thrawn's back. The way his hand flexed. The simmering rage that never quite had a chance to dissipate. Thrawn was maneuvering on a thin line, and it seemed like he was testing Vader's patience.

The stormtroopers had halted. It seemed they did not know what to do. After a brief moment where they all seemed to look at each other, they lugged Ezra back toward them.

"Closer," Thrawn said when Ezra was a few feet away. The stormtroopers shoved Ezra before Thrawn, yanking his head back and forcing him to look up, despite the fact that Thrawn was not all that much taller. Then, Thrawn's eerie red eyes searched him. Luke stood there, feeling utterly useless, because this was all his fault. He had not meant to trap this man here, but in the moment it had seemed like the right idea to stop him.

Then, Thrawn said something very quietly. Something that Luke did not quite catch. From where he stood, he could see Ezra's face, but not Thrawn's.

Ezra merely stared up at Thrawn, blood trickling over his lips, down his chin, and onto his orange collar. The only real reaction that Luke could gauge was that Ezra's jaw had tightened.

It felt like forever before someone spoke. Somehow, Vader defied expectations by waiting for Thrawn before proceeding. For whatever reason, Thrawn's sudden interest had piqued Vader's, and Luke did not like any of this at all. Vader crossed his arms as Thrawn turned to face him.

"I would like to request that Bridger remain on the Chimaera," he said calmly, like he was not just opening up his neck for Vader to slice through.

The ensuing silence was deafening. The Lieutenant had gone rigid, her large eyes going very wide, and she looked in the moment like she might scream. The stormtroopers looked at each other, their helmets turning about anxiously. Luke found himself moving closer to Dormé, afraid of what might happen to her if Vader decided to go absolutely insane and kill them all.

Luke had forgiven his father for a lot of terrible things. But this was not that man.

"I think," Vader said, his voice low, "you had better have a very good reason for requesting such a thing. Admiral."

Luke looked between the two men in mild awe, wondering if it would come to blows. Vader had no qualms with killing people who irritated him, Luke knew, but it seemed as though Thrawn was someone Vader actually sort of liked.

But then again, there was no reason for that to matter to Vader. Right?

It was startling to realize that he did not know this man at all.

"I have a history with the Lothal rebels," Thrawn said levelly, ignoring the very clear threat cast at him by Vader's sheer presence. Perhaps it was because he could not feel it. Ezra's eyes were absolutely enormous, though, and Luke pitied him. He probably had no idea what he'd gotten into. "Allow me to conduct the interrogation."

"He is a Jedi," Vader reminded Thrawn, spitting the last word like it was the vilest thing in the world. Luke closed his eyes, trying not to feel the sting of it. "You know what that means."

"I do."

"Yet," Vader hissed, "you defy me. Again."

Thrawn stood there silently. He bowed his head.

"You have not yet told me why," Vader said, his gloved hand flexing. "So tell me. Explain."

Thrawn looked up at Vader. He did not balk at the vivid threat beneath the words, the flexing of Vader's gloved hand. He merely stood a bit straighter.

"I am curious about the knowledge he possesses," he said, "beyond the location of the princess. I will focus the interrogation on her, if you will permit me to keep him, of course."

Vader actually sneered. "Of course," he mocked. "You truly think I am an idiot, don't you?"

"Not at all," Thrawn said. "I merely wondered if you would grant me this…" Thrawn seemed to search a moment for the right word. "Gift."

"A gift," Vader scoffed. Somehow this only seemed to irk him more. And somehow, irking Vader was quite a few steps down from enraging him. It seemed like Thrawn had appealed to the humanity in Vader in a way that Luke did not understand. "Now I know you are truly desperate."

"Are you giving him to me, my lord?"

Vader's yellow eyes trailed to Ezra, who had been alarmingly silent throughout this entire ordeal.

"Temporarily," he conceded. Luke found himself actually gaping. So his father did like Thrawn. Only a person truly in Vader's good graces could have gotten away with that. "And I will be sitting in on all the interrogations."

"Of course."

And then, just like that, a deal had been struck, and the troopers were now dragging Ezra away in the opposite direction. Luke felt himself drifting again, and he only fully realized he was moving when Dormé grasped his shoulder.

"What," she whispered in his ear harshly, "are you doing?"

He blinked at her, realizing he must have looked very strange. Well, he wasn't about to say that he had met Ezra in an alternate universe and was now convinced that he was the reason Luke was here. Also he needed to know if he was this world's Ezra or not. Yeah, he couldn't say that.

"Sorry," he said, feigning confusion, "what?"

Dormé's eyes suddenly turned pitying, and Luke wondered if it was cruel of him to take advantage of his alternate self's illness to get people to forget about the weird stuff he did.

Vader and Thrawn were now in a discussion that Luke suspected was not for anyone else's ears, because they had moved across the hangar. The Lieutenant who had gotten them into the hangar merely folded her arms across her chest.

"That was weird," she said. Her eyes flitted to Luke. "You have any idea what all that was about?"

Luke offered a small shrug, because it had eluded him completely. The woman nodded absently in response.

"You know," she said, shooting him a small smirk, "that wasn't bad."

"What?"

"The fight," she explained, waving off-handedly. "You against the Jedi. You realize that was pretty impressive, right?"

"Oh." Luke held the bundle of cloth closer to his chest. He was certain someone had seen him pick up the lightsaber, and he thought it must have been this woman, as she had been the closest aside from Dormé. "Thank you?"

The woman studied him with her large, wide-set eyes. Then she chuckled.

"Uh-huh," she said, brushing past him. "Stay out of trouble, kid."

Luke frowned after her, while one of her companions, a stormtrooper, blithely followed her path. He nodded to Luke in acknowledgement.

"That's a compliment, you know," he said. "If the Countess is impressed, then you've got something special."

"Countess?" he echoed confusedly.

"Lieutenant Wren," the trooper corrected himself. "She's real tough on most people. She must like you."

"We barely talked," Luke objected. "She doesn't know me."

"You just beat a Jedi, Your Highness," the stormtrooper said, shrugging as he trailed after Lieutenant Wren. "That's enough for anyone, I think."

Luke was left there, feeling a bit confused, but mostly like he had missed something. More importantly, now he had to figure out how to help the rebel on the bridge and Ezra. While not alerting his father that something was wrong. And also planning to save Leia.

"What were you thinking?" Dormé demanded when they were finally more or less left alone. "A Jedi? Luke, he could have killed you!"

"Clearly," Luke said, smiling at Dormé weakly, "I had it under control."

"You're very lucky he got distracted," Dormé sighed, glancing around nervously. "You know, I am beginning to regret that we never let you progress with your self-defense lessons."

"Yes," Luke replied, feeling sorry for his other self, "that would have been very helpful. Then I wouldn't have to rely on the Force as much."

"Luke!"

"I'm kidding," he said, smiling at Dormé. "Lighten up! I'm not dead yet."

"Yet," Dormé said, rubbing her eyes tiredly, "being the operative word."

That had Luke quiet, because it felt like an admission. He stared at Dormé until she looked up, and seemed to realize what she had just said. There was a sinking dread to the casualness of it all, the way everyone seemed to be in on the secret but him.

He could not look at Dormé as her panic and pity seemed to overwhelm her, and he was lucky that he did not have to, because they were approached by the solemn-faced Jyn Organa. Her eyes, up close, were a salient green hue.

"You have interesting timing," she observed, her eyes trailing back toward Thrawn and Vader. When Luke followed her gaze, he saw that Vader was now barking orders at stormtroopers while Thrawn had turned to look at them. "Did your mother send you?"

Luke found himself a bit puzzled as he shook his head. Jyn nodded absently. Her gaze was fixed somewhere between Luke and Thrawn, far away from the hangar. In the ensuing silence, Luke made note of the maintenance crew that flitted through the large space. The stretchers that appeared to remove the dead bodies.

"Thank you," Jyn finally said, her head dipping a bit.

He blinked at her uncertainly, and the strangeness of his situation came limping back to the forefront. The way she held herself, the way she spoke, even though her voice was completely different… it reminded him achingly of Leia.

When she stepped back, Luke was not sure why. Then he saw that Thrawn was approaching, his arms behind his back, his red eyes glowing eerily in the stark, sterile hangar.

"Princess Organa," he said, his voice as slow and even as ever, "if it is not too much of an inconvenience, your presence on the Chimaera must be extended for the time being."

"Of course," Jyn said coolly. She was clearly unhappy and did not care if Thrawn knew it. "I will inform my father straight away."

Thrawn's attention turned toward Luke. "Your father wishes for you to return to the Executor," he said. "However, as I am in command of this ship, I have the authority to allow you to remain here. Given, of course, that you do not repeat your previous unruly behavior."

Unruly? Luke had been practically polite on the bridge, though he supposed it wasn't like any Imperial would see it that way. Scowling a bit, Luke nodded.

"Of course," he said bitterly.

Then Thrawn's eyes flickered to Dormé. He nodded to her.

"Handmaiden," he said.

"Grand Admiral," Dormé acknowledged.

Thrawn studied her a moment, and then he turned away. "Princess Organa," he said, "I would like to discuss the situation on Lah'mu further. Your expertise would be appreciated."

There was a sharp exhale from Jyn, her irritation seeping through the cracks of her stony exterior, and she glared at Thrawn's back.

"Certainly," she said, shooting a glance at Luke that he was probably meant to read easily enough. But he had no idea what she was trying to say, except that she was annoyed.

When he was gone, Jyn hunched a bit, and she said very quietly, "I'm going to strangle that cocky little shit, I swear."

And then she stalked off after him, leaving Luke very much stunned.

Chapter Text

"You," Vader accused Thrawn in Sy Bisti once they no longer had an audience, "are hiding something."

He had known Thrawn, it seemed, forever. They had surprised each other at some point, or at least Thrawn had surprised Vader, not realizing the other was a part of the Empire until Thrawn was already well into his military career, and Vader was churning out Inquisitors regularly. The conversation had been awkward, as Vader had been reminded of when they had first met, and the ensuing explanation was difficult. Luckily Thrawn never needed many details to surmise the truth.

Part of Vader suspected that Thrawn had a preference for the man he had been before he had become Palpatine's apprentice.

That was not something he liked thinking about.

Glancing at him now, Thrawn seemed to have little regard for Vader's authority. He was careful, certainly, with how he approached is flagrant disapproval, but he still disapproved. Of what, Vader had no idea.

"You are," Vader pressed, not liking the way Thrawn merely seemed to watch him expectantly. "You think I did not notice? What language was Bridger speaking?"

Infuriatingly, Thrawn merely blinked at him. Times like these, when Thrawn remained quiet and pensive, but then acted like Vader was acting absurd, it reminded him of—

They are nothing alike, he caught himself, furious and uncomfortable. They are completely different.

But once the idea had been put in his head, it remained there. Perpetually. And Padmé had a way of getting under his skin.

"I quite like Grand Admiral Thrawn," she had said a few years ago, after a rare occasion when Vader had brought a guest to Varykino. "He reminds me of Obi-Wan."

Absurd.

He had reacted, in hindsight, very poorly to that remark. He supposed Padmé still has not forgiven him for that. Not that Padmé seemed willing to ever forgive him for anything.

"I imagined you already knew," Thrawn said, "having come from the Outer Rim yourself."

"That was not a trade language," Vader huffed. "You are bluffing, I know you are."

"It is a language spoken in the fringes of Wild Space," Thrawn corrected, bowing his head. "I had assumed it had branched out to the Outer Rim in the years since I left the Ascendancy. Bridger is an Outer Rim child, like yourself."

"We are hardly anything alike," Vader said, offended.

Thrawn glanced at him. The look was very plain, but something about it offended Vader even more.

"Regardless," Thrawn said, waving a hand, "I find him very curious. Vice Admiral Faro has told me that she has seen very little of Bridger since Jarrus's capture, and that on the rare occasion he does appear, he does not appear as a Jedi."

Vader sensed Thrawn was evading something, but he was too curious about this new information to address it.

"Well he is a Jedi now," he said, making a vague gesture to the carnage around them, "and, like all Jedi, he belongs to me."

Another strange glance. A bow of the head, restrained acknowledgement. This man was somehow the closest thing he had to a friend, and a borderline enemy.

"Of course, Lord Vader," he said in Basic, his incredibly odd accent pulling through. "Once I have finished with him, I will gladly bring him to Nur. Personally."

For some reason, it felt like he was being mocked. Before Vader could retort, a stormtrooper came rushing up to him.

"Lord Vader, sir," the man gasped, sounding strained. "Admiral Piett on comms for you."

The trooper had the audacity to flinch when Vader whirled on him. Was he irritated? Absolutely. Was he about to kill this man for interrupting him? Only perhaps, which was lucky for him.

"I expect," Vader said in a low tone, "that it is dire?"

Beside him, Thrawn seemed to already be off in his own head. Bastard.

When the trooper merely offered up the comm, Vader snatched it from him and glowered while he responded gruffly, "Report."

Piett, who knew better than to squabble, spoke in a quick, but level voice.

"It is the Emperor, my lord."

In that moment, Vader was actually grateful that Thrawn was either too busy in his own thoughts to listen, or had truly perfected his uncanny ability to simply not react.

If Vader was a different man, a younger man, he would have said: Oh? Is that all?

Instead he gripped the comm a bit tighter, gritted his teeth, and glared ahead of him.

"How urgent is the matter?" he asked, his voice quiet, but acutely vicious, because if he was not careful someone might take his words the wrong way, and there would be hell to pay.

"He is waiting for you," Piett said, clearly at the edge of his comfort, "my lord. I did not ask why."

Piett was a survivalist, that was for sure.

They had not spoken about Leia's disappearance, so this was not exactly a shock, but the timing was absolutely unbearable. With Bridger in custody, Jyn Organa's borderline open treason, and Luke…

What was going on with Luke?

"Fine," Vader snapped. "I will have his transmission patched through to the Chimaera." Glancing at Thrawn expectantly, he scowled when the man inclined his head.

"I will have Lieutenant Wren escort you to a secure room," he said. He flagged down the young woman, who barely glanced at Vader while she listened to her orders.

Of course this meant that Thrawn had been listening the whole time, and just could not be bothered to express any kind of emotion.

"This way," Lieutenant Wren said, waving Vader forward. The lack of emphasis on a title was notable, and his eyes narrowed on her thin shoulders as she strode across the hangar and led him back into the bowels of the ship.

They did not make small talk, which Vader was grateful for, though he was somewhat familiar with the young woman from various other encounters with Thrawn. From what he understood, she was one of the few crewmates on the Chimaera that Thrawn had personally requested. Force knew why. From the looks of her, she was quite average.

"Here you are," Lieutenant Wren said, using her ID cylinder to open a small cabin for him. She hung in the doorway after he entered. "Do you want troopers stationed outside?"

"No." Vader glared at her until she seemed thoroughly unsettled. "Leave."

Her brow furrowed, and she saluted him in a much too loose way, backing through the open door.

"Yes, sir," she said. Somehow, everything sounded mocking in her voice.

When the door slid shut, Vader set the comm on a nearby desk, noting that the room was sparse. It was probably a spare cabin. The holoprojector attached to the comm easily enough, and Vader waited for the transmission to come through.

Finally, with some minor dread, it did. Vader sank to his knees.

"My master," he said. His mouth was dry as he stared at the durasteel plating of the wall beneath the desk.

"You have tried my patience, Lord Vader," Palpatine said. There was an uneasy silence as the clear distaste in the old man's voice fell upon Vader. "What have you been doing that is so important that you refrained from contacting me about Leia's disappearance?"

Taking a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he recognized the grave error he had made, Vader shook his head.

"My deepest apologies, my master," he said, lowering his head further. "In my haste to find my daughter, I failed to update you on the matter at hand."

"Indeed," Palpatine said, "you have. I suspect you have a reason, lest you disappoint me further."

That stung, but it was not unwarranted. After all, Vader had completely forgotten to contact Palpatine, and so this resulting rebuke was to be expected.

"It seems," Vader said, hoping his voice remained steady, "that Luke may be the key to finding Leia."

Palpatine was silent. Hesitantly, Vader raised his head and peered at the Emperor while he frowned down at him. The blue tint of the hologram may have shielded Vader from the sickly hue of Palpatine's eyes, but the look he was giving Vader was entirely still present.

"Do you imagine that the power of an untrained, half-dead boy is more potent than your own?" Palpatine demanded.

"No," Vader said, a bit shocked at this accusation. "No, I merely thought—"

"You are not thinking clearly, then," Palpatine cut in sharply. "Your love for your daughter is clouding your judgement."

The accusation was like a slap.

Your love is clouding your judgement.

Now where had he heard that before?

Vader bit back a question, knowing it would only harm him in the long run. Instead he lowered his head again, taking the brunt of Palpatine's displeasure with his chin tucked to his chest.

"Where are you now?" the Emperor demanded.

Blinking a bit, Vader raised his head. "On the Chimaera," he admitted. "I thought Grand Admiral Thrawn might have information, given that she was supposed to be with him when she disappeared."

"Yes," Palpatine said thoughtfully, "she was, wasn't she?" He looked past Vader, seeming pensive. "I want you to return to Coruscant."

"What?" Vader actually uttered, straightening up in shock. "My master— wait a moment—"

Palpatine's eyes spoke for him, and Vader found himself clicking his jaw shut. Recognizing the danger in that gaze, Vader had no choice but to duck his head and keep quiet, knowing well enough that there was nothing he could say that would change the outcome. Vader must now return to Coruscant. It was impossible to refute the order.

"You have wasted enough time chasing dead ends," Palpatine said in a brisk tone, one that Vader knew was suggesting his incompetence. "What we need now is to regroup and discuss our options. Admiral Sloane has given me her testimony, and it is troubling."

"Troubling?" Vader repeated, blinking at the floor. "What I find troubling is that Leia was with Sloane in the first place! Why wasn't she with here, with Thrawn, as she was supposed to be?"

Lifting his head, Vader realized his error. It felt almost as if he had walked into a trap. He should have sensed it, should have realized that Palpatine was allowing him to step right into a folly, to once again prove that he was wholly inadequate.

"Because, Lord Vader," Palpatine said, taking very obvious pleasure in making him squirm, "I requested she leave her post with Grand Admiral Thrawn."

Swallowing the question of why, how, and what, Vader closed his eyes. It was becoming abundantly clear that he was out of the loop, and Leia had hid the truth from him for reasons beyond him.

An old, nagging fear wiggled its way back into the forefront of his brain. The paranoia of being second best.

"I expect you to return to Coruscant immediately," Palpatine said. "We have much to discuss regarding your daughter… and, perhaps, your son as well."

Something about that made Vader feel unbearably cold. Fear, he realized, was creeping up on him. Palpatine had never taken an interest in Luke before. Not once. Often he seemed to pretend Luke did not exist, or when he did acknowledge him, it was in a derogatory way, a pointed jab at Luke's disabilities. Vader had never thought much of it before, because it was not like Palpatine had been saying anything untrue.

Now, though, it worried him.

"Yes, my master," Vader said, wishing he could object, but finding it all futile.

The hologram fizzled out, and Vader was left alone and bereft. It was a familiar old ache of loneliness, of uncertainty, of loss that plagued him. Could he really be jealous of his own daughter?

That nagging fear was soothing him in the worst of ways. A little voice worming itself between his ears, hissing, Well, if she's gone forever then she will never replace you.

Rising shakily to his feet, Vader snatched the comm link and exited the room.

Making up his mind very quickly, out of pure fear, Vader found himself in Thrawn's personal office. It was very dimly lit and highly decorated, art from places Vader could hardly name lining the walls. Thrawn was standing at his desk, his chin cupped in his hand while he stared up at a large hologram of Lah'mu. The Princess of Alderaan was sitting casually on the other side of the desk, an action that made Vader pause.

"Come in, Lord Vader," Thrawn said. "Perhaps you can help us with our problem."

Eying Jyn distrustfully, Vader slipped into the room. The desk was a semi-circle, and it was tall enough that Jyn's toes barely scraped the ground.

"I hardly see how she is supposed to help," he said, jerking his chin at the little traitor. She simply sat there, staring at him with her eerie green eyes. They were lined with kohl, he noticed, making them even more intense.

"Princess Organa has agreed to aid us with the Lah'mu rebel problem," Thrawn said, blinking at Vader as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.

"And you trust her?" Vader scoffed, glaring down at the young woman. She merely stared at him blankly, undeterred. This was possibly a result of having grown up somewhat adjacent to his family.

Thrawn tilted his head at that, his brow furrowing.

"I do not see how trust has anything to do with this," he said. If Vader did not know better, he would think the man was joking. Thrawn was very bad at jokes, though.

"She is working with them," Vader said, politics be damned, because he knew she was. He'd suspected for a long while that Jyn was a rebel spy. Part of him hoped that Bail Organa had the sense to not be involved with his daughter's criminal activity, but of course he knew better.

Padmé would not be happy about this.

"She is working with us," Thrawn said. "Are you not, princess?"

Jyn's eyes slid silently from Thrawn to Vader. Then she offered a small shrug.

"I've been to Lah'mu enough," she said. "If my experience might be valuable in this instance, who am I to say no?"

She only sounded a tiny bit bitter, which was impressive enough. Yet Thrawn pushed her further.

"Your goals," Thrawn said, "and ours are certain to overlap. All we are trying to accomplish is bringing peace to Lah'mu."

It was infuriating how the young woman simply nodded, like she actually might agree. Worse, Thrawn turned his attention back to the hologram, as if that was enough for him. What was he playing at? What game did Thrawn have set up that Vader could not see?

"Princess Organa has informed me that the Imperial base in the Western hemisphere lies in the highlands, away from the farmers, which is why the base has survived for so long. Only an airstrike could possibly catch them by surprise."

Vader scowled. "Don't give her ideas," he said darkly.

"Don't insult me," Jyn said, her gaze cold as she glanced at him. "I was the one would gave him the idea, not the other way around."

Infuriatingly, Thrawn nodded. Vader decided he was about to turn on one of Thrawn's training droids and let it loose on its highest mode before locking the two of them in here. Of course, he did not do that, but he wanted to. They were an unlikely pair, but somehow something had clicked between them. An understanding that Vader could not understand. Once again he was left out of the loop.

Shaking his head furiously, he turned his attention fully to Thrawn.

"I do not have time for this," he said, ignoring how Thrawn frowned. Because of course he was frowning. When Vader did not indulge him and his pet projects, Thrawn withdrew any sort of human characteristics and reverted back to the computer program that specialized in semantics that he seemed to be accustomed to.

"Are we boring you, Lord Vader?" Jyn's eyebrow shot beyond her hair. "You're welcome to leave."

Vader glowered at her. In their previous meetings, Jyn Organa had always been a bit mouthy. She had very little respect for authority and her personality was sour at best. Once, when the children had been much younger, Vader had made the mistake of coming home when Bail had been visiting. The girl had been fourteen at the time, and though she had been a princess for longer than she had been a refugee by this point, she had been entirely made of rusty scraps, a shrapnel tongue twisted inside her slackened jaw, always with an insult poised and ready to strike.

The children, unfortunately, adored her.

A year or two earlier, after running into the princess during a routine stop on Ryloth, Leia had spent the better part of two days with Jyn. When Vader had remarked that she was likely a traitor, Leia had merely examined her cuticles and shrugged.

"That's what makes her interesting," she'd said.

Who knew what Luke thought of her. He shuddered to think about it.

Turning his attention to Thrawn, decidedly ignoring Jyn's blatant death wish, he folded his arms and watched the man reluctantly tear his attention from the hologram before him.

"I have been summoned," he said gravely. Thrawn looked mildly surprised, which was always a treat to see. "I cannot delay much longer, so I will ask you not to think too deeply on this request." A fool's wish, Vader knew, but he could see how interested Thrawn was now.

"I will try, my lord," Thrawn said. His red eyes twinkled curiously.

Infuriating.

"I want you to keep Luke on the Chimaera," he said, sneering a bit when Jyn perked up, glancing between him and Thrawn with wide eyes. "Temporarily, of course."

Thrawn blinked twice. "Of course," he murmured. And of course his brain was overworking so hard that Vader could practically hear it processing this information.

"I will return for him once I am done on Coruscant," he said. "I trust that he will be safe in your care."

"You have my word," Thrawn said, bowing his head, "Lord Vader."

"Good." Vader wondered if he should warn the man about Luke's condition, but he did not want to reveal such sensitive information with Jyn in the room. "I will see you soon."

Vader stood there a moment, eyeing his old friend, before deciding even if Thrawn was an absolute manipulative bastard, it was unlikely he had any ulterior motive for Luke. Seeing as Luke was rather useless.

Palpatine, however, could always find use in a puppet.

It was for the best if Luke was not involved with the Emperor. That, at least, he and Padmé had always agreed on.

"Farewell," Thrawn said, his gaze fixed upon Vader now with great interest as he turned around.

Perhaps he'd gained Thrawn's attention in attempting to deflect it.

No matter, Vader thought, exiting the office. Luke will be safe here for the time being.

Luke ended up being escorted by Lieutenant Wren back to the bridge. Dormé was noticeably quiet, having taken his cape from him and tucked it beneath her own cloak. There had been a wordless exchange there, and Luke knew now that he could trust her with any sort of rebellious activity. Give a woman a lightsaber and her first instinct is to hide it, and you know you've got a good one on your hands.

"Your father is certainly something," Lieutenant Wren said. Her posture was distinctly relaxed in comparison to other officers Luke had the misfortune of interacting with. "You know, I was sure for a minute there that he was just going to kill me."

Unable to hide a smirk, he looked away from her. She spotted the expression and grinned.

"Oh," she gasped, "he would have, huh? Good to know."

"It's not your fault," Luke said sheepishly. "He's hardly a patient man, and it's really just best to get out of his way if you're not valuable in some way to him."

That earned him a bright, curious look. "Are you something valuable, then?" Wren asked, her voice teasing. "Maybe it's that killer instinct you've got. Taking down a Jedi, and all that."

Luke had not thought about it, and he did not like the insinuation that Vader only kept him around because he might be somewhat useful against the Jedi.

Yet the only reason Luke was here was because of the Force. Because of his connection with Leia.

A connection he could hardly use because somehow his body seemed to reject the strain of it.

"I'm not much use in a fight," Luke said quietly. "I have to imagine Vader keeps me around because I'm his son, and he has no choice."

Wren's steps seemed to falter, and she glanced up at him curiously. His mistake rose to meet him, too little too late, and he stared ahead at the yawning gray corridor while Wren laced her fingers up behind her back and pointedly let her gaze wander.

"You two aren't close, I'm guessing?" She offered a short shrug. "Family is tough like that."

Swallowing any admissions he was desperate to make, tired of treading on eggshells, Luke nodded vacantly. The thing was, Luke was alone. He might have his mother and father, alive and well, but what was that worth if they had no idea who he was? If he had no idea who they were?

He missed his sister. His real sister.

Eager to get the topic of conversation off his tense family dynamic, one that he did not fully understand, he smiled weakly at Wren and said, "You have a family, Lieutenant?"

That earned him a short, uneasy laugh, and the tension only grew. When Wren paused, her laughter fading, they walked along in their uneasy silence. Her eyes were fixed forward.

"Family is tough," she repeated, her fingers tightening to fists behind her back. They entered the bridge, Wren striding ahead, and Luke wondered if he had offended her.

He wondered how bad her family could possibly be when he was standing here with Darth Vader as his father and a Sith apprentice for a sister. Not to mention the obvious fact that no one liked talking about him.

Wren strolled up to Commodore Vanto, glancing around the bridge curiously. "Prisoner's gone?" she asked casually.

In response, Vanto merely shot her a long look. He seemed entirely exhausted.

"I had him sent to Med Bay," Vanto said. His eyes whisked over Luke briefly, lingering a moment, and then returning to Wren's face. "Not sure how to handle what just happened, so I'd rather take precautions."

Wren rolled her eyes. "Your bleeding heart," she mocked him. She was smiling though. "Lord Vader might not be too pleased about that."

Commodore Vanto's shoulders squared, and he straightened up to his full height as he turned his back on Wren sharply.

"Let him take it up with Thrawn," Vanto said in an icy, deathly calm voice. "If he wants to kill our prisoners, he will have to make a formal request and submit it to the ISB. Otherwise, Erso is ours. He is not dying for some petty dispute, not when he has information we need."

Luke had almost forgotten the man was an Imperial, until the last bit. He had been truly fooled, and a little bit dazzled by this man's integrity. Something about him was a bit magnetic, maybe his composure, maybe the drawl of his words that reminded Luke painfully of home. But of course, Vanto was still an Imperial officer. He still had a job to do.

It was harder when these people acted human.

"Is he alright?" Luke piped up.

Both Vanto and Wren glanced back at him. Wren was amused, Vanto was surprised. The man's dark eyes flickered over Luke, like he was trying to gauge what his ulterior motive was. Then, nodding hesitantly, he said, "He'll recover."

"Erso's been a pain in our neck for a while now," Wren supplied, eager to speak, it seemed. "He's been funneling weapons into the general population via his personal trade routes, as his farm is big enough that he's made profit off world. The money he's made in the process has been hard to trace, but Eli here's pretty much got him pinned on embezzlement and conspiracy charges, if not trafficking weapons."

Vanto glanced at Wren, looking a mix between embarrassed and irritated.

"I don't think the prince needs to know the gritty details of our investigation, Lieutenant," he said. He was clearly keeping it very formal, despite the fact that Wren had obviously broken protocol by calling him "Eli." Luke was intrigued.

"I'm interested, though," Luke objected, leaning forward to express his eagerness. "You said you found the evidence against him for embezzlement and conspiracy? How?"

There was a small flicker of discomfort of Vanto's face as he folded his arms across his chest and studied Luke for a moment. Wren looked like she wanted to speak, but her eyes were fixed on Vanto, waiting for his next move.

"Patterns arise when you don't watch yourself carefully," Vanto said with a small shrug. "Erso was incredibly thorough, probably aware of us in some capacity, possibly from a leak in our own intelligence specialistss, and we know he organized a lot of insurrections on Lah'mu, but we cannot actually physically pin that on him. There's just no evidence. Other Lah'mu rebels play dumb when interrogated, and even when we offer plea bargains in exchange for information, they just…" Vanto drew his fingers to the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes. "It's exhausting. I've been putting together a case against Erso for almost two years."

"Oh," Luke remarked, feeling a bit dazed. "Wow."

The name Erso, he thought, sounded familiar. Perhaps there was someone in the Rebellion on his end with the same name? Someone higher up? It was hard to tell, as the Empire seemed very much at the height of its power here while in his own world, obviously, the Empire was as dead as a skeleton in a dune.

"Eli's the best analyst we've got," Wren said brightly. Luke felt that her cheeriness was genuine, but he could sense something beyond it. Something… forced. "There's a reason he's survived Thrawn this long. He sees things sometimes that even Thrawn doesn't."

At that, Vanto seemed bashful, and he shot Wren a strained glance. With a small sigh, he shook his head.

"It took me two years," he reminded Wren. "The man is smart. He's hardly got any weaknesses, except for—" Vanto paused. He glanced at Luke, inhaled sharply, and shook his head again. "Superficially, he has no weaknesses. The man knows how to let things disappear without a trace."

"Regardless," Wren said, "you're very good at what you do." Then, glancing beyond Luke's head, her eyes twinkled mischievously as she straightened up, at attention very suddenly. "Heads up, kid. Boss is back."

Thrawn came striding onto the bridge quickly. Jyn Organa was at his heels, looking rather miserable about the whole ordeal. Her sharp green eyes flashed to his, and she made a face that had him smiling a bit. He wished he could say he knew her like his counterpart did, but he'd never seen her face in his life.

Jyn, he thought. Jyn... there's got to be something about you. I'm just missing it.

"Commodore Vanto," Thrawn said, coming up behind Luke, "is the prisoner secure?"

"In Med Bay," Vanto said mechanically, not even really looking at Thrawn as he spoke. When Thrawn frowned, Vanto nodded to Jyn. "Princess Organa, a cabin has been made ready for you."

Pursing her lips, clearly unhappy, Jyn nodded in acknowledgement.

"We will need another cabin prepared," Thrawn said absently.

Vanto froze a moment, his eyes flitting over Thrawn's face with startling intensity, and Luke was endlessly curious by this reaction. 

"For who?" he asked, blinking. "Erso?"

Thrawn eyed Vanto for a long moment, allowing the man to process his own question and flush. Frowning deeply, Vanto drew his thumbnail to his teeth, his brow furrowed. Then his eyes widened as the answer apparently hit him.

"Wait a minute," he said, "what…?"

"Lord Vader has requested that the Chimaera host his son while he attends to some business on Coruscant," Thrawn said, causing Luke's mouth to fall open. "It should not take long."

"What?" Luke uttered, taking a large step back.

He's just leaving me here, Luke thought wildly, alone?

Then, frantically, he looked to Dormé, who was also gaping in shock. Quiet and unassuming as she was, it felt like people often forgot she was there, standing over Luke's shoulder.

"You're not leaving too, are you?" Luke gasped, feeling a bit small, and very desperate for a companion he could trust.

"Never," Dormé said firmly, and her eyes spoke to him in a way the word could not. It made him relax a bit. "However, I must retrieve some items from the Executor before it leaves— it has not left yet, I imagine?"

With a shake of Thrawn's head, Dormé sighed in relief. Her hand found Luke's shoulder, and she squeezed it tight.

"I'll be back," she promised, backing away from him. "Behave yourself, will you?"

"No promises," Luke said, causing Dormé to shake her head amusedly.

"Handmaiden," Thrawn called. Dormé paused halfway to the door. "If you would be so kind as to escort Lieutenant Wren with you to the Executor?"

There was no need to be familiar with the dynamic of the crew to see how utterly baffled both Wren and Vanto were at this request. Wren's gaze flickered sharply to Thrawn, briefly horrified, and possibly a bit frightened, while Vanto's expression darkened, as though he was not surprised, but certainly disappointed.

"Sir?" Wren blurted, sounding a bit alarmed. Vanto's hand gripped her shoulder tightly while she stared up at Thrawn, her brow furrowing.

"This is not permanent," Thrawn explained, either somehow completely missing Wren's fear or dismissing it entirely, "just convenient. As you were the last person in contact with Princess Leia, you may be of more help to him than I would be."

As Vanto's other hand fell upon Wren's other shoulder, steadying her when she took a sharp step back, Luke gaped at her.

"You were the last person to speak to my sister?" he demanded, feeling himself losing whatever princely qualities he had barely managed to attain and melt fully into Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight.

"It was very brief," Wren snapped, shrugging off Vanto's hands irritably. He looked at her with wide, worried eyes. "She just told me she couldn't make it to the Chimaera because of a mission she'd been given last minute."

"You will accompany Vader," Thrawn told Wren, "until he returns for the prince. Assist him with whatever he may need in his investigation."

In response, Wren looked absolutely miserable. Her jaw set a bit, and she nodded stiffly, but her eyes told Luke that she was about to start screaming. With a curt nod, she cut past Thrawn. Dormé met Luke's gaze momentarily, a bit desperate, before hurrying after her.

The ensuing silence was a bit overwhelming. Luke had gotten used to Dormé's easy presence, the comfort of her at his back every step of the way, and now that he was alone… he just did not particularly like the sensation. He already felt so removed from reality, and to lose an anchor so suddenly made him feel small.

"That was cold," Jyn Organa remarked, her heels clicking against the bridge as she rounded Thrawn, her arms crossed defiantly. "Even for you."

"She will likely be fine," Thrawn said, all while Vanto merely scowled. He turned away sharply and moved toward the helm with startling haste. Thrawn's gaze trailed after him with what Luke could only describe as curiosity. But it felt like more than that, somehow.

"After Vader's little display on this very bridge," Jyn said, her voice mocking, "and you think anyone here believes that?"

Vanto's gaze was sharp and accusing as he looked over his shoulder at Thrawn. "You threw her into the Rancor pit!" Vanto snapped.

That startled both Luke and Jyn, who both gazed at Vanto in shock before glancing at one another inquisitively. Like the other person might have an answer for how Vanto was behaving. Instead, they merely blinked at each other, and then turned their attention to Thrawn. The man's hands were behind his back, and his eyes were fixed upon Vanto.

"Did I? You have very little faith in Lieutenant Wren's abilities," Thrawn remarked after a long, uncomfortable silence. The other officers on the bridge were observing this exchange with barely suppressed curiosity.

Vanto turned to face Thrawn, doing so without any qualms about remaining at attention under the scrutiny of his commanding officer.

"This is not about what Sabine is able or not able to do," he said steadily, "but Vader's disregard for the lives of those around him. Whatever you are planning, you should at the very least have considered her feelings before sending her to what any sane person would consider their doom."

"Her feelings," Thrawn echoed. Vanto merely stared at him, and it was obvious he was not going to elaborate. So Thrawn merely frowned. "I do not see it that way. Her "doom," you say? Lieutenant Wren is a Mandalorian, Commodore. I hardly think Lord Vader's wrath will shake her quite like it seems to have shaken you."

The way Thrawn spoke was very gentle and level, monotone even, with an unparalleled confidence dripping from every word. It took Luke a moment to realize how absolutely rude that remark was, and he actually clapped the tips of his fingers over his lips to stifle to sharp, disbelieving laugh that had settled at the back of his throat. When he glanced at Jyn, she seemed to have had a similar reaction, her eyes large and her mouth open in half a grin, half a gape.

Vanto, to his credit, had not even flinched. His dark eyes were fixed upon Thrawn's face. Then, alarmingly, he switched to Sy Bisti.

"You know why that decision was wrong," he said, lowering his head a bit, though his eyes remained fixed upon Thrawn's face. Luke knew the language in passing, enough to parse out what Vanto was saying, but he entirely missed what Vanto said next because it had taken him a moment to mentally translate the first sentence.

"I am not sure I follow your logic, Commodore," Thrawn replied in Sy Bisti. He spoke slower than Vanto, which made the translating a bit easier. "Nor do I understand why you feel the need to make a scene."

"Oh my," Luke murmured behind his hand. His eyes widened when he realized he'd spoken out loud, and Thrawn's gaze swiveled to him sharply. There was a keen sort of interest in his gaze.

Perhaps it was because there was no reason that Luke Skywalker, Imperial prince, should understand Sy Bisti.

"You do, though," Vanto said, either ignoring that Thrawn's attention had shifted or not noticing. "You understand me perfectly well, I think."

"Enough," Thrawn said in Basic. His brow pinched momentarily before he shook his head. "I have made my decision regarding Lieutenant Wren. Unless you would rather take her place, Commodore?"

That was pure spite, Luke realized. A cruelty, even. Thrawn was irritated by Vanto's outburst, it seemed, and retaliating in a way that made Luke feel unbearably sad for the man.

Yet Vanto merely stared a moment, before he shrugged and said, "If that is your command. Sir."

If that gave Thrawn any sort of pause, Luke could not pick it up. He was just that good at not reacting. It was sort of terrifying. Where was this man in Luke's own world?

"Your eagerness to leave has been noted," Thrawn said. "Lomar, escort Princess Organa to her cabin." Jyn looked ready to object, but seemed to think better of it. "Prince Luke, I would like you to accompany me to the cell block."

"Uhh…" Luke's eyes flickered worriedly from Jyn to Vanto, who Luke decided he liked despite the fact that he was an Imperial, and he smiled weakly. "Alright? Sure."

He thought this was probably a bad idea, but maybe Thrawn was taking him to see Ezra, and honestly Luke was interested enough in the man that he'd risk whatever danger following a random Imperial alien around brought him.

The Chimaera was the same size as any other Star Destroyer, yet Luke felt like he was dealing with giants. Maybe it was the way Thrawn's crew acted or reacted, but he was surprised by how small he felt.

It could also be the fact that Thrawn was very tall, and Luke now had to trail after him like this wasn't one of the weirdest days of his life. And Luke had lived through some weird shit.

"Did my father say why he left me behind?" Luke asked curiously as they boarded a lift. Thrawn's arms remained behind his back as he stared forward, implacable and confusing.

He was not sure how to handle Thrawn. In his experience, aliens hardly made good Imperials. The xenophobia kind of hurt the sympathy aspect a whole lot. The way everyone spoke to him and about him, Luke thought Thrawn must be very good at his job. After all, he'd gained Vader's approval. That in itself was a small miracle.

"He did not." Thrawn glanced down at him, and Luke felt the intensity of his red eyes in that moment, strange and eerie. In this light, they almost seemed to glow. "I apologize for the inconvenience."

Luke blinked, and he shook his head. "It's not your fault," he said, leaning back against the wall of the lift and watching the numbers flash above the door. "He's not an easy man to please, and it's not like you could say no to him."

With a short bow of Thrawn's head, Luke took that as a concession. That Luke was right on the latter point, at the very least.

"If it means anything," Luke said, "I think he likes you."

Thrawn's brow pinched a bit, and Luke only noticed because he was watching the man's face carefully.

"That is an interesting assessment," Thrawn said. "We have known one another a long time. I am not sure what "liking" one another has to do with it."

"A long time, huh?" Luke eyed Thrawn curiously. The lift opened, and Thrawn stepped out. Quick on his heels and eager for more information, Luke blew a bit of his hair out of his eyes. "How long is long?"

At the very least, Thrawn seemed amused and not irritated or suspicious.

"Longer than your lifetime," he said.

That bit of information honestly shocked Luke, and he halted for a moment, staring at Thrawn's back incredulously. Then he scrambled to catch up.

"You've known him that long?" he asked. Thrawn continued to walk briskly. "Did you know him when he was a Jedi?"

Pausing, Thrawn half turned to glance down at Luke. He frowned. "I would think your mother might have told you these things," he said.

Luke had no idea what his face looked like. He imagined a little panicked. He had to look away from Thrawn's face to laugh nervously.

"Oh," he said. "She doesn't like talking about, um…" He glanced up at the ceiling desperately, trying to find a good lie. "You know. Before."

That earned a small, short hum from Thrawn. He had turned his attention away from Luke, allowing him a moment to relax. He could not be sure what his mother liked to talk about, but he had to imagine the past was a sore topic, given all he'd seen.

"Was it your mother who taught you Sy Bisti?" Thrawn asked, sounding as casual as a man like Thrawn could.

Luke understood perfectly well that he was taking a gamble, but the question was too pointed. He had to choose yes or no quickly, or risk looking suspicious.

"A little," he admitted, the lie sitting heavy on his tongue. "I can't speak it. I was only able to pick up a little bit of your exchange with— uh— Commodore Vanto."

"And how do you like the Commodore?"

Luke was a Jedi Knight. He was much better at being composed and serene than he had been a few years ago. Yet he could not help glancing at Thrawn incredulously.

"Fine?" he said blankly. What was he supposed to say? Vanto seemed perfectly lovely for an Imperial? Yeah, like that would go over well.

"I see."

This guy is weird, Luke thought, frowning.

They reached a door, which Thrawn opened with a cylindrical keyfob, and Luke followed him silently into it. Immediately he could see that it was not the cell block at all, but the Med Bay. He turned to glance at Thrawn uncertainly.

"We'll get to Bridger," Thrawn said, plucking a datapad from outside a closed off room and examining it, "if that is your concern."

Luke tried not to look shocked or flustered. He pressed his lips together, and stared straight ahead.

"Why would that concern me?" he asked offhandedly. He hoped he sounded convincing. "He's a rebel, right? Why should I care?"

Thrawn's red eyes trailed to his face, stared at him vacantly, then slowly fell back upon the datapad. He nodded, then forced the datapad into Luke's hands.

"Come," Thrawn said at the doorway. Luke merely stared at him. "You will record this. You will take notes. You will not interrupt me, nor will you come to Erso's defense. Do you understand?"

"What?" he asked. He was both baffled and a little frightened. "I'm not your subordinate. You can't order me to do anything."

"If you would like to be assigned the same task while I am interrogating Bridger," Thrawn said, inserting his ID chip into the door and listening to it beep and click, "you will."

Luke actually gaped. He had already said he didn't care about Ezra. He'd just said it. Yet Thrawn knew that Luke wanted to know about him. It was unbelievably strange and a bit eerie to have a lie so easily brushed over like that. Thrawn did not know him, yet he caught Luke in a lie.

This did not bode well for anyone.

"You mean hold a datapad?" Luke held it up over his head with a quirked brow. "What a task! But what does it matter to me if you interrogate the Jedi? I'm only here for my sister."

It was an easy lie, one that he felt confident with. Yet Thrawn merely glanced at him, shook his head, and stepped into the room. Luke, at a loss of what else to do, followed him silently.

Galen Erso was sitting up in a cot, his eyes on them the moment they entered. His wrists were cuffed to the sides of the cot, and there were a few wires attached to his chest, monitoring his heartbeat. His wan, bony features were exceptionally stark in the Med Bay lighting, harsh fluorescents carving out the hollows of his eyes and his sunken cheeks. His peppery hair was limp and wispy around his ears.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Erso," Thrawn said, standing rather primly with his hands tight behind his back. Luke hastily fiddled with the datapad, finding the recording device and turning it on. He glanced anxiously between the two men. "You appear to be doing better."

Erso bowed his head in acknowledgement. His eyes lingered on Luke.

"You understand the enormity of your crimes, I suspect," Thrawn said, "so I will not waste time lecturing you about it. So instead, shall we talk about how you evaded detection for so long?"

"I am a simple farmer," Erso said calmly, his eyes finally dragging from Luke's face to peer up at Thrawn. "You claim that I am a rebel, but you have no proof."

Thrawn nodded. He strode to the corner, where an empty chair sat, and he dragged it by its back toward the cot. Then he sat down. His fingers steepled against his mouth while he watched Erso with his eerie red eyes shining.

Hanging back, feeling the tension in the room rise, Luke tried to look unassuming. He hoped he didn't look as worried as he felt. He gripped the datapad tightly, and looked down at it. There, the information about Galen Erso was plainly laid out for him.

NAME: GALEN WALTON ERSO

POB: GRANGE, 37 BFE

SPECIES: HUMAN

BLOOD TYPE: A+

EDUCATION: BRENTAAL FUTURES PROGRAM, TIRRAS UNIVERSITY, BLIM NARO, BRENTAAL

RELATIVES: TAVIA WALTON, 71 BFE-20 BFE; HALLIK ERSO 69 BFE-18 BFE; LYRA KESTREL ERSO 47 BFE-3 AFE; JYN ERSO 2 BFE-3 AFE

It took Luke a moment to process the final name on the list. Jyn Erso. Died at age five. Jyn Erso. It finally made sense why it had felt so familiar. Now that was a name he knew.

Jyn Erso, the girl who'd given them hope.

Her father, then? Luke thought, glancing at the man with a pinched brow.

The realization dawned on him all at once.

"Perhaps I have not been clear," Thrawn said, lowering his hand from his mouth, "about the severity of your situation. I do not want you dead, Doctor. Nor do I wish to start unnecessary conflict. So I will tell you your options." A single blue finger was raised. "First, you can be handed over to Vader, a fate that will not be kind to you." Another finger raised. "Second, you can sit here, adamant in your innocence, while I have my subordinate, Commodore Vanto's, extensive research regarding your personal history with the Viceroy of Alderaan published in the Imperial Standard Press." A third finger. "Third, you can cooperate, confess, and hopefully save very many lives in the process."

The Imperial Standard Press was not something that Luke had ever really bothered to read, given that the Imperially sanctioned HoloNet was rife with propaganda, but he did know that it was widely read across the Inner and Mid-Rims. Outer-Rim folk would likely not get the news, nor would they care.

But Luke did. And it seemed like Erso did too, the way he sat up a little straighter, his eyes flashing dangerously.

Silently, Luke's finger thumbed over the recording button. He waited for the perfect moment, Thrawn perfectly enrapt in whatever Erso was about to say, before he turned it off.

"My personal history with the Viceroy of Alderaan," he echoed. His accent was a bit difficult to catch. Not particularly aligned with any part of space Luke was familiar with. It was possible his people had their own culture and language, and their Basic had developed non-traditionally as a result.

Leia had always said that the galaxy was much vaster than he or she could ever truly know.

Now, more than ever, that seemed to be a certified fact.

Sighing, Thrawn leaned back. He eyed Erso for a moment, and then he continued.

"Twenty two years ago," Thrawn said, "when you and your family lived on Coruscant, you disappeared very suddenly in the midst of a planet-wide festival. I imagine you recall this event?"

Erso's jaw merely set defiantly.

"You are very good at cleaning up after yourself, Dr. Erso," Thrawn said politely. "I would not have thought about the significance of how you got off Coruscant, though the why did trouble me a bit. Until I came across your coded research." Thrawn's fingers quirked a bit, almost… excitedly as he said, "Your cypher was absolutely masterful. Leaving entire chunks unspoiled while neatly locking important information behind different layers of code… I was rather obsessed."

"I suppose you found the contents of my research enlightening," Erso said, looking bitter. Looking angry. "Well, then. If it is all the same to you, Admiral, I think I would be happy if you simply killed me."

Gripping the datapad tightly, Luke's eyes flashed worriedly from Erso to Thrawn. Shockingly, Thrawn looked just as surprised as Luke. His mouth opened, and then it closed, and he looked pensively at Erso before turning to Luke.

"Do you believe that was an exaggeration?" he asked.

Luke gaped at the man. When he did not answer, Thrawn frowned, and returned his attention to Erso.

"That was not a joke, I assume?" He shook his head. "I will not kill you. Nor do I fully understand your wish to die. You have more than enough on this ship alone to live for."

With a strange sort of calm, Erso stared at Thrawn. For all the other interactions Luke had seen today, even Vader, it seemed to him that no one could fluster Thrawn. Ezra had come close in the hangar, but it seemed that that had been more-so shock than anything else. He expected that once Thrawn interrogated Ezra, he would understand this a bit better.

"I will not continue my research," Erso said firmly. "That man who wrote those notes, who made that code? He is dead. He died twenty two years ago. There is nothing that remains of him now."

"Your concern," Thrawn said, "is that I will force you into completing the Celestial Power project that Orson Krennic sought you after?"

At the name "Orson Krennic," Erso did stiffen. In fact, his wrists, which were bound and attached to his cot, jerked viciously. He looked like a wild animal in a trap, and Luke deeply pitied him.

"Krennic disappeared the year your wife and daughter died," Thrawn said casually, his eyes on Erso's wrists, "did he not?"

"You would know better than me," Erso said, sounding dazed.

"How did you kill him?"

Erso's entire body seemed to shrink. Luke did not know who Orson Krennic was, and he was incredibly confused by all of this. What was the Celestial Power project? Who was this man?

"Does it matter?" Erso asked bitterly, sinking into his cot.

"If it was self-defense," Thrawn said, "yes. It does. Speak clearly and succinctly."

Erso took a deep breath. He looked exhausted as he hung his head back and decidedly looked at the ceiling.

"It was Jyn's birthday," he said quietly. The name Jyn rung in Luke's ears. He thought about the woman who had replaced Leia, and he felt questions burning in his throat. "I had not liked how I had ended things. On Coruscant. Krennic was an old friend, and I thought…" Erso's expression tightened. "I had left my research thinking that it would keep Krennic away from me. I assumed that it was enough. But they could not crack the code. I might as well have just destroyed it, like I'd intended. So Krennic doubled down on his attempt to find me. He went through old channels, tracked down the pilot who took us to Lah'mu, lied his way onto our farm. He was convinced that I had overreacted. I had not openly conspired with terrorists, as he had put it, so he had come alone."

Erso closed his eyes, and he smiled bitterly.

"He did not like it when I told him to leave," he said. "Nor did he like it when I told him that the research should be destroyed."

"The Celestial Power project," Thrawn said quietly. "You saw something in it that was dangerous. More than the official statement of…" Thrawn thought for a moment before using air-quotes. "'Providing unlimited energy to a war-ravaged galaxy?'"

"Lies," Erso snapped, his eyes flashing open. "The Empire does not care about providing for the weak. Only to intimidate and suppress them. It took me too long to realize that my work was being closely monitored, and that all the effort I put in to the idea of helping the galaxy was actually going to be implemented to enslave it."

"Explain," Thrawn demanded.

Looking momentarily confused, Erso blinked at Thrawn. "You don't know?" he asked blankly. Luke's mind was working very hard to try and work out what was actually happening. "Project Celestial Power was a ruse. Tarkin—"

"Tarkin?" Luke blurted, unable to keep his shock to himself. Thrawn and Erso looked at him, Thrawn with an unreadable gaze, Erso a bit shocked, as though he had forgotten he was there. "You knew Tarkin?"

"I had the misfortune of dining with him once or twice," Erso said quietly, "while on Coruscant. Yes. I believe it was his idea, or his brainchild. Krennic took over the operations of it, but Tarkin had been the first to suggest it. Krennic told me, at my own kitchen table, that if I did not come with him and help him build the greatest weapon in written history, then he would destroy everything I loved."

A twitch of his lip. A shine in his eyes. Erso smiled dazedly, his head falling to the side.

"And he did," he said. "He killed Lyra. In front of Jyn. I do not remember getting the blaster away, but Lyra had injured him, so I imagine that was how it happened. I don't remember killing him either, but there was no one else in the room but… well, it must have been me. I had the gun. It was all very…" Erso's eyes fluttered back, and he looked pained. "Fast. Messy. I did not know what to do."

"So you called your old friend from the Senate," Thrawn said quietly. "I see."

Erso's gaze fell upon Thrawn. He leaned forward, looking desperate and dazed.

"Please," he whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek, "do not blame her. She does not even know who I am."

"I would hardly say that," Thrawn said, frowning, "but I see your point. I cannot fault Bail Organa for taking in a child in need, though you can imagine the incriminating aspect of the whole ordeal is that he never turned you in."

"Because," Erso said firmly, "he knew what would happen if the Empire got its hands on me. Krennic or not, they still had my research. You read it. You must understand how dangerous it is."

Luke was growing more and more uncomfortable with the situation as he began to process multiple things at once.

This man was the father of Jyn Erso, the woman who had secured the Death Star plans. Luke knew the names of the small group of rebels who had infiltrated Scarif by nature of being part of Rogue Squadron. They had practically made them into myths, into prayers by the end of their stint on Hoth.

Jyn Erso was alive in this world. She had been adopted by Bail Organa. Luke had met the woman who had made it possible for him to blow up the Death Star, and he had not even known it.

And the third thing came to his mouth before it came to his head.

"The Death Star," he said vacantly. "Your research would create the Death Star."

It took him much too long to realize that out of all the things he'd said that could get him in trouble, this one probably would be the one to hurt him. Thrawn looked puzzled while Erso merely stared at him blankly.

"A planet killer," Erso said cautiously, his gaze fixed on Luke, "that was never named. Where did you hear that?"

Luke was silent, sinking into himself as he tried to think of an excuse. He had none.

It seemed as though Thrawn was waiting for Luke to answer, and Luke simply could not. The fear that possessed him in that moment must have been plain, because after a minute or so, Thrawn merely shook his head.

"He is the child of Lord Vader," he said offhandedly. "The Force is not something either of us are capable of fully understanding, Doctor."

But Erso did not seem convinced. He was staring at Luke with eyes that shone with fear, anxiety, and more than that, anger.

In truth, nobody had ever sat down and told him the whole story. He knew the names, he knew that a message had been delivered by a pilot named Bodhi Rook, the honorary leader of Rogue Squadron who had never gotten to fly with them, but he had never been sure what that message had been. Who it had been from. Only that it had gotten Rogue One to band together and go to Scarif to retrieve the Death Star plans.

The Death Star did not exist in this world. In this world where Jyn Erso was a princess. Where Alderaan was safe.

Because the Empire had never gotten its hands on this man? Could one man really change that much?

"I'm sorry," Luke said faintly. "I can't…" His eyes darted to Thrawn, who was watching him intently. "I can't explain. I just… know. What would have happened. If the Empire had gotten a hold of you."

Well, Luke thought, avoiding Thrawn's gaze, I've done it now.

Erso's expression twisted, but he seemed intrigued. His eyes, tired as they were, were fixed upon Luke with mild curiosity.

"I remember the Jedi," he admitted. "I lived on Coruscant intermittently during the Clone Wars. I saw Vader… before he was Vader…" His voice shifted uncertainly. "He was a different man in the holos. Younger than I was. Braver. I never met him. But he was a Jedi."

"Yes," Luke said softly, feeling for the first time in a long time very sure of himself. "My father was a Jedi. Maybe he even was a good man. Once."

The expression on Erso's face made it clear that he was a bit baffled. His eyes dashed wildly from Luke to Thrawn, and Luke's gaze also trailed to Thrawn's face, expecting a strong reaction. Instead, Thrawn merely bowed his head, an… acknowledgement? Maybe? Luke stared at him blankly.

"You say," Thrawn said, "that you know what would have happened if the Empire had gained custody of Dr. Erso. Tell me, then."

Luke shook his head. He turned his face away from both of them, the dust of Alderaan twinkling in his eyes. He remembered how closed off Leia had been in the Force then, so much so that he had not quite understood that he was feeling her at all. Even when she started letting him in, slowly, slow like the rising of the suns, her feelings never felt clear. Like they were always just out of reach.

That had changed by the end, of course. The last time Luke had seen her, he had felt every beat of joy, every twinge of guilt, every boisterous rage. It was a comfort. Like sharing a heart.

"What is it that you fear?" Thrawn demanded, leaning forward. "Me? Or this 'Death Star?'"

"I cannot fear something that does not exist," Luke said, blinking at him. But he felt Leia's distance, her aching longing for her home, even a universe away. "It does not exist."

"I thought the power that you hold shows you the future," Thrawn said. Something about the way he said it made Luke frown.

"Not always."

Thrawn nodded. He seemed only partially satisfied. "Well," he said, "perhaps you can enlighten me to what you know. I cannot make my decision on what to do with Dr. Erso without knowing the consequences."

Stiffening, Luke found himself trying not to look at Thrawn. He instead focused on Erso, whose defeated expression did not really give Luke much hope. It seemed that Luke was backed into a corner with the Death Star. This was his first major slip up, and he was thankful it was to someone who wasn't Force sensitive, because otherwise his lies would just… not hold up.

"It was a dream I had," Luke admitted. The tension in the room was enough that he spoke in a small, strained voice. "The Force will sometimes give us visions. Sometimes waking. Sometimes sleeping. Normally mine come when I sleep. My sister…" He had to be careful here, he realized. Thrawn knew Leia. "Hers are different, I think. But I had a dream of a battle station the size of a moon. It was made to destroy planets. I saw it destroy Alderaan."

At that, Erso jerked forward, his eyes widening and his wrists yanking on his bindings. Thrawn stood up, holding up his hand at Erso with a strong frown.

"It was a dream," Thrawn said firmly. "But elaborate. What do you mean by 'destroy?'"

Luke merely stared at him blankly.

"Destroyed," he said. "Gone. Stardust."

At the word "stardust," Galen Erso sunk into his cot, stared straight ahead, and looked like he might simply cease to exist before their eyes. It felt like this man had suddenly lost his will to carry on.

Standing there, Thrawn appeared a bit… uncomfortable. He frowned, his shoulders squaring, and he looked at Luke pensively as he cupped his chin.

"Very well," he said. "I believe that is enough about visions. I will consider this, and your admission, while I figure out just what to do with you."

"He hasn't admitted to any rebel activity," Luke pointed out, taking a step forward. "Refusing to work with the Empire is not a criminal offense!"

"Murder is," Thrawn said dryly.

"Self-defense!" Luke scoffed. He stared up at Thrawn, finding himself beseeching. "We don't have to do this. We do not have to put so many lives in danger just because of one man."

Shaking his head, Thrawn glanced at Erso. He held out his hand to Luke without looking at him, and he realized that he wanted the datapad. Hesitantly, he handed it back, recognizing that he was in danger for having turned off the microphone. Thrawn then glanced down at it, and quickly glided his fingers over it, deftly pulling up what he wanted.

"Your ability to leave very little trace of criminal activity baffled me at first," Thrawn admitted. "I could not grasp how you could know my movements. Know when I was watching, when I was not. I made the mistake of assuming it was your intelligence that had gotten you as far as you had gotten. I was wrong."

That was backhanded, and Luke could not help but grimace.

"I did not think about the possibility," Thrawn continued, "that you were not working alone. So, Doctor, if you please…?"

The datapad was turned around so Erso could peer at it through heavily lidded eyes. His brow furrowed at the sight of the photo on the screen. When Luke tipped his head to look, he saw a strange painting. It was an array of colors and shapes.

"That was a painting of Lyra's," he said, blinking up at Thrawn. "I'm sorry, but is there something special about this?"

Thrawn swiped the screen, and another painting appeared. This one was entirely different, a landscape of sorts, in a style that might have been similar, maybe. Luke did not know much about art. The only thing that he could grasp about it was the starbird, which was incriminating on its own.

"And this?" Thrawn cocked his head. "Your wife as well?"

At that, Erso scowled. He shook his head. "I am tired of this," he declared. "She is dead. Let me have my memory of her."

"Certainly." Thrawn turned the datapad to his chest. Then, from the pocket of his pristine white trousers, he withdrew a folded little flimsy. Its back was stained, and there was a scribbled note on it. He unfolded it carefully, as to not drop it or the datapad and then he held it up. It was an abstract sketch with splotches of color smeared in. Blues, mostly. Luke did not understand what it was supposed to be. "Your wife must have been very talented, to continue to paint beyond the grave."

Erso merely stared at the paper. Then, he shook his head.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Folding the painting back up, Thrawn turned away, the datapad tucked beneath his arm.

"Fair enough," he said. "I will deliberate your fate, then. Prince Luke?"

Glancing furtively between the two men, Luke had no choice but to slink behind Thrawn, feeling all at once like he had made a mistake. That he was in danger. The strangeness of his situation had him clinging to the things he did know. His own truths, his own history, those things that meant nothing here.

Galen Erso, who must have been a dead man, watched him leave with tears glistening in his eyes.

In the hall, Thrawn checked the chrono on the datapad as he walked. The silence between them stretched tensely as they passed numerous troopers, and Luke's anxiety grew worse and worse.

"Do the stormtroopers bother you?"

Luke looked up at Thrawn, astonished. He was not even looking at him.

"No," he said. "No, it's not that."

"What is it then?"

Rubbing his hands anxiously, feeling the flesh of the hand that Vader had stolen from him, knowing that this was not his body, knowing that he could get another version of himself killed with his carelessness… it was a lot to take in. He frowned at his feet.

"Perhaps it is me?"

That startled Luke. He briefly glanced up at Thrawn, meeting his eerie gaze, the red of those eyes brighter than they had been before.

"I've never had to be on an Imperial ship like this before," Luke said, careful of his word choice. He was scared that this man might sense his lies somehow. "It's just strange. Sorry."

Thrawn eyed him, not immediately answering, before nodding very slowly.

"Alright," he said. "We will reconvene in an hour, after you have eaten. Are you aware of the direction of the Mess Hall?"

Luke nodded, absolutely having no idea where the Mess might be located on a ship like this. It wasn't like in his experience infiltrating Imperial Star Destroyers he'd ever stopped for a snack. He started forward, and as he walked, Thrawn cleared his throat. Turning hesitantly, he followed Thrawn's pointed finger toward the opposite direction.

"Oh," Luke said. His face was warm. He trudged back the way he came.

"And Prince Luke?"

He paused, glancing back at Thrawn expectantly. He was staring at him dully.

"I would advise you do not turn off the recording when we interrogate Bridger," he said, making Luke blink rapidly in shock. "Your father will be displeased if I do not provide him with a full documentation of the session."

"Okay?" Luke did not know what else to say. "Bye, then."

Bastard, he thought snidely, hurrying down the corridor and finding himself asking the nearest officer for directions to the Mess Hall. He was alarmed when he was escorted there, feeling nervous about the whole ordeal. Then he remembered that he was an Imperial prince, or whatever, and people had to treat him well.

Absolutely hilarious, but at least he did not get lost again.

He got in line, feeling too many eyes on him, and the anxiety of being surrounded by stark white armor and drab gray uniforms made him feel trapped. His knuckles were white against his tray as he was served a variation of protein blocks rehydrated in what appeared to be a dark, sweet sauce. The blocks absorbed the sauce, fattening up and turning from white to brown on his tray.

Turning around cautiously, he eyed the helmetless troopers, the casual chatter flitting between the officers and the armored men and women. He scanned the room for an empty table, understanding now why Thrawn had asked if the stormtroopers made him uncomfortable. This was hell.

"Prince Luke!"

The voice surprised him. He turned slowly, and spotted a hand waving on the far side of the room. The sound had caused much of the chatter to quiet. A few people glanced his way, frowning. The owner of the voice was someone Luke recognized, he realized, and he quickly crossed the room to stand awkwardly at the edge of a table where the Commodore of the Chimaera, Vanto, sat.

"You can sit," Vanto said gently. When Luke glanced down at the table, he frowned confusedly, and Vanto followed his gaze. Cursing under his breath, much to Luke's surprise, the man shuffled his papers and datapads out of the way, sliding them to the far side of the table. He seemed to be the only one in the room eating by himself. It reminded Luke of how Leia often worked through breakfast, lunch, and dinner, forgoing personal health and hygiene at times to get things done.

"Sorry," Vanto said. He gestured to the seat across from him. "Please, sit with me."

Hesitantly, Luke set down his tray. He slumped a bit while Vanto stared at him, finding it difficult to keep the act up. He did not like this. He did not know who he was supposed to be in this moment.

"I imagine the interrogation was unpleasant?" Vanto's brows furrowed irritably. "I'm sorry he's making you do this. He's been in a mood lately, and I can't figure out why. I mean, beyond the usual reasons."

"Thrawn?" Luke asked weakly. He watched Vanto take a bite of his food, and he picked up his fork and began pushing the protein blocks around his tray. "It could have been worse, I guess. No torture, so that's always a plus."

Vanto blinked at him, his jaw clicking as he chewed. He swallowed very hard.

"Torture," he echoed. "Right. You're used to Vader's tactics."

"I assumed that it was an Imperial thing." Seeing Vanto's frown, he grimaced. "Sorry. I think I've made it pretty clear I disapprove of some Imperial practices."

"You're a borderline rebel," Vanto said, sounding amused. "I guess that is to be expected, given who your mother is. Er, no offense. Miss Amidala is really lovely."

Well, his mother's support of the rebellion should have been comforting, but it was not.

"I care about people," he replied firmly, "and I don't like what I've seen of how the Empire treats them so far. If that is borderline rebellion, we should all be rethinking how effective this Empire really is."

"Okay," Vanto said, his eyes flickering around them worriedly, "that's enough. I understand what you're saying, but you can't say that. Not here."

Luke realized he looked scared. And that it was a harsh reality that Luke would not get in trouble for saying these things. But Vanto might.

"I'm sorry," he said, bowing his head. "The situation with Erso and Ezra— um, the… Jedi… it bothers me."

"We have been trying to catch them both for a long time," Vanto said apologetically. "I understand your frustration. I really do. Thrawn's been…" Vanto's expression shuttered a bit. He looked torn. "I don't know. He has been off for a while now. I think since the last Jedi was captured."

That alarmed Luke enough that he dropped his fork. "There was another Jedi?" he asked weakly.

There are more of us? That was the thought that swirled around his brain. Where are all of these Jedi in my world?

Vanto nodded cautiously. "Bridger's teacher," he said, drawing his forehead into his hand and rubbing beneath his bangs. "Kanan Jarrus. Um, he was a real mess to deal with, for a while. Lothal was a nightmare because of him. He wasn't a half-trained Jedi like Bridger, he was the real thing. Like, from the Purges."

"No kidding," Luke said vacantly. He felt dazed. Reverent.

"Anyway," Vanto said bitterly, "Thrawn's idea was to capture Jarrus, keep him imprisoned, lure the rest of the rebels, catch them too. It was all very well laid out, and I don't remember all the details, but essentially he caught the pilot, Syndulla instead. There was a lot of ruckus, but Jarrus came for her. She got out, he didn't. Bridger tried to come after him, it was…" Trailing off and looking rather far away, Vanto sighed suddenly. "Thrawn would have captured them all. They're rebels. That's our job, to capture them. But something happened with Jarrus. Thrawn was faced with the order to hand him over to Vader, and without explanation to any of us, Thrawn refused."

That was astonishing, yes. Luke stared at Vanto, trying to find a response, but there was not one. Who was this man? Luke could not wrap his head around him.

"Eventually," Vanto continued, "Jarrus was forcibly removed from the Chimaera, and we all were threatened with court-martials. Many of our crew were transferred. Commodore Faro was eventually given a promotion, as punishment for Thrawn, I believe, since she was immediately put in charge of Lothal, and I was promoted, but… well, it's always been a funny joke to the higher ups, I guess, keeping me stuck to Thrawn. Sabine— um, Lieutenant Wren? She received word that her brother had been brought into Imperial custody. As a hostage. Stuff like that happened to all of us, on varying scales."

"That seems extreme," Luke said faintly. "Especially for the Lieutenant. She didn't do anything wrong!"

"People like me and Vice Admiral Faro," Vanto said quietly, "had the particularly fun experience of being assigned to Thrawn at one point or another. Many officers find me, uh… distasteful to have around, because of my background, and nobody likes Thrawn very much, so they would never reassign me." There was something of a smile on Vanto's lips. A suggestion of one, at the very least. "However, he chose Sabine. Right out of the Academy. She was still a Cadet when he requested she get transferred onto his ship."

"Oh." Luke blinked. "Wow. Not to be, uh, rude, but… why?"

"Ah, right, so…" Vanto waved his fork around offhandedly, "Sabine's an artist. A really talented one. Thrawn saw her work during a benefit auction, demanded to meet her, found out she was a Cadet, and just…" Vanto then rolled his eyes. "Yeah. He'd found out she was Mandalorian, not knowing enough about their culture before then, and basically had a library of Mandalorian history texts transferred over before she even got the orders."

Luke thought about Boba Fett, grimaced, and wondered if the young woman he had met earlier was anything like the bounty hunter he'd left to rot on Tatooine.

"And he sent her with my father," Luke said quietly. He shook his head. "So he made the same decision twice, right? He decided to keep Ezra for whatever reason, and now he's punishing all of you for it?"

"Thrawn has a reason," Vanto said firmly. "Just not one that will be readily understandable to any of us. What he's doing to Sabine is entirely unfair, though. After what his decision put her through the first time…"

"Right." Luke could only hope she would survive Vader. He thought for a moment, and then tilted his head. "Sorry to ask, but what's up with her family? She seemed really testy about the subject."

Vanto's expression was easy enough to read, and Luke knew that he did not want to reveal this information. However, Luke could see him weighing his options, and for once he was very glad that he held this shiny new position of Imperial prince.

"Something happened while she was at the Academy," he said, frowning at his food. "She doesn't like talking about it, but it was bad enough that she had to go through a formal hearing and was nearly imprisoned for destruction of property. Her mother is a Countess, so the charges were dropped, but the Empire required proof of loyalty for not only Sabine, but the entirety of Clan Wren. Sabine's lucky that Thrawn found her. Otherwise she would have been a glorified hostage on Coruscant. From the way she talks about it, her family found her behavior shameful and made a full apology to the Empire. She doesn't say much about them. I imagine they don't talk anymore, especially after her brother was taken."

Luke realized, halfway through this, that he should probably eat. So he chewed mechanically as he listened, feeling entirely confused by this whole situation. It seemed like the Lieutenant had every reason to hate the Empire.

"Will something happen to her family?" Luke asked. "If she doesn't comply?"

"Yeah," he said bitterly. "Almost definitely."

He stared at his food a moment, and then stabbed one of the protein blocks viciously. Then he stood up.

"I'm going to go speak to Thrawn," he said. "Watch my things?"

Luke sat there, only able to say, "Uhhhh…"

Vanto was already gone.

There was something strange happening on the Chimaera. In the last few hours, they had acquired more rebels than Eli had ever properly met in his life, and they were not equipped to charge any of them except for perhaps Ezra Bridger, whose very life was, unfortunately, criminal. In the aftermath of the Jarrus incident, when Thrawn had refused to speak to him, he had found himself with Sabine, angry and frustrated at the knowledge that he was being shut out.

"Maybe he'll tell you what's happening!" Eli had huffed, pacing his room as Sabine had nursed a healthy amount of liquor that she definitely was not allowed to have, in a jar she'd stolen from the kitchen. "You're his favorite! He might actually listen to you if you tell him that he's going to get us all in trouble with his stubbornness."

She had sat at his desk, thumbing through some of his hand-written notes, and then she had looked up at him tiredly.

"Eli," she'd said, "have you ever thought about it from Kanan Jarrus's perspective? There was nowhere for him to go. His whole life is a crime in the eyes of the Empire. What choice did he have but to rebel?"

He remembered halting, shocked at her words, because he could not believe what was coming out of her mouth. It was borderline treason.

"The Jedi attempted a coup," Eli had said hurriedly, watching Sabine frown into her jar. "They're dangerous, Sabine."

"Right, yeah," she'd mumbled, the butt of her glass smacking hard against his desk. "They're dangerous. And Kanan Jarrus, who is what? Your age? He was a child during the Clone Wars. Make that make sense, Eli."

He had not thought of it that way. To this day he still felt strange and guilty when he thought about Kanan Jarrus, because Sabine had been right. When Eli had checked the report, Kanan Jarrus, born Caleb Dume, had been thirteen standard years old at the rise of the Empire and the start of the Purges. He had never thought about Jedi children. Nobody had talked about them on Lysatra. Only that the Jedi had turned on the Republic, and the Republic had become the Empire.

After the news that Sabine's brother was in Imperial custody, Eli had gone to Thrawn and asked him what he was going to do. When Thrawn had said, "Nothing," Eli had left his office, marched to Sabine's quarters, and found her in a bit of a state.

"Stop!" Eli had gasped, catching her arm as she tore page after page from her sketchbook. "Who is that going to help?"

Sabine had wrenched her arm back from him, glared at him for a short moment, and then taken a bottle of alcohol (the same as before), took a long swig of it, then poured it over the sketchbook. He had watched, confused, as she had tossed it into her waste bin, and then, bafflingly, flicked a lighter open and tossed the flame into the bin.

"Shit!" Eli had thrown himself away from the blaze, which had burst outwards violently and crackled, hissed, heaved before them, all while Sabine did not even blink. She tossed the torn-up paintings into the bin, waited a moment, and then poured some muddied water, paintbrushes still stuck within, over the flame. It had only dampened it slightly.

"Huh," she'd said. Eli, at a loss, had kicked the bin over and decidedly stomped the fire out. The smoke had set off the alarm, and they had both looked at each other, Eli in shock, Sabine utterly vacant.

"Whoops," she'd said. "Freak accident, I guess. Do you know what's for dinner tonight?"

Eli's feet dragged to a stop outside Thrawn's office. His fingers flexed a bit, dragging through his hair, over his face, tired and unsure. He had been angry all the way up here, his brisk steps and burning eyes spooking some of the subordinates, but now that he was actually here, it felt different.

It had been a long time since Thrawn had been honest. In the last few months, particularly, it was alarming how little Thrawn actually spoke to him. To Sabine even less. She had never seemed offended by it, which surprised him, because she was a creature of pride more than of any virtue or sin. He supposed it was the nature of a Mandalorian.

Dreading the truth, he wondered if he should just go back to the prince in the Mess Hall. He was sweet-tempered and naïve, but Eli liked him fine. Having seen the fear in his eyes, trying to navigate through the Imperial ranks around him, he'd taken pity on the young man. After all, he was a bit of a mystery. The gossip, which Eli had the misfortune of being privy to, was that Prince Luke Skywalker was wrong somehow. That he was another man's child, or horribly disfigured in some way, because what else could explain his seclusion from the public eye while his sister galivanted across the galaxy?

Having spoken to him, Eli determined that the only thing wrong with the prince was his rebel sentiments. Otherwise he seemed perfectly normal, and even pleasant.

Of course, he did not return to the prince. Instead, he took a deep breath, straightened himself out, tugged the jacket of his uniform down, and then rapped twice on the door.

He waited, the rage returning to him as he stood there, fumbling for an excuse. An excuse for all of them.

"Enter."

And Eli did. He half charged into Thrawn's office, his boots clipping the floor, and he watched Thrawn as his gaze remained firmly upon a holo of a painting. It was a familiar painting, of course. The one that had drawn him to Sabine in the first place. It was colorful, exuberant, and bright. A sprawling landscape, gold sand, silver trees, and a blazing starbird in the place of a sun on the horizon.

"You want me to say something," Thrawn surmised, still not looking at Eli, much to his frustration and fear.

After all this time, he still wondered if Thrawn cared for him at all.

"Some wisdom," Eli said, surprised at how level his voice was with all of the rage shaking him through, "would suffice, sir."

Those red eyes flashed to his. He lowered his fist from his chin and leaned back.

"I live to serve," Thrawn said. He swiveled in his chair, like he considered getting up but decided against it. The crescent moon desk yawned before Eli as he stood there, not quite at attention, but unbelievably tense and unsure. "Will you have a seat?"

"I'd rather stand."

Eyeing him, Thrawn leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

"By all means," he said. His eyes trailed from the top of Eli's head to his toes. This was not a surprise. He wanted Eli to know that he knew every tic, every twitch, every little nuance of his behavior. He did not even need to look at him to know how angry he was. But he was looking at Eli now, because he wanted Eli to feel his eyes on him.

He wanted to see what Eli would do next. More than that, he wanted Eli to be careful with how he proceeded.

Or, worse, he just wanted Eli to squirm.

Swallowing all that apprehension, knowing it was useless to fight Thrawn, Eli drew himself closer to the desk. He gestured widely to the holo.

"Were you going to say anything?" he demanded. His heart palpitated, a nervous sweat breaking out on his palms, and he glowered down at Thrawn while he tried to think of a thousand different ways to hurt him the way that Eli felt hurt in this instant.

"I do believe you will need to be more specific, Commodore."

The shock of it all, the rage, it did not dissipate. Instead, it welled up inside him, and he felt possessed by it. A puppet of his own disbelief. He laughed, and turned his head, drawing it into his hands, feeling small under Thrawn's scrutiny.

"Even now?" he gasped, shaking his head. "You won't talk to me even when I've figured it out? I have known you for thirteen years! Can you please just give me even a small piece of your time, so I can figure out what the hell to do with this mess?"

Thrawn's gaze lowered a moment. His fingers twitched, and he closed them into fists.

"Tell me what you think you know," he said. "If you are correct, then we shall discuss it."

That was enough to make Eli want to scream. Enough that when he finally did lower himself into the nearest chair, he nearly burst into tears.

It was not hard to imagine that Thrawn could not even recognize this as a cruelty.

"Sabine is either a full blown traitor," Eli said, his words somehow coming out bland and perfunctory despite everything in him threatening to collapse, "or she is well on her way to becoming one."

"And how did you come to this conclusion?"

Eli's eyes flickered up to Thrawn incredulously. Drawing a sharp breath, burying another laugh deep inside of his chest where he could unearth it later with all the heavy sobs he thought might need to be dusted off, he straightened up and spoke.

"You," he said, lowering his chin but keeping his eyes fixed on Thrawn's. He was satisfied when something twitched in Thrawn's expression. An eyelid. A cheek. Something changed. "I don't know how long you've known, or suspected, but today made it clear. Because why else would you throw her away so carelessly? Sabine has been your personal pet project for nearly a decade. You've been distant, but not enough for that to make sense."

"It has not been a decade," Thrawn said mildly. "Only about eight years."

"I said nearly, didn't I?"

When Thrawn merely stared, Eli sighed. He lowered his forehead against his closed fists, and his shoulders collapsed.

"She's using her art, somehow," he murmured. "That's how you found out, isn't it?"

Raising his eyes, hoping that there was still a chance, against all real hope, really, that he was wrong. Yet when he looked at Thrawn's face, he saw only a frown. His red eyes trailed back to the beautiful painting, the one that had dragged Sabine Wren into their lives.

"What do we do?" Eli demanded.

Thrawn blinked at him.

"Nothing," he said.

Eli's jaw slackened a bit. Then, defiantly, it clicked shut. He glared at Thrawn, and he wondered if they would ever truly get along. If it was possible with their personalities. Because Eli was oscillating between utterly devastated and half-mad, while Thrawn sat there with his usual serene expression, like they were speaking about the landscape of their next planet.

"Nothing," Eli echoed. "You know, I wish you didn't have the capacity to surprise me anymore. But you do, so here we are."

At that, Thrawn's brow did pinch. He peered at Eli with a tilting head.

"Are you suggesting we turn Lieutenant Wren in?" he asked.

"No!" Eli jerked back in alarm. "Not at all!"

"Then," Thrawn pressed, "you are suggesting we commit treason?"

"No!" Eli winced. Well, not really. "I just want to save her, that's all!"

"Perhaps," Thrawn said quietly, "no one can."

"Krayt spit," Eli snapped. "Absolute krayt spit. You know we could have done something earlier. If I'd known—"

"What could you have done?" Thrawn cut in sharply. Oh, Eli realized, mildly amused and a little afraid and, strangely, a bit thrilled, he's angry. "I recognize Lieutenant Wren's usefulness, but she has always been a wildcard. When she was my wildcard, it was different. But if I cannot control her, then she can be used against me."

"Is that what this is about?" Eli found himself alarmed. Even a little bitter. "Control?"

Thrawn frowned at that, perhaps pondering over it, which made Eli stare at him blankly. Then, lifting his hand to the holoprojector, Thrawn's fingers flitted across the starbird, the image changed. It was still a painting, and still clearly one of Sabine's, but it was… strange. Eli was not an art expert, but there was no focal point, no real discernable image. Just shapes and colors.

"Haven't seen that one," he said quietly. "When did she paint that?"

"Likely in the past three months," Thrawn said. He glanced at the painting, and then gestured to a faded squiggly line, and below it a series of unrecognizable symbols. "This block corresponds to a time." His finger traced the next column, which overlapped. "Date." Dragging his finger to separate overlapping set of symbols. "The Chimaera." Then, the last column. "My name."

Eli inhaled very sharply. His nostrils flared.

"A warning," he conceded.

"To Galen Erso." Thrawn's gaze slid to Eli. "Would you like to know how I figured that out?"

"I would expect nothing less, sir."

It was almost a kindness after all the cruelty, that he had even asked.

"When Lieutenant Wren is on leave, her time has rarely been spent on Krownest," Thrawn said, his eyes trailing back to the painting. "Before the incident with Jarrus, she went twice. I believe she came back displeased each time."

"Her mother is tough," Eli murmured. The betrayal was starting to settle in.

He had thought, with how messed up Sabine's family life was, she had started to feel at home on the Chimaera. Knowing now that she had been actively undermining the work he had been doing for years, without batting an eye, shook him to his very core.

It broke his heart, really.

"Recently," Thrawn said, "she has been going to a planet called Kepheon, in the Nilgaard sector. An agent of mine followed her on her last visit."

The holo changed abruptly to a looped video of what appeared to be security footage of a bustling cantina. At first, Eli was not sure what he was supposed to be looking for, but it was not hard to figure out once he spotted the helmeted figure in a corner booth, far to the left of the footage. Another helmeted figure strolled toward him, this one smaller, more feminine in shape.

If it was not for the fact that Eli was essentially being fed the information that this figure was Sabine, he probably would not have known. She seemed to be an entirely different person in Mandalorian armor. Even her gait was different.

She and her fellow Mandalorian sat at the booth and began to speak. The video looped back.

"Who's the other Mando?" Eli blinked, leaning a bit closer to see if he could catch the armor's design. "That's a man, right? So not the lady of the old regime. Lady Bo-Katan Kryze."

"You remembered. Well done." That praise was enough that Eli had to frown. Usually when Thrawn praised him, Eli felt very warm and somewhat giddy. Now he felt like he might smash the holoprojector against the wall. He bit back a snippy remark that Thrawn had been obsessed with Mandalorians for the better part of three years, and Eli had been right there that whole time. The way Thrawn looked at him, though, made Eli feel conflicted. Like maybe he did care. Somewhat. "Sabine is too clever to go through the Nite Owls."

Eli only had any idea who the Nite Owls were because of the aforementioned Mandalorian obsession, and because Sabine had once told him about them fondly, explaining that her mother had been one once.

Is the fact that he called her "Sabine" a good thing, Eli wondered, or a bad thing?

"Erso is a genius," Thrawn continued when Eli merely stared at him, "certainly, but this cipher was created for fluent speakers of Mando'a. It is not the most difficult language to learn, but I imagine it was simpler to have the courier, a bounty hunter, translate it for him. This cipher was the only one I found, and I imagine it was not destroyed because it was delivered very recently, and I intentionally changed our itinerary to arrive here early. Both to catch Jyn Organa, who I imagine might be receiving similar visits from our Mandalorian friend here or rather was truly in the wrong place at the wrong time, and to catch the Lieutenant. Organa will be set free in a day or two, after she has been properly frightened away from Lah'mu. I cannot do anything with her, given her status, but I will give her time to say goodbye to her birth father while I deliberate his fate."

Eli had been the one to bring Jyn Organa's connection to Galen Erso to Thrawn's attention, having dug up archived footage of the Erso family in a port on Coruscant and cross-referencing the data with permits Bail Organa had gotten rush-ordered to leave the planet during festivities. Part of him regretted this fact deeply, because as much as he wanted Erso to be brought to justice, and as much as they all suspected Jyn Organa was ferrying supplies to the rebels, nobody deserved this fate. To have a long lost family member dangled over your head, the threats to them very real, all while being unable to truly reunite with them.

What was were they going to do about Sabine's brother? He wondered if she had considered him before embarking on this fool's errand.

The image of Sabine systematically destroying her artwork after her brother had been taken into Imperial custody burned behind his eyes. So brightly, in fact, that they started to fill with tears.

Because her treason had predated Jarrus's capture. She had been doing this for years.

He would not tell Thrawn about the destroyed paintings. Though it was easy to imagine he might already know.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Eli whispered. He felt betrayed on two fronts. One from the bright, friendly girl who had always made him laugh, and who was entirely unsuited for Imperial protocol. The other from a man that he admired more than anything, and all he got was scraps in return.

The response he got was silence. A level gaze, one that Eli met determinedly, because he had to know. The intensity of that stare made him almost shiver.

It was the hooding of his eyes, maybe, that gave it away. The sloping of his shoulders. The types of things that Eli would never have noticed a few years ago, but when words did not work, it was body language that told the tale.

"You thought I was a traitor too," Eli murmured, blinking wildly down at his hands. The shock of it rattled him. Thirteen years, and Thrawn really thought…?

Suddenly their exchange on the bridge made sense. The coldness. The unwillingness of Thrawn to relent. The brutality of: "Unless you would rather take her place, Commodore?"

"It was a possibility," Thrawn finally admitted, "that I had to examine more closely. Yes."

"You think I would do that to you?" Eli blurted, alarming himself more than anything. Thrawn blinked at him. "After everything? Really?"

Thrawn continued to blink, leaning back in his chair and studying Eli. When he did not respond, there was nothing Eli could say or do that he felt might make this better. Because though he had not known about Sabine's betrayal, he was not sure he would have told Thrawn if he had.

And it seemed like Thrawn knew that.

Standing abruptly, Eli found himself turning away from Thrawn.

"Respectfully," he said, his voice low, "if she dies, I will blame you. Sir."

As he walked to the door, he heard Thrawn say:

"You may blame me if she dies, but perhaps you should begin to think about what you will do if she lives."

Eli just walked faster, too angry to respond.

Chapter Text

Sabine Wren was, it seemed, royally fucked. Or, maybe, Imperially fucked. Oh, that was funny. She might have laughed if she did not feel so unbelievably beaten down. Her shoulders were bearing the weight of all of her worries while she tailed Vader around his ship. He did not seem to know what to do with her.

"Will you go do your job?" he finally snapped at her.

Sabine, who was fucked either way, raised an eyebrow.

"You have not given me orders, sir," she said.

Vader was a very tall man, more frightening than the holos gave him credit for. He was imposing, mean, and he made her feel like she was walking on a bed of needles. Like he could smell the insurgency on her clothes, in her hair, like "rebel" was a brand raised upon her cheeks.

The truth was, she had not meant for this to happen. She had been rather content with being Thrawn's protégé. For a while. It had felt like a meaningful thing, after all the garbage that the Academy had put her through. A superior officer who actually understood her art. Someone who cared about what she thought, asked her opinion.

She did still care about Thrawn. And most of the Chimaera. She knew, standing before Vader on Thrawn's command, that the other shoe had finally dropped. Erso must have had one of her paintings. He'd either confess, dragging her down with him, or he'd valiantly cover for her. Which she knew was useless at this point. It had always been a gamble, using her art, hence the strict instructions to always burn all the evidence. If Thrawn had seen even a glimpse of one of her messages, it was game over.

Well, it had been fun while it lasted.

I wonder if they'll kill Tristan, she thought numbly.

It would be her fault if they did. Yet, worst of all, she could not find it in herself to feel the reality of that. That she would be killing her own brother with a few brush strokes, and a glorious bomb.

"What are your usual duties?" Vader sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Thrawn must have sent you here because he thinks you are useful. Well? Are you?"

"Incredibly, my lord," Sabine said, eager to be ostensibly of use to save her own neck for at least a couple more days. She had to plan carefully.

If this man found out even a quarter of the shit she'd done, not to mention the personal slight against him very recently, it would be a nightmare. Not only did she imagine she and Tristan would die terribly gruesome deaths, but her mother and father as well. Hell, Krownest would be razed. Maybe other Mandalorian planets by extension, given her accomplices.

Vader stared at her expectantly. She smiled thinly, and let her arms fold behind her back so she didn't fidget.

"My specialties are in engineering, weapons prototyping, battle stratagems, negotiations, and interpretation."

"What a resumé," Vader said dryly, his yellow eyes flicking over her with disdain. "What do you mean by interpretation?"

"Languages, sir," she said. "When someone, a prisoner, or a diplomat, does not speak Basic, I can help. If I know the language."

"A translator, then," Vader scoffed.

"Interpretation is a bit different than translating," Sabine insisted, feeling the intensity of his gaze and smiling even tighter. She and Eli had argued over this many times, as he called himself a translator when referring to his past as Thrawn's interpreter. It was annoying. "Translation is text based, and it requires more time and consideration. The translation of Sa'abiin, ad be Uur'sa could be translated as merely "Sabine, daughter of Ursa," but someone just learning Mando'a could read our names very literally. Such as, 'cloud-like, the child of as though silent.' As an interpreter, I can decide the difference based on cultural norms, what might make sense in Basic, even if it is not a direct translation. And I have to do it as it happens."

"So you are a very highly decorated protocol droid," Vader said, unimpressed.

"I like to believe I've got a few more talents," Sabine said cheekily, "and I'm far cuter."

Vader closed his eyes. His subordinates, who were of course listening, glanced back at her. They looked less uncomfortable and more irritated.

"Does my daughter know about you?" Vader muttered. "I think you two would be fast friends."

Sabine's smile remained plastered to her face.

"Oh," she said airily, "we've met once or twice. I don't know if she likes me, if I am honest. Sir."

"Sounds about right." Vader waved her off. "You speak Mando'a? Maybe you can translate some old inscriptions."

"Can a protocol droid not?" Sabine asked innocently.

"I destroyed the last one," Vader said, causing the smile to slide off Sabine's face. "It was not up to my standards. For your sake, pray you will succeed where it did not."

"Yes, sir," she said flatly.

Oh, yeah. Imperially fucked for sure.

The journey to Coruscant would take a long time, she knew. She only went there when Thrawn was summoned, which was always an ugly affair, and she rarely left the Chimaera unless specifically ordered to go to the surface. The last time she had actually set foot on Imperial Center had been her hearing. The fact that there was no evidence of the weapon ever having been built had saved her from going through an official trial, though they had forced her to describe the contents of the data that she had corrupted.

"I have a love of culture and progress," Sabine had said, reading off her notes nervously, "and I can only tell you that the device that I designed would have brought ruin to everyone involved. It cannot see the light of day. If you wish to preserve the Empire as a stronghold of peace, you will not ask me to replicate the data or further develop the device."

That had earned her much disdain. So much, in fact, that though she had not been expelled, her remainder of her time at the Academy was spent cleaning latrines and washing uniforms. She was told, in not so many words, that she had no career after graduation. That she would be a stagnant Ensign, hauling crates on a backwater planet, until she died.

The day she had met Thrawn, she had been certain it was some sort of trick. An alien officer offering her a position in his crew? He had not even made Grand Admiral yet. He'd just approached her, discussed her art with great interest, and left. It had been the strangest experience.

Now she wondered if he hated her. It was obvious that he knew, and honestly it was just a matter of if this was all a test. If he would arrest her when she returned (if she lived to return), or if he would continue to turn the blind eye. After all, he must have suspected for a while.

Using her art had always been a gamble, but she had made her instructions very clear that any physical message she sent must be destroyed immediately upon deciphering it. Erso could not read Mando'a. He had to work with deciphering a rough Basic translation provided to him orally, which meant he had to transcribe what was given to him in the moment. It left room for a lot of error, and so it took him a while to work out what Sabine was telling him. Not that it mattered anyway with this message. She had warned him of the wrong date. Honestly, the instant they'd turned up in the Raioballo sector, Sabine should have suspected she was done for.

"Fuck," she muttered, sinking into her tiny new cubicle and lowering her forehead onto her desk. What were her choices? If she tried to escape, Vader would kill her. She was not about to assume she could out-maneuver the best starpilot in Republic history. If she waited until she was back on the Chimaera, she would have to face Thrawn, a prospect that she feared about as much as she feared her own mother.

They probably would get along, too. Sabine imagined them having tea together, discussing how much of a disappointment she was. Fucking thrilling.

Then there was Tristan. If she openly deserted, he was as good as dead. If she stayed and faced the consequences of her treason, she was as good as dead. And Tristan, too, given he was meant to keep her in line. Thus ends Clan Wren.

Briefly, she wondered about Eli. If there had been one person on the Chimaera she had fully trusted, it was him. Sometimes he reminded her of Tristan, even though he was older than she was. Perhaps that was because sometimes she felt like Tristan was the oldest child. The one who had to take all the responsibility for the other's fuck-ups.

That was Eli, too. He would have to deal with the consequences of her being a rebel spy.

He would probably hate her for it too, just like Tristan had. Not that she could blame either of them.

She scribbled her name in Mando'a in her notes. Then her mother's name. Her father's. Tristan's. Sa'abiin aliit Wren, cloud-like. Uur'sa aliit Wren, as though silent. Al'riic aliit Wren, despite holy intervention. Trist'an aliit Wren, all sorrow. Once, years ago, she had used these names to explain to Thrawn how Mando'a and Basic aligned. The pronunciation of Sa'abiin and Sabine were almost identical, as was Ursa and Tristan. Al'riic and Alrich were a bit different, but it was an odd name.

"Despite holy intervention," Thrawn had echoed. "May I ask why he is called that?"

"Traditionally," Sabine had said, "we don't name our children in their first few months, as we're supposed to gauge their temperament to find a suitable fit. Name-wise. Apparently I was very dreamy and easily distracted as a baby, so. Like the clouds."

"A suitable fit," Thrawn had said, looking amused, "to be sure. And your father?"

"He wasn't expected to live," she'd explained hastily. "It was out of either reverence, or a big joke. Tristan's name was because of the Empire."

"Oh?"

Choosing her next words carefully, Sabine had shrugged, and flipped her notepad over so he could copy her transcriptions of her family's names.

"Mandalore had just been freed," she'd said, gazing at Thrawn's hand as he expertly mimicked her handwriting. "I was only a toddler, but sometimes I can remember it. The war. My mother fought against Darth Maul, you know."

"Darth Maul?"

"Some dark Jedi, or whatever." Sabine had doodled a horned beast on a spare piece of flimsy idly. She did not know what the man had looked like, only that he had been a Zabrak. As a small child, she had gotten her hands on a horned helmet, and had nearly poked Tristan's eyes out with it before their mother had snatched it back and had it melted down for the beskar. "He killed the Duchess of Mandalore with one of our weapons. It was all very dramatic. Anyway, Tristan was born when the Empire began occupying Mandalore. All sorrow. You know, because we had just fought so hard for our freedom, and now… sorrow."

She had laughed at that at the time, aware of how Thrawn had frowned at her, but glad to put up a front of being utterly callous towards her home and family.

Though now that she thought about it, she might have been very much genuine about that callousness at the time.

"What does Mitth'raw'nuruodo mean?" she'd asked once he was done copying her letters.

Thrawn had seemed a bit reluctant, but conceded after some thought.

"Mitth is my family name," he had said. "Thrawn is my core name."

"Core name?"

"The name most will refer to me as."

"Like a nickname?"

"Nickname?"

"Like…" Sabine had scribbled her childhood nickname in Mando'a onto the notepad and spun it back around. Thrawn had gingerly plucked it up and brought it closer to his face.

"Adiik'abiin," Thrawn had read aloud. "Little cloud?"

"Right!" Sabine thought she must have beamed at him, pleased. "Good job. Though I think someone shortened it to Adiibiin at some point. Probably Tristan. Don't worry about that, though."

"I see." Thrawn had seemed pensive. "Yes. Perhaps "Thrawn" is similar. In a way."

Groaning, Sabine lifted her head and glared at the datapad that included photos of the ancient Mandalorian inscription. Fucking ancient Mandalorian. No wonder the protocol droid hadn't been able to get anything out of this. It had probably let itself be killed to put it out of its misery.

In truth, she was just biding her time until something insane happened. She'd known Thrawn would catch her eventually, given that she had taught him Mando'a herself, but she had hoped that the bounty hunters would throw him off her scent. If the art was destroyed before he got to it, there was no way he could connect the treason to her.

She could not blame Erso. She couldn't. She was, however, incredibly bitter.

And now ancient Mandalorian. Archaic Mando'a. How fun.

Well, the good thing was that Vader seemed to want nothing to do with her. Which meant she was probably safe for now.

She just needed to get a plan rolling.

His nose was still bleeding when he was dragged from his cell and placed in an interrogation room. The whole atmosphere was incredible sterile and unnerving, but Ezra leaned back in the chair provided for him and felt the blood gather in the back of his throat.

Well, Thrawn had taken the bait.

Now what did he do?

I can't trust him, Ezra thought, staring at the ceiling. He's not going to be the same as my Thrawn, just like how that woman isn't my Sabine.

His heart ached, regardless, for the familiar faces. He felt like the universe was playing a very cruel trick on him. The reality was that he was being greeted with people that he knew, well or not, and he could not even speak to them plainly.

The only solace was that he might see Kanan again, at the end of all this. Yet the cost of that was Ezra's entire being.

What would Ahsoka say? His Ahsoka?

He did not know. It had been five years since he'd last seen her. He was still reeling from the understanding that Anakin Skywalker was Darth Vader, and that his Ahsoka had faced her Master without fear. Suddenly, her insistence that he had to let Kanan go made sense.

When the door slid open, he rolled his head. Grimacing as the blood was displaced, splashing onto his tongue, he smiled tightly at Thrawn as he entered. Then his eyes flashed to the man behind him with keen interest, the Jedi from Melinoë, whose appearance was a shock and a delight to say the least. Well, except for the fact that he seemed to be an Imperial. That wasn't too fun.

"No Vader?" Ezra asked. His voice was muffled by his bloody nose.

To his great annoyance, Thrawn pulled a square of fabric from his pocket and slid it across the table. Ezra eyed it a moment before snatching it, bloodying it with his fingers immediately, and hanging his head back to let the cloth absorb as much blood as possible.

"Lord Vader is occupied at the moment," Thrawn said. He sat down at the other end of the table, watching him with his eyes bright and curious. "I would think you might be a bit more fearful of him. Given what happened to your master."

Bastard, Ezra thought, pressing the cloth hard to his nose and glowering up at the ceiling. He sat there silently while Thrawn stared, not entirely thrilled that he had to do this.

When Ezra did not answer, Thrawn nodded. His eyes remained trained on Ezra, observing every little tic, every little micro-expression. The cloth was a relief, honestly.

"We must discuss the kidnapping of the Imperial princess," Thrawn said. "We'd already been informed that the Ghost was responsible prior to you reaching our orbit. What is on Lah'mu that drove General Syndulla to jump right into our laps?"

Dragging the rag from his nose, he glanced at Thrawn dully.

"I have no idea," he said, blood in his teeth while he grinned. "Absolutely none."

And wouldn't that be baffling for Thrawn! Ezra could see it in his eyes, the recognition that Ezra was either a superb liar or, infuriatingly, he was telling the truth. Seeing Thrawn confused was a delight that not many people had the pleasure of witnessing, so he just basked in it, sliding the cloth back over his bloody nose and stifling a laugh.

"You are not aware of the rebel activity on Lah'mu?" Thrawn asked, frowning.

"Nope." Ezra blinked at Thrawn innocently. "Never heard of Lah'mu before today. And if you want to know why the rebels took Leia, I haven't got a clue about that either. Sorry."

At that, Thrawn leaned forward, his curiosity now a current running through the air, electrified and bright. It wasn't like Ezra had any other option but to feed that curiosity. After all, he'd rather be Thrawn's prisoner than Vader's.

In the corner, the not-quite Jedi, Luke, was glancing between them with a pinched sort of look on his face. When he caught Ezra's stare, he blinked, and then offered a smile.

Ezra, decidedly, glowered at him. The guy had ruined his escape attempt after all.

"Where are they taking the princess?" Thrawn asked.

Keeping the cloth strategically positioned over his nose and mouth, Ezra looked into Thrawn's bold red eyes, and he merely shrugged. Because obviously he knew this information, but like hell he was going to give that up.

He hoped that Hera would quickly realize that Ezra was not coming back, and she would get as far away from Fest as possible.

Thrawn's gaze flickered. His head dipped ever so slightly to the side, and he folded his hands before him.

"You understand your position here is precarious at best," Thrawn said. "I understand your wish to protect your friends. That is admirable. However, you must recognize that you have been backed into a corner. You cannot win."

Ezra's fist closed tightly around the dampened cloth, his nostrils clogged with blood as he pulled it away and met Thrawn's eyes with a challenge held there.

"There is no guaranteed unwinnable hand, Admiral," Ezra said flatly. He bunched the bloody cloth in his fist and dropped it on the table before Thrawn, watching him blink twice. The man leaned back. His eyes were positively glowing.

"Indeed," Thrawn said quietly.

Leaning back slowly, Thrawn drew both his hands up. His thumbs brushed his lips as he considered Ezra. This did not make Ezra as uncomfortable as it might have made anyone else, given he'd spent approximately three years being the one person Thrawn did this to regularly. After that, Ezra got lucky, being in the Ascendancy. Thrawn basically had all the information inside Ezra's head already, so he no longer needed to look at him like he'd die trying to crack open his skull.

"Have we ever had a proper conversation before, Bridger?" Thrawn asked after a long silence. "Aside from your colorful expressions?"

Ah, damn. Ezra had literally no fucking clue.

"Couldn't be sure," Ezra said, jostling his binders as he slumped. Enough that Thrawn's gaze was draw to them, so he was not looking at Ezra's face, which would naturally betray him. "You've met my master, though. How do I hold up?"

"Kanan Jarrus," Thrawn said, his eyes back on Ezra's face, perhaps gauging how well Ezra could suffer under the mention of him, "was brave, and he was foolish. You would be wise to know your limitations."

"What limitations?" Ezra smiled bitterly, holding up his shackled hands. "These are ornamental. I'm here because I let you have me."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Don't act like you don't know." Ezra was not in the mood to play games, at least not one on Thrawn's terms, though it was easy to get lost in the play with him. He felt like he had the upper hand for once, given that this Thrawn had absolutely no idea what he was dealing with, while his own Thrawn probably knew secrets about Ezra that Ezra did not even know.

"I have seen General Syndulla maneuver out of worse odds," Thrawn said. He eyed Ezra, and then nodded once. "The ship was in disrepair, then. You made your decision quickly, I imagine?"

"It was the right thing to do."

"You did not know I would focus my attack on your auxiliary ship."

"No," Ezra admitted, a little amused, "I knew it was a 50/50 chance. Those were odds I was willing to risk."

"And you did not think that perhaps we could negotiate?" Thrawn frowned at him.

"I was entirely prepared for negotiations," Ezra said placidly, "until I realized that other Star Destroyer belonged to Vader. Didn't realize you two were so close."

Except Ezra did. Now that he thought about it.

Oh, karabast, he thought, avoiding Thrawn's gaze, Vader is Anakin Skywalker. Thrawn fucking loved that dude.

Well, Thrawn had a sort of respect and reverence toward Anakin Skywalker that did not come easily, so Ezra liked to imagine it was something akin to love. Now that he knew that truth, Ezra had to wonder how Thrawn had navigated Vader's presence. If he'd even known in his own world.

It was Thrawn. He probably knew.

"Why would my relationship with Vader hold any bearing on your willingness to negotiate?" Thrawn asked.

"Besides the obvious?"

"Yes."

Ezra considered his options. He could admit that out of all the Imperials, Thrawn was the one he would actually sit down and talk with willingly. Or he could just lie. Which Thrawn would probably catch, given Ezra already was taking too long to answer.

Bastard. Absolute asshole. Big fat blue jerk.

"Bridger."

"Sorry," Ezra said, "I was thinking of all the mean things I'd like to call you right now. But this is probably on record, and I can't have the Emperor thinking I'm a potty mouth."

A small chuckle caught his attention, and his gaze flitted to the corner where Luke stood. His eyes were bright with laughter. Ezra tilted his head at him curiously.

"Why's he here?" he asked, nodding to Luke. "Where's the girl from the hangar? The pretty one?"

His own Sabine would have rolled her eyes at that. Maybe smacked him upside the head for good measure. Well, it was still true, regardless of the universe he was in.

"Are you speaking of Lieutenant Wren?"

Uh oh, Ezra thought, trying to catch what exactly had changed about Thrawn's face. He could not figure it out, which was worrying. Something had shifted, for sure.

"Maybe?" Ezra offered, his smile tight. "This guy ain't exactly up to Imperial standard."

"What makes you say such a thing?"

"He's wearing, like, a red satin-y shirt," Ezra said, rolling his eyes. "Dashing, I'm sure, but really? If he's an Imperial officer, then I'm Jabba the Hutt."

A real laugh came bouncing from Luke's lips, bright and disbelieving. Thrawn turned to glance back at him, and Ezra watched with a grin as his face turned a bit pink, and he lowered his eyes to his datapad.

"He also laughs at my jokes," Ezra said proudly. "Not really officer material."

"So he is not." Thrawn turned back to Ezra, looking a bit troubled. "You are unaware of who this man is?"

Well, he was a Jedi in some other world. Does that count?

"Should I know him?" Ezra's eyes flashed toward Luke. He smiled, and regretted it, because his teeth were still smeared red. "Have we met?"

He watched Luke's gaze flutter back up. Strangely, he did not seem disturbed by the bloody smile. Instead he bowed his head.

"No," he said, and his voice was as off-handed and gentle as it had been on Melinoë.

Ezra's smile softened, and he looked down at his hands. Figured.

"Though," Luke said, sounding deliriously bright, "perhaps in another life…?"

He could not explain the way his heart seemed to stutter in that moment. His eyes flashed up from his hands, focusing on Luke in absolute rapt attention, like he was a beacon in the fog. A sun shimmering in Wild Space. Somehow, he had said the exact right thing to make Ezra's entire brain falter, like he was left in a half-dreaming state.

"Has he said something interesting?"

Ezra blinked at Luke dazedly, his mind going a mile a minute. It couldn't be. Right? No, no it was a coincidence. Surely.

But really. What the hell?

"No," Ezra replied to Thrawn thoughtlessly. "I—"

His eyes widened, and his mouth clicked shut so fast his teeth ached. He found himself unable to look at Thrawn, knowing his eyes would be twinkling in satisfaction.

The fact of it was that Ezra had been so distracted by Luke, he had not even noticed that Thrawn had spoken in Cheunh.

If I ever get back to my version of Thrawn, Ezra thought bitterly, I'm gonna punch him. I'm gonna do it. Just… right in the jaw, no warning.

At least he'd responded in Basic.

"I expect you have an explanation," Thrawn said, in Basic this time, "for why you understand this tongue?"

Ezra merely sat. He stared at his shackled hands.

Ha, he thought numbly. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…

Thrawn leaned forward, shifting tactics.

"You know exactly what I'm saying," he said in Cheunh, the words achingly familiar. Something in Ezra felt distinctly… sad. "You spoke to me in the hangar, using this language. Where did you learn it?"

The truth was, Ezra had imagined that Cheunh would be his secret weapon. It would be the thing that would somehow get him out of this mess. Instead, he'd been so thrown off by Vader's presence, by the threat of immediately getting captured by Vader and made into an inquisitor, he'd just shouted on instinct.

"Bridger," Thrawn said in Basic, sounding frustrated, which would have been delightful in a different circumstance, "what is the point of this charade?"

"You tell me," Ezra said coolly.

Because Thrawn must have already figured something out. There was no way he could guess something as absurd as Ezra Bridger, random Jedi apprentice, got switched with an alternate version of himself that happened to spend the last five years getting to know everything about him.

Like, even with Thrawn's track record, there was pretty much no way he'd get it. But Ezra would be glad if he did, honestly. It would make things easier.

"Perhaps," Thrawn said, "you are afraid. No one would fault you for that. A man without fear is not a very clever man."

He'd heard this one before. Scratching the corner of the table with his thumbnail, Ezra replied, "A man controlled by fear is not a living one."

Thrawn eyed him. He nodded in a terse way. This was not something Thrawn said, but something Ezra had often chided at him as an excuse for his poor impulse control.

Only, he'd found that Thrawn's impulse control was far worse than Ezra's. The man just hid it better because he spoke nicely and had an air of prestige. It was totally unfair. Only the Chiss seemed to recognize that Thrawn was an absolute mess.

"You spoke knowing I would respond," Thrawn said in Cheunh. "You know what this language is. You know what it means to me."

Ezra tilted his head. He shrugged. "Sorry," he said flatly. "I don't know what you're saying."

It was worth it just to watch Thrawn's eyes narrow. Like, Ezra was sure if Luke was not here Thrawn would have made a very ugly sound.

"You are afraid," Thrawn continued in Cheunh, perhaps not wanting Luke to listen, "but not of me. Am I correct?"

Ezra frowned, and Thrawn's lips quirked.

"I see," he said in Basic. "Unfortunately, due to your status as a Jedi, I cannot help you."

"Aw, just the Jedi thing?" Ezra smiled weakly. "Not the rebel thing?"

"That is also an unfortunate setback."

"Setback," Ezra echoed him, rolling his eyes. "You're not gonna be able to keep me, y'know. Vader's already got my death certificate signed and sealed, I'm betting."

"Hardly."

"Then something worse," Ezra said dryly. "Right? Might be better to die."

Unsurprisingly, Thrawn did not respond to that. Probably because on some level, Thrawn did not disagree. Though Thrawn was a strategist. And, infuriatingly, an optimist. He believed there were ways out of every bad situation.

"What?" Ezra asked, smiling vacantly at Thrawn. "Don't want me to die until you can figure out all my secrets?"

"That would be preferable."

"You know," Ezra said, having had to say this to a version of this man before, "honesty, in a situation like this, is not appreciated. Fucking lie to me."

Thrawn blinked, and Ezra watched his brow furrow as he thought over Ezra's words.

Suddenly, with an unbearably sunny sort of smile, Luke was beside Thrawn. Up close, he was curious, like a man who did not fit in his own body. He seemed taller than he was. His face was pale, and there were freckles dancing along his nose, betraying some youthfulness. Something about his hair, the ornate bun, made Ezra miss his own long hair.

"If I may cut in, Grand Admiral," Luke said gently, "I could give it a try?"

With a short glance, Thrawn seemed to determine something utterly unfathomable. No, seriously, Ezra had no idea what made Thrawn just… stand up and give Luke the chair. The man wasn't even an Imperial officer. And more than that, Thrawn was a Grand Admiral. Where could Luke fall on the Imperial hierarchy to have Thrawn respond to his request without question?

"Thanks," Luke said rather cheerily, handing Thrawn the datapad. He took it, glanced at it, and sighed. "Hi, Ezra."

"Hello," Ezra said dully.

This man's features were different. He looked younger, though Ezra supposed his own face looked younger too, without the beard or the wear of three years in Wild Space to absolutely wreck him physically. Somehow, this Luke looked far more exhausted than the man he had met in his own world. Which felt impossible.

"I'm also curious about this language that you so clearly understand," Luke said, his smile amused, "but I'm not going to push you."

"Okay?" Ezra leaned forward, dragging his arms across the table, and settling his bound wrists close to Luke's hand. "So what is it about you that makes you think you can get me to talk when Thrawn couldn't?"

"Nothing special," Luke said, blinking. "I just wanted to talk to you."

"Cute." Ezra rolled his eyes. "Buy me a drink first."

Luke, thankfully, laughed at that. Albeit a bit nervously. "No promises," he said. "I do have an image to maintain."

"With the Empire," Ezra emphasized, watching Luke shift uncomfortably in his seat. "You don't feel like an Inquisitor. Or look like one."

"I'm not sure what an Inquisitor is," Luke admitted. He was being very open in the Force, enough that Ezra could feel the truth in his words. He could only stare. "Should I?"

"Do you even know you're Force-sensitive?" Ezra demanded. He felt like this was a trick. He had nearly forgotten Thrawn, who had relegated himself to the corner and made himself scarce, was in the room. But he was listening. Who knew what theories he was cooking up.

Luke's smile was annoying this time. It felt out of place.

"Yes," he said quietly, "I am very aware of that."

There was a short silence between them, a feeling of uneasiness dominating the space they shared, and Ezra feared for a moment that he had outed this version of Luke as Force-sensitive. Had he just doomed them both?

"It's okay," Luke said gently, his hand reaching across the table and resting against Ezra's. Instinctively, he jerked his hands back and settled them in his lap. With a bewildered look, Luke sunk a bit at the reaction. "Sorry. But, really, it's fine. It's not a secret. Most people know."

"Oh." Ezra relaxed. "Okay."

Luke's eyes trailed over Ezra's face. Then he turned to look at Thrawn.

"You didn't turn the recording back on, did you?" he asked, surprising Ezra. He'd known he was being recorded, but this guy had turned it off?

"I did not." Thrawn looked mildly amused. "I told you not to do that again."

Again? Ezra couldn't help but smirk. Okay, Luke. I like your style.

"And I didn't listen," Luke said. "Take it up with my father."

"I am certain that I will have no choice but to," Thrawn said. He sounded resigned.

Turning back to Ezra, looking far too pleased, Luke laid his palms flat on the table. His hair was loosening, blonde wisps framing his ears.

"Look," he said, "I know you're afraid of Vader. That's completely understandable. But we might be able to save you if you can help us find Leia."

"That's not how that works," Ezra said. "I'm fucked either way."

"Well," Luke said, his head bouncing from side to side, "okay, yeah. I can see how you might think that. But! I can help you. You just need to tell me where Leia is."

Ezra's eyes flitted to Thrawn, and Luke moved rather pointedly so his head blocked a portion of the tall Chiss.

"Don't worry about him," Luke said. "He tried to save your master, and he suffered pretty badly for it. I can make this work. Just tell me where my sister is."

There was a lot to unpack in that sentence. Enough that Ezra just kind of sat there, staring at Luke blankly, thinking over the idea that Thrawn might have risked it all to save Kanan, which was ludicrous, even for his own Thrawn, and he was so confused by said idea that he did not process the latter sentence.

"Wait," Ezra said, once it finally hit him. His gaze dragged over Luke dazedly. "Sister?"

At his incredulity, Luke pursed his lips, thought for a moment, and then his eyes widened.

"Oh," he said. "Right. Vader."

"Did you forget who you were," Thrawn piped up from the corner, excruciatingly curious, "Prince Luke?"

Bafflingly, Luke smiled. He rubbed his cheek sheepishly, and Ezra felt like he was part of some huge cosmic joke. Leia's brother? She didn't have a brother in his world!

Unless Luke, the Jedi, was ironically Vader's son. Now that was a story Ezra needed to hear.

"No, sir," Luke said placidly. "Just who my father was. Can't really help that, given how he's never around."

He supposed it was easier to imagine this man, who he barely knew, as the child of Vader rather than Leia. But the realization that they were siblings was making it hard to process this entire situation. Did that mean that Leia had a brother in his own world? She'd never spoken of him.

The reminder that Leia was almost certainly dead in his own world made him scowl.

"If it's all the same to you," Ezra said, sinking into his chair, "Your Highness, I don't work with Imperials. Period."

Luke, for what it was worth, seemed a little astonished by the hostility. He blinked rapidly, and he opened his mouth. Then he closed it. He sat there for a moment, deep in thought, while Ezra's gaze flickered to Thrawn.

Try harder, his eyes said.

Thrawn's mouth turned downwards, stretching into a grimace.

"You're lying," Luke said quietly. With a sharp glance, Ezra found himself once again surprised by this man. "You'll work with Imperials if you have to."

The thought of Kallus and Thrawn swirled in Ezra's brain, and he tilted his head.

"Alright, Mr. Imperial prince," Ezra said, drawing himself up straighter so he could glower down at him. "You've obviously got a handle on the Force, so what gives? Why is your sister a feral Sith demon while you're sitting pretty without any sort of darkness on you?"

Luke frowned. His eyes darted away at one point, a bit awkwardly, and he drummed his fingers against the durasteel table.

"It's a long story," Luke conceded after a brief silence, his eyes darted back to Ezra's tiredly. "I haven't seen my sister in a long time. Is she really that bad?"

"You must know the Sith better than anyone," Ezra pressed, wary and unsure now. "What do you think?"

For the first time, there was something dark in Luke. It crossed over his eyes, a shadow, or an eclipse, a frightening and stark difference to his usually sunny disposition and serene presence in the Force. Something about what Ezra had said had hit the wrong chord, and this man was now hemorrhaging a dark feeling. What it was exactly, Ezra could not tell. But it felt familiar. It felt like something he had felt, once.

A long time ago.

"She could be the ruination of the universe itself," Luke said, the darkness clinging to his words, yet dissipating with a sudden lightness from Ezra's senses inexplicably, "and I would still save her."

"Arrogant," Ezra remarked, a little shaken by what he had just felt. More than that, he was curious. A child of Darth Vader would know the Dark Side intimately, but there was a defiance there. Ezra could not see it so much as he knew it, like it was his own defiance, and it grew between them. An endless vine.

"Is that arrogance?" Luke's voice was different too. He was more confidant, his words lulling and easy, like he knew Ezra better than Ezra knew himself. "I'd call it selfishness. Attachment, maybe."

"The Jedi would hate you," Ezra said absently. He thought of Ahsoka, and how she always seemed uncertain about where she fell in regards to the old teachings. Kanan certainly didn't give a shit. Hadn't. Didn't?

Luke's lips quirked in a funny way, and Ezra watched him closely as he shook his head.

"They probably would find me difficult," he admitted. "Do you hate me?"

"I don't know you."

"You could try to," Luke said distantly. "Know me. I mean."

"And why," Ezra said, "would I want to do that?"

With a rise and fall of his shoulders, the red of his shirt the most blindingly colorful thing in the room, he leaned forward and stared at Ezra with salient blue eyes. They were clear and bright.

"Maybe," Luke said, "it's the will of the Force."

Sitting there, briefly consumed by a baffling feeling, something intense knotting in the pit of his stomach, Ezra blinked at this bright-eyed young man.

Then he laughed.

"You're full of it," he said, rolling his eyes. "Will of the Force my ass."

That bewildered Luke, prince that he was, and he seemed utterly confused by this.

"You're a Jedi," Luke said, not really looking at Ezra at all. "I'd think you'd…" He trailed off, his face contorting a bit.

"You think I'd what?" Ezra demanded. "What do you know of the Jedi, then? Your father destroyed us. He's going to take me somewhere and torture me until I am no longer myself. Is that what you want? You could just kill me instead."

"I won't do that," Luke murmured. And there was that damn serenity again, like that dark part of him never existed at all. Ezra wondered who was supposed to be the Jedi here.

"It would be the merciful thing to do," Ezra said coolly.

"You're being stubborn," Luke said with a huff. "Besides, I've already said I'll protect you from Vader!"

"On the condition that I betray my family," Ezra pointed out.

"No, no, that's not…" Luke sighed, and Ezra felt his frustration. It was odd, how little this man shielded. Though he supposed he was used to Force users like Kanan and Ahsoka, who had been trained to compartmentalize. "You have my family. I just want Leia back. That's all."

"You'll have to get a hold of Hera yourself," Ezra said, wishing he could cross his arms stubbornly. "I'm not helping."

Luke closed his eyes, which Ezra suspected was to hide an eyeroll. Once again, Ezra's talent of being the most annoying person in the room paid off.

"You can," Ezra said, noting Thrawn's shifting posture out of the corner of his eye, "however, probably cut a deal with her, whenever you get a hold of her."

This was a bad idea, Ezra knew. It was entirely in Thrawn's favor, and if Thrawn did not immediately bite at the bait, then he had his own elaborate plan and Ezra was absolutely fucked. Hera might be happy, though. Maybe.

"What kind of deal?"

Luke's openness was bordering on naivete, probably, but there was something endearing about that. Also something dangerous. He could hear his own Thrawn's voice in his head.

You are unusually talented with collecting strays, so you may not realize that the most dangerous predators might have the sweetest of faces. A result, of which, will have you climbing headfirst into their bellies just to prove to them that you are trustworthy.

That kind of experience had never happened to Ezra with an animal, but with people? Yeah. Ezra had a problem. He trusted too easily, and Thrawn had to give him this advice numerous times before Ezra had even considered he was talking about how Ezra just… really believed the best in people.

Now was not going to be one of those times.

"Trade Kanan," Ezra said firmly. "Save him, if your heart is hellbent on charity."

Luke blinked rapidly. He thought on that a moment. "Your master?" he asked cautiously. "But… isn't he…?"

"Just do it," Ezra said, turning his face away sharply. "He deserves freedom, okay?"

"If I may interject," Thrawn said suddenly, causing Ezra to stiffen, "you understand that the man you are speaking of may be a very different man than the one who became an Inquisitor."

"Against his will," Ezra pointed out.

"That is how the Inquisitorius works," Thrawn said. His red eyes bore into Ezra's intensely. "Are you prepared to take his place?"

"Hell no."

"Then why?" Luke gasped. "You'll be… it's just like you said, isn't it? Tortured. Warped."

"That's my choice," Ezra said heavily. The thought that he might still be able to wake up from this nightmare was giving him some hope. Though, in all likelihood he was going to suffer.

"You—!" Luke's expression twisted irritably, and he took a deep breath.

"Is there something troubling you, Your Highness?" Ezra asked, bloody teeth gleaming. "You should be glad for this. I'm giving you a way to save Leia."

"I thought you didn't work with Imperials," Luke said heatedly, now very clearly frustrated.

"It was only a suggestion," Ezra said. He glanced at Thrawn, eyed the datapad in his hand, and smiled broadly. "One's life is a gift to one's family. Correct?"

Thrawn's eyes narrowed in a distinctly irritated fashion, a look Ezra was familiar with and rather pleased to see.

Luke sat there, frowning, before he turned to look at Thrawn.

"What did he say?" he asked, all while Ezra sat smugly in the face of Thrawn's frustration.

Give me your best guess, asshole, Ezra thought snidely, knowing well that his situation was too ludicrous for Thrawn to theorize. It was absolutely delightful.

If Ezra was fucked, at least he was gonna make Thrawn go insane first. He'd call that a win.

"It is not important," Thrawn said, taking a step forward. "Prince Luke, I believe we are done here."

"Aw," Ezra drawled, "already? And we were all just getting to know each other."

Thrawn's eyes did not leave Ezra's face. Honestly, Ezra could do this all day. He was having more fun than he'd had in a while. It wasn't like he could make his own version of Thrawn bristle and squirm like this. Not that Luke would realize how frustrated the man was, given how Thrawn was about expressing himself, but Ezra knew, and that was what made him so giddy.

"You are a very odd Jedi," Luke said, frowning at him as he was drawn to his feet by an impatient (to Ezra's estimation) Thrawn.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Your Highness," Ezra said cheerfully. He thought on it a moment, and his eyes whisked over Luke, head to toes, making him blink rapidly and stiffen under his gaze. "So how many Jedi do you know, exactly?"

Luke's pale brows knitted together, and he looked like he was about to say something, but he was turned around sharply by Thrawn's bony fingers on his shoulder and pushed toward the door.

"Nice meeting you!" Ezra called. He then spat blood onto the floor and sank into his chair miserably.

Luke found himself marching down the hall of an Imperial Star Destroyer, warm, breathless, and absolutely livid.

"Fuck," he snapped, loosening the red silk ties at his throat and feeling dazed. "He's an idiot. I was trying to help him!"

With a steady, measured gait, Thrawn matched Luke's harried footfalls despite his legs being a fair bit longer than his own. He seemed deep in his own thoughts, his forehead wrinkled and his mouth in his fist.

Officers and troopers eyed them as they passed. Curiously, it seemed.

"If he gets turned over to Vader," Luke said heatedly, "he'll be tortured, right? Turned into a— what was it called? An Inquisitor?"

Thrawn glanced at him. "Yes," he said, finally lowering his hand from his mouth.

"Well that's just unacceptable," Luke said firmly.

"Excuse me for my presumptiveness," Thrawn said quietly, "but may I ask your plan of action for denying your father of what is rightfully his?"

"You may not," Luke said stiffly.

"I see."

Luke grimaced. He walked a little faster. Thrawn just matched his pace.

"So you have no plan." Thrawn nodded, somewhat assuredly. "I am glad to hear it."

"Are you?" Luke asked, so annoyed that his voice cracked a little. That was even more embarrassing than what had happened with Ezra, who was, Luke thought, probably charming when he wasn't absolutely infuriating and contrary.

"I am," Thrawn said. "Because I would like to discuss my own plan."

"It better be treason," Luke said, managing to slip something of a jovial tone into his voice so he didn't get a strange look.

He still did, but he was much more comfortable with it than he would have been if he couldn't pass it off as a joke.

"You play a dangerous game," Thrawn remarked.

Luke stopped in the middle of the corridor, whirled around to face Thrawn, and stared at him pointedly.

"Did you know I'm dying?" he asked off-handedly. His head tilted to the side, watching Thrawn's eyes when they widened ever so slightly.

That was a no, then.

"It's a big secret," Luke said, turning sharp on his heel and marching down the hallway, "that I have found to be incredibly irritating, and honestly, I'm sick of it. If I'm going to die, then I'm raising hell first."

"That," Thrawn said, trailing after him cautiously, "is ill-advised."

"Advise me better, then," Luke said, rolling his eyes. "Are you going to hand me over to the Emperor because I think the Jedi is worth saving?"

Thrawn was silent, and that was answer enough for Luke. It seemed that they both had their eyes on Ezra Bridger. For vastly different reasons.

I have to get off this ship, Luke thought dazedly, and I have to speak to Ezra alone.

It seemed ridiculous to imagine that they had both been thrown from their own worlds into this one, but there was something about Ezra that made Luke feel like he was the key to everything. He just had to be.

Even if he was a colossal jerk who was basically trying to die.

They ended up in Thrawn's office, which was dimly lit and elaborately decorated, nothing like any kind of Imperial space Luke had ever seen before. He got distracted by a mask in the corner while Thrawn wrote something at his desk.

"I see you found the singular Jedi artifact in my possession," Thrawn said from his desk, causing Luke to tense up nervously. "Interesting."

"The Force," Luke explained weakly. Well, that was probably the answer. The mask itself was pearly, made of what Luke thought was probably howlite, polished and intricately carved into. The paint around the eyes was chipping, but it appeared like it had once been yellow or gold. "Will you tell my father about this?"

"About what?"

Luke glanced back at the man dully. He was not interested in playing a game of wordplay with this man, as in all likelihood he would lose. Though he would enjoy watching him interact with Leia. His Leia. A shame that would never happen.

"So we'll work together," Luke said hesitantly. "Toward a common goal?"

"I am curious what you think that is, little prince," Thrawn said, his eyes falling onto Luke sharply. It was startling enough that Luke had to take a moment to remember where he was.

Did I destroy the Death Star and help bring down the Empire for this? Luke wondered shrinking a bit under Thrawn's gaze. For some random alien Imperial to play mind games with me? If I wanted to feel stupid, I'd just play dejarik with Leia.

When Luke did not immediately answer, Thrawn shook his head.

"Sit," he said quietly.

Luke crossed the room and sat down on the nearest chair. He sank into it, noting the upholstery. It was fine, creamy blue and gold brocade, and likely an antique. Who knew from what planet, really, but Luke thought it was all very odd.

This man was very odd.

"Your talks of treason are dangerous," Thrawn said, point blank, "and I am telling you this plainly because I believe you are very simple."

"Um," Luke said, "okay…?"

Thrawn was silent a moment, and he said after a beat, "I have offended you? That was a compliment."

"You're really weird," Luke remarked.

"I have been told that many times. Your father thought so too."

"Anakin," Luke pried, curious enough and maybe appearing simple enough that Thrawn underestimated him.

Not so much.

"It is hard to see the difference," Thrawn said.

"You know there is one, though."

"The only father you have ever known is a man named Vader," Thrawn said, frowning. "You are delving into dangerous territory, little prince. The Jedi are artifacts of a bygone age. Be cleverer with your acts of rebellion, or he will crush you."

"I was not exaggerating when I said I'm dying," Luke said, watching Thrawn frown. "I don't care who knows. I think Vader's embarrassed about it, because it makes him seem weak, or something like that, but I'm alive now. I want to do something. I want to save the Jedi. And you said you have a plan."

"Was it Commodore Vanto or Lieutenant Wren who told you of the incident with Jarrus?" Thrawn asked placidly.

When Luke's jaw tightened, Thrawn peered at him, his eyes glowing.

"Vanto, then," Thrawn said. He nodded. "I will advise him not to speak with you, as you are a security risk."

"Probably," Luke said cheekily. "But you want Ezra free too, don't you?"

"You misunderstand me." Thrawn's gaze fell upon Luke hard. "I serve the Empire. I am loyal to the Emperor. Sacrifices must be made in the pursuit of advancement."

"You mean your conscience," Luke spat. "Or did I misread that?"

"I am afraid I do not know what you are talking about," Thrawn said simply. "Basic is not my strong suit."

That, Luke knew, was a bold-faced lie, and it would have been funny if it was not so insulting.

"You and Bridger are alike," Luke decided, rising to his feet, "in the most infuriating way possible. When you don't want to admit something, you think you can just confuse your opponent into a ceasefire."

That made Thrawn frown. He tapped his chin with his thumbs, and he nodded slowly.

"I can see your point," he said. "You assume much about me, little prince, yet you seem to know little of me."

All he could do was offer a raised brow.

"And?" he demanded.

"To make allies," Thrawn said delicately, "you must find a common enemy before a common goal."

"And your enemy is the Rebellion," Luke sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "This isn't about them."

"Perhaps not to you."

He stood there, thinking on it a moment. So Thrawn's goal was serving the Empire. Luke had already messed up with revealing way too much, but he imagined it was an open secret that he hated the Empire at this point, especially with what had happened with Galen Erso. And Thrawn still had sympathy for the Jedi, in his weird way.

"What do you think about Bridger's suggestion?" Luke asked, frowning. "The exchange of prisoners?"

"It could have worked," Thrawn said, inclining his head, "if Kanan Jarrus was a prisoner. However, he is an agent of the Empire now. A weapon."

Luke had to focus to try and sense how Thrawn felt about that, any sort of wave of discontent in the Force. And it was true enough that he was hardly pleased.

"People are not weapons," Luke said softly.

At that, Thrawn frowned. He tried to hide it, drawing his hand to his lips, but Luke saw it. He was frowning, and he looked… distant.

"Your mother's idealism remains very much alive in you, I see," Thrawn remarked.

"I'm trying to help you, you know," Luke said sharply, ignoring the strange remark, "because you are clearly out of your depth. Weren't we going to discuss a plan?"

"Were we?"

Luke felt the desire to throw something at him. He shook his head fiercely. "Fine! But just know, you can't let the Empire have Erso."

"Because of the so-called planet killer you dreamt of?"

"You have to believe me when I say it's bad. You can't let it exist."

"So," Thrawn said, leaning back, "please, allow me to work through your suggestions to me. Shall I? Your wish is that I will release Bridger and Erso, both of whom are proven rebels, incurring the wrath of Vader, the Emperor, and the entire Imperial hierarchy, because you sense it is the right thing to do?"

"Um…"

"You are," Thrawn said, watching Luke over steepled fingers, "are quite weird, you know, Prince Luke."

It almost made him smile. Was this a good sign? Luke had no idea.

"That's a no, then?" Luke asked weakly.

"It is," Thrawn said. "I admire your enthusiasm, however."

"That's not going to save lives."

"No," Thrawn admitted. "It will not."

"The job of the government," Luke said steadily, "is to protect the lives of its people. If you serve this government, you have a duty to your people to protect them from the Death Star."

"I cannot save both Erso and Bridger, Prince Luke," Thrawn said, his voice brisk. "You have not given me time to consider the possibilities."

"It should be an easy decision, if you've got a heart at all."

That, surprisingly, seemed to have hit the man hard. Over steepled fingers, it seemed that Thrawn was looking at Luke like he might stand up and smack him.

"I can determine that for myself, I believe."

With a small, short scoff, Luke turned away.

"Fine," he said. "Call me when your brain lets your heart have a say. Bastard."

To be honest, being a serene and gentle Jedi Knight could only get him so far before he remembered his roots as a desert brat whose patience naturally wore thin at flagrant injustice.

Plus, Thrawn needed to be told he was a bastard, since no one else on this damn ship was going to do it.

After some not-so casual questioning, Luke found the room that Jyn Organa was secluded to. He knocked on the door, stuck his hands in his pockets, and waited for the woman to appear. Her hair was down, about as long as Leia's, which was… very long. And she frowned at him.

"I take it this is not a courtesy call?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

Luke brushed past her, strolled into her room, and then whirled to face her.

"How do you feel about a prison break?" he demanded.

Jyn Organa's eyebrows shot up in response. Then, terrifyingly, she grinned.

Chapter Text

The gleaming, snowcapped mountains rose up on all sides, positioned upon the horizon so it appeared as though they were reaching for the setting sun. The air was unbearably cool, nipping at the ends of her lekku. Her borrowed orange and red scarf protected her nose from getting chapped, but there was nothing that could be done for headtails. Not many Twi'leks or Togruta on Fest.

"Hey."

Hera's eyes flickered from the craggy line of the horizon, her eyes burning from the glint of the sun on fresh snow, and she blinked up at Zeb. He'd donned a shaggy jacket made of animal fur, another peace offering from the neighboring people, and his ears twitched against the glittering snow drift.

"Ahsoka's not telling us everything," Hera remarked, turning her attention back to the horizon.

"I figured."

Clicking her teeth together, Hera, stuffed her gloved hands deeper into her jacket. The daylight was fading fast. Fest had short days, and though it was apparently summer in the northern hemisphere, the daylight hours in this particular part of the planet were still sparse. They were lucky to have sunlight at all.

"We have to trust her," Zeb pressed. "She's one of us."

"She is," Hera conceded, though she was not so sure. Ahsoka had never been part of the crew. Never been a Spectre. Her presence had always been welcome, but she was a wayfarer. She didn't consider the Ghost her home. "That does not mean she does not have her secrets."

"Jedi are like that," Zeb said, his breaths puffs in the dying sunlight. "Kanan never told us everything."

She did not flinch, which she thought was either a good sign or a horrible one.

"Ahsoka is not a Jedi," she said, eyeing Zeb with a frown that he could not see. "If she is keeping secrets about the Force, that is her business. But if it involves the princess or Ezra, then she needs to tell me."

"That's something you'll have to take up with her," Zeb sighed. His foot drummed anxiously against the tarmac. "Any word from Ezra, then?"

Hera's eyes slid sharply to his face. He visibly grimaced, snowflakes and hoarfrost beginning to gather at the ends of his purplish fur.

"So that's a no." With a sigh, Zeb drew his hand over his face. There was an air of defeat there. "Thrawn got him."

"We don't know that yet."

"I'm being realistic, Hera," Zeb snapped. She glowered up at him, a brisk warning for him to watch his tone. There was a moment where his eyes shined apologetically, but that did not make him any less angry. "I know you don't want to hear it, but he was trying to get captured. For us. He knew exactly what he was doing."

Hera stared up at Zeb, the words trying to get captured floating around in her head while she felt the enormity of their situation pressing down upon her. Trying to get captured. Huh.

Turning on her heel sharply, a bit of snow clicking off her boots, she lowered herself into the cover of the rocky alcove they'd situated their base in. Fest's mountainous northern regions were piled with snow, and there were elaborate natural formations of ice caves that burrowed deep into the earth, leading into subterranean grottos with a network of river systems. They had to keep their ships above ground, as they served as a safety hazard in the narrow, enclosed spaces below, but the base was rather vast and sprawled across several cities in the North West region of a continent called Detlan. There were many rebel cells dotted across the planet, but most of them were concentrated in Detlan's mountain regions and their neighboring valleys.

They had blindfolded the princess with the understanding that telepathy could hinder them, and now she sat in a damp little cavern deep in the mountain, beyond the base's communication hub, an orange rayshield parting her from the slick, rocky tunnels that would give her a way out.

Ahsoka stood up as they approached, a grim expression on her face, while Hera's boots scraped through a shallow puddle. Both Ahsoka and Zeb had to duck a bit to avoid hitting the stalactite easing downwards from the passage's ceiling.

"General," the princess said dryly, her short brown hair a bit tussled now, leaving her without her usual air of confidence and replacing it with a feral sort of childishness.

In response to the girl's impudence, Hera stiffened up. The hatred she bore for the young woman was not quite as intense as the hatred she bore for her father, but it was there. If Hera had the choice, she would probably leave Leia Skywalker to rot in this little cave until she was nothing but crystallized bones.

"Has she said anything useful," Hera addressed Ahsoka, never tearing her eyes from the beast of a woman before her, "or is she just wasting your time?"

There was no way to miss Skywalker's smirk. She did not seem uncomfortable by her predicament, but rather amused by it. Any anger she had held earlier seemed to have dissipated, which worried Hera, because it meant that she was convinced she was winning. There had to be a way to make her afraid.

There was a look that passed over Ahsoka's face as she glanced down at Skywalker, one that Hera did not miss, and did not like. Again, Hera was struck by how little Ahsoka was communicating with her. Glowering down at Skywalker, Hera crossed her arms across her chest and scowled.

"You have a choice," she said. "Give us valuable information, or rot. I am not particularly interested in you otherwise."

"You know," Skywalker said, her teeth baring in a strange, glinting smile, "Thrawn thinks you are a tactical genius. I think you just get lucky, General." Something in her eyes flickered, recognition, maybe, of who she was talking to. "Well… sometimes, that is."

"Leia," Ahsoka said sharply, a warning in her voice. It sounded like she was reprimanding an unruly child rather than a cold-blooded killer.

But Skywalker merely watched Hera, her lips quirked in an infuriating, taunting sort of way.

"The Jedi wannabe's not here," she remarked. "He didn't get away. And you want me to tell you how to save him, right?" That made her roll her eyes. "You really are hopeless, you know."

"I'd argue," Hera said, her anger simmering beneath her words, wanting nothing more than to turn her back on this woman and never see her face again, "that I have nothing if not hope."

At that, Skywalker sneered, and Ahsoka sighed in obvious frustration as she cut between Hera and Skywalker, her expression grim.

"I've discussed the possibilities of her helping us," she said quietly, and Hera was forced to look into her face. Ahsoka was a few years older than Hera, and it showed in her eyes, the way they seemed to reflect more than her fair share of ghosts. Sometimes when Hera looked into them, she thought that she might witness an apparition or two. It felt like Ahsoka's body was the vessel of thousands, a burden she had never asked for.

"And?" Hera asked impatiently.

Chewing on her lower lip, Ahsoka's gaze flickered down at the woman on the cave floor behind her. Skywalker merely scowled.

"It's complicated," Ahsoka admitted. "She doesn't trust you. Well, she doesn't trust any of us, but I'm… working on it."

"Has she given you information or not?" Hera said, trying to approach this delicately, but generally too angry and frightened to be patient about the daughter of the man who had tortured Kanan.

There was a moment where Hera thought that Ahsoka might simply not answer. There was something going on between the two of them, something that Hera was not privy to. Because Hera was an outsider to the Force.

If Ezra were here, she would have an in. Ezra told her everything.

But then she remembered his awkward claim of amnesia, and she conceded that this was not true. Perhaps she was losing touch with the people she cared about most.

"Listen to me," Hera said, the last of her sympathy whittled down to a small hope, a little bit of faith in her old friend. "If she's struck a deal with you, I need to know. I cannot help you get it sanctioned through High Command if not."

The white markings of Ahsoka's brow arched upwards in surprise as she gazed down at Hera, blinking thrice. "You'd do that?" she asked hesitantly. "Even for…" Her eyes trailed down to the woman in the cell. When Hera caught sight of her, she saw her face was no longer sporting its cocky, assured smile, but in fact Skywalker looked simply miserable.

That was interesting. So it had been an act all along?

"I cannot promise her freedom," Hera said levelly, "but I can promise my word in support of you. If you are willing to confide and me and give me a good idea of what exactly I'm trying to defend."

Wincing, Ahsoka took a step aside, fully removing herself as a barrier between Hera and Skywalker. Leia gazed up at her with a small frown.

Hera moved to crouch before the Sith apprentice, remembering what Kanan had said about her once.

She's not like the Inquisitors. She's cruel, vicious, and frightening, yes, but… I feel something else in her, like… like a child too afraid to say no. She didn't kill me when she could have.

Well, that had been funny in hindsight. Leia Skywalker had fought Kanan briefly and had let him go. They had not met a second time, at least not when Kanan had been with the Ghost.

Skywalker knew exactly what had been done to Kanan. Perhaps she could help them undo it.

"Tell me, princess," Hera said, watching the woman's eyes narrow, "what is it that you want?"

Skywalker's jaw tightened. Then, with a sigh, she slid back in her cell stretching her legs and letting her head loll back lazily.

"The Lasat has to leave," she said, causing Zeb to bristle at Hera's side.

"Excuse me?" Zeb demanded.

But Hera was too curious. Her theories were buzzing in her head, and Ahsoka's behavior had all but sold her on one thing in particular.

Leia Skywalker had not been kidnapped. She'd escaped.

"Zeb," Hera said, her eyes fixed upon Skywalker's face, "go. I'll fill you in later."

If nothing else, Zeb trusted her. And though she could tell how angry and betrayed he felt in this instant, he did not hesitate to sink low beneath the stalagmite and trudge back up the the surface.

After a minute of silence, Skywalker's head rolled to the side, and she gazed up at Hera and Ahsoka tiredly.

"The jig is up, huh?"

Hera realized she was addressing Ahsoka, who merely watched her warily.

"Are you sure," Ahsoka said, her eyes sliding to Hera's face, "you want to do this? You did say—"

"I know exactly what I said," Skywalker said coolly. "I made my decision."

She straightened up, her legs folding beneath her, and she sat up a bit straighter as she eyed Hera distrustfully.

"First of all," she said, "I am not your friend. Nor do I wish to support your cause. That has nothing to do with this."

"Alright," Hera said amusedly. "So you don't want to be associated with the Rebels. Got it."

"It's not that simple," Ahsoka said, her eyes darting to Skywalker, who merely scowled. "Leia will be killed if it ever gets out what she's done."

"And what," Hera said, "pray tell, has she done?"

With a scowl, Skywalker sat there a moment, probably weighing her options. The woman's teeth ground visibly, like she would rather break her own jaw than speak up. Sighing, Hera glanced up at Ahsoka and stretched herself back to her full height.

When Hera moved to turn away, Skywalker spoke.

"You cannot tell anyone."

Her voice had changed. She sounded less certain, and maybe even a bit scared. Hera glanced over her shoulder, eyeing her tussled brown hair, her large brown eyes, her stained, frayed Imperial garb, and she wondered if this woman was trying to trick them all. It seemed she had Ahsoka fooled.

Turning slowly to face Skywalker, consumed with curiosity, if not still some stinging bitterness, Hera let her head fall to one side and her silence speak volumes as the Imperial princess sat there, undeterred, glaring fiercely.

"I cannot promise that," Hera said.

Ahsoka covered her face with her hand, and she groaned, "Hera…"

"No." Hera's eyes met Ahsoka's sharply. "This is the heir to the entire Empire. If she has decided to defect, that is incredible, and entirely unbelievable. What am I supposed to do with information that I cannot pass on? This is not a viable option."

She stepped toward the rayshield, and she jerked a finger down at Skywalker with an assured, measured stance.

"You will either tell me what you have done, knowing I will likely have to tell my superiors," Hera said, "or you will rot here, having done it all the same. It does not make a difference to me whether you live or die, Princess. Be reasonable."

"That," Skywalker said quietly, pulling up a knee and resting her elbow there, "is not an option."

Hera nodded. She truly did not care, though if Skywalker did have information, she was being obstinate for no reason. There was no way she would not be rewarded for her assistance. Even possibly let go and allowed to rejoin the Empire, if that was her desire. Though Hera could not understand it.

"Leia," Ahsoka said, sounding desperate, "I know I said that I would not tell anyone, and I won't. But someone in the Rebellion has to know. You came to us for a reason."

"I came to you," Skywalker said, her eyes flashing to Ahsoka coolly, "because any other course of action would have been suicide."

"You don't seem to have a lot of options," Hera said, "so either you are going to talk to me, or you've wasted your efforts."

That made her angry. She was clearly thinking about ways to murder Hera, but that did not bother Hera one bit. After everything that had happened, there was not much that Hera feared, and the Empire had already stolen so much from her.

She might be able to help us get Ezra back, she allowed herself to think, allowed herself to hope. Maybe… maybe we can save him. Before the worst happens.

"Fine," Skywalker said finally, her displeasure clear in her furrowed brow. "But this can only go to the very top of your hierarchy. Whoever is in charge. I can't stay here forever." Her eyes roved around the grotto almost anxiously. "I should be moved soon. Off planet."

"Why?" Hera demanded. "You're not in any danger."

The way Skywalker's gaze flashed viciously to Hera's face, she thought she might slip right through the rayshield and start clawing at her way into Hera's skull.

"Oh," she said, sounding both amused and disgusted, "you truly are an idiot. It's not myself that I am concerned about." Her eyes flitted up and down Hera, like she might assess some sort of obvious flaw in Hera's physical appearance. "General."

That made Hera frown deeply. Because she did not anticipate the arrival of the Empire on Fest, but they all knew there was a chance they might come. After all, Ezra knew where to find them.

However, Fest was a large planet. There were many places they could be hiding. Unless they were spotted by a probe, which was unlikely due to the terrain they were in, she doubted the Empire would find them immediately, which gave them time to evacuate.

"Just tell me," Hera said tiredly.

Skywalker took a moment, probably to simply compose herself, and then she nodded.

"I have suspected," she said, sure to stare Hera right in the eye, "for a long time now that the Emperor intends to replace my father with myself. What that means for me, I think, is obvious." She said this all very matter-of-factly, but there was something in her eyes that told Hera that perhaps it was not all quite so blasé. "I'm not trying to die, so I tried to ignore it. I went on the missions he assigned me, noting when they deviated from what he told my father, and…" Her eye flickered up toward Ahsoka, who was watching her with a somewhat pitying expression.

"At one point I realized he was looking for something specific." She shrugged. "I'm good at getting what I want. I'm even better at getting other people to do it for me. While the Emperor was at a public function, I'd convinced one of his aides to plug a datastick into the Emperor's personal computer to retrieve what he thought were the coordinates to my next mission. As I'm the Emperor's heir, he had to listen, though I could tell he had his doubts about the truth."

Ahsoka then, very hesitantly, pulled a datastick from her pocket. Hera stared at it in mild disbelief.

"What did you download?" she demanded.

Skywalker tilted her head, and a smirk rose to her lips.

"What did I download?" she echoed amusedly. "General, I downloaded everything."

That could not be right. Hera's mind was buzzing, suddenly, her lekku swinging as she looked between Ahsoka and Skywalker in disbelief. No, no, this was not right. This was the daughter of Darth Vader. She could not be giving them something like this.

"Why the hell would you do that?" she demanded.

"Did the fact that he's trying to replace my father with me not do it for you?" Skywalker scoffed. "I may have my little faults, but I'm not a monster. I don't particularly want to rule the galaxy."

"She still believes the Empire is a good idea," Ahsoka warned Hera, who was absolutely drawing a blank on what to say next to this woman. "That's why she was so reluctant to tell anyone but me. She expected me to just take the datastick and go, but I…"

"It was miscommunication," Skywalker said stiffly, "on both our parts. We had no idea who we were actually meeting, and it all went a bit too fast… I could not explain myself to Ahsoka unless we were alone, so…"

"A staged kidnapping," Hera breathed. She felt like she needed to sit down.

"A coup d'état," Ahsoka sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Right under the Emperor's nose. We have to send her back."

"We need analysts checking that data first," Hera said, reaching for the datastick. She blinked when Ahsoka pulled it back sharply.

"I am not kidding when I say she will die if anyone finds out about this," Ahsoka said steadily. "There's a reason I didn't tell you or Zeb. Hell, I didn't even tell Ezra, and he's…"

When she trailed off, Hera merely frowned at her. And what exactly was Ezra? She wanted to know. Because clearly Ahsoka knew whatever it was that Ezra was hiding from her, and she was very much tired of it.

Ahsoka merely shook her head. "Won't the aide turn you in?" she asked Skywalker. "If Palpatine suspects tampering?"

"Perhaps," Skywalker said, sounding all too amused, "but I killed him, so…"

Ahsoka did not even blink, though Hera had to shake her head furiously at this admission.

"Of course you did," Ahsoka muttered. "Of course. You know, Leia…"

"The Emperor has to die," Skywalker cut in, glancing between the two of them sharply.

"Just so Vader can take his place?" Hera asked, feeling incredibly dazed. "That's not what we want."

"I'm not trying to negotiate our future right now," Skywalker said impatiently. "I'm telling you what must be done. I fully intend on aiding you toward that goal."

"Yeah," Hera said dully, "and then blaming us for the Emperor's death, just to persecute us some more. Why should we do your dirty work?"

Skywalker thought on that for a moment, and she nodded. "Alright," she said. "I'll prove myself to you. I can get Bridger back."

At that, Ahsoka seemed surprised. The timeline of their little plot was confusing to Hera, but she imagined they'd only had time to talk about Skywalker's treason during their shuttle ride immediately post-kidnapping, and whatever had transpired in the Ghost's cargo hold. So while Ahsoka did seem to know more than Hera, and did trust Skywalker's intentions, she was still very much in the dark.

"How?" Hera demanded. She was impatient, but also firm in her belief that if this was all true, then utilizing Skywalker as a resource would be invaluable.

"Once I'm back home," Skywalker said offhandedly, "I can get to Nur. Or Mustafar. Whichever facility he's being held in. I can make it look like he escaped by himself easily enough."

"That's dangerous for you," Hera pointed out. She did not think about Kanan. She could not think about Kanan. In this instant, she could only worry about Ezra. "What if Vader finds out?"

"He's occupied," Skywalker said firmly. "Besides, what use do we have for Bridger? The Inquisitors are meant to squash any remaining Jedi, but Bridger is barely that."

"You don't know him," Ahsoka said defensively. Hera glanced up at Ahsoka, wishing she would shut her mouth. Who cared if Skywalker underestimated Ezra? He was safer if he was not a Jedi. That was clear enough to Hera.

"I saw enough." Skywalker glanced between the two of them impatiently. "You want him back, don't you? Well, I can do that. I've already gone this far, what's a little more treason?"

Hera watched the woman tiredly, and she turned to Ahsoka. "Let us discuss this matter away from the prisoner," she said, gesturing toward the passage and hoping Ahsoka understood that this was not up for negotiation.

She did, but it seemed she was not thrilled about it. She glowered at Hera as she moved hesitantly up the incline.

"We'll be back, Leia," she said.

"I bet you will," Skywalker said smoothly.

They marched up the incline, making it to level ground and stopping a moment to catch their breaths. Then Hera rounded on Ahsoka, feeling both enraged and shocked and a bit grateful all at once.

"Why didn't you tell me what you were really looking for?" she demanded, watching Ahsoka duck under the low ceiling of the cave. "You let me believe we might find Kanan on that ship, and for what?"

"I didn't know it was Leia," Ahsoka sighed, starting forward with a sloped posture and a small frown. "My Fulcrum agent didn't give me the details, or maybe intentionally obscured the nature of the assignment due to Leia's… you know."

"Sith apprenticeship?" Hera offered, her voice clipped. "Heiress to the Empire-ness?"

That did not please Ahsoka. She merely grimaced.

"You're blinded by your love of a man who no longer exists," Hera said briskly.

She waited for Ahsoka to snap at her. For her to point out the irony of that statement. Hera was prepared for it, because of course she had already sensed it herself. She was doing things irrationally, saying things to hurt those around her, lashing out in anger with the knowledge that Kanan was gone and it was her own fault, and yet she thought that maybe he could still be saved.

But Ahsoka did not accuse her of anything. She merely lowered her head, an acknowledgement of the crime of loving someone lost, and Hera was so frustrated with her that she merely turned on her heel and walked away.

It had been two days. Possibly three. There had been no distress call, no beacon, and yet the warning was there. A strange, hazy feeling in the Force, like there was some phantom shadow clinging to her heels, waiting for her to trip and fall into the abyss. When it had first started, it had been a prickly feeling at the back of her neck. Then she began to feel ill, mildly nauseated, and she retired from a meeting early, kicking off her pinching boots, discarding her pretty blue cloak, and eyeing her son when he peered at her from his bassinette.

"Do you feel that?" she'd asked him while his enormous brown eyes merely peered up at her curiously. "Or is it just me?"

She had awoken in the middle of the night with a migraine, her fingers flying out, her brother's name tearing out of her teeth, and she thought: He's gone, he's gone, I can't feel him, he's gone!

As she'd sat there, cold and dazed, her son began to wail. It took her a bit too long to realize he was screaming, and she could not say why, other than she had felt incredibly removed from her own body. Like someone had reached a cold, clammy hand inside her chest and torn her from herself, leaving a husk behind.

Ben's shrill screeching had brought her back to reality, and she'd flung back her blankets, rushing to his bassinette and scooping him into her arms. His face had been ruddy and wet when she turned on the lamp at her bedside, and she could not speak while she bounced him against her shoulder. It had been her distress that had awoken him, she knew, but there was no way for her to stop it. She could not get her emotions under control. The fear was pressing up against her, and she thought she might drop to the ground and scream.

Eventually, after Ben's tantrum had settled, she'd balanced him in one arm so his soft cheek rested against her collarbone, and she'd reached for her personal comm.

"Han?" she'd asked, staring out into the salient lights of nearby speeder lanes, Hanna City's skyscrapers never quite reaching the height or magnitude of Coruscant's, but still twinkling beautifully in the night.

He'd answered almost immediately, his voice a bit strained.

"Is Ben okay?"

Leia had blinked down at the tiny child, who was now snoozing a bit loudly against her chest. He was only a few months old, but he was precocious and smart. Also, to her displeasure, quite powerful in the Force.

"He's fine," she'd said, cupping the back of the baby's head. His untidy wisps of dark hair tickled her fingers.

"Oh. Nice. Good. Why are you awake, then? Ain't it the middle of the night on Chandrila?"

She'd swallowed the anxious questions that had been gathering up on her tongue, and instead tried to ease her mind by lowering her mouth to the top of Ben's head and kissing his hair. It did not have the desired effect.

"Leia?"

"I have a bad feeling," she'd said, trying to sound passive. Off-handed. Like she was not about to burst into tears. "Maybe it's just a migraine. I don't know. Have you heard from Luke?"

Han had hummed thoughtfully. She'd had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming at him to think faster, irritable and frightened. Ben had stirred beneath her hand, hiccupping in his sleep.

"Not recently," he'd said. "Chewie, you heard from Luke?" She'd heard Chewie's negative yowl, and Han had sighed. "Nope, nothing. You try the Starfleet?"

"No." Leia had blinked. "Should I?"

"They might be able to ping his location. Didn't he tell you where he was going?"

She'd sighed at that. Her brother was a child of the desert, as hard to cling to as sand. He just tended to slip through your fingers when you needed him most. She understood, of course, that finding lost temples was important, and that if Luke was going to rebuild the Jedi Order he needed to understand how the Jedi of old had done things.

It was just that she missed him.

"He did not," she'd said softly, staring into the city lights and thinking maybe if she closed her eyes she might find herself wherever Luke was.

When she'd tried, she merely found herself standing alone in her bedroom, Han's voice calling to her worriedly.

"It's fine, Han," she'd said, wincing at the sound. Her head was pounding viciously. "It's fine. I'm going back to sleep."

"I'll call around if ya want," Han had said, sounding worried. "See if anyone's heard from him. Wedge or Lando, maybe?"

"Maybe."

She had not gone back to sleep. In fact, she had lost about four hours give or take, simply standing there, and had only realized that the sun was up because Ben had woken up and gotten fussy, smacking her in the face.

When she'd gotten the call, it had been from the New Republic Starfleet. A distress signal from Luke's X-Wing had been dispatched two days ago, but nobody had been able to pick it up due to the planet's relative closeness to Wild Space. There had been interference from something unknown.

"Give me the coordinates," she demanded. Threepio had looked at her, startled, when she'd said it, his arms outstretched towards Ben as he giggled and clapped at whatever song Threepio had sang him. It sounded like something Luke hummed sometimes, so Leia suspected it was from Tatooine. How Threepio knew such a thing was beyond her.

"Oh no," Threepio said, "Mistress Leia, what is it now?"

"Don't worry, Threepio," Leia said, crossing the room quickly to her closet. It was not as sparse as it might have been a year ago, as she now had to accommodate for government duties. She peeled off her dress and selected a simple white jumpsuit, zipping it up quickly. "I'm dropping you and Ben on Yavin IV. I don't think where I'm going will be particularly safe for a baby."

Then, crouching on the balls of her feet, she nudged the Force and lifted one of Ben's favorite toys, a stuffed bantha that Luke had made him when he'd been born, over his head. It wiggled in mid-air, and Ben smiled a giddy, toothless grin, grasping for it as it floated around his head. Leia let it fall into his hands, and then began to gather his discarded toys, a pacifier, and various cloths and clothes and stuffed them into a bag.

Shrugging on a water-resistant vest, not knowing where the homing beacon might take her, she attached her blaster holster to her belt and then paused to consider the shiny copper hilt sitting innocently on her bedside table.

With a reluctant lift of her hand, her lightsaber flew into her palm. It felt warm, and for the first time in days, she was soothed a bit. Because it felt, in its peculiar way, like a bit of Luke was with her.

Mon was waiting for her at her ship, which did not exactly please Leia in any sort of reasonable way. She'd paused for just a moment, sizing Mon up while the bright sunlight hit the silvery rose pinned to Mon's breast. On Leia's own chest, strapped in a pouch that crossed across her back, Ben kicked wildly, and gurgled at Mon in recognition.

"No," Leia said simply, brushing past Mon and toward the lowered gangplank of her ship.

"Leia," Mon said, placid and stern, her gaze as bright as the sky above them. "Were you even going to tell me you were leaving?"

"You can do without me for a day or two," she said, waving Mon off. "This isn't the Rebellion. I don't need your permission to go find my brother."

"You never truly needed my permission in the Rebellion, either." Mon did not sound bitter, exactly, about this fact, but there was a certain note to her voice that made it clear that she disapproved.

"Did you come here to say something?" Leia half turned, placing her hands on her hips. She did notice Ben looking up at her, his mouth parted in an "o."

"Yes." Mon studied her a moment, looking torn as her eyes flickered down toward Ben. "I have started to wonder if perhaps this… Jedi business might start to interfere with your duties to the New Republic." At this, Leia rolled her eyes. "Leia, we need you."

"I am one person," Leia said calmly, surprised that she didn't just snap at Mon, but she supposed this woman was as close to an aunt as she would get in her life. "You can excuse me if I don't believe that your need for me outweighs Luke's in this moment."

"From what I have heard," Mon said, "Commander Skywalker's distress signal went out to the New Republic Starfleet. Not you."

Biting back a vicious remark that he had sent a distress signal to her, just not in any way that Mon would understand, Leia scowled at Mon.

"This is a family matter," Leia said coolly. "I recognize that I might be valuable in the negotiations for Core World transitionary legislation, but there are other people who can do this job, Mon. This is Chandrila. You know better than anyone that if you throw a stone out a window in this city, it'll hit someone with a law degree." Backing up the ramp, Leia smiled weakly. "There is no one in the galaxy who can do the job I need to do right now. No one. I have to go. I'll see you when I get back."

After that, Mon was silent. Finally, Threepio seemed to deem it safe to skirt around her, hurrying toward the ramp as he inclined his head at Mon.

"Chancellor Mothma," he said while Leia stalked to the top of the ramp. "Lovely to see you. As always. Well. This is awkward."

"Threepio," Leia sighed. The droid jumped, and he moved quickly up the ramp.

"Oh dear," he muttered, passing Leia as she eyed Mon, and the gangplank receded as she and Mon continued to stare at one another coolly.

Well, that was something she'd have to deal with later.

"What do you think?" Leia asked Ben as she made her way to the cockpit of the shuttle. He blinked up at her. "Is it really foolish for me to try to juggle Jedi training and politics?"

"I think it is quite dangerous," Threepio responded to her, which was amusing enough that she turned to smile at him. "And certainly not the type of environment for a delicate being."

"Ben's tough," Leia argued, allowing her son to close his tiny, doll-like fingers around her finger while she sat down and carefully arranged her seatbelt around him. They didn't exactly have a carrier for him yet, given he rarely left Chandrila.

"I was talking about me!"

"Oh," Leia said, stifling a laugh, "of course! Sorry, Threepio."

The flight to Yavin was long, and Leia fell asleep, headache and all, before she was awoken to a crabby baby who needed food.

"You're so needy," she murmured, bopping Ben's nose affectionately as she tipped his bottle upward. "My papa said when I was a baby, I always wanted to be alone. I hated being picked up and coddled. I just wanted my space. But you want to be held all the time, don't you? Is that from Han?"

Ben, of course, did not respond. Nor was he really looking at her. He was a baby. He had no clue what the noises she made even meant.

He fell asleep soon after, and she closed her eyes, trying to sense Luke in the stretch of energy all around her. But she could not feel him, no matter how far she reached, and that made her afraid all over again.

When they landed on Yavin IV, Leia found herself reluctant to let Ben go. This was not the first time she'd been away from him, but it was certainly the first time she was leaving him with anyone outside herself, Han, and Luke. When Leia trudged through the greenery, up into the garden of the old Massassi cottage, she thought about turning back.

"Hello."

Leia jumped back, holding Ben a bit closer, as a tiny face poked out from a branch above her head. It was a small child, his big brown eyes glittering as he beamed down at her, his face and clothes coated in dirt. Brown curls tickled his brow as he tilted his head.

"Oh," Leia gasped, relaxing a bit, "Hello there. What are you doing?"

"Ad-ven-turin'."

"Poe!"

Leia turned to see Shara Bey marching across the garden, her brown curls loose around her head. It was hard not to smile as Poe squeaked, and he scrambled, along the tree branch.

"Poe, get down! What are you doing—"

"Coming, I'm coming!" The boy's tiny feet dangled, and Leia shrieked when he slipped from the tree, flipping over in the air with a small cry.

He did not land, but rather levitated a foot or so from the dirt. Shara scooped him up, blinking dazedly at the tree for a moment, then whirled on Leia.

"Was that you?" she gasped, her eyes shining in terror. They stared at each other a moment, holding their sons tight to them, and then the both laughed in disbelief.

"Poe," Shara said, looking into the boy's round brown face, "don't you ever do that again. You're lucky Leia was here to catch you."

"She didn't catch me, though," Poe argued, his dark brows furrowing. "I flied!"

"It's okay, Shara," Leia said amusedly. "You won't believe how many times I fell out of trees when I was a child."

"You," Shara pointed out, "have the Force, and probably saved yourself more times than you know. Poe is just a normal child. A stubborn one."

"Hey!" Poe cried, clearly offended. Leia wondered if he knew what stubborn even meant.

Shara shook her head and then set Poe down gingerly in the grass. He stood there a moment, watching his mother peer curiously at the pudgy faced baby in Leia's arms.

"He's definitely got Han in him," Shara remarked, smiling down at Ben. "Wow, you're cute, huh?"

"I'm sure he and Poe will be great friends," Leia said, depositing Ben into Shara's arms. "No doubt Ben will be just as rambunctious, if me and Han are anything at all to go by."

"I dread it," Shara said brightly while Ben's head turned confusedly between Shara and Leia.

"Ah?" he seemed to ask, stretching his arms out for Leia.

"No," Leia told him gently, resisting the urge to stroke his cheek with her thumb. "I have to go help Uncle Luke, starlight. Alright? Be good for Shara, and get along with Poe."

Though, looking around now, Poe was nowhere in sight.

"Hopefully he won't be too fussy," Shara sighed. "Poe was apparently a little monster when I returned to X-Wing duty."

"If he starts moving things with his mind," Leia said casually, "give him the Bantha toy and have Threepio sing to him. It's like magic, he loves it."

Then, before she could change her mind, she swooped down and kissed Ben's forehead.

"Love you," she whispered, bringing his tiny hand to her mouth and kissing the back of it. "Be good. And give me all the luck you've got, little one."

Then she swept away from him, her lightsaber bouncing against her hip, and she did not even think to say goodbye to Shara. She just ran back to her ship, up the ramp, and found herself sinking in the pilot's seat, staring into the great, yawning emptiness of space, her fingers trembling as she copied the coordinates from the fleet and programmed them into her navicomputer.

"Force help me," she muttered.

She jumped to hyperspace.

"We cannot discuss anything here," Jyn had said, leaning into the hallway. Luke did not quite understand, but he trusted her. "Tomorrow I will be delivering the aid promised to Lah'mu. I'll convince Thrawn that I need your assistance. Once planetside, we can talk freely."

Tomorrow seemed a long time to wait. Vader could be back tomorrow.

He was forced back into the cafeteria for dinner, but like at lunch, he found he was not really hungry. Vanto was nowhere to be found, so he ate alone, dodging the odd looks from curious Imperials, and made his way through the ship.

When he found his quarters, he was not surprised to see Dormé there, but very much relieved. He hugged her, glad for a friendly face, and she squeezed him tightly.

"We're very lucky," she remarked. "I think Vader was called back to Coruscant."

"Would that have been bad?" Luke asked weakly.

Dormé merely shot him a dull look. She had his box of medication sitting in her lap. At the corner of his bed was his balled up cloak with the lightsaber stuffed inside, and his datapad. It seemed Dormé was nothing if not resourceful. She popped open the case, and Luke sat there quietly while she prepared his arm for the syringe. It felt faster this time than last.

He wanted to ask how long he had. How much he could use the Force before his condition worsened. If they knew what had caused this. But of course he could not without clueing Dormé into the fact that he was not the Luke she knew.

It was hard not to pity the Luke Skywalker of this world. His life, it felt like, was an endless stream of bad luck and an elongated tragedy.

"Dormé," Luke said absently, "do you think this room has been bugged?"

Dormé arched a brow. "You mean," she said, "do I think Thrawn is listening in on us?"

"Yeah."

Dormé hummed. Then, to Luke's surprise, she got up and began to trail along the corners of the room. Her fingers danced along the crevices of the wall, easing beyond the metal frame of the door. She stood on a chair and unscrewed the casing over the fluorescent lights and did a thorough sweep of it. The air vent was popped out, scraped over twice, and then replaced. Finally his drawers were overturned.

"No," Dormé said, returning the drawers to their rightful place, leaving Luke stunned, "I think we're alright. What's on your mind?"

Perhaps it was because Dormé was so mild-mannered, but Luke simply had not expected her to so efficiently sweep the room. She blinked at him, tilting her head as he tried to digest what he knew about Dormé, and more importantly what he didn't know.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Fine," he gasped. Probably a bit too quickly. Definitely a bit too quickly. Dormé's eyes flickered over his face, and he wondered about her. About this life he could not have. A life that seemed to reject him.

"You've been acting strangely," Dormé said hesitantly, her hand moving toward him yet hesitating before it hit his shoulder. She looked tired and drawn. "Is it the seizure? You know that doesn't mean much. It could have just been because you missed your dose yesterday."

Luke's eyes darted from her face nervously. What was he supposed to say? He knew he was sick, and in all probability dying, but other than that he was clueless.

"Luke," Dormé said gently, "please talk to me. What are you thinking?"

He thought, for a moment, about just telling her everything. About spilling his guts at her feet and finally allowing himself to be honest. That he wasn't the man she knew. The boy she had clearly watched grown up. That he was some imposter wearing his skin.

And the thought of it made him want to cry.

"Luke…"

"It's that Jedi," Luke said, finding it easy enough to lie when the lie was half-true. "Ezra. I think we might be connected somehow."

That definitely stunned Dormé, whose brows merely knitted at his words, and he shrunk a bit as she stared at him in silence.

"Connected," she repeated. She did not sound convinced.

"In the Force."

"You shouldn't be—" she began.

"The Force is not hurting me," he told her curtly. "Perhaps manipulating it might be dangerous, but I cannot help feeling it. That's part of who I am, Dormé. The Force is a part of everything and everyone, and all that is different between me and you is that I can feel it." Luke found himself rising from the bed, his feet guiding him toward the door. Then, struggling to tear himself from the desire to rip through the Star Destroyer until he found Ezra Bridger's cell, he whirled on Dormé. She looked up at him with wide eyes. "I have to help him."

"Luke," Dormé said reluctantly, "I know how you must feel. His fate… nobody deserves that. But you cannot save him."

"Why not?" he demanded.

Dormé seemed, suddenly, quite nervous, and he could not blame her, but it was frustrating. Fear seemed to rule everyone around him. No wonder the Empire was still around.

"You can't stop me," he told her firmly. "I know my mother is involved with the Rebellion. I can help more from inside than out."

At that, Dormé actually laughed. It sounded distinctly bitter, and more than a little forced.

"How?" she demanded, looking up at him tiredly. "How can you help?"

"I can fly," Luke said, though that was a gamble to state at all, and by the look on Dormé's face he suspected his counterpart could not. "I can gather intel. Even if I can't use the Force, I can fight."

"You will die," Dormé told him in a small, drawn out way. "Is that what you want?"

"No."

"Then why," Dormé gasped, rising to her feet, "are you doing this? If you leave— you know what will happen, Luke. This doesn't come for free."

When she gestured wildly to the case of medication on the bed, Luke thought:

Oh. It all finally makes sense.

Why her mother remained trapped in a marriage she clearly did not want to be in. Why Luke seemed stuck, unable to speak up for himself, clearly sequestered away on a little corner of Naboo while Leia and Vader galavanted across the galaxy.

It was because they had not been given a choice.

"Is it really that expensive?" Luke asked, his eyes glued to the lifeline he did not quite understand. "I could look on the black market."

"You'd have to sell more organs than are currently in your body," Dormé said. This time she sounded bitter.

He thought about that for a moment. He weighed the costs.

"How much medication do I have in there?" He nodded to the case on the bed.

Dormé did not seem to like what he was implying.

"You aren't going anywhere," she said firmly. "I can call Padmé and see what might be done about the boy, but you will not be doing a thing. Do you understand me?"

That was immensely irritating, and he found himself snapping, not unlike he might have five years ago to his aunt, "You aren't my mother!"

But unlike Aunt Beru, Dormé did not seem to care at all.

"No," she said curtly, plucking up his medication and brushing past him, "I am not. And you should count your stars that you've lucked out with that, because if I was your mother, you would be singing a very different tune. Goodnight, Luke."

Left alone with his thoughts, his datapad, and a hidden lightsaber, Luke groaned and flopped onto his bed. This was a disaster. He had thought that maybe Dormé would be on his side, but… well, being dangerously ill was not ideal, it seemed.

He wondered how long he could go without being medicated. Long enough to get home? But then, what would happen to this Luke? Would he just be killing an alternate version of himself in the process?

Luke unraveled his cape from Ezra Bridger's lightsaber, examining it with a frown. It was certainly unlike anything he'd ever seen before in his journeys and his research. The hilt was boxy, two-columned, and had an assortment of buttons that made it feel unrecognizable as a lightsaber. He imagined that if Ben— Obi-Wan, he corrected himself mentally— could see this design, he would be mildly scandalized.

It would have been nice if he could have snatched that other lightsaber before Vader had left. Then both he and Ezra could have had one. But he supposed he was lucky to have one.

Sitting up and pulling his datapad into his lap, he fiddled with it and wondered if this was really his best bet to understand this alternate version of himself. From what Luke could tell, his other self spent a lot of time reading. He was amused to find a healthy sprinkling of romance novels interspersed with galactic history texts and Imperial legislative documents.

Then, startlingly, after some snooping, he found a locked cache of files. He thought he'd need a slicer, irritated that this was happening again, but he realized that the datapad accepted voice recognition.

"Luke Skywalker," he said tentatively. The datapad processed his voice, and he then found himself looking at… well, a steady stream of recordings. Of himself.

Tentatively, Luke stooped lower, peering at his alternate self's face as he picked a random video, and the salient gaze of his own eyes stared back at him.

"Hello, again," his alternate self said. His voice was different, Luke thought, dazed and amazed, because the cadence and inflection coming out of this boy's lips was not the same as his own. How had nobody noticed? "I'm back from Theed. Needed another blood transfusion, since apparently mine is just…" His gaze got far away for a moment. He was sitting at the desk in the beautiful, ornate bedroom on Naboo. The open window behind him gave Luke a view of the tempestuous waterfalls in the distance. "Mama would never admit it, but I think she's glad that you're gone. She thinks it's the Force that did this to me, and when I'm around you…" He smiled sheepishly. "I can't help it. Our connection, I mean. It's strange to think that you've been gone five years now, and you haven't stopped here once to see me. Did Mama tell you not to? Or was it Father?"

At first, Luke had no idea who his alternate self was addressing. It became abundantly, tragically clear as the young man's eyes flitted away from the camera. They had begun to shine with unshed tears.

This was a while ago, Luke knew. He could tell from his own face. He looked babyish and young.

"I don't care if being around you makes me worse," he said, his eyes flashing back to the datapad. "I'm not going to survive this anyway. Everyone knows it. Why are we prolonging the inevitable? And why do I have to suffer because of the desires of everyone but me? You won't see this until after I'm gone, but… Leia, if you had just answered my calls… if you had just come home, once, maybe—"

The alternate Luke cut himself off, glancing aside for a moment. The footage cut out. Luke sat on the bed, feeling unbearably cold and empty, like someone had severed one of his limbs. And that was a feeling he was intimately familiar with.

Being away from Leia, he knew, was incredibly arduous and painful. The Force made them both feel like they were stretching themselves out to the thinnest possible parts of them until they reunited, and it was like nothing had happened at all. Like they'd never been away from each other. They were, they liked to joke, two halves of a whole.

It seemed that this other version of himself was incredibly unlucky. Luke had grown up with this feeling of loneliness, an inescapable sadness that he had never understood, but filled with endless dreams and longings of space and adventure. Aunt Beru had always told him that he had been a strangely melancholy child when nobody was looking. He certainly had been rambunctious and eager to help, or to please, and Uncle Owen had made more than enough comments about how naïve Luke had been (which he always thought was Uncle Owen's way of telling him he was too happy). Yet, Aunt Beru noticed things about Luke that Luke never would have on his own.

He missed her, too.

Knowing now that his childhood longings were the result of being separated from his twin was a comfort. He had always wondered if something had been wrong with him. Nobody else felt like they were always a trying to find a missing piece of themselves.

For this version of Luke, there was no moment of clarity where the loneliness was recontextualized and the childhood depression made sense. This man had grown up without that feeling, only to have the emptiness thrust upon him when he was a teenager.

No wonder he seemed so sad. Luke probably would have wanted to give up too.

You're still alive, he wanted to tell his alternate self, suddenly sad that he could not help him. Could he? I know you must feel hopeless, but this was years ago, and look! We're still here.

Realizing he could tell his other self this, he propped up the datapad so it was able to record him, and he smiled sheepishly at it.

"Hi," he said. "This will seem weird to you, but I'm… um, well, I'm you. I took over your body by accident, and I'm trying to find my way home. But I'm Luke Skywalker, same as you. Just…" He looked away from himself, trying to sort out how to explain. "I come from a world where our life was different. I never got sick the way you are, but I never knew my parents. I think my mother— our mother — died a little after Leia and I were born. I was raised on Tatooine. I never knew I had a sister. So I understand, you know, what it means to be away from her. But, look. Look at me! I spent more than half my life never knowing she even existed, but that never lessened our bond." He thought for a moment about the point of all these recordings, and realized that the Leia of this world might see this. "Leia, if you're watching this, I want you to know that I'll always love you. No matter who you are, or what you've done, you're my sister. And maybe someday you will understand how badly you've hurt the person I am in this world."

He thought about all the things he wanted to say. About his own life. But he imagined this was already too confusing.

"All you two have is each other," he said firmly. "If I can save Vader, I will, but I think it's more important that at the end of this, you're together."

It was not pleasant to think about, but there was no question of who to choose if he was forced between saving his father and his sister.

Then he ended to recording, feeling a bit foolish for it. But at the end of it all, wasn't he just trying to get home? Seeing his other self, hearing him speak, Luke understood that being here was just a crime against him. It was not fair. And the other Luke did not have time to be kicked out of his own body.

Wait, Luke thought dazedly, is this Luke in my body?

He had to get back home.

Deciding quickly, Luke hid the datapad and the lightsaber and crept out of his room. The shifts on the Star Destroyer as it moved into its night cycle were staggered, and he was able to slink toward the cell block with relative ease.

"Hey," an officer said as Luke peered around the corridor, "you're not supposed to be here."

Without thinking, Luke turned around and lazily dragged two fingers through the air.

"I am allowed to be here," he said, imprinting his words in the Force.

The officer's eyes grew glassy as he stood there, blinking past Luke's head.

"You're allowed to be here," he agreed.

"And," Luke pressed, starting to feel the strange kickback of bending the Force, "you want me to have your ID cylinder. And your access code."

"Oh." The officer blinked rapidly. He plucked the cylinder from his breast pocket and pushed it into Luke's open palm. "Right. Here you go. My access code is Charlie-Delta-Sierra-One-Five-Eight-Seven."

"Great," Luke said cheerlessly, shouldering past the man and feeling distinctly unwell. It wasn't a headache, or nausea, just… fatigue. It washed over him suddenly. How did his alternate self live like this? He knew he shouldn't have used the Force, but the instinct had washed over him before he had really thought about it. "How about Ezra Bridger's cell?"

"Cell Block E, 2512."

Luke just left him there in a daze. He did not have time to waste, really. A thought occurred to him that this was a bad idea. That he should turn back. But instead, he kept going.

And as he stopped at the correct cell, the buzz of adrenaline fizzling away as something else remained. A strange longing. Like the way it felt to be away from Leia, almost.

He rolled the cylinder in his palm, and took a deep breath.

Then, startled, he snatched a wrist hovering just above his shoulder, instinctively maneuvering himself under the assailant's arm and jabbing his elbow into their ribcage. Only his elbow did not make the mark. It was halted by a strong blue hand, and Luke blinked up into the glowing red eyes of the Grand Admiral, swallowing hard and slipping the cylinder into his shirt sleeve.

"Oh," Luke said weakly, Thrawn's wrist in his fist while the man had him at the crook of his arm. "Hello there."

Chapter Text

Before he'd boarded his shuttle, a trooper told him that Lieutenant Wren had made a request to outsource a specialist regarding the project his daughter had left behind.

"Get her whatever she needs," Vader said distractedly. He was thinking about how inevitably sour this would all turn out. "I want the translation before I drop her back with Thrawn."

Who knew why the woman was here in the first place. A spy, in all likelihood, knowing how Thrawn operated. He imagined whatever Wren found from the ancient writings, it would find its way into Thrawn's hands sooner rather than later.

That was fine. If Thrawn did the busy work of researching, Vader could focus on the problems at hand.

Such as getting his daughter back.

Running his gloved hand through his hair tiredly, he thought about Padmé. About the reality of Luke staying by his side. If he had to pass him off to the nearest half-way trustworthy Imperial officer any time he was summoned, was he really protecting him at all? Should he have simply brought Luke with him, Palpatine be damned?

Perhaps their original arrangement, as barbaric as it was, was for the best. At least Luke was not in any danger in his beautiful prison cell.

Part of him wondered if it would be beneficial to discuss the matter with Padmé. But Padmé hardly made time for polite conversation with him, and it seemed like a fool's errand to try.

Sweeping through the familiar corridors of the Imperial palace, ghosts pawing at his cape, he thought that there was nothing he would not do to save his children.

Both his children.

And the children he had skewered in the name of those children he claimed as his own, they seemed to watch him from the shadows, phantoms shivering in the elongated rays of light that illuminated the dust in the long, empty halls of a place they had once called home. A place he had once called home. Their faces were little imprints against the mighty walls, large eyes peering out of columns, tiny fingers drawing lines through the tile.

Some things had to die so others could prosper. A strangling tree must be uprooted for a sapling to grow.

That was what he told himself, anyway.

The throne room was as it always was. Dark, oppressive, and cloyingly familiar. This was the room that Anakin Skywalker, a nine year old freed slave, had been dragged into as an unwanted gift to prying, greedy eyes.

"My master," Vader said, sinking to his knees. As he always did. He felt the man's eyes on him, and part of him wondered if this was any different than before.

These thoughts came and went, as flighty as the wind. They clung around him more ardently when he was with Padmé.

He wished he might return to her. Perhaps just to look at her, even if she did not speak to him. It might calm him.

I do not need calm, he reminded himself irritably. I need power.

"I sense a great conflict in you, Lord Vader," the Emperor drawled. "I take it that your visit to Naboo fared as well as usual?"

The way this comment seemed to rub salt in Vader's already wounded pride only made him lower his head. What a farce. A marriage in the loosest of terms. A wife who had once put a knife through his flesh palm, pinning his hand to an antique table, and told him in no small words that his presence was a mandate, not an invitation, and therefore he could not touch her unless expressly told to.

His fingers closed into a fist around the scar she had left. She was rather good at leaving scars.

If he might hold her hand, he thought, maybe… maybe…

"Lord Vader."

The Emperor was impatient. When Vader lifted his head, he had to blink to banish the vision of Padmé's cold brown eyes from his mind.

"As you say, my Master," he said mechanically.

So what if he had made Padmé cry? That was not any better or worse than usual. He tried to remember a time when this was not the case, where he saw her radiant smile when her eyes fell upon his face. What a farce. What a dream. What an unbearable thing it was, to remember something sweet when all had gone so sour.

"You mentioned your son." The Emperor's eyes were alight, and Vader remembered what Leia had said to him the last time she had been on the Executor.

"Our glorious Emperor," she'd said, a twist of her lips in either amusement or resignation, "has his hands in too many pots. I think we should both consider the possibility that he might soon find us both dull in comparison to some new, shiny object he has yet to mold to his liking."

He had not fully understood what she had meant in that moment, only that she was speaking in broad strokes, a trait he thought must have come from her mother. Now, however, he understood. If the Emperor's eyes were allowed to wander, he would set his sights on Luke.

That was not an option. Not for him, anyway.

"Luke appears to be managing," Vader said. "He is feeble and sheltered, as he always has been."

"Yet you believe he may be the key to finding your daughter." The Emperor's eyes narrowed. "And what are we to make of that?"

This was dangerous ground to tread across, Vader knew. This would end badly if he was not careful.

"I merely meant to suggest," Vader said, "that Luke's connection with Leia is unparalleled. Even with his… current state."

"And you mean to use this connection?" The Emperor's eyes were bright with amusement. "Despite the detriment to the boy's health?"

"His medication should balance out the strain using the Force will put on him," Vader said slowly. "I have seen him use it in small amounts before."

He could only hope, at least, that the medication would work this way. He spent so much time away from Luke, he truly did not know how far the disease had progressed. Perhaps Dormé could tell him.

"You have much faith in a little serum stuffed in a needle." The Emperor lifted his chin. "If the boy proves useful in locating our heir, then I see nothing wrong with utilizing him. If he dies in the process, however, that is a burden you must bear."

Those words prickled under Vader's skin as he imagined Padmé's tear-streaked face, her rage and despair evident as he'd dragged their son away from her.

"I understand."

"Now," Palpatine said, his rasping voice weaseling its way inside Vader's head and bleeding into his thoughts, "let us talk about Leia."

"Yes."

"Her mission," the Emperor continued, "was a personal one. I pulled her from her station on the Chimaera to focus on investigating an anomaly I have discovered. Yet she disappeared."

"She was kidnapped," Vader corrected.

"So it would seem." The Emperor's smile was tight. "Indeed, so it would seem."

Vader did not understand what his tone of voice was supposed to indicate, but he knew it was not something encouraging. He felt, deep inside him, that Leia was in danger. Not from the rebel insurgents, but from the man in front of him.

Leia, he thought numbly, what have you done?

"Leia is the victim," Vader said firmly, knowing his daughter well enough that he was certain she had made a dire mistake, "of a terrorist plot against the Empire. She has not disappeared. She is being held hostage."

"And where is the ransom, Lord Vader?" the Emperor demanded. "Where is the evidence? As it happens, Admiral Sloane has informed me that the rebel interloper that boarded her ship and defeated Leia was one you might be more than a tad familiar with."

Vader merely stared at the Emperor, feeling cold and dazed, because while it was entirely like Leia to get carried away with a theory or an investigation, it was not like Leia to dance with treason. Luke, yes, but Luke was allowed his fantasies of grandeur to an extent. Leia should know better.

"What are you saying," he said, his voice low, "Master?"

"I merely think it is quite suspicious," the Emperor said, "that I have dealt with a security breach in my own home, mounting instances of rebel activity that could only be explained by a very clever spy, and finally that your daughter has disappeared after openly defying me."

"She defied you?" Vader blinked rapidly, trying to ignore the niggling suspicion that had begun to take root in his own mind. "How?"

"We had a disagreement." The Emperor tilted his head. "It is of no importance what about. What matters is her flagrant disrespect, and her subsequent disappearance at the hands of a known Rebel spy, and a former Jedi, no less."

"I will deal with the Apprentice," Vader said heatedly. "My daughter… I swear to you, Master, she has nothing to do with the rebels."

The Emperor's smile was enough to chill Vader to his very core.

"Very well," he said. "But if you are wrong, Lord Vader? You shall dispose of the child yourself."

The icy dread took hole of him as the image of Leia's mischievous smile and warm brown eyes, so like her mother's and yet so entirely an echo of his own childish mirth, while she knelt beneath his sword, the betrayal shining in those familiar eyes.

Like Dooku before her, an apprentice too arrogant to realize favor was something as ephemeral as a comet's trail. She would fizzle out, fall away, and disappear from sight all too easily.

"Does this idea disturb you?" Palpatine sounded more than simply amused. Was he enjoying Vader's panic? "You have nothing to fear, my boy. If you are right, that is."

My boy, the man's words were swirling in his brain as he nodded, rising unsteadily to his feet. My boy.

"She will not fail you," Vader said, surprising himself with the conviction in his voice. "I promise you that she is loyal to us. To our Empire."

"Time will tell indeed," Palpatine said, his smile unnerving. Vader watched him a moment, and then nodded, unable to hold the Emperor's gaze. "Have you felt a disturbance in the Force, Lord Vader?"

He was so preoccupied with his own thoughts of Leia, he nearly misunderstood this question. He blinked twice, and he shook his head.

"No," he said. "Though I feel that perhaps love is clouding my senses. My master."

That was pointed, though he let himself radiate honesty, because he was truly only echoing what Palpatine had told him. Wasn't he? It was enough that the man's eyes narrowed. Vader merely stared up at him expectantly.

"If there has been a disturbance," he said, "perhaps Leia might have felt it. She has always had a gift with visions."

"A gift," Palpatine said, pointedly ignoring Vader's comment, "she shares with you. Yet you felt nothing. No, I think not. This disturbance has nothing to do with prophecy or visions. It is a shift."

The possibility of a shift in the Force happening without his knowledge was not outrageous. After all, his ability to meditate had waned over the years, and he scarcely remembered what it was like to just sit in the comfort of thrumming waves, of everything just standing still for him in an instant so he could sense far beyond himself, into the ether, and let it consume him.

That was a Jedi trick. Sith only meditated as a tool to an end. Not for peace or tranquility.

"Shall I investigate this shift?" Vader asked tiredly, knowing the answer before it came.

"I would imagine you are still perfectly able to do so," Palptine confirmed. "Lest your love blinds you more. Then, I suppose, we may have to do something about those children of yours."

"I imagine my search for Leia will be halted," Vader said mechanically, "in favor of this new order?"

"You have always been quite quick to the upkeep, haven't you?" Palpatine hummed. "Yes, Lord Vader. Perhaps you might use your son, if you are now considering his raw talent a tool. Regardless of what it will do to his body."

Vader bit back a denial of that fact, an adamant declaration that he would not do such a thing, because there was no point. If Palpatine wanted to use Luke in any way, Luke was his to use. Even Padmé was loathe to stop it, if this was his fate. She might kick and scream and shred his face with her nails, but she would never get him back if Palpatine wanted him.

He was dismissed soon after, given some barely relevant information about the feeling Palpatine had gotten, and as he trudged through the Imperial palace, his mind was stuck on repeat. Replaying a memory over and over. The panic, and wonder, the hope he had felt rushing into the Med Bay to find his wife awake, sitting up, staring vacantly out a window.

When he had stepped toward her, her eyes had trailed up toward him vacantly.

"Ani," she'd said, her voice hollow, "what have you done?"

She did not ask him if he was alright. If the children were alright. She said nothing else when he sat on her bed, holding her hands, making her endless promises. Her eyes simply fell back upon her window, drawn to the yawning purple sunset at the edge of the skyscrapers, looking spent, feeble, and small.

He had been in the room when the nurse droids had brought the children in. Leia was deposited into his lap while Luke was pushed into Padmé's arms. She held him, though she seemed unable to really see him as she stared at him.

"That's Luke," Vader had said gently.

She had nodded distractedly.

"This is Leia." The child in his lap was already toddling off him, trying to squirm onto the floor. "Stop that, Leia. Don't you want to see your mom?"

Leia's thin brown hair was always sticking up everywhere, and Vader had not known what to do with it, so he had put bonnets on her. Threepio had recommended color coding the children, since it was a bit hard to tell them apart, so Leia tended to wear purple while Luke wore blue. At this point, Leia had been trying to tear off her bonnet with her constantly flexing fingers, and Vader caught her tiny, tiny hand in his.

"Stop," he'd gasped. "Leia, it's your mom. Mommy. Can you say that?"

Leia had about three words in her vocabulary. "No," "Yum," and "Kriff."

Luke could not speak, but he was very active, and could walk very fast. He'd turned his head inquisitively toward his sister while she struggled against Vader's hands.

When Padmé's silence only grew more deafening, Vader found himself getting… angry. Something he had told himself he would not be around Padmé, not after Mustafar. Yet he sat there, staring at her, and he felt his fingers close hard around Leia's arm.

Luke yelped.

Vader's fingers unwound from Leia in shock. She'd slipped from his lap and scrambled across Padmé's bed, crawling to Luke and clinging to him when they reached one another. They began to cry, both of them, and Padmé's eyes widened.

"It's okay," she'd gasped, looking terrified, "it's okay!"

But they'd only cried louder.

"Just take them," Padmé had gasped, pushing the children into Vader's arms. They squirmed and wailed, kicking at him and smacking him in the head.

"They're your children!" he'd snapped at her, his rage rumbling in his chest. "Why are you acting like this?"

Padmé had turned his face away sharply. She had not replied, and Vader, with two screeching babies, had swept away. He had taken them to Palpatine, who had always been able to pacify them quickly.

Eventually she had been more than happy to hold the twins. More than happy. Happy enough that he was not even informed when she took them to Naboo. That… in hindsight, had been an overreaction. His satisfaction at Palpatine's order that she stay on Naboo for the foreseeable future and step down as its senator… well, he still felt a bit vindicated over that.

Now he trailed along the corridors of the Executor, feeling more and more disjointed from himself. Leia was the person he was closest with in the whole world. The whole galaxy. He had always felt connected with her in a way that did not quite compare to any other connection he'd ever had. Sometimes he glanced at her, and he thought she looked less like Padmé and more like his mother. Only then she would sneer or scoff or swear, and the illusion was broken. She was a fire in the desert in the dead of night. A flicker of warmth in the cold. Life and warmth incarnate, but deadly if left unchecked.

It is a mistake, he convinced himself. It must be a mistake. I will not let this happen to me again. I will not let a misunderstanding steal my daughter away.

He did not think about the implications of that thought immediately, but his mind was drawn to a small Togruta girl, whose shining blue eyes pleaded with him to believe her, to trust her, while her whole world was pulled down on top of her.

No. He would not believe it. He could not.

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he wondered if trying to reach her telepathically would work. He did not have the same range to connect with Leia as Luke, but it might help. The Force disturbance was tricky. He had no idea what it was, nor had he felt even a twinge of it. Perhaps Luke had? No, it would be incredibly dangerous to ask Luke to delve into the Force like this. Especially so soon after a seizure. 

Vader stood on the bridge, staring out into the stars, and he wondered if his daughter was safe. If she was scared.

If she would betray him, too, like all the rest of the people he had ever loved.

"Lord Vader?" Piett stood with his hands behind his back. "Shall return to the Chimaera?"

If Leia has indeed betrayed me, Vader thought dazedly, can I kill her?

The thought made him feel ill.

He was not even angry, he realized.

He was utterly terrified.

"Set the coordinates for the Mustafar system," he said.

Mountains groaned and grass hissed, and the sky opened up before him. Rain dug deep into his bones, and he thought that perhaps he could become like stone, and the dirt and grass would gather around him, until he, too, was a conical mountain reaching for the sky. The grass and dirt began to shiver, sifting away, and a strange abyss trickled underfoot. It was like walking across black water, his feet sending strange ripples in the surface of the darkness, and he walked through the yawning lanes of time, listening to unfamiliar echoes fall upon his ears.

The emptiness was full. It was yawning, open, sprawling, and yet it was so dense. Populated with a hundred thousand voices, each one trailing along his feet, following his footsteps with keen interest.

He caught wisps of conversations. Words, unwords.

You're my only hope.

Shimmers in the distance, a mist, a waterfall.

It's not a problem if you don't look up.

Fissures in the foundation, lanes growing thin, precarious.

Do you think anyone is listening?

Hush.

I am a Jedi.

Roar.

Like my father before me.

Silence.

When his feet dragged to a stop, the whispers that followed him ceased. The portal was black, a swirl of faint white light allowing him to notice that it did, in fact, exist. He studied it a moment.

Then the soft, rolling syllables of Cheunh caught his ear, and he turned his head to look over his shoulder in shock.

Do not do this. Please.

He opened his mouth to respond, the voice familiar enough that he recognized it. But he could not speak.

Please. Wake up.

He was frozen, staring into the abyss, eyes wide and terrified.

Wake up, Bridger.

The voice grew softer and softer, distant and more distant. He wanted to say that it was okay. That he was okay. But he could not speak. His tongue was a weight against his teeth.

Ezra. Wake up.

"Wake up."

He whirled around, staring into the portal, expecting some sort of scene, a past event, an unfamiliar world.

But all he saw was himself.

A mirror.

But no. No, something was wrong.

The other Ezra was wearing a brown vest over a deep, burnt orange turtleneck. A pair of red, flight-appropriate overalls were wrinkled beneath the vest and over the shirt. His hair was cropped shorter than he remembered his hair being, and when he touched his own head, relieved to move his hands, he found his hair long. He touched his cheek, bristles of his beard, his ear, and it was a bit mangled where his reflection's was smooth. Clean shaven.

The other Ezra did not move when he moved. It became apparent, with dawning horror, he was not a reflection at all.

"Wake up," the other Ezra said, sounding tired. "You have work to do."

The world around him skittered out from under him, and he found himself grappling with the air as he bolted upright, gasping for breath.

What, he thought, sweat gathering at the back of his neck, the fuck?

He sat there, staring at a durasteel wall, his chest rising and falling restlessly, and when he pressed his hand to his ear, the skin was damp and cool. Throwing his legs over the side of the stiff bench, he dragged his face along his hands and blinked dazedly at the floor. It had been that place, hadn't it? The portal realm he had found on Lothal.

Could that be the reason for all of this?

His cell door slid open suddenly, and he realized why he had felt so suddenly on edge. Luke Skywalker stood sheepishly in the doorway, the Force clinging to him like morning sunlight on dewdrops. Absolutely infuriating. Worse, Luke was not tall enough to hide the figure behind him. Ezra merely blinked as Luke entered the cell, followed closely by Thrawn.

"You couldn't have knocked?" Ezra sunk into the bench, his legs stretching across the floor. "I need my beauty rest, you know."

Luke's lips quirked up amusedly, and when Ezra merely stared at him, he began to fidget with his sleeves. What a weirdo. So Ezra's gaze swiveled to Thrawn, whose red eyes glowed in the dim cell light, his expression settled into something distinctly unreadable, calm, and collected. His demeanor seemed more guarded than it had in the interrogation room, probably because he knew that Ezra might just take his chances and attack him.

With Luke here, though, Ezra did not like the odds. He was certain he was physically more capable than both men individually, but Thrawn's tactical skills in hand-to-hand combat were nothing to scoff at, and Luke had already proven able to maneuver around Ezra with agility. So… yeah. He was stuck.

"I believe Prince Luke wanted to speak to you," Thrawn said, his hand dropping on Luke's shoulder. At that, Luke jumped a bit, and he looked up at Thrawn with clear confusion in his eyes. "I thought it best not to keep him waiting."

Ezra had to laugh at that. There was no way that was the truth. He knew Thrawn well enough to know that he must have taken advantage of some unsavory situation, and now Ezra had to try and dodge questions in Cheunh again.

"Well if the prince wishes for my presence," Ezra said with a roll of his eyes. He tore his gaze from Thrawn, more than well aware of the intensity of his stare, and focused on Luke. He seemed more than a little nervous. "What do you want?"

Luke's eyes dashed wildly between Thrawn and Ezra, and he frowned deeply.

"It…" He avoided Ezra's gaze. "It's stupid. I shouldn't have come."

"I doubt that." Thrawn nudged Luke forward, much to his dismay, and he blinked down at Ezra. There was something… irritatingly earnest about his expression. His sheepishness, his anxiety, his uncertainty… it was all written plainly on his face.

"Who are you scared of?" Ezra asked, half-teasing. "Thrawn? Or me?"

The brief flash of alarm in Luke's eyes was not exactly subtle. Ezra sighed and straightened himself up so he wasn't slouched on the bench like a hooligan. He wasn't trying to make an enemy here, and to be honest, he was curious about Luke Skywalker. Just incredibly wary.

"I'm not scared of either of you," Luke said. It sounded, strangely, self-assured. "I have a question for you, and the Grand Admiral has been kind enough to allow me to speak to you."

"Oh, yeah," Ezra said, his mouth twisting in amusement, an inside joke that would never land with these two. "Because that's what Thrawn's known for. Kindness."

A brief, concerned glance between Luke and Thrawn made it clear that Luke was really just not having the best time. It might have been funny, really. If not for the fact that Ezra was in a very precarious position.

"He is not wrong," Thrawn said when he caught Luke's stare. "I am not known for kindness. It hardly lends itself toward successful military ventures."

"Maybe not," Luke said in a small, soft voice, "but any person who gives themselves whole-heartedly to a cause and does not consider kindness and humanity above all else is only perpetuating horror and oppression. You cannot change the world for the better and not be kind."

Thrawn considered Luke a moment, and Ezra knew that look was something of shock mixed with curiosity.

"Perhaps not." Then Thrawn turned to Ezra. "It seems you've gained an ally, Bridger. Against all odds."

"Didn't ask for it," he said with a shrug. The little speech was certainly suspicious, though. "What is it you wanted to ask me? Can't promise I'll answer, unless you've got an interrogation droid roaming around."

"That would hardly work on you," Thrawn said dismissively. "It would be barbaric to subject you to torture with no clear outcome."

That did sound like a Thrawn retort. It's ethically dubious! And I'd do it if it would work. Bastard. It was a little nostalgic, though. They'd had their ethical debates so often in the early days that Ezra had forgotten just how far the Empire had pushed Thrawn to the breaking point of his morality. And worse, Ezra had not quite recognized his own responsibility in dragging his morals back to a place of acceptability until meeting a version of the man that never had that opportunity.

Luke's smile was tight and clearly uncomfortable. He eyed Ezra, and it was easy in this moment to see how he was the same man as the one he had met on Melinoë. There was something warm and inviting about his face as his gaze settled on Ezra, which made it feel like it could be easy to let his guard down.

Ezra wouldn't. But part of him wanted to.

"I was wondering," Luke said, clearly trying to sound casual when it was obvious he did not want to be here, "have you had any strange visions lately?"

The question surprised him, and the thoughts of the portal realm, the mirror of himself, the voices crowding his ears, all came flooding to the forefront of his mind. He knew he'd visibly reacted enough that Thrawn was watching him with hungry eyes, wanting more than what Ezra was willing to give, and frankly he was tired of the charade already.

But… Luke was Force-sensitive. And, potentially, maybe, an ally. Ezra did not forget about his strange, cryptic comment about another life.

"What do you mean?" Ezra asked hesitantly. "What kind of visions?"

With a small smile, Luke fiddled with the end of his sleeve, and he shrugged.

"You know," he said, "a battle station the size of a moon that can destroy planets. That sort of thing."

For a moment Ezra simply stared at Luke, feeling like he was being tricked, because out of all the things that could have come out of his mouth, that was not one Ezra had been expecting. Ultimately, it was a bit too long that Ezra sat there and gaped at him before shaking his head.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, feeling suddenly very panicked and stricken with a loss of what to do. Did this mean the Death Star was still a threat here? What was he supposed to do? He had no idea how it had been destroyed the first time around!

Luke's expression shuttered a bit, and he blinked down at him in a surprisingly collected way.

"Suppose not," he said. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Well, it was worth a shot. If you do dream of, say, Alderaan getting blown to pieces, please let us know. I'm trying to prove a point."

Alderaan, Ezra thought, the panic growing into full blown terror as he sat up straighter, staring at Luke with widening eyes. How the fuck does he know about Alderaan?

But Luke was not looking at him. He had looked to Thrawn expectantly, half turned toward the door, all while Thrawn's gaze remained trained on Ezra. He watched Ezra's stature change, his eyes widening in horror, and his brow pinched in what Ezra could only call concern.

"Grand Admiral Thrawn?" Luke asked softly.

Thrawn continued to stare at Ezra, and Ezra stared back, his jaw slackening a bit.

"Wait," he said, his voice surprisingly weak. "Wait a minute. Be more specific about Alderaan."

Luke turned to look at him, something suddenly brightening around his eyes. Something akin to hope.

"I'm not sure how specific I can be," he said amusedly, folding his arms across his chest. "Why do you ask? Do you know what I'm talking about?"

Frowning deeply, Ezra tried to think of a way out of this. This was almost as dangerous as speaking in Cheunh to Thrawn. What would happen if they figured out he was from another world? Would the Emperor swoop in and try to take advantage of the oddity?

So instead of answering, Ezra turned his attention to Thrawn.

"What game are you playing?" he asked, watching his expression carefully. When he merely blinked, Ezra shook his head. "Is there a purpose to this? If I say yes, I know what you're talking about, what then?"

Luke was staring at him, and after a few moments he turned to look at Thrawn, who stood there silently, listening to Ezra with a frown forming on his lips. It wasn't like Ezra could read him perfectly, even after everything. It was hard to say what he was frowning about, but he certainly was not happy about how things were going.

"I thought maybe you'd want to help prevent it," Luke said, glancing back at him. "You know, since keeping the peace should be your priority. Jedi."

That made Ezra scoff a bit. The way he said it was so… condescending? Amused? Ezra didn't get it! What was this guy's deal? The way he smiled at Ezra was infuriating, like he knew something Ezra didn't. It was enough to make him want to square up and throw a punch.

He did stand up, which caused Luke's eyebrows to raise. His smile widened, and he looked up at Ezra brightly as Ezra took a step forward.

"I'm not sure who you think you are," Ezra said, his gaze flitting over Luke once, "but you can fuck off, okay?"

Luke's smile only fell a little bit. The hostility did not seem to dampen his mood, and in fact, he seemed even more intrigued as he watched Ezra's face, his eyes large and curious.

"Sure," he said, almost cheerfully. "I can do that."

He turned away suddenly, so fast that Ezra felt the whiplash of the fallen conversation, and the distinct disappointment of not being able to finish it. Not that his own prickly impulsivity had helped in any way.

Thrawn remained standing in the cell while the door slid open and Luke climbed the stairs, lingering in the doorway and turning back to peer at the man inquisitively. When Ezra's eyes finally slid back to Thrawn's face, he saw that there was something… distinctly tired about his expression.

"Go," Ezra said quietly.

If this man had known him, if he had lived with him for five years, seen him grow up little by little, bandaged his wounds, told him stories, taught him new languages, then would it be more painful? Or less? Would it make any difference at all? There was nothing between them but the things that had been that were both true and untrue. All Ezra had was his memories, and he was beginning to fear even those were faulty.

Then, to Ezra's surprise, he heard the soft, rolling syllabic thrum of Cheunh.

"Trust him," Thrawn said, inclining his head. When Ezra merely stared at him, unable to reply due to shock and confusion, he merely turned away.

When he reached the door, Luke not so helpfully called, "It's called the Death Star, by the way."

The door slid shut, and Ezra stood in the middle of his cell, feeling more than anything like he had just been slapped in the face.

What the fuck had just happened?

The thick knitted wool got caught on her montrals when she unwound the scarf violently from her mouth. Her hood had two holes in it specifically to accommodate the tall, pointed curvatures, and she was not about to pull it down in the middle of a bustling cantina. It was a tall, long room, like a great hall, and the wooden rafters were steepled and lovingly carved in semi-elaborate styles like the rest of the buildings in Detlan.

"Cold?" her companion asked her amusedly, his tired brown eyes trailing over her reddened face amusedly.

"Shili has a very temperate climate," their other companion supplied helpfully. "Her body is not made for extreme heat or cold."

"Thanks for the xenobiogeography lesson," the other man said snidely, his Festian accent softening the distinct distaste, "buckethead."

Irritated by his rudeness, Ahsoka balled up her scarf and whipped it at the man's face. It was caught by a quick, long metal arm, and its thick knit got easily caught in the droid's large fingers.

"I sense your friends might be hostiles, Cassian," the bulky KX-series droid said in his usual matter-of-fact tone. "Shall I commence my battle protocols? Before the Mandalorian shoots me?"

"What?" Ahsoka's eyes roved to their helmeted friend, who had a blaster trained on K-2SO. "Hey! Put that away."

"Yes," Kaytoo said, dropping Ahsoka's scarf into Cassian's lap, "do put that away. I prefer myself to be much intact, and very handsome, thank you."

The Mandalorian was silent, his blaster drooping a bit as he tilted his head a bit incredulously.

"Don't mind Kaytoo," Ahsoka sighed. "He's just like that."

"I don't like droids," the Mandalorian said, his grip tightening on his blaster.

"Well I don't like bucketheads," Cassian said with a roll of his eyes. "We're all compromising today, no?"

"Can we please play nice?" Ahsoka sighed as Cassian brushed the foam off the top of his mulled drink with his finger and licked it. He'd been kind enough to get one for each of them, and her gloved fingers did throb a bit from the cold. She tugged the bantha-hide gloves off and pressed her fingers to the hot mug, a bit relieved at the sensation. "You know why we're here. Report."

Cassian glanced at her, smirked, and gave a quick, almost mocking salute. He may be one of hers, but he'd known her a long time, and hardly gave her the respect a commanding officer might deserve. Not that she was really a commanding officer. Instead he treated her like an old drinking buddy, which was amusing except for when it was not.

"Lah'mu's compromised," Cassian said, his voice losing all its cheer and amusement, lowering to a dull and perfunctory tone.

"We know," Ahsoka pointed out. "We were just there, outside the system."

"No." Cassian's tired brown eyes flashed to her steadily. "You don't know. Erso's been captured by Grand Admiral Thrawn. All operatives on Lah'mu and in the Raioballo sector are in danger of exposure and should be evacuated if possible." He licked his lips. Then he took a long drink. Foam clung to his mustache, and he thumbed it off, blinking down at his cup. "If not, we leave them."

"Is that an option you're really willing to consider?" the Mandalorian demanded. "You are already losing."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Cassian said tightly, "but unless you have a better idea, we can't really afford to lose a whole battalion against Thrawn's TIE defenders. Again."

Ahsoka sighed. The loud, boisterous cantina was entirely the right place to have this conversation, as no one could hear them over the din, but it did contribute to her headache. The throaty singing at the front of the hall was not exactly her style, either.

"Thrawn has something valuable to me," Ahsoka said, gripping the hot mug and taking a short sip of the drink. It was certainly some sort of mulled alcohol, sweet and warm as it trickled down her throat. The undertones of nuttiness surprised her, and she licked the foam from her upper lip. "If I need to return to the Raioballo sector and start wreaking havoc, I will. It might give our remaining forces time to escape."

"No offense," the Mandalorian said, "but what exactly do you think you're going to accomplish by yourself, Fulcrum?"

The Mandalorian was a strange man. She'd known her fair share of Mandalorians in her lifetime, but none quite so… orthodox. It was admittedly charming, considering how earnest and solemn the man was. For a bounty hunter, he was a diamond among coal, that was certain.

Still, it was strange to her that this man really had no concept of what a Jedi was.

"I'll handle it," she said gently.

"With your swords?" The Mandalorian gestured with his fists, a comical interpretation of her reverse-grip. He had only seen it once.

"Yes," she said, smiling at him, "with my swords."

"Yes, yes, Fulcrum is incredibly powerful and a living legend," Cassian said, waving her off. "That doesn't help the people on the ground, does it? You cannot be on multiple planets at once. We either need a coordinated attack, or we abandon them. What do you want to do?"

"It's not up to me," Ahsoka said quietly. "You know that. If it was, I would say risk it."

"Even with the TIE defenders?"

Ahsoka lowered her mouth into her fists. There had to be a better way around this. But nobody was going to be jumping to the Raioballo sector without Thrawn noticing. The answer, she supposed, was obvious.

"We have to get Thrawn out of there." She glanced at Cassian, who frowned in response. "Draw his attention elsewhere so we can get people on the ground and evacuate our bases. Regroup, redistribute, lose less life."

"Well," Cassian said, opening his hands, "I am all open to suggestions. There are people I care about on Lah'mu right now. I would rather not see them reduced to ash on the beaches."

"Noted," Ahsoka said. She wondered who he was talking about. "I'll talk to Hera about it. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone with Thrawn if we time it right."

"That's probably madness talking," Cassian said.

"That is certainly some form of malware," Kaytoo said helpfully. "Perhaps you should consider a system check, Fulcrum. Oh, right. You organics cannot simply scan yourselves to find the source of your internal issues. How sad."

"Kay," Cassian murmured, waving back at the droid. Kaytoo merely looked down at him, seeming bewildered.

"Are you telling me to go away?" Kaytoo sounded mildly offended. "If I hurt her feelings then perhaps she could get that checked out at one of you organic mechanics. Or not. I do not particularly care how "doctors" work." He used air-quotes, which made the whole thing more humorous. Ahsoka smiled at him.

"You're a funny droid," she said fondly, reaching over and patting Kaytoo's arm. He looked down at her hand. "I don't mind. At least you're honest."

"Too honest," Cassian pointed out. "Remember when he first met you and called you a scheming Jedi traitor?"

"I was still programmed to say that," Kaytoo said defensively. "It's not my fault you did not think to reprogram my genocidal temperament."

"Oh, of course," Cassian breathed, "silly me."

"What about you?" Ahsoka asked, glancing at the Mandalorian. "Any news from your Fulcrum?"

His drink was cooling before them, its foam untouched and dissipating as both Ahsoka and Cassian sat and drank, eyeing him curiously. The last time she had spoken to the Mandalorian, she had been given the information that had led her to Leia. He had been incredibly vague about the whole ordeal, and part of her wondered if he himself even knew what he had been sending her to do.

"Yes."

The Mandalorian sat stiffly. He seemed reluctant to talk about his contact, the anonymous Fulcrum agent who ferried information through a personal network of bounty hunters. How they found bounty hunters willing to risk their necks for the rebellion, or loyal enough not to take the information and sell it to the highest bidder, was beyond Ahsoka. But they had, and their information had proven invaluable.

"Are you going to offer us any wisdom?" Cassian asked, his mug against his chin. "Or is speaking to us plainly against your code as well?"

"Cassian," Ahsoka said softly. "No need to be antagonistic. You live your life the way you wish, and our mutual friend lives his life just the same."

"Well, friend?" Cassian took a sip of his drink, watching the Mandalorian as he sat before them in quiet observation.

"My contact," the Mandalorian said, finally, "is in danger. They asked me to come meet them on Mustafar to aid them in an Imperially sanctioned project."

"Mustafar?" Ahsoka echoed, a sinking cold falling over her whole body like a yawning shadow. She felt the extremity of it in her toes and fingers and ends of her lekku. Like the sub-zero temperatures outside the cantina. It came crashing down all around her suddenly, and she could not stop the fear of it all from seeping into her bones.

"If your contact is asking you to go to Mustafar," Cassian said in an off-handed, conversational way, "you need to cut them loose."

"You mean kill them."

"Or let them die." Cassian shrugged, though he did not look particularly pleased about the casualness of this topic. "Listen, Mando. You are a bounty hunter, yes? You are being paid to ferry information between Fulcrum agents. That does not make you a rebel. That does not make you liable to our mistakes or our fates. You want my advice? Get out while you can."

The Mandalorian did not immediately reply, and instead sat there, perhaps absorbing Cassian's warning. He then turned his helmet toward Ahsoka, who had lowered her eyes to her mug and found herself at a loss. Was it possible that Thrawn had transferred Ezra to Nur or Mustafar already? Could she save him before he was irreparably hurt?

"What's the deal with this Mustafar place?" The Mandalorian sounded uncertain. "It's Empire, then?"

"You really don't know much, do you?" Cassian sounded almost pitying.

"I don't get involved, usually."

"But something changed." Cassian eyed the Mandalorian with a frown. "You seem more than willing to get involved now."

"It's a job."

"Right."

The Mandalorian turned his attention to Ahsoka, clearly frustrated with Cassian. "What do I need to know about Mustafar before I go?"

Ahsoka's eyes widened in shock. "You're really going?" she uttered.

"Uh… yes." The Mandalorian's shoulders squared a bit. "You know, you're not inspiring much confidence. I'm not affiliated with the Empire or the Rebellion. I'm just a bounty hunter."

"And if they catch you chatting with us on some security device or another?" Cassian's chin was in his hands, his tone bored. Tired. He had done this dance a hundred times. "What then?"

"Bounty hunters have worked with the rebels and the Empire simultaneously before." The Mandalorian shrugged. "If I don't go it'll be more suspicious than showing up and doing a job. Once I get the scope of how much danger they're actually in, I'll report back."

"Do they feel like they've been compromised?" Ahsoka asked cautiously.

"They didn't say."

"That's suspicious," Cassian pointed out. "They only told you they were in danger?"

"No." The Mandalorian shook his head. "I know they are in danger because they do not contact me to meet them directly within Imperial view. They must feel trapped in some way. I need to find out what's happening with them."

"And if they are setting you up?" Cassian raised his eyebrows pointedly.

"Let me handle that."

Ahsoka felt like she was going to explode, there were so many things happening at once. Thrawn, Lah'mu, the Raioballo sector, Ezra, Kanan, Mustafar, the anonymous Fulcrum agent, Leia…

"I have an idea," Ahsoka said, blinking rapidly. "Do you want to gain a really handsome bounty?"

The Mandalorian's demeanor shifted. He seemed a bit more guarded as he rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward.

"What exactly did you have in mind?"

The distress signal was traced to a planet called Melinoë, which was located in Wild Space. Leia slept most of the journey, as the travel time, even from Yavin, was rather long. She could not help but wonder how Luke had gotten all the way out here, and why. He had not told anyone what he was doing. She had called Lando to ask him if he had heard anything, but it was just another dead end.

"Do you need me to come with you?" Lando had asked worriedly. "I can meet you anywhere. You know that."

"No, no," Leia had replied. "I can do this alone. It'll be fine."

Now as she tracked the ping from Luke's X-Wing, she regretted this decision dearly. She just wanted someone to joke with her. To lessen the immense pressure that was gathering around her shoulders, pushing her down into the depths of her anxiety and despair. Leia was solitary by nature. She got trapped in her own head and absolutely tangled in the spinning thoughts of doom that could potentially befall all the people and things she loved.

It was why she loved travelling with Han and Luke and Chewie so much. There was no way for her to become a victim of her own mind if she was caught in a loud debate about something entirely useless. The banter eased her unsettled thoughts, and she became so much more grounded with her brother cracking jokes in one ear while Han insulted her in the other. It was… so incredibly nostalgic now. She had not realized how much she'd missed it until this moment, when she needed it the most.

Melinoë, it seemed, had a variety of climates. Most of them arid and temperate. There was one massive continent in the southern hemisphere, but it was frozen over and at the opposite end from where Luke had landed. The rest of the planet was a series of atolls and archipelagos clustered near its equator, with a broad, open northern sea that was choppy and violent as she flew over it. She had to move higher into the atmosphere to avoid enormous swells, waves that scraped the clouds and dragged dense wisps of fog into the ocean.

It was stormy. Her ship rocked uneasily as she navigated along the craggy atoll, aiming for higher ground that was somewhat flat. Her ship was bigger than an X-Wing, and she had to be careful. She circled the atoll a few times before finally leveraging her ship onto a flat cliff-face. She took a moment to gain her bearings, staring into the mist outside, and she took a deep breath. Then, she flung a water-resistant poncho over her head, its white vinyl face reflecting her emergency lantern. She stepped sideways down the ramp, her footing careful as rainwater splashed its way up the gangplank.

Flinging her hood up, Leia navigated the rain-slick cliffside, listening to the not-quite so distant waves crash upon the outer-beach of the atoll and foam skittered up the palisades, raking her cheeks in a biting mist. Loose wisps of hair clung to her cheeks and forehead, and a steady stream of droplets seemed to slide down the tip of her noise. She tasted nothing but salt, and her fingers were numb as she gripped the slippery orange rock and descended the cliff slowly.

A flash of lightning lit up the atoll as she finally dropped to flat ground. The tall mountain was, she saw now, a building, set alight by the sky and the shadow of it imprinted in the rain. It was on the other side of the lagoon, which Leia noted, with some bare delight and awe, was glowing. The green water was luminescent, hazy in the rain and the mist, and as Leia approached it, she felt… warm.

She stood there, her boots sinking into the pink sand, the green lagoon peaceful in its rippling state, despite all the rage and roar of the storm around it, and mist gathered along its edge. Slowly, Leia began to edge around the perimeter of the lagoon, listening to the water as it hummed eerily, like a choir had submerged itself and the ghosts of children sang sweet lullabies as she drifted in the heavy rain.

"Luke?" Leia called as she neared the large mountain. Her voice was lost among the roar of the waves and the crashing of rain upon stone.

The atoll was sand and coral, yes, but the cliffs and the mountain were prominent. She could not sense her brother, even still, and that worried her. His X-Wing was here. She knew that much.

Her lantern bounced at her hip, but she did not need it with the light of the lagoon. Standing beside it, the hum of it drowning out all her fears, she felt like she knew where Luke must be in that moment. And just like that, the rain began to lighten, and as she climbed, she felt surer and surer. Then, when she reached the top, her feet slipping against wet limestone, she looked down and saw a glint of metal on a low cliff-edge. Just safe enough from the violent waves.

"There you are," Leia breathed, tears prickling the edges of her eyes.

It was then that she noticed another ship, about the size of the X-Wing, on a tiny, protruding flat surface close to the top of the mountain. She stared at it blankly, trying to make out what model of craft it was, but it was completely foreign to her. Sleek, streamlined. It looked more like something pre-Clone Wars than anything she'd seen recently.

She felt the danger with a suddenness, but only really registered it because the humming of the lagoon had ceased abruptly. Leia caught the fist that had been aiming for the back of her head, likely to knock her out, and she leveraged the arm so she could flip her assailant over her head. Only the assailant flipped mid-air and landed on their feet, kicking Leia hard in the shoulder and sending her sliding against the limestone with a cry of shock and pain. Her lantern unhooked from her belt and skittered wildly, metal screeching against stone, and she scrambled to her feet as the assailant approached her.

It was a woman, Leia realized, who wore what appeared to be incredibly compact, lightweight foreign military armor. It was black, with a deep red patch emblazoned on one shoulder, with glinting silver bars on the high collar. Her face was wet, and her blunt blue-black bangs were curled against her pronounced brow. It occurred to Leia that she did not know exactly what species this woman was, as her red eyes emitted a hazy red glow in the lightening mist, and her blue skin bore no gold markings of a Pantoran.

"Who are you?" Leia demanded, lowering herself into a defensive stance. "What are you doing here?"

The woman did not react. She merely stared, her strange red eyes— red to her sclera, with a faint, pinkish outline of her irises visible beneath the glow of them— flickering over Leia in a probing way. Then she dashed forward, her long hair floating behind her. It was tied at the very end with a red bow, and as damp as it was, it whipped around as she swung herself into a violent roundhouse kick. Leia did not have time to block it, so she skidded back, nearly toppling over, and continued to backpedal as the woman kicked in sharp, precise jabs. Relentless and poised.

Shit, Leia thought, blocking a kick with her arm and bracing herself for the woman's strength as she boxed Leia's ear and caused her to slip to the ground, falling over the steps of the tall building. This woman… what the hell is she? Some kind of warrior? A guardian of the atoll?

Gaining her bearings, Leia lurched forward, sweeping her leg against the backs of the woman's knees and forcing her to topple down. She made a strange sound, and in response kicked Leia hard in the chest. Briefly winded, Leia winced and scrambled forward, jabbing the woman in the ribs with her elbow and blocking a wild fist aimed for her eye. They scrambled on the wet limestone, getting caught up in blocking each others' blows, and Leia heaved a deep breath. Her hood had fallen back, and her long braid whipped around her as she tilted her head from side to side, dodging vicious punches from the woman.

"Where," Leia gasped, ducking beneath the woman's arms and kicking her in the back. The woman stumbled near the edge of the cliff, her eyes widening, "is my brother?"

The woman blinked at her. Leia found herself unbearable angry. She must know. After all, why else would Luke be missing if not for a hostile force? How dare this woman just… stare at Leia, like she was the threat.

Leia pushed forward, back handing the woman and not surprised at all when her wrist was caught. She grabbed the woman by the neck and kneed her in the stomach.

Not her finest moment. She had not thought about the fact they were on the edge of the cliff.

So they both went toppling over the side, a sharp, fearful shout coming out of the woman's mouth while Leia's eyes widened in shock. They rolled in midair, and before they smashed into a jagged cliff-edge, Leia pushed them gingerly with the Force and rolled them into open air. The woman clung to her, probably in shock, as they tumbled, and the ground met them harshly, but not nearly as abruptly or fatally as it should have.

Leia and the woman rolled down the dirt incline, grunting and gasping all the way, until they were clinging to each other in the wet sand.

Then Leia jabbed the woman in the throat and rolled her onto her back, pinning her to the sand. The waves were calmer now, but the ocean spray still hit her cheeks viciously as she tore her lightsaber from her belt and let it burst into life.

"I'll ask you again," Leia hissed, pushing the blue plasma close to the woman's neck. Up close, it was easy to see the light spray of freckles across the woman's nose. "Where is my brother?"

The woman's eyes were wide as she stared up at Leia, maybe in fear, maybe in confusion. Sand clung to the side of her cheek, settling in her hair, and she blinked wildly up at her. She said something, and Leia realized she could not understand her. At the twist of Leia's face, the woman's brow pinched, and she said something again. It sounded like a different language, but still Leia found it unfamiliar.

Suddenly the Force was once again ringing out, danger prickling at the back of her neck, and Leia half crouched over the woman, using one hand to keep her pinned, as she twisted around and held her lightsaber out defensively while a blaster was pointed in her face.

To her surprise, the man who stood before her was wearing the exact same armor as the woman, and yet he was completely human. His skin was brown, dark and warm, and his hair was plastered to his forehead, his breath coming out in visible puffs due to the cool temperature near the ocean.

"She doesn't know Basic," the man said in a low drawl. His accent was clearly either Outer Rim, or even further out. Wild Space? He sounded breathless and tired. "What did you ask her? I can translate."

Surprised, and incredibly confused, Leia released the woman's shoulder and lifted herself out of her crouch as she turned fully to face him. Her lightsaber hummed in her fist, and it reminded her of the lagoon.

"I asked her where my brother is," she said coolly.

The man's brow pinched. His eyes flickered surreptitiously aside, toward the cliff, before settling back on her face.

"Zicher," he called. He spoke in a quick, syllabic language that Leia did not recognize. The woman in the sand brought herself up to her elbows and responded in a small, wheezing voice.

"You're talking about the man in the X-Wing," the man said, jerking his chin toward the cliff. "Right?"

"That's his X-Wing," she said hesitantly. "Yes…"

The woman spoke again, this time with a huff.

"He's still in there," the man said, probably giving a loose translation. "She said—"

But Leia was already running. She kicked up sand, her boots sinking into it as she banished her lightsaber and scrambled up the cliff. She wished she could jump with the Force, but Luke had yet to teach her that little trick. He thought it best to focus on getting her lightsaber skills up to par before the more mundane things. Which was so very Luke, considering that is exactly what he'd wanted when he'd set out on his Jedi journey. He was right, of course, she did prefer knowing how to fight. Until it was inconvenient.

Heaving herself up onto the cliff ledge, she coughed a bit, swiping sand from her mouth and rushing to the protruding droid at the nose of the ship.

"Artoo?" she gasped, running her hands over his rain-slick dome. It swiveled, and his excited, relieved beeps made her laugh and disbelief. "You're okay? Have you been here this whole time?"

An affirmative succession of beeps made her exhale shakily.

"Wait," she gasped, "did you send the distress signal?"

Another succession of affirmative beeps. Leia stared at him dazedly. Then, peering into the cockpit of the X-Wing, she saw through the foggy glass that there was in fact a person sitting there.

The cockpit popped open easily enough. The glass dripped rapidly, large droplets of excess water dripping onto Luke's lap and chest. He was not buckled in, and was merely slumped backwards in his seat, his head limp against his shoulder. When Leia reached for him, her fingers were trembling, and she shakily grasped his face.

When his cheeks felt warm, she nearly burst into tears.

"Oh," she gasped, lowering her forehead to his and squeezing her eyes shut. "You idiot. I love you so much." Then, turning to Artoo, she blinked back her tears and demanded, "What happened?"

Artoo merely beeped and beeped, confusion and dismay clear in the binary. Leia suspected that he just did not know.

"Okay." She patted her brother's face gently. "Wake up, Luke."

He did not. He did not wake up when she shook him gently. Or when she shook him violently. He did not wake up when she called his name, out loud or into the Force, and he did not wake up when she found herself half-draped across the X-Wing, crying into his chest, because she could not feel him at all, and it felt so…

So immensely lonely.

She felt them approach, of course, and she could not tear herself from Luke. She managed to stop sobbing by the time they reached her, but her face was still buried in the smooth black fabric of his shirt. Slowly, she lifted her head, and she glared at the two strangers as they stood before her. The alien woman frowned at the scene before her while the man watched Leia with some degree of pity in his eyes.

"What?" she spat at them. "What do you want?"

The woman eyed her with an unimpressed sort of frown, and she glanced at the man and said something. He shook his head. Puffing out her cheeks indignantly, the woman spoke again. When the man merely pressed his lips together, the woman looked at him sharply. He avoided her gaze as she gestured to Leia and shouted something.

"What is she saying?" Leia asked. She pulled herself from Luke enough that she was no longer on top of the X-Wing, and she gripped his arm for a moment before letting go and turning to face them fully.

"I…" The man shook his head, quickly replying to the woman, and then focusing on Leia. "I cannot repeat what she's said."

"Why?" Leia demanded, her eyes narrowing.

The man was absolutely unfazed by her anger and suspicion. He seemed fairly poised and self-assured, maintaining two conversations at once as the woman berated him in her own tongue and Leia glowered at him while demanding answers in Basic.

After replying to the woman, he glanced at Leia.

"It is classified information," he said.

"Classified?" Leia scoffed. "Classified by who? The Empire?"

That did seem to make him react, though Leia could not tell by the pinched expression if it was good or bad. He waved the woman off as she continued to speak to him heatedly.

"No, not the Empire," he said.

"Then you should tell me," she said firmly. "By order of the New Republic."

"We're not under your jurisdiction," the man said amusedly. He then murmured something to the woman, who paused mid-rant to glance at Leia and bark a bright laugh. The man smiled at that.

"Why are you here, then?"

"The temple." The man nodded to ruined structure above them. "It caught our interest a few days ago."

"And who is 'our?'" Leia asked, placing her hands on her hips. "Are you pirates?"

The woman tapped her foot impatiently while the man shook his head.

"Not pirates," the man said, though he sounded amused. "I am Commander Eli Vanto of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet, and this is Senior Captain Irizi'che'ri. We are not here to be hostile, but merely investigating a potential threat this atoll might pose."

"The Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet?" Leia echoed. "I've never heard of you."

"Unknown Regions," Commander Vanto supplied. The woman, Senior Captain Irizi'che'ri, had heard her name, and was staring at Vanto pointedly. "Unless you grew up in Wild Space, I suppose it'd be odd if you had. Where are you from, exactly?"

The question did hurt. A slight pang, a sinking feeling of regret, loss, despair, grief, and ultimately just… hollowness, it hit her heart and had her blinking a bit. Because it had been a long time since she had interacted with someone who did not look at her face and know exactly who she was.

"Alderaan," she said, finally, very proud of the way her voice did not waver, because she felt herself crumbling a bit under the weight of a world that was no longer there.

By the way Vanto's mouth fell open, his eyes widening in clear remorse, this so called Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet was not so far removed from the Empire or the New Republic that they did not know what had happened to her home. It was not a nice feeling. To be gawked at.

"Oh," Vanto said, blinking rapidly. "I'm so sorry."

"Right." She rubbed her face tiredly. "Was there something you wanted from me? I just want to get my brother to a doctor."

Vanto glanced at Irizi'che'ri, and he said something to her. She blinked, pointed at Luke, and shook her head furiously. She said something, and Vanto frowned. When he did not translate for her, she turned her attention to Leia and gestured wildly to her eyes, speaking quickly.

"What is she saying?" she asked. "And don't tell me it's a secret. She outranks you, Commander."

It was hard not to feel satisfied at the way he grimaced, glancing up at the woman as she continued to repeat what sounded like the same words over and over again. Leia thought they sounded like. "Ozly," "esehembo," "erayeî," "smee," and "azemoff." Or, maybe "asemov," perhaps?

"Azemov?" Leia asked the woman when Vanto did not immediately reply. The woman blinked at her, nodding eagerly.

"Smî azemov," she said, gesturing to her eyes. She pointed to Leia, and then to Luke. "Ozly esehembo!"

"Zicher," Vanto said uncertainly. She cut him off, holding up a hand, and focused her gaze on Leia. She seemed determined to communicate with her, which was funny considering they had been physically trying to tear each other apart twenty minutes earlier.

"What does that mean?" Leia asked Vanto. "She clearly is ordering you to tell me. Just say it."

Vanto did not look too pleased, he had what appeared to be a commlink in his fist, and she wondered if there were reinforcements waiting that she had not been able to pick up on her small navicomputer.

"My name is Leia Organa," she said, not surprised that Vanto's eyes widened in recognition. "This man is my brother, Luke Skywalker. If you are willing to help me, I will help you in whatever you need. He needs medical attention now."

"I…" He blinked. "Luke… Skywalker, you said?"

"Yes?" She frowned deeply. "Have you heard of him?" She imagined perhaps the notoriety of blowing up the Death Star could have reached out here.

"No, no that's not it." Vanto stared at her. Then at Luke. He turned to Irizi'che'ri and spoke quickly. Leia thought she heard him say something like, "Luke Ozlyesehembo."

Irizi'che'ri merely folded her arms across her chest, frowned, and gave a small shrug. Then she looked to Luke. She stared at him a moment. Her eyes flew wide, and she grabbed Vanto by the elbow and gasped something at him, pointing at Luke.

Vanto looked incredibly confused as he listened to her. Then, hesitantly, he glanced at Leia.

"She asked if you two are family of General Skywalker," he said, his brow knitting together uncertainly.

Leia felt cold. And it was not merely because she was drenched to her core. She stared at Irizi'che'ri, and she wondered how it was possible that this random alien woman might know something that the man himself had been too blind to see.

"Anakin Skywalker was our biological father," Leia said, the words coming out hard. Mechanically. "So, yes."

Vanto spoke to Irizi'che'ri, probably translating, and she nodded eagerly. She replied quickly, and as she did, Vanto began to interpret, like he had been doing so all his life.

"When I was a child I had an encounter with General Skywalker," Vanto interpreted, "and he felt confident and bright and trustworthy. I cannot tell what you feel like, but you remind me of him. A little bit."

Leia winced at that. She did not want to remind anyone of Anakin Skywalker. Not in this life, not in the next. She managed to nod, feeling completely laid bare before this woman she could not even understand, and she eyed Vanto.

"Do we have a deal, then?" Leia asked.

He stared at her. Then, bringing his comm to his lips, he said something in the foreign tongue. She heard both her name and Luke's. The response was quick, a woman's voice, firm and rich. Gravelly, even.

Vanto glanced down at her.

"It seems you've been invited to board the Steadfast, Princess."

Chapter Text

Mustafar was beautiful, in the most destructive and violent way possible. So beautiful in all the ways Sabine thought counted. She wished she had the freedom to paint. The blackened, craggy landscapes, the beautiful, blinding orange lava fields and rivers and waterfalls. The trees that she had seen from overhead, leafless and spindly, black and ashen and twisting in the volcanic earth.

She'd been trying to crack this ancient Mando'a transcription for about a day, and she was ready to pull her hair out. The grammar was all wrong. Mando'a had evolved from a more complex set of rules, with multiple tenses and cases to a much more streamlined, simplified one, and Sabine did not actually know the declensions required to properly conjugate some of these verbs. There was no passive voice in modern Mando'a, but there was in ancient Mando'a, and she could not figure it out.

The nouns she had managed to translate into modern Mando'a were:

Jétii, haal, eyayah, and ûvétë.

In her update to Lord Vader as he'd prepared to board a shuttle to go down to the surface, she had told him just that.

"And?" Vader had demanded. "What does that mean?"

Sabine had been looking down at her datapad so she hoped he had not seen her wince.

"The passage is a poem," she'd said quickly. "I can parse out some of the words from general derivatives in modern Mando'a, such as Jëta'ii becoming Jétii, so the 'e' that made an 'eh' sound now makes an 'ay' sound, and the 'a' became silent over the years, so—"

"The point, Lieutenant," Vader had snapped at her.

"It's a poem about the Jedi." She had paused to let him stew on that, his eyes momentarily flashing angrily, but he had remained silent with the expectation that she would continue. "Again, I can only work with words that have modern derivatives, and poetry is tricky. I won't actually know what the poem is trying to say until I have the entire thing in front of me in modern Mando'a, and even then, a literal translation would not— sorry, I'm trying to get to the point, please give me a moment!" She'd frowned at her datapad, rubbing her hair beneath her cap. "I contacted someone who knows ancient Mandalorian dialects, so I should be able to get something readable soon."

"Good." Vader had eyed her a moment, his eyes narrowing. "I want you to come with me."

"Excuse me? Sir?"

Vader, of course, had not been listening to her. He had turned his attention to Admiral Piett, barking some sort of order while Sabine had reeled at the understanding that she had to go to the surface of this nightmare planet.

And now that she was looking at it, she was a bit in love with it, which she knew meant it truly was a nightmare.

She really did not know why she was here. Throwing glances at Vader, she wondered if he was going to kill her on Mustafar, so there were fewer witnesses. Only, didn't he need her to finish translating the ancient text? This was all incredibly disorienting, and she still had to figure out a plan to maybe get Tristan off the execution block.

"You seem distracted, Lieutenant."

The remark made her blink, because Vader had a… well, it was an interesting voice. He was not a man that was immediately intimidating, and the casualness of the question was enough to throw her off completely. Her datapad sat in her lap as she shifted in her seat, glancing up at the man with large eyes.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"You keep looking outside." Vader's arms were crossed, but her did lift a gloved hand and point toward the viewport. "Should you not be working?"

Swallowing a quippy rebuttal, Sabine lowered her eyes to her datapad and clenched her teeth.

"Yes, sir," she said.

Why am I here, she wondered, her grip on her datapad tightening as she stared at the ancient script, her vision blurring at the edges. I could do this from the ship. What does he want from me?

When they landed, the first thing she was acutely aware of was the atmosphere. The sulphuric tinge to the air made her eyes water, noxious gases in constant states of release throughout the planet, and as the fortress seemed to be built on top of an active lava lake, that only made the heat and the expulsion of gas worse. She stood on the landing platform as Vader swept from the ship, her eyes watering as she stood and listened to Vader speak quickly to a guard who had come to meet them.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man dressed in black. His uniform was perhaps a bit reminiscent of an officer's garb, at least in the cut of the trousers, but he wore glossy black armor and a peculiarly shaped helmet. Sabine regarded him for a moment before focusing her attention back on Vader.

Vader started moving forward, and Sabine, who had been working under a high ranking Imperial for long enough, was quick on his heels, her datapad clutched to her chest. They passed by the man in black, who stood at the wide onyx arch with his back straight as Vader approached.

When the door slid open and Vader entered the fortress, the man smoothly slipped behind him, moving in time with Vader's heavy footfalls.

"Is the Eleventh Brother available?" Vader asked. Sabine glanced at his back, then blinked down at her datapad. Eleventh… what?

"He is here," the man in black said, his voice tinny and slightly distorted by the helmet he wore. "Should I get him?"

"Yes." Vader's steps were quick. His legs were pretty long, and Sabine struggled to keep up. "Perhaps the Second Sister as well."

"She has not returned from Lothal."

Vader paused mid-step, and Sabine quickly moved out of his way, sensing the dissatisfaction before she even saw his face. He glared at the man, who was a bit taller than him, and therefore incredibly intimidating now that Sabine had a good look at him.

"Is there a reason she has not returned?" Vader's eyes flickered over the man dully. "Or should I assume she's dead?"

"You'd have to ask the Eleventh Brother, my lord." The man sounded incredibly disinterested. "I'm not here to ask questions. Remember?"

"No," Vader huffed, whirling away with a sweep of his cape, "you are here to get on my last nerve. Go call your brother. Quickly."

"Yes, my lord."

The man dipped past Sabine, but not before inclining his head at her, his pace slowing, and she stared up at him with wide, fearful eyes. Because he was an Inquisitor, she realized, her gaze flitting to the half-moon hilt on his hip. Inquisitors were glorified executioners, in the most literal sense.

And then the man was gone. Taking a deep breath, Sabine regained some semblance of her wits and hurried to catch up with Vader as he swept down the massive, dark corridor.

The fortress, she realized, was massive. Bigger than it even appeared outside. It was labyrinthine, made of onyx and black plated durasteel, carved out the volcanic mountain in some places, and she struggled to keep up when her eyes kept wandering around her hungrily, itching to document the high vaulted ceilings with their black crystal chandeliers in paint.

"You seem antsy."

Glancing behind her and realizing that there was no one else in the corridor but herself and Vader, she straightened up.

"Sorry," she said, avoiding his harsh gaze. "I like your palace, Lord Vader."

"What?"

"You know," Sabine said, glancing around the large, empty, foreboding corridor. "The architecture is really cool."

"I imagine," Vader said, "that is your idea of sarcasm. Do you have a death wish, Lieutenant?"

"I'm being serious!" Sabine frowned at him, wondering if she should have said something at all. "Architecture isn't usually my wheelhouse, but I've dabbled! I think the design is incredibly modern and chic, while echoing more archaic styles."

She did not say that the archaic styles in question were the ones she'd seen when she'd glimpsed the Imperial palace on Coruscant, because contrary to his belief, she did not have a death wish.

In response, Vader merely stared at her. His brow furrowed, the scar there stretching, and he shook his head.

"You're very strange," he said.

"So I've been told." She tapped her foot impatiently. Would he kill her now? They were alone, after all. And her contact was on his way. It wasn't like he actually needed her now. When Vader did not respond, she sighed. "How many Inquisitors are there, exactly?"

"Not many."

"It doesn't feel that way."

"Yes, well," Vader said, slumping a bit as he marched through the hall. "Some died."

"Oh."

"Once your Grand Admiral is done with Bridger," Vader said, "I will have him sent to Nur. Perhaps it will be less… traumatic for him if his former master is present."

Suddenly she realized why she had felt like the man in black's voice had been so familiar. That had been Kanan Jarrus, the Jedi who had all but ruined them all. Shit.

"Wouldn't that simply make it more traumatic?" Sabine frowned at the thought. If she was being tortured and her father simply stood there and watched, she would probably go insane.

"Maybe." Vader frowned. Then he shrugged. "It'll build character."

Biting her tongue, Sabine simply nodded, because otherwise she'd say something that really would get her killed.

She was brought to what appeared to be… not a throne room, but some kind of council room. There were a handful of stone seats, ornate carvings in an unknown text catching her eye. The largest and tallest chair, she imagined, was meant for Vader's. It was set upon a dais. The others surrounded an Imperial gear with a blazing triangle inlaid within it.

"Interesting," Sabine remarked, unable to help herself as she crouched beside the gear and brushed her fingers against the stone. "Onyx, marble, and… what is the triangle? Garnet?"

Vader had stopped to turn around and look down at her. She blinked up at him inquisitively, hoping she was not just leaving herself open to getting sliced up, and she was surprised when Vader tilted his head.

"You are observant." He did not sound happy about that. "Stand up. I am not interested in what you think of the décor."

"Okay…" Sabine stretched her legs, juggling her datapad. "But… if I may ask, why am I here then?"

"You are here," Vader said coolly, "because I ordered you to be here. Now shut your mouth and know your place, Lieutenant."

It took a lot for her to just breathe in deeply, exhale, and nod. She did not know how long she was supposed to stand there, but Vader had sat in his chair and closed his eyes half an hour ago, and she was still standing beside his throne, feeling awkward and confused. Was he sleeping? She tried to focus on the ancient script on her datapad, but her brain was too muddled to think clearly, let alone translate.

Eventually the door did open, and the Inquisitor she knew was Kanan Jarrus came slinking in. The human man beside him was dressed similarly, only he did not have a helmet on, and though he, too, was shorter than Jarrus, he was still rather tall. The man's hair was a deep red color, shot through with gray around his ears. He moved faster than Jarrus, marching to the center of the room and standing upon the gear-and-triangle with a scowl. His eyes were a sickly, glowing yellow color.

"What's this about?" he demanded.

"Careful," Vader said, his eyes still closed, "you grow too complacent in the role left open to you by your fallen brethren."

"They were no brothers of mine," the man said confidently, staring straight at Vader, "if they are weak enough to fall to a Jedi."

Something about that seemed amusing to Vader. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a sort of snort, and he sat up a bit straighter.

"Fifteenth Brother?" Vader's eyes narrowed at him. "Do you not agree?"

That was met with a brief silence. Jarrus was staring not at Vader, but at the redheaded man, and with that helmet on it was difficult to see what he might be thinking.

"I think there are about as many Jedi as there are Inquisitors," Jarrus said after a while. "I am not about to pretend I am better than them."

"But you are," the redhead pointed out, turning to look at him. "You know that."

"If Ahsoka Tano fought me this instant," Jarrus said flippantly, while Vader shifted in his seat, "I'd lose. I'm not weak for admitting that, merely honest, I think."

"He is right," Vader said, causing the redheaded man to blink in surprise. "If either of you were to fight Tano you would surely perish. You would be wise to listen to the Fifteenth Brother, Eleven. He has known defeat more often than you."

"Oh," the man said bitterly, "I know defeat, my lord."

Vader's eyes were frightening as Sabine stood there, feeling like she really should not be in the room for this.

"I know you do," Vader said. "Where is the Second Sister?"

Something flickered in the man's eerie yellow eyes. Sabine could not tell what it was.

"I thought she was on Lothal," he said.

"It has been three weeks."

"Lothal's a big place." The man frowned. "I can call her. Maybe she found something interesting."

"No." Vader stood, and the man took a few steps back. Jarrus came to meet him, reaching out and grasping his shoulder, steadying him. Sabine saw the fear in the man's eyes, and she felt an inordinate amount of pity for these killers. "I need you both here. We have captured a rogue Jedi, and it is up to you two to initiate him."

Jarrus had frozen. She could see it. She knew that he was rigid in shock and apprehension, and maybe the redhead knew it too, because he'd shaken Jarrus off and stepped in front of him, blocking him from Vader's view. Sabine, though, next to the throne, could still see the man. He had turned his head to the side.

"I can do that," the redhead said firmly. "Allow me to prove myself, my lord."

"Oh?" Vader's eyes narrowed. "And Fifteen? Do you not wish to prove yourself?"

Jarrus was quiet while the redhead, the Eleventh Brother, merely clenched his fists.

"The Fifteenth Brother is hardly allowed on solo missions," he said. "Let him prove himself. I'll take over home base while he investigates the radio silence from the Second Sister."

"How selfless of you, Eleven," Vader observed. "It is not like you to back down from a mission."

"We're stronger together," the Eleventh Brother said simply.

"That you are," Vader agreed. "Which is why you will both oversee the initiation of Ezra Bridger."

Sabine really should not be here. She was looking at the door wildly, trying not to watch Kanan Jarrus's reaction, but she couldn't help but glance at him. He was quiet, his shoulders slumping, and it seemed to her like he was not so broken and not so far removed from the man he had been before all of this.

"More than that," Vader said, "I need you two to aid me in discovering a disturbance in the Force."

"Oh," the Eleventh Brother said quietly, "is that all?"

"Your sense of humor is, as always, unappreciated, Eleven," Vader said, scowling at the man. "Pay attention. This is—"

Vader cut himself off. He seemed, suddenly, frozen. And though the Eleventh Brother and Jarrus did not seem as shocked, they did share a confused glance. Jarrus pried his helmet from his head, and Sabine got a good look at him. His ponytail was gone, and it appeared as though someone had shaved his head not too long ago and it was only starting to begin to fill out again, brown waves tickling his ears. He no longer had a goatee, but there was a layer of stubble on his cheeks. He did not look as terrible as Sabine had imagined, though his eyes were just as sickly yellow as the Eleventh Brother's and sunken deep into his skull.

Turning toward the door, the three men watched as it slid open.

Oh, Sabine thought, her mouth dropping open, fuck, no…

Yet Leia Skywalker strolled right in, sporting an ugly goose-egg on her forehead and a busted lip, dirt clinging from her scalp to her boots, and she placed her hands on her hips while she scowled. Behind her, even more bafflingly, Sabine saw the glint of beskar that was without a doubt the helmet of her nameless Mandalorian contact, hanging in the shadows, not sure what to do.

"Father," Leia said, her voice a bit husky from what Sabine imagined was dehydration, "you will not believe the day I've had."

The black sand was wet, which was hardly a consistency he thought sand was familiar with. His boots sunk into it like it was mud, and they left perfect imprints when he walked. The strangest thing was that Jyn's ship, a CR90 corvette, had been orbiting Lah'mu for days. Apparently the remoteness of the planet was due to an inaccessibility of an immediate hyperlane, so the shuttle took significantly longer to reach the surface of Lah'mu than it would have a regular planet. Now that they were here, they were faced with the tense encounter of Alderaanians being told what to do.

Luke knew this could not go well.

"I understand your concern, Captain Antilles," Commodore Vanto said, unimpressed and unhappy, "but we cannot allow distribution until a thorough sweep of the cargo has been done."

Luke pushed a hovering cargo container into the gathering pile of boxes floating where the sand met plush, deep green grass. This planet, Luke thought, was an enigma. The sand was wet, the ocean was not even close by, and the sand encroached on the blessedly rich greenery like they were good friends.

Captain Antilles, no relation, Luke knew, to Wedge Antilles, had perhaps been a patient man three days ago, but as his princess had been detained without much warning, he was rather… well, Luke would use the word "pissed."

"Could this not have been done earlier?" he demanded. "If you had communicated with us at all during the course of this mess—"

"A strong word," Vanto cut in, much to Antilles's irritation.

"And what would you call it, Commodore?" Antilles snapped. "We've got a population of hungry, desperate people, and when we have finally brought them supplies, they cannot receive it because of Imperial search and seizure laws!"

"Which," Jyn decidedly added, moving a crate behind Vanto's back, "is technically no longer a necessity for humanitarian shipment, as Senator Domadi introduced legislation three years ago that exempt us from this treatment. But certainly, Commodore, you may illegally appropriate our cargo if that suits you."

Vanto's tired gaze flickered over his shoulder at her as she passed. Her long brown hair was looped intricately behind her ears, small, rose-bud like buns lead into her long, thick braid that extended down her back. Unlike Leia, who chose to adhere to a mostly white color scheme unless a mission called for something otherwise, Jyn was sporting an elegantly tailored, almost rigidly military-inspired black jacket that was buttoned up to her collar, silver discs with a coat of arms emblazoned on them visible to the naked eye. The jacket was thin enough that it was able to be tucked into her ballooned, black tactical pants. The jacket had black tassels at its shoulders, and the pants were belted and tucked into sturdy black boots. She looked more prepared for combat than Luke, who had once again panicked and simply thrown on the old reliable black trousers, a silvery shirt, and a hooded cloak that luckily did not touch the ground, or else the pretty embroidered linen would be gathering dirt.

"Senator Domadi's legislation was passed with the stipulation that any ship under suspicion of treason can be subject to an unauthorized investigation." Vanto stared into Jyn's eyes, challenging her to refute him while she stopped, her fingers white against the crate hovering at her knees. When she merely glared at him, Vanto merely crossed his arms, as though he hadn't just won. "Furthermore, if you have nothing to hide, this should really be quick, shouldn't it?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Jyn simply pushed the crate forward and deposited it with the rest. Then she marched back up to the Tantive IV, her braid whipping behind her. The strange, dampness of the air had caused her long, angled bangs to curl against her eyes and brow. At the end of her braid, Luke saw, was a bejeweled silvery filament that looked to be expressly made for the purpose of tying off the end of hair. It dazzled him.

Dormé passed by Jyn silently, cloaked in a deep purple today, and her gaze met Luke's as she also left a crate at the edge of the sand. The nearby stormtroopers were watching her and Luke, and it was not clear why. Perhaps they were reinforcements from the Imperial base on the planet itself.

"We cannot wait much longer," Antilles warned Vanto. "These people are suffering, but they are not the only ones! There are other planets who need our help!"

"I'm sure they do," Vanto sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This process is not nearly as long and arduous as you seem to think it is. I promise you, as long as you are not smuggling weapons onto the planet, you will be able to deliver your cargo within a few hours."

"A few hours?" Luke couldn't help but glance at the sun, which had long since reached its peak and was tipping over the other side of Lah'mu's mighty ring. The visible phenomenon was incredibly beautiful in the hazy blue sky.

"Entertain yourselves," Vanto said to Luke with a shrug. "I'll give you a couple of stormtrooper escorts, and you and Princess Organa can go explore."

"Can't we do that without escorts?" Luke asked weakly.

Vanto raised an eyebrow at him. So that was a no.

It would be difficult to talk around this. Unless Luke mind-tricked them. Which, he could do, at some risk to himself. Maybe. Maybe not. 

Captain Antilles glanced at Luke, and he sighed. It was not surprising that he seemed to know Luke, considering his apparent friendship with this world's Princess of Alderaan, but he seemed to look at him with the fondness of someone who had watched him grow up. It was a strange thing to experience, as all the people who Luke had known who had known him as a child were dead. Uncle Owen, Aunt Beru, Ben, Biggs.

Growing solemn and irritable, Luke returned to the Tantive IV and continued to unload the crates from its cargo hold.

Once they were finished, the argument between Antilles and Vanto stretching longer than it should have, Jyn looked miserably between their stormtrooper escorts and shook her head.

"What are these two going to do to protect us against insurrectionists?" she asked Vanto pointedly. Dormé stood behind the troopers in marked silence. Luke merely glanced at Jyn, amused at her audacity. Thrawn was pretty much entirely aware that they were both rebel sympathizers, and Vanto was an extension of Thrawn's grip on this situation. She was toeing a dangerous line.

Not that Luke had any room to judge.

"If you are so concerned, Princess," Vanto told her in a measured tone, "you are welcome to stay here while we sort out your shipment."

And of course Jyn merely scowled. With a set jaw and a glare, she whirled around, and Luke had to dodge the length of her braid as it whipped with her. She was so much like Leia. It was truly something to behold.

Sad, though, he thought, that his sister and this woman would never meet. Jyn Erso was dead in his world.

There was a settlement a few kilometers east of where they had landed. They were permitted to take a speeder, though neither of them were allowed to drive it, much to Luke's frustration. Jyn spent the whole time with her elbow against the door, her mouth buried in her fist as she gazed out into the sprawling, mountainous horizon of Lah'mu, black sands scattering the lowlands while plush, deep emerald greenery touched everything else. It seemed like she was in a daze.

Luke did remember what Galen Erso had said. This was the place where Jyn had watched her mother die.

It was hardly fair to compare the two of them, but Luke remembered how dazed and uneasy he had felt returning to Tatooine to free Han. He remembered going to the Homestead, standing over the graves that he had dug for his aunt and uncle, and feeling so strangely empty. Like someone had hollowed him out and left him to rot there in the desert. Or, perhaps, like he had buried himself in those graves too, and the man who had walked away from that was just a phantom limb that kept reaching out.

It was hard to know the right thing to say. Luke knew, personally, that when he was hurting, he did not want anyone to speak to him at all. So he merely took Jyn by the hand, ignoring the way she looked up at him sharply, and he waited for her to relax in her seat.

The settlement was incredibly small, Luke noted, but it made sense for a farm planet. Honestly, the more Luke was on Lah'mu, the more it reminded him of Tatooine in the strangest ways. There was a cantina, a repair shop, and an outdoor market that was not exactly bustling, but there were quite a few people milling about, scarves wrapped tightly over their dark wool farming garb.

"So," Luke said to Jyn, trying to make polite conversation as they wandered down the long market street. His ears ached a bit from the cold. "Do you know Alderaan's senator well?"

This was a gamble, but he had to guess, based on all the evidence, that Jyn was not a senator.

Jyn blinked at him, raising an eyebrow. The stormtroopers kept the rhythm of their steps behind them, though they had forced Dormé to sandwich between the four of them, perhaps out of distrust.

"Kier?" Jyn's eyes rolled in an exasperated fashion. "Unfortunately, we are more than well acquainted. I think he's smitten with your cousin, by the way. Might want to keep an eye on that."

Luke's brain momentarily halted at that. His cousin? He had a cousin?

"Right," he said dazedly. "My cousin."

Jyn did not miss his odd tone. Her brow furrowed as she looked up at him.

"Pooja," she said, seeming to correct herself. "Not Ryoo."

Two cousins, Luke thought, feeling like he might scream. It would be out of frustration and delight. Two!

"And Senator Domadi is… smitten?" Luke frowned. He did not know anyone named Kier Domadi in his own world. "Interesting. Why didn't you ever go into the senate?"

He did not know why Jyn found that so funny. She did stare at him a moment before barking a laugh, causing a few people to glance back at them. Those people eyed the stormtroopers distrustfully.

"Why would I want to do that?" she asked him, fixing her intense green eyes on his face. "I don't particularly like wasting my time getting caught up in red tape and endless debate. People are dying, Luke."

"I am aware," he said dryly.

"Then you cannot judge me." Jyn offered a small shrug. "Besides, Kier is perfect for the job. He hates politics, actually knows his history and is pretentious enough that he will correct Imperial mandated revisionism loudly and proudly, and he's a centrist, so nobody wants to remove him from the Alderaanian seat, since the rest of Alderaan generally swings in the opposite direction of Imperial loyalists."

She did not seem to mind or care that the stormtroopers were there, so Luke imagined this all must be common knowledge in this world.

"He hates politics," Luke echoed her amusedly, "and yet he's the one in the senate while you deliver food to the needy? That's a little ironic."

Something about that made Jyn smirk. She offered him a conspiratorial sort of wink.

"I'm very persuasive," she said.

He did not have time to laugh, because as they moved through the street, the distinct sound of blaster shots rang out, and Luke instinctively moved his hand to his hip to grasp at a lightsaber that was not there. The momentary shock was enough that he was frozen there a moment while the troopers behind them fell, and both Jyn and Dormé leapt into action, Jyn hovering protectively over Luke despite behind several inches shorter than him, while Dormé had a blaster out and trained on the sloped rooftops of the vender stalls.

"Hey!" Luke gasped as Jyn pushed him between two stalls, shifting them into the cover of a narrow alley while Dormé remained where she was. "What are you doing? What's happening?"

"Shh!"

Jyn had grabbed him by his collar and yanked him to the hard-packed dirt road. His cloak scraped along the side of a mossy building, pitted stone visible where the structure was bare to the elements. They crouched there silently, Jyn's brow furrowed as she listened. Luke realized Dormé was calling his name. When he moved to get up, Jyn merely pinned him to the building with her forearm against his throat, her eyes ablaze.

"Don't even think about it," she hissed in his face, looking every bit a feral tooka that had been caught in the rain. Her arm pressed painfully against his jugular, and he blinked at her incredulously. Perhaps he should have been more clear about Dormé's trustworthiness when he had met Jyn in her room.

It was unclear what Dormé was doing, but Luke imagined she was panicked as she searched for him. When she was out of sight, Jyn slowly removed the pressure from his throat and he exhaled shakily.

"She's my friend," he told her quietly. "We can trust her."

With a fluttering roll of her eyes, Jyn rose to her feet and glanced down at him dully.

"That's not the point," she said simply. Despite the callousness of her tone, her sharp edges and blunt demeanor, there was something unquestionably regal about how she held herself. Like the world itself might crumble if she grew impatient enough. "We need a witness to return to Vanto and tell him that we were attacked. Your handmaiden would never willingly separate herself from you."

It was a resigned sort of revelation. "Right," he said softly. "And who attacked us, then?"

Strangely, when a breezy, almost jovial voice replied, Luke did not jump. He had not felt any sort of danger in the approach, and it felt almost… light, like scattered feathers.

"That would be us."

Turning slowly, blinking at the blaster that he had not even noticed had been nearly pressed to the base of his head, he saw two men. The first one, the one with the gun, was around Luke's height, his brown skin a bit wan in the dying afternoon light. His face was long and impish, and his dark eyes were tired as they stared into Luke's. The second man did not face Luke, but he knew immediately that it was this one that had spoken. His hands were wrapped tightly around what appeared to be a walking stick, and it took Luke a moment to see that his eyes were a distinctly sightless, milky hue.

"Well that's nice," Luke said dryly, "I thought it might be a stranger."

The blind man merely smiled while the solemn man's gaze slid to Jyn.

"Who is this?" the man asked. He had a quick, unrefined blend of a Core accent, one that probably had gotten transplanted. "Jyn, where have you been?"

When Jyn scowled, it always looked a bit like a pout. She stepped fearlessly between Luke and the blaster, pushing it out of her face with a single finger and a steady glare.

"Trying to free Galen Erso," she said blithely, so off-handed that Luke would never guess she was speaking about her father, "no thanks to all of you."

Seeing the frustration on the man's face, Luke decided to cut in quickly.

"Grand Admiral Thrawn intercepted her," he said, hoping he sounded as helpful as he meant to. "He suspects she is connected to Erso somehow, and he is looking for any excuse to pin her down with treason."

"Which," Jyn said in a flippant tone, "he cannot, because of my diplomatic immunity. Unless he has solid evidence of my apparent conspiring with terrorists."

The man's dark eyes flew to Luke's face, and his brow pinched in disbelief.

"And what about him?" he asked, waving the blaster at Luke. "Sounds like he's pretty chummy with the old Grand Admiral."

"Not really," Luke said, knowing it was a bit of a lie. Thrawn was enigmatically kind to him. After their chat with Ezra the night before, Thrawn had taken Luke to his office and given him a warm, spiced drink. Not alcoholic, just something soothing that he had said was good to regulate your immune system. A subtle nod to the fact that Luke had informed him that he was dying. It was very strange.

Jyn elbowed the man beneath his arm and twisted the blaster out of his fist when he cried out sharply in pain. Then she shoved him back, lowering the blaster to her side and blowing her hair out of her eyes.

"When I tell you to trust someone," Jyn said, "you trust them. Got it?"

"Fine!" the man gasped, wincing a bit as he rubbed his wrist. "I'm sorry for being naturally suspicious of the random man you've brought with you!"

"He is not a random man," the blind man said amusedly.

Luke stared at him blankly, unsure of how to respond to that. Jyn seemed less confused, and more patient.

"This is Luke," she said, gripping Luke's shoulder firmly. Something told him he needed to lie about his name.

"Luke Lars," he supplied, offering the man a small smile. The man squinted at him.

"He has been my friend since I was a child. My father is friends with his mother." Jyn let go of Luke, seemingly satisfied with his lie. "He wanted to discuss how to save Erso, so I brought him."

"And Ezra," Luke said, glancing over his shoulder nervously. "We should hurry. They'll be looking for us soon."

"You really are hung up on that Jedi, aren't you?" Jyn sighed, looking a bit sad as she watched him.

"The Jedi are our only hope for defeating the Empire," Luke told her, feeling certain in his convictions. He would not be able to save this world, but maybe he could help put the people in it on the path to victory. "If we keep allowing them to fall into the Empire's hands, we are only giving the Emperor more power. More tools. Galen Erso cannot remain in the Empire's hands, but allowing them to have Ezra is not any better. We have to set the Jedi free."

The man's expression pinched a bit incredulously while the blind man lifted his head to the sky and nodded.

"What a profoundly enigmatic man you have brought to us, little sister," the blind man said. "All the world seems to split apart under this young man's feet, and the Force will hold him together as a broken mirror refracting light."

Neither Jyn nor the other man seemed to even blink at this cryptic comment. It made Luke feel incredibly vulnerable, though. Almost like this man could see through him entirely and had traced the path Luke had taken to get to this very spot.

"Uh…" Luke said, trying to find a good way to respond that was not equally as strange and ominous.

"Don't mind Chirrut," Jyn sighed. "He'll say strange things. It's part of his charm."

"It's the will of the Force," Chirrut corrected her, sounding incredibly cheeky.

Now that made Luke frown. He studied the blind man, Chirrut, whose face was kind and gentle, and who seemed to only smile even under scrutiny. Reminded that he had not felt Chirrut's approach, even with the other man's blaster against his skull, Luke blinked rapidly.

"Are you a Jedi?" he asked, eyeing the man's dark robes curiously. The garb did not look to be anything like the old Jedi clothing he'd studied, though the red sash was certainly interesting.

With a tilt of his head, Chirrut merely smirked conspiratorially, like this was the funniest thing he'd ever heard but Luke would never get the joke.

"I am a simple monk," he said. "And you, double-edged warrior?"

That was one of the strangest monikers Luke had ever received, and he had received plenty. He'd grown up being called "wormie," after all. Double-edged warrior, he thought dazedly. This version of me isn't a warrior at all.

"What do you mean?" Luke asked cautiously. He could see Jyn peering between them out of the corner of his eye, curious and wary.

Chirrut decided, in this moment, to turn his face toward Luke. Of course, he was unable to look directly at him, and instead seemed to be angled just a few inches off.

"Are you a Jedi?" Chirrut's smile was oddly gentle. Almost infectious. And somewhat sad.

The other man was watching this whole exchange with widening eyes. And Luke's heart thudded in his chest, because he felt, more than anything, that this man knew. That Chirrut could sense the truth. That somehow, even when faced with another Jedi, even when thrown before his own father, this absolute stranger had figured it all out.

"No," Luke lied. It felt awful to say it.

And yet Chirrut's expression did not change. He merely nodded.

"A warrior of no particular creed, then," Chirrut said.

"Luke's not a warrior, Chirrut," Jyn said. Her voice was much gentler when she spoke to this man than the other one, which Luke suspected was out of reverence.

For a moment, Chirrut was silent. His fingers tightened around his staff, whitening knuckles clenching, and for the first time since appearing, he frowned.

"What wonders your eyes might see," Chirrut said, fixing his sightless gaze between Luke and Jyn, "and yet you do not know what is right in front of you. What silk, what linen, what pretty jewels and glittering things, could possibly hide the unmistakable stench of blood? If this man has not killed ten thousand men, then I will walk my path away from the Force and drive myself to my death."

"So dramatic."

It was a gruff voice, a new voice, heavily accented and quiet. A man dropped down from the roof above them, far larger than his companion with a weathered and mean-looking face. But his eyes, Luke saw, the endless dark brown of them, they settled on Chirrut's face and softened in such a way that it made this man seem gentle. Even heavily armed.

Luke was bewildered as he glanced between the three men. He was still reeling from the ten thousand men comment, as… well…

"Luke, Baze Malbus," Jyn introduced the man offhandedly. The name sounded familiar. Familiar enough that it jostled an old memory.

Oh, Luke thought dazedly, his eyes flashing to the first man's face in shock. No way! That's—!

"The man who keeps talking in riddles is Chirrut Îmwe," Jyn continued, before waving the blaster in her fist at the man beside her. "This idiot is—"

"Bodhi Rook," Luke blurted, against his better judgement, causing Jyn to stare blankly at him while the legend himself merely looked bewildered and a bit spooked. Meanwhile, Baze was unfazed, and Chirrut smiled amusedly.

"Did you tell him about me?" Bodhi asked Jyn, his shoulders stiffening. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't do that, you know."

"I didn't." Jyn stared at Luke in a way that he did not like, and he avoided her gaze. It was too much like the way Leia looked at him when he mentioned their father. Accusingly.

"A man who knows things he should not," Chirrut said brightly, "is a dangerous one, but only if he is your enemy. Don't you think so?"

"You'd know better than me," Luke said, embarrassed at his inability to keep his mouth shut.

"Oh," Chirrut said, "I don't think so."

"Look!" Bodhi clasped his hands impatiently before him, slicing the air between Luke and Chirrut. He bit his lower lip anxiously. "We don't have time for all this Force shit! I get it, I do, okay, I'm from Jedha, but honestly! We need to talk about Galen!"

"And Ezra," Luke added, earning an odd look from Bodhi.

"I'm not even sure if we can work with that," Bodhi sighed. "Listen, we have a plan, but it's risky."

"Do it." Jyn glanced over her shoulder. They were, Luke knew, too close to the scene of a crime. "I don't care what you need to do, but get it done."

"You haven't even heard the plan," Bodhi pointed out.

Jyn flashed him a smile, and it was the most genuine thing he'd seen from her in the short time he'd known her.

"I trust you," she said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Do what you have to do. But do it quickly."

"Um," Luke said, feeling a bit guilty, "would your plan involve actually getting onto the Chimaera? Because I have an ID cylinder."

When they all merely blinked at him, Luke opened his palm and offered out the device. Bodhi snatched it, his eyes flashing wide as he held the tiny stick up to the dying sunlight.

"How the hell…?" He glanced at Luke with a mixture of awe and distrust.

"The Force," Luke said weakly, knowing that excuse was getting old.

"No," Bodhi said, "really!"

"I did not hear him stutter," Chirrut said, sounding delighted. "Did you, Baze?"

Baze squinted at Luke in suspicion, but he did not object. Of course, Jyn merely sighed, shaking her head.

"He's telling the truth," she said, not sounding surprised. "He was planning a prison break before I got him down here. Would have been hell for us to explain that away."

Bodhi held up a single finger, blinking rapidly as he processed this.

"I don't want to know," he decided, pocketing the cylinder. "I'll leave the magick to the professionals. Speaking of which, if it gets ugly, don't panic."

"Really," Chirrut said, "don't."

The sound of tinny voices caused both Jyn and Luke to flinch. Luke twisted to glance back at the nearby market, and Jyn sighed.

"Out of time," she said. Then she punched Luke in the stomach and back handed him across the jaw. It did hurt, and more than that it surprised him, so he buckled a bit with a sharp, pained gasp. Knocking him over into the dirt, Jyn turned to her companions and blinked at them while Luke coughed a bit, scrambling onto his hands and knees. "Well? Is someone going to attack me? Do you need an invitation?"

"Stars, Jyn," Bodhi said exasperatedly, snatching his blaster back from her and jabbing her in the face with it. It was hard enough that she stumbled back, nearly toppling on top of Luke. "You're so bossy!"

Jyn cradled her nose in her hand, grappling at Luke's cloak with the other, and she helped him to his feet as Bodhi drew a fitted cloth over his nose and slid the goggles that had been resting on his head over his eyes.

"Better run, then," he said.

"Be careful," Jyn hissed at him, dragging Luke backwards, his heels scraping against the dirt path. "All of you!"

"Any message for Fulcrum?" Bodhi asked in a distinctly teasing way, his blaster pointed at them.

To Luke's surprise, Jyn froze up. Her fingers seemed to seize around his cloak, and she looked panicked for a moment. Bodhi snorted and shot at the space above their heads.

"Shit!" Jyn backed up, nearly tripping over her feet, and Luke caught her as she slid across the ground, falling into the open market street. Pulling her up, she spat blood onto the ground, smearing it across his pretty linen cloak as she gripped his shoulder. "Run!"

Luke held onto her as he maneuvered through the street, finding that the stormtroopers had met with violence on their end as well. Backing away from the blaster fire, he ushered Jyn backwards, through the deserted marketplace. The towering, shadowy figure that was Baze Malbus stepped into their path, and Luke dragged Jyn to a stop, pulling her closer as the man eyed them.

Okay, Luke thought, both him and Jyn backing away from the man slowly. What's he going to do, then?

"Duck," Luke gasped, his hand landing on Jyn's head as he pushed them both to the ground, narrowly avoiding a mighty swing from Baze. Sliding onto his shoulder, Luke did a round-about kick and collided his heel with Baze's arm, sending his hand that held his massive cannon up into the air. Then Luke caught Jyn by the arm and ducked under Baze's arm while he was stunned, shoving Jyn in front of him. "Run, run, run, run!"

"When," Jyn gasped through the blood pouring into her mouth, "did you learn how to do that?"

"It's a long story!"

They skidded to a stop as they met the dark eyes of an armored man. Jyn threw her arm out so Luke would not go any further, her eyes widening as she stared at the man. Then she backtracked, glancing over her shoulder at Baze as he turned to face them. They were sandwiched between the two heavily armed, armored men.

"What do we do?" Luke whispered. He spotted both Commodore Vanto and Captain Antilles rushing forward, both of them looking very concerned.

"No idea," Jyn breathed, gripping his arm. Behind Baze, the stormtroopers were getting pummeled by Chirrut, who Luke saw, breathlessly, was like a one-man army. "We could try to fight, I suppose."

"And neither of us are armed," Luke murmured, "because they don't trust us."

"Yes." Jyn smiled through the blood, looking wild-eyed and feral. "I'll be sure to note that when I inform my father of how Thrawn treated me. I'd suggest you do the same."

They stood back to back, watching the men point blasters at them, and Luke saw Vanto freeze, snatching Captain Antilles by the arm.

"Stop," he heard Vanto say. "That's Saw Gerrera. Fuckin'…" Vanto's comlink chirped. "Vanto to bridge, we have a situation."

A blaster went off behind him, and Luke whirled around in shock as Jyn screamed in pain, falling over and getting scooped up by the man, Saw Gerrera.

"Jyn!" Luke gasped, scrambling forward, but Gerrera had flipped Jyn around in his arm, pointing his blaster at Luke while Jyn bared her teeth and screamed in frustration. Now that Luke looked at her, he saw she'd been shot in the leg, and therefore was incapacitated.

He saw Gerrera jerk his chin at Luke, and feeling Baze before he saw him, Luke twitched to the side, slipping out of the man's grasp and backing up toward a building. He used the momentum he built from scrambling backwards to leap up, propelling himself off the wall, and he kicked Baze, who was carrying too much heavy equipment to dodge, in the back. It was not enough without the Force behind it to get him off his feet, but he did stumble forward a bit, shouting in surprise. Rolling to his feet, now behind Baze and situated before the wide-eyed Commodore and Captain, Luke wiped the small trickle of blood from his own nose, a result of Jyn backhanding him, and he rolled his shoulders.

"Let her go," Luke said, glaring at Saw Gerrera, who was eyeing him with a frown.

Baze had turned to look at him. He glanced at the two men behind him, and he backed away, moving behind Saw.

"Leave it," Baze said, gripping his cannon tightly. There was silence behind him. It was likely that Bodhi and Chirrut had taken care of the remaining stormtroopers. "We've got the girl."

But Gerrera's upper lip had turned. His eyes trailed over Luke with disdain.

"You," Gerrera said, "look just like your father. Skywalker."

That startled him. He had never heard that before, and though he had seen his father in the flesh, it did not occur to him that they looked alike at all. He was so startled he nearly got hit with the blaster bolt aimed for his stomach. He stepped aside shakily, blinking as Captain Antilles let out a sharp cry of pain behind him, and Jyn lurched forward, looking very afraid as a nearby stall exploded.

"Get down!"

Luke was suddenly being shielded by Vanto, thrown to the dirt and inexplicably protected by this random Imperial while the tiny stalls holding fruits and other wares went up in smoke.

When the dust settled, Luke and Vanto were still alive. Captain Antilles was groaning, sitting up slowly as he cupped his wounded shoulder. Luke was coated with a fine layer of dirt and ash, blood smeared in random places, and when he turned around and squinted through the smoke, he saw that Jyn, Baze, and Gerrera were gone.

He was not sure what he was supposed to do now. He was pulled to his feet by Commodore Vanto, steadied when he lost his footing, and Captain Antilles's voice rang out in panicked, shuddering waves while Luke was dragged away from the scene, forced to sit on the hood of a speeder while a medic looked over him.

"What did Saw Gerrera say to you?" Vanto asked, looking very unhappy with the whole situation.

Luke had a cloth to his nose to stop the bleeding, and he merely blinked at the man. Hesitantly, he drew it from his mouth, wondering if he should reply or not. Realizing it would be suspicious if he didn't, he licked his lips, tasting blood.

"He said I look like my father."

Vanto's brow pinched at that, probably expecting the remark even less than Luke had been. At least Luke's confusion was all-encompassing. He had no qualms with the idea that this random man knew his father. Everyone knew his father, it seemed. If he was in a state of perpetual bewilderment, was he really even all that confused? Yes. But he was not shocked by anything at this point.

"That's not helpful," Vanto finally said.

"No," Luke agreed. He looked down at his hands and waited for them to let Dormé through. She was finally cleared by a few troopers, and she ran to him, grasping his face in her hands and turning it about with a strong frown. He winced, tearing himself from her grasp. "I'm fine, Aunt B—"

They both froze, staring at each other dimly, as Luke's slip-up hit them both acutely in the ribs. Aunt Beru, he thought numbly. Aunt Beru is dead. This woman is not her. She doesn't even resemble her.

He had not realized, though, until this moment, how much Dormé, despite every superficial difference, reminded him so much of his aunt. The constant worrying. The guarded, almost biting politeness in the face of potential threats. The soft exterior that hid something that could be quite deadly underneath.

Once when discussing their guardians, Leia had called Luke sheltered, and he had believed her until Han had pointed out that he was from Tatooine, and then had asked point blank how old he had been when he'd seen someone die for the first time. Leia had balked when he had merely laughed and asked him if he was joking. Who remembered that type of thing?

Princesses, apparently.

Leia had been even more shocked to note that both his aunt and his uncle were more than capable of murdering a stranger in cold blood if they were trespassing. When Luke had tried to explain that it was to prevent theft and trafficking, that it wasn't personal, Leia got even more uncomfortable.

Maybe right now, Luke should seem more distraught.

Instead he just felt foolish.

"Sorry," he said, avoiding Dormé's gaze. "Dormé, I meant."

Dormé simply stared at him. Her gaze was unreadable, but he knew he'd messed up.

When Antilles returned, arm in a sling, he looked bedraggled, exhausted, and most of all, pissed. He jammed a finger into Vanto's chest, causing Vanto to blink up at him.

"You better have a plan," he snapped at him. "Princess Jyn should have been safe! If she'd had a blaster, we wouldn't be in this mess!"

Vanto caught Antilles's wrist the third time he'd jabbed his finger against Vanto's pristinely pressed gray Imperial jacket. His eyes were narrowed.

"What would a blaster have done against such heavily armed insurgents?" Vanto demanded. "What matters is that she's still alive. We can deal out the blame later, once we've safely recovered her."

"You think that's an option for these people?" Antilles seemed genuinely shaken. "Saw Gerrera is not known for his hospitality!"

"Neither is Thrawn," Vanto said pointedly, raising his eyes to Antilles. "Trust me, Captain. Princess Jyn will be recovered safely. And Gerrera will pay for this." Then, turning his attention to Luke, Vanto's expression softened. It was incredibly jarring to see the cold, removed demeanor fall away into a fond gentleness as he offered Luke a hand. "You alright?"

Dormé was eyeing him as he hesitantly grasped Vanto's wrist, allowing himself to be pulled off the speeder. Vanto was not especially tall, and he was a bit shorter than Luke up close. He looked a bit tired, even as Luke nodded, not trusting himself to speak or else fuck up this situation even worse.

"Let's head back to the Chimaera," Vanto suggested, releasing Luke's hand and turning to face Antilles. "I'd like you to speak with Thrawn. Tell him your concerns. Our men can distribute the inventory."

"I think not," Antilles said stubbornly. "I cannot fail my princess by leaving her mission in less capable hands. She is not forgiving, and I am much more afraid of her than I am of you."

"Are you?" Vanto seemed unsurprised. "Fine, then. Stay here. I will discuss how to proceed with rescuing your intrepid princess, then."

And so Luke had no choice but to return with Vanto to the shuttle that had brought them to the surface. Dormé remained silent as they boarded it, and Luke sat in his seat, damp, cold, and bloody, and he wondered if it was even worth it to try to get Jyn back. She clearly knew these rebels. And they'd had their own plan. Right?

"She'll be alright, you know," Vanto said. He was trying to be helpful, but Luke was not feeling very sociable right now. "Gerrera is going to try and make a trade. Princess Jyn for Galen Erso."

"Do they know?" Luke asked hoarsely.

Vanto stared at him blankly before it seemed to register in his dark eyes what Luke was asking. He frowned, his eyes flashing nervously around the shuttle. Perhaps Jyn's parentage was a secret. Thrawn certainly had not made it seem that way.

"It's not likely." Vanto bit his lip. His thumbs twitched against each other. "Not impossible, but not likely. Erso buried that information deep, so…"

"Right." Luke leaned his head back, his eyes shuddering shut. He wanted to meditate, but he was too afraid of what that might do to him, physically.

"Who will inform the Viceroy of Alderaan?" Dormé asked, speaking for the first time since he had nearly called her by his aunt's name. "The queen? They need to know their daughter is in danger."

"We'll deal with that once we inform Thrawn of what's happened," Vanto said calmly. "We don't need Bail Organa showing up and ruining whatever plan Thrawn's going to come up with to deal with all of this."

"She's his daughter," Dormé argued, not incredibly interested in Imperial etiquette and eschewing any formalities with Vanto. "It is his right to come when she is in mortal danger. If you do not call him—"

"You will?" Vanto seemed to dare her, his eyes narrowing. Dormé's jaw tightened, her angular face growing taut under his scrutiny. She sat there, her back straight, her eyes narrowing right back, and Luke wondered if he would have to step in before they killed one another.

"She's right." Luke fixed Vanto with a level stare, watching his eyes flicker to Luke without a hint of buckling under the gaze. "If it had been me and not Jyn, what would you do? Simply not tell Darth Vader?"

"Not immediately," Vanto said calmly. "Nobody on the Chimaera has a death wish."

That was, unfortunately, entirely fair. Luke grimaced. Honestly, he just wanted to meet the man who had raised Leia. He'd heard so much about him, and the idea that he was alive was still something Luke had to get used to.

"And what if you fail to retrieve Princess Jyn?" Dormé demanded, her soft core accent lilting in a prim, almost biting way. "You must recognize that this will cause irreparable damage to Imperial peace if you lose Alderaan's heir."

"I'm well acquainted with the politics of it all," Vanto said dryly, his own Wild Space accent sounding incredibly coarse beside Dormé's, "thanks."

"Then you understand why it is such a folly not to bring Bail Organa into the fold." Dormé's expression was a bit frightening, and Luke felt sorry for Vanto in this moment. She was not going to relent. "You have a chance to gain the trust and admiration of Alderaan, a planet you need to fall in line with Imperial sympathies to wrangle the dissent in many Core systems. If you prove to Bail Organa that you trust him, and that you have his daughter's best interest in mind, that could be beneficial for all of you."

"I recognize that," Vanto said, "but I cannot make a decision without consulting Grand Admiral Thrawn first."

"You are relying on one man to strategize a rescue operation that could seriously harm the hostage!" Dormé's eyes were so bright under the cowl of her purple hood, Luke thought they might be set ablaze and take the whole shuttle down. "What matters right now is the immediacy of your actions and your willingness to compromise and commiserate with those who might disagree with you."

"Like you are doing right now, I imagine," Vanto said, clearly unmoved. Dormé's lips flattened together, but otherwise she seemed just as stubbornly aligned with her own argument. "I am telling you to be patient, Miss… sorry, I don't know your name."

"Dormé." She did not offer a last name, despite the lengthy pause Vanto gave her to allow for her to say it.

"Miss Dormé, then," Vanto said, looking uncomfortable using her first name. Perhaps he cared about respecting Dormé, despite the clear tension between them. "If you'll give me some time to discuss this matter with the Grand Admiral, I'm sure we'll come to an agreement that we will all be comfortable with."

Luke suspected that was a lie, and Vanto knew it, but he wanted to placate Dormé. And Dormé would not back down.

"I will be taking this up with the Grand Admiral," Dormé said. Fearlessly. Because Dormé was just a handmaiden. She had no rank or station. She was merely Luke's bodyguard. "I know of Saw Gerrera, Commodore, and I am not about to sit here and let that girl get hurt because you want to minimize your culpability."

It went on like this in circles for a bit too long, and Luke ended up tuning the two of them out as they argued. Instead he thought about what had just happened. The rebels were trying to save Erso, but they did not know about Jyn's connection with him. Jyn was pretty suspicious already, and Thrawn had an idea that she was involved with the Rebellion. The attack and subsequent kidnapping had been smart, really, from an objective viewpoint. Luke was injured, if barely, and visibly shaken up by what had just occurred. Not for any reason the Imperials would guess, but because he had not been able to help Jyn.

Yet being a hostage might be the best thing for Jyn right now. Because it removed the stain of suspicion. She had been shot, he remembered. Vanto had seen it, so had Antilles. There was no way they could pin the rebel activity on Lah'mu on Jyn now.

But that was not planned, Luke thought, frowning at his hands. Jyn had no idea this Saw Gerrera character was there. She knew Bodhi Rook, Baze Malbus, and Chirrut Îmwe… Rogue One, somehow partially together, I guess. But Gerrera surprised her.

How they were going to get Erso out was a mystery to Luke. He had handed over the key, but even if they snuck aboard the Chimaera, the infiltration would be incredibly difficult.

"Luke," Dormé said as they neared the Chimaera, her eyes flitting over his face worriedly. "Are you alright?"

He blinked at her. "Yeah," he said, dodging her hand when she moved to press it to his forehead. "I'm good. It's not like I was the one who got shot."

Dormé pursed her lips, then glanced at Vanto pointedly. The man merely sat there in silence.

When they docked, Luke felt the urge to go immediately to the cell block and speak to Ezra Bridger. He wanted to spill his guts, to tell him that he was from a different universe, that he was sure Ezra knew what he meant, but was too scared to say it. But when they stepped onto the Chimaera, an officer whispered something into Vanto's ear, causing the man to blink rapidly while Luke and Dormé stood there, waiting to be dismissed. Luke needed to wash up. He needed a change of clothes. He felt grimy, the blood on his cloak close enough to his cheek that he could smell it.

Vanto was frowning when he turned to glance at them.

"It seems you've been summoned to Grand Admiral Thrawn's office," he said.

"Can't I change first?" Luke asked weakly.

Vanto hesitated, looking like he was about to say no. At the last second, his expression shuttered pityingly, he nodded, waving off the nearby officer whose mouth had opened to object.

"Come on," Vanto said quietly, ushering Luke forward and avoiding Dormé's gaze. "Quickly."

Luke returned to his cabin while Dormé and Vanto waited outside, and he stripped out of the soiled linen cloak and the stained silk shirt. The black trousers were muddied and wet, and he kicked them to the side. He changed into a white pair of slacks and a tight, warm black shirt that seemed fitted to his torso, like it had been made for him. It crawled up high on his neck, and the collar was embroidered with gold threading. He did not bother with a cape or a cloak or a jacket, stuffing his feet into his muddy boots as he hopped out the door.

"Okay," he gasped, his hair falling into his eyes, his shoelaces fumbling between his fingers. He cursed himself internally, because he could kick off a whole building while dodging blasterfire, but he couldn't tie his shoes. This body was absolutely a nightmare. When Dormé moved to tie his shoes, he scooted away from her, dropping to one knee. "I've got it! I can do it!"

It did take him a bit too long to get it, which was confusing to him. The laces were loosening even as he walked behind Vanto, a bit ashamed of the strange realization that he was having trouble with such tiny tasks.

"When Vader returns," Luke said quietly, "what happens?"

Dormé glanced at him. He pretended like Vanto was not listening.

"I don't know," she said softly. "I want to hope that he will take us home."

"And if he doesn't?" Luke's eyes flashed across her face, and he knew she was worried. "You shouldn't have to put up with him because of me. You deserve better than that."

The surprise seemed to overtake her, and she paused a moment to stare up at him. Then she scoffed.

"I pledged my life in service of Naboo," Dormé said calmly. "That service led me to Padmé, and Padmé led me to you. I will not abandon anyone I have been charged with protecting, no matter the danger involved. That would defeat the point, don't you agree?"

"You should be with my mother, then," Luke told her earnestly. "Dormé, I'm not afraid of him. But you should be. Everyone should be."

"But not you?" Dormé scowled at him as they entered a lift, her jaw setting defiantly. Vanto was glancing at her with a curious expression. "You think you are the exception to Vader's wrath? What has gotten into you?"

A different version of me, Luke thought, unable to hide a knowing smirk. It turned into a grimace as she frowned at him.

"I'm safe as long as I'm useful," he said, the statement paining him to admit. But it was true. "And I can be plenty useful."

"Not if you're dead."

"Then I'll try not to die."

The lift shuddered to a stop. Vanto stepped out, walking briskly enough that Luke struggled to keep up.

"You need to be careful," Vanto told them both in a low voice, "with how you talk around here. Especially around Thrawn."

Thrawn, who knew Luke held heavy rebel sentiments and whom Luke had asked to commit treason. He had to laugh.

"Don't worry about us," he said as they stepped up to Thrawn's office door. "I think we can handle whatever he has in store for us."

Vanto closed his eyes, but not before Luke saw the whites of them fluttering beneath his lashes. He'd been hiding an eyeroll. That was funny, Luke thought with a smile. His smile slid off his face when the door slid open and he saw the woman sitting at Thrawn's half-moon desk, a teacup pressed daintily in her hand as her brown eyes flickered toward him. Thrawn was relaxed in his chair, his demeanor more casual than Luke had ever seen it, and his gaze did not even seem to flicker as it was fixed upon the woman intently.

She smiled at him warmly while he felt seized by fear and apprehension.

"Hello, Luke," his mother said.

Chapter Text

The Chiss warship was smaller than a star destroyer, but its design was unique and rather pretty with all the bright lights shivering off its dark surface. Of course, Leia did not miss the obvious massive guns and heavy artillery that made the ship incredibly bottom heavy. She imagined landing one of these was a feat.

They had taken her shuttle to the warship, the Steadfast, because the fighter they had arrived in was too small for four people. Irizi'che'ri had taken the small ship back herself, while Leia, Artoo, Vanto, and the unconscious Luke, followed her to the distant ship. Vanto had been quiet throughout the short journey, and Leia, sopping wet and shivering, her eyes glazed over as she watched the ship in front of her dock, wondered if this was all a big mistake.

Vanto had absolutely noticed, and she was grateful that he just simply had the grace and politeness to ignore that she was close to crying. Any other man in her life would probably have tried to comfort her. This man, though, seemed at least gracious enough to leave her the fuck alone.

After docking, Leia smoothed the damp, wiry curls that had framed her face after the fight, back behind her ears. She'd ditched the poncho, but did not have time to change out of her stained white pants and sandy boots. Her lightsaber was clipped visibly on one hip, while her blaster remained holstered on the other.

It was Vanto who carried Luke. Artoo beeped and booped incessantly, chattering at the man inquisitively, and Vanto merely frowned.

"What's this droid's deal?" he asked as Leia lowered the gangplank.

She glanced down at Artoo, who was all but vibrating under Luke's limp foot from his place on Vanto's back, and she smiled a bit.

"He's very loyal," she said with a shrug. Not sure what else to say, she disembarked her shuttle, itching to arm herself as she was met with a sea of unfamiliar alien faces, red eyes glowing down at her in absolute scrutiny.

"Hi," Leia said, placing a hand on her hip. "Someone asked for me?"

A woman in a pristine white uniform stepped forward. Leia already had an eye on her, given the others were clothed in black, allowing Leia to suspect who exactly was in charge. The woman's blue face was a darker shade than Irizi'che'ri's, more purplish undertones in her nose and cheeks, and she had a very angular appearance to her. Sharp, knife-like cheekbones, a solid square jaw, a dip between the two, and narrowed eyes framed by the glow of her eyes, aided by a thin line of red paint on her waterline. Her arms were behind her back, and her curtain of blue-black hair, neatly slicked back from her face, shifted as she tilted her head at Leia.

In a heavily accented voice, she said in Basic, "You are Leia Organa?"

"That's me." Leia saw Irizi'che'ri join the ranks of Chiss officers. She suspected the large welcome party was due to the fact that Leia was a foreigner, and her trust had not been gained yet. It was an impromptu firing squad, if things went south. She could see at least two officers with blasters already in hand. "Heard of me?"

The woman's brow pinched, and her eyes slid to Vanto as he lumbered down the ramp, Luke limp on his back. Artoo slid to a stop beside him, his dome roving around. He whistled.

"Hush, Artoo," Leia murmured, afraid these Chiss might understand binary. She recognized the whistle as a cocky sort of, Is that all?

Vanto said something in the language she did not know, and the woman nodded. Then her gaze snapped back to Leia.

"I am Admiral Ar'alani," she said. Her accent was very thick, Leia noted, struggling to grasp the pronunciation of the woman's name through the quick flush of syllables. "Welcome to the Steadfast. Shall we speak?"

"Sure," Leia said, ignoring the uneasy stares, "but first, I want to request that my brother be moved to your Med Bay."

Ar'alani's eyes narrowed at that. Without looking away from her, she said something sharply. Vanto replied immediately. The way Ar'alani's eyes softened ever so slightly was not lost on Leia.

"Certainly," she said. She turned to someone on her right and barked an order at him. Two officers broke off from the group, and Leia saw that they had a collapsible stretched that yawned open between them, floating a meter off the ground. Vanto slid Luke off his back, and the two officers delicately lifted him onto the stretcher. Leia watched until she had to forcibly tear her eyes away from her brother, whose pale face looked a bit too pale and waxy for her liking, and she focused on the admiral.

She spoke to Irizi'che'ri as the group began to disperse. The woman nodded, her damp hair thick and curling across her brow as it dried. She was still dirty and beaten from their fight as well, but the admiral had her apt attention.

"Come," Ar'alani said, whirling around and marching from the hangar. Irizi'che'ri disappeared in the opposite direction. Leia shot one last look at Luke, who was still between the chattering Chiss, noting that they seemed to be doing diagnostics on him immediately with a scanner, rather than wait until they got him to the Med Bay, which she was grateful for.

A hand hit her shoulder, and she jumped. Glancing up at Vanto, she bit back a harsh remark. Still, she glowered up at him, meeting his own dark eyes and watching as he sighed.

"It'll be alright," he said. "We're headed to a medical facility."

"Are we?" Leia's eyes narrowed. She did not like the idea that she was being dragged along to places she did not know. It would make escaping difficult. Shrugging him off, she shot one last, desperate look at her brother, and she reached out into the Force to send a wave of reassurance toward him. Because he was still in there, wasn't he? He had to be.

Then she followed Admiral Ar'alani. Her lightsaber bounced at her hip as she marched assuredly through the halls, noting the dark walls and how when they finally arrived at a door, it was lined with green and blue.

It seemed to be an office. Leia folded her arms across her chest while Ar'alani sat down at her desk, Vanto remaining by the door at attention.

The ship had started moving, Leia had noticed, on the way to the office. She would not allow herself to panic at the thought that she had no idea where they were going.

"So you are the child of General Anakin Skywalker," she said in an off-handed way, not knowing the weight that statement had. Not knowing how hard it was for Leia to simply not flinch. "Fascinating."

"I didn't know him," Leia said, unable to keep the edge out of her voice. "Neither did my brother."

A sort of lie, a sort of truth. She did not see the difference, if she was honest. The man who had destroyed her home, who had tortured her, was not her father. Anakin Skywalker, the hero with no fear, who she had infuriatingly admired as a child… he was something else entirely. Separating them in her mind was dangerous, but in this moment, it might be the only way she could cope with it all.

Ar'alani nodded in acknowledgement.

"The conflict," she said, her words short and concise, "the… civil war? That is what happened?"

"Civil war?" Leia echoed. "We just ended the civil war."

"She means the Clone Wars," Vanto piped up from his place at the door. She glanced back at him with a frown. "The political intricacies of Republic and Imperial warfare never interested the Chiss. They consider the Clone Wars in the Rebel insurrections the same conflict, stretched over a period of nearly thirty years."

Rebel insurrections, Leia thought, not particularly liking his phrasing. What in the stars?

"Huh." She turned to face Ar'alani, and she nodded once. "Yes, it was the Clone Wars."

"Your…" Ar'alani frowned a moment, as if she was testing her own voice, "brother, he retained the name Sky-walker, correct?"

Again with the odd pause. Leia nodded, though she frowned at the woman.

"And you did not?"

"We were adopted separately," Leia said flippantly. She noted Ar'alani's furrowed brow. "Luke's family kept his name. Mine was too… influential, I suppose, to risk allowing my name to remain Skywalker."

Ar'alani stared at her a moment until Vanto chimed in. Leia suspected he was translating, and when Ar'alani frowned, she frowned as well.

"Influential," she echoed. "Was your brother's adoptive family not… influential?"

"No." Leia cracked a smile. "They were farmers."

Ar'alani's head tilted at that. She looked like she was digesting that information. Vanto quickly spoke to her in her language until she sighed and nodded.

"Adoption is different," she said, waving at Leia off-handedly, "for us, it is different. There is no point in adoption if not to climb socially."

"Oh." Leia blinked in wonder at that. She had known plenty of people who had been adopted by average families in her life. However, considering that she had become a princess as a result of her adoption, she could understand the concept. "I see how that might be confusing. Luke's adoptive family were poor farmers, but they never loved him any less than my parents loved me. We both had good homes."

"Right." Ar'alani frowned at her, but Leia sensed she did not actually care about whether or not they'd had good homes. "And you and your brother, you are… Jätai?"

It took Leia a moment because the pronunciation of the word was so off. Yeh-tie. Before this word, Ar'alani's pronunciation of Basic had been very good, despite her thick accent. It was likely that she simply rarely heard the word.

"Jedi?" she offered before Vanto could step in. When Ar'alani nodded, she sighed. "Luke is. I'm…" She closed her hand around the lightsaber at her hip. Ar'alani followed the movement with her eyes. "It's complicated."

"Mm…" Ar'alani shook her head. "Let me rephase. You have the gift. Both of you. The gift the… ja'ädai have."

This was a closer pronunciation, so Leia did not bother correcting her. It was admirable how quickly she'd been able to completely alter the "yeh" sound.

"The Force, you mean."

"Is that what you call it in your tongue?"

It was obvious that there would be different ways of referring to the Force, but truthfully Leia was surprised that she had not thought of it before.

"It is." Leia eyed Ar'alani. "What do you call it, Admiral?"

"Inconsequential." Ar'alani did not bat an eye, and Leia thought this was supremely unfair. "Can you tell us what you know about that building?"

"What do you mean?"

"The temple," Vanto supplied helpfully. She wished he would come up and stand behind Ar'alani so she could see him. His face was much less intimidating than hers.

"Oh." Leia sighed. "No, I don't know anything about it. Luke must have been investigating it, but he didn't tell me he was coming to Melinoë until I realized he was missing."

That seemed to pique Ar'alani's interest. She had an odd datapad on her desk, and she fiddled with it as Leia spoke.

"And when did he go missing?" Ar'alani asked. Leia did not answer immediately, causing the woman to look up from her datapad. She said something in her language and Vanto came rounding Leia, taking the datapad and glancing between them hesitantly. "I will ask again. When did he go missing?"

"I don't see why that's pertinent," Leia said, bristling.

It wasn't that it was exactly a secret, but she did not know if she trusted these people. They certainly did not trust her.

Ar'alani's teeth clicked in a sort of, "Tsk." She laced her fingers before her, eyeing Leia up, and then turning to look at Vanto. She said something to him, then leaned back and seemed to wait. Vanto blinked down at the datapad, sighed, and nodded.

"The Admiral wants me to continue this discussion," he said, handing Ar'alani the datapad.

"Basic isn't her strong suit?" Leia asked amusedly.

"If you knew Sy Bisti or Meese Caulf," Vanto said, "this would not be a problem."

"Hey!" Leia scowled defensively. "I know a little Meese Caulf!"

Ar'alani quirked an eyebrow and said something very fast. Leia recognized maybe two words, and she flushed.

"Not a serviceable amount," Ar'alani said.

"Admiral Ar'alani has been learning Basic for a few years," Vanto said, "but we don't get many visitors from Imperial space… or I guess it's Republic now?" He frowned, and then he shrugged. "She does not have the experience to clarify things for you, so I'll take over. Alright?"

"Fine," Leia said through gritted teeth.

"Good." Vanto's arms folded behind his back. "Can you please tell us how long ago your brother went missing?"

Of course she knew exactly, as she had felt it. Whatever had happened to Luke, why he was unconscious, she had felt it happen, and it still scared her.

When she did not respond immediately, Vanto sighed.

"Princess," Vanto said, causing Ar'alani to tilt her head, "I understand your reluctance to work with us. We are a foreign military. We attacked you. We are not telling you everything upfront. But what would you do in our shoes? We are as wary of you as you are of us, but the thing is, we need each other. Whatever information you provide will help us figure out what's wrong with your brother. You have to trust us."

"And you will trust me in return?" Leia demanded.

"That depends on you," said Ar'alani.

With a sigh, Leia realized that she really did not have a choice here. And they were promising to help Luke, which was more than she could really ask for.

"It was about four days ago," she said. She did not miss the quick glance Vanto shot Ar'alani. The admiral merely stared at her intently. "We didn't get the distress signal until yesterday."

"Then how do you know it was four days ago?" Vanto asked.

"Um…" Leia wondered how that might sound to these two. "It's hard to explain."

"Try us."

Glancing between the two of them, Leia scraped her hair back from her face and sighed. What a mess.

"I felt something strange," she said, glancing up at the ceiling. "It was the Force, of course, and our connection, but I… I don't know how to explain it. It was gradual, like… dread, creeping up on me. I felt sick all day. Then I just woke up with this terrible migraine, like my head was splitting open, and I felt so—"

"And you're sure that's the Force?" Vanto asked, looking unconvinced. "I don't know much about that, uh, old religious stuff, but—"

Leia glared at him. She folded her arms across her chest and she twitched her fingers. The datapad was torn from Ar'alani's fingers, whizzing through the air an getting caught in Leia's grasp. Ar'alani jerked to her feet in response, her eyes wide and her mouth parted, for the first time looking truly frazzled. Vanto looked less alarmed, though his eyes were equally wide. Ar'alani said something under her breath to Vanto, who nodded quickly. Ar'alani frowned at Leia, then she nodded.

"We got up on wrong feet, yes?" She rounded the desk, her tall stature forcing Leia to tip her head back and stare up at her blankly. She was absolutely taller than Han, and her boots, Leia noticed, did not have a fraction of a heel. "Let us fix this. You trust us, we trust you."

"Do you want your datapad back?" Leia asked nervously.

"It's called a questis," Vanto supplied when Ar'alani frowned. "I'll take it."

Handing it back to him, Leia spared a glance at Ar'alani. She was watching Leia with a frown. Then she barked something at Vanto, spinning away. Leia stepped aside, watching her go with a gape.

"What?" she asked blankly.

"She'll be right back." Vanto looked a bit nervous. He glanced at the questis in his hand. "So, um… you and your brother are real Jedi then?"

"I thought we established this."

"We just aren't used to it," Vanto said quickly. "The telekinetic powers. We've only ever met one individual like you before."

Something buzzed at the back of her mind, like this was possibly the most important thing Vanto could possibly say, and he probably realized his mistake, because as her eyes narrowed, he dodged her gaze, frowning at his questis.

"You met someone like me?" she asked in a low voice. When there was no immediate reply, Leia scowled. "Answer me, Vanto. Is there a Jedi here? In Wild Space?"

"Listen," Vanto said, raising his eyes to Leia, "I can't explain right now. I'm not sure it will make sense until we get to the medical center. Is this really all you know about your brother's disappearance?"

"I guess I know about as much as you," Leia said coolly, knowing well enough this man knew more than he was saying.

"I know this all seems weird," Vanto sighed. "I think we might be able to figure out what's happened to your brother, though. If you'll just trust us."

"Funny." Leia's eyes were narrowed at his face. "I'd think you'd realize, being in the military, that trust is a two-way street. Commander."

"There are things I am not at liberty to tell you, Princess," Vanto replied simply.

She wanted to kick him in the stomach and run.

Luckily, Ar'alani returned, this time with, to Leia's alarm and curiosity, a child in tow. The young Chiss was only a little bit shorter than Leia, an androgynous face, haircut, and outfit giving Leia little clues to the child's age or gender. They had cropped black hair, neatly parted waves styled back from their face. Their uniform was nondescript, a shrunken version of Vanto's aside from the twin tails of their jacket, which was lined with red silk. The child's glowing eyes moved to Leia immediately, and there was an eerie moment where Leia felt strangely… seen.

"Hello," Leia said weakly, unable to keep up much hostility in front of a child.

Ar'alani said something quickly, her hand sliding briefly toward Leia. She was certain that somewhere in there, her name had been said. The child nodded and turned to face Leia.

"I am Navigator Un'hee," they said in Basic, their accent… different than Ar'alani's. Not as heavy, and not the same cadence. There was a wispy edge to the consonance of their voice, like they were not entirely clear on where to put the emphasis. "Commander Ivant taught me Basic, and I have a good grasp on it. You are a Sky-walker?"

"Uh, sort of," Leia said, her brow furrowed. "You're… a navigator? You're employed on this ship?"

Un'hee seemed puzzled as they blinked at Leia. "Yes," they said. They glanced at Vanto, who nodded to them. "I was told you experienced symptoms of your… ah…" They looked to Vanto and said something in their language.

"Brother," he said gently.

"Bru'dher…"

"Brother."

"Broh-ther."

"Brother."

Un'hee seemed frustrated, and they turned to face Leia. "You experienced his somnia?" they demanded.

"His… what?" Leia asked confusedly.

"Somni—" Un'hee paused, saying something quickly in their own language. Vanto shook his head and replied quickly. Un'hee relaxed. "No, somnia is correct. Do you not have a word for it, then? When you become overwhelmed and need to rest?"

"I think that's just called sleep," Leia said weakly.

Frustrated, Un'hee turned to Vanto expectantly. When Vanto looked at them with a sheepish, unhelpful expression, they shook their head furiously.

"What kind of ozly-esehembo are you?" they demanded.

"What kind of…?" Leia recognized the words, though. "Wait. Ozly esehembo? That's what that officer called us. Senior Captain Irizi'che'ri."

"You met Zicher?" Un'hee blinked. They turned to look up at Ar'alani, who merely nodded at them. "I do not understand. You said you are a Sky-walker."

"I…" Leia was torn, and she decided to deflect. It was what she did best. "My name is Leia Organa. Not Skywalker."

Un'hee's face scrunched up, betraying their youth.

"What does your name have anything to do with it?" they huffed.

"Un'hee," Ar'alani said. Her voice was quite delicate, which surprised Leia. She said something in her own tongue, and Un'hee listened quietly before they gasped.

"Oh!" They glanced at Leia like they were seeing her for the first time. "She is like Rabri? Why did you not say so?"

"What does that mean?" Leia glanced between Ar'alani and Vanto. "Is Rabri a Jedi?"

"He is a Sky-walker," Un'hee said.

"Wait," Leia said, holding up her hands, "what?"

"The word "sky-walker" is confusing here," Ar'alani said thoughtfully. "Your brother and the general use the word as though it is a name. Here, in the Chiss Ascendancy, it is a role." Ar'alani took a step forward and placed a hand on Un'hee's shoulder. The child stiffened a bit, blinking up at the admiral. It took a moment for them to relax. "I need to know you are trustworthy, Princess Organa. What we are about to share with you must remain secret."

When Leia merely stared at her, Vanto cut in helpfully.

"It's safer if it's kept secret," he said. "You could be putting Un'hee, and many young girls like her in a lot of danger by revealing any of this information."

Ah, so Un'hee was a girl, then. Leia had not wanted to assume either way. The conversation, Leia could tell, was not exactly pleasing Un'hee. She looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here.

"Well," Leia said with a sigh, "I wouldn't want that. Care to explain, then?"

Ar'alani murmured something to Un'hee before releasing her shoulder and stepping back. Standing with a pin-straight spine and a far-away gaze, Un'hee looked into Leia's face.

"Sky-walkers are those who can access Third Sight," Un'hee said simply.

"And," Leia said, folding her arms across her chest and unable to hide her amusement at the lack of clarity, "what is Third Sight, exactly?"

Un'hee glanced back at Ar'alani, who merely nodded. Sighing, Un'hee turned to face Leia fully.

"Third Sight is when you can see lightyears ahead of you." Un'hee's hands flapped in the air, as though pushing the information at Leia, like it was obvious, and she should already know it. "It is… sensation. Senses. Feelings. I can feel the ship. The planets passing us by."

It struck her all at once, but she had waited until the girl was done to speak.

"The Force," Leia said softly. "You're force-sensitive?"

That only made Un'hee frown. "I am a sky-walker," she said.

The recollection of what Ar'alani said, about the name being a role, it gave her pause. She decided whatever happened now, she would simply roll with it. After all, she was curious about what these Chiss thought about the Force.

"I see," Leia said. She offered a small smile. "Skywalker is the name of my brother. Of… our family."

Un'hee merely blinked. "That is strange," she said.

"Yes," Leia agreed. She tapped her foot as she thought on this revelation. It felt like it was too strange to be a coincidence. Where had their name come from, anyway? Shit, Leia wished she could ask Luke right now.

"We brought Un'hee to you because of what you said you felt when your brother disappeared," Vanto said quietly. "Un'hee has a lot of experience with this topic. It might be better to hear it from her, rather than one of the medics."

That startled Leia. She turned to look at the young girl, noting that she could not be older than thirteen, and wondered what she could possibly know that a doctor did not.

"You know what's wrong with Luke?" Leia asked softly.

"I have not seen him." Un'hee looked a bit grave. Her eyes were far-away again. Glassy, even monochromatic as they were. "Though from what you have told me, I can assume. You have Second Sight?"

"You'll have to tell me what that is," Leia said guiltily.

Again, Un'hee turned to look at Ar'alani, and again Ar'alani nodded. Looking uncertain, Un'hee's gaze returned to Leia.

"Can you reach into someone's mind?"

"Uhh…" Leia scratched her head thoughtfully. Could she? "No? Well, Luke's, but Luke doesn't count."

"He counts," Un'hee said firmly.

"No, no." Leia shook her head. "He's my brother. My twin. It's just a natural thing. Like breathing, really."

"You felt his pain, though," Un'hee pointed out. She seemed much older than a twelve or thirteen year old. "Where were you?"

"Chandrila," Leia said, unable to help being utterly upfront with this girl. As Leia spoke, the Un'hee was pulling out her own small questis, fiddling with it. It took her a minute or so before she looked up at Leia.

"That is near the center of the galaxy," she said, sounding vaguely awed. "You felt him all the way from there? While he was on Melinoë?"

"I told you," Leia said awkwardly, "we're twins."

"I do not know what that means."

Vanto said something quickly. Un'hee merely blinked.

"That does not explain how you could feel him from the center of the galaxy." Un'hee looked toward Vanto and spoke in her own language. Vanto merely shrugged. Sighing, Un'hee looked back at Leia. "Tell me what you felt. Let us start there."

"Oh. Alright." Leia recounted her strange, creeping feelings of nausea, dizziness, fatigue, like she was getting a fever, culminating in waking up with a splitting headache and no longer being able to feel Luke in the Force.

"Yes," Un'hee sighed, "that sounds right."

"What happened?" Leia gasped. "Is this normal?"

"Yes." Un'hee wrinkled her nose, clearly irritated that Leia was so in the dark about something that was perhaps obvious to someone who understood the Force better. "He has over-exerted himself. Experienced a…" She waved a moment, then dropped her hand, looking embarrassed. She turned to face Vanto and said something to him.

"Sensory overload," Vanto said softly.

"Yes," Un'hee murmured, "that. You are how old? You have not experienced it before? How?"

Leia did not know if she should be offended or not at the questions, but the girl was clearly confused, so she answered quickly and concisely. "I am twenty-four standard years," she said. "And no, I haven't. But I don't have much experience with the Force. I didn't realize I had it until about a year ago."

Un'hee stared at her like she had about five heads and had suddenly started floating. Not sure what to do, Leia laughed nervously, and she glanced to Ar'alani, who had been silent up until this point.

"Sky-walkers lose their abilities before they reach adulthood," Ar'alani explained. "This is why Un'hee is confused. You did not realize you had the Sight until…?"

"Oh." Leia shook her head. "No, that can't be right. You must still have it."

"We do not," Un'hee said bitterly. "We are phased out and replaced with a younger girl. Adopted. Ask Zicher."

That name did not click immediately, but Leia was quick enough that it hit her after a few moments.

"Senior Captain Irizi'che'ri?" she asked, glancing at Vanto. "She's… oh! That's what she was trying to tell me?"

"More or less," Vanto said. He looked tired. "She said that you and your brother were sky-walkers, and that the reason he was unconscious was sparkle-vision and somnia."

"Explain," Leia demanded.

"Sparkle-vision is what we call the sensory overload," Un'hee piped up. "Somnia is our body's response to it. That is why you cannot feel your bro'ther. He is in deep, deep somnia. Like Rabri."

"And who is that?" Leia asked, completely confused. "You said that name before. Is Rabri a Jedi?"

"We'll introduce you," Vanto said rather than answering. Leia glared at him.

"But this somnia thing can be cured, right?" Leia glanced around the room. "It's not permanent?"

"It should not be," Un'hee said hesitantly. "No."

"You don't sound so sure."

Un'hee stared at Leia, but not really at Leia. Somewhere beyond her head. She was completely out of it.

"That is all." Ar'alani suddenly had Un'hee by the shoulders and wheeled her around, much to the child's shock. She yelped. "You are dismissed."

"But—!" Un'hee objected, sounding for the first time like the little girl she was, whining pitifully and sputtering something in their language as she was pushed out the door.

Ar'alani turned to face Leia, looking expectant.

"Well?" she demanded when Leia did not speak.

Blinking, she thought about how easy it was to lose the people you loved. In a blink, they could be gone. If you kept your eyes open, they could still be gone. Only you had to watch them disappear.

Luke was right here. He was right here, and yet she did not feel him at all.

"What can I do to save him?" she asked in a small, defeated tone.

Ar'alani, it seemed, was not made of stone. Her expression did melt a bit as Leia dodged her gaze.

"Your brother is not the first sky-walker to fall into this predicament," Ar'alani said gently. "We are not ill-equipped to deal with such a thing. But you must understand, it is his choice when he will wake up."

"And?" Leia felt a bit desperate. "What if he doesn't?"

"Then you shall go into his mind and drag him out, Princess." Ar'alani tilted her head. "Otherwise, I have not a clue."

Leia cursed, dragging her hands over her face and suppressing a groan. What a mess! And to think, the Chiss had a whole system in place for force-sensitives, and Luke was sleeping through the discovery!

"Why don't you go get some rest," Vanto suggested, sharing a glance with Ar'alani. "We'll be at the medical base soon, and you're probably tired. Maybe go check on your droid, make sure he hasn't gotten into any trouble."

Lowering her hands, she scowled at Vanto, annoyed at how right he was.

"You may have a point," she said, not too keen on admitting it, but knowing she was being kicked out either way.

"I'll meet you in the hangar in a few minutes," Vanto promised, surprising her. He smiled a bit. "What's that look for? You think I'm just gonna let you fend for yourself out there? They'll eat you alive, Princess."

"I would need to understand them for that to affect me," Leia said, smiling tightly. "I can be blissfully ignorant just fine."

"But you might be miserable and bored."

Well there was a good point. With a small shrug, Leia turned toward the door.

"Princess Organa?"

Leia turned to look at Admiral Ar'alani. She looked suddenly quite hard and frightening.

"We will wake your brother. You have my word."

From how stiff and wide-eyed Dormé was, Luke suspected Padmé's appearance was as much of a shock to her as it was to him. He gaped a moment, his confusion obvious, before he regained some semblance of composure and stepped into the office.

"Hi," he said, frowning at her. Her expression did fall a bit, though she still smiled at him as he approached. "What are you doing here?"

His mother was wearing an expensive looking wine-colored velvet dress, its draping sleeves cinched at her wrists and a large slit open and exposing a light silvery silk beneath it. Her hair was done up in elaborate rope braids, ribboning between the plaits that was sewed to her scalp. Luke had seen the style on Leia before, and it did shake him a bit to see it on their mother. The two of them… certainly bore a resemblance, to be sure.

"Well," his mother said, setting aside her teacup. "That's certainly a warm welcome."

The comment made his face burn, an immense guilt washing over him, and he opened his mouth to apologize, but his mother held up a hand and laughed.

"What has gotten into you, Luke?" she gasped, rising to her feet. She was taller than Leia, and it was no effort for her to lift her hand to his cheek and hold his face gently. Her eyes flashed over him desperately, like she would do anything to see into his mind. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." As much as it pained him, he pulled her hand from his cheek and stepped back. "Just confused, that's all."

What's happening, he thought dazedly. Does she know about Erso and Ezra? Is she here to help? Can she convince Thrawn to help?

Thankfully, Dormé stepped forward, seeming to find her voice, and the two women gazed at each other a moment before Dormé spoke.

"We're all a little shaken up," Dormé said in a calm voice. She was obviously used to reporting to Padmé in such a manner. "While we were planet-side, there was an attack. We lost Princess Jyn."

"You what?" Padmé uttered, the formality of it all falling away, and her voice breaking a bit in shock.

"She's alive!" Luke said hurriedly, his eyes flashing to Dormé sharply. "We can get her back! She did get shot though."

"I would like a full report," Thrawn said, his casualness and non-reaction incredibly grating. He had pushed his tea aside, at the very least. "Were the princess's injuries life threatening?"

"Is that important?" Luke huffed.

"I am not about to negotiate a deal for a dead girl," Thrawn said, as close to a joke as the man could probably get. He rested his chin on top of his laced fingers. "I assume not, by your flippancy on the matter. So the insurgents want to keep her alive."

"We think they'll try and trade her for Erso," Vanto said, speaking up for the first time since entering the room. There was a short moment of silence where Luke could sense the tension that erupted suddenly after he spoke, like the man had spat in Thrawn's face rather than simply state something in a soft, matter-of-fact drawl.

"I see." Thrawn frowned.

When he did not immediately continue, it became clear that he was lost in his own thoughts. Padmé sighed, turning to face Luke and looking up at him worriedly.

"You're alright, though?" she asked, her eyes whisking over his face. "You seem alright."

"I'm fine," Luke said, shaking his head. "It's Jyn we should worry about."

Padmé nodded in agreement, thankfully not pushing Luke about his health or how shaken up he was. She turned her attention to Thrawn, folding her arms across her chest and scowling. Luke had to take another step away from her, too overwhelmed by how thoroughly she seemed to transform into a strange mirage of his sister.

"Whatever you're planning," she said, "I want in."

Thrawn raised his gaze to her. He blinked twice.

"I have not shared my thoughts on the matter yet," he pointed out.

"Don't be like that," Padmé huffed. "You know I'm useful in these sorts of things. Sabé can be on the ground within the next few hours."

"You brought Sabé?" Dormé asked, sounding alarmed. "Is that wise? Lord Vader—"

"Is not here," Padmé cut in with a roll of her eyes. "Let's count our blessings for that, shall we? Goodness. Come on, Thrawn. I'm the best field operative you've got right now."

"You do not know my crew," Thrawn said.

"No," Padmé said, "but it's the truth, isn't it?"

Thrawn did not immediately respond. It was strange, though, how the corners of his lips quirked.

"Mama," Luke said uncertainly, "wait a minute—"

"I came here to retrieve you," Padmé said, facing him with a short look that made him shut his mouth fast. "However, I cannot leave here until Jyn is safe. I owe it to Bail to get her back."

"No, no, I get that." Luke wondered what she must think of him, that she thought he'd object to that. "I just think we should all slow down. Everyone seemed incredibly worried about the rebel who took her, and I just have to wonder—"

"Which rebel?" Padmé demanded.

"Saw Gerrera," Vanto said immediately, clearly not willing to beat around the bush.

Padmé blinked a moment. Then, turning to look at Thrawn pointedly, she sighed.

"Well that just won't do," she said. "Shall you let me in on your plan, or should I just board a shuttle now?"

"I'd think you would wish to catch up with your son before you put your life on the line," Thrawn said, seeming all too amused by this exchange. He even pulled his tea back to him, seemingly unfazed.

"We'll have plenty of time to talk on our way back to Naboo." It was clear his mother had already made up her mind. The stubbornness surprised Luke, as his mother had not acted like this when he had first met her. Yet there was something so familiar about the way she asserted herself into this situation. It felt like something both he and Leia would do. "I'd rather get this done quickly. I cannot in good conscience sit here while Jyn is in danger."

"Yes," Thrawn said, "I've noted this."

"So?" Padmé quirked an eyebrow. There was something playful in this exchange, something bafflingly close to comradery between them as they bantered in quick, light tones, as level and pleasant as though they were discussing the weather. It was not unlike the quick quips and japes that ran through the Falcon's belly as they escaped a firefight, or prepared to land on a horribly dangerous mission. "Should I call Sabé?"

"No need." Thrawn's fingers drifted through the air, an off-handed wave. "You will take Dormé."

From the angle Luke was at, he could see his mother's frown. He had also been around Dormé long enough to know she was both shocked and not particularly pleased with this command.

"Oh?" Padmé tilted her head. "And why is that?"

"She already has an idea of what is happening on the ground," Thrawn said simply. "She will catch you up to speed. I expect you have something less ostentatious to wear?" Without waiting for a reply, he stood up and shook his head. "No, that is a silly question. Commodore Vanto, allow Padmé access to Lieutenant Wren's cabin. If there is a worthy disguise to be found on this vessel, it is surely there."

Luke did not miss the stark scowl that appeared on Vanto's lips. He stood there at complete attention, his dark eyes narrowed, and he nodded once.

"Yes, sir," he said icily.

"So we will be going in without a plan." Padmé nodded distractedly, none too concerned. "Sounds about right. And Sabé?"

"I assumed you would want one of your handmaidens to stay behind with the prince," Thrawn said amusedly.

"Oh?" Padmé's smile was tight. "Interesting assumption."

"Was it wrong?"

"No." Padmé's eyes trailed to him. They softened considerably, and he found himself desperately wondering why she had come. It seemed incredibly unsafe. "You'll be alright without me for a few hours?"

"This will take longer than a few hours," Luke said pointedly. "But yes. Of course. You'll be careful, won't you?"

"Don't worry," Padmé said, her voice going surprisingly low. "I can handle Saw Gerrera." She took his hand, squeezing it gently, and then rose up to kiss his cheek. "Love you. Be good!"

"Yeah." He blinked. "Okay. I…" Padmé and Dormé were already being ushered away by Vanto, and Luke's jaw clicked shut. He was left alone with Thrawn after both Vanto and Dormé threw one last look backwards. His mother seemed to have a very one-track mind.

"That was…" Luke blinked.

"Yes," Thrawn agreed, leaning back against his desk. It was the first time Luke had seen him act so casually. Perhaps it was the effect of having a friend. "I suppose you would know better than anyone it is futile to argue with her once she has made up her mind."

Not knowing how to respond without being caught in a lie, Luke said, "She's like my sister in that way."

Thrawn tilted his head. "Yes," he said. "I suppose she is. Or, rather, your sister is like your mother."

Avoiding his gaze, Luke dropped into his mother's empty seat, moving her teacup delicately. It had a ring of red lip-stain around its rim.

"And what is your plan for getting Jyn back, exactly?" Luke asked tiredly. "There's been enough kidnappings to last the Empire a lifetime, I think."

"My plan is of no business of yours." He drifted around his desk and sat down in his seat. "Once I get the message from Gerrera that there is a trade to be made, that will be that. Your concern with Erso will be dealt with."

"Really," Luke said blandly, not really believing him. Thrawn seemed to simply not care at all.

"Let us talk of your main concern." Thrawn laid his hands out on the desk. "Ezra Bridger's time is running out. He has not given me the information I want from him, and I doubt he will be particularly willing to work with me after his free will has been unceremoniously tortured out of him."

Luke did not mention that Thrawn could just get Vader to interrogate him under torture for obvious reasons. He imagined Thrawn had already thought of it anyway.

"You haven't exactly clued me in on your plan for Ezra either," Luke said. He studied the man, deciding once again to trust his instincts. "You want to save him. But you also have no intention of letting him ruin your career."

"I do not particularly agree with how the Empire handles Force sensitives."

It was all Thrawn said. He took a sip of his tea, picked up his datapad, and offered nothing more. Like that was enough. Luke sat there, his anger starting to prickle, and soon he realized that he was just stewing in it, like pushing it down would do anything.

He was a Jedi. He should simply let the anger go.

So he did, inhaling deeply, then exhaling. He met Thrawn's eyes, and sat up a bit straighter.

"You can disagree with the Empire all you want," he said. "You are still a tool to further needless suffering."

"Perhaps I do bring suffering," Thrawn said. He did not balk, or flinch, or even blink. "I would hardly call it needless. The needs of the many, or so I've heard."

Buzzing, knowing from his own experience just how muddy this water could be, he leaned forward.

"Utilitarianism is not gonna absolve you of all moral and ethical failings just because you believe what you're doing is the right thing, since it minimizes the cost of life," Luke said, letting his anger once again seep away from him, his voice cold, hard, and even. He stared into Thrawn's curious red eyes, knowing that this was Leia's wheelhouse, not his, and all he knew about philosophy stemmed from her quick-witted arguments and passionate psuedo-lectures. But he'd grown up on a planet where violence was necessary to protect yourself. That in itself had numbed him to the idea of death. "I could kill ten thousand men, each of them responsible for the weight of the destruction of whole worlds, and I can say that is right, that is justice, that is good for everyone, but those men are still dead. I'm still responsible for that."

"This is true," Thrawn said, surprising Luke. "I do not pretend otherwise. There is a cost to the game of chess we both play, little prince. If you end your life with your soul intact, you are luckier than most."

Not knowing how to respond, Luke simply rose to his feet. He glared at Thrawn, knowing that by agreeing with Luke that Luke had merely reaffirmed his point, and that was not what Luke had wanted at all.

"Is your soul intact?" Luke demanded. "You have the chance to prove it."

"I have nothing to prove to you, little prince," Thrawn said in his soft, delicate way, and it made Luke furious.

"Then I believe we are done talking." Luke whirled around and marched out the door. He didn't hate Thrawn, and in all honesty, he felt that the man did have more of a moral compass than most Imperials. He was not blinded by his loyalty to the Empire. But he was still loyal. Luke had been pushing how far he could go, how much his proximity to Vader might protect him.

He knew this would not last forever. He had to act soon, and fast. Before Vader returned.

Returning to his room, he had to think about what would happen next. He'd given the ID cylinder to Bodhi Rook, though now that felt like it had been a waste. How would any rebels get onto this ship undetected? It had been the heat of the moment that had convinced Luke it was a good idea.

Sighing, he pulled out his datapad and began watching videos of himself again.

"Look at this, Leia!" The other Luke seemed jubilant, his long hair loose around his face, and he was holding what appeared to be a small model house made out of tiny, interlocking blocks. "Dr. Eldionne has had me working on this for months, but I finally finished it!" The other Luke's smile was so bright and delighted, Luke was a bit shocked. It was just a little house. His smile drooped, as though he had heard Luke's thoughts, and he looked away. "I know it doesn't look like much to you, but I've actually been really struggling lately with, er… well, my fine motor skills. The fact that I was able to do this, even though it took me a long time, that's really good. It's a really good sign. Dr. Eldionne has been more encouraging than any Imperial doctors Father brings in. She doesn't talk to me like I'm a lost cause, but treats my illness like something I can live alongside."

There was more, but Luke moved on to another video.

Only he was starting to feel… strange. He watched the other Luke's happy face, his sadness only peeking through when he mentioned Leia by name, or made a direct reference to their parting. The image was starting to blur.

Afraid this was another seizure, Luke tossed the datapad aside and tried not to panic. He reached for his comm, his fingers gingerly grasping it, and they shook as he brought it to his mouth.

"Dormé," he said weakly, his vision unfocused. There was someone standing in his room. There was a man standing in front of him, like a faulty holo, his face fuzzy and skipping out. "Dormé, I—"

The room was gone. Suddenly, inexplicably, Luke was no longer sitting on his bed. Instead he was standing in a familiar room, a weight on his back, an incessant beeping clawing at his ears, and he winced at the sound, blinking away the bleariness of his eyes, only to see a horrible, gruesome sight, the world shifting around him in something unmistakably wrong. Like the image was being plastered onto his eyeballs. A film, or a screen.

But he stood there, eyes wide, absorbing the sight of Galen Erso's dead body. It was mangled, torn open and splayed upside-down. There was blood everywhere. There was blood on him. He was unable to properly digest this fact, unable to panic or scream, because he was hopelessly confused. Backing away from Erso, Luke stumbled out the door and into the Med Bay corridor, breathless and dizzy. He backpedaled down the hall, turning his head to blink over his shoulder, swallowing a lump in his throat.

He backed right into an officer, and Luke jumped, whirling around to face the man with wild eyes.

"What are you doing?" the officer demanded. "What—?"

"Erso's dead," Luke said faintly. The officer's eyes widened. "I… I don't know how, but—"

The officer brushed past him, and Luke stood there a moment before all his instincts had him bolting down the hall, sliding into a lift and frantically jamming the button for the cell blocks. What had happened? Had he not just been in his room? He did not understand how he had gotten here, but he was not about to get more incriminated.

When he reached Ezra's cell block, he honestly did not know what he was expecting, but it wasn't rounding a corner and smacking face first into a man's chest, sending them both flying across the floor. Luke had fallen onto his side, half cushioned by the rucksack on his back, and he struggled to sit up, his eyes unable to focus as he groaned.

"Oh," the man said, sounding absolutely miserable, "what the hell?"

Finally, his vision focused, and he found as he lifted his face that it was mere inches away from Ezra Bridger's.

"Oh!" Luke instinctively lurched back. The man scowled at him, and Luke noted that there was stubble around his mouth and jaw that had not been as prominent the day before. "I— how did you—?"

"Shut up, blondie." Ezra dragged himself to his feet. He pushed a blaster, one clearly stolen from a stormtrooper, into Luke's face. Luke could not even blink, unsurprised, but very confused. "Out of my way."

"Sure." Luke moved shakily upright, lifting himself into a standing position and almost immediately toppling over.

"Oh, shit!" Ezra gasped, managing to catch Luke before his skull became too well acquainted with the sharp corner of the wall. Too dizzy to fully comprehend anything aside from his own confusion, Luke's head lolled a bit against the man's shoulder.

"Thanks," he muttered, blinking rapidly. He took a deep breath and attempted to peel himself off Ezra, only to find himself being shaken up and whirled around. Luke was already breathless, but his breath did hitch a bit as his back was pressed against Ezra's chest, rucksack notwithstanding, Ezra's forearm closing around him tightly. It took him a bit too long to realize that the reason for this was that Ezra was pressing the barrel of a blaster to Luke's head.

Ah, Luke thought, gazing at the bewildered officer that had come to investigate the disturbance. Well, this could be worse, I guess.

"Move," Ezra said, edging forward with Luke situated in his arm. Luke was, admittedly, not in the position to fight Ezra at this point. He had no muscle to speak of, and Ezra would probably be able to throw him around about as easily as Han could throw around Leia. "Let's go. Real slow now."

Luke was dragged toward the lift, his legs some-what working, but he still had difficulty keeping himself upright. The blaster still trained on Luke, Ezra elbowed the buttons and they stared at the officer as the doors slowly closed.

Sucking in a deep breath, Luke shifted in Ezra's grasp.

"Shoot out the camera," he said very quietly.

He felt Ezra's arm tighten, ever so slightly, around his neck. The shakiness, the fatigue, the confusion, it was not enough to completely blind him to the situation at hand. Faking a flinch, he turned his head in the opposite direction of the camera, but his eyes flashed up to Ezra's sharply.

"Well?" he whispered.

There was a slight pause. Then in a flash, the camera exploded, the sound of the bolt pewing in Luke's ear. Ezra's grip on Luke loosened enough that he was able to break it, turning around a bit too fast. His fingers collided with Ezra's shoulder, gripping it as he stood there woozily.

"Are you…?" Ezra's eyes flashed over him quickly. He did not offer a hand, but he did not shrug Luke off either.

"Fine." Luke dragged his hand over his face shakily. It was slick with blood. He could… feel it, but he could not smell it. "I… I don't know. I don't know what just happened. How I got this bloody, or… How did you get out?"

Ezra did not answer. He merely stared at him. Then his eyes flashed up above Luke's head at the floor readings, and he grimaced. He turned the blaster on Luke again, and Luke rolled his eyes.

"Don't be dramatic," Luke sighed, turning around once more and leaning back against Ezra's chest. Hesitantly, Ezra wrapped his arm around Luke's neck, but it was looser than before.

"Are you really trying to help me?" Ezra asked, his voice low in Luke's ear. "Is this a trick?"

Biting back a laugh, Luke glanced up at the gun, and he rolled his eyes.

"What do you think?"

Something of a smile ghosted Ezra's lips, and he said, "I think you're a crazy son of a bitch."

"Oh, is that all?" Luke rested his head back. Ezra was taller than him by a few inches— it was easy to lean his head back on Ezra's shoulder and look up at him expectantly. "Try not to actually shoot me."

"No promises, your highness." Ezra shrugged his shoulder so Luke's head rolled upright. "I think we might have a lot to talk about, though."

For the first time, Luke was hopeful that maybe this man might actually talk to him. That they might be able to figure out what the hell was going on.

"A lot doesn't begin to cover it," he said. And then the door slid open, they were greeted by a handful of hostile faces.

"Get out of my way," Ezra said, barging into the hangar and glowering at the troopers. A ship was just leaving the hangar, disembarking with a roar, so Ezra began to shout. "Out of the way!"

The stormtroopers had their guns aimed at them, but they knew well enough by now who Luke was, and would not fire. Luke could hear them chattering into their comms, probably reporting the situation to the bridge, but by the time Thrawn found out it would be too late. Ezra was already backing them toward the nearest shuttle, the blaster against his cheek.

"Luke!"

Both Luke and Ezra turned to look at the woman who had called his name, and there was a brief shudder of horror that went through him as he glanced at the woman and saw his mother.

No, he thought, staring at the woman's sharp, angular face, her brown eyes furious as she pointed her blaster at Ezra. No, that's not my mother, that's… someone else.

Someone who looked eerily similar, but just different enough. A sister, maybe? Jyn had said he had cousins.

"Let him go," the woman said, edging a bit closer.

"Lady," Ezra said, using the Force to pull the gangplank of the shuttle down, "you don't know who you're dealing with."

The woman's brow arched. She held her blaster with one hand and said, "Neither do you."

Ezra leaned out of the way of her shot, which would have hit him between the eyes if he did not have the Force, but he did gasp in pain as something tore through his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt ripping. Backing up quickly, Ezra yanked Luke up the ramp and forced it closed while they were halfway up it as the woman approached, a small metal knife glinting in one hand. Both Ezra and Luke rolled onto the landing, the ramp clicking shut after them.

"Fuck!" Ezra gasped, jerking to his feet and rushing across the small ship. Luke laid there a minute, still a bit dizzy. He could hear blaster bolts hitting the outside of the ship, like that would do anything.

Pushing himself upright and shrugging off the rucksack, Luke moved sluggishly across the ship, leaning over the pilot's seat as Ezra flicked a few toggle switches, his eyes darting around the controls wildly.

"Sit down," Ezra gasped, grabbing him by the arm and shoving him into the co-pilot's chair. "Strap in. This could get ugly."

"You're bleeding," Luke uttered, leaning forward in the chair, reaching for his shoulder. There was a dark stain there that was blooming outwards. Ezra merely swatted his hand away.

"Seat belt!" he snapped. "Now!"

To prove his own point, he strapped himself in, and fired the engines up. They shot out of the hangar, bolts hitting them on their way out, and Ezra cursed as he wrenched them up and over the star destroyer.

"What're our shields at?" he asked.

Luke checked. "Eighty percent," he said. "We need to get to hyperspace."

"Yeah." Ezra winced, dodging a weird looking TIE that had been deployed after them. "Fucking stars, fucking—" They were hit, and Ezra spun them around, swooping up and over the TIE that maneuvered around them. They did not have the same maneuverability. "Karabast! Shields! Now!"

"Seventy percent!" Luke gasped, leaning over the console and blinking as the TIE swooped over them. Luke unclipped his seat belt in a swift, fluid movement. "Switch with me!"

"What?"

"Switch!" Luke leaned over Ezra, unbuckled his seatbelt, which he sputtered over, half jerking them aside, and Luke shoved him out of his chair. "Sit down! Listen to me, okay?"

"You're so bossy!" Ezra scrambled into the co-pilot's chair as Luke used one hand to buckle himself and the other to dip the ship down, nose first, forcing the TIE to chase them at an incline. "What are you doing?"

"Buying us time," Luke said breezily. He was dizzy, confused, and sick, yeah, but there was nothing he could not do in a ship. "Get some coordinates in this thing! Doesn't matter what ones!"

He heard Ezra curse again as he buckled himself into the co-pilot's chair, and Luke sent the shuttle onto its side, dodging incoming bolts and noting the edge of his vision fraying as he doubled back, letting the TIE loop around on their tail. He spun them around, the dizziness only worsening, and but they did not get hit, and he could keep going. He knew he could. If the guns were not separate from the yoke, Luke would have destroyed this TIE by now.

"Okay!" Ezra gasped. "Got it! Should we punch it?"

"One minute." Luke pulled up, nosing through space until he got the ship level, and then he shoved the yoke forward and forced them to zoom beneath the Star Destroyer, the TIE shooting at them wildly as Luke dropped down and slipped up in quick, instinctual dodges. "Okay, destroy it."

Ezra blinked at him.

"What?" he cried.

"Use the Force," Luke said, completely calm even as he found himself half blind, "and throw the TIE into the underbelly of the ship. Now, Ezra!"

With a start, Ezra's eyes fluttered closed. Luke could feel him reaching into the Force, and it was a tentative sort of reach. They had just about reached the end of the Star Destroyer when the TIE behind them exploded, wrenched into the plating of the Destroyer, and Luke exhaled shakily as he reached blindly for the lever that would send them to hyperspace.

"Let's get out of here," he said, slamming the lever down and blinking at the strange blur of blue light that assaulted his eyes.

Chapter Text

Waking up was strange. It felt like being dredged up out of a coma, disorienting and blinding, the world a bit too frenetic to handle all at once. He did not even quite recognize that he was in a strange place, unrecognizable to him, until the whooshing sound of a door opening knocked him from his daze and caused him to lurch to his feet jerkily. Whatever had been in his hand dropped to the floor.

"Luke?"

He struggled a moment to properly gauge the person in front of him. Then, with some mild horror, he realized he knew exactly who it was.

"Mama?" he gasped, struggling to comprehend his surroundings. His eyes flashed around the grayish room, small and cramped, and he tried to remember what he had been doing. It felt like he'd been hazily drifting for years, and he did not know which way was north and which way was south. "What's…? What's happening? Where are we?"

He was distracted enough that he nearly missed the terrified look that his mother shared with one of her handmaidens. At the moment, Luke could not tell which one, as her hood was up.

"Luke you just called Dormé in here," his mother pressed, taking a step toward him. "Don't you remember? It was just a few minutes ago."

A few minutes? Well that was troubling. He had assumed he'd been asleep, but now he knew that he had been awake and talking just minutes before, but he could not for the life of him remember it. It was merely a haze. Not an unpleasant one, exactly, but a haze nonetheless.

"I…" Luke's fingers drifted to his head, rubbing it thoughtfully. "Maybe… maybe I had a seizure?"

"I'm not sure you'd be walking and talking if you had," Padmé said gently, taking three large steps and taking him by the hand. He allowed her to drag him to the bed and sit him down.

"He had a seizure a few nights ago," one of the handmaidens said. Dormé, Luke knew, recognizing her voice. "Could this be an effect of that?"

Padmé merely shook her head, her hand pressed to his forehead and her brow furrowed worriedly. He shrunk a bit guiltily, knowing that he was the cause of this newfound stress. There were lines around her eyes and forehead that shouldn't be there, and he thought that the worry wasn't necessary.

"You don't have a fever," his mother said, blinking into his eyes. He blinked back. "What is the last thing you remember?"

That was an odd question, he thought, until he realized that it was only odd because he could not exactly recall what he had been doing last. He had a vague idea that he must have been in his room, but what had he been doing? What were they doing now? Why was this all so confusing?

Only he did not feel like his room was the last thing he recalled. No, there was something else. He was certain he had an idea of other events, like a dream, but it had faded much too fast, and now he was stuck with an aftertaste of some sort of foreign feeling, like adrenaline. It was exhausting and enticing all at once.

Because as confused as he was, Luke wasn't scared. Quite the opposite.

"I can't explain," he said, tearing his gaze from his mother and frowning at the floor. "I don't know, exactly. Where are we? Are we in Theed?"

"Theed?" his mother echoed. It seemed every word Luke said was just another lash of worry on her warm, open face. "Luke, we are on a Star Destroyer. The Chimaera."

Suddenly, the world seemed to shift beneath him. The confusion did not go away, but he saw the room in a new light. Something seemed to click within him. Whatever had happened to him, he knew it was not normal. It was not because of his illness, either. It was…

This is the Force, he thought dazedly. Did I let this happen?

He tried to remember, but the haze was too thick. He had a feeling though that none of this was a coincidence.

"Oh," he said, ignoring the shock that bloomed across his mother's face. "I see. Okay."

When he turned away from her, merely sitting with his fingers closing hard around his knees, he noticed her clear shock, and decided that it was best to ignore it. It felt like there was a block in his memory, like he had an inkling that he might remember being on this ship if he tried hard enough. Like maybe he'd woken up in this room recently, and he had been between dreams, too delirious to understand what was happening.

"Sabé," Padmé called abruptly, causing Luke to blink. He looked up at the familiar woman, startled by her appearance. She was hanging back behind Dormé, which was why he had not noticed her. She pushed her white hood down and stepped forward, watching both Luke and Padmé with an unreadable expression. Probably worry, though. Luke could not blame her for that. "Change of plans. Take Luke back to Naboo."

Both Luke and Sabé seemed to have similar feelings on this, because they both looked at Padmé for a moment with absolute disbelief.

"What?" they gasped, nearly in unison. Luke pushed himself off the bed, whirling around to face his mother with wide eyes.

"Mama," he said, "I might be a bit confused, but I am not a fool. Something is wrong here. I can feel it."

"Something is wrong," his mother agreed, staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes. "But it is not something that I think I can fix, Luke. I need you to be safe, and this ship— it just isn't. If you're losing time—"

"I'm not sure that's what's happening," Luke cut in gently. She ignored him and carried on like he did not speak.

"— I want you to be at home, where a doctor can get to you quickly. You should never have come in the first place!"

"Mama," Luke sighed, not knowing how to argue with her logic. It was true enough. He probably should be somewhere more accessible.

"Luke," Padmé said, her voice melting into an echo of his tone as she stood up and grasped his face in her hands. "You know I'm right. This is not a good sign, and I want you to see Dr. Eldionne so we can gauge how far this amnesia has stretched."

"It's not amnesia," Luke said quietly. There was something buzzing inside him, an itch he could not scratch, but he was so sure of this fact that he wanted to scream it in his mother's face. But he would never do such a thing, so instead he whispered it, and he let himself be held by her like he was a child. It felt easier than being true. "And I don't think it has anything to do with my—"

"Sabé," Padmé called again, her fingers drifting from his face. He lowered his head and glared at the floor. "Help him pack his things. I'll return to Naboo as soon as we retrieve Jyn."

"Oh," Sabé said flatly, "you're still doing that?"

"Of course I am."

"Brilliant." Sabé's jaw was tight, her eyes fixed upon Padmé with an intensity that might have been worrying if it was anyone else. "Would you like me to pick anything up for you while I'm out?"

"Oh, don't be so sour about it," Padmé huffed, not meeting Sabé's gaze. Luke glanced at Sabé with a small, sympathetic smile. It was difficult when his mother got like this. There was no reasoning with her. But Sabé knew that better than any of them. "I'll be back soon. Your priority right now is Luke."

"And I'm happy to oblige." Sabé continued to fix Padmé with a pointed stare. "Luke and I will be on Naboo, then. Whenever you choose to return."

"Good." Padmé seemed to relax a bit. She turned to look up at Luke, her worry returning in an instant. "You'll be alright, won't you?"

Up for debate, he thought, but he merely nodded. He wished someone would explain to him what they were doing here, but it seemed in his mother's haste and panic she had already forgotten that he quite literally had no idea what was going on.

"Okay." His mother took a deep breath, and she closed her eyes. "Okay. I'm sorry, Luke, I'm sure this is all terribly confusing."

"Only a little," he told her gently. "I'll manage. I always do."

She looked up at him, and he could see the tears in her eyes as she smiled up at him. Reaching up, she grasped his face and pulled his head down so she could kiss his hair.

"Oh," she gasped, pulling him into a tight hug, "what did I do to deserve you?"

He did not answer. The truth was, he did not want her to run off, but he had never seen his mother so willing to leave him on his own before, and frankly he thought it was encouraging. There were many nights when Luke wondered what would happen when he finally… well, it was nice to see his mother outside of Naboo, even though Luke had no idea why it was they were here.

"Be careful," he murmured, squeezing her hands when she grasped them. "Be safe. Okay?"

"Why are you worrying about me?" Padmé searched his face in disbelief. "You really are a miracle. Please, Luke, focus on yourself for once."

He bit back a remark about how hypocritical that statement was and he nodded with a small smile.

"Sabé will catch you up," his mother said. "I'll see you soon, alright? I love you."

"Yes, Mama." He blinked. This was all so surreal. He felt a terrible feeling, a wave of nostalgia for this instant, like he'd done it all already. It made him freeze and stare at a wall, baffled and unsure. And for a moment, he thought, there was a shadow at the edge of his vision, like there was a man there. But it was gone in an instant.

"Luke?"

"Oh!" He looked at his mother, who was watching him worriedly. "I'm fine. Don't worry, Mama. I love you, too, alright? Stop worrying so much."

"Oh, you have a bit of memory loss from a seizure, but I'm not supposed to worry?" Padmé rolled her eyes. "Good of you to tell me now. It'll save me next time."

"If it'll save you the trouble," Luke said glibly, "it's worth it, isn't it?"

Padmé smiled at him fondly, though she did shake her head, and she turned to go. She stopped beside Sabé and whispered something in her ear. Sabé stood there, listened, and her face did not budge as his mother moved past her, touching Dormé's arm as the door slid open. Luke did not miss the long, sad look Dormé shot him as she turned with Padmé and exited the room.

When they were alone, Luke found himself shrinking a bit. Sabé's eyes were fixed upon his face, as sharp as ever, and he knew she suspected something was up.

"Do you truly not remember?" she asked, leaning her back against the closed door. She wore a pair of high waisted white trousers over a slate gray shirt. Her white vest was long and airy, and its hood crumpled around her neck in a delicate way.

"No." Luke sighed, rubbing his head and feeling once more that he was missing something crucial. "Something is wrong, though. It's not amnesia."

"Then what is it?" Sabé tilted her head. A small, playful smirk appeared on her lips. "The Force?"

What else could it be? Suddenly it felt like he was close to the precipice of his own fragmented memory. The dreams were hazy behind his eyes, unfocused and bleary, but he could almost touch them and rub away the fog like a frosted window. He could peer inside if he just was a bit closer.

"Ah," Sabé said when he did not reply, too stuck in his own head. He jumped, glancing up at her dazedly. "Right, then. We'll have to settle who gets to tell your mother that on our way home."

"Are we really going back to Naboo?" Luke pressed, something pulling on him, a tug of… of indescribable longing, something needy and strong, and he could not quite fathom it. "It feels like such a waste. I've never been on a Star Destroyer before, and now I hardly even remember it."

"It's not much to look at," Sabé said, "don't you fret. We'll be better off on Naboo."

He knew she didn't mean that. He could tell that much, at least. But she was pretty much bound by her own loyalty to his mother, and that meant they were stuck with her orders. It felt wrong to leave, but Luke knew that Sabé was not about to let them stay.

"Why were we on Grand Admiral Thrawn's ship, anyway?" he asked. He knew the Chimaera, of course, from his various deep dives into Imperial dealings and from tracking Leia's accomplishments. She was often assigned to Thrawn's aid for various things, probably because their father had a soft spot for the man. Worse, their mother seemed to like him just as much. Luke did not understand it, but he supposed the man had been kind when they'd been children. As an adult, Thrawn's charm died away, revealing something ugly beneath.

"Your father's doing." Sabé pushed off the door and shrugged. "Let's both count our blessings he's not here, shall we?"

Luke thought that it was true enough that it was for the best that his father was not there when Sabé was, because that would simply get too ugly too fast, but if he had been there, maybe he could tell Luke why he felt this way. What exactly was happening to him.

But Sabé was right. How long could Luke last with his father before a heated argument erupted? Who knew what had happened in the time that Luke did not have access to, but he imagined it wasn't pleasant.

"Where did he go?" he asked hesitantly.

"And of that," Sabé sighed, "I cannot be sure. I only just arrived here today."

"Well," Luke sighed, dropping down onto his bed and sweeping his bangs back from his face. "That's helpful. Well done."

With a roll of her eyes, Sabé smiled. "That's the little snot I missed," she said, all in fondness, though it made Luke scowled.

"I am not a snot," he said primly, "and I am not little. Honestly, Sabé."

"That is debatable." Drumming her fingers against her thigh thoughtfully, Sabé eyed him. "Should I leave you to get packed? I can wait in the hangar."

"I…" Luke was about to tell her that he had no idea where the hangar was, and that he wanted more answers, but he realized there was no point. They did not understand what was wrong with him any more than he did. Perhaps it would be better to be alone. "Okay. Yes, please."

"Your medicine is right here," Sabé said, pointing to a familiar box that filled him with relief when he saw it. He had not forgotten about it, exactly, but he'd never actually been parted with it before. "Now that you've forgotten everything, I suppose you won't be needing all the goodbyes?"

"I can decide that for myself, I think," Luke told her curtly. "I'll meet you in the hangar, then?"

"Yes." Sabé smiled at him fondly, and it was a similar smile to the one his mother had given him. "If you get lost, ask an officer. They're annoying, but they're harmless. To you, at least."

"Noted."

Only Sabé did not leave. She stared at him expectantly, like she was waiting for him to say something else, and when he didn't she only seemed… worried. Of course she was. He should be worried too, he knew, but he wasn't.

"Okay," Sabé said hesitantly. "Are you sure—"

"I'm a little confused, Sabé," he told her in the gentlest way possible, "not stupid. Like you said, I can just ask an officer."

And wouldn't that be strange. He'd met a few officers before, of course, Thrawn being one of them, but never in a formal setting. Never on their own turf. It would be strange.

"Alright," Sabé said, holding up her hands. "I get it. Can you blame me for worrying, though?"

"Hardly."

"So…" Sabé sighed, and she nodded. "We'll talk about this later. On our way home. But I don't want you to feel like we've abandoned you."

"Now why would I feel like that?" he asked innocently.

Truthfully, being left alone would be the best thing for him. He needed to gather his thoughts.

"No idea," Sabé said with a more pointedly feigned innocence, her eyes twinkling mischievously. Luke smiled at her, finding her nonchalant energy to be infectious and warm. He had not realized how much he had missed Sabé. When had he last seen her? "See you in a bit, then?"

"Yes, Sabé."

One last look, a spark of concern still residing in her sharp eyes, and she was gone. Luke was alone with the thoughts and feelings, the locked up memories, the knowledge that he did experience things he could not remember in some capacity. He just had to figure out how to unearth all that.

It was all very concerning, he supposed, to an outsider. But it was not like Luke hadn't lost time before. Just never so severely as this, where it was a noticeable leap from Naboo to a Star Destroyer. Also, he had no idea how much time he had lost. It was not as if his days at home were distinguishable from one another. He supposed if he thought hard enough, the last thing he remembered was trying to fall asleep to a holodrama, but that could be any night.

He picked up the discarded datapad from the foot of his bed, only to find he was locked out of it. Had he changed the password in his delirium? How strange. Well, he could bypass the password if he sliced the datapad, which wouldn't take him too long. He went through the motions of it until he got access, though he still had no idea what the password was supposed to be.

He'd change it later. It wasn't like he wouldn't have the time.

Finding his locked folder, Luke was a bit relieved to see that he had made a new video in the past few days. Not only that, but it seemed like the last video he remembered recording had only been about five days ago, meaning he had not lost as much time as he had initially thought.

Only the video was… not what he'd been expecting.

"Hi," the recording of Luke said. "This will seem weird to you, but I'm… um, well, I'm you. I took over your body by accident, and I'm trying to find my way home."

Luke paused the playback, stared at his own face, and he found himself sitting there with a slightly slackened jaw, his ears ringing as he tried to digest that information.

Is this the Force playing a trick on me?

Hesitantly, he continued the video.

"But," the doppelganger said, and Luke found himself fixated on the strange quality of his voice, "I'm Luke Skywalker, same as you. Just…" The strange, not-Luke looked away suddenly. Again there was something wrong here. It was incredibly uncanny, because that was Luke's face! That was his voice! But it was obvious to him that this was not him. And that made sense, in the strangest way. When not-Luke continued, his voice was quiet, but firm.

"I come from a world where our life was different. I never got sick the way you are, but I never knew my parents. I think my mother— our mother — died a little after Leia and I were born. I was raised on Tatooine. I never knew I had a sister. So I understand, you know, what it means to be away from her. But, look. Look at me! I spent more than half my life never knowing she even existed, but that never lessened our bond."

Luke paused the video again, this time setting the datapad aside. He drew his hands over his mouth and stared at the opposite wall dazedly.

Well, it was strange, and he did not want to think too deeply about it, but it did make sense. It wasn't like Luke felt panicked or confused by this sudden revelation, merely reassured, which told him all he needed to know about this other Luke. In fact, now that he thought about it, the strange haze of knowing he'd experienced the past few days, but not directly…

Had Luke done this to himself? Had he allowed this to happen? He did not remember, but nothing about this situation particularly shocked him in any way, which was strange. He knew it was strange. Yet he could not even force himself to feel surprised at the revelation that a strange version of him, a different Luke, had taken over his body.

He did not want to think too hard about what the man with his face and voice had said about himself and Leia. Taking Luke's body was fine. Luke did not feel that he needed it much anyway. But knowing that this… other-world version of himself, who had no idea what his life was like, had seen the videos meant for Leia, now that was unacceptable. He should change the password again.

Only, when Luke went to do so, he was struck with the horrible realization that other-world Luke was still here.

"Hello?" Luke looked around the room. He stood up, blinking as he turned about, feeling entirely foolish and unsure. "Are you here?"

He was met with silence. Maybe the other-world Luke was experiencing whatever Luke had experienced in the past few days. A dream-like state, neither awake nor asleep. That was unlucky. But still, knowing that there was someone else here, lingering inside his body, dormant and silent… it made it easier for Luke to sense him.

Only he sensed something else. Another presence. It was… distinctly foreign and prickly, and Luke wondered if that was his other self, or something… else.

"Hello?" he repeated. He turned about in place a few times, getting a bit dizzy, until his eyes fixed upon the empty corner. He stared at it for a long time, feeling that he was being watched. So he watched back, until, finally, a strange burst of green light, fluttering and rasping like deep breaths from all directions, solidified in the corner until it took shape and form and melted into a person.

A woman stood there in a red cowl, her pale face marked with dark, grayish tattoos, and she tilted her head at him while he continued to stare at her.

"You are strange," she said, her Basic accented. Her lips quirked into a small smirk. "Though I suspect you are having a strange day, no?"

"You've been here long enough, I think." His eyes scraped over her, taking in her ornamental dress and he shifty presence in the Force. "You tell me."

The woman shrugged. She was probably dangerous, but Luke had never really met another Force sensitive person outside his family, so he was not about to pass up the chance to ask her what the hell was happening to him.

"I noticed the change," she admitted. "I thought it peculiar, but it is not unheard of for souls to get a bit lost. At least with magick."

"Magick," Luke repeated, now more than a little curious. "You mean the Force?"

"Eh." The woman wobbled her hand back and forth. "Something like that. My people are well acquainted with other worlds, so I am not surprised, but you seem to be taking your…" She eyed him. "Predicament of sort rather well, all things considered."

"My life is rather boring," Luke said simply. He did not want to elaborate, and the woman did not ask him to. "If this is something you know about, can you help me? Er, us?"

"It is not magick that brought your other-world self here, child," the woman said with a sigh. "I can tell you that he must return to whence he came, for your own sake, but how is beyond me. I cannot fix a curse like this. But there is ritual to magick. Maybe your Force begs for ritual too."

"I'm not sure if I'm the right person for all that," Luke said, laughing sheepishly. "I can't really use the Force much at all. Couldn't you help? I'd be in your debt."

"Ah, no." The woman grimaced a bit, and she shook her head. "No debts from you, child. You do not want to be indebted to me in this life or the next. Do you not know what I am?"

"I…"

Of course he did not. She was an alien, certainly, but very humanoid which suggested cross-species breeding that had made human features more dominant in the evolution of her species. What species she was, however, Luke hadn't a clue. He read quite a bit, but some information was beyond even his slicing capabilities.

"I am a nightsister," she said calmly. "A witch, if you prefer. Debts for us do not come cheaply. I will give you advice, though. If you'd like to continue this conversation, I am in a bit of a hurry, so…"

Nightsister, he thought, the name familiar when her appearance was not. Nightsister…

There had been a classified file he had gotten his hands on a few years ago that he was certain had been about this woman and her people, but most of it had been redacted.

"Oh." Luke nodded. "Okay. Let me just get my stuff together."

The woman merely snorted while he gathered his datapad and medicine.

"You're from Dathomir," he said, glancing back at her curiously, "right?"

"So you are not so stupid. Nice to know."

Luke flushed as he looked through his sparse drawers for clothing. He wondered if his other self had been the one to pack, because there was nothing here Luke himself would have chosen to fit together as a full ensemble.

"I just mean," Luke said quickly, "because… the nightsisters… I've—" He considered his own position, knowing well enough that he could not tell this random stranger that he regularly sliced Imperial systems, channels, and data caches from his bedroom out of boredom and rebellion. "It's just, I have heard stories—"

"It is best to leave us to your bedtime stories, Prince Luke," the woman said sharply. He turned to look at her, surprised. "Tell me, how sympathetic are you to the rebel cause?"

That surprised him. It shouldn't have, but it did. The rebellion was not something foreign to him, but he was not in any position to admit to his own illegal activity, so he feigned a worried glance and tried to look a bit meeker. It would not be hard, he thought. Most people who met him for the first time tended to view him as such.

"Is that why you're here?" He gripped a cape that had been bundled up in one of his drawers in his hands and stared up at her. "That's rather dangerous, isn't it?"

"I assume your concern for my safety is a yes." She nodded pleasantly. "Good. The echo of yourself, the other-world you, he is too."

"How did you get onto the ship?" Luke blinked at her. "This is a Star Destroyer. That couldn't be easy."

"Magick."

When he simply stared at her, she sighed, and disassembled herself with a startling burst of green light, her face dematerializing with an odd staticky hiss. He gaped at the empty place where she had been, and jumped when that same hiss blew into his ear, and the green light pulsed beside him. Suddenly the woman was crouching on the ground, her face close to his.

"Boo," she said. He fell back, and the bundle in his hands skittered to the ground. It thunked heavily.

"Oh," he murmured. "That's…"

"I told you." The nightsister shrugged, standing up straight. "Magick is different. I make you see what I want you to see. It is part illusion, part hex. Realities are subjective in our area of expertise. It is all much more complicated than sensing and feeling, or whatever it is you Jedi do."

"I'm…" Luke blinked up at her. "I'm not a Jedi."

The nightsister quirked an eyebrow at him. "No?" she said, pointing at the bundled cape on the ground. "Then what is that?"

When he looked down, he saw the strangest thing. It was a bulky, rectangular, stubby looking object. A handle of some-sort. Pulling it from the cape, Luke thought it felt rather heavy in his hands, and he looked up at the witch in alarm.

"I have no idea," he said.

"Oh," the nightsister sighed, "you darling little fool. Press that button, there."

There were a few buttons, and the nightsister had to point the right one out to him. She was rather patient for a witch on a mission. He knew he should ask her name, but truthfully he thought it might be better if he didn't know. Plausible deniability.

"Ah!" Luke nearly dropped the strange handle when it burst alive, revealing itself to be a brilliant, if not oddly shaped, blue lightsaber. He had held lightsabers before in moderate passing, but never like this and always under supervision. "What—? Where did this come from?"

"The Jedi on board, then, I assume, if it is not yours." The nightsister eyed him curiously. "Your echo-self was adamant that the Jedi be freed. Do you not share the sentiment?"

His mind was reeling, and he was still processing the weapon in his hands while he knelt on the floor before this woman. All these things should have been shocking and terrible, the knowledge that some other-world version of himself had assumed his life, that he was still inside Luke somewhere, but none of it did. Perhaps Luke could not find it in himself to care because, frankly, his life was terribly dull, and this was the most interesting thing to ever happen to him.

Plus, it was nice to know that the gaps in his memory were due to something other than his illness. Weird other-world possession was preferable to his body deteriorating at an accelerated rate.

"I've never met a Jedi," Luke said softly, a bit mesmerized by the soft whir of the lightsaber as he waved it back and forth. "There aren't enough of them left."

"Is that a yes?" the nightsister asked with a small smirk.

"I have a feeling you will simply save the Jedi anyway." Luke banished the lightsaber and wrapped it back up in the cloak. He stuffed it into his rucksack and tossed it onto his back. What was the likelihood he'd be able to pass this along to this apparent Jedi? Well, he couldn't carry it in plain sight, anyway. "I would like to know more about magick, though. Shall we go?"

"If you understand the concept of walk and talk, maybe yes." The woman dematerialized as he exited the room, and he blinked rapidly. Not about to talk to himself, Luke slowly made his way into the hall, peering around the yawning corridor with wide eyes.

"I am here, child," a whispery voice tickled his ear. He jumped a bit, but he did not look around to see if he could see her. That seemed pointless. "Let us go. I will lead the way."

He nodded once. A small, flitting orb of green light blipped into reality before him, and he watched it fizzle out before appearing a few feet away. Trailing toward it, he felt a bit like a child in a fairytale. Certainly if he was, this would not end well in any capacity for him. A witch leading him off to do uncertain crimes while he was more or less in the process of getting possessed.

It was sort of funny though. He was generally amused by the whole ordeal.

The ship was enormous, he realized, as he drifted through the corridor. It was a bit disorienting, especially when he spotted a few troopers coming toward him. He watched them with wild eyes, pressing his back to the nearest wall, and they tipped their helmets toward him.

"Prince," one of them said casually.

Luke blinked and managed a little nod. Then he shuffled away, his heart thudding wildly against his chest. He'd been to Theed, of course, and glimpsed stormtroopers in passing, but never so close. Never like this. It felt so militant and needless, the way they stomped around. Surely there were better options.

"You seem frightened." The witch's voice was light in his ear, and he glanced over his shoulder with a small frown. "Is this why you allow your echo-self to walk around so freely?"

"I'm not allowing anything," he murmured, eyeing the empty hall before quickly stepping after the blipping green orb.

"Mm." He could hear the amusement in the witch's voice. "You allow it a little."

And he could not deny that, not really, because there was some truth to this idea that maybe Luke didn't mind living on auto-pilot for a bit. It seemed like this other version of himself had done more to actively hurt the Empire than Luke himself ever had been able to from his bedroom. Gathering information and compiling pirated databanks wasn't nothing, exactly, but summoning a witch to break out a Jedi was in itself one of the craziest things Luke had ever heard, and now he was part of it.

"Well," Luke sighed, coming to an elevator and watching it slide open on its own accord. There was no one inside. "Maybe I don't mind as much as I should. But he seems to have things under control, doesn't he?"

"He did get your friend shot." The witch hummed while Luke stood in the elevator, his mouth falling open.

"Shot?" he uttered. "My friend? Who?"

"The Princess of Alderaan."

Jyn? Really? Yet Luke could not find it in him to be shocked at this revelation. It wasn't like it was the first or last time Jyn would get shot.

"I suppose that explains why Mama is so distracted," Luke sighed.

"Not so worried about her, then?" the witch asked.

"Jyn's always getting into trouble." Luke realized a bit too late that there was a camera in the lift, and he angled his face away from it. "Should I be worried?"

"Eh."

Pursing his lips, Luke hooked his thumbs around the straps of his rucksack and glanced at the numbers as they blinked by. While he did not particularly think there was anything to worry about with Jyn, his mother had appearances to maintain. And also, generally, his mother was closer to Bail Organa than Luke was to Jyn. They were good friends, and she was probably his best friend outside of his own twin, but they had not seen each other in years. They talked sparingly, with good intentions, but it was hard for people to remember to count Luke in on their plans when he was generally eternally grounded.

"I'm going to just assume she'll be fine," Luke murmured. "I have other things to worry about. Did you, er… magick yourself onto the ship, or…?"

"Magick is strong," the witch said, "but even I cannot teleport through space. I snuck onto your transport, which is how I noticed your little echo problem. A bit hard to miss, if I am honest."

"I see," he said, resting his head back as the doors slid open. "So you will need to find a ship to leave."

"I found a ship already. I simply need to get there in time."

Pushing off the wall, Luke peered into the corridor. There was an officer nearby, and he swallowed hard as he passed the man, feeling incredibly suspicious as he slinked through the halls.

"Are you invisible?" he whispered.

"Yes and no." The orb flitted before Luke, and he tried to catch up with it, only for it to disappear again. "I am here in the same way that you are here when your echo-self takes over. You never left your body, did you?"

He thought on that, but the answer seemed obvious. It had felt like he had been half-sleeping the whole time because that is exactly what had happened. It wasn't like Luke had much else to do. Getting possessed was hardly on his agenda for the next few years, but it had gotten him off Naboo for a bit, so he supposed he had allowed it in some capacity.

It was hard not to wonder what this other Luke was like. The video had been hard to watch, with the reminder of Leia and the uncanniness of his own mouth speaking words that were not his, with a voice that was distinctly wrong. How had no one noticed? Luke didn't sound like that at all!

But then, he supposed not many people paid much attention to begin with.

"I'd like to know more about magick," Luke said.

"It is not something a boy like you should learn." The green light seemed to fizzle out before a door. Luke stared at it blankly. Then the door slid open, and he stepped inside the room, surprised to find an older gentleman in a cot. Luke knew a Med Bay when he saw one, but he had been incredibly preoccupied with the witch.

The door slid shut behind him, and the man seemed puzzled as he stared at Luke.

"This is an unexpected visit," the man said. "Where is the Grand Admiral?"

Luke opened his mouth and then closed it. He had no idea where Thrawn was supposed to be, and it wasn't like he was about to go find out. Luckily the nightsister saved him by materializing in a blinding burst of green light. The old man jumped a bit, and Luke was once again dazzled by the display of magick.

"Hello, Galen," the nightsister said, a single hand placed on her hip. "Happy to see me?"

The man, Galen, did not look as shocked as he should have been to see a red-clad witch materialize out of nowhere.

"Merrin," the man uttered softly, "what are you doing here?"

Oh, so that's her name, Luke thought, hoping that this wouldn't endanger her.

"They said it was an impossible job," Merrin said flippantly. "You want the impossible, you call a nightsister."

"And who am I to be afforded such a privilege?" Galen asked, his voice strangely soft and reserved. There was a politeness to his question, but Luke lived with a politician, and he could sense the man's clear disapproval. He did not think he was worth rescuing.

"Sometimes people deserve to live, regardless of who they are or have been." Merrin offered a shrug. "I will have to do something quite ugly, though. Apologies, Prince Luke."

"For what?" Luke asked. He glanced at Galen curiously, noting how he looked suddenly quite worried. "Am I missing something?"

Merrin tilted her head. "Yes," she said. "But do not worry yourself over such things. For now, I would like you to stand there and scream. Then, maybe, get the Jedi out of here. I cannot take them both."

It took him a moment to process what she was asking of him, and in that moment Galen grimaced, his eyes flashing to Merrin tiredly.

"Oh, Merrin," he said, "you shouldn't do this to him."

"I should not," Merrin seemed to agree, and then she smiled in a strange and terrifying way. Luke could see the magick, the strange greenish light, as it hissed and murmured, strange voices frothing out of a crystal vial in her hand. She uncorked it, and suddenly those voices swelled, and in a dizzying cacophony of sound and light, Luke was blinded, and when he turned to look at Galen, he saw a gruesome and ugly sight indeed, a man who had been torn inside out and left to bleed out.

Only Luke did not scream. He simply stared at the terrible scene, his brain short-circuiting, and realized that he was no longer looking at the dead man at all, but instead drifting lazily backwards until he found himself knee deep in a lake, reeds tickling his fingers, and Naboo's sun cast upon his face.

And he could forget for a little while. He was glad to forget for a little while.

In her childhood bedroom, in the depths of her mind, she could sit and listen to her brother singing on the balcony, a breeze coming in from the lake, and all her fears were absorbed into the carpet beneath her feet. Lifting her head, she pushed herself up onto her elbows, and she could see him from this angle, one leg swinging off the edge of the polished limestone parapet, his back against a column, and she thought he seemed so carefree.

And she thought she seemed so envious, knowing well enough the price he paid for that innocence.

The song was something their mother would sing absently, and Leia had known it once, but she never heard it anymore. Her life was like that. Little things once constant and beloved were faded and foreign to her now.

It was a song native to Naboo, not like the lullabies their father used to sing them when he'd visited, which were of an indeterminate origin. It took a simple holonet search to find out that their father was from Tatooine, but he never spoke about the place. This song, the Naboo song, it was rich a flowing melody, a testament to the waters of the planet itself. The words flitted into her ears and out of her ears, ephemeral as spring.

"Ripple, reflection, ripple, rise,

Ferry yourself across the sky,

And lie in the bed of stars

While I ripple in your arms,

Just a reflection taken form

A fairy ferried by the storm,

Ripple, reflection, ripple, rise,

Leave yourself in short supply,

And go down to the river, fie!

Go down to the river to die

And take the ripple's sigh,

Goodbye, and take the ripple by

The hand and leave the lie,

Ripple, reflection, ripple, rise."

All the world could have stopped in that moment, and he would still be singing. Maybe it was better that it didn't, and she could live in this moment for eternity.

But she would never leave well enough alone. It was not in her nature. So she sat up, and he stopped singing, as if on cue, and she was left with the acute feeling of loneliness. Like they were lightyears away rather than mere feet.

He said, "If you miss me so much, let me see you. Let me save you."

And so she sat, her fingers pressing against the soft carpet, the one she and Luke used to trace with their fingers until their knees ached from crawling along the floor, and she could not think in that moment. Because she did miss him. She missed him so much it hurt.

But she did not say that.

She said, "Save me from what, exactly? What position are you in to save anyone?"

The emptiness was not new. She must have had this dream a hundred times. Now she could not tell if this was a memory of something real or a memory of something she simply dearly wanted. Reality, Leia thought, was overrated. In her dreams she could relive this moment over and over, and feel less and less alive for her troubles.

Then, with the ease of a man who had all the worries in the world and none of the care, he said, "You can say you don't want to be saved. It might be easier for you."

"I don't need saving," she argued, frustrated to the last, because she didn't. She didn't! But every day got harder, and every night this argument got more and more warped and distant, like she was fighting with a ghost, and she wanted to push him off the balcony she was so tired of this, but she was too desperate for his company. It was better when he wasn't real. If this was really Luke, then she would have much more to worry about than who needed to save who.

"You say that," Luke said, never turning around, "but we're both trapped, aren't we? It's not like either of us have had a choice in where our lives have gone. At this point, it's not a question of if we will die, but who will die first."

"I won't let that happen," Leia said, her voice hardening while she found herself unable to hold a gaze on the back of his head. He wasn't even looking at her. She had made grown men cry with a glance but she could not even look at her own brother without flinching away.

"It's not up to you, Leia."

She was angry. She was frustrated. She was losing.

It used to be that she won this argument every time. That he would be struck silent, and she could leave this dream at least somewhat smugly.

Now she did not know peace.

"I can fix you," she said fiercely, dragging herself to her feet. Her room was getting less distinct, like a haze had fallen over it. What was the color of the carpet? Where did the patterns go? Was her bedframe wooden or metal? What lined her walls? Paintings? Holos? Nothing at all? The minutiae of her whole life seemed to be dwindled down to a gray room and a glitch in her memory. "I know I can. Just give me a chance, just give me some time—"

"Time?"

Her brother turned his head to look at her for the first time, and she was not surprised to see that his face was rotted and shriveled. His eyes were sightless and dim.

"What time, Leia?" the dead boy who had her brother's voice asked. "Whose time are you using, really?"

"You aren't dead yet!"

"No."

She was crying, which was embarrassing, but she could not help it. Every time she saw his face like this, she cried, and that was how she knew she was losing this battle. No, she was losing this war.

"I know how this happened to you," she blurted, feeling desperate. "I can fix it, I know it. I can make it so this never happens to you, Luke."

The dead boy— and he was a boy, the child of Leia's memory— tilted his head. There was no expression on his face, the decomposition would not allow it, but she knew he was simply saddened by her words.

"And what use is that?" he asked her softly. "Would I simply be trading in one death sentence for another?"

"I can fix it all," she said, feeling delirious. "I know I can."

"Leia," her dead brother said, "you have spent so much of our lives trying to give me more time that you have squandered what little time I have left."

And just like that, she'd lost.

And just like that, she awoke.

Tears in her eyes, burning against her nose, she awoke, and she wanted to scream.

It wasn't fair. She was always left with this haunted feeling, a limb cut off and its stump aching terribly, like she was reaching with it and coming up empty. But then, at some point during her imprisonment, she'd seen the real Luke while she'd slept. And hadn't that been strange? She had almost preferred the deathly visage of him over whatever hell he had put himself through to contact her.

It did not help, knowing that he still cared. She had hoped that after all this time he would simply hate her. He'd stopped trying to contact her, after all.

What would he think if he could see her now? Would he be amused? Proud? Or would he just be disappointed?

It was an easier, more comforting thing to imagine his opinion than either of their parents. Her father would probably hate her by the end of this, and her mother already did hate her, so all she really had was the hope that maybe she could fix it all for real.

So it did not really matter who hated her in the end. They would all be happier once she fixed it. They would be happy. Luke would be alive, and healthy, and her father would not be chronically prone to fits of anger at the most inopportune times, and maybe her mother might actually love their father again.

Maybe it was hubris, but Leia was not above admitting she was a creature of pride, habit, and destruction above all else. And she would destroy her whole life just to remake it into something better. If that meant that she could keep Luke.

Hearing footsteps in her small cavern cell, Leia sat up quickly and swiped at her face. She knew she was dirty, but the last thing she needed were visible tear tracks on her cheeks. The heater they'd stuck down here was serviceable, but she still shivered as she watched the tall Togruta woman approach.

"What's all this?" Leia asked. There was a man she did not recognize in a heavy white water-resistant coat, its fur-lined hood tickling his cheeks. He watched her with tired, narrowed eyes. "Come to pass judgement on me?"

Ahsoka Tano was not someone she would normally put much faith or trust in. It wasn't like her father liked talking about her, but by virtue of her existence as a rebel, Leia had learned to live in the strange, looming shadow of her father's former apprentice. It was easy to tell herself that Tano had been the failed apprentice, and that Leia was the real deal. When she had been younger and more naïve, she had really thought that to be true.

Now, though, Leia did not blame Tano for how things had gone. It was her treatment of Leia's father that bothered her more than anything else.

If you cared about him at all, she had thought more than a few times in the past… however many days, why would you leave him? Why would you let him get consumed by the Emperor for so long?

By extension, Tano had doomed Leia to the same fate. It was not like she had been born knowing the Emperor was a selfish beast of a man. She had learned it the hard way, through grueling training, through the terror of watching her father's fate begin to teeter before her as she got more powerful and the Emperor got more invested in her future.

Leia was not stupid. No matter what these rebels thought, she could see the flaws in the system. But what was the alternative? Endless war? If Sheev Palpatine had taught her anything, it was that power was a universal language. Those with power made the rules.

She just needed the power to make things right. That's all.

"So this is the Imperial princess?" The man's brow furrowed. He had an accent that marked him as someone who grew up outside the Core. Not exactly an Outer Rim drawl, but something else. "Not what I imagined."

"You can keep your imaginations to yourself," Leia said coolly, her eyes narrowing right back. "Who is this clown?"

"He's a friend," Ahsoka said, crouching down so that they could be somewhat eye-level with each other. Leia was a bit too short for that, and she knew it, but she met Ahsoka's gaze anyway. "Leia, I believe you have good intentions. You wouldn't have risked your life otherwise."

"We've had this discussion before," Leia said. "Who is this guy? I won't answer any questions while he's here, unless he's very high up in your command chain."

"You are in for a disappointment, Princess," the man said dryly.

"Great," Leia muttered. She was not convinced that these people would let her go, but she also knew her father was looking for her. It was unlikely this would end well for anyone involved, and she shouldn't care, but she did. Mostly, she told herself, because these people would give her up in a second.

Would her father believe that she was a traitor? She didn't think so, but then again anything was possible. She had seen her father at his worst, and though he did love her, that love always felt a bit muddied by their individual roles in the Empire.

It was clear to her that she was his favorite child, but that did not mean she was infallible by any means.

"Leia," Ahsoka said gently, "look at me. Please."

She did. She saw the woman's blue eyes dim as she gazed down at her, like a light was lowering behind them. It was not fair that this woman seemed to think she could pity Leia. Leia should be pitying her. After all, who was more likely to die at Vader's hand at this point?

Then as Ahsoka gazed at her, something seemed to change in her expression. It hardened, and Leia wondered if she was preparing to do something drastic. A fight, perhaps, was brewing behind those blue eyes, and Leia coiled up instinctively as Ahsoka reached out.

I can take her, she thought, knowing well enough that she had no lightsaber, no weapon at all, and Ahsoka was a fearsome opponent. Her father had told her time and time again that if she was to face Ahsoka in battle that she should call him immediately. At least she had an excuse for losing, if she ever returned to him.

Inexplicably, the shield between them stuttered out, and Leia shrunk a bit as she watched Ahsoka warily. Should she make a run for it? Her gaze fell on one of the lightsabers on Ahsoka's hilt. She could make it if she got her hands on one of them.

Suddenly there was a blaster in her face, and Leia froze. She eyed it, knowing she could dodge a blaster bolt easily enough but she was still trapped in her little cavern cell. There was not a lot of room to move around.

"What are you doing?" Ahsoka demanded, rising to her feet and grabbing the man by the wrist. He did not buckle, nor did he blink as she glowered down at him. "Stand down!"

"She was about to pounce," he scoffed, tearing his arm from her grasp and tipping his head up to glare back at her. "Why not explain to her what we are doing, hm? Seems better than being cryptic and unhelpful."

When Ahsoka did not immediately speak, the man pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

"Get up, princess," he said. "You are being freed."

"Am I?" she asked coolly. Because how was she supposed to believe that?

Well, perhaps Ahsoka would do it. She was a bit stupid in that overly trusting, optimistic way. A bit, Leia thought and regretting the thought immediately, like Luke. But everything in her told her that it was impossible. That people did not simply do that. Of course she'd asked to be freed, and Ahsoka had vouched for her, but there was no way anyone had actually agreed to that.

And yet, Ahsoka Tano was sighing, her eyes flitting down to Leia and her lips quirking into a small smile.

"If your father asks," she said, "it wasn't me."

And that's how Leia knew this was really happening. Her legs stretched out, aching a bit from disuse, but she was stumbling out of the tiny cell hurriedly, putting as much distance as she could between herself and Ahsoka before she could overthink it.

"Don't worry," Leia said with a short snort. "I don't have a death wish."

Unfortunately, Ahsoka did not pick up on the joke, leaving Leia feeling a bit awkward as she was once again the object of the woman's pity. Shaking off the intense desire to scream, Leia placed her hands on her hips and straightened herself up to her full height. Obviously it did not do much, as Ahsoka Tano was well over a foot and a half taller than her, but she felt the confidence well up inside her as she was able to stand tall and proud despite being filthy, exhausted, and absolutely humiliated.

"Is there a particular reason you are risking it all to free me?" Leia asked, tipping her head back to watch Ahsoka's expression. Unreadable, of course, with the most minute twitch of her brow. "I know you were not given permission. It is rather obvious."

"Believe it or not," Ahsoka said, her arms crossing over her chest, "I exist independent of the larger Rebellion. They can punish me if they want to, but it would be to their detriment."

"I'm sure it would be," Leia said smoothly. Her eyes flashed to the man behind her. "And him?"

"None of your concern," the man said curtly before Ahsoka could speak.

"Oh, but I think it is." Leia stepped forward, her gaze lingering on his face. "What did you think this would entail? You are freeing me, and that is, in all actuality, quite treasonous."

The man did not even blink.

"Your point?" he asked after a beat, allowing her to momentarily become a bit shaken by his lack of reaction.

"Enough, Leia," Ahsoka sighed. "We don't have time for this. You delivered the information you needed to, and now you should go home. That is all this is."

"I think your Twi'lek friend would disagree."

"That's between me and her." Ahsoka glanced behind her, and the man simply shrugged. "Listen, Leia, you've done enough. You never should have gotten caught up like this in the first place."

That was unfortunate. She would have to personally make Sabine Wren's life miserable for her inability to be fully clear when creating her little messages.

"And whose fault is that?" Leia demanded. "Now you're letting me go, and I'm just supposed to… what? Stroll into the Imperial palace and pretend this didn't happen?"

"That wasn't my plan," Ahsoka said, sounding amused, "but if that's what you want…"

Leia scowled. When she did not have an immediate rebuttal, the man tossed a shiny black poncho at her, and she caught it with a scowl. It was insulated, at the very least, so maybe she wouldn't be as cold. They had tried to heat her cell, and they had fed her multiple times, which had surprised her. The food was terrible, but she knew they were military rations, and they were feeding her, a prisoner, the same terrible food as they fed their own troops. Hilarious.

Tossing the poncho over her head, Leia felt silly. It was practical, but it was also ugly, and she'd learned that her appearance was as necessary a tool as anything else. Though there was no need to be intimidating right now, so maybe the poncho would help her blend in.

"Let's move," Ahsoka said, grasping the fabric behind Leia's head and wrenching a hood over her eyes. She bit back an impudent, childish cry of dissent, and stomped up an incline after her. Ahsoka had to duck, as her montrals would otherwise stab into the stalactite above them, but Leia and the unnamed man managed fine.

She momentarily froze as they brushed past a small, bustling hub of people. Rebels. Leia stared at them as they laughed on a pile of crates, a few people working on fixing a droid while some others played what appeared to be sabacc. The unnamed man noticed she had stopped, and he doubled back to grab her by the shoulder and steer her forward.

"Move," he whispered, causing her to scowl and shrug him off viciously.

"I'm moving," she snapped, hurrying after Ahsoka. She was stunned when they exited out of a large tunnel, and a burst of frigid air hit Leia's face. Shuddering, she gripped her hood as the violent wind battered it, threatening to wip it back and expose her to the elements. It felt like several lashes upon her cheeks, snow and ice kicking up and scraping her face.

"Here."

Leia instinctively caught whatever Ahsoka had thrown at her, and she was stunned to see that it was a heavy woolen scarf. The woman merely pushed into the whipping winds, her shoulders bare, her boots sinking into fresh snow, and Leia gaped at her a moment before winding the scarf around her neck, covering her mouth, and pressing forward defiantly. Beside her, the unnamed man seemed to have no problem trekking through the snow. In fact, he seemed entirely in his element, moving swiftly as they wound through an underpass and were briefly given a reprieve from the wailing winds.

"We have a few requests," Ahsoka said softly, "if you can manage them."

"I've gone this far, haven't I?" She did not like any insinuation that she couldn't manage something, even though she was certain Ahsoka was trying to trick her. It would work. Leia was not too proud to admit that. "What is it now?"

"First," Ahsoka said, peering out the exit of the underpass, the snow salient as it clung to the windstream, "I need you to get Ezra Bridger away from your father."

"That was obvious." Leia had not even considered not doing that. After all, no matter how irritating the man was, they had no need for new inquisitors. The Emperor already treated them like they were expendable, and Leia personally had no interest in watching more Force-sensitives become fodder.

"You'll do it?" Ahsoka asked, sounding relieved.

"Yes," Leia hissed, frustrated that she was being doubted. Well, it wasn't like Leia fully trusted this woman either, but they were in a strange situation. "I'll save the stupid Jedi-wannabe. What else do you want?"

"It won't be easy to get Ezra away from Vader, though," Ahsoka pressed, facing her with worried eyes.

"Let me handle my father," Leia said dismissively. "You clearly have forgotten how to deal with him."

Ahsoka bristled at the comment, and Leia allowed herself a moment's satisfaction for hurting the woman. It was over quickly when Ahsoka merely moved on.

"The second request is about Thrawn," Ahsoka said.

"You realize I'm not a miracle worker," Leia sighed, "don't you? I can play the Emperor and my father, but Grand Admiral Thrawn is a different beast entirely."

Though Lieutenant Wren had managed this long under his nose. And Leia was considerably more powerful than the Mandalorian woman.

"I do understand that," Ahsoka said firmly. "But this is important. We need Thrawn to exit the Raioballo system, at least for a little while."

Now that was manageable.

"You just need him somewhere else?" Leia demanded. She was aware of the intensity of the unnamed man's gaze in this instance.

"Yes," Ahsoka said.

"Well that's simple." Leia rolled her eyes. "If that's all, then I'll gladly do it for you. I don't like being indebted to anyone, and I will be calling this even."

"Rightfully so," Ahsoka said amusedly. She glanced out the exit of the underpass, and she tilted her head. "You ready to go, Princess Leia?"

"Don't call me that, Jedi," Leia snapped at the woman. "It sounds like an insult, coming from you."

"That's because it is," the unnamed man said. Leia simply sneered at him.

"Alright," Ahsoka said, smirking a little. "Sorry about this."

Leia saw the punch coming, but she did not have time to block it. She was thrown to the icy floor of the underpass, momentarily blinded. It was painful, but that was simply because Ahsoka had not held back. She'd closed her fingers into a fist and smacked down upon Leia's forehead. Her teeth caught on her lower lip, and she spat blood onto the glittering white ground. It pooled inside her mouth as she pushed herself onto her hands and knees and glowered up at Ahsoka.

"Hey," Ahsoka said with a shrug, "it has to be believable, right?"

"Fuck you," Leia spat, scrambling to her feet. To her immense surprise, Ahsoka Tano took her by the shoulders and forced her into the most uncomfortable position, Leia's bloody face falling somewhere between her bicep and collarbone.

She was squeezed into a tight, almost desperate hug, and Leia stood there stiffly, her mind racing, her head pounding, and she thought this must be a trick. Would Ahsoka stab her? Would she slip a tracking device into her pocket? What was the catch?

"You're so smart, Leia," Ahsoka murmured in her ear. "I know you can make it out of this. If you need me, I will find my way to you. I promise."

Leia wrenched herself out of Ahsoka's grip, wild-eyed and confused. She eyed the woman uncertainly as the roar of an engine finally cut through the wailing wind. A ship was landing outside the cavern.

"Be safe," Ahsoka said gently.

Gritting her teeth and shooting one last bemused glance at Ahsoka, Leia turned her back on her father's old apprentice and she dove into the storm. The wind nearly toppled her over, and her poncho, scarf, and hood went whipping around her like they were individually possessed. She spotted the gangplank as it lowered, and she dashed up it, snow clinging to her boots, until she could finally hear herself think and her stinging ears could adjust to warmth for the first time in a while.

When the ramp closed, Leia stood there in the hold of an old ship, shivering and covered from head to toe in hoarfrost, and she heaved a few deep breaths, the warm air knifing through her lungs. Her trembling fingers smoothed back her the damp strands of hair that had gotten stuck to her forehead, and the ice crystals crunched as she tried to make herself look somewhat presentable.

Glancing around, the hold was sparse and a bit cramped. It wasn't an enormous ship, but it was serviceable for ferrying cargo, by the looks of the length of it. Beside the gate she had entered, which was now firmly shut, there was a ladder. She wondered who on earth could have taken the job of picking up an Imperial princess from a bunch of rebels and dropping her off at home.

Knocking the excess snow off her boots, she gripped the ladder with tingling fingers, drawing herself up carefully, not wanting to slip. She found herself between doors, landing a bit unsteadily, and she swallowed hard as she faced the cockpit and licked the blood off her lips.

Well, it wasn't like this situation could get worse.

Hitting the button on the wall, the door slid open, and Leia stepped into the small cockpit, gripping the back of the nearest chair as the ship shuddered through the atmosphere. Clouds were all that was visible in the viewport as she squinted into the pure whiteness.

It should not have been a shock to see a Mandalorian at the controls. At this point, she thought, the Empire should just brand all Mandalorians rebels and be done with it. But Leia knew that was a foolish thought, and she frowned at the shiny, unpainted metal helmet of the man before her. This was not a Mandalorian she was familiar with.

"Strap in," the Mandalorian said, flicking a few toggle switches above his head. His voice was unremarkable, unaccented, Mid Rim quality, but it was… gentle. Leia's eyes narrowed at the back of his head. "This is going to be a long trip."

Dropping into the chair behind him, Leia felt something hit her thigh. She shifted the shiny, insulated black fabric of her poncho, only to see the slight curvature of a silver-hilted lightsaber attached to her belt. Her own lightsaber had been lost on the scuffle against Ahsoka, and she had just assumed she'd make a new one when she returned home.

But this was Ahsoka's lightsaber. One of them. When Leia unclipped it, sinking into the red cushioned seat, she thought that it must have been a mistake.

Then she remembered the hug. And she could not help but feel inexplicably angry and sad, like something was pushing her ribs into her lungs, and she clipped the lightsaber back onto her belt and scowled as she strapped herself into her seat.

It meant nothing. Nothing, except, perhaps, that Ahsoka Tano was a sentimental fool.

It meant nothing.

Chapter Text

The first thing he was aware of, when they were in hyperspace, was the jolting reminder that he was covered in blood. Half-blind and exhausted, Luke listened to Ezra's celebratory shouts, and he dazedly began to pull his shirt over his head. Ezra's voice was muffled as he spoke.

"That was amazing. You're incredible! I haven't met a pilot like you since— what the hell are you doing?"

The shirt was half over his head when he paused. Then, deciding he was already half-way there, Luke pulled the shirt off, the cool leather seat chilling his spine and allowing gooseflesh to raise along his arms.

"Um…" Ezra swiveled in his seat to tilt his head at Luke, who was now very focused on his shirt. "Hey, are you okay?"

He turned the shirt over in his hands, at a total loss, because the silky fabric was as pristine as could be expected after falling onto the floor multiple times. There were no grotesquely large stains, no splotches of blood, not even a bit of dotting. Yes the shirt was black, but he had expected something. His white trousers, he saw, dazed, were also unmarred. And as the shirt slipped from his fingers and he stared at his hands, he saw that those, too, were clean.

"What…?" Luke turned his hands over multiple times. No, there had been blood there earlier. There had. It had been from Galen Erso. He remembered Erso's body, remembered the state of it, and there had been blood everywhere. But now…

"Hey."

He saw the hand land on his wrist, and the warmth of Ezra's fingers as they gingerly brushed the inside of Luke's palm made him shiver a bit. His body never acclimated to space, though he was far, far from Tatooine, and he had gone on missions alone in a poorly insulated cockpit many times. Somehow it seemed he could never get used to it, and being shirtless in a moderately heated shuttle was not helping.

Ezra was warm, though. His hands were gloved, but his fingertips were bare, and the warmth of them reminded Luke where he was. What he should be doing.

Glancing up at Ezra's face, he saw for the first time not an ounce of hostility, no guardedness, not even a bit of amusement. He simply looked at Luke with pure, earnest concern, which was not something he'd been expecting from the man from the impressions he had gotten of him prior to this moment.

"What's wrong?" Ezra asked, pushing Luke's hand down and forcing him to relax a bit. "You seem a little… uh…"

"There was blood on this," Luke said, pulling his hand from Ezra's and holding up the shirt. "You saw it, right? There was blood all over me."

Ezra stared at him a moment, his eyes flashing wide, and then he leaned back. His thick eyebrows furrowed together, nearly becoming one singular entity as he glanced away from Luke's face and then glanced back.

"I never saw any blood," he admitted, looking puzzled. "I... could be wrong, maybe, but, um. I remember you talking about it?"

But it was there, Luke thought numbly, blinking down at the shirt in awe. I know it was. I saw it. I felt it.

But, he remembered, feeling a bit sick, he had not been able to smell it. That was odd, wasn't it? He knew what blood smelled like, and there had been far too much of it for him to smell nothing at all.

"I don't know what happened," Luke said finally. He hesitantly pulled the shirt back over his head, avoiding Ezra's stare. "I swear there was blood. It was Erso's."

"Who is Erso?" Ezra asked flatly. He sunk into his seat a bit huffily. "Listen, one minute I was in my cell, and the next my cell was opening. I ran with it. I don't know what the hell is happening with you, but… thanks, I guess." Ezra looked away from him sharply. "If you don't make too much noise then we can part real peacefully when we land. You can take the ship if you want. It's gonna be tracked anyway."

The truth was, Ezra was moving a mile a minute, and Luke was still fixated on the lack of blood. His eyes flickered to Ezra's face incredulously, realizing he'd only caught half of what the man was trying to say.

"What are you talking about?" Luke asked, unable to keep himself from sounding unbearably confused.

"I mean," Ezra sighed, leaning back in his chair, "that I appreciate the help, and stuff, but—"

"Do you seriously think I want to be stuck with the Empire?" Luke demanded. "Have you been paying attention at all?"

Ezra did not answer, and he merely watched Luke hesitantly. With a short sigh, Luke rubbed his eyes tiredly and shook his head. His light-headedness had drifted off, but it had been replaced with a hounded sense of fatigue. Like his vision had cleared but all that fogginess had gone straight to his brain.

"I don't get you," Ezra said finally, much to Luke's surprise. He had assumed he would just remain quiet, as he clearly had not been paying attention. "You say all this stuff, but it's against everything you should be dedicated to. You're Darth Vader's son!"

"Thanks for the reminder," Luke muttered, his hand drifting over his eyes. He was still thinking about the blood. Maybe he should have stayed behind, if not just to figure out what had just happened to him. Had that all been a hallucination?

"Um…" Ezra sounded a bit awkward. "I take it you two aren't close?"

Luke peeked through his fingers to stare at Ezra blankly. Was he being serious? It seemed like an incredibly silly thing to say.

"He's Darth Vader," Luke said in a small, slightly amused voice. "He isn't exactly the most loving and considerate person. I didn't think I had to explain that."

The reaction he got was not one that he expected. Something darkened, like a shade pulled over Ezra's eyes, and he watched Luke for a long time before he leaned back in his chair.

"He's hurt you," he observed, sounding angrier than he should have considering he did not actually know Luke.

Jerking back, Luke replied instinctively, "No, that's not it!"

Because, after all, the strange man called Vader who was not at all the man Luke had known, he had not really hurt Luke in any way. Not physically, at least.

But Ezra would not be deterred. His dark eyes were on Luke's face, pinning him under his stare, and Luke thought he must have forgotten to breathe as he avoided the gaze.

"You're lying," Ezra said.

Without thinking, Luke's fingers drifted over his right hand. The flesh of it, real skin, made him blink. Right. None of that had happened here. This Vader had never hurt his son the way Luke's father had. Nothing had happened. Not a scar, not a phantom limb, not a scream or a moan. Simply nothing. But Luke still felt the pain. He still carried that memory like it was the weight of two suns.

Ezra's eyes had followed Luke's hand, and Luke stiffened when he noticed.

"It's not important," Luke said firmly, closing his flesh hand into a fist. "I wasn't talking about myself, you know. I meant generally, Vader isn't the best person to be around."

"I can imagine." Ezra frowned at him. There was something unnerving about how quickly he was able to pick away at Luke. It almost felt like sitting in Thrawn's office again, which was a funny thought. "So… you want to… what? Defect? Come with me?"

Luke thought about the body he was currently in. About how Dormé had made it very clear that this was not a possibility for him.

"I want to," he sighed. "It's complicated."

Ezra eyed him, clearly not impressed or convinced, and he offered a small shrug. "Well," he said, "you have about twelve hours to decide what you want to do. Complicated or not."

It seemed pointless to argue that it wasn't as easy as a choice. Luke had no idea what would happen to his body without the medicine. After all, using the Force even with the medication, seemed to affect him poorly. Not to mention the blood could have been a hallucination, which was troubling. He had learned since living a generally pretty nomadic existence in space that psychosis was a treatable thing, but on Tatooine it was called Desert Fever and those it afflicted were often left to their own devices, to die in the desert or to simply waste away in solitude. Only the Tuskens seemed to be accepting of those who had it, which Luke had always thought curious, but his aunt and uncle had told him not to question it or go near them to find out more.

"Where are we going, anyway?" Luke asked, peering at the navicomputer curiously. It was easier to just change the subject.

Ezra rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Takodana," he said hesitantly. Like it mattered at this point if Luke knew. "Seemed like the safest option to dump this thing."

He didn't mean to sound shocked, but he absolutely sounded shocked when he said, "That was actually pretty smart."

For a moment, Ezra simply sat there before his face fell a bit, and he shot Luke a sharp look.

"What do you mean, actually?"

Luke merely laughed, causing Ezra to frown more. He waved his hands hurriedly, hoping to amend his mistake.

"I didn't mean it to sound like that," he gasped. "I'm sure you're very smart."

"I am."

"I said I'm sure you are," Luke said amusedly. "Takodana is the perfect place to disappear. We might even be able to make a few credits selling this thing."

"That was the plan," Ezra sighed, "yeah. I'm telling you right now, though, being on the run is not going to be fun for you. Your whole life becomes dedicated to keeping out of the Empire's hands while simultaneously making their lives miserable."

"I am aware," Luke said distantly, lowering his cheek into his hand.

That earned him an odd look from Ezra but Luke was too tired to broach the topic of different worlds. Ezra asked him a question, but he had not quite heard it, his eyelids heavy and his smile a bit plastered on as he blinked dazedly up at Ezra and hummed neutrally.

"Are you alright?" Ezra asked, his words far away.

"Mhmm…" Luke blinked rapidly. "Sorry… I just got really…"

"You can go lie down," Ezra said in a surprisingly gentle voice. "There's room. In the back."

"Oh."

There was a bout of silence that Luke did not consider much at all, as he was already half in a dream, something odd like he was half in the shuttle and half wading in a lake. That was until he was shaken abruptly, and he peered up into Ezra's face dazedly.

"Hm?" He tilted his head. "What is it?"

"You're really stubborn, huh?" Ezra's face floated above his momentarily and Luke merely closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

"I'm fine," he murmured. "Fine here. It's fine."

He then drifted off into the comfortable warmth of Naboo's lulling summer air.

He made it to the hangar just in time to see the ship blast off. His heart was hammering in his chest as a nearby officer merely gaped at the scene, troopers scattering as Thrawn marched in after him with a cold sort of fury.

"What the hell just happened?" Eli snapped at the nearest frozen officer. The man glanced up at Eli with wild eyes.

"The Jedi prisoner," he blurted. "He— the prince was with him, we couldn't—"

"Are you accusing Prince Luke of working with the Jedi?" Thrawn asked suddenly, never tearing his eyes from the space where the shuttle had been.

The officer flushed. "N-no!" he gasped. "No, sir. Prince Luke was a hostage."

That was not good. No, that was not good at all. Especially given that they had still not gotten anywhere with tracking down Princess Leia. Eli glowered at the officer while Thrawn frowned at the empty space, cupping his chin, clearly lost in his own thoughts.

"What do we do, sir?" the officer uttered.

Thrawn's eyes trailed toward the officer. "Send a Defender after them," he said simply. His fingers drifted against his jaw.

The officer let out a small, shaky sigh, and nodded.

"How many, Grand Admiral?"

Thrawn blinked down at the man.

"One," he said simply. He tilted his head. "Shuttles are slow and lack the necessary agility to outmaneuver a Defender. Bridger's piloting abilities are passable, but he is no General Syndulla. We will capture him. Now." Thrawn whirled away. "I have another prisoner to deal with."

"But— sir—!"

"Thrawn!"

Thrawn paused, half turning to watch the approach of one single, angry woman. Her hair was pulled severely back from her face, and it took Eli a moment to recognize that this woman was not Padmé Amidala. Her eyes were hard and cold as she glared up at Thrawn, her square jaw tight.

"Sabé," Thrawn greeted, a slight bow of his head as much of a sign that he respected the woman as any.

"Where have you been?" Sabé demanded. "How did this happen? Why were we not informed there was a Jedi on board?"

"I am certain Dormé was aware of the situation," Thrawn said. "If she did not make you and Padmé aware, that is not a problem of mine. As for how this happened, I was in the process of trying to understand that myself."

"Deploying the Defender," the officer said, "sir."

Thrawn nodded in acknowledgment while Sabé seethed in a quiet, terrifying way. They all waited for the TIE Defender to launch into space before continuing to glower at one another, like it would solve any of their problems. Personally, Eli was confused. They'd gotten the alert from the cell block around the same time that they had gotten a frantic message from the Med Bay about Erso. Eli had been with Thrawn at the time, relaying the information that Padmé Amidala and her handmaiden had boarded their ship and were set to leave.

It seemed too much of a coincidence that this was all happening at once.

"Walk with me, Sabé," Thrawn said, turning away. As he walked, he did not pause when he called, "Commodore Vanto."

And Eli, ever used to this wordless command, fell into step behind his commanding officer, angry at himself for being unable to simply say no. To stay in the hangar, to wait with the other officers until the shuttle was hailed, and he was certain the prince was returned safely.

Sabé was new, but Eli did recognize her. He knew her better than Dormé, who was generally secluded to the Amidala estate in the Naboo countryside. This handmaiden was more often than not running around Theed, so their paths had crossed once or twice. Still, it was difficult at first glance to tell if she was Padmé or Sabé, which he thought was rather the point.

"Do you have an explanation?" Sabé asked briskly, her eyes knifing through Eli briefly before landing on the back of Thrawn's head with such a level, vicious, icy temper that it was clear she was ready to physically murder someone. "How the hell did that just happen?"

"I am not quite sure yet." Thrawn hit the button on the lift before turning to face Sabé. "Prince Luke was under your care, was he not? I believe I should be asking you how this all transpired."

"I left him in his room." Sabé's expression was impassive, utterly blank, and even her rage seemed to be blotted out by the singularity of her goal to divert the blame back to Thrawn. "There was an incident. We were planning to leave for Naboo tonight."

That got their attention. Eli, forgetting for a moment that he was angry with Thrawn, exchanged a glance with the man. There was a brief feeling of nostalgia, an unspoken curiosity that plagued them both as Thrawn's gaze flashed back to Sabé's face.

"A brief overview of this… incident," Thrawn said as the lift doors opened, "would be appreciated."

Sabé eyed Thrawn as he entered the lift. Then her gaze slid to Eli, who merely waited for her patiently until she, too, stepped inside. He followed her, closing the doors and hitting the floor of Thrawn's office.

"The Med Bay, Commodore," Thrawn said. Eli met his eye briefly before quickly pressing the correct button. "Now, what sort of incident could have prompted you to want to leave so suddenly? And without informing anyone on the ship?"

"The officers in the hangar knew," Sabé said calmly. "I suppose they would have told you before we left. Things happened quite suddenly."

"Indeed."

Sabé's gaze was clearly unamused and impatient when it slid up to Thrawn's face.

"Why are we going to the Med Bay?" she demanded. "We should be in the hangar, waiting for your ship to capture the shuttle."

"There are other concerns of mine." Thrawn did not buckle under her gaze, not that Eli would ever expect him to. The handmaiden might be intimidating, but it was unlikely Thrawn felt anything other than curiosity toward the woman. It was funny. Padmé Amidala was someone that did not quite fit into Thrawn's life, but he'd always made room for her anyway. That courtesy did not extend to Sabé.

"Other concerns," Sabé said dryly. "I suppose there are many things more important than an Imperial prince being missing. Will you be informing Lord Vader, or shall I?"

"You should not offer such things if you are not serious."

Sabé closed her eyes so they did not see her roll them. Well, Thrawn was right about that. It was best to let him handle Vader, whenever he happened to return.

"Vader does not need an excuse to try and kill me," Sabé said dully. "We are hardly on good terms."

"I am aware." Thrawn tilted his head at her. "Did you imagine stealing his son away with no notice would better your relationship with him, or are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"If I didn't know any better," Sabé said, "I'd say that sounded a bit like a joke, Grand Admiral. But alas, I was simply following orders."

"If I was made aware of the situation," Thrawn said, "we would be having a very different conversation. I will ask you again, what happened to change Padmé's mind so suddenly?"

Sabé, of course, did not answer. Her jaw was tight, and when Eli glanced at her he almost pitied her. She was not used to being around Thrawn. As good as she was at schooling her features and remaining as unreadable as humanly possible, she was just human. And she could not hide from Thrawn's gaze.

"I imagine it has something to do with the prince's illness," Thrawn said, ignoring how Sabé stiffened, "so I will not press you for details, but do understand that I am not your enemy here. I, too, wish to see the prince safe. That is all."

"Then why are we here?" Sabé asked, gesturing to the opening doors at the frantic Med Bay. Officers were scrambling, troopers were stationed at every door, and Thrawn merely frowned at the sight.

"Well," Eli said dryly, eyeing the frenzied officers who seemed to freeze as Thrawn stepped out of the lift, "when there's more than one crisis, you need to deal with the one you can actually get your hands on first, I'd say."

Sabé's eyes whisked over the corridor as Eli stepped out, and she looked mildly concerned as two officers stumbled to a stop before Thrawn, babbling senselessly.

"Calm down," Thrawn said. "One at a time. Lieutenant Mabyl?"

The lieutenant, a tall woman with a low ponytail, nodded faintly.

"Erso was pronounced dead nearly thirty minutes ago," she said, her voice wavering. "I saw the body, it was—" She looked a bit queasy, her face pale, and her companion took over.

"Erso was vivisected," the other woman said mechanically. "His intestines were strewn across the room. It was all very ugly and elaborate. Prince Luke was the one who brought it to our attention."

"Prince Luke?" Sabé asked sharply. "When was this?"

The two officers stared at Sabé blankly. Thrawn merely lowered his head.

"Please answer the question," he said.

The lieutenant took a deep breath. "Forty minutes ago? Maybe?"

"Yeah," her companion said. "Just about. It's difficult to say, but—"

"Why was Prince Luke here?" Sabé asked, her eyes flashing to Thrawn's. "I told him to say his goodbyes. Who was here that he wanted to say goodbye to?"

"Now that," Thrawn said, "is interesting. I was made aware of Erso's death already, Lieutenant, but I did not know the details. I thank you. May I see Erso's corpse?"

The two officers exchanged strange looks.

"That's just the thing," Mabyl said, looking more than a little spooked. "The corpse— Grand Admiral Thrawn, sir, the body is gone."

It was not often that Eli got to see Thrawn shocked. Honestly, Eli had nearly missed it because he, too, was more than a little alarmed at this development. He only noticed the brief flash of an indiscernible emotion cross Thrawn's face after Eli had clicked his mouth shut from its gape.

"Show me," Thrawn demanded.

They were ushered down the hall, various officers pausing to salute Thrawn, until they were brought to Erso's room. Or, rather, former room. There were guards posted outside it while three other officers, one being Woldar, glanced at Eli when he appeared.

"Grand Admiral," Woldar said, "Commodore…" His eyes slid to Sabé, who crossed her arms and frowned as Thrawn entered the small room. Woldar seemed to have gained his senses after realizing no one was going to introduce Sabé, and he turned to Thrawn. "The body was discovered at around nineteen hundred hours. We were in the middle of locking down the crime scene when it disappeared."

At that, Thrawn's brow furrowed. "I would like more on that," he said.

Woldar simply stared. You'd think after all these years he'd be able to understand Thrawn's requests, but no. Some people were just that dense.

"He wants you to describe what happened succinctly, Commander," Eli said.

"Well," the man huffed, "that's just the problem, isn't it?"

"The body disappeared," Lieutenant Mabyl said, her eyes darting around her fellow officers. "We all saw it. One minute it was there, and the room was covered in blood, and the next it was gone."

"Horrifying," Eli remarked, not intending for the comment to sound so sarcastic, but it did earn a slight smirk from his icy companion. Sabé, that was, not Thrawn. Thrawn was too busy thinking to find Eli humorous.

"And it was Prince Luke who first made this discovery?" Thrawn asked, his frown deepening.

"Yes, sir," Mabyl murmured.

Woldar sighed, shaking his head. "The prince ran into me in the hall," he said. "The boy was clearly shaken. Covered in blood, absolutely terrified. If we bring him down here, he might be able to tell us what exactly happened."

"Yes," Thrawn said, in his usual gentle, obvious way, like he had all the pieces and was already putting them together while the rest of them floundered, "I imagine he would."

That did not help anyone, and all the officers waited in an uncomfortable silence, glancing at one another nervously. Woldar actually shot Eli an expectant glance, like he might be able to translate.

Which, yeah, Eli could. But he wasn't going to.

"Will you… well, I just mean, it would be helpful if the prince gave us his account," Woldar said.

"The prince is currently unavailable," Thrawn said. "Do we have security footage of the incident?"

"Only the hallway and the lift," Mabyl said, shooting a glance around the room. "Med Bay cabins are not recorded due to confidentiality laws."

"A wonder those still exist," Sabé remarked, earning some strange looks from the officers. Eli pursed his lips and glanced up at Thrawn.

"Shall I take Lady Sabé to your office," Eli asked, ignoring the harsh look she shot him, "while you investigate this further, Grand Admiral?"

"No need." Thrawn stepped between them and moved out the door. "I have seen enough. Lieutenant Mabyl, please forward the security footage from the hallway at your earliest convenience."

"I—" Mabyl looked dazed. "Yes, Grand Admiral."

"Good."

And they were moving again. Sabé looked particularly dour as they moved down the corridor, parting a sea of troopers and officers, and entered the lift again.

"This is going poorly," Sabé said coolly. "Whatever just happened, I would very much like not to be involved."

"And yet you are," Thrawn said, "because of the prince. Unfortunate for you."

"Many things are going unfortunately," Sabé said, much more gracefully than someone in her position had any right to be. "Who was supposed to be in that room?"

"A prisoner," Eli supplied when Thrawn was silent. "Dr. Galen Erso."

Sabé did not react, and yet Thrawn sunk his teeth in her like she was already dead prey. "You know him," he said.

"I do not."

"Then you know the name."

Sabé's jaw ground visibly, her eyes flashing toward the illuminated level numbers above their heads.

"I believe he must have worked on Coruscant during the Clone Wars," Sabé said dismissively. "I cannot say for sure, nor do I care much. What has he done to earn your wrath, Grand Admiral?"

"He has hardly earned that," Thrawn said. "However, he is a rebel. I understand that you were not briefed, but the situation was incredibly delicate before you arrived. Princess Jyn Organa was taken captive by the rebel insurgent, Saw Gerrera, and the intention was to use Erso as a bargaining chip."

Sabé frowned, but she did nod slowly. "I can see how that would work," she said. "But now that he's dead…"

"Is he?"

Both Eli and Sabé turned to star up at him blankly.

"What?" Eli asked. "I— really, sir? Really?"

Thrawn, of course, ignored his incredulity.

"Did either of you see a body?"

Sabé frowned, and Eli merely blinked. "We have over a dozen eye witness accounts, sir," he said flatly. "They all saw the same thing. The body was identified as Erso."

"Yet there was no body there," Thrawn said. "No trace of a crime, even."

"Do you suppose there was never a crime, then?" Sabé asked dryly.

"Yes, in fact." The doors slid open and Thrawn walked out. "That is exactly what I think."

Eli's eyes fluttered closed, and he swallowed a hearty, Well, fuck. Because at this point, could this day really get any worse?

No, he didn't want an answer to that.

"I don't like this," Sabé said firmly.

"Neither do I," Eli replied, probably surprising her. Not that her expression showed it.

They both stepped out of the elevator and followed Thrawn to his office. Sabé trailed after Eli, silent and steady, and to an outside observer she probably seemed rather calm. At this point, Eli could see through that well enough. She was incredibly nervous, and Eli could not blame her, because he understood her feelings intimately. It was the uncertainty that would destroy them all.

"Well?" Sabé asked once they were safely sequestered inside Thrawn's office, her gaze stony as ever. If Padmé Amidala exuded warmth and authority then this woman felt like a bit of that authority had fractured off, duplicating and mutating into something easily mistakable but isolated and cold rather than welcoming and warm. "Give me your best explanation, then."

Thrawn was not one to deny someone an explanation, and he nodded at once as he lowered himself into his chair. Eli hung back, watching as Sabé moved to the center of the office, but did not allow herself to get comfortable or to sit down.

"What do you know of the Force, Sabé?" Thrawn asked. "Or do you prefer Tsabin?"

At that, Sabé did stiffen. Eli could only partially see her face from where he stood, and her prominent jaw locked in a frustrated sort of way.

"Sabé," she said, her voice firm but her fingers locking behind her back in a flexing, angry gesture. "My name is Sabé. And my knowledge of the Force is about as much as you might expect. Rudimentary."

"Please do not lie to me."

Sabé was probably startled, by the way her eyebrows raised, but nothing else suggested it. She blinked at Thrawn for a moment.

"How am I lying?" she asked coolly.

"You have been in Padmé Amidala's service since before the Occupation of Naboo," Thrawn said simply. "The Jedi were a constant presence, particularly during the Clone Wars. She did marry one, after all."

That caused Sabé's mouth to twitch.

"Vader is not a Jedi," she said.

"No." Thrawn bowed his head in acknowledgement. "But Anakin Skywalker was. Once."

"Just because I knew Jedi," Sabé said, as heatedly as a woman like her possibly could, "does not mean I understand the Force. But why don't you enlighten me, Grand Admiral. What does the Force have to do with the predicament we've found ourselves in?"

"Do you imagine there is a better explanation for a man appearing to have died and subsequently disappearing?" Thrawn was not trying to be funny, Eli knew, and if he was not so used to his bluntness he would have laughed. Sabé tilted her head, not fully amused, but certainly not taking Thrawn seriously either.

"The Force does not work like that," Sabé said simply.

Thrawn's lip quirked a tiny bit, enough that Eli also smiled in spite of himself.

"I thought your knowledge of the Force was rudimentary, Sabé," he said in his genial, delicate way, the sort of tone that would be grating to anyone, and certainly to this seasoned warrior of Naboo.

"Even someone with rudimentary knowledge could tell you that much, Grand Admiral," Sabé said in a short, placid way, like she wasn't utterly pissed and they all knew it. She did not want to be here. Eli suspected all she wanted, really, was for Luke Skywalker to be safe, and to be beside Padmé Amidala. "What is this about? Do you think the Jedi could have done this?"

"No."

Sabé's laugh was more of a shuddering little breath, her eyes cast up toward the ceiling.

"Right," she murmured. The thing that always baffled Eli was that Mid Rim worlds like Naboo produced either a completely non-descript accent, or something more akin to a Core World drawl. Sabé's natural accent was more Core World while Padmé was non-descript. If he'd had to guess which one was the former queen, Eli would not have guessed Padmé. Which might have been intentional. "If it's all the same to you, sir, I do not intend to indulge in conspiracies. When the Jedi is captured, do you mean to torture him into admitting to killing and unkilling your prisoner? Do you mean to traumatize Prince Luke further? I am not interested in your games, nor am I here to be a casual observer to your cruelty."

Thrawn did not like it when he was called cruel, especially when he it wasn't intentional. Because of course he could be cruel, it was undeniable at this point, but he always was so very… strategic with his cruelty. It almost made one wish that he could be awful in a fit of passion.

But Thrawn was not passionate. Not in any traditional sense.

Before Thrawn could respond to Sabé's sharp words, his comm chirped at his desk. The holocommunicator chirped again when he glanced down at it, a frown tugging at his lips.

"Are you going to answer that?" Sabé asked, not without a hint of humor in her voice.

She probably did not know how to catch the warning signs when it came to Thrawn, but Eli did, and he braced himself for the oncoming storm.

Raising a finger to the projector, the stuttering image of one of the officers from the hangar emerged. Eli held his breath, knowing well enough what the man was going to say.

"The TIE Defender was destroyed, sir," the officer said. His voice was a bit shaky, and Eli did not blame him one bit. Not only was he reporting the worst possible thing, but this news was actually a shock. The shields on TIE Defenders were strong enough that they could withstand a good amount of firepower. A shuttle would not shoot it down.

"Destroyed," Thrawn echoed. He frowned deeply. "I see. How did this happen?"

"I— we— honestly, sir?" The officer shook his head. "We don't know. He hit the underside of the ship. It must have been an accident."

"Doubtful," Thrawn said quietly. And Eli could understand why he was immediately suspicious. There were two Force sensitive men on board that shuttle. And while Eli knew little about the Force, he knew that was within reason. "And what of the Jedi and the prince?"

The beat of silence was enough to confirm what Eli already knew, and honestly, he wasn't entirely surprised. He would not say it out loud, but he suspected the instant Prince Luke had gotten on that ship, he'd convinced the Jedi that he was an ally.

Thrawn probably thought so too. That was the true reason for his displeasure. Not that he would say it. Neither of them were foolish enough to do that in strange company.

"Gone, sir," the officer said tightly. "We are tracking them as we speak."

Thrawn fingers steepled, allowing a moment for this news to settle in the spacious office, strangling with every beat, a tightening grip around Sabé's throat while she stood alone, a foreigner to this vessel, to this protocol, to this life, with everything to lose, and everything unraveling before her very eyes.

To put it bluntly, Eli did not envy her.

The silence, of course, was also to unnerve the officer. Eli did not know his name, as there were many, many people on the Chimaera, but he suspected the officer knew now that he had Thrawn's attention. And that was not always something one wanted.

Eli should know.

"I would like an estimated time and location of the jump within the hour," Thrawn said. "If you cannot unscramble the signal, I will do it myself. Once we have an idea of where they have gone, I want us prepped to follow."

"You can't," Sabé said.

Thrawn raised his eyes to Sabé, and Eli wore the surprise that Thrawn most certainly felt. How could she say that? This was the Imperial prince! Of course they had to go after him, guns blazing. If they didn't, Vader would probably kill them all. Thrawn knew that, and he understood that he was cornered. The only strategic option was to either intercept the shuttle before it got to its destination, or trap the prisoner and the prince on planet.

"Enlighten me, handmaiden," Thrawn said, his voice low. He was not happy. "Why not?"

Sabé stood there a moment, staring down Grand Admiral Thrawn like he was a random Ensign who had maybe had the misfortune of telling her something she did not want to hear. The woman was frightening. Because she did not let up her stare, and of course Thrawn did not back down either. They were locked in a staring contest that neither would forfeit.

"Need I remind you," Sabé said, the picture of calm, somehow, "that you sent Padmé down to Lah'mu not an hour ago? You made her believe you had a plan."

"That was when I had a prisoner," Thrawn said, just as calm, and Eli realized they were wearing two similar masks of calm that managed to cover up how utterly furious they both were. "I can provide support for Padmé, of course, but my priority must be the prince."

"Saw Gerrera is not someone to be crossed," Sabé said.

"I am more than aware of that."

"Yet you allowed Padmé and Dormé to go alone."

The holo was still going, and the officer cleared his throat.

"Dismissed," Thrawn said, not even bothering to look at the man. He was still caught in a staring contest with Sabé. The holo blinked out, and Thrawn stood up to his full height, perhaps to intimidate Sabé, but more likely to remind her who had authority here. "Would you have me exposed to Vader's wrath simply because your mistress chose to go on a dangerous mission? This is what she does. Time has not tempered her. It has only made her more volatile."

"Do not presume to know her," Sabé spat, her mask loosening with a shocking display of rage. Her teeth bared in that moment, her eyes narrowed, and all that remained of her regal presence was her unshakeable posture. "You think simply because you drift in and out of her life every couple of years that you can judge her? You are not her friend, so let us be rid of formalities and discuss how utterly idiotic it is that you believe that Vader will be less inclined to kill you for losing his wife rather than his son."

It seemed that Thrawn had, in fact, forgotten that little detail. And, honestly, so had Eli. To be fair, hardly anyone considered Vader a family man. He had children, though one was clearly favored over the other, but nobody talked about his wife. Not even the trashy tabloid outlets on the holonet found Padmé Amidala to be a worthy subject, probably for fear of their lives. She had not done an interview in years. She was practically a ghost.

Yet she was Vader's wife. That had not changed. It stood to reason he might still care about her, if Vader was capable of that.

"She may do as she wishes," Thrawn said simply. "I am not Padmé Amidala's keeper. However, she charged you with the protection of her child. Are you truly willing to abandon her orders simply because they have become more difficult to follow?"

Sabé's response was to scowl, as much of a concession as they would probably get out of her. It was hard to see her face from where Eli stood, but he knew that this had hit her hard. Her fingers closed into fists behind her back. Then, slowly, she nodded.

"As you say, Grand Admiral," she said. It was a defeat. "I cannot abandon the prince."

"Then we have settled this matter."

Sabé's eyes fluttered shut.

"I will have an officer bring you to a spare cabin," Thrawn said, his fingers pressing to his desk. Sabé bowed her head in acknowledgement, retreating into herself rapidly enough that Eli was surprised she had allowed them to see any of her at all. "I will inform you of any updates as they come."

"I understand." Sabé lifted her eyes to Thrawn. Eli eyed her face, wondering what she was thinking. "If I may be excused?"

"Certainly."

Her heel scraped the floor as she wheeled around and marched from the office. That left Eli with Thrawn, alone, something he had been avoiding for the past few days. He stood there silently, his arms clasped behind his back, and he waited to be dismissed.

The dismissal did not come.

"Sir?" Eli asked hesitantly.

"Sit," Thrawn said.

No formalities. No, "Please have a seat, Commodore Vanto." Not even a considering glance in Eli's direction. Just a direct order.

This didn't feel good.

Eli crossed the room slowly, dragging out the chair Padmé Amidala had sat in earlier that day and lowering himself into it. Her teacup was, bafflingly, still on Thrawn's desk. Eli found himself fixated on the red kiss around its rim. He did not know many women who wore such vibrant lip colors, and he had not realized the pigment could wear away so easily.

"Yes, sir?" Eli asked. He was too tense to really register that Thrawn was staring at him.

"Your thoughts."

He raised his eyes to Thrawn's, blinking twice. Really? Were they just about to pretend like everything was fine between them? It was unbearable, the way Thrawn did not seem to recognize Eli's emotions, or at the very least why he was emotional in the first place.

Because Thrawn did notice. After a minute. Literally, a minute of silence passed, and the man leaned back.

"Is it how I have handled the various mishaps of the day," he asked, "or Lieutenant Wren that has caused your discomfort?"

Eli's jaw tightened. Discomfort. That was all this was. A road block. It wasn't like one of their best officers was involved in treason, or anything.

"Lieutenant Wren, then." Thrawn nodded once. "Alright. Please go ahead."

"With what?" Eli asked quietly.

"If you wish to yell at me," Thrawn said in his gentle voice, steady as ever, "you may."

Blinking up at him, Eli wondered if he was serious. Really, it seemed a bit funny. Something he could laugh at later, when he was alone. But Thrawn was quite serious, and would never joke about such a thing, so Eli leaned back in his chair and stared at him.

"That won't make me feel better," he said.

Thrawn frowned.

"And besides," Eli said, fighting a smirk and losing as he rested his cheek in his fist, leaving his elbow against the wooden armrest, "I don't think I've ever needed permission to yell at you. Sir."

What he got in response was a man who studied him intently, not that Eli wasn't used to such a gaze. Though lately it had hardly been focused on him. He could not say that he hadn't missed it.

"So you admit that you are unhappy," Thrawn said, pointedly ignoring Eli's jest.

"What do you think?" Eli's smirk fell away fast, but he allowed himself to remain resting against his fist, peering up at Thrawn with a casualness that would make the other officers squirm if they could see him now.

"I cannot mend the damage done by Lieutenant Wren."

"And the damage you've done?" Eli frowned. "What about that?"

"I cannot exempt her from punishment simply because I happen to like her," Thrawn said. "That is a gross misuse of power. I find it incredibly uncharacteristic and unlikely that you do not grasp this fact."

"I do."

"And yet…?"

"And yet," Eli said, dropping his fist and leaning forward, "you thought I was her accomplice. So excuse me for not being entirely thrilled about the way you are treating her now. Would you throw me away so callously?"

Thrawn did not answer, and that was enough for Eli. It had sparked something in him, his rage, something that needed to ignite to burn away the aching sorrow at the knowledge that he would. He would. He'd toss Eli away the minute Eli was no longer useful.

Standing up, Eli did not look at Thrawn, because if he did he feared he might start to cry. It seemed foolish, but he was angry with himself just as much as he was at Thrawn, because he should have been better.

"Eli."

Halfway to the door, Eli froze. His thoughts, which had gone from a mile a minute to a simple, repetitive, ringing sort of doom, like his whole life hinged on his own ability to get the hell out of here as fast as possible, all of that seemed to fall away. Had he just…?

Turning slowly, Eli glanced back at Thrawn. He was still sitting in his chair, and he appeared unmoved. Had Eli heard him wrong?

"Please sit back down," Thrawn said.

Oh, Eli thought, his face feeling warm. You bastard.

He could just leave. Thrawn was not going to punish him for that. But he wanted to keep Eli talking, and he would resort to low blows like using Eli's first name to do it. And, shamefully, it worked. Thrawn knew it would work, and Eli knew he was being manipulated, but he trailed back to the chair and sat down anyway.

However, he did not speak. He stared at Thrawn expectantly, silence yawning between them, and he thought this must be how it would be from now on. He might get used to it, if it weren't so awkward.

"May I have your thoughts now?" Thrawn asked.

"You never answered my question," Eli replied.

Thrawn stared at him. Then, bafflingly, his eyes flickered away.

"You can tell me," Eli pressed. "It can't be any worse than what I've already imagined."

"Do not trust your imagination." Thrawn tapped his desk, watching his own fingers as he leaned back. "Your own mind can be your greatest ally and also your greatest enemy. If it is capable of lying, it will lie to you."

"I doubt your mind is capable of such a thing," Eli scoffed.

That caused Thrawn's brow to pinch, which was a delightful sight for Eli, who was angry enough at him that any negative reaction was a good one in his book.

"I recognize that you perceive me in a specific way," Thrawn said quietly, "but I am not always that person."

"What person?" Eli tilted his head. "You are my superior officer. Who else could you be to me?"

Thrawn nodded distractedly. Perhaps he was already thinking of something else.

"Your thoughts on the handmaiden?"

"Stars," Eli muttered. "Fine. She's certainly scarier than Amidala. Very smart, but clouded by her own sense of…" Eli was going to say self-importance, but that wasn't right. "She doesn't like being wrong. Or failing."

"Indeed."

"She's also incredibly attached to Amidala." Eli frowned. Sabé's stony face was fresh in his mind, and he knew that she was dangerous. Probably more dangerous if she were not alone. "More than incredibly. She basically was willing to abandon the prince in favor of supporting Amidala, when she is in no discernable danger yet."

"Yes, that is a problem with Sabé." Thrawn tilted his head. "Why do you think that is?"

"Loyalty." Eli was certain this much was true. "Duty. Friendship. They must have been through a lot together. They seem similar, a bit. The way they hold themselves."

"Sabé was Padmé's most trusted companion when Padmé was Queen of Naboo," Thrawn explained to him, his voice lilting as it tended to when he was relaying information he thought incredibly valuable. "They have known each other since they were young girls. Every major moment of their lives has been spent together. That may affect Sabé's judgement."

"Love, then," Eli said, waving his hand. It was, he thought, probably the most obvious answer. "I'm sure she didn't even realize how unreasonable she was being, with all of that in mind."

"Love?"

Eli quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah," he said. "Obviously. You can't be around someone that long and not love them."

Thrawn blinked at him, and Eli could not help but sigh. So smart. So damn smart, but what an absolute idiot.

"Sabé's love for Amidala is what made her forget that her job was to protect Luke. Can't blame her for that."

"Their relationship is purely professional," Thrawn said, frowning. "I would have noticed—"

"I didn't say it was specifically romantic," Eli said, broaching this topic gently, because he knew Thrawn would not get it. He was annoyed, and a bit uncomfortable, and Thrawn stared at him expectantly. "Or at least it's not reciprocated if it is romantic. I mean, I don't know Sabé. I could be wrong."

"I will pay more attention next time," Thrawn said solemnly. It was, at the very least, amusing to watch him recontextualize what he knew about Sabé to fit in the fact that her loyalty to Amidala transcended duty on all fronts. "I did not think about it that way."

"I'm sure you didn't," Eli said dryly. It was the one thing he could count on Thrawn to always miss. "May I go?"

"One more thing." Thrawn was not embarrassed by his oversight with Sabé by any means, and seemed completely fine with just jumping into his next order. "I want you to find Padmé. Keep an eye on her."

"Is that all?" Eli tilted his head. It wasn't a surprise that he was getting booted off the Chimaera before they could go after the prince, but he thought Thrawn was making a mistake. They both knew his talents were in research and numbers, in puzzles and patterns. Finding the prince and the Jedi would be harder without him on board. "Couldn't have given me that order before they left?"

"It will have to be undercover," Thrawn said, ignoring Eli, "and I do not need to remind you to use stealth. Saw Gerrera is not someone to be trifled with."

"Yeah, I got that. Was there earlier today when he shot an unarmed girl in the leg and was ready to gun down the prince." Eli rubbed his face tiredly.

"This mission is three pronged." Thrawn held up one finger. "Find Padmé. Observe her, do not make direct contact. Do not, under any circumstances, underestimate her or the handmaiden. Dormé will recognize you immediately if you are not careful. Keep well hidden." He held up his second finger. "Sabotage Gerrera. In any way you can. Even if it costs you the princess's life."

Eli wanted to object to that. If Thrawn saw his horror, he did not care. He simply held up his third finger and stared into Eli's eyes.

"Find whatever caused the disturbance in the Med Bay," he said. "And if you happen to find Galen Erso? Kill him."

That was enough that Eli really wished he had just left when Thrawn had called his name. Erso was not innocent by any means, but Eli was not a murderer. He killed people who were dangerous. Erso… could be dangerous, but his crimes aligned more with prison time than execution. It was not fair that Thrawn was throwing all of this on Eli's shoulders.

"Jyn Organa—" he started.

"She will hate you," Thrawn said, "if she survives this ordeal. I do not care if she does. Erso cannot live."

Eli realized all at once that this had been Thrawn's plan all along.

"You were going to kill him," Eli murmured, blinking at Thrawn in mild horror. "Before or after the exchange of prisoners?"

"After." Thrawn had no problem admitting this. It was troubling. "I planned on an airstrike taking out Gerrera and Erso in one clean act of violence. That will not be an option now."

"That is incredibly…" Eli didn't even know what to say. He could only blink silently, the word dying in his mouth, rancid on his tongue.

"I know." Thrawn turned away. "You are dismissed."

Standing, feeling shaken and dazed, he let his fingers linger on the desk.

"When should I leave?" he asked. His voice sounded like someone else's. It was far away.

"As soon as possible."

Cold and a bit removed from his own body, Eli nodded, his fingers drifting from the desk.

"Goodbye, then," he said, meeting Thrawn's red eyes and forcing him to look away first. Then he shook his head, scowling at the floor, and he all but fled the office in shame.

The Steadfast was unlike any ship she'd ever been on. And she had been on many. The layout was foreign enough that she got turned around twice, and the Chiss officers were helpful enough that they dutifully found her looking a bit like a proverbial fish out of water and set her straight. Even without knowledge of Basic, they were genuinely quite polite, though Leia felt a burning sense of shame at the idea that they probably thought she was just a stupid human.

She did not have a change of clothes, and was still soaked to the bone, so when one of the officers caught her shivering as she was wheeled into a recreation room of sorts, she was looked at with what she had assumed was scorn until the woman disappeared and reappeared with what appeared to be dry clothes. The officer had then pushed Leia into a fresher off the rec room where she was able to fit herself into a small stall and peel away her white jumpsuit from her sticky skin.

The clothing was tightly knit black cotton, probably treated to be blaster resistant, she was pretty sure, and it was a standardized uniform set that fit her surprisingly well. She realized, after fixing the buttons on her black shirt and cuffing her slightly too long leg hem, that the jacket she had been given had twin tails and was lined with red silk. The same uniform as the child, Un'hee.

Someone had noticed how short Leia was and had given her a child's uniform.

Or, worse, someone knew she was Force sensitive.

Irritably, Leia pulled on the jacket, which was a bit of a tunic, but left it hanging open with a large flap of fabric curling away from her torso. There was a clip at the shoulder to make it appear smooth, like it was one seamless piece, but Leia had no intention of looking like she was part of some foreign military, so she stepped out of the stall with her damp clothes balled up in her fists. She'd redistributed all her weapons, anyway.

The officer, who had waited for her, merely took the clothes and disappeared. Leia stood in the fresher, which did have a single spartan mirror by its sink, and she was uncomfortable with how unbearably tired she looked. There were mauve circles beneath her eyes, and her face was pale and splotchy in places. She had no cosmetics to remedy this.

At least she could fix her hair.

It was annoying to wrangle, but she managed to smooth it back and twist her long braid into a bun. Then she exited the fresher, only to smack into Irizi'che'ri.

"Shit," Leia muttered when the woman steadied her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eli Vanto looking entirely too amused. "Sorry."

Vanto did translate for her, and Irizi'che'ri shook her head.

"Don't be sorry," Vanto translated. "You have had a rough time, haven't you?"

Leia scowled, which caused Irizi'che'ri to quirk a brow. It disappeared beneath her blunt bangs, which had dried in the time between their last meeting and now.

"You've been brought up to speed," Vanto translated in the midst of Irizi'che'ri speaking. "You understand, now, why our first meeting was confusing."

"Yeah." Leia couldn't help but grimace at that. "Sorry about that. How's your head?"

Irizi'che'ri tilted her head as Vanto translated.

"How's yours?" Was the response she got, and Leia did smile. This woman was funny.

Eventually they did sit down at once of the booths and Irizi'che'ri disappeared without warning, leaving Leia alone with Vanto. She glanced at him, and he watched her with open curiosity.

"What are you staring at?" she sighed.

"Sorry." Vanto's smile was apologetic, and part of her wanted to trust him. "You know, you are not what I was expecting."

That could mean any number of things. She had been navigating galactic politics since she was old enough to hold a datapad, and her notoriety only grew as she got older. So she merely raised an eyebrow.

"And what were you expecting, Commander?" Leia's smile was tight. She'd lost quite a bit of her ability to mask her emotions since transitioning from a senator to a soldier, and going back to it was tough work. Mon often chided her for wearing her displeasure plainly during sessions.

"A princess."

"Ah." Leia's smile grew tighter. She offered a small shrug. "I haven't been a princess in a long time."

"I'm sorry."

What surprised her was how earnest that sounded. Her eyes lingered on his face, watching the clear guilt warp his features as he frowned at his hands.

"It's not your fault," Leia told him gently. She did not know why he stiffened, but he did, and she wondered if he was simply surprised that her voice could contain this level of empathy. "All that is over now. I don't know if I was ever suited to be a princess anyway. I'm not very nice."

Vanto cracked a smile, and he glanced up at her.

"I didn't realize kindness had anything to do with ruling," he said.

"Kindness is the absolute baseline requirement for ruling," Leia said curtly. "Where did you say you were from, again? Wild Space?"

"Lysatra. Yes."

"So your only exposure to government is either this," Leia said, gesturing vaguely to the rec room around her which was filled with lulling chatter that she could not understand, "or the Empire. Which isn't exactly the best example."

"I can imagine," Vanto said in a quiet, hesitant voice.

She hummed, noting that once again he seemed very withdrawn when she mentioned the Empire. Perhaps he'd been hurt irreparably by it too, but she wasn't about to pry into a stranger's business.

Irizi'che'ri returned with, to Leia's surprise, food. She set a tray of what was obviously military rations in front of Leia, and a bottle of what appeared to be some sort of pink juice. Leia reached for it and shook it curiously. It had gold particles twinkling inside. It seemed to Leia more like a crafting project she would do with one of her tutors as a seven year old than a drink.

"It's a vitamin supplement," Vanto explained. "Zicher is worried about your health, I think, because of the rain. Humans get sick far easier than Chiss." His smile was a bit grim, and he held up his own pink drink. "Trust me."

She waited for him to drink his own before she cracked the seal on her own bottle and took a tentative sip. It was a refreshing, somewhat sweet flavor, but beneath that it was rather bland.

"I bet getting sick on an alien vessel is fun," she said conversationally. Vanto translated for Irizi'che'ri— Zicher's— benefit, and the woman laughed.

"They're getting better at recognizing human needs," Vanto said. "Our anatomy isn't so different, but I did have to go through a whole lot of tests when I first got here, for record keeping purposes."

"What are the differences?" Leia asked curiously. "Besides the obvious."

Once again Vanto translated for Zicher, who chuckled and said something that made Vanto roll his eyes.

"What did she say?" Leia asked.

"A dirty joke," Vanto said. "I won't repeat it."

"Oh so that's what you meant by our anatomy is not so different."

Vanto looked at her, either stunned by her crudeness or simply annoyed that he had not predicted that she would also make a dirty joke. He waved Zicher off when she said something, presumably asking for a translation, and Leia smirked when she realized he would refuse to translate something inappropriate in both languages. It was charming, as it only seemed to bother him.

"Chiss have heightened senses," Vanto explained, as if she had not even spoken. "Their eyesight is far better than ours, and they can see into the infrared spectrum."

"For your benefit," Leia said, taking another sip of her vitamin supplement, "I will not comment on that."

Vanto blinked, inhaled deeply, and he closed his eyes.

"Thank you," he said with a small hint of a laugh in his voice, "for your restraint, Princess."

Leia smiled, feeling for the first time in days like maybe things might be alright. These didn't seem like bad people. And they seemed to know what was wrong with Luke, with the promise of being able to actually treat him. It was a Force issue, and no doctor in the New Republic was equipped to deal with such a thing. The Chiss were, as it happened, the only people in the galaxy who might be able to actually help her.

"How did you end up here?" Leia asked Vanto curiously. "If you don't mind my asking."

If Leia was a different person, she might have missed the flinch. It was subtle, and he carried on as if it was a bat of his lashes, a little twitch of his mouth. It was not something she imagined Luke or Han would be able to pick up.

After quickly translating for Zicher, Vanto offered Leia a shrug.

"A series of coincidences and luck, perhaps," he said. His leg was jigging under the table, though everything that Leia could see was utterly casual. Zicher said something, and Vanto pointedly ignored her. "I am glad that it happened. Chiss politics can be messy, but it's better than the alternative."

"And what is the alternative, Commander?" Leia asked him innocently.

Vanto was quiet. He held his little bottle of pink juice, thumbing the divots in the design, and he looked at her. There was something apologetic in his eyes.

But she was not an idiot. She'd already guessed as much. It was just that she was hoping against all warning signs that it was not true.

She pushed her rations around her tray while Zicher watched her, her frown deepening. She seemed to recognize the silence as an uncomfortable one, and did not speak. Instead her red gaze flickered between Leia and Vanto curiously.

"I am not going to absolve you of whatever perceived sin you've committed," she said when it became clear Vanto was not going to say anything. "Did you destroy my planet, Commander Vanto?"

His lips twisted into a grimace. When he met her gaze, he looked tired and resigned.

"Obviously not," he said quietly.

"Then, as you have not currently put a round of plasma through my skull," Leia said with a tight, morbidly jovial smile, "I cannot see a reason why you should feel so intensely guilty. How long have you been out of service?"

He licked his lips, his smile just as tight as hers, and he met her eyes.

"You are very perceptive," he said. "That will be interesting."

"What does that mean?" she scoffed.

"Nothing." Vanto shook his head. "I left the Empire… oh." He blinked rapidly. "That was nearly ten years ago now. Strange."

Leia stared at him blankly. "Before the Death Star?" she asked flatly.

"Yes, Princess." He nodded to her tray, clearly ready to change the subject. "You should eat. I can't imagine the journey to Melinoë was an easy one."

"I'm used to it." Leia eyed him, deciding that his guilt over being a former Imperial was endearing rather than grating, and she took a few bites of a jiggly protein block that was rehydrated using a cream-based sauce. She imagined it had come from a powder, but the spices were there, and it did not taste awful. She had certainly had worse.

Finally, after observing Leia eat, Zicher seemed to decide that it was safe to speak again. She and Vanto went back and forth a bit which ended with Zicher frowning.

Tapping her fork against the tray, Leia peered at Zicher.

"How is it possible that you no longer have the Force?" Leia asked her.

Vanto looked hesitant, like he did not want to translate, but Zicher said something to him that sounded distinctly like an order, and he sighed before replying in a dull voice.

"It is just the way it is for sky-walkers," Vanto translated. "We did not realize it was possible to retain the ability until recently."

"Something changed, then?" Leia hummed. She knew it must be the mysterious Rabri. It was a wonder that they did not simply tell her, if they were going to introduce her anyway. "I'm sure you still have it. Once you have the Force you cannot simply lose it just because you did not cultivate it. It's a part of you forever."

Vanto translated for her, but this resulted in both him and Zicher stare at her blankly. Leia sighed. Perhaps her experience with the Force was not normal. Well, how was she to know? Luke was her only point of reference, and he was a Jedi.

"Maybe I can help you out," Leia offered, smiling at Zicher gently. When Vanto translated, her eyes widened, and she shook her head. That only confused Leia. "No? You don't want my help?"

"It's not that," Vanto translated as Zicher spoke. "It's that it isn't possible. I do not have the Si— the Force any longer, and I don't see the point in pretending like it might come back. It doesn't come back."

"Has anyone ever tried?"

Another silence. Leia sighed. She continued to eat as the silence stretched between the three of them awkwardly. She had managed to isolate herself from both of them, no surprise there. Her father had always said she had an easy time making friends and a shit time at keeping them. Well, he hadn't said it like that, but paraphrasing was in any good politician's nature.

Finishing her meal, Leia sat between her two new, odd companions, and she wondered what Han might be doing. If Ben was okay. If she had made the wrong choice.

No, she thought firmly. Luke needed me. I was supposed to find him.

"Can I see Luke?" she asked Vanto, who frowned at the request.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "Usually when sky-walkers undergo somnia, we have to leave them alone to let it run its course. In extreme cases…" He shook his head. "Until we reach the medical base, they'll want him to be as far removed from the physical world as possible. Your, uh…" He winced. "Connection? Yeah, that's not going to fly right now."

"But your admiral said— and the little girl, she said—"

"Navigator Un'hee," Vanto said, nodding. "I know what they said. But that is for if he does not wake up under normal somniac circumstances. He should be able to pull himself out of it. Our concern is that he will not."

Rubbing her forehead anxiously, Leia tried not to immediately panic. What did that mean? This was not her, this patience and trusting the Force shit, it just wasn't. She was very action oriented. Planning, researching, keeping her hands busy, that was Leia's specialty. Luke used to be the same way, when she had first met him. It made her wonder if she could mellow out too, and learn to trust the Force, or the universe, or whatever it was to keep her tethered.

Unlikely.

"I'm sorry," Vanto said gently, "for what it's worth. I know he's your brother. We'll do everything we can."

"What if that's not enough?" Leia looked him in the eyes and dared him. She dared him to say something else, because frankly, she was not in the mood to allow people to presume they understood what it was like for her in this moment. It was not Alderaan, but it certainly felt like it.

Like a limb had been cut off. Like she would be cold and empty forever, with a light in her heart gone out.

"I promise you," Vanto said, looking away from her and sighing, as if to himself, "the Chiss are going to do whatever it takes to figure this out."

"Why are the Chiss so concerned with my brother?" she demanded, not liking the suggestion one bit.

"Nobody's going to kidnap him," he said, rolling his eyes. "Calm down. It's a matter of… well, it'll make sense soon. But look at it this way for now. If this can happen to a fully grown sky-walker, what does that mean for our navigators?" Vanto's brow quirked, and she hated that he had a point. "This is a matter of dire importance, and it will probably have the Syndicure's full attention."

"The what?" Leia asked flatly.

"The government," Vanto said dryly. He said something quickly to Zicher, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Chiss politics are complicated. I wouldn't worry much about it, Princess."

"If you'll remember, Commander," Leia said, suddenly more than a little interested, "I was a senator of the Galactic Empire when I was sixteen. Complicated politics are magic words to me. Please, give me the gory details of this 'Syndicure.'"

It was not how she expected to fill the last few hours of their journey, but it was probably the best decision she'd made all week. She included going off to find Luke in that, because she should have gone sooner.

Truthfully, it wasn't all that complicated, but it was certainly not anything like any government she'd been a part of. The hierarchy seemed stable, but the family structure puzzled her. Zicher was the one to offer her knowledge, but Leia still did not get it.

"What makes you different than some other Irizi?" she asked. "If neither of you are blood related to the head of the family— the Patriarch— then what sets you apart?"

"Rank."

Zicher had said more than a single word, but Vanto had decidedly and patiently waited for her to finish before stating this flatly. Leia imagined it was much more complicated than that, but he was saying it for her benefit.

"And you're…" Leia studied Zicher curiously. "What? Merit adoptive?"

"Trial born." Zicher shrugged while Vanto interpreted. "The admiral did not want me to lose my name if I chose to leave the military, and after a year or two of being Zicher she had me sent off to do the trials. It was sudden, but she meant well."

"The admiral sent you?" Leia frowned. In all of Vanto's explanations, he had not mentioned that a superior officer might become involved with family affairs outside of their own.

It was Vanto who answered, not bothering to translate for Zicher.

"Admiral Ar'alani, as far as I am aware, was once Blood of the Irizi family," he said.

"That's the highest one," Leia pointed out, not exactly shocked, but certainly confused. "What did they do, disown her?"

"In a sense."

Suddenly Ar'alani's confusion about Leia and Luke's respective adoptions made sense. As far as Leia was aware, being a Blood of any high ranking family was as good as being nobility, and as strange as Leia found the whole system, she imagined Ar'alani found the idea of one child going to a queen and the other to a farm rather hard to wrap her head around.

Honestly, it was a bit silly when one thought about it, but Luke had never complained. She wished he would, but her home was a touchy subject. As was his.

Perhaps neither of them were willing to give up the people who had raised them. Who had died for them.

She felt them shift out of hyperspace, if only because she felt an acute sort of distress lingering at the back of her mind, something that felt painfully like waking just before Ben started screaming. On her feet in a second, she turned about until she found he direction of it, and she stared past the walls, feeling outside her body and trapped within her bones all at once.

"What is it?" Vanto gasped, on his feet the instant she moved. Zicher merely watched her.

"I…" Leia blinked. "I felt something strange. Is Luke okay?"

But she knew it wasn't Luke. It had been instinctive to say it was him, because it did not occur to her that it could be anyone else, but then she remembered Un'hee.

Before Vanto could even speak into his comm, which he had procured immediately to inquire for her, she shook her head furiously.

"No, no," she said waving her hand, "it's not Luke. It's… how many Force sensitive children are on this vessel?"

Vanto stared at her, his jaw tightening. Clearly he thought this was classified information, like Leia had not just been informed the entire workings of the Chiss government. Really.

When she pointed that out, Vanto merely sighed.

"Four," he said. He looked uncomfortable saying it, and she suspected that meant there were more. "Why? Do you… is this feeling because of them?"

"I think so." Leia rubbed her eyes. "I don't know. It's not… I never really had another person like me around, except Luke, but that's… it's different. Being a twin, it feels natural to just know how the other is feeling. Even before we knew we were twins, it felt natural."

Vanto nodded, listening to her calmly, and she watched him put his comm away with a deep frown.

"What are you doing?" She pointed to his pocket. "Call someone! One of your navigators could be hurt!"

"She's not," Vanto said gently. "We just returned to real space. Navigator Lin'neah, the sky-walker on duty, is prone to getting tired out rather quickly. She's fifteen, and will probably retire soon."

Leia folded her arms across her chest, trying to decide how to properly tear him to pieces, when Zicher stood up. Vanto glanced at her as she watched Leia, frowning and shaking her head.

"If you are concerned about the sky-walkers on this ship," Vanto interpreted Zicher's calm sounding words, "please don't be. This is their life. Whatever it is you are feeling, it is only intense because you have never felt it before. But they feel it all the time. They can handle it. Just because it scares you does not mean it scares them."

Leia had not felt so thoroughly handled in a long time. Not even Mon could manage to make Leia feel like a child anymore. But this woman, whose voice she could only understand through Vanto's crisp Wild Space drawl, had managed to leave Leia both ashamed and speechless. Because she was right. Leia didn't know what the lives of these so-called sky-walkers were like.

But she would like to. She knew that at least.

"You're right," Leia said, bowing her head toward Zicher. "I apologize. I… may have overreacted."

Zicher's face softened when Vanto translated for her.

"Don't apologize for being kind."

That was the only response she got.

Not long after, Leia found herself being ushered into the hangar where she boarded a shuttle, following Vanto hesitantly while Zicher was left behind to wave them off. An officer, the co-pilot, spared her a glance and said something to her.

"He said button up your jacket, Princess," Vanto said, strapping himself into the shuttle.

Leia frowned. She did not want to look like she belonged with these people. Well, being human would probably set her apart anyway, but still!

When she did not do as she was told, the officer sneered and turned around. Then Leia jumped to her feet, staring at the stretcher that floated up the ramp as she got a good look at her brother. He'd been cleaned up and changed into hospital garb, and there were a number of wires and IV bags hooked up to him. She recognized one as being for the nutrients he'd lost in the few days he'd been missing, and she was relieved that at least the medicine here was comparable.

It did make her feel better to be near him. To see that he was alive. But still, something did not feel right. She could see him, but she could not feel him.

Ar'alani marched up the ramp last, and as it closed behind her, she took one look at Leia, who as drifting over Luke, too scared to touch him, and she scoffed.

"You look like a vagrant," the tall Chiss woman said, her thick accent making her words sound particularly harsh and backhanded. Leia blinked rapidly. "Button up."

Then she brushed past Leia and moved to the front of the ship.

When she turned to look at Vanto, he was smirking. She glared at him, irritably clipping her jacket together and hooking each button in place.

"I don't see why it matters," she whispered. "I'm not one of you. Who cares what I look like?"

"You are Admiral Ar'alani's guest," Vanto said gently. "You need to look at least somewhat presentable."

"Oh, are your Syndics showing up for this little soirée on the medical base?" Leia plopped down beside Vanto and clicked the final button into place. The jacket was smoothed out and uniform on her abdomen, like it wasn't buttoned at all. "If I'd known I would have packed a dress for the occasion."

"You're not making this any easier on yourself, you know."

Of course she knew. Leia was nothing if not self-aware. It was just that the self-awareness never stopped her from saying something ridiculous just because she was angry. Stretching her seatbelt over her head, she huffed a bit.

Then she cast a glance at her brother, and she thought, I would do anything just to speak to him right now.

The shuttle took off, and Leia closed her eyes. Anything. She would do anything.

Chapter Text

Waist deep in water, there was a slight breeze that caused the tall pondweed to shiver around him. He took a step, and his bare feet wedged into the clay bottom of the lake, kicking up silt and sand, and so he took another step, and another, the water tickling his chin. It kissed his mouth. Gazing out into the great expanse of the lake around him, greenery rising up beyond the lake's edge, he thought about the places he'd never been. The places he'd never go, never see. Even on this very planet.

He sucked in a deep breath and let the water pull him under.

When he opened his eyes, he saw his own face peering back at him, clear as day. Dressed in all black, loose robes shivering against the gentle current of the lake, short hair dancing around his head, and eyes wide as serving trays while he reached a black, gloved hand out to touch his cheek—

Luke woke tp the pads of his flesh fingers scraping beneath his eye, and he winced as he nearly jabbed himself. His brain was a bit foggy from sleep, but he remembered the dream. He remembered…

That had not been him. He had seen himself, his real self, but the thoughts, the feelings, that had not been him. And he felt it all. Acutely. It was still simmering beneath his skin, a burn he could not soothe. An itch he could not scratch.

It was like it had been on Tatooine, before Artoo and Threepio.

Longing.

He had started to attribute that painful, desperate hunger for someplace else to his distance from Leia. But that was not it, exactly.

It was the feeling of being stuck. Trapped. The days drew themselves outwards, spiraling into one another, and he felt the doldrums of an agonizingly simple life tearing up his insides and leaving him a rattling husk that could do nothing but stare at the sunset and wonder.

Groaning, Luke shifted onto his elbow, his discomfort becoming quite obvious as he realized he had been strewn across three seats in the back of what appeared to be a Lambda-class shuttle. His head had been cushioned by a rucksack, and where he was, why he was there, what had happened came back to him very suddenly.

"Hey," he said hoarsely. The man in the cockpit jumped a bit, dropping his legs from the console and twisting in his seat to stare at Luke.

"Hey." Ezra Bridger was the type of man, Luke thought, that would get you into trouble. The kind of man that would have made Luke blush and avert his gaze if he caught his eye as a teen in Mos Eisley. Now, though, he supposed Luke was the person getting people into trouble. After all, where would this man be, if Luke hadn't trapped him on the Chimaera in the first place?

They were quiet for a minute as Luke stretched his limbs. He was tired, but at the very least he did not feel like he was drowning in fatigue. He watched as Ezra got up from his seat in the cockpit and crossed the threshold into the back of the ship. When he sat down, he sat directly across from Luke, a frown deepening on his lips.

"You were muttering in your sleep," he said, stretching out his legs and folding his arms across his chest. The gash on his bicep had been hastily bandaged up with a bit of his torn shirt, revealing the dips and crevices of his finely chiseled arms. Luke dragged his eyes back to Ezra's face.

Luke sat there, blinked at Ezra, and he tilted his head.

"Why does that sound like an accusation?"

"It's not."

"Well," Luke said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes and instead fixing Ezra with his best Jedi glare, "fix your tone next time. Who cares if I was muttering?"

The heel of Ezra's boot was drumming against the floor of the shuttle. Luke's gaze was steady, but it was clear Ezra was bothered by something. What could Luke have possibly said? His dream had been strange, but there was nothing incriminating about it.

"Are you okay?" Ezra asked finally. Luke merely stared at him, unsure how to respond because technically he wasn't, but how was he supposed to admit that?

"Did I say something to make you think I'm not?" Luke asked hesitantly.

Ezra squinted at him. Obviously Luke had said something strange, and he wondered if maybe Ezra might finally catch onto the fact that he was not from this world.

"I don't know," Ezra said, finally, looking incredibly suspicious. "I couldn't catch a lot of it. It was just…" Ezra averted his gaze. "You were apologizing a lot."

"Well I suppose I do owe you an apology," Luke said, boxing up this information to puzzle through later. It was not important right now.

"Huh?" Ezra was clearly taken aback. His eyes shot wide, and he gaped at Luke for a moment. "Sorry, what? Shouldn't I be apologizing for, you know, kidnapping you?"

"That was hardly a kidnapping," Luke said, actually rolling his eyes this time. "Though you can give yourself the credit if you want. No, I wanted to apologize for attacking you. In the hangar. Remember?"

"Oh." Ezra winced a bit, rubbing his nose where he'd been hit by the stormtrooper. "Yeah. Okay, that was your fault." Before Luke could apologize again, Ezra smirked. "Smart move, though. You're pretty fast, you know, and you've got a surprising amount of strength to you. For someone so small."

"I'm not really that small," Luke said placidly, though inside he was absolutely biting back a snappy retort.

"To me you are."

"Hm. Well, not all of us were born to be abnormally huge." Ignoring the way Ezra's eyebrows shot up, Luke pushed himself to his feet. "Will we be arriving at Takodana soon?"

"Nearly there," Ezra said, his smirk only growing. "What was it you just said?"

Luke did not respond immediately, and instead calmed himself by inhaling slowly. Then, he shook his head.

"You would get along with my sister," he sighed, dragging his bag from the seat behind him and turning toward the cockpit.

"We've met," Ezra said in a strangely bitter voice.

Slinging the strap of the bag over his shoulder, Luke paused to frown at that. He glanced back at Ezra curiously.

"She's like that to everyone at first," he offered.

"Your father's got her brainwashed." Ezra stood up, staring down into Luke's eyes with all of the mirth from their previous conversation gone. "Seriously, she needs help."

"I know that." Luke turned away from Ezra sharply. He plopped himself into the pilot's chair and blinked as the flap of his rucksack fell open. He set it on his lap. "Do you honestly think I like the Empire? After all of this?"

"No." Ezra seemed hesitant to sit down beside Luke, and instead he lingered in the doorway. "That's why I'm telling you. Maybe you can help her."

"In my experience," Luke said tiredly, "Sith don't listen to reason. If Leia can be freed, I cannot free her. She has to make that decision herself."

"I guess you must have lots of experience with Sith," Ezra said with a scoff. "Great. My favorite thing to deal with."

"How much experience do you have with the Sith, Master Jedi?" Luke asked Ezra innocently, turning in the pilot's chair to look up at him. Sitting down while Ezra stood, Luke did have to crane his neck a bit.

"Enough."

"Hmm…"

Ezra eyed him as he decided to focus on his bag. He did not remember packing it, but he recognized the shirt at the top, and as he dug through it he saw other clothes that he was familiar with. To his relief, he saw his datapad well and intact. Then he half pulled out the dark, rectangular case that held his medicine, and he stared at it for a long moment. How the hell had he gotten his hands on this?

"What's that?" Ezra asked.

Luke weighed his options. On one hand, Ezra was kind of an asshole. Not any worse than Han, so Luke didn't mind much, but there was a chance Luke might get mocked for his illness. On the other, Luke wanted this man to trust him more than anything else.

"Medicine," he said finally, pushing the box back into the bag.

There was a tenuous stretch of silence as Luke continued to rifle through the bag.

"Oh," Ezra said finally. He sounded confused. "For… what?"

Luke paused. He swiveled his chair to stare up at Ezra pointedly, and he waited until the man was thoroughly uncomfortable.

"Does it matter?"

"No."

"Then let's say it's for my nerves and leave it at that." Luke did not know how much medicine was in this box, but it had to be enough to last them the feasible journey to the Chimaera and back to Naboo. Luke would guess more than a week's worth. Maybe a month.

"Okay…?" Ezra seemed a little frazzled. "Sorry I asked."

Luke thought he must have said something wrong, but it was too late now. He realized he probably needed another dose soon, but he also needed to take stock of what he had. If he didn't take the medicine twice a day, maybe it would last longer.

At the bottom of the bag, he found a familiar cape bundled up around a blocky hilt, and he was relieved that he had remembered to grab it, but he was also confused about when he'd managed to pack this bag. Regardless, he pulled the lightsaber from the bag and turned it over in his hands before, reluctantly, he stretched to offer it out to Ezra.

"Here," he said, watching the man's eyes narrow in suspicion. "This is yours."

There was a moment where there was nothing but silence before the suspicion transformed into a startled realization, and Luke could see the process on Ezra's face, his eyes fluttering wide as it seemed to hit him all at once.

"Are you kidding?" Ezra asked breathlessly, snatching the bundled-up lightsaber and peeling back the cape with quick, nimble fingers. It was easy to watch his excitement build, his face breaking into a bright, disbelieving grin. "You crazy bastard— how the hell—?"

"I know you don't really trust me," Luke said, setting his bag down on the ground while Ezra held up his lightsaber dazedly. "I haven't really given you many reasons to, and I'm sorry for that. But I've been on your side this whole time. I want to help you."

It took a moment for Ezra to finally look at Luke. When he did, he looked truly and deeply shocked. Luke did not get it. He had thought it had been obvious that Luke was not a fan of the Empire, that his interest in Ezra clearly leaned on the sympathetic side, but then again, Luke did not know this man. Maybe trust was hard won for a reason.

I guess we'll see if I've gotten on his good side, Luke thought, watching Ezra sink into the co-pilot's chair. His dark eyes, so rich and blue that in the whirling light of hyperspace they seemed to gleam a regal purple. He gazed down at Luke in disbelief.

"I appreciate it," he said, his brow furrowing, "but… why?"

"Why does anyone hate the Empire?"

Ezra frowned at that. It was easy to imagine that he was having a difficult time processing Luke's motivations, because in his mind, Luke was a prince. And why would a prince ever go against everything he ever knew?

"Look," Luke said, holding up his hands, "I know it's strange, but you have to trust me. The Force doesn't do things by chance."

At that, Ezra snorted, his eyes rolling back far enough that his long lashes fluttered against his cheeks. He sunk into his seat in a defeated, grumpy motion.

"Sure," he said. He swung his chair from side to side, scowls up at the ceiling. "You really think we were meant to meet, don't you?"

"I know we were."

The silence was different this time as Ezra's eyes flickered to Luke's face curiously. There was something electrifying about that gaze, like for the first time since Luke had hinted that they could have known each other in another life, he was considering the option that maybe Luke knew him.

"You have a lot of trust in the Force," Ezra said, his gaze heavy and sure, "for someone who isn't a Jedi."

"Are the Jedi the only people allowed to have faith?" Luke found himself teasing this man, smiling when Ezra shifted uncomfortably at that. "You should know better, Master Jedi."

"I'm not a Master," Ezra sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. "I'm hardly even a Jedi, honestly."

Now that was interesting. He wondered if it was because he was not actually a Jedi at all. Either way, Luke could understand the sentiment, but he supposed the difference between himself and this man is that when Luke had started to doubt his ability to become a Jedi, after his father had cut off his hand and Han had been captured, Luke had just decided that if he just said that he was a Jedi and acted like what he thought a Jedi might act, then he'd just suddenly be a Jedi.

It had kind of worked, in a backwards sort of way, but he'd learned since then that it had nothing to do with his play-pretend and more to do with how his actions had benefited others. How in spite of everything, he'd given himself over to the Force. He would die a Jedi. He'd decided that, and he'd thought that maybe it was enough to die a Jedi than become warped or disillusioned.

He still wasn't sure he was doing anything right. Yoda and Obi-Wan were too cryptic to be helpful, and Luke had not seen the ghost of his father since Endor.

"You're a Jedi," Luke told Ezra gently, knowing well enough that he'd needed to hear those words at least a hundred times when he had begun doubting himself.

"Is that impressive to you?" Ezra glanced down at him. "You know there are better ways to piss off your dad than throwing yourself in with me."

"I can think of a lot of ways to piss him off that don't involve you," Luke said amusedly. Ezra was smiling now, which was nice to see. Luke wondered, briefly, when he should bring up the alternate universe thing. It wasn't exactly a natural conversation topic.

"Well, then," Ezra said, "I'll count myself lucky that you chose me."

"Who had a choice?" Luke laughed.

"Hey, hey! You said it wasn't kidnapping!"

"It wasn't," Luke said, "I was talking about the Force."

"Oh." Ezra blinked. "Well, I'm not totally sold on the whole meant to meet thing, but you've made your point."

Luke stared at the man blankly.

"What?" Ezra huffed.

"I'm trying to decide if your denial is cute or just dense," Luke said, eyeing the console as a light flashed. He decidedly buckled himself in his chair.

"Excuse me?"

"Coming out of hyperspace," Luke said, flicking a toggle switch above his head to redirect the energy from the hyperdrive to the sublight engines.

"I'm not—!" Ezra paused. "Did you just call me cute?"

Luke rolled his eyes. "Can you…?" He gestured wildly at Ezra.

"What?"

"Buckle yourself in!"

"Why?" Ezra squinted at him. "It's Takodana, not Imperial Center."

"And we are in a stolen Imperial shuttle." Luke gripped the yoke tightly, trying not to lose his temper. Dense, then, he thought irritably.

"Oh."

"You'd think being a rebel would have clued you in to how dangerous flying Imperial in the wrong area is."

Ezra's eyes widened, and he sputtered senselessly for a moment, his excuses falling on deaf ears as the rings of hyperspace fell away and the salient green gem of a planet blipped into view. It took Luke a moment to remember that Ezra was not a rebel. At least, the man from Luke's world hadn't been.

Yet he'd known General Syndulla.

They would have a lot to talk about, it seemed.

It did not take long at all for Dormé to turn on her. She had the good sense to wait until they were on planet, but regardless, it was done. They'd managed to find their way to the nearest settlement and wasted no time heading to the cantina. Dormé had grabbed them a table while Padmé had gotten their drinks and something for them to eat.

This was not first time her old friend had taken Luke's side over hers. Doubtless it would not be the last. It was one of the reasons why Dormé was trusted with Luke above all else. When Padmé's own instincts failed, when Sabé prioritized Padmé, it was always Dormé who tended to Luke's needs.

"Why are we doing this?" Dormé demanded when they'd finally settled into the booth. The cantina was small, its walls earthy and paneled in unfinished wood. The tables were mismatched, cobbled together from reject piles or garbage heaps, most likely, and the patrons seemed not too different from the furniture. Diverse, but rustic. Warm, even.

Why were they doing this? Why indeed. Certainly from an outside observer Padmé must look like a callous and flighty mother, leaving her child to fend for himself after a medical emergency. It wasn't like she was unaware of it. Yet she had already pushed Thrawn this far, and as terrible as she felt about the whole ordeal, Luke would understand. If nothing else, she could always count on him to be gentle and empathetic, even when it would hurt him.

There was no telling when Padmé would be free again to dig her hands into the meat of real issues plaguing the galaxy, and she could not turn her back on this mission now that she was already on it. As concerned as she was about Luke's memory loss, and as strange as he had seemed even before that, she had to trust Sabé to keep him safe until she could properly deal with it.

"It needs to be done," Padmé said simply. On the shuttle over, Dormé had quickly loosened Padmé's hair and allowed a few curls to stray onto her brow while the rest was bound up in a plain linen cloth. The officer who they had borrowed their clothing from was, if the armor in her sparse closet had been any indication, a Mandalorian, and so expectedly, their clothing was durable, high quality, and streamlined. Padmé wore a pair of dark, flowy trousers and a very loose knit cable sweater over a plain shirt. The sweater offered a cowl that could be lifted overhead as a hood. Dormé's outfit was much looser, a pair of leggings under a tunic that reached her calves, slit for maneuverability. Both outfits were rather nondescript and colorless.

She suspected Thrawn's plan was not a wholly pleasant one, which was another reason why she'd wanted to go to the planet herself. Saw Gerrera might not be the most ideal rebel to work with— well, truthfully, she only had Mon Mothma as a character witness, and that woman, as much as Padmé dearly loved her, was a fool when it came to accepting hard truths.

Sometimes violence was the answer. Padmé would be the first to admit it. So she would hardly condemn Saw Gerrera when she had not met him or witnessed his supposed crimes.

Dormé was a unique handmaiden. Well, all her handmaidens had always been unique, and had always had their own particular talents, but it was a testament to Dormé that she had lasted this long. Longer than all the others, except of course Sabé, who would die by Padmé's side if she could help it.

She had not made it this long because she was simply obedient. Dormé was not quite as embittered and blunt as Sabé, but she had a sharp wit and a steely interior behind the swaths of warmth that she seemed to radiate.

"He's been acting odd," was all Dormé said.

"Memory loss will do that, I suppose." Padmé tried not to sound too worried. As worried as she actually was. Because Dormé would sniff it out and demand that she act on that worry immediately.

"He called me by the wrong name earlier."

Padmé glanced at her sharply, wondering why this had not been brought to her attention sooner.

"Well," Dormé seemed to backtrack, "he nearly did. Does he have an aunt that I don't know about?"

"Besides Sola?" Padmé managed a small chuckle. "What did he call you?"

"Aunt… something. Ba-something." Dormé seemed puzzled, and Padmé shared this bemusement as she tried to think what her son could have meant.

"That is strange," she admitted.

"I can't stop thinking about it." Dormé thumbed her glass, her eyes cast toward her hands. "He seemed very scared when he realized what he'd said. Like he has a secret that he nearly spilt. And now that I think about it, he's been acting… unlike himself lately. I don't like this whole situation, Padmé."

"I don't like it, either, but we need to see this through."

"I know that." Dormé eyed her with the sort of chilliness that Padmé had expected, but it still stung a bit. As much as Dormé loved and trusted Padmé, there was no doubt that their isolation had gotten to her in a much different way than how it had gotten to Padmé. She had no reservations about her role in being the protector. However, at some point she had noticed that between her two charges, Padmé could always protect herself. "Did Anakin have any family left?"

Her use of Anakin's name was a valiant act to be sure, and Padmé suspected she knew just how dangerous the ground she was treading was.

"Aside from Shmi, I don't believe…" She trailed off, avoiding Dormé's steady gaze, a sudden memory shifting behind her eyelids. "Oh… well there was a stepfather. And his son."

"A stepfather and stepbrother," Dormé noted with a short hum. "No sister?"

"No, no," Padmé said distantly. "No sister. The boy had a girlfriend, but I hardly see how—"

"Do you remember her name?" Dormé pressed.

Padmé did. And somehow, the strangest thing was not the memory of the sweet-faced girl from Tatooine, but how her name seemed to echo inside Padmé's head. Beru. Beru. But that is a coincidence, surely. How would Luke even know she even existed?

"I hardly see how it's relevant," Padmé said firmly. "Luke wouldn't know anything about her, or any of them for that matter. Who would tell him? Vader?"

"Have you noticed how strange he sounds sometimes?" Dormé ignored her question point blank. "It's been driving me crazy. His voice is the same, but the way he talks… I didn't even notice until he called us into his room, because he started to sound like himself again."

"What are you saying?" Padmé asked tiredly. "Something is wrong with Luke? Beyond the usual?"

"I think there's a possibility that something is wrong with him and that it has nothing to do with the usual," Dormé said, meeting Padmé's gaze with the steadiness of someone well acquainted with strange situations, "yes."

"Did you not think that perhaps," Padmé said, staring at Dormé with a pointed, frustrated gaze, "I should have been notified sooner?"

"In between our being shuffled around Imperial handlers?" Dormé scoffed, taking a tentative bite of the fried, battered purple snacks in the basket between them. It crunched loudly between her teeth. With a sigh, Padmé took a sip of the beer she had ordered, suspecting it was locally brewed. It was not bad at all, though it was a bit strong for her own personal tastes. Dormé primly waited until she had finished chewing to continue. "Honestly, what was I supposed to say? We'd just gotten back from a warzone!"

"Do you think Vader could have done something?" Padmé was not able to hide her concern this time. She knew that if her husband wanted Luke for himself, there was nothing she could do, but she'd always thought that if nothing else, Luke's illness had saved him from that fate. Now she was not sure if it had even done that.

"I don't know what the issue is, if I'm being honest here." Dormé frowned as she wiped her fingers off on a napkin and looked at Padmé steadily. "I'm fully committed to helping you on this mission, but I want you to know that once this is over, Luke needs to be our priority. Whatever is happening to him, you cannot run from it."

A chill passed through her, the accusation stinging a bit too hard. Like a slap in the face.

"You think I'm running?" she asked in a calm, dull voice.

"I know you are."

"Well I will leave that to your expert opinion," Padmé said staidly. "For now, we should gather our wits so we don't walk into something we cannot get ourselves out of."

"You mean you did not intend to simply walk up to Saw Gerrera and demand he return Jyn Organa to you?" Dormé's brow shot up, her voice light and teasing, a note of comfort in that laughing tone. Regardless of the prickliness between them, Dormé was as close to Padmé as a sister was. It was not unlike a conversation with Sola that had turned sour and then merely dissipated entirely.

"Of course not," Padmé said, lifting her glass to her lips. "We have to find the man, first."

Dormé did laugh, which made Padmé feel at least a tad bit better about their situation. It was not ideal, but she would not let Bail's daughter be used as a bargaining chip. Especially not with Thrawn involved. She considered the man to be a friend of sorts, but he was still an Imperial officer first and foremost. He may have her friendship, but that hardly meant he had her trust. In fact, she was certain she did not have his.

It seemed that he had been hellbent on proving her right, because after their drinks got low, an hour or two into their plotting, Dormé's eyes flitted behind Padmé's head and got inexplicably wide. She was too well trained to react any more than that, but for a handmaiden, it was like she had been electrocuted.

"What is it?" Padmé asked in a hushed tone. They had just agreed that the best course of action was to find somewhere to stay for the night and do some reconnaissance. The locals would undoubtedly have some things to say about the increased volume of rebel activity.

"Thrawn's favorite," Dormé murmured, her brow pinching uncertainly.

Ah. Commodore Vanto. The man did not interact with Padmé often, and she had begun to wonder the purpose of that. As much as she and Thrawn got along, she suspected that he feared her connection to Ana— to Vader. Despite the fact that he had been in her home and was well acquainted with both her children, if he had something he liked, and he liked it well, he was too smart to put it in plain view.

"How interesting."

Dormé's gaze was hard as she sat there in silence. Her face was a fair mask of disinterest, but in reality she seemed to be pushed to her limit. Padmé could only imagine how stressful the past few days had been, and with the addition of Luke's unexplainable behavior and an Imperial officer showing up when they had been banking on their neutrality… it was enough to make even Padmé's teeth grind.

Then, strangely, Dormé's eyes darted back to Padmé's face. She did not say what was on her lips, something Padmé saw and heard with just the way her lashes fluttered back.

Shit.

Footsteps approached steadily enough, and Padmé dragged her own eyes from Dormé's face to the sticky linoleum tabletop to the sturdy, nondescript black boots of their interloper.

Then her eyes slid up, taking in the extent of his disguise. His trousers were dirty and too big. They were held up by both a belt and suspenders. Beneath that was a gray shawl that appeared to be handknitted. In a stroke of genius, the man had cut his hair, which had been a slicked back, and now with what appeared to be a natural curl simply wind-beaten around his temples, he looked nothing like an Imperial officer.

"Hello, ladies," Commodore Vanto said, setting a tray of drinks onto their table. "May I sit down?"

Dormé's eyes were on Padmé, who could not look at her without drawing attention to the fact that they would be communicating with their eyes. She gently tapped Dormé's leg with the toe of her own boot beneath the table to indicate that she understood her reservations, but there was very little she could do about the situation.

"I hardly see how we can say no," Padmé said, and she was finally able to look at Dormé when she scooted over in her booth. She looked, to any common observer, utterly serene. In reality she seemed to be seething, which was not Dormé's specialty even when she was upset.

Vanto sat down, resting his elbows on the table and leaning his chin on his locked fingers.

Oh, Padmé thought, blinking at the man, he is Thrawn's favorite.

It was peculiar to see the mannerisms of the Chiss man in a human. It almost felt a bit too intimate, like even noticing the motion was like peeking into Thrawn's bedroom when he'd accidentally left the door open. Though she supposed it was only fair, given how much he seemed privy to her own personal life.

"To prevent any further awkwardness," Vanto said, "I thought it best to approach you before you inevitably noticed me and tried to throw me off your tail. Truthfully, I don't see the point in keeping you in the dark."

"Ah." Padmé's smile was as genial as it could possibly be, given the circumstances. "If Thrawn wanted us to have a chaperone, I'm sure he would have assigned one to us before we left."

"Yes, well…" Vanto sighed, and Padmé saw something more akin to what must be more Vanto than Thrawn peek out as his shoulders slumped. "You missed quite the disaster."

There was something about his change in demeanor that worried her. She was not the only one, she knew, because Dormé was sitting beside Vanto, staring at him unblinkingly.

"Will you leave us in suspense?" Padmé demanded.

"Hardly." Vanto dropped his hands from his chin and plucked a glass from the tray he had brought. She was not about to take a sip of any of the glasses, but she watched him take a long drink. Long enough that half the glass was gone. Perhaps, she thought amusedly, all three glasses were for him. Then he set the glass down and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Essentially, Erso is either dead or gone, our Jedi prisoner escaped, and your son has been taken hostage. Glory to the Empire."

Then he drained the rest of his glass.

Both Padmé and Dormé gaped at him. Dormé, who was not easily shocked, looked utterly shaken.

He seemed to wait for the fallout of a hysterical mother. When that did not come, he raised his eyes to her, and he frowned.

"I need an explanation," Padmé said, her voice steady, but her fingernails were digging out new homes out of the holes they were making in her palms. "A proper one. A Jedi? There was a Jedi on that ship?"

"Did you not brief her at all?"

It took a moment for Padmé to realize he was speaking to Dormé. Nobody talked to the handmaidens.

Well, except Thrawn, sometimes.

Ah.

Dormé seemed to adjust herself to the direct question quickly enough, perhaps because she had spent so much time away from Padmé the last few days, and she glared up at Vanto.

"We had other concerns than the Grand Admiral's obsession with the rebel boy," she said.

"Rebel?" Padmé echoed. "Now I truly am curious. Who is this rebel boy?"

They were both silent, likely waiting for the other to answer. Dormé exhaled a quiet, shaky sigh when she realized that Vanto seemed to be waiting on her.

"A rogue, rebel Jedi was captured a few days ago." Dormé met her gaze. They did not talk about the Jedi for obvious reasons. Even at home, they were a bit too frightened of what might happen to Luke if they delved too much into it. Sabé heard rumors, though, and always returned to Padmé with the whispers of survival that made her want to weep for joy and sorrow, and in the end unable to weep at all. "Lord Vader intends to take him, but the Grand Admiral convinced him to allow the Jedi to remain on the Chimaera for a short period of time. There is something about the boy that has caught the Grand Admiral's attention. And Luke's."

"You are attentive," Vanto remarked, blinking down at Dormé. "Yes, they've both become incredibly…" Vanto grimaced. "I guess enthralled might be the best word for what is going on there. The Grand Admiral has not confided in me about why, so don't go asking."

"And my son?" Padmé demanded. "He is, as you say, enthralled, with this boy?"

"I don't know your son as well as I know Thrawn," Vanto admitted. "It's hard to tell. But he's not very good at hiding his rebel sympathies."

"His what?" Padmé asked, a cold feeling sinking its claws into her, because Luke was not a fool. He might not have the most experience around Imperial officers, but he was quite a good liar. Padmé knew that first hand. What the hell had possessed him?

"Luke does not believe the boy should be tortured into submission," Dormé said icily. "Is that a crime, Commodore?"

"Eli will work fine while we're on this planet, thank you," Vanto said politely. His drawl was quite pronounced here, affected by the politeness and the softness of his reply to her utter disdain. "And not at all. I find Prince Luke's empathy to be incredibly refreshing and endearing, and I've found myself agreeing with him on almost every front."

"Perhaps you are not a very good Imperial, then," Padmé said, not without a hint of amusement so he could tell she was teasing.

"There is a reason why I have never gotten my own command, Miss Amidala," Vanto said, picking up another glass from his tray. "And there is a reason, I suspect, that I am here with you now, rather than tracing your son through the galaxy before your husband catches wind of our collective mistake."

"Your mistake," Padmé corrected. She had to think on it a moment. "This Jedi will not harm Luke?"

"It seems unlikely." Vanto drummed his fingers against his glass. "Best case scenario, Bridger will drop Luke off on the first planet possible and bolt."

"Worst case scenario?"

"Don't make me say it. You do understand that Thrawn now believes your son is openly conspiring with rebels, don't you?" Vanto gazed at her. When she did not respond, merely staring blankly, he sighed. "It seemed obvious that Bridger escaped with the help of the prince, but the issue is that Prince Luke was kidnapped. And Vader will kill us all if he finds out."

"So Thrawn left his post to go save my son." Padmé found herself a bit at a loss. "How noble."

"Don't forget," Dormé said in her most biting tone, "he left us a single man to keep us out of trouble. How noble indeed."

"I'm actually here to spy on you."

Padmé raised her eyebrows at that. Not the fact that he was here to spy, but that he had no qualms admitting it. She wondered how a man with such disregard for his superior officer had become Thrawn's favorite. But then again, she imagined the audacity was probably endearing.

"Interesting." Padmé tilted her head. "And how is that working so far?"

Vanto merely drank.

"Lovely, I imagine?"

"Listen," Vanto said when he set his glass aside, "I am not enough of a fool to believe I can outwit you two for a few days, orders or not. I'd say our best bet right now is to work together to find Gerrera and save the princess."

"And you'd disobey orders for that?" Padmé smirked. "What a right-hand man you are, Eli."

"If he wanted me to follow his orders, he should have given me better orders," Vanto said simply. "He'll get over it. Right now, I just want to clean up this mess quickly and efficiently so when Vader comes back, I have something to give him in exchange for my life."

"He won't kill you," Padmé said gently.

Vanto, who had been a bit dazed by this point, merely blinked at her.

"I won't let him," she added, patting his hand. "He's done some terrible things, but if I have a soft spot for someone, he does tend to leave them alone."

"That's…" Vanto continued to blink. "Unexpected. And kind."

"Oh, is it?" Padmé rolled her eyes. "I suppose small acts of restraint must seem quite kind for a monster."

Vanto's eyes widened as Padmé stood up. She picked up the remaining glass and, despite the warning look from Dormé, she drained it.

Well, she'd already told the man she was prepared to defend him from Vader. That was about as much trust as she could place in anyone.

"Shall we discuss this elsewhere?" she asked. "An inn, perhaps? We need to make some adjustments to our plan."

The satellite they landed on was clearly a medical station, and Leia was curious about the capacity of the foreign military's medicine. She was also curious about the Chiss in general. The crash course in Ascendancy society that she had gotten was passable, but as a far as she was concerned, due to her very specific upbringing, she felt like she was going into this a bit blind. As a diplomat, she really could not be in a worse position.

They asked for her weapons at the door of the facility, in the hangar, and she dutifully handed over her blaster, her smaller, hidden blaster, and a vibro-blade she'd tucked into her boot in the stall she'd changed in.

Luckily, nobody had said anything about the lightsaber. She wondered if any of them even knew what it was. Vanto had eyed her when she had not handed it over, but he'd schooled his expression by the time Ar'alani looked at them. He had seen the weapon first hand, and likely suspected what it was, but regardless, he would not snitch on her. It was interesting, but she could not help but feel he had an ulterior motive for that.

They were met inside the facility by yet another Chiss woman. This one, appeared a bit younger than Zicher. Perhaps, Leia thought, a bit closer to her own age. Her bluish black hair framed her slim, long face in gentle sweeps while the rest of it was pulled back into a thick braid that traveled the length of her back. She wore the same uniform as Vanto.

She spoke with Ar'alani briefly, though her red eyes kept traveling to Leia with an honest sort of curiosity. The red around them was more pronounced, confirming Leia's suspicion that Chiss lined their eyes with red paint to compliment the color of them.

"Princess," Ar'alani said, her accent curling around the word and making it feel strangely other-worldly to Leia's ear.

"Just Leia, thanks," Leia said, folding her arms across her chest and frowning at the Admiral. Ar'alani met her gaze with a short, terse glance.

"This is Lieutenant Vah'nya." Ar'alani waved toward the woman, who bowed her head with a small, faint smile. She seemed friendly enough.

"Hello," Leia said, blinking up at the woman. These Chiss women… are they all so tall, or am I just short?

She didn't vocalize her thoughts, knowing well enough what the answer would be. If Han or Luke were here—

That thought, too, died before it could go anywhere else.

"It is nice to meet you," Vah'nya said, her accent differing slightly from Ar'alani's which baffled Leia. It was not nearly as neat and mellifluous as Un'hee's, which felt almost faintly like something she would hear on a colonized Republic world. Instead the consonants were hard, but her vowels were light and airy, floating along with the sound of her bell-like voice.

"You speak Basic," Leia said, mildly surprised.

"A little." She smiled at Leia sheepishly. "Badly."

"No, no." Leia shook her head. "It's alright. I understand you wouldn't have a need for it."

Vah'nya's smile remained in place, and it took Leia a moment to realize the woman had probably only half understood her. She turned expectantly to Vanto, who translated for her at the sharp glance.

Her smile fell a bit, and she twisted her hands before quickly folding them behind her back. She said something in the Chiss's language.

"She said she should be better by now," Vanto said.

"Learning a new language is not easy," Leia said to the woman gently. She found herself sympathizing without thinking. There was something about this woman, Vah'nya, that Leia could not place. A bit like Zicher, but there was a more immediate sense of urgency to Leia's protectiveness. Like her heart had staked a claim before Leia's head could even process the woman's name.

"Maybe not," Vah'nya said in her small, lilting voice. She glanced over her should and spoke again, this time in her own tongue.

"Shall we go," Vanto murmured to Leia for her benefit. Ar'alani had already responded, and suddenly they were moving forward through the halls.

Leia tried to keep up with Luke as his stretcher was pulled in front of them. A few Chiss had appeared when they'd reached a crossroads, and Leia frowned as they began to speak heatedly with Ar'alani. One of them had put his hands on Luke's face and turned his head from side to side, tutting softly to himself.

"What's going on?" Leia demanded, taking a step forward toward her brother. Vanto grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "What are they doing?"

"They're just discussing his condition," Vanto assured her. "We sent an urgent message informing them of our arrival and your brother's… state, but this is not exactly something normal."

"You said somnia wasn't that out of the ordinary," Leia pointed out, her anxiety spiking as she tore her arm from his grasp. She jabbed her finger against his chest. "You said they could help him here!"

Apparently the volume of her voice was a bit too noticeable, because everyone had stopped to stare at her. Vanto blinked down at her, and she chomped down on the inside of her lips when he merely stared, as though waiting for her to continue.

"Is there a problem?" Ar'alani asked. Her voice was gratingly brisk, and she was looking at Leia pointedly, like she would personally escort her to the nearest airlock if she didn't shut her mouth. It would have been humiliating if Leia was anyone else. But Leia was not anyone else.

She was Leia Organa. And she did not balk before anyone.

"Yes," Leia said, ignoring Vanto's short exhale of disbelief. "What is wrong with him? Really? It cannot be as simple as a coma, or somnia, or whatever it is you want to call it. Whatever this is, it isn't normal, not for us, and not for you either, so don't pretend like you have this under control. You are clearly just as confused as I am!"

Behind Ar'alani, Vah'nya's brow quirked up, creeping along the protrusion of her forehead. Ar'alani herself merely stood there, as sleek and devilishly calm as possible, her eyes glowing as she watched Leia with something resembling respect mingled with contempt.

"Are you quite done?" she asked.

Leia scowled, her fingers closing into fists, and she refused to fold her arms across her chest and look even more like an impudent child. Her temper had gotten ahead of her once again, but she was in enemy territory, and she had no idea how to navigate around her mistakes.

"Will you be honest with me?" Leia looked up at Ar'alani steadily. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Well," Ar'alani said dryly, "if you will kindly quiet down and follow me, I can give you a bit more of an explanation."

And so Leia was properly shut down. Biting her tongue, she stared at Ar'alani with narrowed eyes until the admiral turned away and said something sharply to the medics. Luke was then floated down a corridor until they reached a secure room. The medics opened the door and Leia watched as Luke was ushered inside, noting that it was a large space and not even an empty one, the chatter between doctors becoming a steady hum as multiple Chiss crowded Luke and then broke off with alarming haste in different directions.

Ar'alani strode into the room like it was a council chamber and she was leading the discussion. Her heels clipped the floor as she moved briskly, her arms smoothly settling behind her back as she stopped before a hospital bed. Leia peeked into the room curiously, noting the Chiss man sitting by the bed had straightened at the sight of Ar'alani's approach. Vah'nya took a step into the room as well, and then she paused to look back at Vanto. Her eyebrows raised, and she said something in a very quiet voice, her lips drawing back into what Leia could only imagine was a teasing smile.

Vanto winced, and he shook his head, taking Vah'nya by the shoulders and wheeling her around. He muttered something before gently pushing her forward, and then he took a step into the room, catching Leia by the wrist and dragging her with him.

"Hey," Leia hissed, glowering up at the man. "I can walk myself, thank you!"

"My apologies," Vanto sighed, releasing her wrist. "You were taking your time."

"I was waiting for you."

"Well," Vanto said, watching her with a slightly amused glint to his eye. Bastard, Leia thought. "Your mistake."

Leia noted how he skirted around Vah'nya as they approached Ar'alani. The man by the bed had stood up, and was talking to her in the Chiss language. Leia shuffled to Vanto's side, feeling the Chiss man's eyes slide to her and remain there with a startling intensity. Meeting his gaze in absolute defiance of her own internal discomfort, she watched him tilt his head. Then he looked to Vanto.

"Commander Vanto," he said in a rich, delicately accented Basic. Leia was surprised by how light the accent was compared to Ar'alani's brusque, staccato tone, Vah'nya's breezy, gentle jumbling of words, and Un'hee's level, honeyed voice. It was almost indiscernibly like an accent she might find from an Inner-Rim world that had simply established a different pronunciation of Basic. "I see you completed your mission successfully."

Vanto met the man's gaze with a matching intensity, and it was enough that Leia had to pause a moment to stare into space before glancing between the two men wildly. The tension was, strangely, quite palpable, and Leia felt like she was missing something.

"If you knew what we were going to find on that planet…" Vanto began, breaking the gaze first if only to glance at Leia. She raised her eyebrows. Were they talking about her? Was she the mission? She did not like that one bit.

"I assure you," the Chiss man said, inclining his head, "that I did not expect this. I must simply commend your efforts."

Vanto's brow furrowed, but he nodded all the same.

"Sure," Vanto said. He did not sound convinced. "Anyway, this is Leia Organa."

The man's gaze was on her face again in an instant, snapping like elastic, and she felt the intensity of it more acutely, like he was trying to tear apart her history just by reading the map of her features.

"Organa," the Chiss man said in a slow, considering way. The name rolled around in his mouth before it bounced off her, feeling every bit as heavy as the weight of a legacy that would inevitably die with her could be. The man then said something quietly in his language. Ar'alani replied in an instant, her frown deep as she watched the man with narrowing eyes. Irritatingly, the Chiss man's gaze never left Leia's face. "I see."

"What did you ask her?" Leia demanded.

The Chiss man blinked. He seemed momentarily startled by her bluntness, it seemed, or maybe it was her tone.

"Apologies," the Chiss man said, inclining his head toward her. "I was mistaken about your identity. Before your arrival, I was informed that Commander Vanto found two individuals who bore the name Skywalker."

"Oh." Leia relaxed a little bit, feeling a bit foolish for being so on guard. "That wasn't a mistake."

The Chiss man raised his eyes to her again, and once more she simply could not help but feel unreasonably wary, like he could scoop out her fears from her skull with a glance.

"Oh?" he said.

Leia frowned at him. She glanced at Vanto, a bit helplessly, because she did not know what else to do.

"Quit it," Vanto murmured, taking a step forward as though to step in front of Leia. "You're making her uncomfortable."

"Am I?" The man blinked. He turned his eyes to Ar'alani, who merely shrugged. "Ah. I see. My deepest apologies, Princess Organa."

Leia stared at him, biting back a thousand questions, because something in her was nagging her to keep her mouth shut and listen to him. She was certain she'd never met him before, but there was something about him that was… off.

"My name is Mitth'raw'nuruodo," the man said in his soft, lulling voice.

"Mitth'raw'nuruodo," Leia echoed. The name did not ring a bell, and she wondered if she was imagining the intensely bad feeling she had from this whole conversation.

"Very good." A ghost of a smile touched the man's lips. "That is the correct pronunciation. Humans have had trouble with it in the past."

"Have you met many humans," Leia said innocently, "Mitth'raw'nuruodo?"

Beside her, Vanto's fingers were flexing and unflexing, like he was desperate to cut in.

"My fair share," Mitth'raw'nuruodo said. He glanced down at the hospital bed, and for the first time, Leia truly looked at the man who laid there.

He was human. A sheet was pulled close to his face, covering his mouth, but she could see by his coloring that he was human. She found herself staring at the man's face, at a loss, because there was something familiar about him. Something she could not quite place.

"You should tell her the truth," Vanto said suddenly. "She'll figure it out, you know. She's smart."

"I take it," Ar'alani said in Basic, which Leia realized was for her benefit, watching Mitth'raw'nuruodo with a frown, "your past has come back to haunt you once again?"

"An astute observation." Mitth'raw'nuruodo nodded, as though he was not being ganged up on. His gaze was still focused on Leia, so it took her a moment to realize he was addressing her. "Commander Vanto is correct. It is only fair that you should be acquainted with the name I am most commonly known by. Thrawn."

That got her attention. It seemed to strike her like a lightning bolt, her body stiffening before she even truly knew why the name had affected her this way. But she remembered, all at once, her teenage stints at rebellion, her run in with the Lothal rebels. Ezra Bridger and Kanan Jarrus. The Imperial who had made them disappear.

"You will not need that," Thrawn told her gently.

She had not quite realized that her hand had fallen on her lightsaber. What she did recognize was her glare, and her absolute disgust. Vanto she could handle. Imperial defectors were a stone's throw away from any sabacc circle in any rebel encampment.

This was a Grand Admiral. This was one of Palpatine's right hand men.

Leia had been alone with many Imperials over the course of her lifetime, and they hardly scared her any longer. Honestly, Leia had been chided more than once by her peers and friends that she seemed to have no fear. That she was immune to the anxiety of being caught by the Empire. Truthfully, it was simply that she had already experienced the worst the Empire had to offer. She'd already been captured, tortured, interrogated, and watched everything she loved used as a bargaining chip before it was splintered apart before her.

The Empire had done its worst, and still, Leia had outlived it. So who was a single Imperial officer to her, the girl who'd stood in the ashes of entire worlds and dismantled the very thing that had tried to kill her, piece by piece?

"Prove it," Leia hissed.

"Leia," Vanto said, taking a step toward her valiantly. He had seen her lightsaber before. He should know better.

"Get back." Leia unhooked her lightsaber and lifted her chin. Thrawn watched her with a blank expression while Vanto seemed to consider her words, her actions, and her tone. Then he moved backwards.

"What is that?" Vah'nya asked, surprising Leia. She had forgotten the woman was there.

"It is a Jedi weapon," Thrawn told her, his gaze remaining fixed upon Leia's face. It was eerie. He had not even blinked. When Vah'nya merely stared, Thrawn repeated his reply in his language.

"Jedi," Vah'nya echoed, taking a step toward Leia, doubtless mistaking her animosity for something else and peering at the weapon in her hand. It made Leia shuffle back, not entirely comfortable with her sticking her face so close to the lightsaber. She blinked up at Leia, looking confused. "Sorry. Did I… say…?"

"No, Vah'nya," Vanto said. "It's not you."

He was staring at Thrawn pointedly.

"You are, eh…" Vah'nya waved her hands emphatically. "Ïm-ta, Jedi? Like Bridger?"

"Bridger?" Leia looked to Thrawn sharply, a demand unspoken in her voice. Then she realized. It hit her all at once, and she felt quite foolish as she glanced down at the man in the bed below her. She reached down, her fingers closing around the sheets, and she tore them from his face. Looking at him, it was hard to see the boy she'd met nearly a decade ago, the scrawny little sixteen year old who had gotten on her nerves and still made her smile. He was much taller now, for one thing. Leaner, but more muscular, with a thick beard and long hair black that was loose and inky, fanning out against his pillow.

"Are you quite done with the dramatics, Thrawn?" Ar'alani asked. She sounded tired. "I would like for us to get somewhere with all of this."

"This is an incredibly delicate situation," Thrawn said, "that I had hoped to tread with care. Princess Organa has every right to hate me. I cannot deny it."

"Oh, how thoughtful," Leia scoffed, dropping the sheet and rolling her eyes. "We assumed you were dead, you know. Everyone did."

"Yes. I have gathered that much."

"The Empire is gone."

"Yes." Thrawn's stare was level as he gazed down at her. "In no small part due to your efforts, Princess. Bravo."

"Oh," she snapped, "quit your patronizing! What did you do to Ezra?"

She gestured vaguely down to him, not quite even realizing she was still holding her lightsaber, and she froze when Thrawn caught her wrist. Instinctively, she took a step back, but she realized she could not activate it without harming Ezra.

"Please," Thrawn said, his tone impatient for the first time, "do not wave that around like it is nothing. You would do well to either kill me now, or put it away."

"Let go of me," Leia told him in a voice that no man could mistake for polite.

Thrawn's gaze was unblinking as he did so. Then, considering him a moment, then glancing down at Ezra, Leia hesitantly clipped her lightsaber to her belt.

"Thank you." Thrawn's gaze briefly flickered down at Ezra, and Leia watched with a sudden, morbid curiosity as his eyes lingered on the man before he turned his attention back to Leia. "I believe you might be familiar with Bridger's affliction. He has been like this for nearly five days."

Leia was not quite sure how she was supposed to take that.

"Five…?" Her first thought was: Like Luke! But her second thought, the much stronger thought, was: "I'm sorry, back up. Where have you two been for the past five years?"

"Is now the time for the game of familiarity?" Ar'alani asked.

Thrawn hummed, not providing an answer, and it was Vanto, who watched Thrawn's face with a tired sort gaze, and said with ease, "When Thrawn appeared with Bridger two years ago, would you have simply accepted his absence and merely tended to the boy without question?"

That offered too many questions for Leia to stand.

"I see your point," Ar'alani said. Still in Basic, which was nice. "I do not like it, but I see it."

When Thrawn did not say anything, Vanto sighed and looked down at Leia. "I understand now that you are familiar with Bridger. That's good. It might help us figure out what's happening. But what you need to know is that whatever happened in the past, whatever transpired between Bridger and Thrawn, it is not important now. They have put it behind them, and so should you."

"I think I'd like to hear Ezra's opinion on that," Leia said stiffly.

"Go ahead and ask him," Vanto scoffed, gesturing to the man in the bed. "Be my guest!"

"Commander," Thrawn said, a quiet warning.

"No," Ar'alani said, cupping her chin, "I would like to see this. Carry on, Commander."

Vah'nya was watching all of this with wide eyes. She probably was only catching every other word.

"What is wrong with Ezra?" Leia asked, looking between each of them. "What happened?"

"What is wrong with your brother?" Vanto demanded, finally losing his patience with her and throwing a vague hand at the bed across the room. "Leia, it happened to both of them! You said it yourself, you felt something happen to your brother when?"

"I—!" Leia scowled. "That's not fair. And how could this possibly happen to both of them?"

"Bridger met a Jedi on Melinoë," Thrawn said quietly, his eyes on Ezra. "Just a few hours before he was overwhelmed by his Sight." He paused a moment before his red eyes, glowing eerily, slid to Leia's face. "I suspect that Jedi was your brother?"

Leia did not respond. She merely frowned.

"And the boy— what is his name?"

"Luke Skywalker," Vanto said. Leia glared at him. So much for her instincts.

Interestingly, Thrawn's jaw tightened. His eyes trailed along Leia's face, the faint pink irises that gleamed beyond the powerful red glow of his sclera raking over her once, before he seemed to grow a bit distant. He shook his head.

"Bridger and Skywalker met on Melinoë," Thrawn said, "and now they share the same fate. What do you think might be the cause of their affliction, Princess Organa?"

"I don't know," Leia said, thoroughly enraged enough that she did not want to know just to be impudent.

Thrawn's gaze remained stuck to her, thoroughly lost in the throes of whatever thoughts he had concocted, and there was a beat of silence where the man looked almost amused before he nodded.

"Commander Vanto?" Thrawn sighed.

"They met on Melinoë and ended up falling into similar cases of somnia within hours of each other." Vanto offered a shrug. "I'd say whatever happened, it's got something to do with what's in that temple."

"Which you did explore," Thrawn said, "did you not?"

"Yes, sir." Vanto retrieved a questis from his pocket and offered it out to Thrawn. "Senior Captain Zicher and I wrote up a quick overview of our findings. The inside is in ruins, but there are quite a few statues and open chambers. I believe there might be a tunnel system beneath the temple, inside the basin of the atoll. Oh." Vanto reached into his other pocket and lifted a bit of folded up paper out of it. "I also found this."

Thrawn took the paper over the questis, unfolding it carefully. It was a strange looking sigil, a looping, interlocking mark of some kind.

"How interesting," Thrawn remarked.

A familiar beeping surprised her. She had nearly forgotten that Artoo had followed them, as he'd remained by Luke's bed while they'd discussed things, but now he hooted and shook, rolling up to Thrawn and seeming to babble.

"How very interesting," Thrawn said, kneeling down before Artoo.

"Don't touch him," Leia snapped. Thrawn glanced up at her. Something passed over his eyes, and he nodded once, his hands lifting over his head as he rested back into his seat at Ezra's bedside. Then, hesitantly, Leia rounded the bed and knelt beside her droid. "What's wrong, Artoo?"

He cooed, his dome roving around desperately. Then a compartment popped open, and she saw a familiar leather-bound book.

"Oh," she murmured, prying it from the compartment. "I understand. Thank you for keeping this safe. Luke would be—" She caught herself, feeling both ashamed and horrified that she had already conditioned herself to speak about her brother in the past tense. "He will be so grateful that you tucked it away for him."

Once again, Artoo cooed, and she knew he was sad. She knew he knew that something was wrong with Luke, and even though he was just a droid, he was worried.

"I know," she murmured, rubbing Artoo's domed head. "It'll be alright. He'll wake up soon."

Then, not wanting to give too much of herself away to these people, Leia stood up.

"The paper is from this," she said, holding up Luke's journal. "My brother must have torn it out for some reason."

"Can you think of, perhaps, why he might do so?" Thrawn asked her gently.

"Not off the top of my head," she said, frowning. "Unless he wanted someone to find it."

"May I?" Thrawn asked holding out a hand. Leia merely glared at him.

"You certainly do have audacity," Leia said, hugging Luke's journal tight to her chest, "I'll give you that."

"Let him read it," Ar'alani said, her fingers falling upon Leia's shoulder and gripping her tightly. It startled her. "I understand you do not trust us now, but as you can see, we all have a stake in this. We want Bridger to wake as much as you want your brother to do so, also."

"Why?" Leia glanced up at her. She then glanced around the room, feeling the immensity of her confusion. "Why do you care about him? He isn't part of your military. Both Vanto and Thrawn have every reason to hate him. What has he done for you to receive this level of loyalty?"

"None of your concern," Ar'alani said flatly.

"He saved my life," Thrawn said, promptly ignoring Ar'alani's odd look, "many times. I owe him a great debt. And," there was a strained moment where Thrawn's gaze faltered away from Leia but only briefly, "he is my friend."

There was a strange, almost awkward silence as Thrawn's eyes lingered the man lying comatose beside him. It was more than a little confusing, knowing what she knew about this man's past in the Empire, and connecting it to this stranger.

"I do not wish to abandon him," Thrawn said, in the end.

That shouldn't have been enough. Leia did not know why it swayed her, or why she believed him, but to her disbelief, she did.

Leia had never met Grand Admiral Thrawn. She'd heard the stories, of course, while she had been attending to her duties as Princess and while she'd been a senator on Coruscant. He was apparently quite ruthless and emotionless, an alien who had sold his soul for the glory of the Empire. Many of her contacts throughout Imperial space who had known him had nothing kind to say. Her father had told her to avoid him at any costs, for reasons that eluded her.

Yet this was not the man she had expected. His face was hard to read, certainly, but his eyes were not cold or emotionless. He did not look at her with contempt. He seemed, irritatingly, quite earnest, his hand resting close to Ezra Bridger's arm, his eyes fixed upon her face while it seemed clear to her that he was tempted to look down at the man in the bed.

Why? Were they not sworn enemies? Leia had heard what had happened to Ezra from her father, and it had put a thorn through her heart, because she had liked him. Before Luke, she'd put a lot of her hopes into the Jedi she'd met, though she never would have told them that, and within a few short weeks, both those Jedi had been whisked away from the Rebellion.

And this man was responsible for that.

So why?

Leia could not figure it out. She stared, and Thrawn stared back, and she knew that only time would give her the answers she sought.

So she handed over Luke's journal, albeit reluctantly.

"Don't read anything but the latest entry," she warned him, tugging back on it harshly when he grasped onto the corner of it. Then she released it and stepped back. Frustrated, and more than a little upset, Leia turned away and stalked toward her brother's bed. He laid there, looking all too similar to Ezra. In fact, the more she stood between the two men, she realized that she could not feel either of them in the Force.

Something was very wrong.

"Hey," Leia whispered to Luke, scooping up his flesh hand and squeezing it tight. Lifting it to her mouth, she kissed the back of it, and frowned at him. "Hey. Idiot. Wake up. I can't deal with this alone right now. Please, Luke."

But Luke did not wake. He did not budge a single lash. The only indicator of life was the rise and fall of his chest and the wires attached to him monitoring his heartrate and brain activity.

"Leia," Vanto called. She glanced at them, and saw that Thrawn was watching her.

"Yeah?" she asked, arching a brow. She took a step away from Luke, her fingers untangling from his.

Thrawn had stood up.

"It was not your brother who tore the page out," he said. "It was Bridger."

Leia was a little skeptical as she stared at him. Is this guy for real?

"Okay? And you know that because…?"

"The last entry," Thrawn said, offering her back the journal, "was by Bridger. I do not believe either of them expected this to happen. Bridger returned to my ship and your brother returned to his. I suspect whatever happened, it hit your brother first."

"Oh, but you still don't know what it is?" Leia flipped through Luke's journal until she reached the most recent pages. Thrawn was right. That handwriting wasn't Luke's. But it was entirely too personal, she realized, as she read the first few lines addressed to General Hera Syndulla, and she clapped the journal shut. "So what now? How do we figure out what caused this?"

Thrawn blinked at her.

"I thought it was rather obvious," he said.

"He wants to return to Melinoë," Ar'alani said, scowling at him. "Only this time, he wants to bring you."

"I…" Leia did not like the sound of that. "Why?"

"Why did your brother and Bridger have a reaction but Commander Vanto and even Senior Captain Zicher did not?" Thrawn countered.

"I don't know!"

"Sight," Vah'nya whispered.

And that, Leia thought, was enough to make her want to curse Thrawn to kingdom come.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, Luke was not only an incredibly skilled pilot, but he was a clever one too. He'd landed the Imperial shuttle quite a ways out from Takodana Castle, and at first Ezra had been confused as to why, but then he realized that obviously they would be tracked, and if they left the shuttle in a heavily wooded area with multiple settlements in all directions, it would be more difficult for the Imperials to find them on foot.

Not, Ezra thought, that it'll matter for Thrawn, but it was smart.

They'd landed on higher ground, so much of their trek at first as delicate footing as they trudged down a rocky incline. Luke remained behind Ezra at Ezra's request, as Ezra did not trust him not to get his footing wrong and go flying face first into a boulder.

"Steady," Ezra said, half turning to watch Luke's feet as he positioned himself between a rock and a log, his muddy boots following Ezra's path with a surprising amount of grace.

The sun was starting to peek through the cover of trees, and the morning scent of fresh dew and freshly silted dirt reminded him achingly of home. The bird songs were what saved him. Takodana's fauna was incredibly diverse, but the bird population was something specific and plentiful. Lothal was not a forest planet. It was rocky, mountainous, with wide open plains and vast sea ports, but not very many trees. That meant that though there were many animals, birds were not so common.

"Thanks," Luke murmured, his fingers winding around Ezra's bicep as he jumped onto the large, flat rock that Ezra had decided to land on. They had reached a craggy canyon, and would now have to make their way down to the flatlands so they could cross the river. And then, ironically, go uphill again.

Staring at Luke's face, he looked noticeably paler than he had on the ship. He'd swapped his satiny shirt for a plain white, sleeveless undershirt, which was very smart considering they were both beginning to sweat as the temperature climbed. Takadona had a temperate climate, but Ezra had a sneaking suspicion they'd arrived in this hemisphere's summer, due to how the morning chill was more like a gentle breeze.

"Are you alright?" Ezra asked as he steadied the man, taking him by the shoulders to keep him upright. His breaths were a bit labored, though he had managed for the past hour well enough.

"Uh-huh." Luke swiped at his mouth, his salient blue eyes catching in the morning sunlight, and Ezra blinked at him as his smile reflected the intensity of the sun. "Just a little winded, that's all— I, um, don't think I've had this much exercise in a long time."

He laughed at it, but that made Ezra frown more. This had been a downhill journey. It would not be good when they got to the other side of the river and had to make their way up hill.

"Just don't go passing out on me, kay?" Ezra released Luke's shoulders and turned from him, feeling the man's sunny disposition fall away the instant his back was turned. It was almost like Luke had turned a light off the moment Ezra's eyes weren't on him. Did the prince really need that much attention?

They made their way along the rocky forest edge, and Ezra waited each time he made it from one slope to the next to make sure Luke did not topple over the side of the cliff and into the valley below. He seemed to do well enough, but his breathing was still uneven, and he looked a bit pained as they continued down the ridge.

"Let me take the bag," Ezra said, finally, feeling too nervous about Luke's clear discomfort to let this go on for much longer.

Luke looked briefly astonished, and then he laughed, waving his hands in Ezra's face.

"No way," he said. "Don't worry about— hey!"

Ezra gripped Luke by the arm, forcing his wrist above his head, so he could yank the strap of the rucksack off his shoulder. Luke's feet were not firmly planted on the rock beneath them, so it was easy enough to whirl him around and tear the bag off his back.

"You're slowing us down," Ezra said when Luke had turned to scowl up at him. "Trust me, we cannot be anywhere near the ship when Thrawn catches up with us."

"Thrawn's post is Lah'mu," Luke huffed, trailing after Ezra when he'd begun climbing down a particularly steep boulder. "He can't just leave it."

"He's Thrawn. He will do whatever he believes he has to do." Ezra's fingers gripped the rough, rain stained rock, and readjusted his footing. He did not like how steep this one was, and he pushed himself gingerly downwards until he felt the mossy stone hit his feet. Stepping back, he tipped his head up to the top of the rock where Luke had already knelt down. "Jump."

Luke shot him a puzzled look.

"Don't give me that," Ezra sighed. "I don't want you to hurt yourself. Just jump, okay?"

"It's not even that far down!" Luke looked plainly irritated. "Even if I fall, I'll be fine."

"If you break your leg," Ezra pointed out, "we will get caught. Just do what I say, okay?"

"No." And Luke then made his way down the rocky ledge, his feet scraping sharp, jutting bits of stone. It did take him a bit too long, but he managed to get to the bottom without a hiccup. Then he pushed past Ezra, looking very plainly irritated.

"Why are you mad?" Ezra huffed, grateful that the ground had leveled out and that they could hear the soft rushing of a nearby river, the water soothing his anxieties. "I'm trying to help you!"

"You're treating me like a baby," Luke replied curtly, his eyes surprisingly sharp when they flickered up to Ezra's face. "Why is that?"

Ezra opened his mouth to object, but he faltered, because it wasn't untrue, really. To be honest, Ezra thought Luke was rather delicate-looking, and the fact that he was a prince did not help the image. He was also easily exhausted, and by the looks of his bare arms, not very strong. So, yeah, Ezra thought he was kind of weak.

It would be rude to say all that, though, and though Ezra had no issue with being a jerk, he did, as often happened when he was about to be quite mean, think about what Hera might say. So he grimaced and shrugged.

"Just trying to help," he said.

"Well give me some credit, please."

"I'm broke, man, I haven't got any credit to give." It made him smile to say it, as he thought about Vah'nya, and he was surprised when Luke chuckled. It was a stupid joke. Nobody really laughed at Ezra's stupid jokes. If Sabine had been there, she would have rolled her eyes and walked away. So Ezra watched Luke, his blonde hair falling around his face, the loose bun at the back of his head quite a mess, and he smiled. "So what's it like?"

"What?"

"Being a prince."

They walked along the mossy embankment, water beginning to rise up beside them. Luke's face, in this moment, seemed unreadable. He stared at the water, his eyes far away.

"It's not what you'd expect," he said, finally, pushing ahead of Ezra. He walked surprisingly fast, despite his legs being far shorter than Ezra's.

"No?" Ezra grinned. "Not so pampered, then? I could have guessed. You don't strike me as a spoiled brat, or anything."

"That's nice," Luke said with a soft snort. "I mean, I grew up very…" He seemed to be searching for the right words in the water, his expression blank. "Secluded. Just me and my family. I didn't leave my home planet until I was forced to."

"How interesting."

Luke shot him a strange look, and Ezra blinked down at him.

"What?" he said defensively. The look was very sharp and probing, Luke's eyes raking over Ezra's face.

"You just sounded a bit like…" Luke's brow furrowed, and he peered up at Ezra curiously. "How well do you know Thrawn?"

That was a bit too much for Ezra in that moment, like a jab in the stomach, or a tug on his heart. He knew he looked shocked, because Luke stepped forward, studying his face a bit more closely.

"What the hell?" Ezra snapped, placing his hands on Luke's chest and pushing him back. He needed the space between them to gain a bit of his composure, and Luke stumbled a bit, blinking at him in surprise. "What do you mean? I should be asking you that, Mr. Imperial Prince!"

"You're being very defensive about it," Luke noted, rubbing his chest. "I just thought your tone was funny. You sounded like him for a minute there."

"He's been my enemy for a long time," Ezra said mechanically.

"Right…"

Ezra did not know if he trusted this man enough to spill his guts about being from another world. He could hardly prove it, after all. Maybe once they got back to the Rebellion, Ahsoka could help clear things up for him. For now, though, Ezra simply marched past Luke and followed the bank of the river until it petered out enough that there were a few large, dry stones jutting up from the water.

It took him until he was halfway across to realize that Luke was struggling. He turned to see the man was teetering a bit on one of the rocks, looking a bit surprised. Ezra strode easily on the edge of the oddly shaped boulders, as briskly as he would on flat land, and offered his hand.

Luke hesitated, looking very obviously annoyed, and he shook his head.

Then, as he took a tentative step, his foot slipped, and Ezra reached out and grabbed him by the arm, planting a hand firm between Luke's ribs and hip. His boots had crashed into the water, but Ezra yanked him close and pulled him back up until his feet scraped at the rocks. Luke's fingers grappled at Ezra, pressing tightly against the inside of his bare arm. There was a moment where they both were locked in this position, Luke's forehead nearly brushing Ezra's chest. Cautiously, Ezra readjusted his hands, the one on his waist sliding onto the small of his back and the one on his arm slipping toward his wrist.

"You okay?" Ezra murmured. He listened to Luke's breathing. He felt his fingers tighten on his arm, and then loosen.

"Y-yeah." He blinked up at Ezra. He looked vaguely shocked, like he had not expected this to happen, though Ezra felt it had been a matter of time. "Sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?"

"You had to catch me." Luke leaned back from Ezra so they were not so close together. Ezra peered at him, noting how flushed his face was. I must have embarrassed him, Ezra thought, a bit smug about it. "Honestly, I don't know what's wrong with me. This shouldn't be this hard."

"You said it yourself," Ezra said, "that you haven't really gotten out much. We can take a break once we cross the river."

Luke took a deep breath. He eyed Ezra's hand on his wrist, and he wobbled a bit as he attempted to remove the arm around his waist.

"What about Thrawn?" he asked hesitantly.

"A break won't hurt." Ezra knew that was not true, but he had to hope that they'd gotten enough of a head start. "We should get our shit together and figure out what we're gonna do next."

"Okay." Luke cleared his throat. "Can you, um…?"

Ezra followed Luke's gaze to the arm that was snaked around him. He couldn't help but grin.

"Oh," Ezra laughed, "my apologies, your highness!" He unwound his arm, though he kept a firm grasp on Luke's wrist. "Wouldn't want to give you the wrong idea."

"You sound like…" Luke sighed and closed his eyes. "Don't be an asshole, Ezra." Luke was very red, Ezra saw, maybe to his own sick delight. In the sunlight, he looked impossibly bright-eyed and naïve, which was endearing in its own way.

"I'll try not to," Ezra said, "but no promises."

And then he took a step onto the next rock. His arm stretched as Luke did not move, and his fingers slipped from his wrist to his palm, to his fingers. Then, just as he was about to let go, Luke's grip tightened, and he shuffled along the edge of the rock before stretching his legs to step onto the rock beside Ezra.

Not wanting to distract him, Ezra stepped back onto the next rock, his fingers closing tightly around Luke's and he watched the man's footing as he carefully moved from one boulder to the next, water slipping between each one, puttering softly. It was only when Ezra's feet met the soft silt of the riverbed, the soles of his boots drifting up the embankment, that he looked up at Luke's face.

His eyes seemed to be fixed not on his feet, but on Ezra. On his face, or his eyes, or his mouth. Something like that.

"What?" Ezra asked, frowning as Luke drifted onto the last rock, his fingers warm against Ezra's. Perched upon the boulder, he was a bit taller than Ezra, and it was strange to look up into his bright blue eyes. "What's wrong with my face?"

"Nothing." Luke made the jump from the rock to the embankment, and he landed easily on his feet. His fingers tightened around Ezra's momentarily before they loosened and drifted off from his palm. Ezra's hand floated in the air as he moved around him. "Thank you. For all of that."

"Well," Ezra said cheekily, meeting Luke's quick stride, "you are kinda hopeless."

Luke sighed, looking a bit… irritated wasn't the word. Resigned, maybe? He did not look at Ezra as they trekked up the embankment and moved into the trees.

"Will we be following the river, then?" he asked.

"Yep." Ezra eyed the sky. It looked clear, but there was something in the air that felt distinctly like rain. Maybe they had just missed it, as the ground was a bit squishy. "We might have to make shelter, but this will bring us to Takodana Castle."

"And Thrawn won't track us there?"

"Oh, he most certainly will." He ignored Luke's sharp look by simply walking faster. "We just have to be quicker than him."

"You're crazy." The tone of Luke's voice was surprisingly upbeat and amused, so Ezra glanced back at him and grinned.

"Kinda fun to live on the edge, though, right?" Ezra winked. He was met with a small, hesitant smirk.

On their way up the mountain, Ezra noted patches of crown-shaped clover, and he stooped down every so often to part the leaves and pluck a few ripe looking purple berries from the stems. Luke watched him each time, slowing his pace and tilting his head curiously, never saying a word. Then, finally, when Ezra thought there was enough, he gathered them in one hand, stepped up beside Luke, and grasped his fingers so he could turn his hand palm-up.

"What?" Luke blinked up at him, and then down at the berries that Ezra had gently rolled into his hand. "What are these?"

"Kingberries," Ezra said, popping one into his mouth. It burst when he punctured it, releasing a sweet but tart juice that coated his tongue thickly. It crawled down his throat as he spat a seed into the moss. "A few hundred years ago the Republic started trying to diversify planets that were not considered agriworlds, to provide more food for the populations living there. Kingberries got distributed to a bunch of planets, including Takodana, Birren, Batuu… eventually even Wild Space began to get stuff like this. That's why you see jogan and stuff everywhere. Jogan trees are easy to propagate and respond well to most climates."

"Wow." Luke studied Ezra face, looking briefly shocked, but a warm and delighted look blooming across his face. "I never knew that! That it was the Republic, I mean. I kinda have been to— I mean, it's really interesting!" Luke popped a berry into his mouth and turned away sharply, causing Ezra to quirk an eyebrow.

"You good?" Ezra asked curiously.

Luke hummed in acknowledgement, spitting the seed into his hand before delicately shaking it onto the ground. It was a much daintier way of dealing with seeds than Ezra's hock and spit method, which was funny.

"Where'd you learn so much about plants?" Luke asked as they began to stroll forward. When they started up an incline, Ezra stopped and sat down, waiting for Luke to do the same. The man needed a break, whether he knew it or not. Instead of sitting, Luke merely stood there, eyes big and curious.

"Um," Ezra said, thinking maybe he could come up with a convenient lie, "stole a lot of fruit as a kid."

"Oh?" That made Luke's brows shoot up, and Ezra decidedly chomped down on another berry. "And you just went into people's forests and stole berries?"

"No." Ezra spat a seed onto the ground and leaned back against his elbows. "Lothal isn't a forest planet, and like… I was a city kid, anyway."

"I knew it." Luke carefully sat down beside him, a smile stretching on his lips. "You feel like a city boy."

"And how would you know that?" Ezra scoffed. "Mr. Secluded on Naboo his whole life! Theed's not a good example of how most cities work, you know."

Luke pointedly ignored that.

"So," he said, "how did you learn about plants and agriculture, city boy?"

"A friend," Ezra sighed, flicking a berry into his mouth.

"Must have been some friend."

Ezra chewed mechanically, feeling the berry coat his tongue and teeth, and he felt suddenly, achingly nostalgic for Wild Space of all things. Despite it being such a miserable time, despite him and Thrawn being at constant odds, grappling with their situation, Ezra had been happy to learn new things. He'd always been a survivor. And Thrawn, who was a frightening survivalist, was an eager teacher.

"I'm sorry," Luke said suddenly, causing Ezra to blink at him. "Did I bring up something unpleasant?"

"Um, no," Ezra spoke through the seed of the berry, and he tipped his head over the side of the rock to spit it out. "I'm just… thinking. Let's keep going, then."

Luke continued to watch him, but did not object. They hiked uphill, which clearly did not agree with him, and Ezra stopped several times before he finally glanced up at the midday sun and sighed.

"I can make camp," he said, "if you—"

"I—!" Luke huffed, his fingers digging into his knees. His face was pale and his breath was labored. "I can— keep— going—!"

"Shut up," Ezra groaned, "karabast, you're annoying! You're literally about to collapse!"

Luke looked up at him defiantly, sweat causing his hair to stick to his brow, and the way he scowled might have been funny if it wasn't so concerning.

"Don't look at me like that!" Ezra placed his hands on his hips and scowled right back. "We're resting! You're resting! Stop—! Don't you dare—!"

As he'd spoken, Luke had merely straightened up and tried to march right past him. Ezra snatched him around the waist and lifted him off the ground.

"Hey!" Luke gasped, wriggling a bit. "Let—!" Huff. "Me—!" Wheeze. "Go—!"

"Sure," Ezra said in a biting, sarcastic tone. "Once you sit the fuck down, I'll let you go!"

Ezra was grateful for a bit of level ground where he was able to deposit Luke. It was mossy and soft, and the man sank against a tree, his head tipping back, and he looked up at Ezra in utter disbelief.

"I can keep going," he whispered.

"No." Ezra crouched before him, and he shook his head. "You can't. And even if you could, I wouldn't let you, because you are clearly exhausted. Should you, uh, take that medicine? Or whatever?"

Luke's eyes were a bit distant, but after a few moments of silence he managed a shaky nod. Ezra slid the rucksack from his back and pulled out the black box he had seen earlier. Luke took it with trembling hands, waited for his own breaths to steady, and he then popped the box open.

"Huh. That's interesting." Ezra peered at the vials of liquid. "Is that a syringe?"

Luke glanced up at him dazedly. He nodded.

"Do you… want help…? Or is that a weird question?"

"No. No, it's not weird, I mean." Luke blinked. "I usually do the shot in my arm, so it can get awkward when self-administered. You just need to…"

"Got it." Ezra plucked an empty vial from the syringe and replaced it with a fresh vial that he uncapped carefully. He found a compartment full of disinfectant wipes, and he wiped at Luke's bare bicep quickly before leveling the syringe. "Okay. Ready?"

"It's just a shot, Ezra," Luke said amusedly.

"Well, I don't want to hurt you, or anything." Ezra punctured his arm and watched the fluid drain. He was not a stranger to this type of thing, due to the frequency in which he and Thrawn had both gotten hurt on their various adventures in Wild Space.

"Not hurt at all," Luke said breezily when Ezra removed the needle. "See?"

"I see a stubborn bastard for sure." Ezra rolled his eyes and disinfected the needle before putting it back in its case. Then he shut the box and stuffed it back into the bag.

"I'm really slowing you down, huh?" Luke murmured, looking pensive. "I'm sorry, Ezra."

"Hey." Ezra nudged him gently. "We'll get to Takodana Castle. It just might take a little longer."

"But… Thrawn…"

"Let me worry about Thrawn." Ezra stared at Luke levelly. No matter what world Ezra was in, he could handle Mitth'raw'fucking'nuruodo. "I told you to rest, and I meant it. I'm going to find us something else to eat, and I want you to sit your butt down and relax. Got it?"

From the looks of it, Luke was not happy, but Ezra did not really care.

On his way back to the river, which was not too far, Ezra began foraging. He gathered a few edible mushrooms and wrapped them in large leaves before sticking them in the rucksack. He also found a bright blue herb that he knew would agitate his skin if plucked, so he chopped them from their stems with his lightsaber and gingerly bound them in leaves. Once cooked, they would be harmless and would provide a fresh, acidic flavor. Then he made it to the closest portion of the river, which was a bit rowdy and roaring, water spitting up at the rock Ezra planted himself on, and he waited patiently for the fish to jump the current. It did not take long, and he was able to simply catch one in the air with the Force and whack it against the rock to stun it. He didn't have a knife, so he had to kill and gut it with his lightsaber, which was difficult due to the size proportions, but he did it.

As he made his way back, he searched the bright, clear blue sky for any sign of the Imperials, but he found none. He knew that Thrawn would follow them, but to be fair, he had no idea what hoops Thrawn would have to jump through to get here. Perhaps, if they were on Ezra's terms, Ezra might be able to actually speak to him. No listening devices, no threat of Vader, just the jaded Chiss man and Ezra Bridger, the most unlikely of duos.

But he could not trust this Thrawn. He knew that. What he needed to do was get back to the Rebellion and let Hera know he was safe before he and Ahsoka could go find Melinoë and figure out what had happened to him. Luke… well, an Imperial prince would be useful. They already had Leia, so in terms of hostages, they were pretty much set. Not that it seemed like Luke wanted to go back to the Empire.

It was weird, but Ezra was not exactly surprised. Especially given how this Luke talked about his father. He'd remembered, when he'd spoken to Luke on the ship, what his world's Luke had said about his father. That his father had cut off his hand. It had been jarring then, but now that Ezra knew that Luke's father was Darth Vader, suddenly that whole interaction made too much sense.

When Ezra returned, Luke was, unsurprisingly, asleep. He'd rested his head back against the tree and now appeared to be peacefully snoozing as the midday sunlight crept through the canopy of trees, tickling his cheek and bleaching his sandy hair a fairer, blonder hue. This man, Ezra thought, was very strange. But he seemed determined to stick by Ezra, and that was enough for right now.

He started a fire with some dry roots at the center of a small tower of sticks. Then he made a nest for the skewered fish to lie in, before adding some mushrooms to either side. The herbs were trickier, because he did not simply want them to burn up, so he took the fish off the fire, waited for it to cool off, and then stuffed its belly with the herbs.

Luke woke when everything was nearly done roasting, and the sun was dipping far off in the sky. He blinked blearily at Ezra as he used the large leaves to plate everything.

"You look surprised," Ezra said amusedly. He'd fileted the fish so each of them could have half. The herbs had soaked into the meat of the fish and baked in the cavity of its belly, so they were no longer poisonous. This particular plant was one that Thrawn had shown him after allowing him to trample right into a field of them. He'd been kind enough to make a salve out of gummy flowers and nectar before cooking the herbs for Ezra to eat while his nursed his swollen calves. This had been on… had it been Woeslan or Pashvi?

"Sorry." Luke rubbed his eyes, looking very sleepy as he drifted closer to the fire. "You went all the way back to the river?"

"There was a cliff nearby. And we've been following the river this whole time. It wasn't hard to get a fish."

"Oh."

"Don't burn your tongue," Ezra warned as he gently deposited the large leaf into Luke's hands. "I just took it off the fire, and I didn't have anything to bring water back in. Also, I know it'll be dry and tasteless, so don't complain, okay? We'll be able to get something better in town, hopefully."

"You have credits?" Luke asked amusedly.

"Nope." Ezra rolled his eyes. "I know how to make a quick buck, though."

"We can probably sell some of my things," Luke said, surprising Ezra. "I don't really need that many changes of clothes. What I've got is fine."

"You're not going to get what they're worth," Ezra warned.

"It's fine."

This guy, Ezra thought, watching Luke blow on the fish to cool it off, is one weird prince.

They ate in relative silence for a few minutes, listening to birds chirping nearby. Luke did not complain about the taste of the fish at all, even though Ezra himself thought it was dry and a bit chewy, even with the refreshing herb soaked into it.

"What do we do once we get into Takodana Castle?" Luke asked curiously. "Have you thought about that?"

"Mm…" Ezra chewed a mushroom, which was rubbery without any additions, and shrugged. "Well, we need to find a ship."

"A pilot," Luke agreed. "No one will give us a ship. Even if we trade the shuttle. Which would be a bad idea."

"Yeah. So we find some disreputable asshole to ferry us to another planet, and hopefully there we can make contact with the Rebellion."

"Any worlds come to mind?" Luke asked amusedly.

"Can't do Lothal, obviously." Ezra did not know what planets were safe, considering his Rebel knowledge was more than a little outdated. "I think a neutral planet. Like Takodana."

Luke was quiet for a minute, and then he set aside his half-eaten food.

"How about Tatooine?" he asked softly.

The planet's name shifted some particularly sour memories as the anxiety of Maul's stalking and sudden obsessive turn towards Obi-Wan Kenobi bubbled up. Ezra could recall the desert, the scorching suns, the dehydration and exhaustion. He'd nearly died on that planet.

But he supposed there had to have been a reason why Obi-Wan Kenobi had chosen Tatooine to hide away from the Empire. Even if he was not there now.

Was the man even alive? By Ahsoka's reaction to the holocron that Ezra had shown Leia, he suspected that he was not. That saddened him deeply. It seemed there were fewer Jedi in this world than even his own.

"That might work," Ezra said hesitantly. "It's a pretty shady spot, but that just means it'll probably be easy to find us a pilot who has business there anyway."

"And from there," Luke said brightly, "we can contact your Rebel friends!"

"Well, we'll see." Ezra smiled at Luke's eagerness. "It's not easy to get a wide signal out from Tatooine, trust me."

"Oh, I know," Luke said dismissively, earning a raised brow from Ezra. "I can get a signal strong enough if I have the right tools."

"Oh, really? Well, we'll see what the planet brings us," Ezra said with a small laugh. "First we have to get off Takodana and not run into Thrawn."

"That shouldn't be too hard."

"Your optimism astounds me."

"Well," Luke said, wiping off his hands on the mossy ground, "I've had lots of practice. Anyhow, should we get going? We should probably get to Takodana Castle before dark. Who knows what kinds of predators lurk on this planet."

"Don't worry about predators," Ezra scoffed, tossing the remains of his meal into the fire before smothering it with dirt. He considered the remnants of it before he thought of something very stupid and very devious.

He stood up and began searching the ground with great interest, ignoring Luke's confused stare. Kicking over a few stones, he finally found a flat, pointy rock that would serve this particular purpose. Then he returned to the fire and dug out, by pressing his heel to his toes hard into the soil, a clear path with his foot prints from the smoldering remains to a nearby tree. It was wide and fat, and the surface of the bark made the perfect canvas.

When he returned to the fire, he backed up upon the footprints to make them darker. There would be no hiding this campsite, and he knew he might as well take advantage of that. Thrawn would waste some time here.

"Okay!" Ezra slung the rucksack onto his back. "To Takodana Castle then!"

Luke smiled, and Ezra thought maybe they might be truly on their way to friendship, at the very least.

It seemed that Luke was better now with rest, medicine, and food in his belly, because he kept up with Ezra's strides with minimal wheezing. He did stumble once or twice, but he caught himself and trekked on. They seemed to drift between comfortable silence and teasing small talk, which Ezra enjoyed.

"I think I should get a blaster," Luke said.

"Oh?" They were skirting the edge of a lake, the castle within sight. The sunset made the water's surface glitter bright orange, and Luke's loosened, tangled hair was caught up in that glinting light. "You know how to use one, Prince Luke?"

That earned him a glare. "Don't forget who beat your ass," Luke muttered. "I can work a blaster just fine, thanks."

"Alright." Ezra paused, watching the bun at the back of Luke's head as he walked. It was so loose that it bobbed at the back of his neck. "Do you want to fix your hair?"

Luke glanced back at him, raising an eyebrow.

"It's a mess," Ezra said offhandedly.

"Oh." Luke tugged on a strand that framed his face, and he frowned. "Maybe I should just cut it."

"All I've got to offer is a lightsaber," Ezra said. Luke raised his eyes, and Ezra saw the question in them before he opened his mouth. "Oh, absolutely not. You crazy bastard. No."

"Can you fix it then?" Luke asked him, his eyes glinting innocently as he looked up at Ezra. The question threw Ezra for a loop, and he gaped at him. "I don't usually do my own hair. I'm just a prince, after all."

"That's a lie," Ezra said flatly.

Yet it was hard to tell with Luke. The Force was not ringing any warning bells, and it did not feel like Luke was lying at all. He was just a prince, and it seemed like he was being utterly open and honest about not doing his hair. Yet from what Ezra could tell from this man, he was not a pampered brat, and he seemed capable of doing things for himself for the most part.

"Is it?" Luke's eyes, too, shone with innocence that felt hardly feigned. "I might make it even messier if I try to do it. You must have more experience."

And of course, Ezra did. His hair in his world was a bit past his shoulders. He'd cut it after arriving in the Ascendancy, but it had grown fast, and he felt a bit of kinship toward Kanan by keeping it long. Especially with the whole Jedi in exile thing. Like, Ezra thought he finally understood why the hell Kanan had been so damn disillusioned with the idea of being a Jedi Master. It fucking sucked to feel like a failure, but never having actually had the opportunity to fail. So yeah, Ezra had kept his hair long and grown a beard.

But this motherfucker did not know that.

"Your assumptions about me are so interesting," Ezra said with a roll of his eyes. He grasped Luke by the shoulder and whirled him around so that his back was facing Ezra. "Stand still."

To his surprise, Luke did not hesitate to obey this command, standing quiet and still as Ezra unbound his hair and raked his fingers through it. It was dry and knotted, and he heard Luke hiss when Ezra tugged a bit too hard.

"Sorry," Ezra sighed, "but you should really take better care of this!"

"I know. That's why I want to cut it."

"We'll see what we can do." Ezra separated the blondish waves carefully, noting that up close, it was more blonde, or at the very least a honeyed color, than brown. From what Ezra had seen of Darth Vader outside the suit, it made sense, but it was still odd. He made quick work of a braid, scraping the hair back from Luke's cheeks and incorporating it into the plait. Then he bound the end and gave Luke a clap on the shoulder. "Lemme see the front?"

Luke blinked up at him. The only hair in his face now was the separated, messy bangs that hit his forehead. There was no saving that.

"Eh, good enough."

"Thanks," Luke muttered, frowning a bit. When Ezra moved past him, he tugged on Ezra's sleeve. "Wait!"

Ezra rolled his eyes as he turned to look at him. "What—? Wait, what are you doing?"

Luke was rummaging in the rucksack on Ezra's back, and he removed a white jacket threw it on. It was fitted to him, and when it buttoned, it seemed to smooth itself out. Then he pulled out a long black cloak and threw it over Ezra's shoulders.

"Don't look at me like that," Luke muttered, fastening the cloak with an attached gold broach that seemed to be a sigil of some sort. A bird of some kind with glinting dark stones for eyes. Ezra thought it looked like a songbird, but he was not familiar with Naboo's fauna. "Nobody knows what I look like. People know Prince Luke Skywalker exists, but not much more than that. You are a wanted criminal."

Ezra, a bit baffled, found himself very warm and embarrassed as Luke reached up on his toes to yank the hood over the top of Ezra's head.

"This is only gonna draw more attention," Ezra murmured. "Nobody dresses in a black cloak unless they've got something to hide."

That caused Luke to pause. His fingers gripped the hem of the hood, and he looked up into Ezra's face with a small smirk.

"Good thing we're looking for a smuggler, then."

He drifted off then, leaving Ezra to blink after him. He felt like he was missing a joke.

The castle itself was enormous and sprawling. Ezra had been here once, before the formation of the Rebel Alliance, on a supply run with Kanan and Zeb. It had been uneventful, considering Maz Kanata's rules about fighting, but they had been tracked afterwards which had been annoying.

"You go sit down," Ezra said as they entered the sprawling cantina. "I'll handle this."

"I'm sure you will," Luke said amusedly. Either way, he broke off from Ezra and found a seat nearby.

Ezra found the bar easily enough. He did not have any credits, but when he said so, the droid at the counter merely said, "Drinks are free for refugees."

"Swell," Ezra said, grinning broadly. "Gimme two pints of your dark ale, then." He thought on that, and about how exhausted Luke was from the journey. "Actually, make one of those a water."

"Allow me to pay for the young man," said a strikingly familiar accented voice.

Ezra's first thought was: No fucking way.

Ezra's second thought was: Of fucking course.

Ezra's third thought was: So much for a disguise.

Turning to glance up at the man who had approached the bar, he raised his eyebrows as a sturdy arm as clapped around his shoulders, and he was tugged into half a hug.

"What kind of captain would I be," Hondo Ohnaka said, "if I left one of my own out to dry?"

Luckily, Ezra thought, this meant that they knew each other. And had probably had similar interactions in the past to Ezra's own world.

"If you insist, Hondo," Ezra said dryly.

Hondo's wrinkly skin stretched as he grinned at Ezra.

"That is my clever boy," Hondo said, pinching Ezra's cheek. "Never turn down free drinks! I will make a pirate of you yet. And you have gotten so big! Let me look at you."

"I need to keep the hood up," Ezra murmured, "for safety. You know."

"Ah, we are all friends here!" Hondo was a bit too loud, and Ezra winced. "All friends of Maz Kanata, are we not? My, you have gotten tall, though, what do they feed you on the great, fearsome general's ship?"

"Mostly rations," Ezra said amusedly. Hondo, to his surprise, did leave money on the counter as the droid set Ezra's drinks down. "How long has it been, anyway?"

"Oh… five years now?" Hondo scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Eh, time is an illusion for great men like us."

"Truly," Ezra said. He picked up the drinks, and Hondo eyed them curiously.

"Oh?" Hondo tilted his head. "You are not alone! Of course, of course— anyone I know, by chance?"

"Um," Ezra said, blinking, "no. I don't think so. His name is Luke."

"Luke, Luke… I know many Lukes. Luke…?"

Ezra, in this moment, smiled at Hondo and did what he always did when he had to lie about a name. He said the stupidest thing that came to mind.

"Bridger," he said.

Behind Hondo's goggles, Ezra could see his eyes widen, and the glint of them was enough that Ezra regretted his whole life.

"You—!" Hondo flung his hands up in the air and gave an exuberant laugh. "A boy becomes a man! How wonderful! You know, I have had many wives. A few husbands, but those are always trickier. I do not envy you."

Ezra's face was uncomfortably red, he knew, and he had to smile through it as he cursed himself and his stupid mouth.

"Yeah, well… um…"

"No need to be shy!" Hondo clapped him on the back. "Weequay are fond of taking many lovers, male or female. I simply find men to be much more challenging. Women, when they want nothing to do with you, they simply leave. Men will try to kill you. And not even in a fun way!"

Ezra could not help but nod. "Yeah," he admitted, thinking back to his own bad experiences with men, "that's true."

"Let us meet the man," Hondo said, wheeling Ezra around.

Shit, Ezra thought, dazedly leading Hondo to the table he had left Luke at.

"Listen," Ezra started, "he's kinda really sheltered, so don't go making rude jokes around him."

"Sheltered?" Hondo echoed. "How fun that must have been for the first time."

"Like that," Ezra hissed, glaring up at Hondo, "that is the opposite of what you should say in front of him!"

"Fine, fine," Hondo huffed. "You are no fun, you know. Marriage has changed you. So solemn! But yes, yes, I promise, on my honor as a pirate."

"Fuck," Ezra muttered, gripping the glasses tighter.

They came to the table, and Ezra nearly dropped the glasses all together. Because there was a man sitting across from Luke, chatting with him with a blindingly bright smile and a smooth, honey-sweet voice. And Luke was laughing, looking as charmed as a man could be before glancing up at Ezra and beaming.

"Uh…" Ezra uttered, feeling completely and thoroughly fucked over.

"Congratulations!" Hondo bellowed, not even bothering to acknowledge the other man at the table, and striding up to Luke with an ear-splitting grin. He grabbed Luke by the hand and shook it firmly. "It is a pleasure to meet the esteemed husband of one of my most beloved former crewmates. I am Hondo Ohnaka, at your service."

Luke, to his credit, merely blinked, shaking Hondo's hand and smiling up at him politely. He glanced at Ezra with an amused, inquisitive look in his eyes, and Ezra merely shrugged.

"The pleasure is all mine, sir," Luke said in a surprisingly warm and inviting voice. "My husband never spoke of you before. He was part of your crew?"

"Ezra!" Hondo whirled on him as he set the drinks down on the table, grimacing a bit. "You wound me! You would not even tell your own husband of all the times we had together?"

"Hondo's a pirate, Luke," Ezra said, sliding the water over to him. Luke grasped it with one hand, and he looked curious. "He's a liar and a cheat, and I was never actually part of his crew. But he's good at avoiding the Empire. Mostly."

"He's not the only one," Luke's silver-tongued companion said, his dark gaze bright as he tilted his head to get a look at Ezra's face. "Well, well, well. Ezra Bridger. As I live and breathe."

Luke's eyes widened. He glanced between Ezra and the man with his mouth falling open.

"You two know each other?" he gasped.

"Yeah," Ezra said dryly, pulling out a chair. "We go way back. Farther back than me and Hondo, even."

The man's shrug was effortless, and his eyes glittered as he glanced between Ezra and Luke.

"What can I say?" Lando Calrissian asked. "I get around."

"What were you thinking?"

Ahsoka and Cassian glanced at each other. Cassian would be in more trouble than she would, but he was one of hers, anyway. The Fulcrums had superior officers, but Ahsoka was the highest authority when it came to the Intelligence Network. She had, after all, created it.

"She needed to go home," Ahsoka said simply. "And we need Ezra back. It seemed like an easy choice."

"That was not your choice to make, Ahsoka," Mon Mothma said heavily. Her hologram, beside Bail Organa's, made Ahsoka feel like she was seventeen again and dealing with a secretive and uneasy Jedi Council.

"If I waited to go through official channels," Ahsoka argued, taking a step forward, "it would be far too late for her to return to the Empire without suspicion!"

"And her sudden release is not suspicious?" Hera argued, quirking a brow. Hera was angry about the whole ordeal, but Ahsoka thought she might be most bitter about the fact that Ahsoka had not included her. Considering Hera was comparatively more rigid about following orders than Ahsoka, and the fact that Cassian listened to Ahsoka first and foremost… well, it had been an easy choice.

"We made it look convincing enough," Ahsoka sighed. "I know it was risky, but I'd rather have an informant so close to the Emperor than an ally among the ranks. Plus, Leia's just killed too many of our men to be a good fit for a soldier. They'd harass her, and she'd retaliate. It would be bad for everyone involved."

"We have other things to worry about," Cassian said, "than the Imperial princess. Like the fact that we are about to lose Lah'mu."

"That is Saw Gerrera's territory," Hera pointed out.

"Saw Gerrera has played nice with us before," Ahsoka replied. "Some of his Partisans double duty."

"Some," Mon said darkly, "but not all."

"Not everyone has to be under our jurisdiction, Mon," Ahsoka huffed. "We work better together, but we are not infallible. This is the problem, you know, this is why the Republic fell and why the Jedi died. If you are always this unyielding, then the tide will not simply go around you, it will devour you whole and uproot you by your very foundation. It will use you as a weapon to destroy yourself. Saw Gerrera's methods are not ideal, but I trained him, so do not speak to me like I have no idea who or what we are dealing with. I taught him how to be a killer, and I will not judge him for becoming one."

There was a strong stretch of silence as it settled between the lot of them that Ahsoka Tano was not merely an underling, or a general, or a Jedi, but a living relic of the thing they were trying to revive. And she would know better than anyone why it had died.

Bail was quiet, which Ahsoka thought was entirely suspicious, but she did not comment on it.

Beside her, Cassian pressed his lips together thinly. He was trying not to smile.

"I think we can all agree," Hera said, her eyes flashing to Ahsoka's warningly, "that Saw Gerrera can be useful. However, does that excuse the cost of life?"

"We can philosophize and moralize all day," Ahsoka said briskly, ignoring Hera's scowl, "but at the end of it all, we are still at war. And we are losing. I have been in Saw Gerrera's shoes before, and to be honest, it doesn't feel good to justify the cost of life, so it's better to just accept that you are a killer and move on. None of us here has clean hands, so let's not get so high and mighty about what life is worth more, okay?"

"I think Ahsoka has made her point," Bail said gently. "The princess's capture was a secret, and it has not been widely publicized on the holonet, though I'm sure all Imperial officers have been made aware of the situation. My daughter informed me that Vader has gone to Grand Admiral Thrawn for aid in returning the girl."

That made Ahsoka pause. She did not look at Cassian because she knew his face would tell her nothing, but she distinctly remembered his mention of someone he cared for being on Lah'mu.

"Princess Jyn isn't in the Raioballo sector, is she, Bail?" Ahsoka asked hesitantly.

Bail's eyes flickered to her, and he did not even blink when he nodded heavily and said, "She is. It was supposed to be a short diplomatic mission to provide aid to the farmers struggling under Imperial occupation. We did not know Thrawn would be there."

"Did she mention anything about Ezra?" Ahsoka asked nervously.

"She did." Bail grimaced, making Ahsoka's stomach twist in knots. "He was meant to be transferred to Vader's ship, but Grand Admiral Thrawn managed to convince Lord Vader to allow him to retain custody of Bridger."

"So he's still with Thrawn?" Ahsoka asked, somewhat hopeful. From what she knew about the elusive alien admiral, he was tricky to say the least, but Ezra probably was less likely to be tortured or killed with him. Even though from what she understood, Thrawn was very smart, and could possibly sniff out the fact that Ezra was not the right Ezra.

"He should be." Bail smiled at her. "Hopefully that will make it easier for Princess Leia to make the switch. It is difficult to tell. Are you sure she is trustworthy?"

"No," Ahsoka said, folding her arms across her chest. "She's the best I've got, though. What about the information she brought us?"

"It is," Mon said reluctantly, "as she said it was. An entire clone of Palpatine's personal data. He was bound to notice."

"She pinned it on some aide."

"Still," Mon warned, "she should watch herself. The information here… it is game changing."

"Then we owe it to her to protect her." Ahsoka stared levelly between the two leaders of the Rebellion, watching them as they watched her. "She might not be fully sold on our cause, but we can reach her. I know we can. She wouldn't risk her life for something like this if she did not believe the Empire was wrong."

Even though the three of them in the room knew that Leia thought the Emperor was the problem, not the Empire.

"If we can get Thrawn to move," Cassian cut in, staring up at the holos determinedly, "if we can confirm that there will be little Imperial resistance, can we have the okay to provide reinforcements to the Lah'mu rebels and Saw's Partisans?"

Mon and Bail glanced at one another. Bail broke the gaze quickly and addressed Cassian.

"I am not opposed," he said, "but you will have to gather the troops yourself. Anyone on Fest who is willing to go is at your disposal, but we, unfortunately, cannot risk—" Bail was cut off by someone outside the holo. His face suddenly changed, shock and fear transforming his features.

"Is everything alright?" Hera asked hesitantly.

Bail glanced at them. He cleared his throat.

"We just got a message from the Chimaera," he said. And the atmosphere of the room shifted suddenly, shivering in the cold. They stared at the man blankly. "My daughter has been taken prisoner by Saw Gerrera, and Grand Admiral Thrawn is leaving the Raioballo system."

"He's— what?" Hera gasped, her green eyes flashing wildly to Ahsoka. Like Ahsoka had an answer for this.

"Did he say why?" Ahsoka demanded.

"Who cares why?" Cassian snapped. "We have our chance! With the Seventh Fleet gone and with Jyn in Saw's hands— I mean, of course, Princess Jyn. Viceroy." Luckily for Cassian, Bail did not seem to be listening. He was talking to someone off the holo, his microphone muted. When Cassian noticed, he continued. "We can win back Lah'mu and get the princess out of there."

"It feels too convenient," Ahsoka said quietly. "There has to be a catch, right?"

"Thrawn would never leave his post unless expressly ordered to do so or," Hera said grimly, "something forced his hand. Something must have happened."

"What, though?" Ahsoka blinked, trying to wrack her brains for any suitable explanation. She came up short. "He is so meticulous. This feels… off. Like something has rattled him."

"Perhaps," Mon said thoughtfully, "something has. It might be wise after all to have eyes on the situation. Captain Andor?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"You will lead this mission. General Syndulla, I want you to go with him."

Hera grimaced, but she nodded.

Ahsoka folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head.

"And me?"

"We need you to check in with your agents," Mon said patiently. "Anyone who might know why Thrawn suddenly left the Raioballo sector."

"Alright." That was easier said than done, especially considering her closest contact to Thrawn was now in hot water with Vader, if the Mandalorian was anything to go by. She did have an idea, though. A bad one, but an idea.

"I can tell you've already got a place in mind," Mon said. "May I ask where?"

"Yeah," Ahsoka said with a short sigh. "Just in case it kills me, I guess. I'm going to Tatooine."

Sabé was having a very bad day. At first she had felt quite vindicated by her own presence on Thrawn's ship, especially when she realized that Vader was not there. It meant their job was far easier. But then she was told of Padmé's plan, one that she would not refuse, especially not when Padmé had such a powerful glint in her eye, and Sabé was relegated to staying on the ship with Luke.

And then Luke, inexplicably, lost his memory.

And then Luke, even more inexplicably, was kidnapped by a Jedi.

Now she was sitting in a shuttle beside Thrawn, watching him stare at the planet below as they made their landing. He had, apparently, if the gossip on his ship was anything to go by, spent their entire journey to Takodana combing over security footage. She had no idea what he was looking for, but he probably wouldn't say even if she asked. Neither of them were much for small talk, anyway.

"What will you do," Sabé said, "when you get the Jedi back?"

"Return him to Lord Vader."

That, Sabé suspected, was a lie. She was watching Thrawn's face carefully, and he was hard to read, but she felt like there had to be a reason for his odd behavior beyond just Luke.

Something else curious was that Commodore Vanto did not come with them. In fact, no other Imperial officers were on the shuttle. It was just Thrawn. And Sabé. Vader would be incredibly angry, and Sabé looked forward to seeing it, even though it could easily mean her and Thrawn's deaths. It might be worth it, though, she thought amusedly, just to see his face.

"And why," Sabé said, "am I the only one here?"

"You are the only one I can trust to have the prince's best interests in mind."

That was honest. And strange.

"You don't trust your crew," she noted.

"I don't trust them in this instance," he said. "No."

"You don't trust them with the Jedi, either."

Thrawn glanced at her. She glanced back. There was something unspoken in those glances, and she leaned back in her seat.

"I am an impartial part of all of this," she said. "I see."

The shuttle entered the atmosphere, and Thrawn adjusted the shuttle to the temperature by flipping a few switches. Sabé was unfamiliar with Imperial shuttles, so she had no idea what he was actually doing.

"Yes," Thrawn said, finally, "and?"

She stared at him blankly. And? What else could he want Sabé for? She was not a mind reader, so she simply frowned at him, and set her eyes toward the brilliant green planet. The sun was beginning to set on this hemisphere.

If he was disappointed that she did not answer, he did not show it. The landing, even through the trees, was perfectly smooth, and she wondered where a Grand Admiral had learned to pilot so well. Her thoughts went back to her knowledge of Thrawn before the Empire, and of Padmé's glowing praise of him. Once he'd appeared in their lives again, Sabé had expected that praise to fizzle out, but it hadn't. Padmé still liked Thrawn, and considered him a friend, even though she had openly admitted that he was not to be trusted.

Usually it was Sabé who made those sorts of friends, but she could start to see the appeal, if she squinted.

She believed she had said that once, and Dormé had smirked behind Padmé while Sabé was properly chastised for suggesting such a thing.

"Oh," Sabé had said, lacing her fingers beneath her chin and glancing down at Padmé, "like you haven't thought about it!"

Thrawn was not Sabé's type, and he certainly wasn't Padmé's, but she thought the way Padmé got flustered over it was very cute.

"Well," Sabé said, her hands falling on her hips as she stepped out into the forest, "that's it. What do you think the chances are that Luke is dead inside?"

She was surprised by Thrawn's sharp look. The shuttle they had landed beside was obviously empty.

"That," she said gently, "was a joke."

"Would you joke about such a thing to Padmé?" Thrawn asked, sounding strangely… was he angry?

"Yes," Sabé said honestly. "And she would have probably given me that same look. My, my. How similar you two are. No wonder Anakin likes you."

Thrawn did hesitate at the name. He glanced at her and she glanced back. They simply looked away from each other and moved toward the shuttle.

"They went together," Thrawn said. He pointed southeast, into the forest before them, a yawning, sprawling landscape tinged gold by the setting sun. "I believe there is a river. You saw it on our approach, did you not?"

"Yes."

"Then we will follow."

They managed in relative silence. Sabé did not mention her curiosity at the fact that Luke had seemingly gone willingly with the Jedi. It was possible that he had felt threatened, but she also… knew Luke.

And, with a sinking feeling, she began to suspect that maybe Thrawn knew Luke too.

"How do you know which way they went?" Sabé asked as they moved down the incline. Thrawn led the way with haste, his long legs trekking quickly across the uneven terrain like it was nothing, and she trailed after him with a frown. It wasn't too difficult to keep up, but he was certainly more athletic than she had anticipated.

"My eyes are different than a human's."

That was the only answer she received from him.

"What are you, anyway?" Sabé asked as they approached the river. They had made quick time of it, probably due to Thrawn's pace and Sabé's inability to be outshined by anyone.

"I am a Chiss."

"Where are the Chiss from?"

"Far away."

She bit back a sarcastic remark. It was hard not to get annoyed by this man.

They crossed the river in silence, and Sabé thought about how awkward it would be to actually find Luke and the Jedi. After all, there was no question that Luke would sympathize with the man. Shit. Sabé had her work cut out for her. If it came down to saving a Jedi or saving Luke, she knew it was no question. It would not be a guiltless endeavor, though, and she dreaded it with everything in her. Because there were too few Jedi, and Sabé, who still dreamt of the Invasion of Naboo, who still lit a candle for Qui-Gon Jinn, and, more recently and against her better judgement, Obi-Wan Kenobi, she could not bear to see another peacekeeper lost to this war.

Could she kill Thrawn instead? She eyed the back of his head and thoughtfully thumbed the knives on the insides of her sleeves.

"It would be unwise."

She froze. No way. He had not even been looking at her. How could he possibly…?

Thrawn turned to look back at Sabé. He said, "You think that just because I cannot see you, that I cannot tell what you might be doing? Chiss eyesight is not the only sense more powerful than yours. I can hear your breathing."

"How curious," Sabé said coolly, brushing past him. Her body was rigid with tension, but she had never been one to reveal much in terms of body-language. Let him try and read her. "It is beginning to become clear to me why Padmé puts up with you. You do live up to your reputation."

"You have yet to live up to yours."

Sabé's jaw ground together at that, and she met the man's eye with a warning that she knew would do her no good. This was not a fight she would win. Words or wits or war, she was damned against him.

It was dusk now. They stood in the forest, staring at each other, and she noted how his eyes seemed to glow red in the dark. He did not need a light, even though her eyes were only beginning to adjust to the growing shadows.

"You understand now," Thrawn said, "why I brought you."

"I do not," Sabé hissed, her glare hard and her fists clenched.

Thrawn eyed her. Then he turned away.

"You will."

It was getting darker, and Thrawn's pace did not slow, but Sabé, who was not short but not exactly tall either, struggled to keep up. Uphill, she knew, was a different sort of exercise, and she was simply not as fast as Thrawn. He had exceptionally long legs, and each stride of his cast a canyon between the two of them.

Then, suddenly, he stopped. Sabé's eyes were now attuned well enough to the shadows, and she stepped up to the discarded campfire and knelt down beside it.

"Did they not even try to hide it?" she murmured.

Thrawn might have been frowning, but she could not tell, because the only light was that of the stars. And, strangely, his eyes. She was pretty sure he had his hand over his mouth, but her sight was mostly limited to what was in front of her. The forest sounds were deafening, though. Croaks and coos and chirps surrounded them.

"Will you tell me what you're thinking?" Sabé sighed. "I cannot read minds, and I cannot see what you see."

"Can you see the footprints?"

Sabé did not know what he was talking about at first, considering all the dirt seemed to be the same in the darkness. But then she noted that there was some indentation in the ground on the other side of the forgotten fire.

"Yes," she said hesitantly.

"What do you think might be peculiar about a footprint like this?"

Scowling, because this question made her feel simple and foolish, she thought on it for a minute.

It hit her all at once.

"Did they want this to be found?" she asked, looking up at Thrawn dazedly. If nothing else, the light of his eyes could guide her.

"Precisely my concern." Thrawn glanced down at the fire. "Perhaps they were in a hurry. That would make the most sense. I would not have thought much of it. However, there are the footprints. The other footprints that I have been tracking— yes, I could see them— look nothing like this set. So why?"

Sabé stood up, stretching her legs, and she stared out into the darkness in the direction the footprints went.

"They knew you would follow," she said quietly. Luke was in so much trouble once they got home. She shook her head and pointed down the path of the footprints. "That way is a trap. Where did they really go?"

"You think it is a trap?"

Sabé's gaze fell upon him sharply.

"What else could it be?" she asked. Her voice was simple, and it was cold.

Thrawn eyed her. Then, inexplicably, he began to follow the footprints. Sabé, who needed him to guide her through the forest, cursed quietly to herself, and she trudged after him.

"This is a bad idea," she said. "I have a bad feeling—"

"Bridger is clever," Thrawn said, "but he is not murderous. A trap is a wise conclusion to make, and I do not fault you for it. But that is not what this is."

And they came to a stop. Sabé stood there, watching Thrawn, and she looked around her confusedly. There was nothing here. Nothing but trees.

"What is it?" she sighed. "I don't see anything."

Thrawn glanced down at her. He sighed.

"May I have your hand?"

Sabé grimaced, and she did not think she liked where this is going.

"It will not harm you. I promise."

With a short, irritated exhale through her nose, she offered out her hand. Thrawn took it gingerly, and his palm was noticeably callused and cool. His hands were also quite large, and they enveloped hers as he pressed her hand to the bark of the tree in front of them. Her fingers grazed over the bark, the dips, the roughness, the divots, the—

"What is that?" she whispered, feeling his hand fall away from hers as she ran her fingers over the strange, patterned indents in the tree. It felt sticky, like the sap was seeping out of it. A wound of some kind.

"It is a message."

Sabé glanced up at him dully.

"No," she said, "really."

"Is that another joke?"

"What does it say, then?" she sighed, ignoring his question. He was really socially inept for someone so smart.

"It is for me."

"That," Sabé pointed out, "is not what I asked." And then she began tracing the letters with her fingers. "That is not Basic."

"No."

"Was it Luke?" Her brow furrowed. He was not so stealthy with all his time on the holonet. Sabé would not be surprised if he could outsmart them all. If he were not so sweet-tempered, he would be a formidable villain, and she thought they were all quite lucky that no one else realized that. "Is he trying to tell us something?"

"It was not the prince," Thrawn said, "and it is not for anyone but me."

Sabé was confused now. Did that mean the Jedi had done all of this? Anticipated Thrawn's interest, lured him to this tree, just to… what? Taunt him?

"Will I be informed of this message?" Sabé withdrew her fingers from the bark. Her hand was sticky from the seeping sap. "Or is it simply too much of a secret? You and the Jedi, swapping codes. My, how the Empire has changed."

"It is not a code." That came out sharper than Thrawn probably intended it to, which Sabé thought was curious. "It is a language. My language."

"Your language," Sabé echoed.

"The language of the Chiss." In the dark, she could see Thrawn's hand fall over the tree bark, covering the message completely. "It is not something easily given out. We do not teach it to outsiders. We hardly use it outside of our own people. The Chiss… they are… we are seclusionists. We use trade languages when speaking to outsiders for a very good reason."

Sabé was not a fool enough to ignore the faltering over his voice when he talked about the Chiss. It felt like, perhaps, he was having trouble with where he should align himself. With his people, who were seclusionists, or the Empire, who was certainly anything but.

"But…" She was beginning to see why he was so taken in by this tree. This message, a message meant only for him, was baffling him. He was not a man easily baffled. "The Jedi knew it?"

"The Jedi knows it." Thrawn bent down and plucked something from the ground. "He knows me."

That, Sabé thought, was the most emotion she had heard from Thrawn yet, and she did not even know what that emotion was. It was a sort of hiss, a barest hint of a growl behind his rolling words and gentle voice.

"What does it say?" she whispered.

There was a beat of silence, and in that silence, Sabé thought she had said too much. That he would simply walk away.

Instead, he said, "Thrawn. Do not die as the thing you have made of yourself. Go home while you still can."

That struck Sabé hard, because it felt… too sympathetic. And stranger still, Thrawn seemed to feel this message intensely.

"That's odd," Sabé said softly.

"The word 'thing,'" Thrawn said, lifting himself up straight and laying a hand upon the bark, "in this case, is a word, in my tongue, that has multiple meanings. It could be translated as 'thing,' as I have said. Or it can be translated, more literally, as 'profane thing.' 'Demon.' 'Beast.' 'Monster.' It is an unpleasant word. Meant to evoke unpleasant thoughts."

"He must have wanted your attention," Sabé remarked.

Thrawn did not respond. He merely took a rock to the bark and began to scratch the writing out with a startling ferocity.

Chapter Text

Luke had honestly intended to lie low and be as inconspicuous as possible, but as always when he ended up in a cantina, trouble found him. He was more than a little surprised and secretly entirely thrilled to be troubled by the warm brown eyes and ivory-charmed smile of Lando Calrissian.

"Is this seat taken?" the man asked, his voice butter-smooth and his grin radiant. Luke blinked up at him, too bewildered to speak. Lando was the last man he had expected to see in this universe, especially given the whole… no rebel interference with Cloud City thing. So when Luke did not reply, Lando merely took that as an affirmative, and he sat beside Luke with a flutter of his lashes. "You look surprised, stranger. Never met another man before?"

"No, no, that's—" Luke frowned, the gears in his mind turning at that sentence, but not quite catching up to it. "You just reminded me of someone. Sorry, that was rude of me. My name is Luke."

He offered out his hand, and Lando eyed it a moment before giving a short tilt of his head and chuckling. His palm clapped against Luke's and his grip on him was tight as he shook it.

"Luke," Lando said, drawing back his hand to slide his elbow upon the table and rest his cheek against his fist, "what a charming name. Does it mean something, where you're from?"

He had been told stories by his aunt about the old language on Tatooine, something that she spoke a little of, and how she thought he might have been named after a word in that language. But she had never taught him the language, too scared to pass it on to him.

"It feels cursed," she'd told his uncle one night when she had thought he'd been sleeping. "I thought it would be better for him to know where he came from, but the Skywalker name feels cursed, and all the slaves that bore that name are in the ground now. I do not want Luke to share their fate."

"Luke is not a slave," his uncle had reminded his aunt.

"No," Beru had agreed, "but he is still cursed by blood and rage. We should have changed his name."

"We've been over this."

"I know. And I still don't like it."

"A name cannot bear any more ill will than the sun or the sand, Beru," Owen had sighed, taking his wife's hand. Luke had watched curiously. They were hardly affectionate when he was around. "It is not a curse. It is a gift. And it is the last gift that he has from the people who bore him. It is not right for us to take it away."

"A person might take many names throughout their life," Beru had replied, "and never be any less themselves for it. He would understand. He is a very sympathetic child."

"Tell him that his name is cursed, then," Owen had scoffed. "See what he does! He'll cry, I'll bet. Sympathetic my ass. He's too sensitive."

"Perhaps he gets that from his mother."

He was torn from the memory by a pair of snapping fingers clicking before his eyes. He blinked rapidly, and smiled at Lando.