A/N: sorry, i feel asleep and hadn't scheduled the release
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The Scythe's ramp hissed open with a pneumatic wheeze that sounded way too dramatic for what was essentially a garage door with delusions of grandeur.
I watched Leia's feet tap against the deck plating in a rhythm that screamed I'm not nervous you're nervous.
For some reason she'd been doing this thing for the past hour where she talked like she'd swallowed a thesaurus and was trying to channel her inner royal diplomat. Pretty sure it was her way of coping with the stress, like if she acted princess-y enough she could pretend the last week hadn't happened.
Cute. Also completely transparent.
"Nervous, Princess?"
Her spine went ramrod straight. She turned to address the wall approximately three inches to my left.
"Master Ben," she said, voice dripping with ten-year-old dignity trying very hard to sound thirty, "please inform whoever is speaking that this princess does not dignify questions from individuals who drug children without consent."
Obi-Wan, who was adjusting his half-mask for the third time to hide that ridiculous beard he'd refused to shave despite my very reasonable arguments about "not looking like the most wanted Jedi in the galaxy," let out a sigh that sounded like a deflating airlock.
"Leia—"
"Furthermore," she continued, still aggressively not looking at me, "this princess wishes it to be known that she was not fidgeting. Princesses do not fidget. We engage in... preparatory movements."
"Preparatory movements." I let that hang in the air for a second. "Is that what the Alderaanian finishing schools are calling anxiety these days?"
"Master Ben, please inform the rude boy that his commentary is neither requested nor appreciated."
"Oh come on." I threw my hands up. "I already said I'd fix Lola, didn't I? Your little droid buddy? Good as new. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a lightsaber in my eye. No need to be all—" I made a vague wiggling gesture with my hands, "—huffy puffy about it."
That got her.
She whirled on me, brown eyes blazing with the kind of indignation only a privileged ten-year-old could muster.
"This princess is not 'huffy puffy' or whatever that rude expression means! This princess is righteously... um... she is very upset! There is a difference!"
There it is. The vocabulary slipping. She was cracking.
"Righteously upset," I said, nodding seriously. "Sure. That's definitely what's happening here and not you being terrified to face your parents after sneaking into the forest when your mom specifically told you not to."
Her mouth opened. Closed. Her cheeks flushed a spectacular shade of crimson that clashed with her dress.
Gotcha.
"I am not—" she started, but the hydraulic hiss of the ramp finishing its descent cut her off.
Sunlight flooded the cargo bay.
Actual, genuine, non-recycled sunlight that didn't taste like engine exhaust and despair. I squinted against the brightness as the ramp lowered fully, revealing rolling green fields, distant mountains, and a sky so aggressively blue it looked fake.
And there, standing at a respectful distance from the landing zone, were Bail and Breha Organa.
Leia went very still beside me. I could practically hear the guilt grinding gears in her head. She'd snuck out, gotten herself kidnapped, put the entire Rebellion at risk, and now had to face the music.
"Hey." I kept my voice low, just for her. "Your mistake or not, they spent the last week worrying about you. That's all they care about right now. Go on."
She didn't respond but her feet started moving.
One step, then two, then she was running down the ramp with all the dignity of a kid who'd just spotted her parents after the worst field trip ever.
Breha met her halfway, dropping to her knees and wrapping Leia in a hug so tight I could feel the emotional discharge from here. Bail was there a second later, long arms pulling them both in.
We waited at the top of the ramp, letting them have their moment. Princess or not, Leia was still a ten-year-old girl and everything that happened was enough to leave scars. Letting her vent her emotions was the least we could do.
"Shall we?" Obi-Wan asked.
"After you, Master."
We descended the ramp at a pace that could charitably be called "leisurely" and more accurately described as "giving them their moment while pretending we're not watching."
My boots touched actual grass and I stopped mid-step.
The air was clean.
Not filtered-through-seventeen-systems clean. Not acceptable-particulate-count clean. Actually, genuinely, impossibly clean.
I could smell flowers. Real flowers. And something that might have been actual fresh water, and that particular green scent of growing things that hadn't been touched by industrial runoff or sand.
I took a deep breath. Held it. Let it out slow.
When was the last time I'd breathed air that wasn't trying to kill me? Lothal's factory districts? Tatooine's dust soup? Daiyu's smog-choked alleys? The Scythe's carefully balanced but ultimately canned atmosphere?
Years. It had been actual years.
You could call Modern Earth a bastion of pollution and all, but only after coming to this universe had I realized it was still a thousand times better than most planets out here.
My eyes might have gotten a little wet. Allergies. Definitely allergies from all the clean air and pollen and shit.
The Organa "farmhouse" sat nestled against a hillside in the distance, and I used the term loosely because this place looked like it could house a small army. Rolling fields surrounded us on all sides. A small lake glittered to the east, because of course it did.
All of this was apparently Bail's idea of "discrete."
We'd initially planned for an off-planet rendezvous. Neutral territory, minimal footprint, easy extraction routes. Standard tradecraft.
Bail had insisted on Alderaan instead.
"I have many properties throughout the planet," he'd said over the encrypted channel, as casually as someone might mention owning multiple pairs of shoes. "This location is perfect. Remote. Only trusted personnel."
Rich people, man. Of course he had farmhouses plural scattered across his homeworld like spare change.
Still, paranoia wasn't paranoia if they were actually out to get you. After the Daiyu fiasco, I wasn't taking chances.
I let my Hyper Perception drift outward, brushing against the emotional states of everyone in range.
The guards at the perimeter, eight figures in discrete armor with professional spacing: Alert but not suspicious. Just guys doing their jobs, happy to see the boss's daughter home safe.
Breha and Bail were radiating intense relief, the kind that came from a week of slowly mounting terror finally releasing all at once. Though with Bail there was something else underneath. Political control, maybe. The part of him that was always a senator, always calculating angles.
I focused on the guards one by one, sifting through their emotional discharge for anything off. No hidden hostility. No concealed malice. No "I might be an Imperial spy" nervousness lurking in the rose bushes.
Good. Though if Bail's trusted inner circle had been compromised, it would've been impossible in canon for him to survive all that Rebellion business anyway.
The Organa family finally disentangled themselves as we approached. Leia's face was red and blotchy from crying, but she was smiling. A real smile, not the political one I'd seen her practice on the ship when she thought no one was looking.
Breha kept one hand on her daughter's shoulder like she was afraid Leia might vanish if she let go.
Bail stepped forward to meet us.
He looked better in person than he had over holo. Still tired, the bags under his eyes hadn't magically disappeared, but there was color in his cheeks now that his daughter was safe.
"Ben." The name came out with obvious relief. He clasped Obi-Wan's hand with both of his. "Thank the Force. I cannot express how grateful—"
"There's no need," Obi-Wan said, voice warm even through the mask. "She's safe. That's what matters."
Bail's gaze shifted to me.
Up close, I realized the man was tall. Like, unnecessarily tall. I had to crane my neck back to make eye contact.
"And you must be Ezra." His expression softened into something that might have been amusement. "You look even younger in person than you did over holo, if that's possible."
"I'm very compact," I said. "Easier to fit into ventilation shafts that way."
That startled a laugh out of him. "That plan you drafted, the paper trail, the mercenary cover, I have to admit I was impressed. Simple, elegant solutions that I'd somehow overlooked in my panic. Ben has found himself quite the apprentice, it seems."
"I wouldn't be so sure about the 'no worries' part," I said, glancing at Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan picked up the thread smoothly. "There were certain... complications during the operation. Nothing that compromised the mission's success, but perhaps not matters to discuss in the open."
Bail's expression shifted, the politician's mask sliding into place as he read between the lines. His gaze flicked between us, calculating.
"I see." His voice dropped a register. "Complications of a permanent nature?"
"Among other things," Obi-Wan said carefully.
For a moment Bail just looked at us, and I could see him weighing outcomes and probabilities and political fallout. Then he looked back at Leia, still tucked against her mother's side, and something in his face softened.
"As long as my daughter is safe," he said quietly, "there are no complications significant enough to diminish my gratitude. We can discuss the details later, in private."
Leia had been watching this exchange with growing curiosity, her eyes darting between the three adults like she was trying to decode a particularly complex puzzle. She tugged on her father's sleeve insistently.
Bail bent down, and she whispered something in his ear with the kind of urgency that suggested she'd been holding onto this question for way too long.
He straightened, clearing his throat. "Leia—"
A sharp cough interrupted him. Leia was giving her father a look that could have melted durasteel.
Bail coughed again, adjusted his stance, and tried again. "Actually, I would like to know about the incident that required sedation."
Nice save, Senator. Very smooth.
Leia wasn't satisfied with the diplomatic redirect. Her glare swung toward me with renewed intensity.
"Yes, please. I would love to hear the explanation for that. Since apparently 'adult matters' is the only answer I deserve, despite him—" she jabbed a finger in my direction with the kind of vehemence usually reserved for pointing out war criminals, "—being the same age as me!"
Of course she would. Kid had the tenacity of a rancor with a bone.
I met Bail's eyes and made a quick gesture across my throat. The universal sign for people died and your ten-year-old doesn't need those details.
Understanding flickered across his face.
"Leia," he said, shifting into Dad Voice, "there are aspects of rescue operations that even adults find difficult to witness. Ezra made a judgment call to protect you from unnecessary trauma. It was the right decision."
"But—"
"We can discuss it further when you're older." The finality in his voice made it clear the topic was closed. "For now, I believe you owe someone an apology for attempting to steal an escape pod."
Oh, this was going to be good.
The internal civil war playing out across Leia's face was magnificent. Acknowledge that I'd done something right? Concede a single inch of moral ground to the boy who'd drugged her and pretended to be her fellow captive for laughs?
She'd rather eat sand.
"This princess," she announced to the air approximately two feet above my head, "acknowledges that certain actions may have been... contextually justified. This does not constitute forgiveness for the deception."
She took a breath, clearly gearing up for the formal statement she'd probably been composing in her head for the last hour.
"A formal pardon will be considered pending the satisfactory repair of Lola and no fewer than three additional acts of, um... contrition. The nature of which shall be determined at this princess's sole discretion and whenever she feels like it."
The vocabulary was slipping again. Adorable.
"Terms accepted," I said solemnly. "Pending legal review by my counsel." I jerked a thumb at Obi-Wan.
"Absolutely not," Obi-Wan said immediately. "Leave me out of this."
"Betrayed by my own Master," I sighed. "This is what I get for all my loyalty and devotion."
"Your loyalty and devotion have aged me a decade in the span of months."
Bail was trying very hard not to smile. Breha had given up and was actively grinning.
"Walk with me, please," Bail said, gesturing toward the house. "There's much we need to discuss, and I'd prefer privacy." He turned to his wife. "Breha, if you could—"
"Get this one cleaned up and fed and sufficiently recovered that she stops plotting revenge against the boy who saved her life?" Breha finished, squeezing Leia's shoulder. "Of course, dear. Take your time."
She steered Leia toward the estate, and within seconds the princess's voice was carrying across the green fields in a comprehensive debrief of every injustice suffered over the past week, delivered with enough volume to probably be heard from orbit.
I caught fragments as they receded.
"—completely unnecessary sedation—"
"—and THEN he had the audacity to pretend—"
"—escape plan was perfectly sound—"
Breha's quiet responses were inaudible at this distance, but I had a feeling they consisted mostly of well-placed "mm-hmm"s and strategically timed nodding. The patience of a saint, that woman.
Bail watched them go with obvious affection, then dismissed the guards with a subtle gesture.
We fell into step beside him. Obi-Wan on his left, me on his right, walking through grass so green it looked fake.
Once we were out of earshot, Bail spoke.
"When you told me over comms that an Inquisitor was involved in Leia's kidnapping," he said, "I confess I had my doubts. It seemed almost too convenient an explanation."
I snorted. "And now?"
"Now I watch you descend from an Imperial Inquisitorius vessel, one of the most classified ship designs in the Imperial Navy, and I find my skepticism rather thoroughly demolished."
Ah. Right. That.
"Yeah, about that," I said. "The ship belongs to a different Inquisitor."
Bail stopped walking.
Just stopped, mid-step, and turned to look at me with an expression that suggested he was reconsidering every decision that had led to this moment.
"I'm sorry," he said slowly. "A different Inquisitor?"
"The one pulling strings on Leia's kidnapping has been dealt with. Permanently." I kept my tone light. "The ship though, we acquired that on Tatooine. Separate incident entirely."
Bail turned to Obi-Wan with the look of a man desperately hoping for a reasonable explanation.
"Ben. Please tell me there's context that makes this make sense."
Obi-Wan sighed. The deep, soul-weary sigh of a Master who had long since accepted that his apprentice was a walking diplomatic incident.
"Several Inquisitors arrived on Tatooine hunting a Jedi fugitive," he said. "Ezra assisted in the fugitive's escape. During the operation, he... acquired... the Inquisitors' vessel."
"Acquired."
"They left it unguarded," I said, shrugging. "Just sitting there in the open. Who does that? It's like they'd never heard of basic security protocols."
"You stole an Inquisitor's personal ship," Bail said flatly.
"Borrowed without permission," I corrected. "Also they had left it wide open at the time, so it's not like they were using it."
"They were—" Bail pinched the bridge of his nose. "How many Inquisitors has your apprentice swindled, Ben?"
Obi-Wan's silence was answer enough.
"Force preserve us," Bail muttered, resuming his walk toward the farmhouse at a slightly faster pace, like he needed the movement to process. "I'm beginning to understand why you looked so tired in our holo calls, old friend."
"He keeps me young," Obi-Wan said dryly. "In the sense that the constant stress is actively shortening my lifespan."
"Hey," I protested. "I'm a delight."
Neither of them dignified that with a response.
We continued walking through the impossibly green grass toward the farmhouse that wasn't really a farmhouse, while Alderaan's sun began its descent toward the horizon.
The planet really was beautiful. Rolling hills, clean air, peaceful countryside that looked like it belonged on a postcard.
I tried not to think about what would happen to it in roughly a decade.
Speaking of which, I might need to add another person to my ever-growing list of people who needed random info-dumps about the future.
[End Chapter]
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A/N: Hope you enjoyed the little SoL chapter. Next update on 24 or 25 I feel. Rebellion is in making hoho!
Also don't forget to vote with powerstones as its a new week!
PS: I have 2 exams tomorrow, wish me luck.
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