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Jan. 26th, 2020 12:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anghrainetitle: The Jedi and the Sith Lord (5/?)
verse: Lucy Skywalker: my f!Luke AU, following from The Adventures of Lucy Skywalker and The Imperial Menace
characters: Luke/Lucy Skywalker, [spoiler characters]; Anakin Skywalker, Tuvié (F-2VA)
stuff that happens: Lucy comes to terms with Tuvié's revelation, and finally understands the point of her dreams.
previous sections: one, two, three, four
CHAPTER FIVE
Lucy felt numb.
“Senator Amidala was my maker?” she repeated, then gave her head a shake. “My mother?”
“Oh, yes,” said Tuvié. She paused, then added, “At least, she contributed half of your genetic material.”
Amidala, Lucy thought blankly. Amidala was her mother?
A senator? A founder of the Rebellion?
A protégée of the Emperor’s?
She wished, with more intensity than usual, that she could see. See her hands and veins, her face, dredge up some image of Amidala—there must be one somewhere, surely, with all of her things lying around?
A chill crawled over her skin. Why did Vader have so many of her mother’s things? He must have stolen them—but why would he have stolen Amidala’s clothes?
Had he captured Lucy because she was Amidala’s daughter as well as Anakin’s?
A dull throb pulsed in her head, the forerunner to a piercing headache. Lucy rubbed her temples, then folded her arms, the silky fabric of her sleeves—her mother’s sleeves—fluttering against her skin. Was it even true? How would she know?
She didn’t have any idea. Nevertheless, that evening, Lucy interrupted Vader before he could start lecturing her about the Dark Side.
“Can Tuvié lie?”
Vader fell silent for a moment. Lucy thought he might just go back to his usual spiel, or refuse to answer, or something worse—he was Darth Vader, after all! But all he said was,
“Certainly.”
She nearly rolled her eyes, but self-preservation confined her to an impatient sigh. “Okay, does she lie?”
“Not that I have observed,” said Vader, his modulated voice gaining a distinct edge. “I tire of this. What is the point of these questions?”
“She said that Senator Amidala was my mother!” Lucy burst out.
Vader’s respirator cycled once, then twice, then three times. At last, he said,
“Obi-Wan never told you about Padmé?”
“He didn’t have time,” said Lucy quickly.
Really, it wasn’t as if she needed to defend Obi-Wan against the man who’d killed him. It should be the other way around, not that she felt inclined to defend Vader against anyone. But something about his tone unsettled her; she didn’t feel threatened by it, at least not directly, but—there was something she should be picking up here.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” he replied. “There is a great deal Obi-Wan never told you.”
Lucy prickled. “How do I know you aren’t lying?”
But she guessed what he would say before he said it.
“Search your feelings, Lucy,” Vader told her. “They will tell you what is true.”
Say what he would about Obi-Wan—sometimes he really did sound just like him.
“The Dark Side can guide you,” he went on.
And sometimes he didn’t.
-
Lucy hated doing anything that Darth Vader told her to do. She did trust the Force, though. If she could connect to it, let it flow through her, she would know the truth in her feelings. But it had to be the Light Side.
After she returned to her quarters and changed into one of Amidala’s more reasonable nightdresses, she meditated yet again, trying to summon some fraction of Obi-Wan’s deliberation and Yoda’s discipline, while dismissing anything that might lead to the Dark Side.
Calm, she thought, pushing the castle away from her consciousness. She couldn’t think of that. Be calm and peaceful. Passive.
Passivity was the hardest of all. Lucy breathed in and breathed out, letting her mind reach out. She could feel the Force, at least—the heady weight of the Dark Side, punctuated here and there by the glimmers of the Light. It was here. But she couldn’t demand anything; that would only push it away. She had to give herself over to it, and the Force would give in return.
It’ll be all right, she told herself, more frightened than she dared admit. I serve the Force. It’ll be all right.
And with the next breath, the Light Side flowed through her. Energy crackled over and under her skin; it felt warm, as if a star shone on her. The world around her sprang to life: droids scattered across the castle, a smear of fury and pain that could only be Vader, the corridors and doors and rooms she’d explored with her unseeing eyes. She didn’t see them, exactly, but she—everything was connected. Not just life. Everything.
Lucy dared not resist the current rushing through her. She could only think, My mother? Amidala? Padmé?
She felt a tranquil ripple of affirmation. What it might have felt like with the Dark Side, she didn’t know—would never know, she told herself—but in this moment, she felt the truth of it. Whatever else Padmé Amidala may have been, she had brought Lucy into the galaxy.
The Force, and Tuvié, had returned her mother to her.
Lucy jumped off the bed.
“Miss Lucy! What do you need? Let me help—”
“It’s all right,” said Lucy. “I just want to try something. It won’t be dangerous, I promise.”
Calm and something like happy, Lucy latched onto her connection to the Force and took a step forward. She could still feel everything around her in crisp edges; she had only to trust the feeling. Lucy blinked into the darkness, then strode forward confidently, walking around a table and chair and past the door to the fresher. She wove around more furnishings, trailed her fingers on the wardrobe as she passed it, and ended up at the chair by the window.
“You’ve recovered your optical faculties!” cried Tuvié.
“No,” Lucy said, smiling. “I haven’t.”
The ceiling rose high, very high, above her. On impulse, Lucy launched herself into the air, somersaulted, and landed lightly on her feet just beside the bed.
“Very impressive, Miss Lucy,” Tuvié said, sounding bewildered.
Lucy swept her a deep bow. “Thank you!”
With that, she sprang onto the bed and pulled the coverlet back. Her heart wasn’t even racing.
“Are you sure your … your vision hasn’t returned? At all?” Tuvié asked.
“Oh, yes,” Lucy told her. “But anything is possible with the Force.”
Tuvié gave a restless click. “That is what the Maker says.”
Unavoidably, the reminder unsettled Lucy. Still, she wasn’t going to be so single-mindedly contrary that she let Vader estrange her from the Force. This was the path she had chosen, and her father before her. It was her point of connection to Anakin and Obi-Wan, and she believed in it with her whole heart.
“Well, he’s right,” said Lucy. “About that. Goodnight, Tuvié.”
She had fallen asleep before Tuvié could respond.
-
Lucy opened her eyes, and found herself in Massassi Temple on Yavin 4. Rebels strode here and there, talking indistinctly and gesturing. Some climbed onto X-Wings, some repaired droids, some delivered orders. She thought she could even make out Leia, but an oddly insubstantial Leia, appearing here and then reappearing halfway across the hangar, always distant.
At first, Lucy felt a jolt of pure contentment at the familiar sights and sounds. But her rational mind reasserted itself swiftly. Nobody seemed to notice her. Nobody veered from their paths or their tasks. Now, she remembered the desert city.
When Lucy saw her commander, she figured she might as well double-check.
“Wedge!” She waved at him.
He didn’t respond. None of the familiar faces did. Lucy sighed. What was the point? Just a dream?
“Why am I here?”
“I had the same question.”
Lucy spun around. The blind man from before sat comfortably on a pile of crates.
“It’s been a long time since I visited this place,” he went on.
Lucy walked over to him, settling on the nearest crate. “You’ve been here before?”
“My husband and I had some dealings with the Rebellion,” he said. “Rather disappointing ones, I’m afraid, until the end.”
“The end of what?” Lucy asked. She frowned. “I feel like—have we met before? Before all this? You don’t look familiar, but I could swear—”
The man laughed. “You’d remember me if we’d met, little Starkiller.”
“Why do you call me that?” she burst out. “It’s not my name! I’m a Skywalker!”
“You’ll have to forgive me,” said the man. “I’m sure you have accomplished other things, but destroying the star does rather stand out.”
She felt both proud and sheepish. “Oh! The Death Star, you mean. Well—I guess—yeah, I did. Lots of people helped.” Lucy dropped her eyes to the floor of the hangar. “Lots of people died.”
“I know,” said the man.
“You seem to know more about all this than I do,” Lucy said.
“My situation is … different,” he replied. “It allows me to perceive certain things that you cannot, even now that you have opened yourself to the Force.”
“Then it is the Force doing this?” she pressed.
“The Force, and you,” said the man. “And perhaps even me.”
Lucy waited for him to elaborate, but he settled into an easy silence, adjusting his grip on his staff. She set her teeth.
“Me? I’m not doing anything!”
“You wanted help,” he said. “Someone like you can’t say please to the Force and expect nothing to follow. Perhaps not what you wish, but …” He shrugged.
“With all due respect,” said Lucy, “I don’t feel very helped.”
He laughed outright. “I imagine you don’t. Well, in this realm, we may be able to achieve the impossible. It’s happened before, with someone of your strength in the Force.”
Amidst her confusion, Lucy felt a spark of alarm. “There’s someone else? Do you mean Vader? You’ve helped him?”
At that, the man finally showed an expression other than contented serenity. His lips tightened.
“Certainly not. That may be in your power, but it is not in mine.”
“He wants me to help him,” Lucy said, “but I won’t. I won’t turn to the Dark Side.”
“Good,” said the man, though he still frowned a little, as if disbelieving. Or perhaps just confused.
“But what do you mean by the impossible? If you’ve done it before, then it can’t be impossible, can it?”
“Hm,” he said. “Not usually possible, let’s say. The Force flows through us both, particularly now. That is one thing. But the others would like to see you. In the waking world, it would be truly impossible. And last time we managed it, it was—splintered, unclear.”
“What are you talking about?” said Lucy. “The others? Who … what …”
“You must help me bring them to you,” the man replied.
Lucy felt more blank than she already had.
“How? And why should I?”
“You wanted help,” he reminded her. “We can offer a little. Perhaps it will be enough. I can’t say what your circumstances are, but you are in danger—very great danger.”
“I know,” she said glumly. Then she remembered the Force, still wrapped closely around her.
Can I trust him?
She didn’t receive anything so straightforward as yes or no. But her feelings settled into a soothing calm.
“All right,” Lucy said. “I’ll help with the … whatever.”
“Close your eyes,” said the man.
Lucy didn’t like losing her sight for a moment longer than she had to, but the Force gently urged her on. She let her eyelids drift closed, her breaths evening out. Her hands went loose in her lap.
“Good,” the man told her. “Very good. Feel the Force flow through you.”
She could. It surged through every particle of her body, powerful beyond expression. It would be easy to forget herself before that awesome strength; she almost found herself less Lucy than an amplifying vessel for the Force, a vehicle for its passage as it threaded its way through the galaxy. Even the Light Side could devour her; she felt as if she belonged to it in some odd way. But she didn’t. This was choice, not subjection; she was Lucy still.
Then, with one last burst, it drained from her. Not entirely, but she could barely feel it now, barely feel anything. It took an effort for her to open her eyes.
A pale, faintly blue wisp floated before her. She eyed it doubtfully. All that, for this?
“This is most improbable,” the wisp said.
“Uh,” said Lucy. “Sure?”
Another wisp appeared behind the first, and then two, three—no, five more, and others hovering in the distance. But these began to shift into shapes, vaguely humanoid shapes. Then the shapes sharpened, and before her, Lucy saw a mass of humans. They all flickered with blue light, just like Obi-Wan; in fact, they looked exactly like he did, apart from differences in build and features.
“You’re dead,” she said without thinking.
“Oh, quite,” said the blind man.
The first wisp morphed into a short, squat form. An … astromech droid? Lucy stared.
“You’ve almost got it!” a man said encouragingly. A dead man, she thought. And a dead droid?
What?
Oddly enough, the newest man looked familiar—more familiar than the blind one. He stood beside the only woman she could see, one taller than Lucy but considerably shorter than everyone around her. Lucy could only vaguely make her out through the four men crowded closely around, so she focused her attention on the man who’d spoken to the droid. He stood very straight and had fine-boned features, the sort that could look sharp and striking in one moment and attractively forgettable in the next. But she knew she’d seen them before—yet she felt reasonably certain she’d never seen him.
Sure enough, he said, “Is this her?”
“The Starkiller—yes,” replied the blind man. “Lucy Skywalker.”
“I’m right here,” Lucy said.
Another man, one with big, solemn eyes, said,
“Lieutenant Skywalker, isn’t it? It’s an honour.”
“I—”
She’d seen him, too. Not in person. In … she returned her gaze to the sharp-faced man, and abruptly was thrust back to those first hours after she’d blown up the Death Star, after she’d found out that she’d be allowed to fly for the Rebellion after all, in the new Rogue Squadron. After they’d told her about their namesake, the team that had brought the plans to them in the first place, and died for it, and she’d talked to Leia and heard about them: ex-criminals and ex-Imperials and Rebels like them. And Leia had shown her what pictures the Rebellion had of the Rogue One team: clear for their own men and the ones wanted by the Empire, but vague for—
Lucy’s eyes went wide. Without thought, she saluted.
“Captain Andor!” she exclaimed.
He stared at her, then smiled faintly. “It’s been awhile since I heard that.”
A wind whistled past, lighter and warmer than the one in the desert city.
“Captain Andor, and you must be Jyn Erso, and—and—you’re the Rogue One team,” she breathed. “How is it—is this real?”
The astromech shifted into a protocol droid.
“How should we know what’s real?” it said.
“Yes,” Erso told her.
“You’d better hurry,” said the blind man. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
Lucy should remember his name, but she couldn’t; the holo had been so grainy, and she’d only heard him mentioned in passing. It was the leaders and Rebels she heard the most about: Andor and Erso, and Sefla and Melshi and—
“I’m so sorry,” she blurted out. “I’ve failed you.”
“Hardly,” said one of the men she didn’t recognize. “You destroyed the Death Star.”
“Yes, but I—” Her breathing came fast. “I deserted Rogue Squadron. We named it for you, I was lieutenant, and then I left.”
Several of them glanced at each other, but their ghostly faces were unreadable.
“Why?” said the man with the big eyes. Rook came into her mind. That was right. Bodhi Rook, the Imperial.
She scrubbed at her face.
“I want to be a Jedi like my father. I left the squadron to train under a master, but then I left him too, and Vader laid a trap for me.”
The Rebel base flickered, and the walls of her bedchamber in Vader’s castle closed in, half the ghosts fading in and out. A droid stood guard, but seemed no more responsive than any of the other background figures had been.
Lucy gestured around.
“This is his—I’m a captive here. I don’t know what will happen now. The Rebellion—we lost our base, we lost … maybe everything, I don’t know.”
Slowly, the blind monk said, “There’s something strange here.”
She was almost sure he’d been a monk, anyway. Or something like that.
“There’s a lot strange here,” said Lucy. “But—” She bit her lip. “What can I do?”
Erso stepped out from behind Rook, her face exactly as Lucy remembered it from her Wanted For Crimes Against the Empire picture.
“Remember who you are,” Erso said. “Nobody can take that from you. Not Vader. Not anyone.”
“Keep your eyes and ears open,” said Andor. “Find out everything you can. Be ready.”
Lucy nodded, almost frantically. Her head was spinning.
A burly man beside Andor told her, “Don’t spend your life without reason.”
“That’s right,” said Rook. “You can always do more alive than dead. Remember that.” His voice faded towards the end, then strengthened. “Remember.”
“I will, I will.” Lucy calmed a little. “Will I ever see you again? I can’t do this alone.”
The burly man said, “You are never alone in the Force.”
She swallowed. “Right.”
“You aren’t alone,” said the blind monk. “There’s someone there who can help you. Who will, if you follow your feelings. You have only to find them.”
“Who?” cried Lucy.
“Oh, I have no idea,” he said cheerfully. “But the Force is with you, Lucy Skywalker—and you are one with the Force.”
-
Note: Okay, so: part of the reason it took me so long to update this fic was that I decided to stop until Rogue One came out to see if I wanted to integrate it into the Lucy canon, and then got swept away by RO fandom for … several years. But I’ve always envisioned a RO scene/vision/thing to parallel Leia’s vision of them in until the last chance is spent, a Lucyverse fic right after the destruction of the Death Star (which this one references, though I don’t think it’s necessary to read it). It was very satisfying to get here at last!
verse: Lucy Skywalker: my f!Luke AU, following from The Adventures of Lucy Skywalker and The Imperial Menace
characters: Luke/Lucy Skywalker, [spoiler characters]; Anakin Skywalker, Tuvié (F-2VA)
stuff that happens: Lucy comes to terms with Tuvié's revelation, and finally understands the point of her dreams.
previous sections: one, two, three, four
CHAPTER FIVE
Lucy felt numb.
“Senator Amidala was my maker?” she repeated, then gave her head a shake. “My mother?”
“Oh, yes,” said Tuvié. She paused, then added, “At least, she contributed half of your genetic material.”
Amidala, Lucy thought blankly. Amidala was her mother?
A senator? A founder of the Rebellion?
A protégée of the Emperor’s?
She wished, with more intensity than usual, that she could see. See her hands and veins, her face, dredge up some image of Amidala—there must be one somewhere, surely, with all of her things lying around?
A chill crawled over her skin. Why did Vader have so many of her mother’s things? He must have stolen them—but why would he have stolen Amidala’s clothes?
Had he captured Lucy because she was Amidala’s daughter as well as Anakin’s?
A dull throb pulsed in her head, the forerunner to a piercing headache. Lucy rubbed her temples, then folded her arms, the silky fabric of her sleeves—her mother’s sleeves—fluttering against her skin. Was it even true? How would she know?
She didn’t have any idea. Nevertheless, that evening, Lucy interrupted Vader before he could start lecturing her about the Dark Side.
“Can Tuvié lie?”
Vader fell silent for a moment. Lucy thought he might just go back to his usual spiel, or refuse to answer, or something worse—he was Darth Vader, after all! But all he said was,
“Certainly.”
She nearly rolled her eyes, but self-preservation confined her to an impatient sigh. “Okay, does she lie?”
“Not that I have observed,” said Vader, his modulated voice gaining a distinct edge. “I tire of this. What is the point of these questions?”
“She said that Senator Amidala was my mother!” Lucy burst out.
Vader’s respirator cycled once, then twice, then three times. At last, he said,
“Obi-Wan never told you about Padmé?”
“He didn’t have time,” said Lucy quickly.
Really, it wasn’t as if she needed to defend Obi-Wan against the man who’d killed him. It should be the other way around, not that she felt inclined to defend Vader against anyone. But something about his tone unsettled her; she didn’t feel threatened by it, at least not directly, but—there was something she should be picking up here.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” he replied. “There is a great deal Obi-Wan never told you.”
Lucy prickled. “How do I know you aren’t lying?”
But she guessed what he would say before he said it.
“Search your feelings, Lucy,” Vader told her. “They will tell you what is true.”
Say what he would about Obi-Wan—sometimes he really did sound just like him.
“The Dark Side can guide you,” he went on.
And sometimes he didn’t.
-
Lucy hated doing anything that Darth Vader told her to do. She did trust the Force, though. If she could connect to it, let it flow through her, she would know the truth in her feelings. But it had to be the Light Side.
After she returned to her quarters and changed into one of Amidala’s more reasonable nightdresses, she meditated yet again, trying to summon some fraction of Obi-Wan’s deliberation and Yoda’s discipline, while dismissing anything that might lead to the Dark Side.
Calm, she thought, pushing the castle away from her consciousness. She couldn’t think of that. Be calm and peaceful. Passive.
Passivity was the hardest of all. Lucy breathed in and breathed out, letting her mind reach out. She could feel the Force, at least—the heady weight of the Dark Side, punctuated here and there by the glimmers of the Light. It was here. But she couldn’t demand anything; that would only push it away. She had to give herself over to it, and the Force would give in return.
It’ll be all right, she told herself, more frightened than she dared admit. I serve the Force. It’ll be all right.
And with the next breath, the Light Side flowed through her. Energy crackled over and under her skin; it felt warm, as if a star shone on her. The world around her sprang to life: droids scattered across the castle, a smear of fury and pain that could only be Vader, the corridors and doors and rooms she’d explored with her unseeing eyes. She didn’t see them, exactly, but she—everything was connected. Not just life. Everything.
Lucy dared not resist the current rushing through her. She could only think, My mother? Amidala? Padmé?
She felt a tranquil ripple of affirmation. What it might have felt like with the Dark Side, she didn’t know—would never know, she told herself—but in this moment, she felt the truth of it. Whatever else Padmé Amidala may have been, she had brought Lucy into the galaxy.
The Force, and Tuvié, had returned her mother to her.
Lucy jumped off the bed.
“Miss Lucy! What do you need? Let me help—”
“It’s all right,” said Lucy. “I just want to try something. It won’t be dangerous, I promise.”
Calm and something like happy, Lucy latched onto her connection to the Force and took a step forward. She could still feel everything around her in crisp edges; she had only to trust the feeling. Lucy blinked into the darkness, then strode forward confidently, walking around a table and chair and past the door to the fresher. She wove around more furnishings, trailed her fingers on the wardrobe as she passed it, and ended up at the chair by the window.
“You’ve recovered your optical faculties!” cried Tuvié.
“No,” Lucy said, smiling. “I haven’t.”
The ceiling rose high, very high, above her. On impulse, Lucy launched herself into the air, somersaulted, and landed lightly on her feet just beside the bed.
“Very impressive, Miss Lucy,” Tuvié said, sounding bewildered.
Lucy swept her a deep bow. “Thank you!”
With that, she sprang onto the bed and pulled the coverlet back. Her heart wasn’t even racing.
“Are you sure your … your vision hasn’t returned? At all?” Tuvié asked.
“Oh, yes,” Lucy told her. “But anything is possible with the Force.”
Tuvié gave a restless click. “That is what the Maker says.”
Unavoidably, the reminder unsettled Lucy. Still, she wasn’t going to be so single-mindedly contrary that she let Vader estrange her from the Force. This was the path she had chosen, and her father before her. It was her point of connection to Anakin and Obi-Wan, and she believed in it with her whole heart.
“Well, he’s right,” said Lucy. “About that. Goodnight, Tuvié.”
She had fallen asleep before Tuvié could respond.
-
Lucy opened her eyes, and found herself in Massassi Temple on Yavin 4. Rebels strode here and there, talking indistinctly and gesturing. Some climbed onto X-Wings, some repaired droids, some delivered orders. She thought she could even make out Leia, but an oddly insubstantial Leia, appearing here and then reappearing halfway across the hangar, always distant.
At first, Lucy felt a jolt of pure contentment at the familiar sights and sounds. But her rational mind reasserted itself swiftly. Nobody seemed to notice her. Nobody veered from their paths or their tasks. Now, she remembered the desert city.
When Lucy saw her commander, she figured she might as well double-check.
“Wedge!” She waved at him.
He didn’t respond. None of the familiar faces did. Lucy sighed. What was the point? Just a dream?
“Why am I here?”
“I had the same question.”
Lucy spun around. The blind man from before sat comfortably on a pile of crates.
“It’s been a long time since I visited this place,” he went on.
Lucy walked over to him, settling on the nearest crate. “You’ve been here before?”
“My husband and I had some dealings with the Rebellion,” he said. “Rather disappointing ones, I’m afraid, until the end.”
“The end of what?” Lucy asked. She frowned. “I feel like—have we met before? Before all this? You don’t look familiar, but I could swear—”
The man laughed. “You’d remember me if we’d met, little Starkiller.”
“Why do you call me that?” she burst out. “It’s not my name! I’m a Skywalker!”
“You’ll have to forgive me,” said the man. “I’m sure you have accomplished other things, but destroying the star does rather stand out.”
She felt both proud and sheepish. “Oh! The Death Star, you mean. Well—I guess—yeah, I did. Lots of people helped.” Lucy dropped her eyes to the floor of the hangar. “Lots of people died.”
“I know,” said the man.
“You seem to know more about all this than I do,” Lucy said.
“My situation is … different,” he replied. “It allows me to perceive certain things that you cannot, even now that you have opened yourself to the Force.”
“Then it is the Force doing this?” she pressed.
“The Force, and you,” said the man. “And perhaps even me.”
Lucy waited for him to elaborate, but he settled into an easy silence, adjusting his grip on his staff. She set her teeth.
“Me? I’m not doing anything!”
“You wanted help,” he said. “Someone like you can’t say please to the Force and expect nothing to follow. Perhaps not what you wish, but …” He shrugged.
“With all due respect,” said Lucy, “I don’t feel very helped.”
He laughed outright. “I imagine you don’t. Well, in this realm, we may be able to achieve the impossible. It’s happened before, with someone of your strength in the Force.”
Amidst her confusion, Lucy felt a spark of alarm. “There’s someone else? Do you mean Vader? You’ve helped him?”
At that, the man finally showed an expression other than contented serenity. His lips tightened.
“Certainly not. That may be in your power, but it is not in mine.”
“He wants me to help him,” Lucy said, “but I won’t. I won’t turn to the Dark Side.”
“Good,” said the man, though he still frowned a little, as if disbelieving. Or perhaps just confused.
“But what do you mean by the impossible? If you’ve done it before, then it can’t be impossible, can it?”
“Hm,” he said. “Not usually possible, let’s say. The Force flows through us both, particularly now. That is one thing. But the others would like to see you. In the waking world, it would be truly impossible. And last time we managed it, it was—splintered, unclear.”
“What are you talking about?” said Lucy. “The others? Who … what …”
“You must help me bring them to you,” the man replied.
Lucy felt more blank than she already had.
“How? And why should I?”
“You wanted help,” he reminded her. “We can offer a little. Perhaps it will be enough. I can’t say what your circumstances are, but you are in danger—very great danger.”
“I know,” she said glumly. Then she remembered the Force, still wrapped closely around her.
Can I trust him?
She didn’t receive anything so straightforward as yes or no. But her feelings settled into a soothing calm.
“All right,” Lucy said. “I’ll help with the … whatever.”
“Close your eyes,” said the man.
Lucy didn’t like losing her sight for a moment longer than she had to, but the Force gently urged her on. She let her eyelids drift closed, her breaths evening out. Her hands went loose in her lap.
“Good,” the man told her. “Very good. Feel the Force flow through you.”
She could. It surged through every particle of her body, powerful beyond expression. It would be easy to forget herself before that awesome strength; she almost found herself less Lucy than an amplifying vessel for the Force, a vehicle for its passage as it threaded its way through the galaxy. Even the Light Side could devour her; she felt as if she belonged to it in some odd way. But she didn’t. This was choice, not subjection; she was Lucy still.
Then, with one last burst, it drained from her. Not entirely, but she could barely feel it now, barely feel anything. It took an effort for her to open her eyes.
A pale, faintly blue wisp floated before her. She eyed it doubtfully. All that, for this?
“This is most improbable,” the wisp said.
“Uh,” said Lucy. “Sure?”
Another wisp appeared behind the first, and then two, three—no, five more, and others hovering in the distance. But these began to shift into shapes, vaguely humanoid shapes. Then the shapes sharpened, and before her, Lucy saw a mass of humans. They all flickered with blue light, just like Obi-Wan; in fact, they looked exactly like he did, apart from differences in build and features.
“You’re dead,” she said without thinking.
“Oh, quite,” said the blind man.
The first wisp morphed into a short, squat form. An … astromech droid? Lucy stared.
“You’ve almost got it!” a man said encouragingly. A dead man, she thought. And a dead droid?
What?
Oddly enough, the newest man looked familiar—more familiar than the blind one. He stood beside the only woman she could see, one taller than Lucy but considerably shorter than everyone around her. Lucy could only vaguely make her out through the four men crowded closely around, so she focused her attention on the man who’d spoken to the droid. He stood very straight and had fine-boned features, the sort that could look sharp and striking in one moment and attractively forgettable in the next. But she knew she’d seen them before—yet she felt reasonably certain she’d never seen him.
Sure enough, he said, “Is this her?”
“The Starkiller—yes,” replied the blind man. “Lucy Skywalker.”
“I’m right here,” Lucy said.
Another man, one with big, solemn eyes, said,
“Lieutenant Skywalker, isn’t it? It’s an honour.”
“I—”
She’d seen him, too. Not in person. In … she returned her gaze to the sharp-faced man, and abruptly was thrust back to those first hours after she’d blown up the Death Star, after she’d found out that she’d be allowed to fly for the Rebellion after all, in the new Rogue Squadron. After they’d told her about their namesake, the team that had brought the plans to them in the first place, and died for it, and she’d talked to Leia and heard about them: ex-criminals and ex-Imperials and Rebels like them. And Leia had shown her what pictures the Rebellion had of the Rogue One team: clear for their own men and the ones wanted by the Empire, but vague for—
Lucy’s eyes went wide. Without thought, she saluted.
“Captain Andor!” she exclaimed.
He stared at her, then smiled faintly. “It’s been awhile since I heard that.”
A wind whistled past, lighter and warmer than the one in the desert city.
“Captain Andor, and you must be Jyn Erso, and—and—you’re the Rogue One team,” she breathed. “How is it—is this real?”
The astromech shifted into a protocol droid.
“How should we know what’s real?” it said.
“Yes,” Erso told her.
“You’d better hurry,” said the blind man. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
Lucy should remember his name, but she couldn’t; the holo had been so grainy, and she’d only heard him mentioned in passing. It was the leaders and Rebels she heard the most about: Andor and Erso, and Sefla and Melshi and—
“I’m so sorry,” she blurted out. “I’ve failed you.”
“Hardly,” said one of the men she didn’t recognize. “You destroyed the Death Star.”
“Yes, but I—” Her breathing came fast. “I deserted Rogue Squadron. We named it for you, I was lieutenant, and then I left.”
Several of them glanced at each other, but their ghostly faces were unreadable.
“Why?” said the man with the big eyes. Rook came into her mind. That was right. Bodhi Rook, the Imperial.
She scrubbed at her face.
“I want to be a Jedi like my father. I left the squadron to train under a master, but then I left him too, and Vader laid a trap for me.”
The Rebel base flickered, and the walls of her bedchamber in Vader’s castle closed in, half the ghosts fading in and out. A droid stood guard, but seemed no more responsive than any of the other background figures had been.
Lucy gestured around.
“This is his—I’m a captive here. I don’t know what will happen now. The Rebellion—we lost our base, we lost … maybe everything, I don’t know.”
Slowly, the blind monk said, “There’s something strange here.”
She was almost sure he’d been a monk, anyway. Or something like that.
“There’s a lot strange here,” said Lucy. “But—” She bit her lip. “What can I do?”
Erso stepped out from behind Rook, her face exactly as Lucy remembered it from her Wanted For Crimes Against the Empire picture.
“Remember who you are,” Erso said. “Nobody can take that from you. Not Vader. Not anyone.”
“Keep your eyes and ears open,” said Andor. “Find out everything you can. Be ready.”
Lucy nodded, almost frantically. Her head was spinning.
A burly man beside Andor told her, “Don’t spend your life without reason.”
“That’s right,” said Rook. “You can always do more alive than dead. Remember that.” His voice faded towards the end, then strengthened. “Remember.”
“I will, I will.” Lucy calmed a little. “Will I ever see you again? I can’t do this alone.”
The burly man said, “You are never alone in the Force.”
She swallowed. “Right.”
“You aren’t alone,” said the blind monk. “There’s someone there who can help you. Who will, if you follow your feelings. You have only to find them.”
“Who?” cried Lucy.
“Oh, I have no idea,” he said cheerfully. “But the Force is with you, Lucy Skywalker—and you are one with the Force.”
-
Note: Okay, so: part of the reason it took me so long to update this fic was that I decided to stop until Rogue One came out to see if I wanted to integrate it into the Lucy canon, and then got swept away by RO fandom for … several years. But I’ve always envisioned a RO scene/vision/thing to parallel Leia’s vision of them in until the last chance is spent, a Lucyverse fic right after the destruction of the Death Star (which this one references, though I don’t think it’s necessary to read it). It was very satisfying to get here at last!