Okay so it is no secret that I hate writing action sequences, which most of this chapter is, but it's the penultimate chapter so here's hoping it came off well anyway. XD

They were getting annihilated.

Padmé strode to the edge of the bridge again and back, ignoring Bail's chastising look. As used to doing so as she'd been in the Senate, she couldn't just stand still, not when her children were fighting a monster and her husband—

Her husband was nowhere to be seen.

He was supposed to come. They'd talked it through with him, the entire plan, everything he needed to know. He'd known it was her speaking, and she'd— and she'd tried to keep rigidly in control while speaking but she'd also hoped and now that hope—

It dwindled with every second she stared out at the battle beyond their viewports, the lights and explosions and smoke, until it was as distant as the stars that backlit it all.

She was a senator—or rather, had been. A politician. A pacifist. She knew nothing of military strategy.

But she could tell that without the two fleets Vader had promised, they were being ground into the dust.

"Padmé," Bail murmured when she paced back from the viewports to where they were standing, watching the stream of updates hurtle down the screen. "It will be alright."

She took a deep breath and didn't answer him.

Anakin, she thought. Anakin, where are you?

"Is it just me," Wedge quipped over the comm, "or do we have a problem?"

Biggs yanked his joystick to the side and sucked in a breath as he dived right, his torso straining against the harness. The TIEs behind him didn't hesitate to follow but they were too slow to stop when he did, overshooting, sitting ducks for his lasers.

Then another swarm of eyeballs came after him, and he swore.

"Yes," he snapped, "we have a problem."

"Weren't we meant to have more support than this!? What are they thinking?"

"Cut the chatter, Red Two, and shoot those TIEs off your wingman's tail!" Red Leader barked.

Wedge answered in affirmative and Biggs breathed in a sigh of relief as the TIEs scattered like birds under his dogged pursuit, looping back around.

"There shouldn't be this many," he muttered.

"But there are," Wedge shot back. "And look."

Biggs raised his head to look.

Another Destroyer had reverted to realspace and started shooting, TIEs toppling from its belly like marbles into darkness.

And another.

And another.

There were so many—

"It's about to get a lot worse."

Luke sensed it the moment he arrived.

He jerked his head up to stare. Though of course he saw nothing, he could imagine it: the ceiling to the throne room bright with diamond-stars, and beyond it a universe of real stars, pinpricks of light surrounding the souls of the pilots who lived and died above them, and swamping all of it, a long shadow cast by old, old sins—

A monstrous amount of new ships had arrived, and even Palpatine stopped fighting to observe it through the throne room windows, as Destroyer after Destroyer popped into the sky. Luke would've taken advantage of his distraction, would've struck there and then and tried to gain the upper hand, but his lightsaber was limp in his grasp. He was distracted too.

He could sense his father's presence growing ever closer, like the dark wings of some great bird. A ship, coming in to land—right next to where the Jedi were fighting.

"No," he whispered. He could sense Leia's grimness, but she had enough grace not to say I told you so.

"Yes, Luke," Palpatine intoned, turning back to him. He made to take several steps closer and Luke tightened his grip on his saber as he felt a wrinkled old hand brush his cheek. Leia was frozen too, staring at them both. "You have to understand that this is a lost cause. Your father loves you both; that is why he is doing this."

The killing began. Death poured from his father's presence.

Luke let the faintest, ironic smile touch his lips. Let a tear track down his cheek. He could sense exactly what his father was doing, and it was branded into his soul.

Leia realised moments later. She shifted her stance slightly—

And Luke thumbed the ignition button of his saber and slashed up.

Palpatine howled. His right hand thudded to the floor with a gruesome thwack, but Luke was already driving forwards again and he parried awkwardly with just his left. Leia kicked the second lightsaber to the other side of the room and dived for him.

He smacked her back, the Force blow sending a ringing down their bond.

"I know he does," Luke spat. "That is exactly why he's doing this." And he hammered his blade against Palpatine's with all the strength he had in him. He took a vicious pleasure in the man's grunts of pain, of exhaustion, but he could sense him drawing on that pain, how it only fortified him—

And his anger.

That fortified him beyond all belief as well.

Because there were only two new fleets in the sky.

Because they were firing on the Imperials and the battle was turning.

And because with every stroke of his father's sword, an Inquisitor fell.

Palpatine roared. The lightning that crackled from his remaining fingertips stank of putrid darkness and pain and seized Luke in the chest like fronds of thorns. It tossed him backwards; he whacked his head against the transparisteel window and groaned, eyes slipping closed for half a heartbeat. His saber rolled out of his hand.

But Leia was up again and leapt in front of him, the lightning lancing off her blade. She growled.

And then a voice from the doorway boomed, "Your rule is at an end, my master."

Palpatine snarled and stopped his assault. Luke slid down the window to hit the floor and scrabbled around for his lightsaber, shoulders relaxing slightly when his fingers closed around it.

"Is that so, Lord Vader?"

"So, it is," said Master Yoda—and then the other Jedi filed in, and the collective hum of their lightsabers was louder than even the ringing in Luke's ears.

Leia heaved in breaths, feet planted between Palpatine and Luke, hands constricted on her lightsaber, but grinned more broadly than she had in months. Her father was standing there, lightsaber lit, head tilted towards her and Luke with a protectiveness that eclipsed any other allegiance or desire or hope. She wasn't sure if she wanted to sob, or laugh, or both.

When the group lit their lightsabers, all of them, from green to blue to Ahsoka and Luke's white and her father's red and Leia's purple, she felt destiny click into place.

Her father stalked forwards, forcing Palpatine to turn away from Luke to face him. Luke rolled to his feet, poised to fight.

"Your armies will be obliterated," he growled. "Your Inquisitors are dead or routed, scattered across the planet and the galaxy with no hope of rallying again. I have received word from my agent that your precious Anaxes fleet is nothing but dust and cinders. And you are facing some of the most skilled, resourceful Force-users of the last century, all at once." His gaze lingered on Palpatine's stump of a wrist and he snorted.

Then he pointed his lightsaber at him. Palpatine took a few wary steps back.

"I will give you one chance to surrender peacefully," he ground out, not without sarcasm. Leia winced. She didn't disagree that this was a bad idea, but. . .

Palpatine's face contorted.

"Guards!" he shouted, and another blast of lightning was his answer.

Red guards rushed back in, everyone rushed to fight them, and the world erupted in a storm of colour and light.

"There's too many of them!"

"Tell me something I don't know," Biggs grouched over the comm. Wedge rolled his eyes and rolled his ship. The TIEs' barrage of fire sailed smoothly past him. "Watch out for that second wave coming over there, there's gonna be a lot—"

"Rebel squadrons, this is Commander Mithel of Black Squadron," barked a voice over the comms, only for static to steal the rest of his speech. Wedge automatically cringed and went to silence it, but Commander Narra said—

"Wait. Repeat that, Mithel, I didn't copy."

"This is Mithel of Black Squadron of the Executor. We, and all Imperial fighters bearing this signature," Wedge glanced at his display—Rebel ships were lit up in green, TIEs in red, but there was a third group in blue, "are ordered to fight the Emperor's troops alongside you."

"What? Why?" Wedge burst out before Narra could tell him to shut his trap. "You're Imperial, loyal to the Empire, why should we—"

"We are loyal to Lord Vader and Grand Admiral Thrawn. And we will follow our orders." The connection cut out.

Wedge yelped as R2-A3 screeched a warning. He had to dart to the side and keep firing for a solid, agonisingly long minute before he could get a word out among the stress but then he barked, "Red Leader? We accepting this?"

"I don't think we have a choice, Red Two, look how many of 'em there are." Wedge looked again, and swallowed. "They could crush us without this deception."

"So we're allying with them?" Biggs asked.

"We don't have a choice," Narra repeated.

Look how many of 'em there are.

Wedge didn't look again. He'd already seen the numbers, but this time it gave him hope.

With these reinforcements. . . they could actually win this thing.

Padmé burst out laughing when she saw the ships swoop in, like the wind on Naboo that brought summer rains. He was here. He was here.

"Ma'am, sir!" A comms officer called out, and Padmé bowed her head but couldn't wipe that wide, relieved grin off her face. . . "We're being hailed! By the Executor, the Chimaera, the Devastator. . ."

Unseen by everyone except Bail, Padmé wiped at the corners of her eyes with her thumb.

Then she turned her gaze downwards.

Bail squeezed her elbow. "We're going to win, Padmé," he murmured. She nodded, glancing out at the battle beyond the viewport which had suddenly become much more promising, but his hand tightening on her elbow brought her gaze back to him as he added: "They're going to win."

She smiled, and nodded. "I know," she said. The certainty was like a fragile bubble, ballooning in her chest. "I know."

The guards rushed in the moment Palpatine shouted for them.

It went from a moment of triumph to a moment of panic, of slashes and jabs, of life and death. Palpatine cackled lowly as he watched that sea of red. Leia was not about to stand around to be attacked: she dived forwards, lightsaber swinging, forcing him to jerk back, his one remaining lightsaber dancing under hers.

Luke, she transmitted, Luke, we can—

She received only panic from her brother as he yanked himself to his feet and a red guard drove their Force pike at his arm. He deflected the blow—barely, the electricity sparking and singeing his sleeve, his teeth gritted and crying out when it scorched his arm—

There was a lightsaber under her chin and Leia twisted. Slashed up; impacted against something that made Palpatine grunt, then backpedalled fiercely the moment he lunged, flinched and tossed her head back, the blade narrowly swiping in front of her nose.

"I thought you wanted me alive," she grunted.

"You can live without your pretty face."

She slashed up and nearly took his left hand too. He only laughed.

"Are you going to kill me, dear Leia?" he taunted, dancing away from her, one step, then another, then another, and she marched forwards for a two-handed downwards strike that had him staggering backwards even more, the dais looming in her sights behind him—

And out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father.

He was a dark knight lit in the beams of blue, green, red and white, like fireworks on Empire Day, like all the lights of a supernova were gleaming off the contours of his mask. Two red guards rushed him, pikes crackling purple—

With a single swipe, he beheaded them both, and crushed the skull of a third in his fist.

There are too many, she thought. But not for Father.

She grinned at Palpatine. "I'm saving that honour for someone else."

The fear in his gaze as he beheld Vader for that moment, the towering behemoth he had created, was as sweet as sugared treats.

He regained his composure an instant later, but he was unnerved. In the swirl of red and colours around them, the constant motion, his head was a calm focal point and he met her gaze solidly. That was rage in his face.

"An honour," he spat, climbing the steps to the dais one by meticulous one, "indeed."

He lashed out, down at her, striking at her left, her right, but his one-handed blows were oddly laughable even as she knew he was using the pain to make him stronger. She followed him up with quick sharp steps to fight before the throne, fight for the throne, deflected the blows with ease—left, right, left, then stepped inside his guards to aim a blade straight for his heart—

He twisted away from her, grunting, and she saw in his eyes that that had not been planned.

What had been planned? What—

Another terrified look at Vader as more guards' heads rolled like crimson dice, as his helmet emerged from the mass of red and black like a mythical creature rising from the lakes of Naboo. . .

He was afraid.

Of course he was afraid. And if he was afraid—

He turned, to almost run through her, but she jumped over him, twisting in midair, lashing out to scratch him in the shoulder and elicit a scream—

And she landed neatly in front of the secret passage behind the throne.

Blocking his access.

"Going somewhere?" she taunted.

Palpatine snarled. "You're too clever for your own good."

"So are you. But if you were cleverer you might've known that my father—"

Something drove into her shoulder and shocked her.

Her teeth rattled in her skull; her eyes rolled in their sockets. She collapsed to her knees, crying out in shades of red and grey as hot, thick blood and spasms drenched her left shoulder—

And red robes swirled around her—reinforcements from behind the curtain.

"Did you think I was going to run?" Palpatine mocked. "In my moment of triumph?"

"You're right." She dragged herself away on shaking legs, panting, pain screeching up and down her shoulders. The newest guard brought their pike in two hands and shoved it down; she rolled. "You're not wise enough for that—"

Rolled, lit her lightsaber, and stabbed right up the guard's robes.

The screech he gave off was horrible, and horribly satisfying.

She staggered to her feet, away from him, teeth gritted and saber clutched so tightly it hurt in her hand—half-tripped down the stairs, blade up to ward against—one attack, two attacks, three— She slipped, her grip shifting wrongly; she couldn't move out of the way for the ache in her shoulder—

And a bright white blade flashed in front of her.

Luke jumped forwards, spinning, swinging—

The Force pikes clanged against his blade loudly and he pushed, cut low, slashing at their knees and then high again—

"Following Father's example, aren't you?" she commented, watching him jump up and shear through them.

"Are you alright!?" He took her right arm and dragged her away, flipping his lightsaber in his grip and driving it into the back of the nearest red guard. When they fell, Ezra gave him a nod of appreciation he didn't acknowledge.

Leia rolled her shoulder. It screamed. "I'm fine."

"No you're not."

"Palpatine is getting away, I need—"

"You traitor!" Palpatine roared, and Leia whipped her head around when she saw lightning out of the corner of her vision.

Jade deflected it with ease, off the blade of a lightsaber that was so bright blue it hurt Leia's eyes to look at.

"Not this time," she snarled, "Master."

Jade was a talented duellist, but not compared to Palpatine. But Palpatine was injured. Off his balance.

Leia smiled grimly as she shook off Luke's hand, wiped the blood off her palm on her trousers, and stood up straight. Her Rebel fatigues were soaked, her plait was coming apart, but—

She grinned.

The red guards were falling back. She glanced around, saw Vader carving a swathe through them, obliterating them like he obliterated Rebels, like he obliterated training droids; Ahsoka, leaping over two of their heads, sabers flashing in twin arcs of sunlight; Yoda, flipping and flapping; the Spectres, fighting back to back; Jade—

Jade, forcing Palpatine down, down from the dais, standing two steps above him like judgement's statue, raining blows upon blows upon—

Palpatine jerked back, out of her range. Took precious long seconds, smiling unsettlingly at her while she forged forwards again—

Then unleashed a lightning surge.

It threw her back; something cracked as—Leia ducked her head and twisted her good arm to impale a guard who rushed her—Jade hit the steps to the dais, slamming her head against the marble floor, and his fingers were curled again for the second round. . .

And Luke dived in front of her.

He didn't bring his saber up to block the lightning—he couldn't see the lightning, and it struck his head, his torso, forcing him back and he grunted fiercely but stood his ground, a terrifying snarl twisting his face at the sensation. Walked forwards through the storm like a man possessed, shudders wracking his body. Palpatine's mouth opened in an oh shape and he brought his free hand up again, the lightsaber hilt resting precariously in it—

Luke downward stroke interrupted his summoning, forced him to light the saber, block, parry. Luke's gait was something inevitable, something unstoppable, and he stepped forwards and forwards and forwards, flecking tiny, agonising burns over Palpatine's biceps, his shoulders, his face—

At one point, a swing almost took out his eyes.

"Are you trying to kill me?"

"What gave you that impression?" Luke spat—and the sudden fury in his voice shocked even her, his shields were locked down so tight, as he lunged, saber hammering and hammering and hammering and hammering and hammering—

Luke, Leia reminded. We need to capture him alive.

Luke. . . visibly drew back, at that reminder; gritted his teeth against the lingering pain from the Force lightning, fought—

And Palpatine unleashed another blow.

He was thrown back too, this time, but caught himself before he rammed into the steps and was on his feet again in an instant. His blows were slower, less intent, less fierce; he had not been using the dark side before, he had not touched the energies Palpatine shared from the moment they entered, but now. . . Now that he'd remembered not to kill. . . there was still a notable, dangerous difference. . .

Leia limped over and shouted out as she drove her saber forwards—right for Palpatine's shoulder as well. Retribution. Revenge. They meant nothing, but clearly it would disable, might even be conveniently fatal if the wound wasn't cauterised properly and bled, and they just needed a way—

Palpatine twisted to avoid it, swinging his own lightsaber back at her fast enough she was forced back.

We need to knock him out. We can't take him alive otherwise.

How, Luke snapped, backing up a few wary steps and examining Jade with concern through the Force, though he never took a pinch of his attention off of Palpatine, are we going to do that?

Force suggestion? Send him to sleep?

I refuse to touch his mind. Do that yourself.

Fine. She was the granddaughter of the Force. She could—

She skimmed the surface of his mind, flooding it with the minutiae of the Jedi mind trick some of the resident Force-users had tried to teach her—

He staggered under the suggestion, his focus wavering enough that she carved a deep furrow in his arm, but he did not sleep. She flinched back from his mind, feeling the darkness reach for her, like jaws in the darkness, like teeth dripping saliva and blood.

"You didn't think that would work, did you?" He turned to smile at her, though she noticed that he didn't take all his attention off Luke, getting to his feet, either. "Sabotage is an underhanded tactic for someone who professes—"

That's not going to work. Luke had gone to Jade, dragged her back to consciousness, but now they were both ducking and weaving around several more guards who'd materialised, arcs of violet and white and blue painting the air like some complex Mon Cala water painting.

Clearly! Leia blocks Palpatine's lazy slash with ease and cut up, forcing him to twist out of the way; she tested his defence with a flurry of quick blows, watching his lag fade with each blocked one, then he was on top of her again, bearing down, and—

She understood why, when Luke and Jade had been electrocuted, they'd screamed so loudly.

Her saber rolled out of her hand. She could smell her hair burning and shrivelling on her scalp. The intensity, the force of it, knocked the breath from her lungs, worse that any Force pike; the pain in her shoulder still cried but everything cried, and she was on her knees, a slice of crimson bearing down on her—

And another slice stopped it.

She relaxed before she knew why; when she heard the rhythmic, rasping respirator, she knew why. She wanted to sob as Palpatine snarled, and Vader hissed, "I told you. Your rule is at an end—"

"Father—" Leia tried to say. There was so much she wanted to say—be careful, your suit is vulnerable to electricity; I'm sorry I doubted you; help Luke instead of me; I'll be fine—

Thank you—

"I should punish you like the rebellious slave you are," Palpatine spat. "Shut you down like a faulty droid—"

"I removed the transmitter you planted in me, over a year ago." Vader punctuated his words with a harsh downward stroke, his prosthetics and weight and height all slamming down at once with a swing Palpatine staggered to avoid; a side cut full of power he desperately tried to deflect one-handed— "I am slave to no one."

He had. He had done that, removed that transmitter, told them about it and set all of this into motion—

"Allow me to assure you otherwise," Palpatine spat back, raised his hands, and Leia flinched in anticipation for an onslaught that never came.

Instead, Palpatine. . . rocked.

Bucked.

Teetered on his feet.

Leia stared. Then she moved her gaze past him—to Luke.

Luke, who was sporting a fresh shallow but bloody starburst in his right arm, weeping red over his sleeve, who was holding a guard's blaster in his hand. He shot him again, the blue stun ring soaking into his back.

Palpatine. . . resisted. Fiercely. He struggled to lift his head again, nerves crashing together.

Luke walked around to stand shoulder to shoulder with Vader and reached out his left hand in Leia's direction; she took it with her right, and hauled herself up.

"Stun?" Palpatine rasped, glaring up at Luke. Luke's face stayed impassive, but Palpatine's shock, surprise. . . well, he looked stunned.

Luke didn't reply.

He just shot him again, and watched him slump to the floor, unconscious.

Around them, the bodies of red guards littered the room. All was still, and silent.

Leia did a quick head count—none of theirs had died. Odd. It had all happened so fast, the guards were so skilled. . .

Perhaps, she dared to hope, the Force was with them after all.

The Imperials collapsed before the sheer numbers they were facing, and Padmé was finding it easier and easier to breathe.

"Word from Fulcrum in the Palace, ma'am!" one of her aides said, and whatever remaining blockage in her lungs vanished.

She spun round so fast she scared the living daylights out of him. "And?"

He smiled as he said, "Target captured. Safe to engage."

Her face split into the widest smile she'd worn in fifteen or sixteen years. She had to restrain from jumping up and now—which would've been very undignified for Lady Amidala of the Rebel Alliance—but— but—

They'd done it.

Her children had done it.

"Prepare my ship," she ordered. "And prepare for all troops to head for the surface. With those Destroyers defeated. . ."

She looked out the viewports again, at that leviathan ships hanging dead in space, crumbling bit by bit under attacks of fire and plasma.

"The planet is ours."

They'd arrayed themselves in the middle of Palpatine's throne room when Padmé arrived, injuries superficially treated and wrapped, bandages and bacta patches abounding. The Spectres had headed to the medbay, as had Yoda, to deal with some more serious ones, but despite Luke's insistences, Leia had refused. Her shoulder injury was bound for now; it still hurt like hell, but she wasn't going to let Palpatine or her family out of her sight.

She lifted her head to see Padmé stride in, hair tied tightly behind her head in a braided bun. She was wearing a simple white jumpsuit with a belt for her blaster, but something. . . jerked in Vader's presence when he laid eyes on her, and Leia had to wonder.

Padmé was short, the shortest in the room with Yoda gone, but she seemed to tower with the way she strode, the tight, determined set of her mouth. She shot Ahsoka a nod and a smile, and that smile widened when she clapped eyes on Luke and Leia, alive and well. . . then she laid eyes on Vader for a second, and they both stilled.

Stared at each other for a moment. Padmé's hand tightened around her blaster.

But then she kept moving, her gaze kept roving, until. . .

She stopped right in front of Luke and Leia.

In front of the Emperor kneeling between them, head bowed and gaze simmering, cuffed in binders that made it feel like the Force had never existed.

Leia felt no pity for his plight at all.

Padmé didn't bend down to look her old mentor in the eye; she just frowned, accepting the only height advantage she knew she could get.

It was Palpatine who spoke first. "Come to gloat, Amidala?"

Her mouth twisted. "I'm glad I never stuck around to see what you were like as an Imperial politician. I imagine it was disgusting."

It was, Leia thought, but didn't say. Padmé's brown eyes were fixed on Palpatine's amber.

"You will be trialled," she told him. "You will face the shame you brought to Naboo, to all of us you manipulated so you could get into your position to torment and torture others, and stand justice for the crimes you have wrought upon the galaxy. Democracy has won."

"You should just kill me, dear Padmé," he rasped. "After all the suffering I've caused your precious Naboo. . . your precious Republic. . ." His gaze shifted. "Your precious children. You should just kill me, or I will only cause more."

"Is that a promise?" she asked.

"It's a threat."

She turned away. "I am not you," she said simply, and her gaze found Vader as if by default. "We are not the Empire. You will stand trial."

He didn't say anything to that, for a moment, smiling faintly.

Then he said, "You are weak."

"I'm not the one kneeling." She shook her head. "I'm not the one who's lost everything. Not this time."

Leia stared at them both for a moment: the politicians, both from Naboo, both from a culture and a time far more complex and grey than this one. Palpatine had been Padmé's mentor, once upon a time. She had trusted him.

But she had ignored him, gone against him, even then, and she had succeeded whenever she did.

She had been the wrench in the works of all his plans, and also the best foil and opposition leader from the moment he achieved them.

Leia loved her mother so much.

Then Palpatine growled, "You will be."

It happened in a flash. Palpatine jerked to the side while they were both distracted. With one swing of his binders, he slapped Luke's lightsaber across the floor; with another, his one remaining hand darted up and grasped her brother's throat.

Squeezing.

Luke's eyes blew wide and he tumbled backwards, hitting the floor hard, Palpatine on top of him. Leia could feel him gasping for air, feel the waves of agony rolling off him, but when her fingers landed on Palpatine's and she pried, shoulder twinging and spasming, she couldn't get a solid grip, they didn't budge—

The rage that rolled off Palpatine was not something she needed the Force to sense, it was all-powerful, his hatred was all-consuming, it would devour the galaxy and snuff out every star that lived within it—

A flash of red; a blaster shot. Leia and Luke ducked.

Palpatine's body slumped to the ground, two smoking holes pocked in his chest.

Vader extinguished his lightsaber; Padmé lowered her blaster.

They. . . looked at each other for a moment.

Luke sagged back against the floor, rubbing his throat. "What happened to capture him alive?" he. . . not spat, but it wasn't a conversational tone either. His voice was gravelly.

"He was captured alive. Now he is dead."

Luke rolled his eyes at Vader's response, but. . .

Leia narrowed her eyes at Padmé—at her wide eyes, heavy breathing, her shaking grip on her blaster. . . She hadn't taken her gaze off of Luke.

"We are not the Empire," she repeated breathlessly to herself, trying to convince herself. . . "But. . . perhaps we should not make the mistakes the late Republic did, either."

Jade snorted under her breath. "Finally."

Luke said, "Thank you, Mother," and Padmé. . . relaxed. Offered him a small smile.

They knew she hadn't done it for the Republic.

"What now?" Leia asked.

Padmé smiled at Leia. "Now you're Empress," she said. "The throne is yours."

Leia turned to look at it.

I will be Empress, her vision had said.

You will be alone.

Slowly, so slowly, Leia limped up the stairs to the dais. Everyone else followed, fanning out around the throne room to get a better look.

Leia raised her gaze to the ceiling and the diamonds set there as she sat down, and a wave of. . . not darkness, but something akin to it swept through her, glittering and sweet and enticing. The galaxy was hers, as she'd always hoped. She could do whatever she wanted—bring back the Republic, or get rid of the bureaucrats she'd always hated, or. . .

When her gaze turned down again, people were kneeling.

Not everyone. But Vader was. Jade was. The Imperials, used to seeing someone on that throne, overcome with deference and fealty and. . .

Her gaze moved to Luke.

He was kneeling too, and that would not do.

"Get up," she snapped, standing up herself, resisting the urge to stomp her foot. "Luke, get up. You're mocking me."

He jerked, like waking from a dream, and pushed at his knee to stand. A ridiculous smirk graced his face. "I'm not mocking you."

"You're mocking me."

"I'm not mocking you."

They stared at each other for a moment. He was mocking her.

Best way to make sure the power didn't go to her head, after all.

Padmé cleared her throat.

Leia looked up and smiled.

"I'm sorry," she said. "We're ready."

"To do what?"

Her smile widened. "To get to work."