Missing and Presumed Dead

Alone

Leia knew this place.

Even with the bag over her head, she knew Coruscant. She knew it by the sounds of billions of people moving about into the deepest levels of the planet. She knew it by the sounds of constant air traffic at all hours of the day. She knew it by the smell of smog permeating the air.

And she knew she was being led into the palace by the overbearing smell of jasmine and blooming blossoms that tried and failed to block out the scent of the rest of the planet. Instead, it combined into an odd, sickening mixture that made her stomach roll. Her father had once told her it was just the nerves that made her feel that way whenever they were forced to visit the palace.

She knew better.

She now wondered if it had also been the Force warning her that this was a dangerous place for her specifically. Except...maybe not. She couldn't feel the power that had unknowingly been her companion these many years. Not with the stupid collar biting into her neck, taking away a part of her very self.

She felt naked. She felt exposed. It didn't help that she was being dragged through halls she knew were opulent, with red guards and stormtroopers stationed ten feet apart, surely watching her every move.

She lost count of the turns. She tried keeping track, but soon it became apparent that they were intentionally making this confusing should she make an unlikely attempt at escape. But eventually, she was roughly shoved forward, and though she tried to maintain her balance, she ended up falling forward, scraping her arms on solid permacrete.

Behind her, a door clanged shut with finality.

She stayed there for a moment, wishing she could at the very least attempt to use the Force to determine who else was in the room with her. Then again, she'd really only gotten to know the presences of Vader and Luke. She was certain she'd also figured out Han's presence, but without Force sensitivity screaming at her from rooms away, she had to concentrate to find him.

Again. The Force was gone.

She was alone in that aspect.

The silence was deafening. When her ears began to ring from it, she finally sat up, reached up and pulled the bag off her head.

A cell. No more comfortable than the one on the Death Star, with blinding light that hurt her eyes. Her hands were still cuffed, and the stupid collar was still around her neck.

There was no one else. For now.

With a sigh, she pulled herself to her feet and sat on the rock hard bench, deciding to make herself as comfortable as possible. She wasn't sure what was in store for her, but somehow she had a feeling she'd like it far less than anything Vader had ever cooked up.

But she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of sitting there, stewing over what was to come for her.

She did, however, turn her thoughts to everyone else she cared about.

Luke had gotten away. She was sure of it. She didn't need the Force to tell her that. The Emperor had visited her a few times on the way to Coruscant, and he always asked about Luke. Her answer was always the same.

Luke was dead.

She'd die before she ever gave her brother up. She knew Han would take care of him. He'd always had an eye on Luke since even before they'd rescued her, it seemed. She suspected that the real reason Han had gone along with Luke's plan, then, was that he knew Luke would do it with or without him, and despite the gruff exterior, he was a big softie at heart.