The Hands of Fate

Light Within Darkness

Over a week had passed.

It was not an easy thing for someone like Leia to get adjusted to.

Leia wondered how she appeared with that lightsaber in her hand. Ridiculous, surely, as if she were a child brandishing a toy far beyond her capabilities. The blade stuck to her hand, begging her to follow the wishes of some swirling force, though she feared to completely give in to the demand. It bothered her to let go like that. That was never one of her assets; she held grudges, she could be distrustful, and always knew to watch her back (while facing forward) for the enemy. Passivity was not her friend. Plus, this was all so new – not so long ago, Leia Organa was just another member of the Alliance. She was an important one, for sure, but still nothing more than a glorified diplomat and soldier.

Now? Leia was training herself towards the arts of the Jedi, a respected but ancient form of mysticism she never once thought she was capable of. It was something that she always suspected as truth, sure, and The Force was something that kept clinging and hopeful towards the future. But when it came to her own skills and her own teeming knowledge of it? Doubt – Yoda kept shouting at her to relinquish her fear. He wanted her to give up all that had driven her the past five or six years of her life, the channel that allowed her to push through the worst. How Leia wished she could just blink and let it all flood out, never to enter her brain again, purifying the gate to her soul. It was not that easy. For the young Princess, it was frustrating, annoying, and something she did not feel possible. It wasn't a surprise to her that Luke left his training if he underwent something equally as demanding.

Maybe it wasn't always going to be this difficult. Time was what she needed but time was also running out for her dear friend – her brother – and that was constantly running through her head. Little self-doubts about what she could and couldn't accomplish, nagging voices that kept comparing her to the great warrior Luke had become over those three years. Leia barely knew any Jedi but Luke was the best damn one she could think of and the image of him was both inspiring and haunting.

She reminded herself of how clumsy Luke appeared at first, dancing and waving it around like a wand, totally untrained in swordplay for the first year or so. Han would crack lewd jokes about how he was always "practicing with his saber" instead of paling around with the rest of the Squadron and the Alliance. She laughed but Leia always took time out of her week to watch him. It was endearing to her, as well as inspiring; even moreso once he started developing his skill and owning his confidence. The little boy she had met had slowly developed into a man with each passing week, becoming stronger in his convections and passionate in what good he may cause; a man that she respected and trusted with her life. There weren't too many men like that left, "nice men," as she referred. It pleased her to know that that goodness was still a part of her by blood. She missed him – she missed Luke.

That was never going to be Leia Organa.

But she still had to try – Luke's life potentially lay in the balance and she would be damned if she would just let him be corrupted, or worse, destroyed. So much could have happened to him in the time that had passed; Yoda spoke of his pulse throughout the Force, though it was weakened and deafened. Was he still in pain? Was he dying? Was his very innocent soul being crushed and tormented by those dark arts that the Sith wield? "Darkness," Leia whispered to herself. The Dark Side, as Yoda warned, was very real. Her brother never really spoke much about it (Luke was a much purer being than she, so Leia thought) but it was something that she sensed, felt, and touched. There were glimpses of it everywhere. When she looked to the trees, she felt the shadow of her brother's anger and frustration looming underneath the branches. His frantic breathing from over a month ago still felt fresh in the air, as well as his lightsaber clashing against the red hue of a mirage. In the murky depths of the swamp, she sensed the death of many creatures as they sunk to the bottom, hearing their final cries of despair and sorrow. Even the grass and mud, with all the teeming life of insects and small beasts, acted upon war and bloodshed. There was darkness everywhere – and she sensed it passionately.