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She’s not one for ceremony; it was burned out of her by her mother’s words. No one was above reproach, no one was deserving of her full and total fealty.

And yet; the cause is more important than pride.

“Organa,” she says, her voice scrambled; a dark sort of sound. And her head dips -- not quite a bow, but it’ll do.

“You are most welcome in our house,” Queen Breha says, her arm outstretched.

Enfys was raised in a shithole, so Alderaan feels precious, feels fragile to her. Like a crystal figure that could be shattered at any moment. But there is something resilient about its queen.

If Breha reminds her of someone, someone’s grit and regard for life, Enfys doesn’t dwell on it.

“Do better than me,” she had said, breathing with some difficulty.

“Impossible,” Enfys had replied, her eyes so red.

“I’m Leia,” the girl says. She’s all in white, her hair in braids curled around her head. She’s young; perhaps five years Enfys’ junior. Perhaps just less than twenty years old. “I’m at your service.”

Enfys is not one for ceremony, she knows exactly who this slip of a girl is. And despite herself, she likes her almost immediately. That fresh face; intelligence and a fire in her eyes. Her mouth opens: “Blankets,” Enfys barks, roughly. “And tea.”

“As you wish,” the girl says, a half smile on her lips.

Her crew disappear on the planet; finding solace and respite. They like it here, she knows. It’s a respectable planet that respects visitors, not just their credits. She won’t see them till the rendezvous in three days. And unlike other planets, she won’t hear about their exploits later.

She sleeps an entire day without dreams. And when the moon rises, she wakes and bathes in its glow.

The girl returns. “Tell me about your adventures,” she says.

Enfys pays little attention to politics; but she knows this girl has her own tales to tell. Still: her mouth opens to let stories tumble out. Stories she’d never tell anyone, but the girl’s eyes are so wide.

She tells the story of the stolen coaxium, and forgets the name of that young man. Describes him instead: foolhardy, a smile brighter than sunshine, a good heart. “I would he had joined us,” she says.

“Not everyone,” Leia says, “is ready when we need them.”

“Fulcrum may need your riders,” Breha says. “But I want you recruiting instead. We need pilots.”

“We hear good things about progress on Lothal, want to hit it first. But there’s a podrace in a few weeks,” Enfys says. “Tatooine.”

A shadow briefly covers the queen’s face. “My daughter should see that one day.”

Enfys wonders at this. Wonders about Breha’s daughter.

“I want to be like her,” Leia says. Likely pointing at a portrait on the wall. Enfys has her back to Leia while looking at a large artwork of the queen, admiring. Thinking how much her mother would have liked her.

“Who,” she says absently.

“The Naboo queen.”

Enfys turns. “Apailana?”

Leia’s still staring up at the portrait of a woman in luxurious reds and golds. “Amidala.”

“Ah, some question about her death, isn’t there?” Enfys leans back on her heels.

“Palpatine killed her. I’m sure of it.” Leia says, casual in her certainty.

“It’s a theory with some merit, if you like a conspiracy.” Enfys likes conspiracies. “How will you be like her, Leia?” She smiles. “Fashion queen, political mastermind, close friendship with the Jedi--”

“I’ll shoot straight.”

Enfys throws back her head and laughs.

There’s a bottle of Corellian whisky and she shares it with the girl. Impressed at how she keeps up with Enfys’ pace.

There’s a smile on her lips as she listens to the girl spin a story about the rebellion, about the importance of it. The willfulness of the Empire and the darkness it weaves into the galaxy. Her hands in the tightest of fists. “I want to stop them. I want to burn it all down,” she says, fierce and defiant. An obvious inferno of rage, barely controlled. And Enfys--

“You’re not alone.”

There’s no one to spar with; Breha’s people are peaceful. So she sits with the queen in her spartan chambers and asks pointed questions about the rebellion instead. Their chances at winning, their needs and wishlists. The hiccups from the criminal world and the agonies of the Empire’s every expanding boundaries.

Breha is coolheaded. Never raises her voice, never looks like fire and flame. Steady as stone.

The gene must have skipped the princess, Enfys thinks with a small smile and asks harder questions.

Duty calls tomorrow and Enfys is relieved. She’s been sleeping on a soft bed too long. It’s time, she thinks, to get back to the black; to the wildness of space.

Staring out at the city from her balcony, she considers what it must be like to be tied down, to have strings on you keeping the galaxy from sucking you in, taking you to places unknown and uncertain. She considers what it must be like to be a princess and senator, assured living on the homeplanet and Coruscant. Assured excitement, but no real adventure.

She considers why she’s thinking about Leia.

She considers what the hell she’s doing when she walks the halls of the palace to find herself at the doorstep of the--

“I knew you’d come,” Leia says, opening the door moments after one hard knock.


Leia smiles. “I could feel it.”

There are kisses that follow.

Kisses that are more exciting than the chase, more exciting than a firefight, more exciting than a win despite desperate odds. Delicious kisses that give her the desire to push the girl on her back, get her fingers under that pristine white dress.

Leia’s eyes go wide when Enfys gets her fingers wet, and there’s a cry swallowed in her throat: perhaps, perhaps this is the girl’s first time.

And that only makes Enfys fuck in harder.

During times of war, meeting desire with desire is a boon.

That morning, Leia’s absent from the farewell party and Enfys is thankful for her mask to hide her scowl. She’s short with her crew, but they take it. Moving their bags, heavier than when they arrived, and moving into the ship to ready it for travel.

In elegant silks that whisper as she walks, Breha approaches and reaches out her hands to Enfys. Rising her chin, she takes them and is surprised when Breha nods her head over their clasped hands, a formal sort of bow. “I look forward to our next conversation,” she says. “May the Force be with you.”

The words blurt out of her. “Give my best to your daughter.”

Breha smiles at that. “I will. She would be here, but her father sent for her. Some important mission across the stars,” she says.

“Of course,” Enfys says, trying not to be petulant. The cause is more important than pride.

“Our hearts go with you,” Breha says gently and lets go of her hands. Enfys feels their absence immediately. This queen, she thinks, is deserving of her fealty.

They’re recruiting on the newly liberated Lothal when Enfys hears about Scarif.

She thinks: we should have been there.
She thinks: Gods, what if Leia was.

Heart in her mouth, she demands more information but the words “need to know” are bandied about. She looks to her lieutenant and he sets a course to--

--they’re halfway to Yavin, when they hear about--

“You were Breha’s cell,” Mothma says. “I understand if you--”

“Put us to work.” Her voice is so hoarse; her eyes so red.